The Endless War. (Open)

[Mutant_Lorenor]

((If you're interested in joining this thread look here . Moderator notes: This quest takes place in the PAST with my last incarnation of Lorenor))

****Prologue****

As an encounter, the boy thought it a strange thing. Somehow, the creature knew his name and called it out as a curse. Initially approaching the boy and his fellow group of Spartan Warriors was a lad of average height. Noticing that the lad was a human disturbed the boy and his companions greatly. For what humans venture out into the Haidian wilderness on their own? Lorenor's companions detected something bizarre about the stranger that the boy failed to detect. Far too late, the boy realized the trick that lurked within the stranger. His companions abandoned the young immortal to take care of his own problems. Alone now, the boy stared at the stranger. He felt a certain level of power erupting from The Harrow. The Symbiote within the boy called out to him a name. A name of a devil lurking in human form. The battle commenced, fast and fierce. Lorenor felt an incorporeal force burning at his very Atma. Invisible hands grabbed at his person, even with the help of his organic armor wrapped about his skin. The living protector wrapping itself around his person.

Tossing his body around like nothing more than dead weight, the boy began to panic for his very existence. He looked around to find his companions, but none were there to help him from the unseen foe. A burning wind seemed to come alive to torment the young immortal. It grasped at him and flung him about to and fro. With no-one to help him, the boy did the only thing he thought of doing. The Harrow made no attempt at communication, it simply threw its hatred upon the young immortal. As a Spartan Warrior, the boy attempted to fight in every-way he could. Nothing he did physically affected the creature and he knew that death was moments away. In an act of sheer hysteria, the boy bit out at the incorporeal presence. It was a moment of complete madness. Biting down upon the energetic matter, the boy felt a harsh burning something leaking its essence into his skull. The boy felt like he was on fire, but he knew he passed on his secret to the creature. The thing suddenly tossed the boy several yards away into the wilderness.

What Lorenor didn't see was the reaction the techno-virus had upon The Harrows' host. Momentarily fizzling into physical reality, the incorporeal being became trapped inside a physical shell once more. With the boy's genetic information passed from host to host, the techno-virus started to take effect on The Harrow. A howl of agony and pain touched the boys' ears, even from his current position of several yards away. The Harrow wrapped itself in its physical vessel and ran off into the wild to stalk other prey forgetting about Lorenor for the time being. With several burn marks upon his person, the boy screamed in agony himself attracting the attention of his nearby companions. It turned out they hadn't retreated at all, but fought against several other creatures bearing similar traits of The Harrow. The things retreated into the wild when their leader retreated. This foreshadowed a greater threat that lurked in the wilderness, one that tormented the Vampire Nation for many moons.

***********************************

****I**** (Note: We are all together already)


The boy shivered. Weeks passed since the incident with The Harrow occurred but the boy still felt bitterness. In that one moment his faith in his fellow Spartan Warriors diminished greatly leaving an emptiness in the boys' heart. Lorenor watched the fire of the small encampment reading the notice from Alerar. Once, back in the day, the boy served an ancient Power Group that made its way out of Alerar. That was ancient history though. He looked at the official documentation handed to him by the Spartan Warrior who was his commander. Twenty heads lurked in the squadron now. Including Lorenor and the others hired for this mission. They were investigating something that The Elders called The Endless. Entire squads of their legions vanished seemingly overnight at the hands of this new threat. The primary mission of the mercenary group seemed the acquisition of the truth. Samples of The Endless might bring more money and rewards. Still though, when he looked at the notice sent by David Finch of the Alerar Secret Ops, the boy wished he was back there now. One of his current companions came from Alerar apparently and he looked over to the lad, nodding calmly.

Despite their best efforts, the vampires were unable to heal the mysterious burn-marks The Harrow left behind. He rubbed the one on his right forearm frequently since the pain burned freshly. The sting of betrayal in the boys' heart somehow amplified the pain.

[Of Water, Scales and Claw]

Took me a bit, hope this is okay for a start ^^

“Stop it.”
A hiss with a lash as for the umpteenth time Skeedara tells off her mate and consort for fiddling with his armoury. Armoury that admittedly she doesn’t find comfortable herself, but tolerates for the simple reason that neither Skuugra’s scales are anywhere near as strong as the metal work currently covering their hides. For what this job is, having suitable protection is preferable.

“It is free. It will protect us better than our own scales currently. You will stop scratching at it.”
A snarl, a hiss and a slap of scale on scale as Whitecap has his head battered once more. “Stop it.”

Really, it’s not nearly so bad as the male keeps making out. The metal smiths had done as best they could working around the less than human figures of the Sea Queen’s children. It’s not so often that one gets to design armour for something that already has a natural abundance to begin with.

