Cold winds.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Standing with his back against the rough cast wall, eyes glacing across the streets, lit with the midday sun while his mind roamed miles away as Ulruch cosidered... everthing, leaving the tall and skinny wizard idle aside the cheap face of the rentable offices which had been hired the previous day. Already he missed his permanent office. It had all of his things. The problem was that it didn't have what he needed.

Salvar did, the mountains ahead did. The wind began to pick up and Ulrich was reminded why he avoided Salvar so habitualy.

Cold. That special kind of cold which was a continual biting at any of the skin you managed to leave exposed, Ice filled wind circling under your shirts, crawling up your back, before biting down on the loose skin around your neck, nearly numb from the hour spent standing in the wind. Coat tails flaped uselessly in the wind as Ulrich pulled the collar up in a gesture of shelter against the elements. It wasn't enough of course and the wind was beginning to pick up enough frost and snow from the ground to obscure his vision so, He turned his back and, dragging his feet, returned into the hired space which the wizard used most times he was in the area. This time it was the meeting location for the expedition into the mountains and it would serve only as such, it's enterior was bare after you traveled down the crampt hallway to arrive at the door with the temporary name plaque slid into place: "Ulrich Cragenmoor" stenciled on in flaking gold paint.

Still. It was better than the inside; and empty room, a small desk on the far side, littered with papers, jobs and clues sat framed by the only window in the wooden floored space. His pack (Filed with various ites and empty pouches for the trip) lay on the floor near the door. Open beside it was the notice which Ulrich had had copied and distributed.


'Team needed for mountain expedition for alchemical ingredients.

Plant and beast,
If interested contact Ulrich Craggenoor, Professional Wizard.
Lets get our hands dirty.'

Ulrich had heard back from three different interested parties while only hoping for one for it was a fools errand to go so far out on your own. So all three had been invited and advised to be ready leave since there was really no point in waiting around for the sun to set. His list was ready and so was the plan: Two thirds up the mountain range closest to Salvar and there was a cave system with everything they would need. Then in and out, no more than a day of work and fresh air was good for everybody. Coming back to himself, Ulrich stopped drumming his fingers against the door frame and climbed out of the reveree in which he had bcome snagged while contemplating the plan.

Awaiting his guests and checking his equipment, Ulrich passed the long pulled minuites and considered what the weather must have been like back home.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

It took Aurelianus a long few moments to remember where he was.

The tiefling stood, swaying softly in the wind, his coat buckled up the front, boots planted awkwardly on the hard-packed snow. Blinking away another lapse in focus, he turned vacant eyes to his surroundings. Was his mouth supposed to be this dry? He ran his forked tongue over his lips in an attempt to return some semblance of moisture to them, but his saliva was like tar clinging to his gums.

It was cold, he realised suddenly, looking down at his hands as they shivered in the biting Salvaran cold. Salvar? Yes, he nodded solemnly to himself. That was where he was. A voice shouted something at him angrily, and before he could turn to the source of the sound something slammed into him, sending the half-breed sprawling into a drift of snow by the side of the worn, muddy path he had been standing in. Every attempt at movement felt sluggish and uncoordinated, like his brain wasn't attached to this body. Aurelius looked up at the donkey-drawn cart as it trundled past, the driver mouthing half-heard obscenities at him.

Aurelius laughed.

Dragging himself to his feet, very very slowly, he put his hands on his knees and laughed. He couldn't remember why he was laughing, but he did. It was only then, as he pushed himself upright and only staggering a little, that he noticed the slip of paper clutched in his left hand. The laughter stopped. Turning it up to the dim sun, the half-demon brought the now soggy paper close to his face, trying to stop the writing from moving so damn much. Mild success met his efforts, and he realised it was an address. And as he turned his horned head back to the street he had no recollection of arriving at, he realised with another short fit of laughter the same name on the paper was etched on the rough stone building right in front of him.

