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This Isn't How I Remember Swan Lake...
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgYL2jwE1H0)2581
Closed.
Part One of the Light & Darkness Saga, in which the half-dragon MetalDrago finds the light within.
I sit here in disgust,
For the block strikes nigh again,
I've spent my day whittling my nib,
Fighting my restrain.
I want to write just one last verse,
A line to end all lines,
I want to smell the roses wrought
In the woodland realm of pines.
I talk myself a merry talk,
Soothe soul with caustic lies,
For every time I flick to paper,
The poet in me dies.
I seem to have hit an end stop,
A stop to all dictation,
Of dragons, dreams and dust I dream,
Of tripling and sedation.
I long to write like I’ve never written,
Make marks in a mystic land,
But here I am, settling for nothing,
Fighting with time's hand.
By Cydney Oliver.
“He’s coming Duffy, I can feel the darkness.”
Ruby’s soft tone drew razor sharp talons down the bard’s spine with its sincerity. Beneath the weight of her presence, he could not help but shudder. That tone meant only one thing, and when Ruby Winchester wanted something, it could destroy the hearts of lesser men.
“I can’t ignore it any longer; I can’t hear anything but his voice, the beat of his wing, the swipe of his claws for our necks.” There was a certain poetic disposition about her, which only served to make Duffy more nervous. When Ruby Winchester wanted something and turned to dramatically heavy turns of phrase, she could tear through greater men too.
He set his book down onto the edge of the kitchen table, slightly disgruntled at the interruption, but wise enough not to show it. He had been enjoying the vivid descriptions of the various wild beasts that purportedly dwelt in the Valenwood. The vast forest covered most of the Western coast line of the island, and come the arrival of summer, the troupe were considering an excursion there – one well deserved after all their hardships through the theatrical season of High Spring. He had read various choice passages aloud whilst Ruby cleared up after their baking session.
It was a happy respite in the long road to the preparation of High Tea. He adjusted his crossed legs so that the stiffness in them eased off before he looked up at the red headed mistress dutifully. He had played the long game thousands of times before over the centuries, so his turn came naturally and he rolled the rhetorical dice.
“You will forgive my expression of vague confusion Ruby,” he tried hard to look none the wiser, “but what are you talking about?”
He knew exactly what she was referring to, but he did not want to admit that now was the time to address it. If he let Ruby know that she was right at the start of a long conversation, she would be unbearable by the end of it. Ruby set down the soapy plate and let the dishcloth in her fingertips drip dry for a moment before she rang it free of suds. She let out a long, languishing sigh. The sun that streamed through the small window overlooking the herb garden to the rear of the playhouse cast a fiery halo around the spell singer’s head.
“Come now Duffy, you know who I mean.” Even though she had her back turned to her companion, he could see the corners of her lips curling. It put a picture of a sour smile in the bard’s mind. He rolled his eyes, and reminded himself to not think so highly of his dichotomy when dealing with a woman who lived to talk her way through the world. Her voice, after all, was a power unto itself.
“The one we’ve been expecting, the one in the dreams we have,” his voice was heavy, as if spoken under duress or after a marathon.
The dreams they had both had frequently over the last few months were less dreams, and more like nightmares. They were dark, frightful, horrifyingly real, and made all the worse for Duffy because of the harbinger in their illusions. The creature that hunted them in the night was a half-dragon, more man than its bestial counterpart but creatural and fell all the same.
Duffy Bracken did not like dragons one bit. Even as they spoke, at the zenith of midday, he felt a chill in his joints at the prospect of having to eventually succumb to the need to sleep when darkness fell.
“How can he be coming? He’s a figment of our conscious mind, an entity in our dreams.” Duffy would need more than hearsay from his dearest friend to believe otherwise. He was a very pragmatic man, and a firm believer in reality as an explanation. It was all he had left to remain sane in an insane corner of the world.
“I just know that he is, and soon.”
Duffy gritted his teeth, “but how?”
The smell of freshly cooked bread washed over the growing tension in the playhouse’s poky but well stocked kitchen. It brought Ruby from her statuesque vigil at the sink to the front of the aga, which radiated warmth and pepper scented luxury.
“It’s as if it’s been written in the fabric of the skeins of history, to coin a line you used to explain various misfortunes that happened to my finest bone china, my best skillet,” she wagged a finger over her shoulder, keenly pointing at her target despite not looking “and let us not forget my ball gown, which ‘went missing’ just before the Spring Dance!”
She slipped a tea towel from the polished silver rail which ran along the front edge and buried her still wet hands into the checked pattern. Whilst she dried away the detritus of her washing up spree, she audibly muttered her thoughts into order.
“Well, okay, yes, I guess there’s that on your side…” He blinked with the sort of flummoxed look you pulled when you might have just seen a ghost. Duffy watched her shoulders tense, then relax, then tense again as she ran through the likely outcome of the forthcoming exchange. He let the tension in his jaw slip away under another torrent of smells from the range.
His stomach rumbled.
“We’ve known it would happen for a long time, I just feel it’s now,” she bent at the knee and took a firm hold of the larger oven’s door. With a clunk, she turned the black veneer and stepped away as she opened the chamber. The smell intensified, as did the rumbling from Duffy’s stomach.
If Duffy had not known any better, he might have thought Ruby had planned to disarm him with bread all along. There was a saying, after all, one the troupe used often to console the orphans they cared for and their siblings when the winter months struck and gave them all snivelling colds.
“Everything is better with bread,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” Ruby said, her voice muffled and echoed as it bounced around in the oven.
“Here was me thinking you invited me for afternoon tea to be nice,” he clucked, and slid his book away so that he could work with the chopping board. The sarcasm parry worked perfectly.
Duffy had been eyeing the array of salad components set to the right of the large chopping board since he had arrived back from his errands in the merchant district an hour or so ago. The chopping board itself was serving as an altar to a particularly hefty steel chef’s knife. The chopping board itself was pine, polished and waxed a thousand times and as thick as a man’s arm. It had not been moved since it had been brought from Ruby’s manor ten years ago, as it was monstrously heavy.
“If I’d known all I was going to get was a cauliflower ear and a metaphysical lecture on the meaning of dreams, I’d have gone to see Leopold,” he picked up the knife, felt its weight, then scooped up a large and very ripe beef tomato and started to slice. His lips curled into a satisfactory smile, knowing full well that the remark would cost him, but knowing full well it was worth it.
“Oh,” Ruby sucked in a large intake of air, the sort that one used to bite one’s tongue. “Don’t worry Duffy; you’re going to taste the nicest ploughman’s sandwich ever conceived in a kitchen on Scara Brae’s scattered shores. It will be a trencher worthy of kings!” She delved into the oven and grabbed a hold of the tray with tea towel wrapped fingers.
The knife cutting through fruit and clipping against the wood filled the momentary silence with holistic and atmospheric sounds.
With an acrobatic whirl, she set the hot, heavy tray onto the far edge of the preparation table and flapped her fingers in a comical manner. She sucked them cool, the wet noise breaking her cool repose with slurps and sudden vacations of the air from her rosy cheeks. “Blast and damming curses!” she plopped the tea towel next to the tray and turned to push the oven door too. It shut with a satisfying thud, followed by the clink of the latch falling into place.
Duffy remained on tender hooks as she stopped and started, half smiling still at Ruby’s impeccable ability to never use curse words, even when in pain.
“I can’t ignore the signs anymore,” she turned on a heel and rested her hands on the table edge, tapping them in a matriarchal fashion that often accompanied the thoughts just before she barked orders at her waiting kitchen hands.
Today that was entirely Duffy’s burden to bear. He chopped quicker beneath her gaze.
“What sort of signs are we talking about?” Duffy treated omens and divination with just as much suspicion as he did magic users, sober thieves and people who liked the early works of Tolstoy of Salvar, the self-proclaimed master of the ironic soliloquy.
He was starting to think that not even Madame Croup’s Chutney, resting on the table just a few feet away in a little jar wrapped in red check grease paper could take the bad taste in his mouth away now…
“I dreamt about him again. I awoke screaming, which Leopold was not best impressed with to say the least.” She furrowed her brow. That slip of form by itself told Duffy all he needed to know. This would be a serious business to discuss, and one that would do its best to dampen his enjoyment of Lady Rosetta’s Homemade Gherkin Pickle; no pickle, no chutney…this was a grave event indeed.
“The same dream as last time I assume?”
He did not look up at her to gauge her reaction, but he remained attentive to audible indicators. She was an expert at clucking, sighing, coughing, spewing and puking her thoughts without ever having to actually spell it out to anyone.
