A Fae, A Warrior and a... What is That Thing!?

(Closed)



Father Learing sighed. His neck hurt, his eyes stung and the ink pot he dipped his quill into made a rather ominous sound. Reaching forward and wrapping his stiff fingers around the dirty little pieces of glass, he found his assumption true and dutifully saw the bottom of the pot. This would have to wait for the morning. The only people still awake at this time of night were those too gone within their drinks to help him. Besides, no respectful Father of the Church would dare be seen in such a hovel as this. In fact he wouldn’t even be here if not for Decan Carthwright.

The Decan in question happened to be in his room at this time, soundly sleeping away the dangers and colds of this harsh winter night. The man was oblivious to the writings of Father Learing, or the soldiers downstairs, drinking away their meagre earnings on bad ale and even worse food. Like most lands, this tiny, northern village felt the strangle of the war and the harsh times. The food here happened to be despicable. Father Learing had eaten better in the homes of the poorest of the poor, for at least their food had some kind of taste to it. The drivel here tasted like ash in his mouth and barely filled the empty space in his stomach. The meals they had received on their travels had been no different and Father Learing knew he had lost a substantial amount of weight over the last three weeks. The robes he wore no long clung to his already small frame, instead they hung off him like dead weight, some ironic twist really.

Scraping the legs of the chairs against the old, splintered wood of the floor, Father Learing rose and stretched his tired muscles. Five days they had been here, five day. Hopefully they would leave soon. Hopefully they’d find what they needed soon. As long as he could go back to the city it didn’t matter to him. Most of this war didn’t matter to him. He only found himself on one side of it because of his faith and his position. Some say he should be more passionate about fighting and defending that faith and religion. He just thought his time better spent elsewhere. No one else needed to know that, especially the church.

Moving across the barren room, Father Learing carried his lamp and set it down on the stained table by the bed. He ripped back the blankets and beat at the straw mattress, trying to drive out any bugs that might think this place such a haven. In the end he never did get them all and woke up twice during the night to feel their tiny, sharp teeth piercing into his skin. He could only beat at the mattress and roll over, going back to sleep and ignoring the boisterous sounds from downstairs. The man of faith started to pray then, to give those soldiers a headache unlike any other.

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As it happened, those soldiers were oblivious to the spiteful prayers of the Father above them, too enraptured they were by a small, red headed girl and the tale she told them. She had a certain amount of appeal to her, especially with that fiery red hair of hers and golden eyes. She just happened to be too slim for his tastes. He preferred his women to feel soft underneath him. This one would feel like bones, besides she looked so frail any man would worry about hurting her.

“You were really involved in the NWO war against Imperial?” Aesics asked as he looked over her puny form thoughtfully. She didn’t look bad; she just looked like a child, though he knew she must be older than that considering the Tavern let her drink.

“Of course I was!” She told him in the high and smoothly accented voice of hers.

He noticed she only sounded like a child when she became excited by something, otherwise her voice actually reflected a woman who had the experience of a few years. Maybe it had something to do with her race. She certainly didn’t even try or pretend to be human, in fact he’d have to be blind and stupidly drunk not to notice the shimmering wings accompanying her back.

“I was in charge of half the Imperial army when we were transported to a pre-arranged arena—that happened to be a frozen lake with some ancient citadel ruins on it, kind of fitting in a way. Anyway, the whole thing quickly erupted into chaos and I realized that Godhand and Jame Kaosi were on the NWO team. Of course I co—”

“You know Godhand and Jame Kaosi?” Aesics asked, completely dumbfounded.

Now he knew she had to be lying to him. No one knew those two. They were legends. Men told stories about seeing their shadows in the crowded streets of Radasanth, but no one boasted knowing them. And no one boasted about being in the NWO wars. Still, her story intrigued him and he didn’t really want her to stop. It just seemed like such a fable. How could this young woman have been involved in a war? Maybe she was a mage and had access to vast amounts of power he could only dream of. In that case, he better be careful around her.

“Yeah, I met up with Jame in Concordia, when we were trapped in an ancient and evil village that wanted to eat our souls and I met Godhand when I saved his life.”

