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The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

Discussion in 'Winds of Ysgard' started by Nimue, Mar 1, 2015.

  1. Nimue

    Nimue Auror

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    Farrun Dragonrider stood in the vaulted dimness of the Haelding Hall, and scratched the back of his neck. The gilt-thread collar he wore was accursed itchy; he had been able to get out of wearing the gold-washed mail, but the stiff embroidered tunic in crimson and bronze had been an unsatisfying compromise.

    The statue of Mael, with his human likeness restored, gazed down as though he considered Farrun's case. Soon, I won't be standing here alone, he promised the god, and made the sign of reverence. There'll be someone else stuffed into court dress with rosewater in their hair. The corner of his mouth twitched at the thought.

    Among the gold-leaf columns and painted bosses, he sought out the carved dragon's heads that roared in the shadows of the vault. Though they were dim with age, they had survived two hundred years of Yvalhyn occupation. As had Thoros.

    And, like the carvings, Thoros seemed intent on remaining immobile. Farrun sensed his lethargy, sprawled in the dragon's cavern cut into the side of the Hintercrown crag, far from the noise of the town and from the crows and kestrels that sometimes pestered him—more out of curiosity than animosity, Farrun thought. It was the first truly warm day of spring, and Thoros would be basking, glittering, in the sunlight. If Farrun had his druthers, he would be napping with him. As it was, Farrun gave him another, firmer, nudge, and received a distant grumble in reply.

    At these times he found himself more on the side of the townsfolk than Thoros, despite his own reluctance to attend, because he knew what the sight of a dragon could do. The change that it had made. Why they ever wanted to see an ordinary Dunman in a gilt tunic he would never know, but he could understand wanting to see a dragon.

    The tall doors to the left swung open. Between the castle guardsmen walked Hala Svora in burnished steel, the wolf of her insignia snarling on her breastplate. Her hair shone a brighter grey beneath the ancient crown. At her right hand shuffled a bent old man with a long, braided beard that still held strands of red, leaning upon a rough rowan staff.

    Farrun made a bow, though it had so little tension in it that he might as well be stooping to pick something up. Hala regarded him, amused, holding her helmet on her hip. "It seems we must say farewell soon, Farrun. I will be sorry to know that you have left my court."

    He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. "Why, must you watch someone fidgeting at every parade?"

    "No, I like to see how you have grown," she told him, smiling. Farrun knew that look, like a grandmother who saw too much for his good. She was a little too young for that role, despite her silver hair. But she always intimidated him.

    "I am entirely grown, so alas, there's nothing more to see," he declared hastily, and extended a hand towards the old druid. "Seer Eamon, we should go out into the courtyard."

    Eamon took his arm and Hala left them, trailing guardsmen. Farrun stepped forward, accommodating the pace of the old man.

    "You're certain that they'll all be there?" Farrun asked Eamon, after a moment. "These people that you've seen?"

    "Yes," Eamon exhaled, his lined face the picture of surety.

    "How can that be so? Of all the possible dragonriders in the kingdom, that they should be here, on this day…"

    "Hush," Eamon said, patting his arm as though he supported Farrun and not the reverse. "They may not all be dragonriders, for they are only the companions I have seen for you when you depart these walls. Others may join you on the road."

    "What, others? Why didn't you say so before?" Farrun looked down at the seer's bald head, brow furrowing.

    "I cannot see their faces, because they are far from this place. But trust to your instincts, and those of Thoros. The gods will get through to even the most bloody-minded," Eamon said jovially.

    Farrun opened his mouth, and closed it again. Ahead, the guardsmen opened the great ivory-inlaid doors, and sunshine struck them. The sky was purest blue—a good sign from Rhunon, if there ever was one. The approving cheers of the crowd reached them, and as they stepped out into the vast flagged courtyard Farrun glanced up at Hala in the castle balcony above, glittering in her steel with her heir, Thane Baldr, beside her.