Both Skuugra had been less than impressed when it was put to them that they would have to wear such things to go along with the quest. Also ontop of that it had taken more than a few hours to get it all worked out that no, the waterdragon’s would not not be keeping the armour, and that only a very small portion of the reward would be claimed in compensation for the time and metals required to make the suits. If they were damaged/lost, then well, it’d be a larger portion of the reward, but still not so much as to mean they shouldn’t accept the offer. Especially considering recent circumstances that mean neither Skuugra are in top form in any respect.

So here the they both are, kitted out in recently made suits of mythril that covers not just chest, back, sides, but the reptile’s long sinuous necks and tails, plates over shoulders and down slender arms as well as down haunches to the massively clawed feet. Whitecap still claims the leather hide belt around his waist with various pouches and bits hanging off it that makes up the two’s meagre possessions. Added to their assortment of armour and travel gear, both Skuugra have acquired some temporary weapons.

Both had accepted metal spurs to their shingaurds and plates, weapons that worked rather well with their brawling style of fighting. For the same reason both have had their already considerably sharp claws plated with the metal, small bolts run through the natural slicers to keep the metal in place. Whitecap had attempted a similar thing with his teeth, but the fact they just fell out or splintered put both off trying further. That their teeth grow and fall out like a shark’s , meant it really wasn’t such a bother.

Skeedara also claims a modified set of brass knuckles. They’re pretty much embedded into her hands now that they’ve had a week to heal in. The Skuugra’s main issue with the things having been that her species has strong webbing between each finger and had had to be punctured to allow the things around her knuckles. She’d been quite adamant though that she would heal perfectly fine and that as long as they had a hinge clasp that was what she wanted. Thusly that’s what she got.

Whitecap had been a little more agreeable with being outfitted. He’d accepted two hand blades as well to try swinging about and slicing with. With no previous skill or practice it’s pretty much just been the trial and error between receiving them and now. That few of the softskins have been willing to play target practice to the considerably larger scaled one hasn’t improved matters. No matter, he’ll work it out. Pointy end goes in the opponent, right? Just like with claws and teeth.

The two Skuugra stand out from the rest of the party. Among the collection of softskins. the seven foot tall, fourteen foot long reptilian monsters really don’t blend in very well. Not that they care. They’ve been recruited, they’re going to be paid. They’ve more than right enough to be here.. well, sort of.
Both are muddied shades of bluegrey along limbs and back, with a coarse bone white shading from chin, along the belly all the way until the fluked tail. Head crests with three spikes either side of the face and one sprouting back central on their head past a solid flat surface that one assumes can be used for skullbashing. Skeedara’s cresting is slightly less elaborate than Whitecap’s. There’s finned ears that flicker now and then placed behind the middle side horn, both a little tattered but still highly alert. Short muzzles that hold more teeth than any of the softskins are likely to think practical, all facing backwards, serrated and horribly sharp. Long whiskers also sprout from just behind the small upturned nostrils down part way the length of their upper jaws. Black and twitching one would think that so close to those mess of teeth the Skuugra would bite them, but no they don’t.

The main distinction between one and the other is that Skeedara is a couple of inches shorter than her mate and that Whitecap has a more obvious meaning behind his name. The male Skuugra’s face and crest are both splashed a distinctly white colouring. Otherwise they both hold the same stature and body shape. There is no mammalian distinction of male and female. Both appear to be exactly the same, whatever sex that may be.

Really, it’s luck these two happen to be here of all places, among this lot. Outcasts due to circumstances neither is inclined to disclose to others, the Skuugra are very far from their southern ocean home. Few, maybe two, three, would even know of what the creatures are past big, scaly, fierce and possibly aquatic. Not a species seen often, especially upon any sort of main land, they tend to be known through more in the way of legend or tales. Except of course for those few lucky souls who tempt to cross their watery territories or live upon the coasts that border them. Then those lucky ones know very well that Skuugra are large vicious sea monsters that enjoy raiding and terrorizing any who come within what they claim as theirs. They keep to a tribal nature with a very aggressive, warrior mentality and generally aren’t impressed by much more than show of strength.

Good timing put these two within a town where a recruiter was looking for those willing to join this folly. One that heard of them currently passing through and after viewing a brawl decided that could they be persuaded he’d much like them to join. It had been surprisingly easy for the man, Skeedara was becoming bored and Whitecap knew the use of accepting tradable goods and thusly they were roped in.

“Can I –“

“No,” Skeedara cuts off her mate before he tries another oft repeated train of thought. “You can not take the armour off. Do you want to have one of those softskins crawling all over your scales putting it back on again?”


Whitecap grunts. Personally he’s not bothered so much. It’s only Skeedara who thinks humans and humankin are such horrible, pointless, worthless creatures. He’s seen them do some impressive things and there’s more than one he’s got some respect for. Plus, really, she needs to lighten up. He wont forget any bits this time, truly.

