((Apologies for taking so long =P Classes became a bit distracting. I’m going to say, time wise, that the Winter’s Dark Heart is over by now, and has been for a little while. It’s after Tek-lia’s clutch hatching and the tattoo dragons going out, and before Briski’s clutches hatch.))
Selesst was doing that thing again, dancing a thin dagger across his fingers while walking.
Selverat wished he wouldn’t. Selverat really wished he wouldn’t. He kept waiting to see blood blooming across the blade and hand. But of course it never happened – Selesst was Armsmaster for a reason, and one of those reasons was because he was good. He reminded Rat of the Armsmaster who trained him to be a Knight – relentless, determined, and with a presence capable of cowing even the King.
“So,” Selesst’s dry voice cut through his thoughts, snapping his attention from the flashing dagger to the man’s lined face. “Are you actually going to come to practice today, Rat? Or are you going to slip out of it again.”
Krethae draped an arm across his shoulders, then leaned over and grinned at Selesst. “Oh, he’ll come. I’ve spoken with Kerkael about it, and he says Rat has nothing better to do.”
“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t I get a vote in this?!” Selverat tried to pry Kreth’s arm from his shoulders, succeeding only in moving the armored limb a few centimeters. “I’m done with Knight-hood and all the bumps and scrapes that come of it.”
“And what will you do when Kerkael can’t pull you out of one of those issues you constantly get yourself in?” Selesst gestured towards Rat’s belt, “You don’t even wear a sword anymore. At least let me keep you fit for hand to hand combat.”
Selverat snorted, “You two aren’t going to let up, are you?”
“For good reason. Your reactions were slow during the dark frenzy. You got hurt… what if the one with you had been completely defenseless? What if there had been another hatchling nearby?” Krethae reminded him.
Selesst nodded, “We’re just looking after you.”
“You’re our friend, Rat,” Krethae added, “We don’t like seeing you h—“
“Guys?” Selverat paused in his steps, looking down the corridor. “Do those two look familiar to you?”
Krethae frowned, her wings rustling as she turned her attention to where Selverat was pointing. Selesst stopped a few steps in front of the two of them, his body turned side-on to the figures, silver eyes wary, dagger paused in its path, hand poised to throw it… until he saw the state the two were in. One carrying the second, smaller figure, both tired.
“Newcomers.” He spoke, stepping back to his place at Selverat’s side, the dagger resuming its spinning across his fingers. “Just newcomers. Refugees from somewhere, perhaps. Definitely not from Koshi Keidai.”
Shrugging off Krethae’s arm, Selverat stepped forward towards the two, bowing slightly. “Welcome to Clan Akelara. I’m Selverat, rider of Fire Kerkael and partner to Green Ara-teli, and these two are Krethae, rider of Void Tinorl, and Selesst, rider of Silver Chandye. May we assist you?”
Welcoming the Newcomers (Lilu)
Moderators: Mystic Dragon, Xalia, Shard
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Guest
((^^; It's okay. I've definitely been stood up for faaar longer 
))
Miles. It must have been miles that they'd walked since that door. Spyridon looked up, eyes hazy even behind his glasses from so much light, so much light all the time. There were three of them, and they seemed ... not nearly so much a threat as the fog, as the ... shapes outside in the sky.
Kalju, of course, was very helpful. "Magister," he said, hitching up to practically stand on Spyridon's hips to see over his shoulders, "she's got wings. Is that why they weren't birds outside?"
Spyridon closed his eyes and wished very deeply that the child would just succumb to exhaustion from walking too far and go to sleep. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and in that moment, Kalju spoke again.
"It's not good to have wings, Magister. You should tell her."
"I'm sure she can hear you just fine," he answered crisply. He took his deep breath and returned his attention to the only normal looking one of the bunch - though he was far too brown to be a man running from fog. Wherever they were, chances were it wasn't anywhere near home. "I'm Magister Pallmern of Mountain's Den. This is my associate, Scholar Kalju, who thought it would be a wonderful time to walk outside. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I missed your meaning. Where are we, exactly? I don't think I've ever come across this ... Akelara, was it? ... in my studies. I can almost guarentee that this is not the ten feet into the fog we thought it was."
He looked around and stared up at the hallways again, shook his head, and hunched his shoulders again. "This is all fascinating strange," he muttered to himself. Kalju must've heard a hint of annoyance in it, because Spyridon suddenly found himself patted on the head by the child. He blinked and returned his gaze to the man with the red hair. Least change from the norm, least to worry about forgetting later.
))Miles. It must have been miles that they'd walked since that door. Spyridon looked up, eyes hazy even behind his glasses from so much light, so much light all the time. There were three of them, and they seemed ... not nearly so much a threat as the fog, as the ... shapes outside in the sky.
Kalju, of course, was very helpful. "Magister," he said, hitching up to practically stand on Spyridon's hips to see over his shoulders, "she's got wings. Is that why they weren't birds outside?"
Spyridon closed his eyes and wished very deeply that the child would just succumb to exhaustion from walking too far and go to sleep. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and in that moment, Kalju spoke again.
"It's not good to have wings, Magister. You should tell her."
"I'm sure she can hear you just fine," he answered crisply. He took his deep breath and returned his attention to the only normal looking one of the bunch - though he was far too brown to be a man running from fog. Wherever they were, chances were it wasn't anywhere near home. "I'm Magister Pallmern of Mountain's Den. This is my associate, Scholar Kalju, who thought it would be a wonderful time to walk outside. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I missed your meaning. Where are we, exactly? I don't think I've ever come across this ... Akelara, was it? ... in my studies. I can almost guarentee that this is not the ten feet into the fog we thought it was."
He looked around and stared up at the hallways again, shook his head, and hunched his shoulders again. "This is all fascinating strange," he muttered to himself. Kalju must've heard a hint of annoyance in it, because Spyridon suddenly found himself patted on the head by the child. He blinked and returned his gaze to the man with the red hair. Least change from the norm, least to worry about forgetting later.
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StarFyre
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Krethae turned slightly to one side, covering her mouth with a gloved hand in an attempt to contain her amusement. Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, eyes nearly closed from it.
Selverat shot her an annoyed look, before schooling his features back to pleasant welcome. Trust Kreth to break into a fit of giggles at the least provocation. He’d never understand the Void Mage, and sometimes wondered if he ever wanted to.
“I’m not sure where, precisely, Mountain’s Den is located,” Selverat began, “but I can say with certainty that you are no longer on the same world.”
“Rat, if they think Krethae strange, we should get out of the hallway soon.” Selesst spoke after a moment, his eyes refocusing onto Pallmern and Kalju after staring blankly into space for a moment. “Chandye says the guard is about to change, and this is the main hallway.”
“Besides!” Krethae chimed in, “They’ll be more comfortable in a human-sized room. I remember my first time in a Myrsilkain compound! It’s a bit disorienting if you’re not used to it.”
Rat ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls absently. “Right. Point. There should be one of those little gathering-rooms just down the way a bit and… ah. Yes. Kerkael says it’s empty.” He bowed slightly to the two visitors again, “If you’d follow me? We’ll answer your questions in a more comfortable place.”