"Why would a body.. leave his address on a bit paper outside his kip?" he asked no-one in particular. His tongue made another round of his teeth, but there was still no moisture to be had. It was a puzzle, but trying to suss it out just blurred the edges of his thoughts and he quickly found other things to occupy his attention.

There were no other people on the quiet street, now that the donkey cart had vanished from sight. It occurred to Aurelius that he should perhaps at least know which city he was in but as soon as the thought entered his brain-box, it too vanished. The note was stuffed carelessly into one of the pockets on his battered coat, but his eyebrows rose in surprise as his fingers brushed against something cold and hard. Stumbling towards the building, the tiefling dumped himself unceremoniously on the wooden porch and brought out the mystery item for inspection.

It was about four inches long, finely carved wood...

"A pipe," he declared, looking around with a beatific smile.. but it slid off his features when he remembered there was no-one else there. Why did his voice sound so tiny and distant?

The pipe was carved crudely to resemble some sort of bearded deity or famous figure, the top of its head removed to make the bowl, a small hole opened between its lips, presumably to let smoke out. Blinking his eyes rapidly to try and sharpen the sight before him, the addled warlock peered into the bowl, grunting with amusement when he saw the dried purple leaves within.

Scyllip leaves... the name rang a bell to the half-breed, but he couldn't remember where he had heard it. Still, without hesitation he put the stem between his teeth and brought a small touch of Hellfire to the tip of his thumb. It took two attempts for his thumb to find the end of the pipe, but finally he managed and the Scyllip started smouldering. A deep draw on the burning leaves, and the world slowed to a crawl around him. Aurelius' slit pupils widened to almost touch the edges of his golden-yellow irises. He could smell the bittersweet scent of.. his brain paused, fogging up as he realised he didn't know what it smelled like. At first it looked like the world was tilting away from him, but when the back of his head met the wooden door it stopped. Smoke crept from his mouth in pale purple tendrils, winding around his head like a lover's arms, stinging his eyes. It was hauntingly beautiful, watching the smoke writhe in eddies and whorls at the unseen breeze. With a Herculean effort, the guttersnipe raised his leather-clad arm; it felt like he was trying to lift a tree-trunk.

His slender fingers were just about to pass through the quickly disappearing smoke.. when suddenly the world gave out from under him again. In a moment he was on his back. The pipe, he noted with satisfaction, was still safely between his teeth, but now the sky was gone. In its place there were wooden slats - logic would have dictated the roof of the porch, but logic had apparently decided Aurelianus was poor company today. He tilted his head further back on the rough planks beneath him, feeling the grain caressing the shorn sides of his head. There was a door frame. Yes. But where was the door that had been in it a moment before?

Instead there was a face. A human face, staring down at the unpleasant looking figure lying in his doorway, as its chest convulsed in laughter that couldn't quite find a voice to accompany it.

Ulrich Craggenmoor shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Um.. can I help you?" he asked.

[Philomel]

Usually, Philomel hated the cold.

And Salvar was the worst place to find it. With its frigid winds and bitting hails it was no better than a pint of burnt ale after a worthless shag. One that didn't even pay because the client claimed that Philomel 'did not do enough' to get his member up. In all of these cases it was because the man was incontient, had a disability there, or did not have a penis at all.

She was here, as usual, for work, and work was where her movements usually dictated her to go. Being somewhat 'familiar' now with the constant blizzards the faun-whore had tried, but still not developed, a love for such things. Fauns, after all, were born for temperate climates, of trees and the earth, not snow and mountains. Yet, this time was somewhat different. As fortune had granted, the Nightingale now had a permanant heater to follow her around.

The creature snuffled along, nose buried in the side of the chilly street, taking up a sizeable spread behind her. Beside her her own hooves padded her usual companion, her Beloved; the Earth-Spirit fox, Veridian who had only curiousity for the new friend to their company. Every so often he glanced back with golden eyes, watching the grunting black form as it traced some sort of dirt or blood, then switched back to Philomel, knowing that, at least for now, he was ahead of the newbie in the pecking order.