Maybe he’ll just go for a wander and see what the softskins are doing. Find out what’s to happen next. That might put Skeedara in a better mood. It’d also help him practice some more Common, it’s not quite the same as his more familiar Southern Trader, but it’s close enough that he can follow and speak enough that there can be a general meaning passed between himself and others. A lot better than Skeedara’s managing, she doesn’t even have that to build off. She’s floundering trying to grasp meaning in the squeaks uttered from the softskins. It’s nothing like their own guttural, hissy, native language. The one they’ve been using to communicate with each other the whole time. He hasn’t been able to convince her that perhaps she should practice the sounds he’s trying to teach her. No, instead she’s just making him do it.
He’s the one who has to stand there and translate between her and the softskins in charge as best he can manage and take her wrath when the point gets lost in the translation.

Yes. Maybe he will.

There’s a couple of the softskins who aren’t too bad. One even let him throw him around the other day until they were told off for allowing ‘the monster to play with it’s food’. Just because he would of been perfectly happy to of eaten the fallen man if he did die, didn’t mean Whitecap was actively pursuing such matters. He was just trying out the metal skin and weapons and seeing what the softskin could do.

Still, there’s some who don’t actively ignore him and then those that will even attempt to speak to him, so long as he doesn’t seem inclined to ‘play’ with them. He does have to keep reminding himself that the softskins are just that and not his own kind, who aren’t bothered by more rough kinds of treatment. So all he has to do is find one that's not busy.. and as long as Skeedara's got something going on that doesn't require him, he should be fine. He presumes anyway.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Re-cap;

To say that the encampment was busy probably seemed like the understatement of the century. Many tents with busy soft-skin vampire-kin decorated the Haidia-landscape. Cleared of any unwanted undergrowth of vegetation, the large area of caverns was specially outfitted for the camp's structure. Many tents and small buildings cropped up while the busy immortals worked. It was an extension of the arm of the Vampire Nation. Many of the large tents bore flags bearing the insignias and emblems of the vampire nation. The two dragon-kind stood out like mithril gem-stones in the cavern walls of the deeper portions of Haidia.

By now, several large buildings stood in the encampment. Many of these owning specific purposes attached to them. One of the large buildings seemed to be a military tactics building. The leaders of the Vampire Nation often gathering together in order to attempt to review the information on The Endless. Sporadic field reports came in from the front-lines as The Endless were engaged in battle by the Vampire Nations' fiercest Spartan Warriors. Of these, a young commander named Lorenor observed his mercenary group by one of the particularly larger tents. This tent was closer to the front-lines bearing the soldiers preparing themselves for the battle.

Several large squadrons already headed off for the front-lines keeping their supply chains in check. Or at least attempting to. The Endless were such a dangerous enemy that no wounded returned from the vampires' side. They had to use dangerous tactics to be rid of units that once were allies, brothers, fathers, uncles, sons. The Vampires looked after one another since they were a rare peoples as well.

Lorenor sat near a fire as he contemplated strategem. One of the big dragons that joined the group walked over to the encampment. The boy looked up at the dragon and nodded at him with great respect. At least, he assumed that was the male. The two dragons had unique genders but the boy still had trouble discerning them. That one that approached seemed to be the friendlier of the duo, White-Cap as the others in his squad called him. The boy rubbed his arm again in pain nodding with a deep respect to the dragon-kind. He knew of their ferocious breath-weapons. Several warriors gathered around the fire waiting for the chain of command to send their order to go. They were the next squadron to be sent to battle after all.

All the field reports looked grim. As the dead and dying grew in numbers, the boy's face had deep concern written all over it for his allies. He didn't want anymore people needlessly dying. But The Endless seemed like a vile and mysterious enemy. He held his mithril sword in his hands, earned from previous operations and hoped it might be enough to stop this new enemy. A lot of the field reports felt like they were wild stories. Still though, the loss of good men was too real a truth to ignore.

"How do you do this night, brother dragon?" The boy said as he looked over to White-cap's person.

[Of Water, Scales and Claw]

Lil character note in relation to your previous post. They're waterdragon decendents, not your typical dragon, so they don't have breath powers. Really, they're just big and scaly with teeth and claws and use a brawling style of battling ^^ And sorry about the slow post, I didn't realise you'd responded so quick x.X

Skeedara has decided to leave Whitecap alone. Busy with her own contemplations as she stands to the edge of their camp watching out over the lines of soldiers elsewhere in the large encampment. So very, very many softskins. This is hundreds more than she’d thought had even existed, thousands even. With all the bodies that have passed through, that mill about the rest of the camp, the water dragon never thought there could be so many soft skins, not by along shot. But she supposes it’s not so surprising, there are so many of her own kind and others within the sea, it stands to reason there should be vast amounts of life on the land. Still, that there is so many of them, it’s mind numbing.