As Selverat and Krethae turned to lead the way, Selesst thoughtfully eyed the two visitors. With a decisive flick, he sent the small dagger back up his sleeve and approached them, gesturing to Kalju with his other hand. “You’re tired. This place does it to all of us the first few times. Would you like me to carry him until we reach the gathering-room?”
Selverat shot her an annoyed look, before schooling his features back to pleasant welcome. Trust Kreth to break into a fit of giggles at the least provocation. He’d never understand the Void Mage, and sometimes wondered if he ever wanted to.
“I’m not sure where, precisely, Mountain’s Den is located,” Selverat began, “but I can say with certainty that you are no longer on the same world.”
“Rat, if they think Krethae strange, we should get out of the hallway soon.” Selesst spoke after a moment, his eyes refocusing onto Pallmern and Kalju after staring blankly into space for a moment. “Chandye says the guard is about to change, and this is the main hallway.”
“Besides!” Krethae chimed in, “They’ll be more comfortable in a human-sized room. I remember my first time in a Myrsilkain compound! It’s a bit disorienting if you’re not used to it.”
Rat ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls absently. “Right. Point. There should be one of those little gathering-rooms just down the way a bit and… ah. Yes. Kerkael says it’s empty.” He bowed slightly to the two visitors again, “If you’d follow me? We’ll answer your questions in a more comfortable place.”
As Selverat and Krethae turned to lead the way, Selesst thoughtfully eyed the two visitors. With a decisive flick, he sent the small dagger back up his sleeve and approached them, gesturing to Kalju with his other hand. “You’re tired. This place does it to all of us the first few times. Would you like me to carry him until we reach the gathering-room?”
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Guest
Spyridon turned to the man, smiled, and caught a glimpse of his strange eyes all over again. He averted his gaze and went to respond when he received two little arms in a death-grip around his neck. His breath siezed up at his lungs, and he had to pry the arms looser with sheer strength. "No, I, uh. I think I'll keep him. He tends to wander."
He looked around as he followed their lead. Anywhere but the girl's wings and the man's eyes. "You um... It's a very large structure you have here." Not the most exciting of conversationalists, Spyridon Pallmern was.
Kalju, meanwhile, had stopped mentally reciting every printed material their system had on the Multiple Worlds Theorems and spoke ahead towards Selverat. "How do you know what someone says if they're not here?" he asked, digging his knees into the back of Magister Pallmern's ribs.
He looked around as he followed their lead. Anywhere but the girl's wings and the man's eyes. "You um... It's a very large structure you have here." Not the most exciting of conversationalists, Spyridon Pallmern was.
Kalju, meanwhile, had stopped mentally reciting every printed material their system had on the Multiple Worlds Theorems and spoke ahead towards Selverat. "How do you know what someone says if they're not here?" he asked, digging his knees into the back of Magister Pallmern's ribs.
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StarFyre
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Selesst shrugged and fell into place to one side of the group, the dagger reappearing from where he’d sent it, dancing once more across the back of his hand. “Of course it’s large. This complex is, first and foremost, the Clan grounds, belonging to the Myrsilkains. We’re just… mmm… guests I suppose you could call us. People like Krethae and Selverat have more claim to be here than I do, being as they’re bondmates to Myrsilkains, but the Clan has opened its arms to those like myself and Chandye, who have no where else to go.”
“As to why I can know that Kerkael says there’s no one in the room,” Selverat grinned over his shoulder at Kalju, then tapped his head with his index finger, “He can speak with me here. Handy little trick. Especially since it’s the only way to hold a conversation at several thousand feet, while clinging to his back and fighting ripwinds and beasties.” His face clouds a moment at the mention of ‘beasties’, but he shakes his head as if tossing the thought off, and grins again.
“And here we are,” He said with a flourish of a hand, as he shoved a door open with the other one and gesturing the rest of the group into the small, blessedly human-sized room.
Several well stuffed chairs sat gathered around a low table, the wood stained dark with a glossy stain. A couch taking up one entire side of the table, a small end table at each arm of it. The stone walls were softened by tapestries depicting massive, brightly colored dragons in various poses. In one, a pair of silvery dragons focus on a stream of metal coming from the floor, the very beginnings of some piece of armor taking form. In another, a fiery colored dragon has its neck curled around, watching a human attach armor to its body. A third is much softer in focus, with an earthen colored dragon curled about another, the second blue in color, the two sleeping, a small bundle curled up asleep where their tails coil together, a small hand the only real evidence that it’s probably a human curled up there. A fourth, though, shifts the focus once more to ‘harshness’, being an aerial battle with multitudes of jewel-toned dragons swirling about fighting black creatures seemingly born of shadow, with blazing red eyes.
“As to why I can know that Kerkael says there’s no one in the room,” Selverat grinned over his shoulder at Kalju, then tapped his head with his index finger, “He can speak with me here. Handy little trick. Especially since it’s the only way to hold a conversation at several thousand feet, while clinging to his back and fighting ripwinds and beasties.” His face clouds a moment at the mention of ‘beasties’, but he shakes his head as if tossing the thought off, and grins again.
“And here we are,” He said with a flourish of a hand, as he shoved a door open with the other one and gesturing the rest of the group into the small, blessedly human-sized room.
Several well stuffed chairs sat gathered around a low table, the wood stained dark with a glossy stain. A couch taking up one entire side of the table, a small end table at each arm of it. The stone walls were softened by tapestries depicting massive, brightly colored dragons in various poses. In one, a pair of silvery dragons focus on a stream of metal coming from the floor, the very beginnings of some piece of armor taking form. In another, a fiery colored dragon has its neck curled around, watching a human attach armor to its body. A third is much softer in focus, with an earthen colored dragon curled about another, the second blue in color, the two sleeping, a small bundle curled up asleep where their tails coil together, a small hand the only real evidence that it’s probably a human curled up there. A fourth, though, shifts the focus once more to ‘harshness’, being an aerial battle with multitudes of jewel-toned dragons swirling about fighting black creatures seemingly born of shadow, with blazing red eyes.
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Guest
"So these Myrsilkain must be qui--" He cut himself off, eying the backs of their hosts' heads, considering the possible implications of anything that might involve both the possibilities of giants and the ideas of mating. He cleared his throat and tried again -- "Quite large, excuse me." Hopefully flawless recovery, and something to ask at a not-quite-so-present time. They'd just gotten there. Let's not make any bad impressions, shall we?
They followed the others into the room, and Spyridon's eyes immediately fell on the tapestries. "Oh dear," he said quietly and started to sink to a seat on the couch.
Kalju, however, was immediately fascinated by and drawn to the tapestries. He skittered off of his teacher's back, just as the man started to sink down, and scurried over to investigate the walls, thereafter ignoring any verbal prompts thrown in his direction.
"Should I assume," Spyridon asked wearily, "that those are your Myrsilkains?"
His head was already spinning with the thought of having to accept more than one or two of these behemoths in existance at any given time.
They followed the others into the room, and Spyridon's eyes immediately fell on the tapestries. "Oh dear," he said quietly and started to sink to a seat on the couch.
Kalju, however, was immediately fascinated by and drawn to the tapestries. He skittered off of his teacher's back, just as the man started to sink down, and scurried over to investigate the walls, thereafter ignoring any verbal prompts thrown in his direction.