“Or something different altogether?” he added, just to make sure she was clear with him. He was already sensing a long evening ahead.
Whilst she hummed and ached, he slid the sliced tomato over the chopping board. The movement left juice and pips in its wake, like a glacier of late afternoon sustenance. He let them fall off the edge into one of the many small ingredient bowls Ruby had thoughtfully left out alongside the miniature mountain of chopping. He moved on to the fresh bunch of celery, bright verdant leafs still clinging to their progenitor in fear of excommunication and the inevitable smothering with excessive amounts of vinaigrette.
“Not really, it was a similar dream, but not quite the same. This time there one was key difference.” She bit her lip, and whilst she thought about how best to explain she tapped the top of her perfectly browned poppy trencher with the back of her knuckles.
It let out a little hollow whelp of culinary joy.
“Flawless,” she said with a chirp, the delight of another perfect batch acting as a temporary distraction from the heavy weight of destiny and danger.
Little wisps of steam, moisture clouds sodden with poppy and yeast overtones spiralled up from the well-structured cracks on the crust of the bread. There were little valleys and crosses on the top where Ruby had scoured the dour before putting in the oven to rise.
Each matriarch in the city had her own insignia, and Ruby’s was a triple ridged scratch accompanied by a cross at each end. Many people in the lower echelons of Scara Brae’s noble circle would pay good money to know how to bake bread quite like she did.
“Do you remember the night that we both had the exact same rendition of the dream?” she did not wait for a reply. She tapped the bread again and went about carefully sliding it and its two almost identical twins onto the wire cooling rack waiting for them to her left. Her cooking and her conversation were almost seamless. “Well, it was like that, except that when the ‘half-dragon’ descended he did not roar and wake me up as he had done every other time.”
The ‘half-dragon’ was how the bard and the Spellsinger referred to their night-time assailant. The dream had always caused them to wake with a start, sweaty and stale at that moment. For countless nights it had been the vision they had awoken to, and the scar on their memories and sanity was widening with every recital. The roar was more like a scream in Duffy’s head, but just as terrifying, just as deafening and thundering in the shadows.
“What did he do instead, then?” Duffy diced the celery sticks with a rattle of chops, slid them into a second bowel and picked up a cucumber before Ruby had time to finish setting out the loaves to cool. Despite the growing intrigue sloshing in the pit of his famished stomach, he kept a relatively flat tone in his line of questioning.
She waited for the noise to die down before she continued. Duffy caught her flinching at every haphazard descent of the hefty steel blade onto the wooden block. He cut through the last wide length of celery quickly.
“I saw his face as he swooped into the light of our campfire.”
In the dream, the troupe in its entirety was camped out under the stars on the shores of Valeena Lake. The crystalline waters had consoled the group through a long, drunken afternoon of paddling, boating and at one point, trout tickling, much to Arden’s dismay at trying to teach his friends his secrets. When the night descended with the sun, which perished in a death throe of splendid gold and vibrant crimson so too did the half-dragon.
It was how it had been every night, and both bard and buxom housewife witnessed the exact same unfolding of events.
“I know exactly who he is now Duffy,” she said sternly.
Her words echoed in the last chop of the knife, dragged out in poignancy as he scraped the celery chunks into another porcelain bowl.
“If I’m not mistaken, and my memory does not deceive me, so do you…”
In a medley of sickness, remembrance and reaching for a duo of kiwis, Duffy started to recollect a knife fight from a long, long time ago – quite literally in another lifetime.
“I believe Arden and Lillith have crossed paths with his tyrannical blade in more recent months.” The ponytail into which Ruby’s long crimson hair was tied flicked as she adjusted it. Whilst she waited for Duffy’s momentary amnesia to subside, she set about undoing the tie of her pinafore at the neck and then at the small of her back. Flour covered fingers and dusty cotton dropped onto the table, finally able to rest.
Duffy pieced together the small clues in her statement.
“Does that ring a bell?” She added helpfully, though smothered in sarcasm and belittling overtones.
His chopping slowed with audible decreases. There was a name on the tip of the bard’s tongue, woefully brought to the tip of his conscious but denied the air.
“You don’t mean…no, it can’t be that obvious?”
The second paladin of N’Jal Duffy had encountered in his long lifetime. The first was known by Lorenor, and the second had been named MetalDrago.
The implications of the contents of the dream suddenly became serious. They became the sort of implications two idle thespians could no longer ignore. Whilst Duffy continued to chop, jaw slack, fingers careless, kiwi increasingly cut into uneven slices and still in their furry skins, Ruby picked up the now cool tray and tossed into noisily into the foamy sink.
Domestic dystopia returned to the kitchen of the Prima Vista, and with it, a strange yet comforting status quo between absurdity and disaster.
“He’s coming here and he’s coming to see us Duffy. Do you what the devil for?” She stepped up to the sink as if she had just been chained to it, and dug through the soaking dishes to fish out the dish cloth she had left soaking in the cooling depths.
Duffy shrugged. He was still recovering from realising how small the world was.
He gave up on the butt of the kiwi and scooped it into a third bowl. He tossed the ends into the bin behind him expertly, and clicked his spine straight and his neck to life. He looked at the remaining pile, and from the four or five vegetables and fruits in he moved on to his favourite; a large, juicy bunch of grapes, picked that morning from the Echo Fall estate. It was one of the small perks the Winchesters could claim rom their business associates, or rather, a perk Leopold could work hard to afford, and Ruby could squander as she deemed fit.
“I think we can take a guess, don’t you?” He popped several into his mouth whilst Ruby’s guard was down, and beamed a distracting smile at the eruption of sweet tastes that hit his dry tongue. He absent minded wished it was in its more better known form, Echo Falls Chardonnay, but he had that luxury to look forward to later in the evening when the sun set and the last dying warmth caught the balcony overlooking the stage house’s grand sun dome.
“I think we both know exactly why, now we’ve realised who it is.”
Duffy had always known, but he wasn’t quite sure how.
“It’d be nice not to know…” he mumbled.
It was better to let Ruby keep playing her shadowy games with the moment than trip up on his words. He leant back in the chair, taking a break, and cocked his head as if to incite academic ritual. He delved into his wide pool of useless rhetoric, knowledge and wisdom to pick out the pieces he needed to make sense of it all.
Avatars, children and disciples of the Thayne of Althanas had always had two callings. The first was naturally a calling to the Thayne, or indeed pantheon of Thayne that they served. It was a strong, deafening choir of command and hope, which could be heard even in the darkest depths of the world, or atop the windiest peaks. The second on the other hand was lesser known and heard more rarely. Only the truly pious followers of the world’s gods could hear it, and only those who were deemed worthy of fate’s attention would ever get the chance to witness it in action.
The second calling of a Thayne’s puppet was to each other. The children of Tantalus were not being tormented by dreams, malefic incantations or misconceived memories. The harder Duffy thought about it over his salad preparation, the clearer it was becoming. The children of Tantalus were hearing the lost and hallowed calling of N’Jal’s Paladin.
They were being drawn to one another, even if they did not yet know why.
“I can’t think why N’Jal would pay any attention to us, out of all the heroes, villains and vagabonds in the world. That’s the greatest mystery in all of this,” Ruby broke Duffy’s concentration with a well-placed switch in focus. He nodded, though more to reassure his own doubts than hers.
She continued to wash the dishes, as if domesticity and disaster were one and the same.
“What makes you think that N’Jal has any part to play in MetalDrago’ actions?” he raised an eyebrow.
All the efforts of the troupe until now had been focussed solely on saving others. They had torn holes in the fabric of reality to right their own wrongs, and gave their lives many a time to bring peace and harmony to the many lands of Althanas. Be it in the company of one another, strangers or the brotherhood of the Ixian Knights, the Tantalum had become a verdant force springing life roots up through the war torn surface of the world.
The more Duffy thought about it, the more apparent it became that perhaps, just perhaps, they might have attracted some unwanted attention along the way.
“Do you think he’ll be able to find us?” Ruby’s sincerity broke through the mask, and her face puckered into a frown. She did not like the thought of conflict, not after peace had finally returned to their lives.
“If N’Jal is willing him, then he will break down any walls we build. Normally this would worry me, but in the dream, it felt like Drago wants to find us. Not the spider goddess.”
“If he’s coming on his own volition, then we should remain just as wary of his motives.”
Ruby set the clean earthenware plate onto the draining board and returned her hands to the water. She fished about in the depths for a few moments, taking in Duffy’s consideration like a fine wine. With the sun on her face, she felt slovenly and sullen and, as she turned on a heel to spray Duffy’s cheeky grin with soap suds, quite mischievous.