That there’s this many and more on the world above and now all these below, well. The Skuugra once matriarch is quite glad she never had ambitions past her own watery realm, the costs of her own kinds lives for fighting such a force, really not worth the effort. Not that such an idea would ever of crossed her mind, what does a water based creature want with the realm of the land anyway?

She continues to watch, keeping out of the way and using her superior height and senses to track the coming and goings of the different bodies around her. She doesn’t know who the majority of the figures are, for the most part they all come off the same to her, just like a shoal of fish she’d hunt in the sea. Occasionally there’s a flash of colour, a symbol or something else that makes one stand out among the many, but still, most mean nothing to her. A couple she recognises though. Special metal scaling, with ornamentation not shared by others, the flare of red colouring. They’re important, many keeping close to the larger tents where the softskins who lead keep themselves. Protectors of those who give the orders, a standard requirement of any fighting force really, especially one camped like this.

The stench of fleshy bodies, the sounds of the crowd, the hustle and bustle she ignores as in the distance a blur moves, scattering those around them as someone is charging through the camp towards one of the main tents. They’re obviously not an enemy, they’re not being stopped or fought on their way through the masses. Interest gained Skeedara perks her earfins, head arching around on that long supple neck to follow the movement. Hmn. Now what’s this going to mean for times ahead?

~

Whitecap admirers some of the nearby tents as he makes his way to the group of softskins. Really, the things are a bit of a marvel. The softskin notion of needing protection all the time, no matter where really is quite novel to the Skuugra, a creature who for it’s life prefers the open sea but for when resting when underwater caverns suffice. To take shelters with you, to create them, to make them so that you can carry them about, put them up and take them down, well, that’s just something so completely unnatural for his kind to contemplate. Then again his is a warrior race that lives on what it finds as opposed to carry.

Fire, earth, flesh, sweat, fear, all scents and sounds all around him. By now he’s used to it. You live with the softskins for any amount of time and their tartly dirt and sweat strong smells become second nature, you still notice it, but it’s ignorable among all the other smells. The earthliness of everything, that’s something a little different to your typical softskin dwellings. Being here, in this underground realm, it’s like permanently being within the rest caves of the sea, but minus the salt and damp, so really it is quite different. Still, the enclosed feeling isn’t quite as bad as some might think, the fact his senses can’t discern the distance to the heavens or the walls beyond, that they’re just meaningless depth helps.

Back to the softskins though, that’s what he’d come to look at wasn’t it? Not think on his current surroundings. Red wine coloured eyes scan the group surrounding the fire, his ‘companions’ in this company of mercenaries. Really, they’re okay, for softskins. He’s encountered worse, some better, true, but mostly worse.

He looks them over mildly, able to actually discern their mild differences, to pick this lot from mounds of others that make up the camp, unlike his mate. A previous history of mixed land and sea living means the male Skuugra has better relations in everything softskin over Skeedara. Distinguishing, habitual behaviour, language, all those various little things that make interaction that bit easier. Of course, that’s not to say he knows everything, a lot of the more subtle nuances of softskin kind is beyond him, as it is for any creature made to understand another race.

One of the softskins speaks to him, the commander of this little group, young but assumedly competent for his position. Skuugra as a species don’t distinguish by age so much, well, not past being small means you get beaten by the bigger creatures. You can be old or young or anywhere in between to have a position of power within their society, you just have to be able to get it in the first place and then manage to keep hold of it.

Scaly lips draw back, teeth bared in the softskin custom of a smile, a gesture that really, most don’t seem to appreciate so much. Probably the whole exposing of those that could so very easily render softskin flesh from limb. A point lost on the large sea monster, he thinks he’s being friendly.

“Greeting Boss Man,” Whitecap rasps, the voice gravelly, with letters stretched in oh so odd ways.

The title’s not quite right, but the more intricate balances of such things and the words associated seem lost on the Skuugra, they just don’t get the reason for so many different naming of things. Of course, softskins don’t seem able to stress certain sounds to the same degree as themselves, so they suppose it’s something to do with that that they have to create completely different words. Still, it’s a bother and neither is inclined to learn all the different names of those they work for. You’ve the Boss, their bosses, a Master somewhere and then everyone else is generally just a softskin or some sort of physical description of them. It’s all much easier that way.

Those teeth remain in a toothy grin, bared and scaring some of those still not so comfortable in the creature’s presence as he lowers himself down to all fours, a position as perfectly comfortable for travel and stancing as upright. He does it mostly so as not to be craning his neck so far down which gets uncomfortable after a time, especially with the metal armouries upon his scaly hide. They clatter, clink, clash, scraping against each other as he settles himself to a dog like sit, armoured tail draped behind him lazily.