"Should I assume," Spyridon asked wearily, "that those are your Myrsilkains?"
His head was already spinning with the thought of having to accept more than one or two of these behemoths in existance at any given time.
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StarFyre
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Selverat followed the last of them into the room, tossing himself into a chair and sprawling out sideways in it, stretching and yawning like a feline. Selesst settled himself much more decorously into another chair, eyes focusing alternately on Kalju and Pallmern. Krethae, for her part, put a foot on the seat of Selesst’s chair, then swiftly leapt to settle on the back of the chair, her wings flaring to stabilize her landing as she folded her legs under her and leaned on one arm, watching the two from her perch.
“The Myrsilkains are large, yes.” Rat nodded as he rearranged himself again, “Kerkael is around eighty three feet long from nose to tailtip, and around twenty seven feet tall from paws to shoulder. Tinorl is about sixty-four feet long, and around twenty one feet tall.”
“I’m luckier,” Selesst added with an amused quirk of his lips. “Chandye isn’t so huge, only about thirteen feet at the shoulder, and about thirty from nose to tailtip.”
Krethae unhooked her helmet from her belt and passed it down to Selesst, who set it at his feet. She then proceeded to fiddle with her sword belt, taking it off and looping it smoothly over one shoulder, so that the hilt projected above her shoulder.
“Those aren’t ours as in our bondmates, but that’s what they look like. Well, except for Selesst’s bondmate. He’s not there.” Krethae spoke as she continued to fiddle with the belt. “These aren’t the… most pleasant of stories, but they’re part of our history. The first, with the two silvers, is the story of Shaimi and Daluru, the first to create armor to protect us in our ancient war. The second, with the red and the human, is the story of Iamet and her bondmate Siafi, the first of their kind. The third, with the green, the blue, and the human, is the story of Laorn and Fequea and their bondmate Yeveru, they who we name Peacemaker. And the last…”
Selverat frowned, and picked up where Krethae had trailed off. “The last, is the great War. It marks the last time the Shadowspinner had enough strength to throw an entire army at us. Many upon many died then… we don’t speak of it often, even in the stories.”
“The Myrsilkains are large, yes.” Rat nodded as he rearranged himself again, “Kerkael is around eighty three feet long from nose to tailtip, and around twenty seven feet tall from paws to shoulder. Tinorl is about sixty-four feet long, and around twenty one feet tall.”
“I’m luckier,” Selesst added with an amused quirk of his lips. “Chandye isn’t so huge, only about thirteen feet at the shoulder, and about thirty from nose to tailtip.”
Krethae unhooked her helmet from her belt and passed it down to Selesst, who set it at his feet. She then proceeded to fiddle with her sword belt, taking it off and looping it smoothly over one shoulder, so that the hilt projected above her shoulder.
“Those aren’t ours as in our bondmates, but that’s what they look like. Well, except for Selesst’s bondmate. He’s not there.” Krethae spoke as she continued to fiddle with the belt. “These aren’t the… most pleasant of stories, but they’re part of our history. The first, with the two silvers, is the story of Shaimi and Daluru, the first to create armor to protect us in our ancient war. The second, with the red and the human, is the story of Iamet and her bondmate Siafi, the first of their kind. The third, with the green, the blue, and the human, is the story of Laorn and Fequea and their bondmate Yeveru, they who we name Peacemaker. And the last…”
Selverat frowned, and picked up where Krethae had trailed off. “The last, is the great War. It marks the last time the Shadowspinner had enough strength to throw an entire army at us. Many upon many died then… we don’t speak of it often, even in the stories.”
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Guest
Spyridon nodded, trying to understand, and staring around at the strange tapestries as they spoke, attempting to put these ideas of size into context with the illustrations. On the whole, aside from the dragons, he was classifying the tapestries as 'unremarkable'. They were, as far as he could tell, what any civilization of roughly this technology level (and his own) did to record events for the masses to easily access it.
But there was that word again. Bondmates? What was that exactly? He opened his mouth to speak and turned back to their hosts, still trying very hard not to see their abnormalities, only to lose his entire train of thought.
Kalju was attempting to put himself as much in Selesst's field of vision as possible while still maintaining no eye-contact at all. "I cannot find the dates, Selesst," he said emptily, his tone only vaguely lilting as he tended to do when not actually talking to someone, regardless of using their name.
"Kalju, give the man space," Spyridon sighed.
The boy turned towards him only a little, but his eyes didn't break focus with the wall. "I cannot find the dates, Magister," he said in exactly the same tone and rhythm as before.
Spyridon took off his glasses and polished them on the hem of his robe sleeve. "Forgive him," he said gently. "He's just like this."
Kalju turned again to Selessts. "Your dates are hiding."
But there was that word again. Bondmates? What was that exactly? He opened his mouth to speak and turned back to their hosts, still trying very hard not to see their abnormalities, only to lose his entire train of thought.
Kalju was attempting to put himself as much in Selesst's field of vision as possible while still maintaining no eye-contact at all. "I cannot find the dates, Selesst," he said emptily, his tone only vaguely lilting as he tended to do when not actually talking to someone, regardless of using their name.
"Kalju, give the man space," Spyridon sighed.
The boy turned towards him only a little, but his eyes didn't break focus with the wall. "I cannot find the dates, Magister," he said in exactly the same tone and rhythm as before.
Spyridon took off his glasses and polished them on the hem of his robe sleeve. "Forgive him," he said gently. "He's just like this."
Kalju turned again to Selessts. "Your dates are hiding."
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StarFyre
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Selesst shook his head, “The tapestries here are never dated. Myrsilkains have long memories, any one you ask could repeat those stories in the proper order. The stories themselves have an accepted order, and during the time of the longest night, all would gather from the hundreds of Clans to listen to the entire history spoken by the tale-tellers, and to share what has happened to them since the last gathering.”
“ And for the rest of us, if we want to learn historical context, we just need to go to the library.” Krethae added. “It’s one of the first things we learn when we become bondmates with a Myrsilkain, how to read and write their high text.”
“And one of the first things permanent residents are required to learn,” Selesst paused his dagger in its path across his fingers and stared at it. “Many books are in various common languages, and it’s a rare person who can’t find something in the library they can read, but all the historical texts are in the Myrsilkain high text, to assure that, no matter how far flung the Clans become, any Myrsilkain will be able to read of their history.”
Selverat nodded, shifting position to pull his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “They’ve always been big on everyone knowing where they came from, because anyone can become a leader here.” His mouth quirked into an amused smile, “Hell, if he wanted to, Kerkael could enter the Trials when Revent decides to retire. Not that he will, he hates leadership roles as much as I do, honestly.”
“ And for the rest of us, if we want to learn historical context, we just need to go to the library.” Krethae added. “It’s one of the first things we learn when we become bondmates with a Myrsilkain, how to read and write their high text.”
“And one of the first things permanent residents are required to learn,” Selesst paused his dagger in its path across his fingers and stared at it. “Many books are in various common languages, and it’s a rare person who can’t find something in the library they can read, but all the historical texts are in the Myrsilkain high text, to assure that, no matter how far flung the Clans become, any Myrsilkain will be able to read of their history.”