“You think he’d seek out to harm us?”
Duffy blinked, soap suds slowly dripping down his cheek, nose and chin.
The bard and the spell singer stared at one another, eyes, nostrils and auras flaring with the sort of aggression that could and indeed had started many a war throughout the skeins of history. Duffy continued to rifle through the pile of salad components, trying not to look away in case it sparked a reaction that he would feel for several weeks.
Ruby’s lips curled first.
“Yes,” she chuckled.
They both burst into raucous laughter, the sort that split sides and brought enemies into communion once more as friends.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Duffy didn’t let Ruby’s ‘jest’ to distract him from trying to retrieve the last piece of information she was clearly not telling him. From her awkward smile and her rigid shoulders, she was withholding something crucial; perhaps that she was scared to admit. He glared over invisible glasses.
“Nothing gets past you does it?” she returned to the table and slipped regally onto the tall stool opposite the bard. She adjusted herself in the seat so that her dress wasn’t tight over the top and her knees were slightly to one side, almost side saddle. “N’Jal is not willing him to come to us, because when he enters the clearing he lands.”
She picked up a large mixing bowl, one with a thick glaze on the exterior and a white, hairline fracture laden interior and dusted it with the hem of her sleeve. She used the movement and the picking up of the salad component bowls to avoid having to look Duffy in the eye. The tomatoes, celery and kiwi slices flopped unceremoniously into the dish. The sound of empty bowels returning with force to the table by her side hallowed the kitchen with awkward echoes.
“He lands in your dream?” Duffy tried not to look scared. His chopping slowed, so much so that he might as well have just tapped the cucumber he was chipping away at to death. “It’s never gotten that far for me.”
“That’s because you’re scared of dragons, they’re part of your primal fears. For me, they mystify my senses, by all means, but I’m not afraid.” She leant forwards, stretching over the table to grab at the small rabbit leaf lettuce Duffy had yet to slice, and set it onto her own smaller chopping board next to the half full bowl. Her tone was matriarchal, with a hint of big sister.
“So what did he do then?” he resumed his labours.
“He stepped into the clearing, amidst screams, granted, but then he did something most unexpected.” She slid the hastily chopped lettuce leaves from the chopping board, scooping them expertly into her cupped hands and dropped them into the bowl. She tossed the contents lightly with a wooden spoon she produced from the neatly arrayed instruments to the right of the chopping board before leaning forwards once more to snatch at a bunch of fresh radishes, picked that morning from the Prima Vista’s modest garden.
Her words seemed to slow time.
“He sang his name to me.”
Duffy blinked.
For a few awkward moments of silence, the bard tried very hard to remove the image of the large, scary, heavily armoured half-dragon he had encountered in the Citadel singing from his mind. The dark, polished, almost glowing scales of its hide and the enigmatic way it spoke did not compel him to imagine a high, well-polished and melodic singing voice. The chorus was rumpus, and the voice harsh on his ears, even when it was imaginary.
“He sang to you?” he asked, half whispered, half full of surprise, like a small child asking if the gods were real or if that large pile of sweets really were all for him.
Ruby nodded, continuing to chop without looking up from her duties.
“You’re telling me that the half-dragon MetalDrago, paladin of N’Jal, the spider goddess, the forbidden one, sang his name to you?”
“He sang of light and dark and duality first, I should point out.”
“He sang in riddles?” Duffy’s voice lost its composure and its sense of wonderment, replaced swiftly with a rising flare for the dramatic.
“This,” Ruby slapped the carrots onto their opposite side so that she could slide her knife along their opposite edge to remove the rest of the dirty skin with quick and anatomical movements, “is why I had to make sure I was certain before I told you.”
“Certain of what, Ruby, that you’re losing your marbles?”
“No, no, no. I had to make certain that when Drago spouted a second pair of wings, one white and one black, that the words he sang and the way in which he split into two fully formed dragons was a metaphor I understood.”
“A metaphor you…wait, he did what?”
They continued chopping, almost in unison. Neither of the pair looked up at the other. Their lips were pursed, eyes flaring with concentration, neither willing to give away their confusion and growing frustration to their counterpart. There was something about their conversation that leant itself well to the rugged, hostile momentum of salad preparation. Their words were interlaced with dying vegetation and the grinding sound of black peppercorns in a pestle and mortar, which Ruby attacked with bony elbows and far too much satisfaction.
“I needed a few days to do some research, to check my sources, and console my doubts. What I found was proof of sorts that MetalDrago does not wish to harm us, per say. Proof you might say that he is compelled to seek us out through a need to be helped.” Satisfied that the three carrots were clean and edible, relinquished of the playhouse garden’s soil she lined them up, points to the right, stalks and bushy green foliage to the left and set her knife on the tips.
“What do we have to offer something like him?” Duffy sounded horribly uncharitable.
“We have a duty to fulfil to the Ixian Knights, even though it’s been many a moon since we visited the castle, or indeed, since another of the captains came to us with an assignment. Do you remember what that duty is?” Her matriarchal and thus condescending tone returned, a clear sign that her slip of control over the situation was only slight, and that she was commandeering the proceedings once more. Duffy fell very quickly in line.
He felt empathy for the carrots in his groin, as she whisked through them with a slice and dice flurry that made short work of their flesh.
“We are supposed to help those lost in their lives and bring them into the light – into the ‘charity’ of the Ixian Knights.” This was a certain twisting of many truths, but it was the gist of it. They were part of the reclamation front, converting potential enemies into allies, to save on needless bloodshed and violence. “What do you expect us to do, talk him out of his rage?” He raised an eyebrow once more, but quickly lost his sarcastic tone when Ruby rose from her chair suddenly.
“No, Duffy, I expect you to draw on theatrical providence to be mature about this.” She strolled around the table with a clip clop of stilettos on stone, before she stopped at the door leading into the dusty living room beyond. “Finish off the herbs and stir the salad, I’ll be back shortly – I have something you need to see.” She disappeared into the bowels of the playhouse far too quickly for Duffy to object to enquire further. He shrugged, a shrug of resignation and scooped up the three small bunches of fresh parsley, thyme and cat mint that were the sole contents of the ‘to chop’ pile after their hard work.
He set them onto the chopping board, said a few silent last words and then obliterated them in a whirl of steel and a dance of jade and olive fragments.
MetalDrago
02-08-12, 01:34 PM
The boat glided upon the crashing waves of the Scara Braen capital as the a dark being sat below decks, his eyes never leaving a singular spot on the planked wall. The sea journey had been uneventful, but there seemed to be an uneasiness hanging over all on board, perhaps the fault of the dark passenger. At least, that's what he assumed anyway. One of the ship's crew knocked on the warriors door and informed him that they would soon be arriving in Scara Brae, to give him time to gather his belongings and leave as soon as the ship made port. Drago nodded to the man and stood up, his cape billowing out behind him from the sudden movement. As the door closed behind the crewman, he sniffed the air.
"I don't know what it is I expect to find here, but... I hope it was worth the trip." He gathered his swords and walked out onto the deck. Considering that this was a commercial passenger ship, there weren't exactly a whole lot of travelers. Looking out over the water, the Dragonian caught sight of the shore, his eyes taking in the outline of the city before him. He sighed, his whole body shuddering with nervousness. He had fought nearly the entire Troupe he was now coming to for aid. He had been having troubling dreams about the group, and knew instinctively that he was being called to them, and they to him. Every time he saw their faces in his dreams, he would awaken in a cold sweat. He wiped his brow solemnly as the boat rolled slowly into port and docked.
Drago held back as the few other passengers filed off of the ship, as he did not want to spook them by joining the main group. As soon as the crowd thinned, he fixed his cape and stepped off board. The captain thanked him for his patronage and he nodded, not quite in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment. For the first time in many a year, the Dragonian was nervous at the prospect of meeting someone. He was not used to asking anyone for help, after all. Shaking his head at his foolish emotions, he began to walk to the city before stopping abruptly. Turning on his heel, the metallic covering on his foot making an extremely unpleasant sound against the wooden dock, he scanned the horizon.
What he saw filled him with a sense of dread. A dark cloud was gathering on the edge of the sky, filled with an ominous dread that brought the man to his knees. It was obvious that the Dark One, the goddess he had served for nearly three years, was less than pleased with him, and was making sure Her feelings were well known. Whether she would take direct action to prevent him from escaping her was unknown, but it was not a chance he was willing to take.
