The Day A Dragon Came To Town

[Hydriatus]

Ay-Ayhra? Aya?...AYHREK! That was it! That's what this part of the mountains was called!

Vultha muttered beneath his breath as he flapped his wings once, maintaining his glide. There was precious little rising air in the mountains - the cold climate made it a place where air fell, utterly unsuitable for gliding. And regular flying was too tiring for him at his age. Luckily he was going downhill, so the momentum was enough to keep him aloft for now.

It had been a month now since his panicked retreat from...home. A month of living like some common animal, hunting whatever game he could come across in the hardy mountains. Fortunately, they seemed a great deal more hospitable than those of home, lacking the mechanical juggernaughts that had been the wardens of the edge of the world. Still, game was surprisingly rarer in the fotthilss than amongst the peaks themselves - there was a distinct lack of rabbits or deer. He knew they existed in this realm, he had caught glimpses of a few. But it seemed as if they had been almost hunted out of existance in these parts, moving further up the rocky terrain to escape those who hunted them.

The inhabitants of this region were obviously in some sort of difficult situation, if they were resorting to over-hunting. Hunger? Blight? Stupididty? Something was afflicting them, and Vultha's natural curiosity had proven too strong to resist. So here he was, gliding down to the enarest town to...well, introduce himself to the neighbours. If he could get a good relation going with them, they could help each other out and the dragon would be able to start regaining what he had lost.

His hoard of knowledge.

[Ozoric]

“A dragon philanthropist…” Ozoric said, perhaps a little flatly.

Dakar nodded enthusiastically. The captain of the scouting wing had always been overly enthusiastic, especially about dragons. The prospect of meeting a dragon who wanted to be met had driven the man’s curiosity to new heights. He was practically twitching with every spare limb as the great drake beat its wings and carried them through the mist.

“Isn’t it fascinating?” he asked, hoping Ozoric’s keen intellect and mind’s eye would offer some explanation or reasoning.

“Sure…” he bit his tongue, hoping to avoid prolonging the conversation too much. His thoughts were less on wonderment, and more on the enraged populous at the sight of a dragon, no matter how small, so brazenly walking towards them. It did not take much for the first stone to be thrown, and shortly after that, there would be arrows, spells, and siege stones.

The drake beat its wings one final time, roared, and then descended down through the moist pale that kept it hidden from the shattered and beleaguered towns below. Salvar loomed into view, and even Ozoric’s cold façade faltered as he mouthed his awe. The temperature raised, and the air cleared, and the smell of snow, pine, and possibility filled the young dragoon’s nostrils.

“That is what I would call fascinating, Dakar,” he said, without his earlier stoic tone. He took a hold of the elaborate reigns that kept them both on the drake’s back to make sure he didn’t fall to his death, and leant over the rise of the beast’s hind legs to trace the detail of the vast mountain range. Snow made patterns of ever shifting gulley and glaciers, and the melt water carved a path across the marshlands like silver blood in ancient veins.

“I can see why any dragon would want to come here,” the captain roared, whipping the reigns and pressing his will softly against the dragon’s indomitable presence. They communicated briefly, silently, and in respect of one another, before the drop became a plummet, and the beast’s wings tucked back to give it an aerodynamic grace.

Ozoric had to agree, though the thought only crossed his mind in between rampant screaming with excitement and the crack of the wind over the drake’s back. Whilst he was still very much a novice amongst the Dragoons of Corone, he hoped one day to be able to perform such a reckless descent without impaling himself into the floor like Dakar. For now, he had only his lunch to lose and his appetite for a long time to come.

[Hydriatus]

Vultha was well aware of the risks he was taking as his alititude continued to decrease at a leisurely pace. The rocky wasteland below began to fade away, replaced with dirt and grass. Thick black smoke clouds were visible nearby, the produce of the small mining town nearby. It supplied a city...S...Sa...Salve? Whilst something of a linguist, it was still taking Vultha sometime to learn the common tongue of this land. But he could communicate which was the important thing. The town itself specialised in iron mining and smelting.

A few days earlier the small dragon had snuck and scouted nearby, learning what he could - in particular ways to flee if things did not go well.He also eavesdropped as much as he dared, exposing himself to the language. There was much he had to learn, and fast, if he was to survive in this brave new world. He flapped his wings andlanded heavily, his claws digging into the soil beneath as he took a few breaths to slow his heartbeat. The town was only twelve minutes away as a human strode. In Vultha's experience, a gradual approach tended to spark more curiosity than fear.

Muttering foreign words to himself, trying to perfect their pronounciation, the dragon began to walk, head swinging from side to side to make sure no one snuck up on him.

[Ozoric]

The second the drake hit the ground, and the shaking stopped, Ozoric leapt from the creature’s back. Despite his litheness, he fell heavily to the frozen ground beneath the weight of his harness and his plated boots. The captain fell beside him, though with more gusto due to his heavy Platemail.

“How do you do that in such a stupid amount of armour?” Ozoric wheezed and hissed cold steam. The strain of dismounting was still difficult for him to bear. He doubted it’d ease, at least not for many years after he finally bonded with a dragon of his own.

“Practice is the key, young one,” he replied, cocking a great spear over his shoulder the moment he retrieved it from the holster strapped to the side of the battered leather of the drake’s saddle. “When you’ve been into battle as many times as I have,” he made a visible attempt to remember the precise number, but gave up, “the armour becomes second nature.” He rapped his knuckles, thick plated gloves against his breast plate.

“Still,” he retrieved his satchel, hung it over his shoulder, and checked nothing had fallen loose during their flight. Though the captain used steel as his bargaining tool, as a novitiate of the dragoon order, Ozoric was entitled to only words and wit as his form of defence. “It’s a bit excessive, isn’t it?”

“A dragon, regardless of its size, is still very much a dragon.” Swift came the only logical reply. It was stern and without friendship, and Ozoric took it to mean the captain had an unspoken trauma that he did wish to share. It was also the phrase all dragoons used when facing certain danger, regardless of the form that danger took. Oath and prophecy made the captain sour, and for his loyalty, Ozoric could only nod in agreement.

They walked side by side, heavy feet crunching the crystal flakes beneath them as they went. Ozoric heard the hum of the drake’s aura dim as the captain willed him to stay, be at ease, and to await their return. His envy for the man did not die, but he used the wind to hum his way through the bitter resentment for his many continued years as a novice. One day, it would be he leading the mission, and others would follow.