    The crowd quieted at the sight of the Seer, Farrun thought, until a familiar shadow rippled over them and Thoros touched down beside him in a rush of wind, furling his vast bronze wings. The people stepped back, giving the big dragon more space than he needed. Farrun, unconsciously, beamed. Thoros raised his head regally, sweeping his green eyes over the assembly.

    No mind here speaks to me, he told Farrun, plainly still disgruntled from being awoken.

    Just as well! We're not here to find you a second rider, Farrun retorted. Or are we, and should I be worried about the strength of my flying harness?

    A rumble of amusement rolled back to him.
     
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  2. Ireth

    Ireth Myth Weaver

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    Rikhard had never seen so many people packed into one space before, yet the space seemed more than big enough to hold them all. He kept his head down and his hood up as he edged through the crowd, trying to find enough space to breathe. Why had Caradoc and Eoran brought him here? He supposed it must be better than starving in the wilderness. Here he could hide where no one could find him -- especially not the Captain.

    Rikhard suppressed a shudder of loathing. His escape had been narrow, and more than eight years too late as far as Rikhard was concerned. The scars below his right shoulder seemed to throb at the very thought. Just as well, no more would be added to that number. Nor to the red, welted latticework his back had become, as long as he could help it. Now he was free, and alive. Maybe he could be safe, too.

    The crowd shifted as a shadow fell over them. Rikhard looked up, and his jaw dropped. The scaled beast that spread its wings over them all was massive -- bigger than the biggest ships Rikhard had ever seen or sailed on. Was that a dragon? They were something he'd only known in stories; he never imagined he'd see one in the flesh. The force of its landing sent tremors through the soles of his borrowed boots.

    Clearly something of great importance was happening here. Rikhard just wished he understood what.
     
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  3. DMThaane

    DMThaane Sage

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    "He cuts a fine enough figure," Loke admitted, watching the proceedings from the edge of the crowd. Watching Ferrun and his dragon, the old man, and the Wolf Queen standing on her balcony beside her heir. It was a dazzling picture. One for songs and poetry. But how much of it was real?

    "He's not so impressive," Aster said, throwing him an apple and biting into hers. "Can't work out what the big deal is."

    "Really?" he asked, watching apple juice trickle down her chin. "That's not what you said the first time you saw him. You called him handsome. There was swooning."

    "I was flustered, overwhelmed," she said, her cheeks blushing ever so slightly. "It was the first time I'd seen a dragon."

    He adopted his best 'swooning' pose. "'Oh Loke, did you see the dragonrider? You must see the dragonrider, Loke, in his shining armour. Such a romantic sight, Loke.' That's exactly what you sounded like."

    She punched him in the arm. "Well he is pretty romantic. Besides, I noticed you dressed up all nice like."

    It was true; he had worn one of his better tunics. Dyed a deep red and trimmed with golden thread in the pattern of angry serpents. His cloak was the same, with a gold pin that shared the serpent motif. They were nice enough clothes, he supposed, and in the style to which he was familiar, but they weren’t truly him. He was a rough man accustomed to rough things.

    He was also accustomed to weapons, none of which he'd brought. He still carried a short seax on his belt, of course, but that was no true weapons. Merely a tool, capable of killing.

    Loke turned and blocked a nostril, snorting out a glob of snot onto the ground. "The pomp is good," he said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "It gives them courage, and the plentiful drink is nice too."

    "And I never pass up a free drink." She raised her mug high. "One for me." She poured some into her open mouth. "And one for all our friends below." She turned the mug, pouring some out onto the ground.

    He grabbed the goatskin around his neck and dribbled some out onto the stones. "Drink well, my friends. It is only because of you we get to drink at all." He took a sip then capped it.

    He noticed Aster was grinning at something. Rarely was this a good sign, especially when directed at him.

    "You smell nice, by the way," she said, covering a giggle by biting into her apple.

    "I bathed."

    "Just bathed?"