Picking himself up with all the speed he could muster, the warrior raced into the city of Scara Brae. He made it to the end of the first street he came to and looked around. Seeing no one he recognized, he began to search methodically in a brisk walk. His resolve was set; he would find the Tantalum and beseech them of their aid, or he would perish in the attempt to cast off the shackles of the Black Goddess N'Jal.
It did not take long for Ruby to clamber up the stairway that lead up to the Prima Vista’s stage room. Her heavy footsteps were born out of her determination to find what she was looking for quickly, as well as a need to slap Duffy with a metaphorical conundrum in book form.
The soft sunlight cascaded down through the grandiose stained glass dome, forming a maze of golden halcyon bolts across the wide open space.
“Where did I put it…” she said aloud, hoping to rekindle her memory about where she had last had her hands on the troupe’s solitary first edition copy of Althanas’ best ballet.
She was not entirely sure where it had come from. She had found it one lazy afternoon when she had been several lifetimes younger. Her princess personality had taken, like a swan to water to the lavish tale of the white swan and the black swan. The virginal properties of the white swan had been lost on her long ago, but the contrast between innocence, good and greed and evil were as poignant now as it had been then.
It was entirely appropriate that she used it to portray her point about the dreams they had shared.
Her heels, which were entirely inappropriate footwear for the kitchen, came upon a glamorous purpose as she advanced over the red carpet. In recent weeks the troupe had finally gotten around to cleaning it. Many years of grime had been scrubbed, danced and soaked out of the flattened red shag. Now, it was as ruby as her hair was, and fluffy and soft underfoot. She left little circles in her wake, piercing the buoyant strands like dagger thrusts on skin.
The matriarch struggled to console her excitement with the knowledge that Duffy would not be remotely pleased with her choice in literature. Swan Lake was her favourite ballet, and one of her favourite theatrical adaptations, but the finery of dance had always been lost on the club footed bard.
“Pettigrew Worthington, I can see you up there! Get down and go and do something useful with your day,” without looking up at the scamp in the balcony, she continued to the far right corner and disappeared, quite literally through a stack of dusty wooden crates.
She just caught Pete’s protestations and groans, followed by a heavy thud as his steel toe capped boots hit the floorboards of the stage. She chuckled.
“Like I wasn’t going to no…” she started to scan the menagerie of tomes on the cluttered bookshelves that made up the troupe’s library the second she appeared on the far side of the invisible and magical wall. It tingled over her spine, a familiar yet uncomfortable sensation that was part of the troupe’s Heidegger Barrier.
Books, after all, were the most precious of treasures to theatrical kin.
The troupe’s library was at the heart of the Heidegger, one of the most potent creations of the children of Tantalus.
“tice…” her pause told the sprites on the sleeves, invisible, dutiful ghosts of guardianship that it was indeed Ruby, and not a trick. She pursed her lips, cocked her head, and ran her index finger seductively over every spine she passed.
She skipped the encyclopaedia section, scrolled quickly through annuls of Scara Brae and read aloud the many titles of the Divine Comedies of Jonas Rommel. Gathering her wits about her as she read through increasingly complicated titles, Ruby felt her excited grow in the pit of her stomach as common turned to Tradespeak, and Tradespeak turned to ancient.
“Novalis, Lucian’s Call,” she was getting to the rear of the library, where the cluttered shelves grew close and imposing, and the dust on the shelves become historical, as opposed to neglectful. “A Brief History of the Lime; In Dance”. Here, only the senior members of the troupe could stand without suffering intense nausea under the strain of the protective wards cast on the heart of the Tantalum troupe. Her skin was more or less aflame when her finger connected with a blue spine, with silver clasps and a considerable aura of calm about it.
“Swan Lake…”
She pulled the book free of its resting place and balanced it in both hands.
“Excellent news,” she said to congratulate herself, already halfway to the exit back into the stage room.
Down in the kitchen, her footsteps knocked plaster from the rafters and scattered the salad with a smattering of dust. Through the cracks, Ruby's keen, harpy like senses picked out the sound of cutting coming to a momentary, anxious pause. The smile on her face as she emerged into the red carpeted rehearsal room, which spoke novels about her ego, threatened to crack reality as she felt her cheeks crease beneath the pressure. She put on her organisational, noble mask, and when her pointed shoes touched the top of the dark stairwell, she let the excitement fizzle out.
It was performance time for the leading lady, a soliloquy to an audience of one. Just how Ruby Winchester liked it.
MetalDrago
02-08-12, 02:39 PM
"Don't know why I expected you would know where to find them," Drago said tiredly to the owner of the cafe. He took a strong swallow of coffee, hoping to keep his energy up. He ran his metal-clad fingers up and down the grain of the counter, trying to divine the location of those he sought within the secrets held by the wood. It was a futile effort, however. The worker at the cafe looked at him with a slight hint of disdain. While it was true he rarely attracted those of a more violent sort, he could tell this warrior was outside of his normal clientele, and worse, was scaring away some of his regulars. Drago looked up at him and noticed the irritation in his eyes.
"You're sure you don't know where the Tantalum Troupe lives?"
"Absolutely, now please finish your drink and leave. No offense, but you're scaring everyone away!"
Taking his last swallow of coffee, Drago paid the man and left. Even if he were in a mood to fight, a minor disagreement with a shopkeeper would do little for him. He continued to work his way through the streets, hoping to see Blank, Duffy, or Lilith and speak to one of them. However, it seemed luck was not on his side today. This is ridiculous... Why am I even here? All this time wasted because of this shred of hope that the Tantalum will be able to help me, he thought.
He looked at the swords at his sides, pondering for a moment whether he should just cut a bloody swath throughout the entire city, as he would likely have done if he was hunting someone down. However, something inside him told him that this would just be a fruitless effort, and he'd only end up making an enemy of himself to the entire island nation in the process. He sighed once more, as his search seemed to bear no fruit. He could spend days walking the city and not see a single one of the people he was looking for. It was like searching Radasanth to find a single person. It could take an eternity if you were not intimately familiar with the city.
Finally, the Dragonian came upon the gates to a park. "Regent Park, huh?" He shrugged to himself. "Might as well take a break here. I need to clear my head anyway." He walked in and looked around. Green grass, fragrant flowers, trees, and bushes lined the walkways and paths through the park. He walked down a cobblestone path, his boots clacking as they struck the stone below. People looked at him as though he was some sort of curiosity, or worse, the refused to look at him because he seemed to be a monster. Finally, he came to a bench situated in front of what seemed to be a lake.
A bolt of lightning struck him from out of the blue. This place seemed distantly familiar, like from a dream. He sat down upon the bench, stretching out modestly and propping his feet upon his heels. Walking so much over the course of a single day, while not an uncommon occurrence, still left the man with the feeling that his feet were about to fall off.
"I'll find them. I have to," he said to no one in particular. His resolve had not wavered even so much as an inch, but he was beginning to feel tired of having to search, and wanted nothing more than to remain in this spot, looking out over the peaceful waters before him. A feeling of calm that he had not felt in what seemed like ages filled his body, and he was loathe to let that feeling recede.
When Ruby re-appeared in the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice Duffy had given up his chores. She coughed forcibly and leant against the door frame, the hem of her dress puffing out along with her chest like a crowing, defensive hen.
The bard half jumped out of his seat apparently lost in his own thoughts.
“Good god woman, there’s no need for that!” He glanced over his shoulder, the motion revealing the tip of a well-polished and very sharp chef’s knife.
“I left for less than ten minutes, and you practically give up? That won’t do, that won’t do at all.” She slipped into the kitchen and made her way around the wide table. Her inspection of Duffy’s limited progress with the salad preparation bore holes in the well-used work top.
“Look, I was lost in thought alright?” He wavered beneath her glare, trying to use the knife as a bargaining chip but failing miserably. She was the expert here, and he the doting pupil.
“Never mind, we can have trenchers on the go with limp lettuce and nothing remotely approaching satisfaction wedged between the bread. Look at this,” she held out the book for the bard’s inspection. Her fingers clutched the spine and she folded out the opening page, so that Duffy could clearly see the grandiose calligraphy, the title, and the elegant inscription to a long dead relative of an unknown lover.
“Swan…Lake?” Duffy raised an eyebrow, and then took the book all the same.
He ran his fingers over the dry page gingerly, trying to piece together the various pieces of the already overly complicated puzzle. He put the knife down.
“Light and darkness…you can’t be serious?” He tried to remain cool, calm and collected, but found himself crumbling quickly.