“We will enter the town with the papers given to us by the Magister, and begin general enquiries.”

Ozoric nodded, and dutifully retrieved the documents mentioned. Even with hi thick gloves, he managed to open and close the satchel without difficulty. The scroll flapped in the wind, threatening to depart of its own free will. Ozoric had to wonder just why they had bothered, in Salvar’s post-war climate; he doubted the locals would trust envoys from a foreign power any more just because they had ‘documents’.

“Lead on, Captain, you are the expert here.” The youth smiled weakly, tucked his fur cape around his shoulders, and let his nerves and paranoia about what dangers lay ahead overwhelm him.

[Hydriatus]

Vultha's approach was simple and understated. He merely walked up towards the town's simple wooden palisade - their only form of defence against brigands and wild beasts, or so it seemed. One never knew what exactly hid in these small towns. Often it turned out to be retired adventurers who were still more than able to fight with a shocking amount of lethality. As he neared the town other's on the road stopped and stared. Seemed like a dragon merely walking along the path to town was not exactly a common sight. Many probably disbeleived their eyes.

Perfect. Audacity always was Vultha's favourite tool. The crisp white snow lay about the path, untouched by man or beast. Bare trees were visible here and there, too stubborn to die in these harsh conditions. Fascinating. Vultha's eyes inspected everything as he wandered towards what seemed to be the main gate, a small group of militia having gathered there to stare in sheer shock at what was happening. Warily eyeing their sharp implements (swords, spears, what looked like a scythe bent into a spear...was that a spade?!) Vultha stopped just out of reach, rustling his wings slightly and clearing his throat.

"Hello. Me come...peace," he said. Short, simple, to the point. He hated introductions. They were always so awkward. The militia's eyes seemed to grow even larger. Huh. If there are dragons in this realm they must not make it a habit to talk to the other species then. That would make thing's slightly more...interesting. "I have come here in search of employment," he continued, settling on a topic he was sure many of the folk here would understand and sympathise with. "Where I go find someone who could use my skills - someone need a messenger or a scout?"

The ragged assembly of people just looked amongst themselves for a moment, clearly at a loss regarding what to do. He heard them whispering amongst themselves. Words he recognised drifted by. Something about polymorph, another meaning victim, someone else saying illusion. A minute or two passed before a man clearly their leader (since his sash was red and not black like the ones the other's wore over their motley armor) had them part ways and looked coldly at Vultha before pointing into town. Vultha bobbed his head in thanks as the man spoke, probably the usual spiel of watch yourself, don't start anything, etc etc.

"Thank you," he said with a smile as he wandered into the community, followed by a legion of stares.

[Ozoric]

It did not take long for either of the duo to discover whispers, rumours, and lies about their quarry. Only an hour or so ago, a small drake, no taller than either of they, and no larger than a great bear had wandered into the settlement and introduced himself. Ozoric had been quit taken aback by the revelation. In the Citadel, where the Dragoons of Corone lived, dragon was proud, usually hostile, and effervescent creatures of fire and war. They most certainly did not want to talk to you.

“He were bold as brass,” said the gormless farmer, clad head to toe in wolf skin, and shivering all the same. “Walked right up an’ proper through town as if ‘e were one of us!” without hesitation, the man walked on about his business. The Captain flapped his gums, but couldn’t quite spit out the words he needed to keep the man enthralled. Ozoric chuckled.

“You may have a way with that spear, Dakar, but leave the talking to me from now on, won’t you?” with a grin, the youth took the lead, walking along the street with a puffed out chest and a pallid expression that was full of charisma, but utterly devoid of experience. In his short life in the Citadel, he had enlightened many a man to his wrongdoings, but he was desperately out of his depth beyond the geographical boundaries of Corone. Salvar, unlike the Empire, was entirely and eternally suspicious of everyone and everything.

“If you insist, Ozoric, but please take care.” Dakar pursued him, watchful of the dark doorways, icicle laden stables, and shifting shadow that formed the backdrop to their exploration.

They continued in their search for a good thirty or so minutes before anything else shed light on their purpose. The dragon was walking through the town, according to the village’s mayor, asking, asking for directions and conversation. Dakar gave the youth a stern expression of worry, nudged him on, and left the man to tend to his day to day administrations. They walked with hurried steps in the direction he had indicated, spear cocked forwards, Ozoric’ pallid skin and tattoos fiery in the dim light of the wasteland.

[Hydriatus]

"No! No chicken! I not hungry!" sighed Vultha, shaking his head at the scared trader. The man was gabbling in surprise, and obviously seeing him as some sort of ill-luck charm. Well the town had rpvoen friendly enough, what with no one trying to kill him out of hand. And his mastery of the language was rapidly improving, the dragon's sensitive ears picking up the way the words were prnounced and arranged, rapidly building up a dictionary and thesaurus of the local language. Soon he would have a functional enough grasp to actually get a job. Of course that's when he sensed it, a subtle shift in the air, a changing of scents. SOmething foreign, something new.

He spun in place, wings raised slightly in susprise as he saw to figures approaching, one brandishing a spear. Vultha bit back a hiss as he spoke to them, ingoring the scattering villagers who wanted nothing to do with what was about to happen, fleeing back to their timber homes. "What do you want?!" he asked, cautiously retreating from the pair.

[Ozoric]

Ozoric, eternally surprised by anything new, could only help but come to an abrupt halt. Whilst he had seen the dragon lurch into view minutes before, it was not until it spoke that it really became part of the world, and not just a facet of the scenery. His heart raced, rattling in his skinny body, and he tried to make sense of what was happening.

“I'm sorry?” he mumbled. Radar, chuckling to him all the while, pressed his hand against Ozoric’s chest to stop him bumbling forwards, before he himself approached closer.

“Ignore my friend, good sir, he is simply young, foolish, and,” he sighed, “not used to standing before such divine creatures.” On cue, Radar bowed, too eager, perhaps, to make an impression on the youngling. “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Captain Dakar of the Corone military.” The notion of armament caused a sudden tension in the air. Ozoric rolled his eyes, finally free of his indisposed nature.

“He is a scout, a dragoon, and a klutz with words.” He added, stepping free of his bondage to bow and smile at the young dragon. “My name is Ozoric, I am half like you, and half, regrettably, like Dakar.” He prodded a finger at his senior, and flicked the hair from his forehead as he stood upright once more. “What we want, parley, is merely to ensure your transition to society is…” he mulled the words over for a second, using the pause to incite suspicion and intrigue, “as peaceful as possible.”