    He threw her a glare, drawing his seax and carving off a piece of apple.

    "No, no," she said. "It's nice. You smell nice. Dainty."

    "Aster, you are my oldest and dearest friend." He slipped the apple piece into his mouth and started cutting off another. "Do not call me dainty."

    "You're right. You're elegant, refined, finely scented."

    He threw the piece of apple at her, catching her ear. She kicked the apple slice away but did not retaliate, merely grinning at her little joke.

    "And how long will you be here to mock me?" he asked.

    "I only stayed to see the dragon. I'll leave tonight, passed out in a supply cart, most like. Back to the front, glorious liberator that I am."

    An awkward silence passed between them, as it often did when conversation turned to that of war.

    "You could always join me."

    He sliced off another piece of apple and dropped it in her mug. "You know I cannot."

    "I know you won't. I'm not convinced that you can't."

    "I can give only my word to its truthfulness." He offered her a wolfish grin. "As a friend."

    She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm off to find a real drink." She poured the contents of her mug at his feet, splattering his shoes with cider, and a piece of apple. "It's always good seeing you, Loke. When you want to remember who you are, you can find me on the battlefield."

    And that was goodbye, or as much of one as they ever said to one another. He would see her again, he was sure of it. Vyrhel favoured her, or was, perhaps, too scared to try and claim her life. Either way, he knew she would stand over his grave well before he would ever stand over hers.

    He sliced off another piece of apple, chewing it as he returned his gaze to the bronze dragon. Not for the first time he felt a call within himself, one that had once spoken only to blood and battle. He had once been so sure, driven by his dreams and by the call of the blood. He knew his destiny was to fight and die. Yet he had survived, and now his dreams had changed.

    For years now, he'd experienced the same dream, but now it came almost every night. He was falling, falling from above the clouds. Dragons circled down beneath, dozens of them, brightly coloured. Scales glinting in the sunlight. A dragon rises, and for some reason he cannot make its features out. It opens its maw and he is swallowed whole.

    He knew nothing of what the dream meant and had not yet dared to ask the druids. Perhaps they would know, perhaps they would not. Which answer he feared more, he could not say.

    "He truly is a hero to all free men!"

    He turned around, finding an old man standing behind him, his wrinkled face so full of hope and admiration. And why not? It was a dazzling picture, after all.

    "Oh, oh yes," he said, smiling a toothy grin. "Yes, he is the very image of inspiration." He turned back, his eyes once more fixing on the dragon. "And the man beside him has his qualities as well."
     
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2015
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  4. Tom

    Tom Istar

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    "Well, there he is," Einan said, rising up on his toes to see over the heads of the crowd. "The famous Farrun Dragonrider, Queen Hala, and her heir."

    The queen's figure glittered, her resplendent mail throwing points of light all over the courtyard. Even from far away, Einan could see the calm, assured way she held herself, proud and poised as one of the old rulers of Ysgard, in the time when humans were free, before the time of slavery under the Yvalhyn. Beside her stood Farrun, looking just like any ordinary Dunman Einan might have seen in his own village, or at the trading posts in the valleys. But he knew this man was a dragonrider, and possessed power and magic beyond anything he had ever known.

    Troia shot him a baleful glance from down below. "Thank you for narrating, Einan. But perhaps if we had picked a spot closer to the front, I would be able to see, too."

    "Well, if we hadn't been so slow waking up this morning, we'd have gotten here earlier and found a better spot." Einan sank back down onto his heels and laid a hand on Troia's shoulder. She shrugged it off, a scowl plastered to her face, but Einan could see the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

    "You think he'll let us go with him?" she asked, reaching down to scratch the bases of Ari's pointed ears. The sled dog gazed back up at her with adoring blue eyes, his thick bush of a tail wagging ponderously.

    Einan crossed his arms and stared at the figure of the dragonrider, squinting against the strong morning sunlight. "I don't know."