Ruby rested her hands on her hips, just long enough to let the bard stew, before she picked up the various bowls of chopped fruit and vegetables. She made quick work of cutting one of the loaves in half, then half again, before she slathered the base with butter and let them steam for a few moments on the chopping board in front of her.
“This reaction is precisely why I waited until I was sure about it before showing you. I can’t quite make it all make sense myself, but given what I saw, and what I keep seeing, it’s a logical step to make.” She scooped the kiwi and started to layer it over the bread base.
“You’re going to have to forgive me a few awkward glances, because what you’re telling me is this…the gods are playing out the most prominent ballet and plays with mortal puppets, and we’re supposed to craft the outcome?” He turned to the second page, and traced the imagery with suddenly interested eyes.
“It is remarkable, though.”
The illustration was a white swan, half humanoid and elegant entwined in the clutches of the wings of a more demonic black swan. Fluttering feathers and ancient runes spiralled from the pair, depicting the epic struggle between innocent and passion that had been lived a thousand times with a thousand new audiences.
“What confused me above all, is the fact that I can’t decide wherever or not this ‘Drago’ is the white swan, lost and misguided…or if he’s the black swan, come to tempt us to the lake of our own demise.”
Duffy suddenly wanted to skip the sandwich and go straight for the aperitif wine.
“From what I saw of him in the Citadel, and indeed, from what Lillith and Arden saw…he’s lost, though lost in what is up for debate.”
“Ruby, I don’t think he’s here to harm us…”
“Here?” She slapped on the tomato rings noisily.
“Yes. He’s,” Duffy took a sharp breath.
Scara Brae spoke to the bard, declaring the arrival of a destiny on the shores of the island. He did not know how, or why, but in the Aria, the silver mentality of the Thayne they were born from, there was a beacon, a message, a revelation.
Ruby felt it a second later.
“Here?” She dropped the last tomato slice.
“That’s not how I remember Swan Lake…”
“No…me neither.”
There was an awkward silence between the pair, up until Spellsinger topped off the final ingredients in the sandwich and slapped on the crusted, insignia riddled tops and the bard rose slowly from his chair. Surrealism seeped through the cracks in the walls of the ancient playhouse.
“Isn’t the swan meant to take the journey on her own volition?”
Ruby squished the sandwiches, and the tomatoes dribbled over the chopping board. Whilst she tried to gather her thoughts, the song of the dragon paladin still roaring and melodic in her mind, she flipped open the lids and of the chutney and pickle and dolloped them on as an afterthought.
“Yes, she is, and the black swan notices her by the lake side.”
They both sparked to life, finally getting what Tantalus was showing them and what the significance of Swan Lake and N’Jal and Drago was.
“Regent Park,” they both said aloud.
Ruby wrapped both halves of the salad trencher in a tea towel and tied the corners tight. Duffy flopped a satchel over his arm, and took the sustenance from her. He stuffed them in tight, picked up the red wine bottle from the centre of the table and a small crystalline sphere that rested next to it. The copy of Swan Lake was wedged in down the sides of the satchel, just in case. Without speaking, the pair left the kitchen and scuttled to the side entrance that lead out into the secluded alleyway that ran up the eastern side of the grand theatre house.
There was not much time, and soon, the lake would be bustling with lunching nobles and romantically minded charlatans.
Duffy was thinking about two things in particular as they ran out into the thoroughfare running in front of the playhouse. The first was just how crazy this all was. He had never considered his life of late to be exotic, strange or sporadic…now; it seemed far too much like bizarre. Secondly, he was starting to think that Sei Orlougne had been right all along. Maybe his destiny was to help those in need, to guide people onto a lighter path, to be a saviour, as opposed to the more traditional hero he had for so long failed at trying to be.
“Ruby, did you remember the glasses?” He huffed as they made their way south, along the cobblestones to the first of many branches in the road.
The red head shook her head.
Duffy didn’t mind, he drank from whatever receptacle was on offer – the bottle was timid by comparison to his usual drunk exploits.
“Didn’t think so, guess I’m just hungry.” They turned a corner, streamed down the main road that lead from the noble district to the docklands and continued with their brisk pace.
Side by side, they looked quite the pair. Red hair and gangly legs criss-crossing under the strain of trying to hurry to some strange place, without telling everyone on Althanas that they had urgent, pressing matters to attend to.
Nobody liked to make a scene in Scara Brae.
The air was brisk, clean and refreshing on their sweaty skin. The kitchen of the Prima Vista might have been kind on the stomachs of the troupe, but it did nothing for their complexion. A pine fresh breeze rolled down the alleyways. They advanced towards the verdant heartland of the noble district they both reached the natural conclusion that this was all horribly ironic.
Regent Park was where Ruby and Leopold, her dutiful husband had spent most of their pre-nuptial year. Picnics on the lawns and the rolling hills had become practically second nature to the couple, and there was even a dip in the hill from where Leopold’s ample size had remained, practically constantly, for one particularly debauchee weekend five summers ago.
“I wonder if he’ll be hungry too, we didn’t bring enough for three,” Ruby didn’t think as she spoke, leading to Duffy’s scoff. “It’s always polite to be, well,” she shrugged her shoulders, “polite.”
Somehow, Duffy didn’t think ploughman’s trenchers would be a draconian chosen menu for a philosophical and slightly awkward encounter in the midday sun of a small, bewilderingly noisy island. The sounds of the encroaching crowd streaming towards the grand iron gates of Regent Park broke the tranquillity.
“Do you really expect,” Ruby took a breath, their pace now quickened to a particular, intelligent jog, “him to just be stood there?”
It was nearly fifteen minutes before Duffy could respond. He had to think very carefully about how to proceed. They wove through the steady stream of arm in arm couples and dodged several daring children rolling hoops up and down the gravel paths. Butterflies dances between blooms and verdant clumps of fuchsias struck a violet chord on the horizon. The bard wanted to just stand and stare at the summer bound beauty, and forget that a disciple of their mortal enemy could be behind the next bend.
“The Aria sang a song that never lies.”
They came to a natural curve in a long drive, egg shell clumps of well-trodden gravel kept prim within pine rod guides. It edged clockwise around a large hill which rested at the very heart of Regent Park. Long ago, there had been a band stand at the top, but that had been long since destroyed by war, the meddling tricks of wizards and the destitute coffers of a war stricken tributary to the distant Corone Civil War. Regent Park had suffered much in the wake of the conflict.
It used to be heaven in a dirty, crime ridden city. It was still a haven from the modern gentlemen’s sins.
Ruby was a few feet ahead, and when she stopped, she was a few feet up on higher ground. Her heel was regally poised as she turned.
“Are you ready for this Duffy Bracken?”
The bard shrugged brow sweaty and lungs aflame.
“I’m really thinking we should have brought those glasses though…” he frowned. Ruby waved him up and side by side, they skipped up the side of the hill. The soft grass underfoot was still kissed by the morning dew, which had yet to evaporate beneath the obscured heat of the sun.
When they crested the height of Mourner’s Croft, the true beauty of Regent Park sprawled out below them. The red headed flash of hair and the gangly white cloth of the bard’s attire burst into light as the sun hit them full on, and they both cupped their hands over their brows to dim the burning light.
The crystal surface of the lake was so bright they couldn’t look at it for too long.
“That brings back memories,” Ruby smiled. She looked with a sheepish glint in her eyes at Duffy.
“Ready?” He said.
“Let’s put our money where our mouth is and see if Sei’s faith in us was well placed.” She started down the hill, drawn like a moth to the flame to the winding gravel path that surrounded the lake. They were no longer alone now, people in top hats and purple dresses, the colour of Wednesday afternoons nodded at them with perturbed expressions on youthful, ignorant faces.
If their Thayne had guided them on a path as pure as the one they preached, the draconian paladin of the spider goddess N’Jal was standing, somewhere, pale faced and scared out of his wits on the Shore of Valeena Lake. Duffy and Ruby struggled in their silent thoughts to think of a more appropriate place to free oneself of chains of bondage.
MetalDrago
02-08-12, 05:29 PM
Staring at the waters of the lake, he felt himself growing weary with the life he had been sucked into as the thrall, the puppet of N'Jal. Drago ran a hand over his tired, scaled face and closed his eyes, sighing as he did so. In the darkness of his soul, he could remember only one thing. That which he remembered was his hatred for the world around him, how he decided that his duty was to watch it all burn to the ground in the wake of the Dark Goddess's return. In his reverie, he thought back to his battles from before, thinking of how much more of a monster he had become over the course of his matches in the Citadel with the Tantalum Troupe. His first was the dual-wielding knife specialist Duffy Bracken.