Ozoric was not entirely sure if even he believed his own words. They had, after all, been dispatched to Salvar to ensure that mankind, in its weakened state, did not revert to dragon worship as it had done once, in the dark days of civilisation. The tyrant lords, the Wyverns and the True Dragons had laid waste to continents in the search for more and more power. The bond between man and beast had done away with any possibility of a repeat of those shadowy times. He cocked his head to one side, smiled, and thought ill of him for considering such an honest creature to be a threat. The growl in its voice was entirely in self-defence, and sure enough, it was by no means big enough to levy towns and topple mountains.

“Half like me?” the dragon asked, curious, though without any true facial features to express it with quite the same conviction a humanoid might.

“Yes,” Ozoric pulled up his sleeve, unfolded the cloak, and held his arm towards their new found and hopeful ally. “I am half-dragon, born of a true dragon mother and a human father.” The words sank into Dakar’s mind, but he remained composed enough to ignore the revelation. The people of the Drakengard, the Dragoon’s inner-sanctum, had long suspected Ozoric was sent to them for another purpose beyond military whim. “From where do you hail, friend?” he rolled back his sleeve, his draconian heritage beneficial in many ways, but not in keeping his unprotected skin warm in the tundra.

[Hydriatus]

Vultha studied the man closely. He was...too human. Thin blood. Still, the fact that half-breeds were about was a touching reminder fo how things had been back home. He lowered his wings slightly. Though this still could be a trap, at least these folks were proving themselves civil, and Vultha could appreciate that. Even bitter enemies did not have to be rude to one another. The words this Ozoric had chosen had been curious. He seemed to hold dragons...or whatever passed for dragons in this world, in high esteem. He narrowed his eyes and beat his tail on the ground.

"Hail then Ozoric, though I regret I cannot call you by your bloodline. Which one did your mother belong to?" he asked cautiously. Some dragons had been quite zealous in their battle against their dark cousins. Memories of Elumia and Bailey dirfted by his mind's eye. Vultha shook his head before focusing on the two men again. "Ah, hail to you too Dakar. I am Vultha Ceasin...I believe an apt translation in your tongue would be Black Forest," he replied, sitting back on his haunches like a regal cat, wings outstretched as if he was posing for a portrait. Despite his youth he still had the trademark arrogance of a dragon.

Dragoon...now that was an old word. One he had only read in dusty tomes, when men and dragons had fought together, before the rise of technology and the draconic decline. That such a partnership existed in this world bode well for his own future. He was quiet for a moment before answering the next question. "I come from a realm very far removed from this one," he shrugged. "And I find myself a stranger in a strange land. I figured it would be best for me to establish myself as an ally than a threat bron of ignorance," he added with a nod, swinging his head form side to side, keeping an eye on everyone else in the market. Fear was slwoly fading away into simply puzzlement and surprise.

[Ozoric]

Ozoric’s eyes narrowed, expressing suspicion, but a kindness and a kinship also. He had expected the dragon to know the tattoos that ran up and down his arm, as if they were penned in the ancient tongue of the first dragons themselves. From his reaction, the dragon was much younger than he appeared, and much younger than either of the dragoons had expected. All his suspicions and all Dakar’s weapons seemed suddenly futile, callous accruements to what was now a diplomatic mission.

“It is a strange pleasure to meet you, Vultha.” Both men approached, though slowly, carefully, and tentatively. Dakar dropped his spear so its tip pointed at nothing more than snow and rock, and Ozoric let his satchel hang loosely at his side, out of the quick reach of the weapon he did not have. The motion was as close to a show of trust and peace as they could manage, without resorting to more empty words. “A pleasure because an endearing ally is a luxury in these less than precious times.”

Ozoric could only guess that Vultha knew little of Salvar’s struggles. The scholar only knew of the civil war through the pursuit of knowledge he utilised as a distraction from the daily regimen of the Drakengard. Between holstering other knight’s steeds, polishing blades, and sounding the Storm Hold atop the great tower, he delved into the Verger’s library to drain all the tomes he could of their contents.

“War has come and gone here,” Dakar said, his usually robust dulcet tone invigorated with meagre enthusiasm. “Though people need an ally, they are distrusting…even of friends and family.” He set his spear onto the snow, and folded his arms defensively, but unthreateningly across the bulwark of his breastplate. The gauntlets scrapped over the battered steel, adding to the continued appearance of experience and carelessness that daggered Dakar wherever he went.

With a flick of his wrist, Ozoric warmed the air around his person, and pushed the heat outwards in an aura of thermal progeny that expanded to cover Dakar too. He did not over exert himself to protect Vultha from the cold – though the dragon was immeasurably young compared to some of the occupants of the Drakengard, it’s scales would still be like lava engulfing his body, and diamond protecting his heart. “It’s good we’re neither friends, yet, nor family.” He thought to himself as an afterthought, that, that wasn’t entirely true. He and Vultha shared a common lineage.

“Though, I guess, we are family.” He tried to smile, knowing the forthcoming conversation would make Dakar nervous at worst and curious at best. Neither, for the reclusive Ozoric, where preferred. “My mother is unknown to me, I am afraid. I am a half dragon, though not a drake, as some call them,” he waved over his form, from the tip of his head and his bellowing hair, to the silk shine of his boots. There were too many names for the same thing amongst the shattered, distant peoples of Althanas.

Vultha cocked his head to one side, “half…dragon?” there was recognition in the question. It was only then that Ozoric, shuffling his feet to pad down the snow into a pedestal of history, realised Vultha’s ‘far land’ was perhaps much further than even a dragon could take him.

“I am Dragonborn. All I know of my mother is that she was powerful enough as a dragon, a sorceress, and a seductress, to take human form and court with a human man.” He bit his lip. The blood and what little colour remained in his skin drained away. “That man was the Emperor of Corone.”

Dakar did not react. That much the occupants of the Drakengard knew. The possibility of his mother being one of the Deride, the Goddesses, on the other hand, burnt into the soldier’s memory for the inevitable debriefing.

“So I empathise.” He too wanted nothing more to belong. “Perhaps we can help you find a home here…or,” he clenched his jaw, returned the glow to his cheeks, and then took to a neutral pose. “Perhaps you might find a home amongst your own kind, wherever you are from, you will not see so many dragons as those that occupy my homeland.” He waved his hands wide, “some this big,” Dakar chuckled, and extended the gesture with his own arm span, “and some that big and many hundred times more!”