Selverat nodded, shifting position to pull his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “They’ve always been big on everyone knowing where they came from, because anyone can become a leader here.” His mouth quirked into an amused smile, “Hell, if he wanted to, Kerkael could enter the Trials when Revent decides to retire. Not that he will, he hates leadership roles as much as I do, honestly.”
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Guest
Kalju considered this for a long moment, still staring at the tapestries. "Magister--"
"No," Magister Pallmern interrupted, sinking deeply upon himself.
"--I must speak with one of these Myrsilkain." His head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes completely unfocusing.
Magister Pallmern's head bowed and his hands scrubbed at his eyes. "You must, must you?"
"It is quite imperative." He wandered over to the tapestries again, fingers reaching out, leaving only hairs' bredths of air between them and the cloth. "I wish to know, Magister."
Magister Pallmern stared up at the ceiling, shook his head, and turned to their hosts. "Would it be possible...?" he asked, leaving the question hanging in the air between them.
"No," Magister Pallmern interrupted, sinking deeply upon himself.
"--I must speak with one of these Myrsilkain." His head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes completely unfocusing.
Magister Pallmern's head bowed and his hands scrubbed at his eyes. "You must, must you?"
"It is quite imperative." He wandered over to the tapestries again, fingers reaching out, leaving only hairs' bredths of air between them and the cloth. "I wish to know, Magister."
Magister Pallmern stared up at the ceiling, shook his head, and turned to their hosts. "Would it be possible...?" he asked, leaving the question hanging in the air between them.
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StarFyre
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Selverat and Krethae simultaneously tilted their heads to the side, staring off into the distance, apparently ‘listening’ to something the others couldn’t hear.
It was Selverat who came back to himself first, as he stretched his legs out, “Kerkael agrees to come and speak for himself. He’ll be here in a moment.”
“Not that surprising,” Krethae chuckled, “Kerkael likes showing off. Tinorl isn’t much for social interaction.”
As Krethae was speaking, Rat was up and out of his chair, moving to open the door and glance out at the hallway. It was only a few seconds afterwards that he began backing up, and a brilliant, flame red muzzle and head slipped its way in, brilliant gold crest gleaming in the light, red-gold eyes darting about to take in the entire gathering. The room suddenly felt… small, though neither of the three seemed to notice at all.
Though the backwards swept horns easily cleared the door, and there were inches of room on either size of his head, the sheer massiveness of the head was reinforced when Selverat stood next to it, a hand stroking the ridge that began the crest of horns, staring deep into the dragon’s eyes. With Kerkael’s head resting on the floor, the ridge was easily a couple inches above his shoulder.
Finishing their silent communion, Selverat settled on the floor, resting his back against the massive dragon, a small, content smile on his face. “I present to you High Fire Shaman Kerkeal’akel, Son of High Ice Invoker Eyashi’losi and High Lightning Enchanter Mindon’losi. Shadowscythe, Flamelance, and about five dozen other titles that are equally meaningless these days, since we’re the only gathering of Myrsilkains left in the universe.”
A rumble of laughter came from Kerkael. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve heard the formal greeting. Ah well.” His voice a deep bass rumble, mobile lips shaping the words and giving the occasionally glimpses at the sharp teeth contained within his mouth. “I welcome the two of you to Clan Akelara. Rat told me one of you had questions to ask of me?”
It was Selverat who came back to himself first, as he stretched his legs out, “Kerkael agrees to come and speak for himself. He’ll be here in a moment.”
“Not that surprising,” Krethae chuckled, “Kerkael likes showing off. Tinorl isn’t much for social interaction.”
As Krethae was speaking, Rat was up and out of his chair, moving to open the door and glance out at the hallway. It was only a few seconds afterwards that he began backing up, and a brilliant, flame red muzzle and head slipped its way in, brilliant gold crest gleaming in the light, red-gold eyes darting about to take in the entire gathering. The room suddenly felt… small, though neither of the three seemed to notice at all.
Though the backwards swept horns easily cleared the door, and there were inches of room on either size of his head, the sheer massiveness of the head was reinforced when Selverat stood next to it, a hand stroking the ridge that began the crest of horns, staring deep into the dragon’s eyes. With Kerkael’s head resting on the floor, the ridge was easily a couple inches above his shoulder.
Finishing their silent communion, Selverat settled on the floor, resting his back against the massive dragon, a small, content smile on his face. “I present to you High Fire Shaman Kerkeal’akel, Son of High Ice Invoker Eyashi’losi and High Lightning Enchanter Mindon’losi. Shadowscythe, Flamelance, and about five dozen other titles that are equally meaningless these days, since we’re the only gathering of Myrsilkains left in the universe.”
A rumble of laughter came from Kerkael. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve heard the formal greeting. Ah well.” His voice a deep bass rumble, mobile lips shaping the words and giving the occasionally glimpses at the sharp teeth contained within his mouth. “I welcome the two of you to Clan Akelara. Rat told me one of you had questions to ask of me?”
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Guest
Spyridon thought for certain he was ready to start praying to the thousand wayward suns as the door opened. And then... it was the sheer size of it that did him in. Any words of comfort he could have offered to himself completely evacuated his skull and he simply stared. Huge didn't begin to describe it. Behemoth was closer. Monstrous was closer still.
But... it wasn't threatening at all.
Kalju, of course, didn't seem to care one way or the other at the strangeness of this. He walked right up to it, staring in his odd little way, and repeated what he had explained to Spyridon not moments before. "I wish to know," he said. And that was all he said. Not an indication of what, not an indication of anything. Just that he wished to know.
Spyridon tried to make his jaw unfreeze and stop its insistant plummet towards the ground. It wasn't working too well until he picked his hand up and closed it the hard way. And yet, in a strangely terrifying way, this creature wasn't... terrible.
He had heard tales of the fogbeasts, how they stank of death and feces and rot. How their eyes rolled and their mouths slavened and their tongues lolled senselessly about their heads. He hadn't seen a fogbeast in all his life - didn't want to see a fogbeast.
But he had been prepared for the worst, no matter what the pictures said (Pictures have a tendency to lie, anyway, showing only the best and none of the worst), and while he stared now, it was more in a way that his eyes insisted comprehension for this strange and bizarre shape than anything else. It - he? She? - was welcoming and as polite as their bizarre mostly-human hosts - and if he had to admit it, he was coming to accept them as commonplace, too, wings and silvered eyes and all - and while his heart was still thundering in his chest for the fear and shock of it, he was quite certain that would pass.
Provided he didn't try to think too hard on just how this Myrsilkain got here quite this quickly. And provided Kalju didn't try to give him a heart-attack in the meantime.
But... it wasn't threatening at all.
Kalju, of course, didn't seem to care one way or the other at the strangeness of this. He walked right up to it, staring in his odd little way, and repeated what he had explained to Spyridon not moments before. "I wish to know," he said. And that was all he said. Not an indication of what, not an indication of anything. Just that he wished to know.
Spyridon tried to make his jaw unfreeze and stop its insistant plummet towards the ground. It wasn't working too well until he picked his hand up and closed it the hard way. And yet, in a strangely terrifying way, this creature wasn't... terrible.
He had heard tales of the fogbeasts, how they stank of death and feces and rot. How their eyes rolled and their mouths slavened and their tongues lolled senselessly about their heads. He hadn't seen a fogbeast in all his life - didn't want to see a fogbeast.