Aesics’ just nodded his head and looked over to Drascin who hadn’t said much of anything since this woman had joined them. In fact he mostly just kept staring at her, watching all of her movements as if he were trying to find something.

“So when I realized that Godhand and Jame were part of NWO, I knew I couldn’t really fight against them, well not really.” She paused and took a long drink from her mug, making Aesics wonder how her small frame could hold so much alcohol. “Luckily they were fighting away from me for pretty much the entire ordeal so I didn’t have to do battle with them. I did attack a rather cute looking man with sharp teeth named Dan Lagh’ratham though.”

Drascin almost choked on his ale.

“And you lived to talk about it?” The soldier’s rough voice spat out.

“Yep, he said I wasn’t worth the trouble and left me alone. The whole battle went by rather quickly though. In the end I didn’t do much other than heal Godhand and distract a few people, but Godhand seemed rather appreciate of me being there, so as long as I helped it’s the only thing that mattered. I did come away with a bruised jaw though. I slid into and tackled some old man who happened to be attacking my bodyguard. After I knocked him down he punched me across the face, it really hurt and Godhand didn’t seem too happy about it when he found out.”

Aesics didn’t really know what to make of her story. The old man she mentioned must be Teric Bloodrose. He had been the only ‘old man’ in that war. For someone up there in the years, he was quite nimble and strong, and apparently didn’t have any qualms about hitting women according to her. If she had been part of Imperial, she seemed not to care at all that they had lost the battle, instead she seemed thrilled that NWO had won. Could he even believe what she told him? The whole thing seemed highly unlikely, though she appeared to know everyone that was there. Maybe it had happened. He knew stranger things went on in Althanas.

The wind outside was biting cold. It was as if a thousand wolves were trying to eat MetalDrago alive. He walked on, however, unable to do much of anything else. The Salvarn arctic temperatures were almost too much for the former being of fire to stand. He almost cursed N'Jal for locking away his ability to create fire at will. He could sense her laughter in his mind. Was this another part of her plan for him? He'd lost all of his original powers in the transformation into the man he was right now, and he'd yet to discover any new powers. It was a bit unnerving, to say the least, that he was unable to fight using the magical powers he'd spent most of his life to learn. As the snow ripped at him, trying desperately to steal the very warmth of life from his body.

He came up upon an inn of some sort. The outside was covered by the fallen snow. The ancient wood of the establishment was impeccable, by a normal person's perspective. MetalDrago sighed. A place that still looked this good wouldn't be anywhere near his father's lost sword.

“Damn...” he said as he walked up to the front door. It was unfortunate, but there seemed to be some sort of party taking place within the establishment itself. It almost sounds like... He thought as he opened the door. Dammit... I was right.

Soldiers having a night out... That's exactly what it was. This was not going to be the peaceful night of rest that MetalDrago had hoped for. To get any amount of decent rest, he was going to have to sleep in by a few hours, but his dark purpose wouldn't allow it. He had to find that sword, which meant spending as much time in daylight as possible. He wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to wield it, but it would definitely be an asset it he could. He tried to remember what he could of the sword through the ruckus as he sat down on a comfortable, high-backed stool. He looked around, taking in the sights around him. The place was well-furnished, well supplied, and most of all, warm. He shuddered as he thought once again about the cold outside.

MetalDrago sighed. Such a beautiful inn, not only out in the middle of nowhere on a Thayne-forsaken road, but also infested with soldiers. It seemed, however, that these soldiers were working for the Church of the Ethereal Sway... St. Denebriel was working her magic even out here, it seemed. I wonder what they're looking for. MD wondered idly to himself. The scholar within him was beginning to grow restless, and curious.

It was at that moment that MetalDrago's ears picked up a woman's voice among the rambling, boisterous soldiers. She was telling stories of some war with a group known as the New World Order, which MetalDrago had only heard of in third- and fourth-hand accounts. To think that a woman, no more than a girl, had taken part in the wars. He wasn't quite as disbelieving as the general was. He'd fought, quite recently, with a being that looked and sounded like no more than a child, and came close to defeating himself and another Dark Paladin known as Lorenor.