    Troia sighed. "I...I'm still not sure about this, Einan. Leaving our homes, our families, our lives...for this?"

    "It will be worth it," Einan said, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. He reached out and took Troia's hands in his, and she stared up at him with unblinking blue eyes. He stared back, trying to impart some of his assurance in her mind.

    After a moment she rolled her eyes and tugged her hands away. "You look like a spooked horse when you do that."

    "Ah, shut up." He turned away from her and looked back across the crowd. This time, his eyes were drawn to the huge bronze dragon that stood beside the four humans at the front. The great beast watched the proceedings with impassive green eyes, its head held high. Rather like a giant cat, Einan thought, fighting to swallow the dryness in his throat. The last--or one of the last--dragons in the world, and Einan was seeing him with his own eyes.

    "You know," Troia said, leaning in closer to him, "this day will go down in history. Think of that, Einan--we're part of history."

    "Aye," he breathed, though he knew she couldn't hear him over the noise of the crowd. "That is something to think about."
     
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  5. Legendary Sidekick

    Legendary Sidekick The HAM'ster Moderator

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    Addison Lane wore a blue hydrangea, a tiger lily, and a lock of fur a shade redder than her own fiery curls. The floral display on the side of her head might’ve been pretty to onlookers, but for Addison it was a reminder of the time she almost killed a man, and was almost killed by one.

    The rest of her outfit was from beasts she had killed. Her breelwing armor was likely to impress the dragon-rider, but then it was doubtful he’d notice it under the shadow of her bear skin cloak. A reminder o me old friend, closest Ive even been to royalty til the wolf queen herself crossed me path today.

    Addison attempted a curtsy, though she was pretty sure the wolf queen didn’t notice. So Addison just sat and stared at her boots, purchased here in the Hinterlands. The only part o’ me outfit what ain’t carved from me past. So these boots’ll take me into me future, won’t they then?

    Addison walked up to the dragon-rider, slowing as she drew closer to the man and his many, many guards.

    “Addison Lane’s me name,” she said, sure her curtsy would be noticed this time. Not so sure that’s a good thing. She stood and stared for a moment, not sure what a nothing like her could say to a dragon-rider. “I’m a huntress. Me job’s always been to fend off the beasts too dangerous for living and let-living. On me last hunt, I was hired to take out a jungle cat. Him, I let go. One look in his fiery eyes and I knew… he wasn’t a beast in need o’ killing.”

    She lowered her gaze at her boots. You’d look a killer beast in the eye. Give Sir Fancypants the same courtesy.

    “Lady at the boot shop said a man who works for the queen speaks to dragons. You’re him, ain’t you? I figured, who better to ask about the connection I felt with the liger?”

    Unsure as to what, exactly, she should ask, Addison decided it best to let the man get a word in. Here’s hoping the word won’t be ‘guards!’
     
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2015
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  6. Gryphos

    Gryphos Auror

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    On the edge of the courtyard, away from everyone else and even a bit behind Farrun and the seer, stood Bendalitz Agrippen. It was supposed to be quite the occasion, not that he'd dressed especially for it. The dark-skinned dunman wore his usual garb, a long, brown coat, over an elaborate purple waistcoat bearing golden embroidery of dragons wrapping themselves around him, as if constricting him like serpents.

    He swept his coat behind him and tucked his thumbs in his belt, not caring that he was revealing the long, curved dagger at his side. The Left Hand of the Queen could get away with lots of things. He looked up at her, the Queen, stood there with her steel all a'shine and face all stern. She needed him. Not that she'd ever admit it, but she did. Perhaps not as much as she needed Farrun, though.

    Bendalitz's earthy, focused eyes now flitted to the man himself, and to his dragon. He wondered the same thing he had on often an occasion. Was that the biggest one could get?