Black with sparks of orange along his body, the hatchling dragon trailed his mostly unusable wings behind him. As he breathed small puffs of steam came from his nostrils, warming the hooves before him. His name from his 'previous owner' - as it had been advertised in some trader's journal - was Delath Adeth, but Philomel had shortened it to Delath until she thought of something better, and she had left him mostly to his own devices, only feeding him to assert that she was the mother, the food-provider, and thus his boss. Not his owner, she felt a horrible twang whenever that word passed into her mind. Not his owner but his bread-winner, his compatriot. With a dragon and Earth-Spirit in tow, the assassin-whore felt as if she could conquer the world. Or at least conquer Salvar and this random mission to the caves.

~*~

"Why ever not?" she had said after seeing the note, "We have a few weeks to use up here, and Delath needs some exploration."

She had been addressing Veridian at the time, but she might have been speaking to empty air. He had been toying with a mouse captured from outside and been showing off to Delath that he could hunt and the hatchling could not.

"Not just yet," Philomel had muttered, and made up the mind for all of them.

"Poison-hunting it is then."

~*~

They got the door, with the sign like the note said. As they approached down from the west Philomel was rather amused to see a certain crumpled man lying in the doorway, grunting to himself like he was a sheep. (Sheep, not a goat - of course - as goats are far more intelligent and worthy of praise.) The Nightingale could not help but chuckle as the fool of a half-demon she had met - and knew somewhat well for the ownership of his Salvarian brothel - appeared more beggar than lord.

Reaching behind her she patted Delath out of his snuffling, and whispered to him low. Her voice was like void whispers in the darkness of space.

The dragon huffed, then let out a meaningful grunt. Its five foot form, from nose to tail tip, launched forwards, bounding over the snow, straight towards the fool and the being now opening the door. Tongue hanging loose between black lips he stretched his wings and half-jumped, half-flew towards them after a mighty beat, all on Philomel's behest.

Naturally his aim, most certainly, was to make friends.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Ulrich considered if he had time to make his coat more, weather efficient with the amount of time he had left himself. In the end his conclusion was, unfortunately: Probably not. He had pissed away a lot of his time worrying over what vials or bags to bring on the trip. As well as the map, bundled away in his pack withing a tightly bound proective cover to Protect the yellowing edges of parchment he would need to carrry with him. So If the Wizard didn't have time to enchant the coat, he would simply tough it out until they reached the caves. That or sufer an incredibly uncomfortable night.

For the third time, Ulrich checked his supplies. Unpacked. aArranged them on the desk and went over them, one at a time, from left to right.

The pack was made of some kind of hide with a leather drawstring at the top which bound it shut. The skin still had the white fur of whatever it had used to be before it was found, killed, and re-modeled. Beside that ulrich had gathered a selection of purses and two glass vials. He didn't have the space for any more. He was out to collect vitals avyway Quality over Quantity was the goal here so on this trip, he got to be choosy. Next to those the Professional wizard was packing three smooth grey/green river stones, each with a small rune, scartched onto the surface. With all of this, was his standard tools: a simple looking wooden wand lay off to the side with a small blade. Both of which would be carried on his person for self protection and gathering herbs, respectively. Moving to begin packing it all away when he heard...

What did he hear?

It had been almost nothing. But then he had been concentrating.... After a silent moment, he deided it best to check and made his way towards the front door. Wooden planks creaked softly underfoot as he passed by, he scurry of a rat somewhere in the wall reminding Ulrich only how little he had payed to rent the space. The fogged glass gave little view to the outside world, but there was no waiting shadow, no shape to identify a stranger come to join the hike. Moving to open the door and look around, as soon as the latch was free, he door was pushed open and in came... no.

In fell an Aurelianus Drak'shal, now laying face up at Ulrich Craggenmoor's feet who rolled his eyes. He didn't have any time for a vagrant. Certainy not one who was high on... He smelled the air now drifting into the small room... Scyllip. It wouldn't last long then. And no body had arrived. He considered that now, in hind sight, he should have asked for confirmation prior to the epedition.