Fingering his sword, he became lost in his own thoughts. What he was thinking about, more than anything else, was the sword his father had wielded, the Sword of Mind's Poison. It wasn't called that for no reason. A mad smith had forged it from the souls of a thousand dying soldiers, and then turned around and infused it with his own soul, killing himself in the process. The sword was a living embodiment of madness, and the reason MetalDrago's own father had been as evil and unforgiving as he had been. But that was not what was at the forefront of the Dragonian Paladin's mind. What was on his mind was the question of whether or not he would succumb to the madness of the sword.

If he did not succumb, he would become a more powerful warrior by at least two-fold. It he did succumb, he'd still be more powerful, but he'd lose his very sense of self. It was a very dangerous track he was wondering down. He was not happy at all to be in this situation, but he was not about to abandon the sword he wanted more than any other in the world.

“Damn my father for putting it up here.” He growled to himself.

As he did so, his mind returned to the here-and-now. The room suddenly seemed ten times quieter than it had been when he walked in. Apparently the girl's story had caught some admirers or something else of the sort. MetalDrago listened intently, as he believed she couldn't be lying. He didn't know why, but there was something about her that made it harder for him to believe she was lying than it was to believe she was telling the truth.

Once she was pretty much done with her story, the paladin sat back in his seat and waited silently. He was going to get a room soon enough, but for now, it was better to watch and wait, to see what was going on. He was not likely to be allotted a bed, at any rate, as long as there were soldiers stationed in the inn.

“Just another unfortunate turn after another...” he said, almost silently.

At this point, most of the tavern lay in silence. A few conversations drifted from the recesses of the farther booths and tables, too lost in their own meanderings to bother with what was going on. However, most of the soldiers not even initially involved in the conversation, had gravitated towards Lasair’s meagre table. They were enthralled by her story of the New World Order’s war. Aesics had not even realized it until she had stopped talking. If she noticed, she made no sign of it. Maybe the young lady was used to having an audience captivated by her soft voice and interesting tales.

“You said you saved Godhand,” Drascin grumbled, “Just how did you accomplish that?”

He seemed far less interested in her answer than Aesics knew he was. The man rarely talked. When he asked questions, he wanted to know the answer to them, now. Military leaders tended to have that frame of mind.

“Oh, well...”

All the soldiers around them seemed to suddenly lean in closer, waiting, trying to anticipate what she would say next.

“I found him in a pond.” She told them, a slight blush beginning to colour her cheeks. If Aesics didn’t know better, he bet her relationship with Godhand—if there really was a relationship—was far closer than simple friendship. “He had been shot and was in rather bad shape. My sister and I took him back to our house in Donnalaich and treated him for days. Eventually the guys who initially hurt him came back to finish the job, but Godhand kicked their butts in. Then... he left. I didn’t get the chance to see him again until the war and I haven’t really seen him since.”

She looked down, her eyes memorizing the lines and knots and defects in the table top. She missed him. But she wasn’t going to let that get her down! Taking a long drink from her mug, Lasair glanced around the room, noticing something she never thought she’d see all the way out here, a Draconian! He was just as far away from the familiar swamps, forests and mountains of home as she was. Oh, she wondered what he was doing all the way out here.

“So how’d you come to be in Imperial?”

“Oh, that’s an easy question to answer, I was kidnapped.” Lasair said rather absently. Her eyes still had not left the Draconian on the other side of the room. In fact she was barely even paying attention to the soldiers now.

“You were kidnapped?” one of them asked incredulously. She thought it sounded like Aesics.

Without notice, Lasair jumped down from the chair. Her tiny feet made barely an audible sound of the scuffed and stained hardwood floor.

“H-hey, where are you going?”

She ignored the sticky substance on the bottom of her feet like she ignored the soldiers. With a bounce and a bright smile, she headed over to the table with the lone Draconian. The eyes of the soldiers, confused beyond action, followed her.
“Hi, Mr. Draconian!” She said in her usually cheerful tone.