But he had been prepared for the worst, no matter what the pictures said (Pictures have a tendency to lie, anyway, showing only the best and none of the worst), and while he stared now, it was more in a way that his eyes insisted comprehension for this strange and bizarre shape than anything else. It - he? She? - was welcoming and as polite as their bizarre mostly-human hosts - and if he had to admit it, he was coming to accept them as commonplace, too, wings and silvered eyes and all - and while his heart was still thundering in his chest for the fear and shock of it, he was quite certain that would pass.
Provided he didn't try to think too hard on just how this Myrsilkain got here quite this quickly. And provided Kalju didn't try to give him a heart-attack in the meantime.
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StarFyre
- Ancient Dragon
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Kerkael chuckled, shifting his head slightly to have a better view of Kalju. “You want to know, hmm? Twelve thousand years of history, four hundred and sixty three different Clans on three hundred and sixteen different worlds. There are seventeen hundred Cycles, consisting of anywhere from a mere three stories to over four hundred stories each.” His fiery eyes sparkled in amusement, “The others weren’t lying when they said we have long memories. Our history is written in our blood and bones – our mothers sing our history to us in the ancient tongue while we rest in the egg, engraving it in our minds before we take a single step in the world.
“We live for a long, long time, and though some of us have not the skill to memorize all that happens about us, others dedicate themselves to being the recorders of our Age, creating the Cycles that our females will sing last to the eggs she broods, so that her children will know all of our history, from start to just before their birth.” Kerkael continued after a moment of thought, “The full recitation of our history, in the common tongue, from start to finish, takes over three full years at this point.”
“We live for a long, long time, and though some of us have not the skill to memorize all that happens about us, others dedicate themselves to being the recorders of our Age, creating the Cycles that our females will sing last to the eggs she broods, so that her children will know all of our history, from start to just before their birth.” Kerkael continued after a moment of thought, “The full recitation of our history, in the common tongue, from start to finish, takes over three full years at this point.”
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Guest
If only that sort of thing would put him off, Spyridon thought as the Myrsilkain mentioned how long it would take to recite the full histery of their species. Best get started, I'm sure he'd say.
Kalju, exactly as anticipated, was not in the least perturbed. Instead, his eyes continued to stare, only focusing on his conversation partner for a brief flicker before wandering off again. "One does not spin shadows," he insisted, picking up a conversation thread he'd never started weaving with the rest of the world. "They exist in reference to light and solid forms."
Spyridon scrubbed at his face under his glasses again. Don't ask questions you're not prepared to write down answers to, Kalju, he thought wearily. And don't expect everyone else to know what you're on about when you start out of the blue like that. He decided it was safest letting the kid talk while he focused on simply keeping an eye on the kid for a while. Not that he could go anywhere with the dragon blocking the door, but... If the Myrsilkain should wish to suddenly leave said doorway, Spyridon was laying odds 1000 to 1 that the kid would follow him as far as he could.
Kalju, exactly as anticipated, was not in the least perturbed. Instead, his eyes continued to stare, only focusing on his conversation partner for a brief flicker before wandering off again. "One does not spin shadows," he insisted, picking up a conversation thread he'd never started weaving with the rest of the world. "They exist in reference to light and solid forms."
Spyridon scrubbed at his face under his glasses again. Don't ask questions you're not prepared to write down answers to, Kalju, he thought wearily. And don't expect everyone else to know what you're on about when you start out of the blue like that. He decided it was safest letting the kid talk while he focused on simply keeping an eye on the kid for a while. Not that he could go anywhere with the dragon blocking the door, but... If the Myrsilkain should wish to suddenly leave said doorway, Spyridon was laying odds 1000 to 1 that the kid would follow him as far as he could.
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StarFyre
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Kerkael’s eyes narrowed for a moment in thought, before comprehension suddenly dawned, “Ah. Shadowspinner. She was a proud, beautiful Shadow Myrsilkain when she was young… it’s said that she could charm even the eldest with her beauty and grace.”
He paused a moment, focusing on the air in the center of the room, above the table. Slowly, an image formed – a delicate, graceful dragon like the ones in the tapestries, but of a dark, dark gray, nearly black in color, with purplish silver markings and wings, and upswept deep violet horns.
“She charmed anyone who tried to gainsay her, wrapping males around her smallest claw, setting females against each other… she was a holy terror in her own graceful, beautiful way.” Kerkael continued with a gusty sigh. “Shadowspinner was never her name, but only the last of her many titles… more of a curse than praise, to be honest… and one she gained by opening the gates to the Void, crafting bodies of shadow for the demons that lived within.”
Selverat nodded, speaking up in the silence as Kerkael paused, “Shadowspinner broke the covenant made at the Beginning, the one we still adhere to – We may call upon the creatures of the Void, but we may never, never release them without check. She ripped a hole and let them pour out, giving them bodies of shadow and power. In the end, she gave herself over to the Shadows, becoming a creature neither wholly mortal nor sane. She still lives, somewhere in the universe, bound eternally by the curses of a full Circle of Gifted Myrsilkains.”
“The stories never speak openly of why she did it,” Kerkael sighed, picking the thread back up, “But that’s only because no Recorder of that Age could bear to put the truth into words. They hint at it heavily, though, and there are five other stories in different arcs that we believe are actually speaking of her without mentioning her name that answer the question of why.
“Her lover, we believe, was killed by humans when they were youths.” Kerkael shifted uncomfortably, pushing his head into Selverat, nearly unbalancing the man, sorrow in his expression. “We believe that this… unbalanced her. Opened her to the whispers of the Shadow creatures. Perhaps she was promised the return of her lover. Perhaps merely revenge. We’ll never know that for sure. Shadowspinner never kept records of her own.”
Krethae broke in, her own voice sad, “For generations after Shadowspinner, Void and Shadow Myrsilkains were eyed with mistrust. Many chose suicide as youths to living with the discrimination. It’s why there are so few Shadows and Voids these days… the genetics became skewed towards the other elements.”
“The war with Shadowspinner lasted three centuries.” Selverat added, stroking Kerkael’s muzzle with both hands, resting his cheek against the dragon’s hide. “And even these days, we still come across remnants of her army, and must fight them. Until now, that war marked the worst moment in our entire history.”
He paused a moment, focusing on the air in the center of the room, above the table. Slowly, an image formed – a delicate, graceful dragon like the ones in the tapestries, but of a dark, dark gray, nearly black in color, with purplish silver markings and wings, and upswept deep violet horns.
“She charmed anyone who tried to gainsay her, wrapping males around her smallest claw, setting females against each other… she was a holy terror in her own graceful, beautiful way.” Kerkael continued with a gusty sigh. “Shadowspinner was never her name, but only the last of her many titles… more of a curse than praise, to be honest… and one she gained by opening the gates to the Void, crafting bodies of shadow for the demons that lived within.”
Selverat nodded, speaking up in the silence as Kerkael paused, “Shadowspinner broke the covenant made at the Beginning, the one we still adhere to – We may call upon the creatures of the Void, but we may never, never release them without check. She ripped a hole and let them pour out, giving them bodies of shadow and power. In the end, she gave herself over to the Shadows, becoming a creature neither wholly mortal nor sane. She still lives, somewhere in the universe, bound eternally by the curses of a full Circle of Gifted Myrsilkains.”