    Ah, but what was this? A young woman approached the dragonrider. His eyes narrowed, brow raised. A hunter, a Caernishwoman. She was making a right fool of herself. Not used to the pleasantries of the Court. Well, Bendalitz knew he could hardly talk, the fishers' son that he was. Agrippen was long gone, to him. He carried on to better things, and was in no mind to stop.
     
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  7. Legendary Sidekick

    Legendary Sidekick The HAM'ster Moderator

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    In a glance, Addison saw him—a man behind the entourage—close to the wolf queen. Not a predator. He's her protector. A hint of a grin warped the corner of her mouth. He's both.

    Addison's eyes darted back to the dragon-rider and the elder at his side. Her patient expression masked the questions in her mind:

    The queen has two men? If Sneaky McDagger's the dragon-rider instead o' Sir Fancypants, won't this be awkward?
     
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2015
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  8. Tom

    Tom Istar

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    A ripple of disturbance ran through the crowd; something was happening near the front. Troia bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to see what was going on. No luck. She forced her breath out between her clenched teeth in a growl of annoyance and flicked a strand of chestnut-brown hair out of her eyes. Einan looked down at her with one eyebrow cocked.

    "Shut up," she told him, before he could start. "Something's happening."

    Once more she tried to gain some height. Her weather- and wear-hardened leather boots creaked in protest as she strained up on her tiptoes, as high as she dared. For one moment, she caught a glimpse of a red-headed girl standing before Farrun Ramshorn, clad in skins and wearing flowers in her hair. She appeared to be addressing him. That was all Troia saw. Then someone jostled her from behind, and she felt her balance falter. Her head reeling with alarm, she stumbled backwards and slammed against something solid with an oof.

    Whirling, she found herself face-to-face with a young man with dark curls and green eyes. Embarrassment sent a hot surge of blood rushing to her cheeks. "I'm so sorry!"
     
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2015
  9. Ireth

    Ireth Myth Weaver

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    Rikhard stumbled back slightly as a woman in front of him fell into him. He moved to steady her, but she spun around before he could touch her. He blinked as they were suddenly face to face.

    "It's alright," he said as the younger woman flushed scarlet. "No harm done. Do you have any idea what's going on here? I haven't been able to figure out much. Aside from the dragon." Though that was fairly obvious to everyone. Silly to mention it. He looked away, biting his lip.
     
  10. Tom

    Tom Istar

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    Sighing, Troia reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. The embarrassed flush was draining from her cheeks, thank the gods. "Well, the dragonrider Farrun Ramshorn has announced he is proposing an expedition of sorts...to find the last of the dragon eggs, I believe."

    Einan cleared his throat beside her, and she rolled her eyes, but obliged. "Sorry. I'm Troia, and this is Einan. We've come down from the village Firin, in the foothills, to see if we can join Farrun on his journey."
     
  11. Ireth

    Ireth Myth Weaver

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    Rikhard nodded slowly, unsure of what to think. Dragon eggs? That was quite the expedition. Too lofty and important to involve someone like him.

    As Troia introduced herself and her companion, Rikhard glanced between them and responded in kind. "I'm Rikhard. I'm from... nowhere, really." He couldn't even call his parents' island his home, as he'd been born on the open sea. Spent most of his life there, in fact. "I don't exactly know why I'm here."
     
  12. Tom

    Tom Istar

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    "Good to meet you, Rikhard," Einan said. His eyebrows drew together. "'Nowhere'? However do you mean?"

    He thought he knew, though. Not really belonging anywhere...never feeling that you had a real home. Though he loved his parents, and was grateful that they had taken him in and brought him up, he couldn't shake the feeling that Firin wasn't really where he belonged. He was different, after all.

    He covered up his doubts with a smile. "Don't know why you're here? Well, maybe Destiny decided you belonged on this expedition as well, but just didn't bother telling you so."
     
  13. Ireth

    Ireth Myth Weaver

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    Rikhard shrugged one shoulder. "I've been a wanderer since I was born. When you live on the sea, you're never in one place for very long. Every tide, every current takes you somewhere different. Even since coming to the land, I haven't found a home." He'd been lucky enough just to survive. If Caradoc and Eoran hadn't found him...