“I good. Bored. Look for Boss Man, things to do?”

His common is broken, but that’s to be expected considering his own learned softskin dialect is that bit different, he has to make do as best he can. That and softskin talk just doesn’t lend itself quite so well to the tooth and tongues of the scaly beasts. Not generally anyway.

The whitefaced male looks hopeful, though really it’s more the turn of his rasping voice that shows the inquiry towards there actually being something to do. The Skuugra warrior is quite bored with all this standing around, waiting, doing nothing but watching bodies come and go. He’s a creature of action, all this long waiting is making him restless. But perhaps this time there will be something new to be done, that he could possibly do. Anything really, so long as it’s some sort of physical labouring.

~

Skeedara’s still got her nose above the crowds, crimson gaze narrowed on those tents larger than the rest as the bodies shuffle behind their hidden curtains. She can’t see what’s going on inside, she can’t hear what’s being said, she can’t even smell the bodies as they move. But she knows something is happening, something that could possibly effect her and Whitecap, her collection of softskins they are working with.

Is this the action that will send them off into the battle they have been hired to join? Hopefully, she’s quite tired of being here with the softskins. She wants to get her claws into flesh, to render it from bone, to feel the blood upon teeth and tongue.

More movement, more noise. Something most definitely is happening.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

((Looks like you and I will just have to go on without the rest of our group and yeah thanks for letting me know thats a big relief to me that your character doesn't have any breath weapons. Lorenor has a deep respect/fear of all dragons since their breath weapons and dragons in general can wreak all kinds of havoc on my Character))

Indeed, something went on in the command tents. The leaders discussed the war going on. Things turned against their favor. In the central structure where the leadership body convened to discuss this latest enemy, things were beyond tense. Several Legion Lieutenants discussed matters over maps and documentation attempting to ascertain the losses. In general, things were going terribly. Field reports from the battles varied greatly but all said the same things; The Endless over took fellow comrades and turned them to their brood making them much more powerful.

Eight warriors, normally ten, overlooked the table before them. They all wore Spartan helmets.

"How bad is it looking?" One of them said.

"We've not faced such an enemy since the old Demon Exodus. These THINGS called The Endless are more powerful. It seems they are designed with our people in mind! How can such a thing be?" Said another warrior, hitting his fist against the black table. The room inside of the tent was decorated with black colors and with vampiric motifs.

"The damned Hunters are a field day compared to THIS new threat. If WE are unable to stop them they will spread outside of Haidia Major." Several of the men nodded in disgust at such a proposition. The weight of the world hung on their well-trained shoulders now. "The Old Ones predicted a war with the Darkness, could this be it you think?" Said one of the younger looking warriors.

"You are suggesting we are being punished?" One of the others said incredulously.

"No I am merely pointing out that the Old Ones' Prophecies are beginning to come true. That's all I am saying, I mean no disrespect." The same speaker said.

"One thing is for certain, if something doesn't change soon we are going to loose this war." Said one of the highest ranked warrior in the room. "I am actually seriously considering a full retreat if we don't have results after we send in our next squadron."

"You're not suggesting the Mercenary one?" Said one of the others.

"We have no choice."

************************************************** ***

Lorenor looked up at the brother dragon. Seeing the aquatic forged beast in the lands of Haidia was a strange thing. Drakes and other dragon kind roamed in the countryside often. Lorenor looked from the dragon to the cave floor for a moment in a down mood. He thought about the battle with The Harrow, nearly costing him his life.

Again, Lorenor rubbed his forearm with the pain coursing through it. Try as the medics might, they couldn't quite heal the scarring and it caused more psychological pain than physical pain. The boy met an opponent that nearly destroyed him, circumventing nearly all of his offensive capabilities. Perhaps that was the thing that hurt him the most was that he felt vulnerable in the face of The Harrow. Lorenor's bite went off through sheer blind luck, and only as a last resort.

"There's no need to call me Boss. I'm certainly not that. I'm barely a field Lieutenant here, and they stuck me in the mercenary group." He nodded towards his fellow warriors, he knew that he'd rather fight alongside them than the rest of the Spartan warriors, stuck in their militant ways. He turned back towards Whitecap. "Share a drink with us. It's called Fire Cider, I think it might be potent enough for you." The young Spartan took a pitcher of the powerful drink and handed it towards WhiteCap.

Lorenor saw a commotion at the leadership tent that was never a good sign.

[Of Water, Scales and Claw]

Movement, but nothing outside of the command tents. Skeedara’s left watching, waiting for something to happen more pointedly. Still, she has the patience and there really is very little else for her to be doing currently. So the seadragon creature remains where she is, earfins fanned to take in the many sounds of the camp, her long tail balanced out behind her and thusly she continues to watch and wait for the inevitable.