“The stories never speak openly of why she did it,” Kerkael sighed, picking the thread back up, “But that’s only because no Recorder of that Age could bear to put the truth into words. They hint at it heavily, though, and there are five other stories in different arcs that we believe are actually speaking of her without mentioning her name that answer the question of why.
“Her lover, we believe, was killed by humans when they were youths.” Kerkael shifted uncomfortably, pushing his head into Selverat, nearly unbalancing the man, sorrow in his expression. “We believe that this… unbalanced her. Opened her to the whispers of the Shadow creatures. Perhaps she was promised the return of her lover. Perhaps merely revenge. We’ll never know that for sure. Shadowspinner never kept records of her own.”
Krethae broke in, her own voice sad, “For generations after Shadowspinner, Void and Shadow Myrsilkains were eyed with mistrust. Many chose suicide as youths to living with the discrimination. It’s why there are so few Shadows and Voids these days… the genetics became skewed towards the other elements.”
“The war with Shadowspinner lasted three centuries.” Selverat added, stroking Kerkael’s muzzle with both hands, resting his cheek against the dragon’s hide. “And even these days, we still come across remnants of her army, and must fight them. Until now, that war marked the worst moment in our entire history.”
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Guest
Kalju opened his mouth to speak some twenty seconds after the explanation finished, but for once, Spyridon beat him to the punch. He leaned forward on the couch, hands collapsed against his lap, and turned wearily towards Kerkael, then the appropriate tapestry. "These creatures of the shadow," he said by way of introduction. "Is this an accurate depiction of them, or more of a representative depiction?"
Kalju turned towards his teacher, eyebrows knitted together in his confusion at this interruption to his multiple thought processes. But he'd get over it. Spyridon had to know whether or not there was any remotest of chance that they sounded like the fogbeasts.
Kalju turned towards his teacher, eyebrows knitted together in his confusion at this interruption to his multiple thought processes. But he'd get over it. Spyridon had to know whether or not there was any remotest of chance that they sounded like the fogbeasts.
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StarFyre
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Kerkael glanced towards the tapestry, then to Pallmern, “It is said, that back at the beginning of the war, up until her power was shattered, they looked like that. But we haven’t seen beasts that sleek and well made since… all the ones Rat and I have fought were… twisted things.”
“We think they’re losing their forms and what sanity they had because Shadowspinner is bound, unable to lend her strength to them.” Rat spoke up, “Others think it’s because the original remnants of her army are trying to craft more in their image, but failing because they don’t have Shadowspinner’s strength.”
Selesst watched Spyridon, his face unreadable, silver eyes focused on the man, noting every movement he made.
“That,” Selesst spoke softly, his eyes never leaving Pallmern, “Sounds less like a scholarly question than you’d have us believe. Why do you ask it.”
“We think they’re losing their forms and what sanity they had because Shadowspinner is bound, unable to lend her strength to them.” Rat spoke up, “Others think it’s because the original remnants of her army are trying to craft more in their image, but failing because they don’t have Shadowspinner’s strength.”
Selesst watched Spyridon, his face unreadable, silver eyes focused on the man, noting every movement he made.
“That,” Selesst spoke softly, his eyes never leaving Pallmern, “Sounds less like a scholarly question than you’d have us believe. Why do you ask it.”
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Guest
Spyridon smiled a little, glanced over his glasses at Selesst and then at the tapestry and then again at his hands as he leaned forwards, watching his young charge as he was effectively blockaded by the massive head of Kerkael. Convinced the boy wasn't going to be running off on him any time soon (there was a dragon in his way, after all), Spyridon quirked his eyebrows and decided that it was fine to be asked a question for once.
"Our people, for summary of an otherwise long-winded answer, have spent the last three hundred years digging deeper and deeper into the earth to escape creatures of unknown origin and purpose who hunt and feed on our flesh. We are taught to fear them, foresaking all trust that humanity ought have with one another, to the point of executing any stranger who knocks upon our door. They come in many shapes and sizes, and there is no end to them in sight. I asked because actually, it's the most scholarly question we've posed of you yet. It is our specific area of study to seek the beginning of our difficulties and discover what has caused this so that we might reverse it, if we may. Difficult to do when quarentined with the same 2619 books for three hundred years, though."
"Three hundred and eighteen," Kalju corrected distantly, intently staring at the red cheek of Kerkael and poking it lightly.
"Suffice to say, what one group has not discovered of that number of texts in those years, it will not discover. Take an opportunity to learn as presented."
"Our people, for summary of an otherwise long-winded answer, have spent the last three hundred years digging deeper and deeper into the earth to escape creatures of unknown origin and purpose who hunt and feed on our flesh. We are taught to fear them, foresaking all trust that humanity ought have with one another, to the point of executing any stranger who knocks upon our door. They come in many shapes and sizes, and there is no end to them in sight. I asked because actually, it's the most scholarly question we've posed of you yet. It is our specific area of study to seek the beginning of our difficulties and discover what has caused this so that we might reverse it, if we may. Difficult to do when quarentined with the same 2619 books for three hundred years, though."
"Three hundred and eighteen," Kalju corrected distantly, intently staring at the red cheek of Kerkael and poking it lightly.
"Suffice to say, what one group has not discovered of that number of texts in those years, it will not discover. Take an opportunity to learn as presented."
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StarFyre
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“Ahhhh,” Krethae sighed in sudden understanding, “That would be why you have trouble facing myself and Selesst. We’re not normal human in appearance, myself especially, thereby suspect.”
Selesst quirked an eyebrow, glancing questioningly up at Krethae.
In response, she leaned down, speaking in a false whisper. “Your eyes, oh wise and powerful Armsmaster. Silver isn’t precisely a normal human eye color. Grey, perhaps, on occasion, but metallic silver? Not on your life.”
He snorted, rolling said eyes, and returned his attention back to Spyridon. “Even so, you can’t know for sure that these creatures are a creation of Shadowspinner, or any of her spawn.”
“To be fair, none of us can be sure anymore, except when we face one of the First that remain in their original forms.” Selverat broke in. “We just assume them to be Shadowspinner’s spawn, and destroy them as appropriate. Especially when they have a tendency to go after our blood before anyone else’s.”
Kerkael, meanwhile, was patiently dealing with being poked by Kalju. The young scholar was swiftly finding that Kerkael’s hide was much like skin, though tougher – hairless and slightly slick to the touch. It dimpled slightly as his finger pushed inwards, then sprang back as the pressure was released. The major difference was the heat. Pressing a hand to Kerkael’s cheek was like touching the stone near a fire – noticeably warmer than human body temperature, but not hot enough to burn.
Selesst quirked an eyebrow, glancing questioningly up at Krethae.
In response, she leaned down, speaking in a false whisper. “Your eyes, oh wise and powerful Armsmaster. Silver isn’t precisely a normal human eye color. Grey, perhaps, on occasion, but metallic silver? Not on your life.”
He snorted, rolling said eyes, and returned his attention back to Spyridon. “Even so, you can’t know for sure that these creatures are a creation of Shadowspinner, or any of her spawn.”