Pulling out a chair, she quickly sat across from him, before he could protest of course. She didn’t recognize him, but there were plenty of Draconians out there that she didn’t know. Dheathain was not a very small place. In fact it was far bigger than Salvar.

“It’s so cool to find a Draconian here in Salvar!” She spoke so fast as to give no one any chance to intercede, until she stopped at least. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? I mean, I got here completely by accident but it would take me a while to explain it and I don’t really think you want to hear about it. Though if you really do I’ll gladly tell you! You must really be missing Dheathain right about now, I know—wait a minute.”

She stopped in the middle of her tirade, her golden eyes fixed on the face of the man across from her. Standing up, she leaned across the table until her face was merely an inch away from his.

“You’re not a Draconian at all!”

Drawing her brows together in confusion, the small Fae moved only slightly away from the man before her. He almost looked like a Draconian, but his eyes were completely different. Draconians only had one eye colour, black, and it consumed their entire eye, not just the normal area that most people had colours in their eyes.

“But... there’s dragon in you... isn’t there?” She could feel it, though she may just be mistaken. “If you’re not a Draconian, then what are you?”

The last question was more to herself than him, for she appeared to be lost within herself as she examined him like something would a pretty object.

MetalDrago listened to her story as she continued to make her incredible claims, all of which seemed so unlikely that they couldn't be false. This woman was interesting all right. She had so many things that had happened to her, each so weird as to be unbelievable, even to a former 'hero' who had become a paladin of N'Jal, the greatest being of darkness on Althanas.

When he heard her say she was kidnapped, his interest was piqued, but then... she saw him. She walked over to him, taking easy steps through the entire jostle of soldiers, to sit next to him. The Paladin watched her movements with something akin to mild interest. She sat down across from him, identifying him at first with a Draconian, the type of beings he was mostly confused with. But then... Then something impossible happened; something he knew was impossible, but it happened anyway. She figured out he wasn't a Draconian, but something else entirely.

MetalDrago scratched his claws across the wooden surface of the table in between them. “You're very observant for someone who seems to be so child-like.” he said simply. His violet eyes gazed into hers curiously. She was intelligent, true, but there was something else about her. Oh well. Who cares? She might prove to be mildly diverting when it comes down to it. He thought.

"You are correct. I am not, as you say, a Draconian. I'm a half-breed. My... father was a Draconian, my mother human.” MetalDrago stared down at his own crimson scales and grimaced. He'd changed so much in such a short amount of time. He barely remembered his mother or his father, as it had been almost two millennium since he had seen his mother, and over a single millennium since he had seen his father.

A bitter feeling welled up within him as he thought about his mother's face. Though his devotion to N'Jal was now his greatest concern, it still pained him to think of how quickly his own mother had gotten sickly and died. Such short lives humans live... I still miss her, even after all this time. In all honesty, there was no way he couldn't. Over time, the pain had slowly dimmed to a mere figment of a memory, but it was still there, and it was unlikely that he was going to stop missing her any time in the near future.

He felt a mild rage beginning to build up inside him. He felt something more than mere anger, this was the cold, calculating evil that only welled up within him when he was remembering things that sparked his hatred. Dark Paladin or not, he was still capable of loving someone else, and of being protective of them, only it was harder now than ever to do so. The Darkness acted as a wall between himself and others, and kept most it was possible to care for out.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he said, “My name is MetalDrago Scorpio. It's... a pleasure to meet you.” He felt something different about this girl, something he'd never felt before. “You... know about my father's people, don't you?”

Lasair smiled at the man before her. She had been right! There was dragon within him. Only half the amount that a regular Draconian had, which probably made sense considering the way he looked. She couldn’t see all of him, mind you that would require him to take off all his clothes, which might not be a bad thing entirely. Then she could really see all the differences between a regular Draconian and a half human, half Draconian breed. Maybe she’d ask him later, she hoped he wouldn’t turn her down. She couldn’t see why after all, she just wanted to study him. Besides, most men she knew had no problem taking off their clothes.

