Fire and Fangs

[Atzar]

[Closed. See this thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23893-Look-a-Dragon!) for details.]

It began with a cloud of sand and a shrill scream.

Atzar Kellon gazed in amazement as the wyrm knifed through the desert dunes, the setting sun blazing across its crimson scales. The few foreigners pointed and cried out, their expressions an assortment of awe, astonishment and fear. Even the close-mouthed Fallien people murmured amongst themselves, and though the mage didn’t speak their tongue, he understood them all the same.

A short moment later, it was but an indistinguishable speck on the eastern horizon, obscured amongst the heat waves emanating from the blistering desert. In that instant, the once-fascinating prospect of exploring the ruins of Kesta had diminished into dull, gray boredom.

The chatter of the passengers around him gradually faded away, replaced by the peaceful music of the river and the steady rhythm of the ferry’s oarsmen. The mage leaned on the wooden rail, gazing out over the waters of the Attireyi in the direction in which the sand wyrm had vanished.

Several others, native and foreign alike, joined him on the rail. He found that, under the circumstances, he no longer minded rubbing elbows with the small, dark-skinned people. Not a moment had passed since he last regretted his decision to travel to Fallien. It had taken eight days to receive his Exit Pass from the Outlander’s Quarter of Irrakam. Eight days of blistering sunlight and frigid nights. Eight days of hard-eyed stares from the hostile locals. He had met their glares with a friendly, polite façade at first, but he found that the heat did little for his patience. Quickly his forced smile gave way to a contemptuous sneer, and it was quite easy to look down his nose at a populace that rarely stood taller than his shoulders.

Now, all of that seemed but a distant memory. The evening wore on as the ferryboat wandered northward, and every eye aboard it glanced periodically out at the featureless desert in case the rare beast returned. The sun dipped slowly to the horizon, and dusk’s pleasant warmth gave way to the first chills of night.

But as the sun finally set and Atzar cast one last glance to the east, he could have sworn that he saw something flash red.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain twisted on a heel and shifted her body weight. With her spine arced, head back, arms elegantly poised and spread wide like wings, she imagined herself to be a swan. The crowd, enthralled by the sudden exposition in the heart of the bazaar had, quite literally, come to a screeching halt in response. The many streams of people had until just a few moments ago been bolting north and south along the boulevard froze in awe.

The troubadour had never felt so alive than in those first few exhilarating moments of a dance. If you captured hearts and minds with that first momentum, you could hold whole worlds in your sway. She would settle for just a few hearts, for just a few minutes. To do it in the busy heart of Fallien’s capital only added to her swelling ego.

Irrakam at this hour was a delicate thing, teetering on the edge of chaos and peace, sunshine and shadow, business and pleasure. Whilst in the poorer districts of the Outsider’s Quarter people would be suffering, spluttering ailments and bed ridden paupers everywhere, in the northern half of the city, the nobility and priesthood would be feasting on fresh dates and the finest distilled spice wine. It was this juxtaposition between the rich and the poor, the native and the new that the dancer drew upon to inspire her movements. They, like the city, were beautiful in their erratic flow.

For the occasion, Mordelain had removed her traditional headdress, which allowed her by now golden hair to flow in her wake. She had stripped back the ribbons and the bells, which afforded her a greater freedom of movement during her partisan training. The simpler garb also allowed her to perform some of the more nimble sections to the traditional dance form she reverted to in times of trouble. Though the crowd were transfixed, heads held high to crane a look at the spectacle, she was ever conscious of keeping her routine and performance ever changing to keep them intrigued.

She whirled again, beating her metaphorical wings so that the sand beneath her feet might have blown away. She took a deep breath, bent a knee, and used the rising motion to pounce towards the edge of the crowd.

Mordelain was met not with a roar of surprise and a round of applause, but a stagnant aroma of tobacco, sweat, and a sea of vacant, skyward expressions. She waved her arms, rising and falling and chanting in the feeble Fallien tongue she had learnt in her tenure here.

Still, she gained no response.

“Are you not entertained?” she enquired.

Nothing.

Slowly but surely, she dropped her arms in defeat. They padded against her thighs, and she turned. Judging from the elevation of their heads, they were craning up to look at the sky, which a difficult task was given the brightness of the Fallien sun. Even as it began to set, it was resplendent in the sky. The cumulus clouds were dense and especially white today in the heavens, so the sun set caused them to explode in an array of reds and oranges. There were several awkward moments steeped in silence whilst the troubadour scoured the fluffy peaks and troughs, eyes narrowed to try and catch wind of what the commotion was all about.

There was something in the corner of her vision.

“What in…” she started to curse, but her jaw simply fell open and gasped for flies in defeat. A shadow came into focus on the eastern horizon. “The name of Suravani is that?” her breath became sharp and quick, her heart squeezed it out her chest with heavy beats.

Though the planes walker had seen many wondrous and terrifying things in her long life, she had only ever heard legends and fairy tales about what her brain was telling her she was looking at. She had fled the behemoth plants of Bulganin, terrifying creatures the size of cities, and fought in an eternal dance the whale demons of Petra, whose cry shattered souls and tore holes in the skies of the Grand Library. She had feared only for the worlds the creatures inhabited, longed to save the people they threatened, never once scared or fearful for her own life.

This creature, on the other hand, sent a chill down her spine.

“Was that…a dragon…?” she asked no one in particular as she finally overcame her shock. Her tone was sour, unsurprised but somehow bewildered at the same time. It was especially more so as she said it in Common, a language not usually known for its range of expression. Someone replied with a simple yes. There were a hundred or so slow nods in the crowd behind her, a chorus of agreement, just to make everyone quite certain they were not hallucinating. If more than just one person saw something then it had to be real, did it not?

It was going to be an interesting evening.

[Moxen]

Uzriel trudged through the hot sands, deeply regretting his choice of attire for the journey. His steel armor reflected light into his eyes, and his dark clothes were blistering in the sun. He stroked back his long white hair, and cursed his misfortunate lack of magical prowess. What he wouldn't give for some shade right now. This was silly. A waste of time. There was no logical reason for walking through blistering heat and glaring sunlight, no matter what riches may be hear of on the other side of this god-forsaken desert. He opened up a crumpled map some shady old man had given him. "Treasures and Adventure. That's whats on the other side of this desert" he said. Stupid mistake.

After a few more hours of walking, sweating, drinking, resting, and more walking, he finally came to a town. Or maybe it was a city. Uzriel didn't care: It was a place where he could get a drink and get some shade. He entered the nearest drinking building and didn't come out for a few hours.

It was after he got out of the place that he saw the glint. At first it was out of the corner of his eye, but then he turned, and saw it again. A red glint. Metallic. Uzriel couldn't tell if it was alive, or not, but it seemed more likely that it was. Without a second though, he raced after it, hoping to sate the boredom of desert. Maybe I'll find some riches after all....