“To be fair, none of us can be sure anymore, except when we face one of the First that remain in their original forms.” Selverat broke in. “We just assume them to be Shadowspinner’s spawn, and destroy them as appropriate. Especially when they have a tendency to go after our blood before anyone else’s.”
Kerkael, meanwhile, was patiently dealing with being poked by Kalju. The young scholar was swiftly finding that Kerkael’s hide was much like skin, though tougher – hairless and slightly slick to the touch. It dimpled slightly as his finger pushed inwards, then sprang back as the pressure was released. The major difference was the heat. Pressing a hand to Kerkael’s cheek was like touching the stone near a fire – noticeably warmer than human body temperature, but not hot enough to burn.
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Guest
Spyridon was going to answer Krethae in depth when Selesst continued a different answer. He had read quite a few reports - some admittedly possibly falsehoods and legends - of dopplegangers and the dead returning on occasion. But the opportunity had passed, and so he did his best to indicate a 'mostly correct' with a tilt of his head as they spoke around him.
And then they returned again to their Shadowspinner and whether she was the cause of his own peoples' misfortunes as well.
"Well, no," Spyridon answered them. "Which was why I asked. Were your blackened forms representative I would be by far more inclined to believe that there were a correlation."
He templed his hands, touching fingertips lightly, still leaning forwards in his couch, watching as Kalju traced the lines in Kerkael's hide, eyebrows knotting as he tried to understand it. Not seeing that the dragon looked... irrevocably upset, he didn't call the boy away, but continued to watch him carefully, just in case he decided to poke Kerkael in the eye or something.
"According to historical record," he continued, accidentally dropping into condensed-lecture-mode, "- what we have of what survived during the first fifty-odd years - the creatures for the longest time were inseperable in appearance from their mundane parallels. A loyal dog would suddenly and inexplicably turn on her masters and rip their throats out and feast on their flesh after spending the night before curled up sweetly by the foot of their beds. Deer and cattle would suddenly gore those whom they normally shunned. Birds - timid and fidgety in their own rights - were known to suddenly assault those who walked the surface. But such time is passed, and after those introductory years, there is no longer a suspicion of what is and is not dangerous.
"Our fogbeasts are mutants of their former selves, possessing multiple eyes that do not see, the pelts and limbs of unkin animals, extra mouths that snap and snarl and taste and yet do not wholly connect to their systems. It is as though they are growing into one another in the fog and assaulting us using their increased mass. Not, by the sounds of it, your shadows or spawn, but evil of any kind was oft represented in our young years by sheer blackness. Rarely the case for us now that the blackness is the closest thing we have to sanctuary. I doubt sincerely our fogbeast and your spawn are crafted by the same forces."
And then they returned again to their Shadowspinner and whether she was the cause of his own peoples' misfortunes as well.
"Well, no," Spyridon answered them. "Which was why I asked. Were your blackened forms representative I would be by far more inclined to believe that there were a correlation."
He templed his hands, touching fingertips lightly, still leaning forwards in his couch, watching as Kalju traced the lines in Kerkael's hide, eyebrows knotting as he tried to understand it. Not seeing that the dragon looked... irrevocably upset, he didn't call the boy away, but continued to watch him carefully, just in case he decided to poke Kerkael in the eye or something.
"According to historical record," he continued, accidentally dropping into condensed-lecture-mode, "- what we have of what survived during the first fifty-odd years - the creatures for the longest time were inseperable in appearance from their mundane parallels. A loyal dog would suddenly and inexplicably turn on her masters and rip their throats out and feast on their flesh after spending the night before curled up sweetly by the foot of their beds. Deer and cattle would suddenly gore those whom they normally shunned. Birds - timid and fidgety in their own rights - were known to suddenly assault those who walked the surface. But such time is passed, and after those introductory years, there is no longer a suspicion of what is and is not dangerous.
"Our fogbeasts are mutants of their former selves, possessing multiple eyes that do not see, the pelts and limbs of unkin animals, extra mouths that snap and snarl and taste and yet do not wholly connect to their systems. It is as though they are growing into one another in the fog and assaulting us using their increased mass. Not, by the sounds of it, your shadows or spawn, but evil of any kind was oft represented in our young years by sheer blackness. Rarely the case for us now that the blackness is the closest thing we have to sanctuary. I doubt sincerely our fogbeast and your spawn are crafted by the same forces."
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StarFyre
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Kerkael, for his part, spoke softly to Kalju, letting his bondmate pay attention to the conversation around them. “Those markings announce several things to the world. First, if you couldn’t see my crest, they announce that I’m a male, based on their shapes. Secondly, the colors that make them up tell others what my elemental affinities are. The ruby red is for Fire affinity, the white for Light affinity, the soft blue for Wind affinity, and the silver for Metal. The relative amount of each marking tells you about which I’m best at, and which I’m worst at. I have other markings elsewhere on my body – on my chest, my shoulder and wing shoulder, on my underbelly, and near the tip of my tail.”
Selesst leaned back in his seat, nodding slightly as Spyridon explained things. His nodding was arrested, though, as Krethae leaned forward, using his head as a prop for herself, her wings spreading a bit more to balance her in her new, equally awkward looking position.
“I can see where your fear would come into play,” Krethae spoke, “And knowing that, I’m almost surprised you’re not gibbering in fear from Kerkael, and not trying to kill me. But, as the oddest human out of this little group, let me warn you – I’m not the oddest human in this complex. I don’t know how much you believe in magic anymore, but a lot of us can practice it. The Myrsilkains do magic as easily as breathing. I, myself, am a Void Mage,” her voice becomes sullen, a sharp contrast to the cheerful, if intent, inflection before, “with all the accompanying persecution that comes with it on the world I was born.” She shakes her head, forcing her tone back to what it was, “Others here make me look tame. We have a group of dragons that can shapeshift to anthropomorphic forms of themselves. There’s a few Selkies that we shelter. On rare moments, a pair of vampires pass through on their wanderings. Dragons of all shapes and sizes. We’re an eclectic bunch, from a multitude of worlds, but anyone within these walls will not harm you.”
Selesst leaned back in his seat, nodding slightly as Spyridon explained things. His nodding was arrested, though, as Krethae leaned forward, using his head as a prop for herself, her wings spreading a bit more to balance her in her new, equally awkward looking position.
“I can see where your fear would come into play,” Krethae spoke, “And knowing that, I’m almost surprised you’re not gibbering in fear from Kerkael, and not trying to kill me. But, as the oddest human out of this little group, let me warn you – I’m not the oddest human in this complex. I don’t know how much you believe in magic anymore, but a lot of us can practice it. The Myrsilkains do magic as easily as breathing. I, myself, am a Void Mage,” her voice becomes sullen, a sharp contrast to the cheerful, if intent, inflection before, “with all the accompanying persecution that comes with it on the world I was born.” She shakes her head, forcing her tone back to what it was, “Others here make me look tame. We have a group of dragons that can shapeshift to anthropomorphic forms of themselves. There’s a few Selkies that we shelter. On rare moments, a pair of vampires pass through on their wanderings. Dragons of all shapes and sizes. We’re an eclectic bunch, from a multitude of worlds, but anyone within these walls will not harm you.”