    He shoved the thought away, listening again to Einan's words. Destiny, huh? "I don't know. I doubt I'd be much use to anyone. Happenings here on the land are as distant to me as the moon." He couldn't say the stars, for he knew those well, having charted them night after night. They always came in their right season, forming familiar patterns. But the moon was a mystery, always changing shape, sometimes hidden completely. Rather like the sea, in fact. He knew the currents and tides, but whatever lay in its depths was far beyond his reckoning.
     
  14. Tom

    Tom Istar

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    "I'm sure you'll find your way in the world," Troia said, smiling.

    Einan nodded silently, wondering what Rikhard's life had been like at sea. "I've never seen the sea in my life."

    Just then, Ari pushed between them and barked at Rikhard. Though he wasn't as familiar with the dogs as Troia, Einan could tell there was no aggression in the sound--it was a short, sharp bark of inquiry. He wasn't sure that Rikhard would make the same distinction, though, so he bent down and tousled Ari's thick ruff. The big sled dog's one true master was Troia, and he adored her above all other people, but he liked Einan well enough. Tail wagging, he nudged his head against Einan's hand.

    "This is Ari, the leader of Troia's sled team." Einan glanced up at Rikhard. "Don't mind his barking; he's perfectly friendly."
     
  15. Ireth

    Ireth Myth Weaver

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    Rikhard looked down as a dog nosed between Einan and Troia and barked at him. He took a step back, unsure of whether the animal was being aggressive. Einan seemed untroubled though, ruffling the dog's fur and introducing it as Ari. Rikhard nodded, relaxing a little, and warily held out a hand for Ari to sniff.
     
  16. Tom

    Tom Istar

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    Ari plunged forward, nose already snuffling the air, but at a quick word from Troia he sat down. He couldn't contain his enthusiasm, however, and he stared up at Rikhard with his tongue out, panting from sheer excitement, tail wagging as hard as Troia had ever seen it. Ari loved meeting new people.

    "All right," she said, once the dog had settled down. He was a big animal, tall as her hip and weighing a hundred pounds or so, and she didn't want him frightening Rikhard. "Gentle, Ari. Gentle."

    He stood up and moved forward with more restraint this time, nosing the hand Rikhard offered him, tail wagging at a slower, more dignified pace. Troia watched with a smile.
     
  17. Nimue

    Nimue Auror

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    Farrun looked over the crowd himself, as the reaction from Thoros's landing quieted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother and brother standing in the shade of the gallery, near the nobles and guildsmen. He grinned at them and Samir grinned back--a sudden unhappy thought came to him, but Farrun turned back to the crowd before he let his smile fade.

    He cleared his throat to speak, but before he could begin, a vivid, shaggy figure pushed her way through the guards. He stared at her, but her face was so open that it was clear she meant no threat. He held out a hand to the guard who looked about to snatch her back. It took a moment for him to understand what she was saying; her accent was as thick as her fiery hair. Caernish, and no mistake. She was wearing a bearskin cloak and bright flowers in her hair--a combination to give any man pause.

    "I am-- I can speak to one dragon," Farrun said, bemused, stepping closer to her to be heard over the crowd. "I don't know about the rest, miss. But, if you're asking me about beastspeaking… You'd as soon get an answer asking a cow how to build a barn. I make use of it, but I'm not certain how it works." Perhaps that was a little unfair to his powers of comprehension, after the lessons he'd had, but-- "You'd better seek out a druid." He glanced back at Eamon, and saw that the old man was watching the Caernishwoman intently.

    He gave her a smile and a firm nod, his brows still crinkled. The guards took the opportunity to usher her back into the crowd. Before anything else could happen, he straightened his shoulders and addressed the people.