Somehow, Ozoric did not think Vultha would take them up on their offer. All the same, the fates had not guided them here for nothing. The Black Forest had a part to play in Ozoric’s life, and Ozoric a part in Vultha’s.

“What do you say?” he smiled, his eyes glowed, and the snow around his feet began to turn to water.

[Hydriatus]

Snow continued to rain, and Vultha felt it beginning to creep on him. He was warm blooded of course, like all dragons, and he did not like this weather. He stood up from his position and began pacing in circles to keep warm, keeping an eye on this pair of...strangers? Allies? Allies of convenience would probably be the best way of describing them for now. Still...war. A nation rebuilding itself...so much he was ignorant of, so much for him to learn.

"A war you say? Hmmm, I commend the land for it's survival, such as it is," he said, bobbing his head slightly. "Then I suppose there is much demand for labour and those with the talents to aid in rebuilding efforts?" he queried, tongue lazily swishing through the air, the activity keeping him warm. The way the snow was melting when it fell near Ozoric signified that this...half-dragon (Really? Where were the horns? The wings?) knew magic at least. So he did have some draconic heritage perhaps. Dragons were mighty weilders of magicks, though only with the wisdom of age.

"A drake?" the small beast hissed in displeasure. "In my land that is a grave slur. Drakes are an unfortunate offshoot of our blood, tainted and mingled with that of mindless beasts," he explained, shaking his head to dislodge the snow that had gathered there, moving again, this time circling the two men like a predator, eagelry studying their arms, armor, and dress. So different from what he was used to....

THe words this Ozoric said did not surprise him, and Vultha shrugged. "You make it sound as if she was special. All dragons know such skills once they live their first century," the small creature said before realizing his gaffe. "Well, the ones where I come from at least, or so I remember. Then again perhaps my memory is faulty," he continued quickly trying to cover for his mistake. He was revealing too much. This new world was really affecting his judgement. The strange air and smells...it was distracting him too much. Then came Ozoric's confession and Vultha couldn't help but throw his head back and laugh at the heavens.

"So you're a prince then? Truly the Fate's have a sense of humor. Forgive me, but I have dealt with royalty before," the dragon explained, choosing to reveal such information this time. Maybe they would think of him as some sort of ambassador or someone of great use to them alive at least. Anything to keep him alive and in good graces. Survival was always at the forefront of Vultha's mind. Still, he had known Kings and their ilk. The elven one had been a particular pain to deal with using civility. So casually dismissive of his bloodline, that arrogant cur. "Still, what is this land of Corone you speak of? Isn't this realm called...Salve?" the dragon continued, still unsure.

"And a land of dragons?" Vultha asked, smiling somewhat as it was possible for a reptile. "How they cope with each other is beyond my understnading. That many egos in one place cannot be good for anyone's sanity," he laughed again, shaking his head. "No, I have my little domain, though I do request to locate someone to which to report it as such. And of course I need a job to afford the plans I have for it," the small creature continued, looking up beyond the men at the mountains from which he had come, shaking his wings to get rid of the snow. So cold, so annoying.

"Still, I will not reject a treaty such as you have offered. For what it is worth, you may consider me...a friend."

[Ozoric]

The menagerie of questions, warnings, and corrections took even Ozoric by surprise. Though more akin in a game of wits than weapons, the young dragon was already doing much to undo the initiate’s resolve. In the absence of anything immediate to say, he tallied the various questions, statements, and facts that had been presented. He took so long Dakar had to prod him in the ribs.

“Oh, err,” he pulled a sheepish grin. His already pallid skin turned white about the creases, showing his growing discomfort, despite his furs, thick leather boots, and the draconic resilience he was supposed to possess on the merit of his parentage. Even with the thermals running through his very veins, he was becoming bitterly cold. “Sorry, Vultha, it’s just…” he rummaged in his satchel.

“Forgive the boy, he gets overly excited over the smallest detail,” Dakar’s gruff voice broke the tension, but did little to pierce the glacial temperature.

“I,” finally composed, Ozoric produced a parchment. “I have so many questions just because of the few snippets you’ve offered just now.” He pressed a digit against the cold paper, and ran it along the inked spine of Chalazae, the dragon Empress. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, I meant no respect – drake is simply a term used amongst the Drakengard to refer to a young dragon.” They had never had any objections from the dragons before, though Ozoric presumed that was due to the somewhat subjective nature of a dragoon’s dominance of his mount.

“Though age in the Drakengard is meaningless, except to scholars,” Dakar continued. “Many, like you, show powers and fury matching even the Elder Wurms of legend, and many are not afraid to show a lack of restraint.” The long, gruelling scar down Dakar’s cheek was testament to that, and the many grooves and jagged lines across his torso and limbs showed he had yet to truly bond with even his own dragon.

“Neither are titles,” Ozoric frowned. He had never truly considered what his heritage meant for his place in the world. “I am not a prince,” he said, somewhat more softly than he wanted to. “One day, though, I hope to become a Drakengard, and after that, what we humans call a Knight Commander.” Amongst the militaristic Drakengard, the Knight Commander was the commander of a wing, a large group of Dragoons much like an army’s garrison. The Knight Commander Provost was the only position higher, but Ozoric, as a man, would never occupy it.

Vultha cocked his head to one side. “Drakengard, the name even…” he, at least as much as a dragon might, sounded displeased. Ozoric, again, had never considered the name to be anything other than a name. It meant, in the old tongue of Tradespeak shared by Dragon and Dragoon, ‘Dragon Rock’.

“Ha,” Dakar chuckled, a deep, bass like boom of amusement. “Full of charm, and strength, you would make a mighty Dragoon very proud, young Vultha.” He set his pole-arm’s end into the snow, leant on it, and stroked his stubble.

“Corone is far from here, as is the Draken…” Ozoric corrected himself, stamping hard into his boots to dislodge the snow, mimicking Vultha, “the Dragon Rock.”

“Is it like Salvar?”

“Well,” Ozoric smiled, “it’s barren, and that’s for sure. Both lands are ravaged by war, but unlike Salvar, Corone is protected by a force much greater than the armies of man.” He rolled up the scroll, tucked it into the satchel, and pointed over his shoulder. “The Dragoons are an ancient order, who protect the skies against the enemies of the Empire.” He did not think himself an ally of the emperor, but the purpose of the Dragoon was clear. “Won’t you come and introduce yourself to Dakar’s…” he came close to offending Vultha once more. He looked to Dakar for help.