Fighting through a forest that was infested with the spirits of nymphs, Drago had eventually won out against his opponent by stabbing him through the chest with his Dragon's Betrayal katana, beating him handily. While Duffy Bracken had not remained dead, Drago knew that at the time, he wouldn't care one way or another had he actually died and stayed that way. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the grass below him. Yes, he'd beaten Duffy, but that was not the most frightening thing he had done. Once he retrieved his second sword, the Nocturne of Madness, things had devolved into a complete and total nightmare.
His second fight with the Tantalum was with Lilith Kazumi, an assassin-like fighter. She made the mistake of challenging the Dragonian in his home domain, the Black Forest room of the Citadel, which Drago had hand designed. Her words at his victory made the win hollow, though he did not know it at the time. "Petty...tricks...gambits of death, fiery convocation - you would do well in a war, my good sir, but in affairs of the heart, of life itself, I pity you for giving up your freedom so surly and swiftly. Graciously I bow out, but remember...this black forest, is nothing more than a reflection of your black heart..."
Those words still haunted his dreams even to this day. He shivered as he thought back to them. He looked at his armored gauntlet and a tear rolled down his cheek. "She was right... still is."
Finally was his battle with Arden, the Silent Swordsman. He wiped his eyes as he remembered the way that he had been attacked by the young man, who seemed like a man possessed when faced with the beast before him. "He fought to the bitter end, and even further than that... Could I ever have really been like that?"
He clenched a fist as the tears rolled freely down his cheeks. These memories were too much for him to deal with, especially here in this peaceful place. "I... feel regret... For the first time since I was... since I was... cursed by this dark power, I regret my actions."
Valeena Lake had come into existence quite by accident, thirty or so years prior. A magical explosion and a sudden, unexpected rain season had given the then neglected Regent Park a new central water feature. Upon seeing an opportunity to distract the people from the war and the growing difficulties with the Scourge and poverty, the queen christened the lake in her honour, revitalised the park and thus the people of Scara Brae walked their woes away on its crystal shores.
Sadly for Duffy and Ruby, the only things they were walking away by its edge was any sense of certainty in enjoying their sandwiches without interruption.
The day had started out with such simple intentions.
“Do you see him yet?” Ruby asked meekly, almost tip toeing around a tree covered curve in the path. Birds and babies scattered and screamed in a medley of push chairs, choral song and exasperated looking parents.
Duffy rolled his eyes, weaving in and out of the mother and baby procession nimbly.
“You really can’t miss a half dragons in a crowd of silk clad daddy’s girls?”
They both should have known better than to expect a day to themselves.
“Forget I asked,” she cursed under her breath, but Duffy didn’t quite catch it.
This side of the shore had accrued a small scattering of trees in recent months, newly uprooted from the various woods on the island and moved here under great duress. They formed little copse on the rolling hills, offering cloud cover and secluded picnic specs for most of the eastern shore. Marks where the wagons had dropped off their heavy loads were still visible, snaking over the privet lawns and away to the distant iron gates.
Bluebells and daisies danced in the tufts at the foot of some of them already, spring’s bounty doing its bit to bury any trace of man’s interference. Duffy caught a glimpse of picnic blankets spread out beneath some of the larger poplars and wished they were on one eating. They came to another curve in the lake’s shore, and stepped out from a denser section of the trees. The path was clear as it ventured around a natural peninsula, before it stretched in a great arc on the northern shore, which was a vast, almost half moon shape.
Standing out in the morning sunshine once more, no longer protected by the sporadic canopies of the trees, Duffy felt hot and sluggish, and noticeably weak. It was nearly midday and he had deliberately missed breakfast in anticipation of the perfection waiting in his now slightly battered trencher.
“I, think that’s him,” he pointed to the far shore, “over there.”
Ruby looked over her shoulder and followed the bard’s indicator.
“Ah, yes, I see what you mean.” She took a step forward, but the sound of crunching gravel seemed to freeze her in her tracks. She was suddenly intimidated, which made Duffy chuckle.
“He’s not going to bite, Ruby. I doubt he even knows he’s been in our dreams.” Duffy shrugged, patted her assuredly on the shoulder and walked ahead. “From what I remember, asides from the blood thirsty swordplay, he’s quite a nice fellow!”
She snarled.
“Don’t make fun of me, you heard the song too…this is, something different.”
“It will be something cannibalistic if we don’t get over there, start talking, and then let me get to grips with my lunch, do you hear me?” He prodded her in the small of her back, and she cantered forwards, whinnying and giggling and flapping her arms to try and defend herself.
“Alright, alright!” She stamped her heel.
They came out of the first curve of the path side by side, smiling, or at least trying to, and arm in arm. Duffy stood on the right, his satchel padding against his buttocks with a heavy swing. Ruby feigned an interest in the lapping shore, and took to trying to remember the name of the various ducks that zipped to and fro over the swell. When they finally came into clear view of the paladin, she could see his monstrous size and sheathed blades, and felt a deep, dark foreboding.
“How could he be anything other than the Black Swan?”
“Don’t judge a play by its playwright, Ruby,” Duffy muttered under his breath, fearing Drago would notice them at any moment.
Even as he told her to be quite, a niggling doubt crept into the back of his mind. She was right.
What were the gods doing, teasing their children so?
MetalDrago
02-10-12, 05:43 PM
The waters of the lake lapped against the shore in a rhythmic dance, push and pull, the dance of eternity, watched over by the similar, yet oh so different dance of the sun and moon. The brighter the light, the deeper the darkness. Drago had heard those words before, what seemed like ages ago. The eternal struggle between light and darkness seemed so distant from the day to day occurrences of life on Althanas, but they were not so. Every person had to deal with the light and the darkness within. All people, no matter how "pure," had some measure of both within them. For others, the fluctuations would tear them apart, leading to an incurable madness. Such it had been for Drago. As the waters of the lake reflected a person as they were, they could not reflect the depths of the soul, just as no one could peer into the depths of the deep lake quite so easily. Beneath the surface, strong or even dangerous currents could sweep a person away.
Breaking from his reverie for a moment, Drago wiped the tears from his eyes and looked around him, to make sure no one had seem him. All he saw were people dressed in purple "fashions" trying to avoid looking at him. "Guess they've never seen a being quite like me... Can't blame them. Even I haven't met another like me," he said under his breath. He started to rise, preparing to resume his search for the Tantalum, when a sudden sharpness in his chest caused his to double over. Collapsing to the soft grass below, the warrior tried to catch his breath, but was unable to. As he struggled to inhale through the burning pain in his chest, he mused in a detached manner, If I could still breathe fire, this entire area would be a pile of smoldering cinders in a matter of hours...
After what seemed like hours, he finally caught his breath and took a huge gulp to convince himself he was alright. He clenched his fist, tearing the grass beneath out of the soil by their roots. While the burning had subsided, he still felt the soreness in his chest from struggling. "What the hell was that...?" he croaked. He coughed and cleared his throat, hoping to gain some semblance of his true voice back and then stood up. With no small amount of effort, he unclenched his fists and watched as the grass was carried away by the mid morning wind. He turned to continue watching the grass flying away, and saw two people staring directly at them. One of them was a rather beautiful woman, by almost any man's standards, red hair tied back in a ponytail. She exuded an air of uncertainty. Of course, considering what she was looking at, it didn't surprise the half dragon warrior in the least.
The second person, who Drago could not place even though he seemed quite familiar, looked at him with the eyes of a man who knew exactly what was in his line of sight. In a flash of light, Drago remembered the dream he had while he was on his two week long voyage to Scara Brae every night. Those two were among the faces of those he had seen in the small copse of trees on the shore of a lake.
"Wait... a lake?" He looked around himself, his eyes scanning the entire park. Indeed, as he scanned the rolling hills and beautiful, almost natural landscape of the park, he did indeed see a copse of trees almost exactly like the ones he had dreamt about. He smiled lightly to himself, a hideous gesture that looked something more like a grimace on his warped and mutated face. He looked back to the two standing before him and bowed his head. Without a single word toward them, he took all three of his swords, sheathes and all, placed them upon the ground, backed away slowly and knelt on one knee.
"As strange as this seems," he started, "I am not here to wage battle. I want to..." He shook his head. "No... I need to free myself from N'Jal's Will. I don't know if you'll be able to help me, or even willing... but believe me when I say this... You are the only ones I can turn to."
There were many responses the bard expected from the half dragon. Aggression figured highly on the list, along with danger, threat, lots of pain and a sudden need to find a new pair of trousers. In the Citadel, he had not been fearful for his life when he had first met eyes with the creature’s sheer size. The leathery wings, heavy bulk of his scales and diamond hard talons were very much piercing Duffy’s cocksure disregard for mortal worries and casting doubt onto his calm.