    "I will be making a journey to the Dragonbone Mountains." His baritone voice echoed off the austere stone of the castle and the lath-and-plaster of the guild houses that surrounded the square; he had learned how to cast his voice on the battlefield, and it worked just as well over a crowd chattering with excitement and tipsiness. "Seer Eamon has had a vision of those who will travel west with me. He will choose these companions from among you now." A swell of speculation chased through the courtyard. He was careful not to say that they would be choosing dragonrider candidates, for Eamon had said that there was no certainty that they would become riders--but the news that the Queen's men would be looking for dragons and dragon eggs, and people to bond with them, had been running through the Hintercrown like wildfire.

    "Many of you may have heard the rumor of dragons in the west," he went on. From within the crowd, someone shouted "Is it true?"

    Farrun lifted his head, half-smiling. "I cannot say whether these tales are true. But--" He gathered a deep breath. "In time, we will make them true!"

    The crowd roared, happy to be roaring, and Farrun could hear in its voices the effects of the free ale being peddled by the taverns at the far end of the square. He hoped he wouldn't come to regret that pronouncement, but if he was wrong, so were the druids. More strongly, he hoped that there would be some of the good ale left by the time this was over.

    He turned to Eamon as the cheering died away. "Where do we start?" he asked, in a much quieter voice.

    "With her," Eamon replied, pointing one crooked finger at the Caernishwoman.

    "What?" Farrun blurted out. "Really?"

    "Aye, fortunate indeed. Lass, I thank you for coming up, as you've saved me a walk. My knees aren't as good as they used to be. Come on, then." The druid waved the end of his staff at the guardsmen, who slowly parted to let the young woman through.
     
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  18. Legendary Sidekick

    Legendary Sidekick The HAM'ster Moderator

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    Addison had her back to the dragon-rider as the guards were ushering her out. As she looked into the faces of the crowd, to her relief, those nearest paid little mind to her. The words of the dragon-rider filled them with excitement, hope… but Dragonbone Mountain and whatever the Seer saw meant little to her. After all, the odds of her being chosen for the dragon-rider's journey after pulling a stunt like that…

    With me?

    …those odds seemed quite slim until the elder spoke.

    Her emerald eyes widened as she listened to the old man. Eamon. His name is Eamon. She could feel her cheeks flush as the guards parted for her. "Pardon me, gentlemen," she said to the pair that had ushered her away moments ago. "Thank you, sir," she said to the one she snuck by to get close to the dragon-rider. When she stood face to face with Eamon, she put a little more effort into the curtsy. Still mucked it up.

    "Eamon, is it? Well, I ain't much of a curtsier, but if it's a Huntress you're looking for, then I'm your girl." Addison looked up at the dragon. Right in the eye. Stop saying 'if' you dummy.

    Facing the elder again, she went on, "Well, seeing how you've invited me, I guess that makes me your girl already, don't it? Addison Lane at your service, then." She offered Eamon her arm. "If you mean to look for others, I mean to take a load off your knees if you'll take me arm."
     
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2015
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  19. Ireth

    Ireth Myth Weaver

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    Rikhard held still as Ari approached him, and waited until the dog had nosed his hand before slowly moving it up to rub the top of his head. A smile tugged at Rikhard's mouth. "Good boy."
     
  20. Gryphos

    Gryphos Auror

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    Bendalitz listened to Farrun's speech with a hand stroking his beard. How very interesting, to search for dragons in the mountains. He'd often found himself considering such a journey anyway. But surely better to do so with a dragonrider at your side. Assuming Bendalitz was picked, of course.

    "Well, who'd have thunk it?" he said to himself as the Caernishwoman was picked. He reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out some parchment, along with a quill and inkwell, which he rested on the window ledge near him. He hurriedly dipped the quill in ink and went about noting down the features of the Caernishwoman, only physical features, for the rest would come later. No need to write a section for Farrun – he'd spent eight years in his proximity, and someone like Farrun is difficult to forget.
     
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