The captain nodded glumly, “he is my mount, by all means. But,” he stood straight, “it is a union of minds much like a man and his faithful hound. I do not ask of Gretna things I would not do myself.” He turned, and trudged off, “though of course, I can’t fly, so I guess that’s not entirely true.”

Ozoric watched his senior depart, turned to Vultha, and gestured for the dragon to follow. “We can shelter under Gretna’s wings and discuss helping you find something, and somewhere to occupy yourself with.” In earnest, Oliver followed Dakar, and tucked his hands into his arm pits to keep them from freezing into blackened icicles.

[Hydriatus]

Vultha kept respectfully silent during the explanations offered to him, somewhat amused by how this Ozoric now began to choose his words carefully. The dragon shook it's head with a theatrical sigh as he followed, walking just to the side of the two men. Not close enough to suggest familiarity, but close enough to show he was traveling with them.

Drakes were young dragons here? Wait...so where there no bestial offshoots of the bloodline here? Or was that all there was? No, impossible - they had not been that surprised at his ability to speak. Vultha glanced at Ozoric before speaking again. The younger man was the weaker link in this conversation. Dakar had the air of a war veteran, and supposedly bound to a dragon-kin. That made him immediately dangerous and someone not to trifle with. Ozoric was fair game though. Vultha couldn't help it - he enjoyed word games and such like, even if they were of no real benefit to him.

"The Elder Wyrms you mean?" he corrected, the small creature beginning to try and bridge the gaps in their knowledge and understanding. So perhaps his kin had been true once, but had degenerated somewhat over time? A worrying though, but it was true that dragons were not spared from the ravages of time. Vultha snorted and shook his head before looking at Ozoric. "Age is meaningless? I highly doubt that. Dakar is your elder and clear superior. Age brings wisdom, experience and respect, no?" he asked. Ozoric had probably meant as such, but had worded his explanation poorly. The boy had some ways to go before he would not be easily tripped up in a conversation.

This Drakengard....a place where the dragons lived...or had been exiled to. The hints that the two men kept dropping were painting a somewhat bleak picture. The elder dragons had been ravaging fools and brought vengeance down upon themselves, and all that was left of them were a few castoff children who grew without their guidance. Vultha felt something akin to sorrow as he stared ahead as they walked through the snow. He had seen something similar before. His own kind had been cast down for their arrogance and foolishness from their lofty heights.....soon followed by their brighter brethren. He would have to be careful as always, but more opportunities would surely manifest before him now. No, it was still to early to plot and scheme. More information was necessary.

"You may not see yourself as a prince, but your blood is as it is. Such a position cares not for your wishes, but those of others," the dragon warned Ozoric softly, not looking at him. The boy wanted to make his own way in the world. He could respect that. But he couldn't be so naive as to not realize the amazing tool he could be used as? He was still so full of confidence and misconceptions...

"The armies of men are mightier than you give them credit for. My own mother was sealed away from my home when I was but a decade old by such a force." Some personal information would build a greater rapport. And besides, Ozoric had revealed something personal so it was only polite to return the gesture. And he was going to be introduce to his first dragon of this realm...Gretna. Not a particularly impressive name but then again that could well be the point of it. He could smell the other reptile's scent, but it was unfamiliar to him as the left the town behind. Normally this would have been dangerous, since the two could have been thugs or hunters masquerading as friends...but the townspeople had allowed them access with muted whisperings Vultha could pick up when he had run into them.

Still, things could turn out ugly if Gretna was the zealous sort. Vultha cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. "Ah...Master Dakar, what lineage is Gretna?"

[Ozoric]

Ozoric had to think long and hard about the dragon’s question. Though he was a learned scholar, there was a bewildering variety of lineage, race, species, and cultures within even the smallest of the draconic clans. He had counted, at one point, nearly three hundred genes amongst the records of the Dragoons. The Verger, an enigmatic curator of the Dragon Rock’s collection, had merely chuckled when Ozoric had asked if that was all there was. His tone had indicated to the initiate that the knowledge in the library was but a small fraction of the truth.

“I think I had better defer to Dakar,” he said glumly, defeated, and deflated in mood because of it. He trudged ahead, leaving the Captain to relish in the explanation, and pride of his mount’s history.

Without further ado, Dakar launched into an intricate revelatory speech. His boots smashed aside the snow, and his arms, which he used to emphasise his points, waved away the encroaching snow fall as it thickened. They were out in the open now, on the fringes of the town, where the struts and slate roofs of the houses could no longer offer them protection. The temperature dropped further still.

“Gretna is what we refer to as a Thornback.” He cocked his sideways, and made several erratic gestures that highlighted a quick, painful, and skewer based death. “Dragons with thorns and spikes along their spine are the most difficult to make a saddle for.” Vultha appeared to flinch at the idea as they trotted through the snow. Dakar, defiant, jumped to his own rescue, “the dragon, once attested to the Dragoon’s worth, oversees much of the process.”

“If I remember correctly,” Oliver chuckled, a momentary moment of elation amidst the drudgery, “Gretna oversee the entire process!” his voice echoed through the drifts long after he turned the corner and disappeared behind the ramshackle stable that served as the last sign post before the small holding turned into a wilderness. He vanished just in time to avoid the daggers that burst from Dakar’s eyes, fiery convocations of contempt.

This was the truth, though it did not appease the dragon. “We do not enslave them,” he said, “how could I force a dragon like Gretna to do my bidding,” he whispered. They turned the corner at the same time, coming out from behind the last stable of the town into the open plains as if by fate.

Ozoric was waiting for them, arms splayed dramatically and pointed at the dragon that was curled, slumbering, and fuming with steam some two hundred feet away. His grin was beleaguered only by the notion of cold, unfettered by restraint as he finally, unequivocally, got to be in his element. Whilst oration was his calling, dragons were his kin. In that, he guessed Vultha was correct. He was a prince amongst his own kind, though humans treated him as a peon of a hierarchy he had yet to come to comprehend.

“Gretna, I would like,” Dakar paused, clapped loudly, and continued only when the dragon reared its prehensile tail and long, bulky neck from within its own body. It was, to say the least, an enormous creature. It’s pride seeped from between its battle-hardened scales, and without a doubt, even Dakar seemed awed in her presence, despite having ridden her across fields, forest, and fortress, “you to meet Vultha, our new friend.”