“This…really isn’t how I remember Swan Lake…” Duffy said, perhaps a little loudly.
The look of shock on his face spoke a thousand words about how much faith he had actually put into his earlier statements about giving the ma…the dragon a chance. Ruby swatted his shoulder. It was a motherly chastisement. She clucked, too, for good measure.
“What my friend here means, is that we weren’t sure about what to expect.” Ruby’s voice was sincere.
“The dreams we were having…they were not pleasant.” Duffy did not have any sincere bones in his body anymore.
“We were given information that you’d be here, but were unsure why. As you can see,” she waved over the bard from head to toe, closing in to his side like a woman caught out in the cold near her lover, “it was not this.” Her eyes fell to the array of cruel weapons that the paladin had set before his imposing bulk.
From the limited explanations Duffy, Arden and Lillith had given her of the various opponents they had encountered on their many jaunts to the Citadel, Drago had been one of the more adventurous to deal with. They all spoke very highly of those encounters, for their ferocity, their impact on their outlook of life, and for their sword arms.
The most important part of the paladin’s introduction was the mention of freedom. As fragments of a Thayne dedicated to bringing creativity, life and joy to the people that inhabited the island, relinquishing tyranny and downtrodden hearts from overt oppression was a cause that spoke deeply to both spell singer and bard. Charity ran through the veins of the Tantalum troupe as if it were blood.
“Drago…it’s been almost a year since we crossed paths,” Duffy bit his lip, a sign Ruby knew was a thinking face, “perhaps more. What happened to you?” The bard shrugged.
MetalDrago
02-16-12, 12:41 PM
"What happened..." Drago repeated under his breath. He thought back over the last two years, the long, painful years he had worked so hard at furthering war and strife in the world. He closed his eyes and shook his head before a bolt of lightning hit him out of the blue. "Wait a second... a year ago? Duffy, is that really you?" he asked.
The bard nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the black clad warrior. He placed a hand one his knee and stood upright. His orchid colored eyes slowly opened as he faced the two. He sighed and picked up one of his swords, the black one known as the Nocturne of Madness. He shook his head as the two backed up slowly. "Considering you've haven't fought me since I got this blade, allow me to explain." He looked at the sword for a moment before looking back at the two before him. "This blade has a very... unique power. When drawn, it intensifies the strongest insane trait of the wielder. In my particular case, it's my bloodlust, a trait I have had only as long as I have been working under the imperium of the Dark Goddess."
After his explanation, Drago tossed the weapon back down to the ground to join its kin, not even watching as it rolled across the grass and stopped a few inches away from the other two. "You might not believe me, but I used to be a pretty decent person. Some would even say I was a good person." He motioned for the two of them to follow him and went to sit down on the bench again. Once he made himself comfortable, he decided to continue his story. "I used to be a wanna be hero. I had my villain all picked out, wanted to save the the world and all that nonsense. The task was too much for me. I made a lot of friends, but most of them disappeared from the public eye long before I turned into..." he motioned to his body, "this."
A slow chuckle escaped his lips. He looked at the two before him and tried to smile, though again it came off as more of a grimace. "I went to Raiaera as a part of a courtesy mission from Corone to offer aid to the city of Valinatal. By the time I got there, the entire city had been destroyed, crushed under a some kind of rock from above the sky. I met Lorenor there, and together we entered that thing. Deep within we found the dark powers of N'Jal and took them within our bodies. I was corrupted, and both Lorenor and I gained powers above and beyond anything we've ever dreamed of. The rest is history."
He left out a few details, like their visit to the All-Thayne's Hall. He looked at the two Tantalum and then down at his hands. "This power has been a curse. Your Lilith was right about that."
At the mention of the mutant ghoul’s name, Duffy could only smile.
“You know Lorenor?” he raised an eyebrow.
Ruby mock yawned, knowing how two men finding common ground often drowned her out.
“I do, though I wish I never shared time with him under those unfortunate circumstances,” was Drago’s natural response.
Duffy could feel the weight of sorrow behind the draconian words. There was respect for Lorenor in his sentence, but not for the events in the crater. The bard wished one day to find out what happened there, but now was not the time nor place. Though he had not known it then, in the paradox of their meeting, Duffy knew now how cruel and sadistic Lorenor was. N’Jal’s greatest champion had walked with the bard, and he had listened, starry eyed.
Ruby could only tut. She slid up to the bard’s side and whilst the ‘men’ talked, she unfolded the picnic blanket from Duffy’s satchel, took out the trenchers and started to set out the picnic they had painstakingly prepared. She fought with the red check with futile efforts on the privet lawn.
The wind that rolled down over the hills of Regent Park kept Duffy cool as his anxiety continued to grow. His fingers would simply not stay still. He was excited at the prospect, he never, in all his life, imagined that fate would be so…interesting.
“Long ago, Lorenor told me that I would one day have to save another like from the same fate that would befall him in time. ‘Another paladin will seek redemption’, he said.” Though Duffy’s memory was exceptionally hazy at the best of times, he still could picture fighting with Lorenor atop the walls of Jadet, unlikely allies fighting a common enemy.
Finally able to sit atop the blanket, Ruby flopped onto the bright squares of crimson and crème and sighed to herself. She clipped her heels together and leant back on her palms.
“I sent Lillith to the Citadel when I finally caught wind of a man claiming to be N’Jal’s paladin, and she delivered a letter…I never put two and two together.” He finally relented, beaming a smile when it dawned on the bard that the dreams they were having were just a further part of the grange irony of life.
“Join us,” he gestured to the picnic blanket, which was large enough for each to at least perch on a corner. “I am afraid we have not brought enough food to share, but your company would be most welcome.”
He hopped over the cotton, all too aware that Ruby would throttle him if he got too much mud on her pleated Fallien weave, and dropped into a cross legged lotus position on the corner opposite Drago. Ruby sat to his right, leaving the left or far corner free for their new and strange companion.
“This is fascinating, it really is,” Duffy furrowed his brow at his leading lady, and then turned back to Drago, who was a little more…difficult to read. “However, Duffy hasn’t eaten and he gets grumpy when he’s not at least half drunk or plied with bread.” Ruby held out Duffy’s sandwich at arm’s length, eyes fixated on the cumulus clouds and flocks of sparrows swirling through the sunny, glorious spring skies.
The bard could only shrug as he took it from her, and bit into the thick, fluffy and still buoyant poppy seeded loaf. The taste sensation and the fresh, crisp, moist salad brought a smile to his face. For just a brief moment, he forgot that to save Drago, he would have to die. By the crystal shores of Valeena Lake, Duffy used the time between chews to work out just how exactly he was going to tell Drago that yes, they could help him…but he really wasn’t going to like it.
The draconian advanced towards the blanket, and their strange meeting progressed along its natural course.
MetalDrago
02-16-12, 04:16 PM
As he took his seat on the blanket, Drago's comfort level took a swan dive. He began fidgeting with his cape, and imagined what the people around them must have thought. A half dragon thing picnicking with what was by all appearances a normal couple. He chuckled at the thought, an unnatural sound. He felt a certain camaraderie with these people. He didn't know why, but something about being with them made him feel different than he normally did. He listened to them talking about the letter that Duffy had Lilith bring him and nodded. "I remember. That was the battle that really began to shake my resolve about being a Paladin of N'Jal." he fished around inside his armor and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He placed it carefully upon the blanket and said, "This the one. You have a certain way with words, my friend."
Relaxing for the first time in what seemed like years, the Dragonian let himself lean back and look around at the surroundings. The water of the lake lapped against the shore as the yellow sun above beat down upon them, warming them body and soul. Above them, a pair of birds began to circle and dive. As they landed, Drago took a quick look out to the lake's surface. He placed a finger on his chin and pursed his lips.
"Duffy, didn't you say something about Swan Lake earlier?"
The bard turned red and started sputtering for a moment, before being shot an ironic look by his female companion. The Dragonian suddenly felt very sheepish at having forgotten his manners. "Pardon my lack of manners," he said, his cheeks burning as he looked at the woman. "I am MetalDrago, though you can call me Drago for short. I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting."
Having hopefully made up for his lack of manners, he turned his attention back to the pair before him. They looked as easy together as any pair possibly could, as though they knew each other so well as to be something more than friends. "Pardon my asking, but are you two... a couple?"
“Oh good lord no,” Ruby interjected, taking the reins of the conversation with the force of a hurricane.