Swayin from side to side considering the siuation. Deciding he would offer him shelter for the time being. He offered his hand to help the stranger up. who's eyes were focusing in and out in the stronger grips of scyllip, light smoke was stillfloating from Aur's mouth.

"Can I help y-"

And was body rammed by a beast of black. Pinning him to the ground, Two small but mighty paws prssing against his chest as Ulrich now found himself too on his back, A small Dragon, tiny really in comparrison to how they grew over their few thousand years of life, was pinning him down. His mind raced, starting to flood his system with life saving adrenaline and his hands started to fly together beneath it's face for a focused blast this close it....

"Rawr, now you're dead."

Was Ulrich hearing things? It sounded like someone who he hadn't seen in months. Someone who wouldn't hold an interest in herbs. Unless they were poison. The pup was real enough. The heat which flowed from it's open mouth was proof enough for him. He tried to push the thing off of his chest, but it's intention was clearly to stay and so that was exactly what it did.

And by proxy, exactly what Ulrich decided to do. So. with a dragon on his chest and a vagrant across the threshold. he simply had to wait for an old aquaitence to let him up. So far this was not the best start which he could have hoped for.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius was too addled by this point to follow what exactly happened.

One moment, the tiefling was lying on his back, the blades and spikes on his armour slicing neatly through his coat to gouge the planks beneath him; the next moment, something large and black as night passed over him and sent him rolling with an errant paw.

Blinking slowly, Aurelianus found himself lying face down on the porch. A hands-breadth away from his face lay his pipe, now upended, the Scyllip scattered over the floor, embers sputtering in the light dusting of snow that had drifted up from the street. Another age passed for the half-breed as he stared at the now damp and useless purple leaves.

No.. more Scyllip.

The thought seemed to slowly coalesce in his brain-box. But the more his drugged mind swirled around the words, the more he tasted them, the sharper the realisation became. Whatever had just barreled him out of the way... had ruined his last remaining fix. He could still taste it on the tips of his forked tongue. The smell still lingered in the air, tantalisingly.

It. Had. Ruined. His. Drugs.

Aurelianus Drak'shal slowly pushed himself to his feet, barely registering the new tears opening in his coat, nor the leather knitting itself back together just as quickly, his serpentine eyes still locked on the soggy pile of purple. Staggering slightly as the blood rushed back to his head, a steadying hand met the rough, unadorned stone of the building. His breathing, up until now slow and utterly calm, started coming in faster and shallower gasps - it set the profusion of blades adorning his armour to shredding the inside of his battered coat, buckles and piercings jingling melodically all over his wolf-lean frame. The sounds were still distant to his ears. His hands curled into tight fists, knuckles bone white under his fingerless gloves. The half-breed's fangs creaked inside his mouth as his rage burned his senses back to lethal focus. A deep, liquid growl slid up the tiefling's throat, and with a wordless roar of utter hatred he turned on his heel and charged the creature responsible for ruining his serene mood.

It was on top of the human, pinning him to the floor, but he barely registered to Aurelius as he lurched through the doorway. Every movement sent dizzying waves pulsing through his brain-box, black spots dancing in the half-demon's field of vision; but even his lack of coordination and slowed senses wouldn't prevent him venting his white-hot anger. Drawing back a gloved fist, Aurelius smashed it across the side of the beast's head, knocking it askew on the long, sinuous neck. It was like hitting a brick-wall, but if the enraged warlock noticed the pain, it was only as a dull throb through his hand. Vague things stood out clear and keen in his eyes, against the fuzzy backdrop of the rest of the world: scales, a glimmer of light hitting the ivory curve of a tooth, cords of muscle standing out in stark relief against mottled skin.

Another punch hammered into the target, followed by another and another.

Fully in the grips of fury, the tiefling's fangs were bared, drool running down his chin as he hissed and snarled. The onslaught drove the black shape back into the hallway, in the process releasing the wizard Ulrich from its grip.