~

A long whisker twitches, flickering back slightly as Whitecap watches the softskin as he speaks back to him.

He snorts, waving a hand, “Boss here. Command uh, group. Boss man.” The limb stretches out, indicating over their motley group of mercenaries and then back to Lorenor himself. Then it gives the softskin a pat to the shoulder, a gesture meant only in friendly terms, that of course considering the monster’s side and strength, well, it’s a little forceful.

An offer of a drink, a softskin habit he quite enjoyed, well, the Skuugra wasn’t about to pass it up. Sure, the fact that last time he’d become intoxicated Skeedara had given him a rather rude awakening from his drunken stupor wasn’t enjoyable is a point. But it’s just not enough of one to put him off accepting again. She gives him rude awakenings most times anyway.

His form lifts a little, raising from it’s sat position to push in closer to the circled bodies around the fire. Ears flicker, head turns, he watches where he takes those half dozen steps to make sure he doesn’t get in anyone’s way, then he’s sat again and looking for the offering. A couple of wary glances from the less friendly softskins he ignores as the pitcher is passed his way. Slender claws reach out, grab and encircle, mindful that grabbing too hard could possibly crack the earthenware, worse, his claws could pierce it and he’ll be spilling the sticky gunk onto himself. A venture that would be most unenjoyable as it would require him getting the armour off, cleaning it and himself then putting it back on. Not a fun prospect, no.

Another toothy grin to the friendly softskin, the pitcher’s lifted and his head is tilted back, maw parting so he can pour the liquid in without catching the pitcher’s rim on his teeth. Half empty he drops his head back down and passes it back to the softskin.

Whoa. “Burn! “

And Whitecap’s thinking perhaps he shouldn’t of guzzled the stuff so quickly. Jaws part again, tongue lolling out over the serrated spikes as he wheezes a couple of times. Yes, that stuff is possibly potent enough. To be honest, Skuugra don’t trade in alcohol of any sort in their watery realm, for the obvious reason that there’s no way of keeping it separate from the sea they’re living in. Sometimes they’ll make use of the stuff on passing vessels, or on the seaside villages and towns they raid. But as a general rule such things are a rare occurrence and only for those who live more shore side than the deep.
The fact Skuugra are already of n aggressive nature tends to detract from leading them towards substances to incline them more so. It’s just bad management on everyone’s behalf.

The white faced male laughs, a scratchy rasping sound that has a couple of the men shudder in distaste. “Fire throat. Ha ha.” A claw runs down the plated armour over his throat, chin tilted up for a moment before he looks down again. The maw has closed again, tongue pulled back within once more as he bares those teeth to his animal grin.

“Joy. You, drink, yes?” Those wine flavoured eyes challenge the youngster. Sure, he’d offered, but Whitecap wants to see him drink too. Perhaps they can make a game of it. It could be amusing. That Skeedara’s not here to ruin his fun currently makes him more inclined towards play, especially as he can get away with those things she does not agree with. Such as drinking the flavoured waters of softskins.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor nodded and accepted the challenge. He looked up at the Haidian sky, noting nothing but darkness overhead. Smoke filled the air from the campsite around him making him sigh. Pouring himself a large mug of the Fire Cider, the creature filled it nearly to the brim. Several of the mercenary warriors near his person egged him on with some cheers and other gestures. Murmurs in the crowd about the giant dragons touched the breeze from time to time.

The Haidian breeze carried the scent of brimstone and magma with it. Hot to the touch, native Haidians were used to such a matter. Lorenor liked the heat, it was significantly better than the cold of Salvar, all though he liked that extreme climate as well. Lorenor thought about Salvar at that moment strangely missing the snow. It never snowed in Haidia. The hot temperatures made it impossible so close to Althanas' core.

Looking up, Lorenor wanted to see the Dark Mother. Haidia's black sky prevented that from happening. Strangely, he was in a melancholy mood despite the prospect of being paid greatly by his masters. He looked over to the Dragon once more, raised his mug, and took a deep pull of the Fire Cider, a popular drink amongst Spartan Warriors.

He felt the large hand upon his shoulders and was pushed forward. The boy grinned at that feeling a slight bruise building up where the dragon touched him in such a way. The beast was just naturally strong and the boy admired such strength! Putting his mug down, Lorenor felt fire in his stomach sending its warmth through his person. Finally, a High Commander approached their group. Most importantly the Commander Approached him.

'Sir Lorenor. Ready your men. They are going to be sent to the field next."

Lorenor nodded and put his mug down upon the earth next to the rock he sat on. The young Spartan eyed his companions, and then eyed the Dragon momentarily. "I hope you are ready my friend. We are going off to the war. They will teleport us right to the spot of the battle momentarily. We only need to head over there to the device." Lorenor pointed to one of the large tents where a teleportation grid was set up months earlier. Truly, the technology of the vampires was awe inspiring.