Though Duffy had tried, many countless drunken evening over the last five centuries, they were not now, and not ever ‘a couple’. Ruby nibbled on a corner of her sandwich whilst she waited for the snappy retort to die down. As she chewed through the bread, she traced the rugged features of their new found companion and tried to reconcile her need to run away fucking screaming, and her need to touch, prod and stroke his scales.
“It is a curious pleasure, I must admit, and thank you for your kindness.”
The red head caught Duffy’s wry smile and stuck her tongue out in protest.
“As for Swan Lake, that is my fault I am afraid,” she put her trencher down onto the red check to lean over to Duffy’s corner of the picnic blanket. With haphazard tugs, she wrenched the copy of the play from the satchel, leaving it upturned and dishevelled on the lawn. “After the dreams got so vivid I could not sleep,” she half sounded bitter, “I started to trawl through every manuscript we had about transformations.”
With delicate, academic fingers Ruby flicked through the well-read pages of the Tantalum troupe’s only copy of Swan Lake. It was, amongst the many hidden treasures of the theatrical coven, one of their most important items. For it to have sprung quite literally to life now, of all the many chances fate had, still amazed Ruby. She held out the book, turned it to a page, and jabbed her finger at the etching on the middle page.
“The dream…it was like this,” the picture depicted a white swan on the left page, wings reared in defiance of the black swan on the right. Innocence and guilt were buried in metaphors of perfection and impulse. The duality between the two was the stuff of legend, of ballet, of stage fright, of a role that people had, quite literally, killed to perform.
Drago took the book with talons that Ruby had no reservations could sever her spine with only a fraction of their latent strength. She leant back; hands pressed into the cotton of the picnic blanket and lolled her head with a haphazard expression. Whilst flocks of gulls flew overhead, cawing and crying on their journey inland from the roughening seas of the high tea, the clouds continued to roil through the heavens on thermals and wishes.
“Now you’ve come here, and told us what you want, I am afraid I think you’re the white swan…or,” she chuckled, “the white dragon.” Ruby smiled with the sort of endearing expression that made married men melt and her married man flutter at the knees.
Duffy could only glare at her for stealing the spot light.
MetalDrago
02-23-12, 12:21 AM
Drago flipped lightly through the pages of the book, his eyes absorbing the information at a fairly quick rate. "I... see. I'm not sure how this pertains to my own situation, but I'm sure there was a reason you had such images in your dreams." He pondered for a moment as he closed the book and handed it back to her, careful not to damage the aging tome. He looked both of them in the eyes, his own flashing with a sudden insight. "Dream? Wait a second... You can't possibly tell me you had a dream about me?"
He looked down at his lap for a moment before looking back up. "I too had a dream. I think that's what caused me to stop here and wait for you. Something about this place felt... familiar somehow." He fumbled over his words after Ruby smiled at him in that warm, reassuring manner. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady his nerves, the looked back at the both of them. Everything about them screamed "good person," all the way from their warm, nearly playful demeanor, to the way they seemed at home in this peaceful setting. They didn't sick out like a big, black sore thumb, unlike the other being sitting on the picnic blanket.
The Dragonian growled, looking at his hand and clenching it into a fist. He was startled by his own voice and nearly jumped before apologizing swiftly for his change of mood. "It's been... a long time since I've actually relaxed or done anything close to this. It's always about the next plan. Even if I don't know what it is yet, I always have to be planning something to further the cause." His brow was set in a pained furrow. It truly made him unhappy to think about what he had done, instead of always living in the present, acting on instinct and the Word of N'Jal alone. This day, outside of Her influence, everything he had done over the last two years finally began to sink in, and he was not enjoying himself this time around.
He pushed his feet out against the grass, turning slightly away from the two sitting before him. The grass under his feet gave way to deep brown soil, fresh enough that new grass would grow in shortly. Drago smiled lightly, a pair of tears rolling down his cheeks as he took in a deep, rasping breath. "If you can free me from this torture, I will do whatever it takes. Just name it."
He then took a deep breath and added, "I forgot how painful having a conscience can be," before reaching up and wiping his eyes on the soft padding of his gauntlet's palm.
“There is no easy way to say this,” Duffy began, thinking better of him than to beat around the bush. “We can help you…but it is not a question of throwing yourself into the fire, of doing anything.” He chomped through another inch of his trencher and relished every moment, despite the sincerity of the conversation. “It is…” he chomped through a thick slice of tomato, a product of his haphazard and lazy preparation in between syllables, “more a case of do we want to do it…”
Ruby rolled her eyes.
“You would have to die…” she added to her melodramatic expression.
The silence was deafening in Regent Park all of a sudden. The draconian shifted uncomfortably.
“Die?”
Duffy nodded, lettuce and chutney pools forming in the corner of his mouth.
“It is a process called Evisceration. We used it once before to remove the possession of a Thayne from a man called Jensen Ambrose.” Though it had hurt Duffy to even ask his blood brother, the result had been to carve the spirit of their oppressor out of the mortal vessel and sent it reeling into the Firmament. If Drago died at the tip of Wainwright’s Blade, then he too would be free of N’Jal’s corruption, her wiles and whims.
“Is it…safe?” Drago asked. His scales seemed to chatter, the draconian version of teeth eschew in a nervous, anxious mouth.
The bard and the crimson mistress nodded in unison, a harmony of assurance. The dream had solicited the need for them to help this poor, unfortunate and wayward soul. Though both had encountered N’Jal before, in different lives and different times, here, today, they would not let the bastard daughter of the al-Thayne ruin another life.
“There is no danger to you, our companion, Arden Janelle, whom you have met before possesses a most unusual talent.” Duffy nibbles on a gherkin whilst he composed himself. The seagulls and breeze washed over head.
“A conscience is a terrible, terrible thing to waste Drago. I am so happy we did not just ignore the dreams we have both been having for…” she looked to Duffy, who clucked a number, “months.” She settled on vagaries for a greater impact. The Spellsinger rolled her eyes at being virtually ignored and returned to her own, still untouched trencher. She swallowed the crusty poppy bread with much enthusiasm, and tore through salad and chutney with a fickle, pickle wave of enjoyment.
“It is your decision, in the end,” Duffy began.
Ruby spat out a gherkin onto the napkin carefully arranged over her lap, “but rest assured, we can help.” There was a brief silence, a rescue of salad, and then a resuming of crunching.
Drago snorted.
“You do not seem so sure yourselves. Why should I fall onto your blade?” He flexed his leather muscles, their heavy weight tethered Duffy's desire to run to the soft green grass of the Regent Park verge. “Why should I believe you?” Duffy admired the human emotion hidden behind the bestial form. He stopped chewing, tore off half his sandwich, and though it pained him to do so, he held it out as a peace offering.
“It is our purpose in life to aid those in need. We reform characters dark and succour and bring them into the light.” He tasted bile in his throat as he regurgitated the traditional line of the Reformation Team of the Ixian Knights. The bard could practically hear Sei Orlougne laughing all the way to the vault. “Our blade is your salvation, Paladin.” Drago took the sandwich with a gruff nod and bit into it.
“What say you?” Ruby offered, her more regal and pronounced approach to diplomacy shining behind Duffy’s crude and colloquial riddled dialogue.
The sun shone overhead, birds cried, children played. Scara Brae continued on, oblivious to the dark tides forming in Valeena Lake.
To be continued, in A Dragon's Dogma.
Revenant
06-03-12, 06:04 AM
Condensed rubric requested.
Plot: (20) – The beginning of MetalDrago’s redemption felt very tied together. The Swan Lake was very well done and tied the thread together nicely. The settings were well-described and gave me a clear indication of the world of Scara Brae around the characters. What dropped the score in this field was the pacing, which jumped back and forth several times between drawn out, detailing posts and short, scene jumping ones in a manner that disrupted the flow of the thread.
Character: (22) – This area really shone, as all of the characters expressed a strong depth and it’s clear that you have a solid grasp of who the characters are and how they act/react to the stimuli around them. There were times when the characters were stifled by too much going on around them though. A more in depth exploration of MetalDrago’s motives an internal strife would have helped.
Prose: (22) – Duffy and Ruby, sometimes your language gets in the way of what you intend to convey with it. The way you tied everything in this thread to a single point really made it work though.
Wildcard: (5) – An interesting read, though I wish there had been more to it. I guess I’ll have to wait for the follow-on thread.
Total: 69
Duffy Bracken receives 1299 exp and 110 gp.
Ruby Winchester receives 394 exp and 45 gp.
MetalDrago receives 600 exp and 75 gp.
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