Gretna let out a little flicker of flame, mini gout; from the elongated maw she called a mouth. She peered through the soft snow, malicious, thought through form and not functions, and examined the small dragon with great, ancient, and keen curiosity.

“Of which clan?” was her only reply – her voice seemed to crack stone, slow time, and shatter aeons.

[Hydriatus]

Dakar seemed quite...enthusiastic about Gretna. The kind of pride one would have for any mount. Not unexpected. Vultha quietly walked alongside the men, keeping his gaze on whoever was speaking to signify they had his attention. A thornback? What in the name of Shadow was a thornback? That was not a lineage he recognized. No dragon had spines all along it's back as far as he was aware, and he was quite knowledgeable on the subject. But of course - new world, new rules. All his knowledge was for nought here. How infuriating.

"I am unaware of the thornback feature in any of the great bloodlines - either those of metal or those of color," Vultha said, eyes narrowed as he smelled Gretna. Such an alien scent, it fascinated him. "Though I myself am from a lesser lineage," he shrugged, hoping that no one would take offense at his choice of words. He would be granted some leniency due to his newness in this setting, but that would only go so far, he had to remember.

And then they were before Gretna. Impressive, but not overwhelmingly so. Vultha had run into several things more imposing during his brief tenure as trouble maker in his previous home, so he just smiled like a reptile as he sat on his hindquarters, tail lazily swishing snow apart behind him as Gretna went through the whole intimidation ceremony. "Ah so you breath fire then, that narrows your lineage down nicely..." he said out loud, peering closely at her scales, showing no sign of being cowed by her display. Oh she was far larger than him, about the same size as Elsina had been when he had stolen into her financed dig into some old dwarf hall and made off with the treasure in front of her snout.

"Hm? Oh, I am Vultha Ceasin. I am of the Shadow bloodline," he stated simply, an underwhelming introduction for a megalomaniac such as himself, but sometimes the understated impression was the best. Besides, as long as he smiled and played along, no one would be sure whether or not everyhting they did furthered some scheme of his. But it was nice to see something so closely resembling his own kind again.

[Ozoric]

“A noble lineage,” she said, her voice less present and booming, but just as powerful. “Are you to join us, then?” she put the question to all three of them, but looked mainly at Dakar. The Captain nodded, scratched his beard, and then began to approach his dragon’s left side.

“Will you fly, Vultha?” Gretna lowered her body as much as she could to allow Dakar to clamber up the footholds of her behemoth saddle, seemingly oblivious to the man’s weight on the crick of her neck. His armour plates scraped noisily as he ascended, grunting with every tug up the rigging. “You would be most welcome at my wing’s tip or upon my back with the others.” Her size offered Vultha the opportunity to see the kingdom from the perspective of those she would perhaps one day come to call friends.

“There’s no pressure, either way,” Ozoric added, slapping his chest and flapping his arms to kick-start his muscles to life. The thought of a dragon riding another dragon made him smirk. It was more or less unheard of, save for times of war, when the dragoons served as their own apocathery’s and funeral pyres.

“How far is it?” the youngling asked, trotting closer. He looked between Gretna and Ozoric, “to this Dragon Rock.”

Ozoric wrinkled his nose, counting out the hours it had taken them to fly here. Even at a quick pace, with a strong headwind, it was not a short journey by any stretch of the imagination. “Well,” he began, “it took four hours continuous flight to travel here.” He looked up through the continued snow drifts. “I daresay the weather will be against us, so anything near five, perhaps six is more likely for our return.”

This appeared to make up Vultha’s mind. “I can fly alongside if it eases up, then,” he said meekly. Ozoric gestured up to Gretna, who extended her right wing away from the saddle at an angle. It became a ramp for Vultha to use, in the absence of opposable thumbs to use the reigns. “Are you sure you don’t object?”

Gretna did not, but she gave the dragon no indication other than a blank, stoic, and stone like stare. Vultha took it to mean that he was in no danger, and would not hurt anyone’s pride, except perhaps his own.

“I can see that we have a great deal to learn from one another, Vultha,” Ozoric lauded the fact with the zeal of a true scholar. Though he was well versed in the ways of the Dragon Rock, and the dragon’s native to his homeland, the thought of learning about all the many splendours of the realms beyond was starting to excite him. He was very glad he had accepted the assignment after all.

He followed behind Dakar, and disappeared from Vultha’s sight as he too clambered onto Gretna’s back. He could smell her up close, though the scent was not as alien to him as it was to their new found ally. It smelt like brimstone, iron, and the smouldering charcoal of a leavened forest ablaze with Gretna’s inner rage.

“Up you get, then!” he roared, appearing atop the dragon triumphant. He waved down to Vultha, pallid skin white against a blinding sky, tattoos glowing with faint azure light.

[Hydriatus]

Vultha was not a great flier just yet. He was too young. The journey to Drakengard would be too much for him, but there was no shame. That was what set him apart from many of his brethren - he was not so stupid as to think himself above help or infallible. Indeed, unlike many dragons he measured his hoard in knowledge and favors from others than pure wealth. It was more useful after all. Still, he adopted the guise of meek embarrassment to make himself appear more approachable. No one liked an arrogant fool.

He dug his claws lightly into the leather straps behind the riders, taking care not to sever them and tucking his wings in as much as possible. "So you're descended from a Red then?" he asked Gretna, shifting amongst the spines. "Or...a gold?" The only true difference between the two was one of ideology, Reds being more egotistical and selfish whilst Golds valued aiding others. Her scent reminded him closely of a Red, or at least his inherited memory of what one would smell like.

The sight of Ozoric atop Gretna, like some primitive warlord of old was quite the image. The young shadow could not help but smile somewhat. Oh yes, this was going to be a useful ally to have. If a realm was recuperating from war, it needed security - what better guardians than dragon-riders?

[Ozoric]

When Gretna, at Dakar’s behest, pulled back her wings, Ozoric came to life. All the seriousness, mixed with coy grace and civility turned into a bundle of excitement. With a broad smile, the initiate gazed out over the small holding they had plucked Vultha from, and tried to picture it from the air.

“Brace yourself,” Gretna said, her voice now sullen and seductive. She kept the dragon’s questions in mind, but chose to at least get their journey under way before the flattered him with a reply. The way he saw everything in categories irked her.

Her wings fell, and with a great sonic boom, the dragon lurched skyward. If anyone had been in the apex of her departure, they would find themselves winded at best, and without eardrums at worst. A second, third, and a fourth blast of thermal air gave them all the leverage they needed, and with a bowl like curve through the air, Gretna flew down over the barns and rose up into the snow speckled skies.