Finally, as one last vicious cross thundered into the thing before him, one of the creature's fangs snagged the tiefling's knuckle. It opened a gash across the back of his hand, tearing through his glove and spilling blood like ink across the walls in a fine spray. Chest heaving under his coat, drool still spilling down between his serrated fangs, Drak'shal finally looked at the thing before him.

"That," he said, voice low and slightly slurred, pointing at his punching-bag, "is a pikin' dragon."

He looked down at his hand, finally seeing the blood dribbling between his fingers and spattering on the floor of the dirty hallway. The tear in his flesh looked painful. Carefully, he peeled off the tattered glove and discarded it at his feet, seemingly unaware of the pair behind him now. Flexing his hand Aurelius started to feel the effects of beating the dragon. His knuckles burned with a soft, almost imperceptible throb, pulsing in time with his heart and a fine sheen of sweat covered his horned brow. He was momentarily transfixed by the mesmerising play of light on the glistening blood slithering down his alabaster skin.

"I just punched a bloody dragon," he said again, his brows knitting in confusion.

The creature itself cowered before him, hissing at the tiefling, but he was too amused to notice it was afraid of him. Wings tight against its back, the over-grown reptile hunkered down against the wall, long neck close to the floor. A feral grin split Aurelianus' features, manic and wide. His head rose ponderously to Ulrich and his apparent companion, quills scratching against each other, and then swung back to the infant dragon. Before he could stop himself, the warlock was back on the floor, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as an explosion of hysterical laughter erupted forth.

[Philomel]

At first she laughed.

Those ringing, almost mocking, tones as she saw her old compatriot being shoved over by her new hatchling dragon. Delath had his muzzle to Ulrich's face and was snuffling like one of Leaf's damn piglets looking for truffles. Naturally, he was just attempting to make friends in his childish way, but the wizard seemed to not find it friendly in the slightest. He just struggled, waved his arms around uselessly.

Which caused Philomel to only laugh harder, leaning on the wall of the building.

"Well Delath," she said, breathlessly, "I believe we have told him of our arrival."

The small bundle of black, flecked with orange garbled a happy string of barks. They sounded like the yaps of a fox, and Veridian for a moment was confused as he pattered up to pause beside Philomel. Together they stood, three or four metres away watching the two grounded men, the wizard and the tiefling, struggle to come to their senses.

Movement. Delath let out a terrified yelp as he was thrown to the side, off from Ulrich. He let out a burp of fire that disappated as soon as it left his maw, as a dark and merciless shadow plunged its fists into him. Thwump, thwump, thwump.

"That is a dragon!" the beast of no morality hissed out.

Reaching out towards her with his long neck Delath struggled, crying out like the babe as he was, but he was already plunged against the opposite wall of the street. The faun-whore was quick to respond, pulling out her keris dagger and kicking from the wall with her hoof. Fury was clean and clear on her face, the visage of condemnation as she sped towards the bastard who she, genuinely, did like in a partial macabre way, but certainly did not want to see alive as he lashed out at her friend.

As if in a drunken stupor he paused, looking down at his hands. The sweet scent of blood swept out, caught the faun's nose, yet she was still on the move. Her dagger, arms, systems - whole body - prepared and shot out as his pause ended as soon as it had come, as Aurelianus swept to punch the hatchling once more. Tightly, she spun, kicking off from ground to wall, then back onto the floor, hooves like dark earthquakes on the surface of the world. Behind her clenched teeth she barked at him, eyes filling with hatred as she landed where the half-demon struck, to take the full force of his punch into her hip.

Bareably she held her ground, using the force of Mother Earth to ground her. Yea, the punch was hard, brutal, but it was better her than Delath who was only a child.

"Fucking hell," she spat, twisting the dagger in the air, holding it up to where, if he struck again, it would gouge his throat.

"Come to your senses! That's my bloody dragon!"

The fury was clear on her face. The anger of the matriarch, the glorious faun, the condemner of lovers. At her side the beloved Earth Spirit that gave her such powerful harmony with the earth perched on the tips of his paws, ready to fly into fight. If it came to that. For now, there was only defence.