[Of Water, Scales and Claw]

Whitecap simply has eyes for the softskin, his reaction to the fiery brew as it drives down his gullet. Other creatures, the beings sat around the fire with their musky smells, fire, sweat and dirt, they’re not worth his attention when there’s a challenge to be had.

“Good! More!” the sea serpent creature laughs, a sound that easily drowns that of all others around the campfire.

Again the pitcher is brought before teeth it stands no match against to have it’s content dumped within the gaping maw. Tongue lolls and presses to it’s lips to draw the last of the moisture that can be reached before the pitcher is once more taken away.

The fire burns! His eyes even water. Gosh.. The Skuugra could really do to improve his tolerance of these drinks. Of course, how else shall he do such a thing without being able to try more? Such a conundrum!

His throat burning, senses reeling, Whitecap takes a moment before he realises a new figure has joined their gathering. Two in fact.

~

Skeedara had seen the movement long before the rest of her camp. The approach of one of the softskins with his red rimmed suit leaving the central tents, making his way out through the crowds. More than one of them had left that tent. But only one had come this way with obvious intent.

Her head turned, earfins fanning to catch the noises of the crowds as they moved aside of the figure of importance. Crimson gaze watches the dance of bodies as lower ranking softskins scramble out of the man’s way, not wanting his ire. An amusing thing to be sure. So similar and yet so unlike her own experiences of commanding a Skuugra horde.

Once the softskin is close enough the female dragonkin follows them towards the centre of her own encampment. Likely the man notices but he doesn’t do more than edge away from the creature slightly as he continues his purposeful stride towards the gathering about the fire.

It’s a mix of first and second glances that note Skeedara, some spotting the official first and others herself. Mixed feelings there, though she shares no interest in anything but what’s to be said. Well, past..

“Grarrshk shsshstr! Ha’sssh ess’stsh’!”

Whitecap jolts at the sudden appearance of his mate and her harsh words. Earfins droop, whiskers draw back and his tail tucks down slightly in submission. He’s done wrong, he knows it, so he’s not going to fight upon the matter. Skeedara does not like him drinking. He acts badly when influenced by such things. Well, he doesn’t really consider it bad, but the softskins he usually ends up interacting in one way or another tend to bring trouble with them at those times.

Words are hissed between the two as Whitecap adjusts himself, setting the empty pitcher aside, one ear flickering, twitching at the sounds of the softskins next to him. Something important?

Skeedara knows there’s something important going on, Whitecap’s not so thick as not to realise this himself and he’s making point of listening while being told off by his mate. She’ll want to know what’s going on since she can’t find out first hand for herself.

The red dressed softskin says his words then he’s off to the side somewhat, giving the two much larger dragon types weary glances. Can’t say he likes the creatures. He doesn’t know enough about the things to be personally biased to their species, it’s just the general fact that they’re intelligent monsters that gets him. Monsters covered in armoured plating and with improved claws. No, he doesn’t like them and he’ll be happy to move away once he’s no longer needed on this spot.

Skeedara doesn’t move aside for the softskin as he makes to pass her. He may be a higher rank than herself but she doesn’t care. She’s stancing here and she has no intention of moving just because it inconveniences the creature, it can go around her.

Whitecap doesn’t wait for his mate to say anything before he answers. Relaying the words he gathers from the ‘Boss Man’ straight to her.

“We are leaving. We fight.”

There’s a little confusion though as ‘teleport’ isn’t a word he knows in common or trade speak of any variety. Not exactly the most used of words after all. He frowns, scratching at that short muzzle for a moment as he looks to the softskin then to Skeedara.

“We go there.” A whisker twitch as he points in the direction the softskin points himself, “First?” uncertainty stilts his voice and he’s got his attention to the softskin again for confirmation.

Sure, he’s been speaking to the other Skuugra in their native tongue, but the action should be enough to show he’s telling the other dragon his meaning. Something he’s had to do so often already in the company of the mercenaries. Often enough that even the most dense of them realise that the male follows the slightly smaller female and what she decides to do.

Why? Is inclined to ask, why do they need to go to the tents? She’s seen some odd things by them, large groups appearing and disappearing but she’s yet to find out why or how. There’s been no explanation she can put together to understand the matter and they’re to go there? Logic isn’t giving her anything and she merely frowns, eyes narrowed, earfins back, brow ridges drawn down slightly.

Suppose they’ll just have to wait and see.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Like Whitecap, the task of mediation between the two groups fell upon Lorenor. He was more open to speaking to other races than the rest of his people seemed to be. Lorenor personally liked the two dragons, he admired their power. They were willing to work with his people which was another matter that the boy admired. He waited for the "conversation" to end between the two mates. He wondered often about their strange customs, it was clear to him that the female was superior to the two.