“Is that not the best feeling in the world?” Ozoric roared. Futility aside, his words were snatched from his lips by the rush of air over Gretna’s arched back. They were flung into the depths, and descended wildly down into nothingness. All the same, Ozoric nodded and smiled eyes and cheeks pushed back by the sheer force of their motion. Vultha’s position on Gretna’s saddle was one of the few that were not battered by the initial flight, and he remained poised, curious, and twitchy as ever.

Dakar, who was seated in the main saddle, and protected by his helm and a thin curve of glass, leant over to Vultha. With a gruff voice, that still smelt of beer, he whispered something. “He gets like this sometimes, it’s best to ignore him.” He chuckled. “He means well enough.” The captain sat upright again before he could be questioned, and with a mighty and somewhat disconcerting crack of his reigns, Gretna let her wings straighten into a gliding form, and they were on their way.

“Let us speak alone, where men cannot unstitch the reliquary and experience of our words.” Gretna’s voice was devoid of its menace as it snook into Vultha’s mind with an unassuming entrance. Drawing on the ancient bond between the Old beasts of the world, she spoke into his mind s if they were as one. “Forgive me if you have not Isla Kim’ before,” the voice paused, “Dragon Speak.” She translated.

The wind howled, and Ozoric roared along with it.

“I am of the Evergreen, a Jade dragon; you may know it as, but a dragon of spring and nature all the same.” She waited, beat her wings, and fell down towards the mountain valley that served as a navigational landmark to guide them on the first leg of their journey out of Salvar, and east to Corone. “I can speak with tongues audible to your ears, but I urge you…clear your mind, and will me to hear your reply…dragons have many talents unheard of, so let us see if you are truly a beast of shadows and secrets!”

[Hydriatus]

She was speaking to his mind. Fascinating. Vultha wondered how deep she could peer into his thoughts, trusting in his own quick thinking to stop her from gleaming too much information. He lightly increased his grip on the leather harness in front of him, spreading his wings to force the air to pass over him, pushing him against the scaled hide of Gretna. He was used to hitching rides on massive beings to shorten the amount of time he himself had to be moving under his own power. Ozoric was loving this from what the shadow dragon could deduce, and he seemed to have a flair for the dramatic.

They would get along PERFECTLY. Vultha rolled his eyes in response to the man's question. "It is routine for me," he shrugged in response, winking at Dakar. The gruff man would probably enjoy some deflation of his companion's ego. Then he looked away as Gretna's voice continued to reverberate in his mind. He pictured the words he would respond with in Draconic, hoping that at least the root of the languages would have enough in common to permit them to converse in the tongue of their blood.

"A Jade...you are the first of your kind I have encountered. Few were the Gem Dragons in my world, the first casualties of the Flame," Vultha thought with a mixture of respect, wonder, and pity. He smirked somewhat. "Oh we do have many talents, but those only form as we age."

[Ozoric]

Gretna dived down through a fog bank that was twice as large as the last, covering her passengers with a healthy dose of water vapour that soaked into cloth and smothered scale. Her bulk, and her speed, allowed her to slip through the plume without harm or hamper, and she found herself on the far side, on a level ascent before Ozoric or Vultha could react with their usual youthful enthusiasm.

Long ago, she had been a resplendent example of her race. Her scales shone with inner light, danced with verdant hubris and ephemeral power. Her fangs, which had been hard as diamonds then, were only scarred stubs now. Her tail was battered, splintered, and missing its vigorous flick, and her wings had several small tears that had taken far too long to heal. All the same, Vultha clearly admired her. Though he was erstwhile, defensive, and closed to her prying mind, that much she could deduce without her abilities.

“We are a dying breed in these parts,” she whispered remorsefully. It was true enough. Only six Jade dragons remained in the ranks of Dragon’s Rock. She was the eldest, three of the others were mere infants, children of the other two and rampantly disobedient. She had not kept any hope their fortunes would change. “You are right, however, in thinking our abilities develop with age.” She knew little of the Shadow lineage to surmise what talents Vultha might one day possess, but if her name was a clue, then so was his.

“You…” Vultha grit his teeth, the painful feedback caused by over exerting himself overwhelming his senses in tandem with a sudden rise and fall through a dense cloud. “Are a dying breed?”

“She’s too modest,” interrupted Ozoric. Both dragons jumped with a start, though only Vultha showed any physical response. He snapped his neck about, glared at the initiate, and then growled.

“You can hear?” he seethed. Ozoric nodded. “You are…”

“He is half-dragon, Vultha.” One of Ozoric’s boons was the ability to comprehend dragons much more than humans could ever hope to. Sometimes, living in a valley of several hundred rampant beasts, it was as much a curse as it was a blessing. “Though he seldom acts on it.” Her sarcasm was audible, even if invisible in the tightly clenched jaw she hid behind.

“Why don’t you do something about it, if you’re a dwindling lineage?” Gretna had asked herself that same question many a time. Dakar had permitted her, as he true ‘spouse’, to court with the other dragons should she so wish. She had, despite looking, been unable to find a suitable mate. Pedigree husbandry on the Dragon’s Rock was, to say the least, a rarity.

“Some people, some things, and some ideas simply pester out, Vultha.” She said remorsefully. “One day, there will be no Jade Dragons. Another, there will be a hundred of another kin ready to take out place.”

“But eternally shall they be remembered,” Ozoric said. His excitement long gone, he sat upright, hands firmly wrapped around the reigns, and heart sullen and glum. He had hoped for an exciting journey home, but the shadows cast by Vultha’s eternally curious mind, though a useful trait to possess in the Drakengard, had stolen away all his life and soul.

“I’m sorry…” the shadow dragon whispered.

Gretna, satisfied with her lot, could only guffaw. She took a sharp intake of breath, roared, and then dove through one final blanket of cumulus cloud that smelt like an ocean breeze and was twice as salty. When they appeared beneath the high cloud cover, a new land, much different to Salvar loomed into view. Barren rock, inhospitable wasteland, and tall, jagged peaks greeted Vultha to the lands of Northern Corone.

“No need, Vultha. Your apologies are worthless now,” Ozoric pointed a gloved hand down to the vast circle of lights that formed the outline of the Drakengard in the hovel of the valley it was nestled in. “In the comfort of home, we are all equal, forgiven, and as one.” True enough, when the guards swarmed alongside Gretna, to make certain she was of their kin, all the hopes, fears, and fallacies of the outside world fell away.