Silence. Pausing. Tension.

Then the demon from Hadia fell down in laughter. The Nightingale paused in confused rapture, caught between anger and surprise. What - what was her reaction to be? More animosity? More discontent? Some - dare she say it - approval of his behavior, no matter how inappropriate it may be to the consesus of time.

The faun simply paused, keeping her current expression upon her face, of fury, and thought about her options. Taking a long breath she considered, mused, and reflected, then came to a suitable conclusion.

Rocking back gently onto the balance of her hooves her dagger whisked out of the way. It took a stance to her side, rather than out to the front, and her dark eyes rolled from figure to figure to doorway to fox, taking in each individual aspect alone. Silent she assessed, then she spoke, as all things must be. All things must be credited before the tongue is given power.

"Right, well now insanity is come, shall we get some tea?"

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Ulrich, was confused.

One moment, you're down on your back with a teeny tiny dragon, panting in your face like some children's story. The next you're sitting up and watching a vagrant punching wildly at it's armoured carapice. Dragon scale was tough, Nearly unpenetrable but the thing about armour was that it was only good against anything that pierced and if you're hitting bluntly. It's going to hurt but she wasn't in any danger. He hoped it was female.

The only saving grace for the stranger was how young the dragon was, Caught by surprise the creature retreated. If it knew the power it could wield then the vagrant wouldn't have a chance.

"That. Is a piking dragon."

So, it appears that he wasn't so high that reality wouldn't sink in eventually. It only took far too long to happen. The instant the thought passed through his head, the quilled one burst into fits of laughter, and started to rock back ad forth, proving Ulrich's assumptions about the being's state of mind to be false and wildly untrue. This, drawn by the strange shapes his face was pulled into while laughing, was the first time Ulrich gave the being much of a look: Curled into an upright featal position, Auralius Drak'shall was... laughing and what an un-godly thing it was.


The sharp, angular face got harder rather than than the softening which you would expect from anyone experienceing laughter. Cheekbones became more pronounced and his chin jutted down and out like a knife thrust. The red quills which adorned his head bounced between each loud breath and stood nearaly erect with each laugh. All in all, the being was fucked, but Aurelius was also clearly part demonic so Ulrich the wizard made a decision, while watching the unsettling act of Aur's laughter.

Then the faun arrived. Practically berrated Aur about how he had attacked *her* dragon. Ulrich wanted to step in, to say the beast hadn't been in any danger, that it was clearly fine; since a dragon is either fine or dead; and what the hell was she even doing in Salvar. He didn't though. Instead beconing Veridian over with a hand and running it through the fox's fur instead. Following the exchange of words between the two quietly, while he bonded a little more with the fox. He felt they were closer anyway.

"You feel different. What's new?"

Veridian simply stared back. Unable to give him a real answer, before turning his head towards Philomel and. Well he didn't know this gentleman. Ulrich Craggenmoor moved pushed himself off the doorstep and stepped outside to the two who were slowly growing in volume. He should introduce himself to the newcomer.

How bad could he be?

"Phil, the dragon's fine. No harm. no foul."

Aur hadn't really stopped laughing while he was confronted but it was dying down to weird hiccupy bursts. Ulrich's hand moved into his field of vision and the wizard watched the otherworldly eyes focus in and out on it. When the wizard wagged his fingers, to indicate that he was offering a helping hand to stand, Aur became intensley interested in the pair of shoes standing only a handfull of inchies away. Moved closer, and closer kept going until the wizard was /sure/ that the strangere was either bowing in a kind of drugged up way or rying to smell his feet.

Then he opened his mouth and unleashed a torrent of green/yellow bile.

Lovely.

And tea sounded like a fine idea.

"Ok then Phi, help me get..."

Ulrich Craggenmoor, professional wizard and part time investigator realised it was a decent enough time to ask the new aquaintance of his, how the hell he was.

"What Do I call you anyway?"

And that's how Ulrich met Auralius Drak'shall, Feet swimming in vomit, snow drifting in through the open door.