"Its a transportation device. Its used to move things from one place to another really fast." Lorenor said hoping that was enough of an explanation for Whitecap.

Several groups of Spartan warriors gathered their weapons as well as the mercenaries from the Surface World. Rogues and Bandits, a few others seeking fame and fortune. The vampire community offered many rewards to those that helped them out. It was an unusual matter to see dragon-kind in a battalion of Spartan Warriors. They were a proud group of people. Lorenor saw his troops prepare themselves and head off to the teleporation tent.

It was a structure located in the dead center of the camp. Far off from the rest of the tents and growing buildings. Lorenor saw a flag with vampire symbols upon it warning of the dangerous device within it. A wooden sign was posted into the earth in front of the tent itself. Lorenor eyed it for a moment and it had several different warnings etched upon its surface. A warm breeze came in from the East this time.

Storm fronts acted in an erratic fashion in Haidia so far away from any natural atmosphere. The atmosphere existing within the ever reaching cave system was generated by archaic forces placed in Haidia long ago. Those elves only THOUGHT they controlled Haidia. In reality this was an isolated eco-system completely self evolved and self contained. It existed almost as a pocket dimension separate from the rest of the surface world. Scholars often feared what horrors might lurk in that network of unexplored caverns.

Lorenor's troops entered the tent while his thoughts were on the looming war. He placed his mug upon the ground leaving it there. Not knowing quite why he did this, he lifted his leg up and crushed the wood sending its splinters exploding upon the ground. He felt fury that something out there destroyed his brothers and sisters in such a dishonorable way. Inside the tent was the teleporation machine. An organic looking piece of machinery, the device again resembled a sort of living organ. This thing looked like a deformed pair of kidneys attached together via a network of strange looking cables.

The dual-kidneys stood at a height of fifty feet. They had a large space within them roughly forty-five by forty-fix square feet as well. The panels on the bottom of the chambers within the kidneys had several circles in them meant to be spots for someone to stand on. When they all entered the transport chambers inside the large kidneys, the operators of the device never expected to teleport something as large as the Skugra. They heard about the two dragonkin from the other warriors in the encampment and had to prepare extra energy into the device for the mass-transportation.

Lorenor walked into the tent hoping the two dragons would follow. He made his way towards the device having used it before, and others similar to it.

[Of Water, Scales and Claw]

The two Skuugra once more speak between each other after the leader’s words. Skeedara’s still of two minds on the matter, while Whitecap is simply confused. At least for him, he assumes things are nothing to worry about as none of the softskins seem fussed on the matter.

With the company moving the Skuugra went about arranging themselves. Whitecap catching one of the more agreeable softskins to give his armouring a last check over, making sure it was sitting properly. He even held the man long enough to make sure his mate’s armouring was checked as well. Finally the much larger scaled monster allows the softskin leave and the two Skuugra are left to themselves before moving off to follow the rest of the company.

Ignoring the less than friendly looks of this and that softskin the two dragonkin kept their pace as they travelled more central of the camp. Crowds becoming that bit thicker with more tents and bodies passing between the Skuugra are almost forced to stop now and then to let others pass. Though really, neither was inclined to this and when it took them they merely continued on their way without mind for those who wished to go by, most cases taking it upon themselves to wait over the beasts.

The tent’s fancy, lots of this and that all over it and etched about it. Skeedara’s more curious as to what’s within, but the male stops for a moment and has a closer look at this and that. The sketches are very much like that of other softskin markings, perhaps they meant something? The nostrils flare as he sniffs in their direction before a noise to his side catches the water dragon’s attention and he turns to it.

The boss man? Crimson eyes narrow slightly as he watches the softskin takes himself into the tent after having smashed the mug. Whitecap’s a little curious on the manner. The air’s angry where he had been and the Skuugra can only wonder as his mate’s head once more pops through the tent’s flaps and hisses at him to come in already. Chastened he quickly follows through.

Once more standing next to each other the two Skuugra simply admire what they’re looking at, Whitecap with slightly agape awe while his mate simply held scepticism. This is what will take them places? How?

Skeedara’s ready to take a swipe of her mate and have him request as to what is to happen next when the rest of their mercenary companions start moving up onto the available platforms of the device.

“We follow?”

Whitecap looks to his mate, just that bit uncertain on the matter. Despite his previous experiences with softskins, well, he still holds that same deep seated mistrust of their magics and machines as his companion. Such things never seem to work quite the same way they do with softskins as with their own scaly hides. Still, one would think that such matters have been worked out already since the two Skuugra have been known to be part of the company for the best part of a month now.

A shrug and the two of them approach where the others have gone. A softskin coming up to direct them to the opposite selection of where the majority have been herded.