This was the Drakengard.

This was home.

This was the Cradle of the Dragons.

[Hydriatus]

They had been flying for some time, and Vultha sighed mentally. Jade's were dying out. He knew a thing or two about that, being the last Shadow Dragon alive....possible in existence, now that the home realm had been lost. Still, he felt remorse not for his lineage but to those characters that had been lost with the realm. The trickster fairy drake, the noble gold, good enemies for him to continually test himself against. The Wasp, the elf...the summoner and the dwarf...they had been the closest things he could have ever considered as friends.

And they were gone now. As part of a lineage disposed towards evil, the loss of lackeys or minions shouldn't have affected him in such a manner. But it had. Because without them he would still have been a small scavenger running through the mountains, and not what he had managed to become. Still, that was in the past. Here he was now, dealing with these strangers and trusting them. The Jades...there had to be a way to save them somehow. Granted their blood was almost spent, but there were ways to prolong one's existence. Vultha's own god was proof of that. Still, he doubted necromancy was tolerated in this realm, like in many others.

Ah right. The god wasn't proof of that. He was gone with the realms. Vultha snorted at the irony, plumes of smoke jetting from his nostrils as he focused on Gretna, hoping she had not closed the connection. "So how old are you then?" he asked, full of curiosity and respect. She was too small to be that old...maybe a century old at most. To convey the reasoning behind his questioning he remembered a particular memory of his fathers - that of the Flame, a dragon made of pure molten rock savaging the skies, slaying everything in his path as hundred of dragons battled him in the skies, some of equal size, many smaller. The Flame had been a colossal beast, almost an elemental creature. Over fifty feet tall, about seventy five if one included his wings.

Not many things could unite dragons in single purpose, but the Flame had been one. Four of such beasts had existed in legends, and Vultha knew that the Rock was brought low by human armies and magics. That is why he respected the strength of man. He had the ability to unite to a greater degree than the dragons ever had. And he was far more innovative. Short lifespans tended to do that.

They dived, and Vultha sensed, rather than saw, their destination. The home of the dragons of this world, where all their eggs lay in one basket, ready and waiting for a bold enough invader to come and wipe them out. The shadow dragon shook his head. He would not live here. But it would not hurt to know this place and it's inhabitants.

[Zook Murnig]

The Day A Dragon Came To Town - Judgment

Story - 9/30
Storytelling - 4/10 This was, for lack of a better word, average. The story was fairly simple, despite all of the special dragon stuff. Do try to place the story a little more definitively within a larger story, Ozoric. I got a sense of where Vultha was coming from, but not a whole lot from you. Vultha, I must mention the specific reference to over-hunting, as there wasn't a whole lot of evidence given for that conclusion, and it didn't seem to have any larger importance within the story.
Pacing - 3/10 This was a bit of a problem area. The thread seemed to poke along as it began, with Vultha surveying the area and Ozoric's group making the journey from Drakengard. As well, the information about Drakengard was very slow to be explained. I didn't take off much for that, though, as it did come up when it was appropriate in the conversations, but it was a frustration as I grappled with the introduction of Ozoric and Dakar. Another problem you faced, though you resolved it quickly, is the play-by-play response method of conversation. It's incredibly unwieldy, doesn't actually mimic real conversation, and is hard for the reader to keep track of. You seemed to figure out the solution to this problem, however, which is collaborative writing and sharing the conversation over each other's posts.
Setting - 2/10 I got that the wilderness was fairly empty of game, and that the town had defenses made of wood. Other than that, it was almost completely ignored. People wore particular furs, and a dragon had scales of a particular type, but I never got a real feeling of what they were like. In essence, you told me, but you didn't show me. Use descriptive language and interact with the setting to score better here.

Characterization - 10/30
Persona - 4/10 I didn't get a whole lot from either of you as the thread opened, which made it really hard to get invested in your characters. However, as the information got steadily doled out, I came to understand them a little better. But not much.
Action - 3/10
as his altitude continued to decrease at a leisurely pace This pretty much set the tone for this category. Not only was it incredibly wordy, making it less interesting and more burdensome, but it wasn't readily apparent what was actually happening upon first reading. Try more descriptive verbs, like swoop, and applying appropriate adverbs, such as gently. This is another place where you can show instead of telling, as well. How does it feel flying through the air, the mist spraying over you, the wind through your scales?
Communication - 3/10 The problems I covered in Pacing affected this category as well, but even when that was resolved, a lot of the dialog seemed wooden. As well, there was little in the way of non-verbal communication, such as body language. Additionally, try not to start a sentence at the beginning of a paragraph, and finish it at the end of the paragraph with a bunch of non-dialog in between. That seriously breaks the flow of the conversation. Finally, Vultha seemed to learn the language a little too quickly, and a little too fluently for someone who was only learning from snippets of conversation in a small village where nuanced topics and turns of phrase would be less commonly broached. I know it's statistically and linguistically impossible, but it would be better to go by the traditional convention of the "common" tongue being common amongst all worlds and most cultures. Unrealistic though it is, it facilitates stories much better than most alternatives in most cases.

Prose - 15/30
Technique - 4/10 I didn't note a lot of literary devices or storytelling techniques, so you already lost a bit here. The wordiness of a lot of your posts hurt you, as well. Don't be afraid to use three or four words where you have six or seven! A lot of the time, they can be more effective in fewer number.
Mechanics - 6/10 For the most part, you were solid. You had a few run-on sentences, which can be remedied by proofreading and separating ideas out with appropriate punctuation. Your word choice and spelling problems would also be well-served by proofreading. I must warn against relying entirely on spell-checkers, as well, as they often correct words that are fine but do not exist in their dictionaries, and completely miss words that are spelled correctly, but inappropriate or spelled wrong for the particular use. Spell-checkers are tools, not a panacea.
Clarity - 5/10 Nothing was terribly unclear, though there were no major opportunities for things to be unclear, because the thread was particularly lackluster. Not bad. Just not engaging. So while you were fine here, it didn't really earn you the full marks you would otherwise get if you had taken the literary risks.

Wild Card - 3/10 This wasn't, as I said, bad. It just wasn't engaging, and it seemed incomplete.

TOTAL - 37/100

Hydriatus receives 543 EXP and 122 GP
Ozoric receives 493 EXP and 111 GP

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.