“Of course I know Draconians! I’ve lived beside them all my life in Dheathain, it’s the Draconians home region as well as my own. Not to mention my best friend is a Draconian, I’ve known him for a very, very long time. And when I mean long, I mean longer than a regular human’s life.” He told him. “I am not child-like, I am a grown woman of 86.”

Most of the soldiers had gone back to their own discussions at this point. They’d realized that her attention was elsewhere and no more interesting stories were going to be shared for the time being. There would always be tomorrow night after all. However, Aesics had still been mildly interested in the young woman, at least he thought she was a young woman. Now he had no idea what he thought about her. After all, she just claimed to be the age of 86. That was certainly longer than he suspected he’d live, as she mentioned herself. Most humans don’t live that long.

He knew there were races out there that lived far longer than any human could ever hope to. The snobbish elves were a good example of this. But could the excited almost girl-like person who had been telling him fantastic stories only minutes ago truly be one of those races? He didn’t see why not. He had no proof otherwise.

Leaning back in his chair, Aesics took a long drink from his glass and continued to watch her.

“So if your dad was a Draconian then he must have grown up in Dheathain. Did you grow up there or have you ever even seen the place? Most Draconians hate humans so I’m surprised that your dad was able to get past that and stay with your mother. Though I’ve known a few humans and I bet if even half the Draconian population just sat back and talked with them they’d realize they’re not really that bad. Sure they live really short lives, which would be hard for our races since we live so long... but if you love someone, then you love them, right?”

Once again, Lasair was talking to MetalDrago without giving him a moment to even answer any of her questions.

“Oh, and I just realized I haven’t even told you my name. I’m Lasair Anubail, I run a Synthesis Shop back in Donnalaich but I’m on an adventure right now. So what are you doing in this place?”

MetalDrago was surprised by the young woman's intensive knowledge about the Draconian race. He was unsure as to her loyalties to anyone else in this world, but she seemed like a very nice person. The voice of the dark goddess within him, N'Jal, began to rise up within him, telling him that this woman could prove to be useful to him, and he had to agree. She knew a lot about his father's race, and so it turned out that she might be able to teach him a lot about himself.

“Eighty-six years old? You're right. You are old, compared to most humans. But still, you make me feel like an old man, talking to someone a mere twentieth of his age.”

His eyes flitted across the room, surveying the eyes of all the soldiers who were still looking at them, either in curiosity, hatred, or a little bit of both. It was at that moment that his own orchid eyes caught those of Aesics, the man who had been spending the entire time surveying him. Maybe he will be of use to me later. He seems exceedingly observant, but perhaps he is my key to entering St. Denebriel's Cathedral on good terms... a way of joining.

The paladin watched Lasair, as she had named herself, silently as she continued to talk to him in her excited, somewhat rushed voice. He may have been mistaken, but it seemed she was almost afraid he was some kind of figment of her imagination. Considering she had been spending so much time in Salvar, this was hardly a surprise, though. Being mostly inhabited by humans, the frozen wastes of Salvar did not seem the most hospitable for other races.

“I'm here... on a mission, or sorts. And about my father being in love with my mother... I'm not entirely sure that was the case. When my parents conceived me, he left, only to return about twenty-five years later to steal me from her. When I refused to go with him, he left, seemingly irritated about something...” MetalDrago shrugged as he mentioned his father's irritation, the black cloak on his back falling down over his clawed hands as a result. As an afterthought, he said, “Oh... Please be careful with this cloak. It's a part of me, so to speak.”

With that, the corrupted being stood up and and said, “If you excuse me, it's likely best we go to sleep. I have a mission to complete, and you look like you could use the rest. Please, excuse me.” He walked over to the innkeeper, who told him that the soldiers had been ordered to sleep in the common room, and that he could have one of the rooms in the far back, to avoid the commotion. She gave him a luminescent silver key, which only strengthened the notion that this place was not created to house soldier, but more likely the merchant elite.

He walked to the back, found the door that matched the number on the key. It seemed to be a suite of some kind, with a beautiful white oak inlay over the red mahogany beneath. He walked in, shrugged off what clothing he could, and fell asleep almost instantly.