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Guest
Spyridon glanced up over his glasses at her. "Your world is obviously very differnt from our own. We, being scholars, have the benefit of texts predating the fog. We take them as legends and tales, ficticious accounts, if you will, and it is my specialization that restores them to pliancy and hopefully one day will restore the number of books in our library. Kalju, for his own part, is obviously not so well anchored in our present, which is at times putting it gently. Nevertheless, our world has what appear to be fables of similar massive reptiles akin even vaguely to the Myrsilkain. I try to be more open-minded to options than our leaders demand, so upon realizing we were not in our system any longer, all rules of potential dangers are destroyed until proven otherwise. It is good to hear, however, that your strange people will pose no threat to us."
Kalju, in turn, did not answer the dragon. He simply continued to trace the lines and markings with his fingers, enjoying how warm Kerkael's hide was and quite delighting in the colors at play. And trying to fit out the door to follow the lines further down along the massive creature's body.
Kalju, in turn, did not answer the dragon. He simply continued to trace the lines and markings with his fingers, enjoying how warm Kerkael's hide was and quite delighting in the colors at play. And trying to fit out the door to follow the lines further down along the massive creature's body.
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StarFyre
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Krethae nodded, “A refreshing change from how many people react to others and new situations.” She smiled then, warmly, “You have my word that any within these walls will pose no threat to you. There are some who are a bit… antisocial or prickly, but they know the rules, and will lay no hand on you.”
“To the west, though,” Selesst added, “Rests Koshi Keidai, and there, no such promise holds. They’re at war with us, though as yet they’re too disorganized to do much damage to us. It’s best if you don’t leave the protection of the Clan without someone else with you.”
Kerkael, sensing Kalju’s intent and interest, shifted his head and neck slightly, permitting enough room for the youth to slip through the door.
“To the west, though,” Selesst added, “Rests Koshi Keidai, and there, no such promise holds. They’re at war with us, though as yet they’re too disorganized to do much damage to us. It’s best if you don’t leave the protection of the Clan without someone else with you.”
Kerkael, sensing Kalju’s intent and interest, shifted his head and neck slightly, permitting enough room for the youth to slip through the door.
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Guest
Kalju let his hands wander down the massive length of Kerkael's body, following the markings and colors until he finally registered the muffling of his teacher's voice. He turned, his hand hesitating an inch from Kerkael's ribs, before letting his hand fall limply to the ground. It was so big, so massive here. But so bright, too. It hurt his eyes a little. He was used to dimmer conditions.
Still. This hallway was new. He wondered where it went. And so he started walking, quite content to find out for himself.
Spyridon, however, still hadn't noticed the disappearance of his pupil and coworker. He was focused on the conversation at hand and smiled a little at the advice of those who lived here. "I have little intention of staying long enough to head West," he said simply. "As soon as we ascertain a way home, we will be more than ready to leave, though I mean no offense to you and yours. It is all fascinating strange here, but we are necessary back home. We, I am certain, are not nearly so necessary here."
Still. This hallway was new. He wondered where it went. And so he started walking, quite content to find out for himself.
Spyridon, however, still hadn't noticed the disappearance of his pupil and coworker. He was focused on the conversation at hand and smiled a little at the advice of those who lived here. "I have little intention of staying long enough to head West," he said simply. "As soon as we ascertain a way home, we will be more than ready to leave, though I mean no offense to you and yours. It is all fascinating strange here, but we are necessary back home. We, I am certain, are not nearly so necessary here."
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StarFyre
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Krethae nodded. It made perfect sense to her that people would prefer to go where they were needed, than stay where they were not. It was half the reason she had left her land and become a wanderer – the other half being the prosecution she’d mentioned earlier. “We’ll not hold you prisoner here. After all, many who come here leave again, back to where they belong, to solve some problem or issue back home, usually with the support of a Myrsilkain bondmate or companion.”
“Any of us with bondmates can bring you back to where you belong.” Selesst added, finally reaching up and dislodging Krethae’s hand from his head. It came as no surprise to him when she gripped his hand a few seconds longer than necessary… all this talk about place, people, and belonging was sure to remind her of her lack of home or family outside of Clan Akelara. He felt it as well, but showed none of it – his training as a mercenary denied him that privilege in the company of those not of the Blood. “The dragons we bond, Myrsilkain or otherwise, are capable of teleporting between places, worlds… universes, even. Some of the unbounded dragons would probably be willing to give you a ride as well.”
“We can also Time it,” Rat spoke up from his seat against his bondmate’s head, cheerful and irrepressible as always, like a child with a prized toy. “So long as we make sure not to meet ourselves coming, Timing it is a viable solution. You and Kalju can spend as much time as you’d like here, and most of us could get you back to your place before more than an hour has passed in the eyes of your people.” He grinned slyly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “There’s a small clutch of Myrsilkain eggs on the sands at the moment. Perhaps you’d like to stay long enough to see their hatching? It’s an experience, I’ll tell you… so’s the feast afterwards!”
“Any of us with bondmates can bring you back to where you belong.” Selesst added, finally reaching up and dislodging Krethae’s hand from his head. It came as no surprise to him when she gripped his hand a few seconds longer than necessary… all this talk about place, people, and belonging was sure to remind her of her lack of home or family outside of Clan Akelara. He felt it as well, but showed none of it – his training as a mercenary denied him that privilege in the company of those not of the Blood. “The dragons we bond, Myrsilkain or otherwise, are capable of teleporting between places, worlds… universes, even. Some of the unbounded dragons would probably be willing to give you a ride as well.”
“We can also Time it,” Rat spoke up from his seat against his bondmate’s head, cheerful and irrepressible as always, like a child with a prized toy. “So long as we make sure not to meet ourselves coming, Timing it is a viable solution. You and Kalju can spend as much time as you’d like here, and most of us could get you back to your place before more than an hour has passed in the eyes of your people.” He grinned slyly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “There’s a small clutch of Myrsilkain eggs on the sands at the moment. Perhaps you’d like to stay long enough to see their hatching? It’s an experience, I’ll tell you… so’s the feast afterwards!”
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Guest
"Temporal displacement, eh?" Spyridon asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That, too, is just legend and fictions in our world." He turned to Kerkael. "You dragons must be very skilled indeed," he said with a smile that faltered almost immediately as he realized his charge had somehow still managed to wander off without him.
"I'm sure we would both be greatly honored to stay to observe your hatching," he said. "And I would confirm it if the boy were even still here." He scrubbed at his eyes, shook his head. Probably looking for the library, if he's in his right head today, he decided. If not, he can't get far. His legs are short.
Just to be certain, he glanced around the room. No. No sign of him. Spyridon heaved a long-suffering sigh. "He tends to get in trouble if he's alone," he explained. "I hope you'll excuse me if I say I must go find him."
"I'm sure we would both be greatly honored to stay to observe your hatching," he said. "And I would confirm it if the boy were even still here." He scrubbed at his eyes, shook his head. Probably looking for the library, if he's in his right head today, he decided. If not, he can't get far. His legs are short.
Just to be certain, he glanced around the room. No. No sign of him. Spyridon heaved a long-suffering sigh. "He tends to get in trouble if he's alone," he explained. "I hope you'll excuse me if I say I must go find him."
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StarFyre
- Ancient Dragon
- Posts: 3246
- Joined: Wed Jul 06, 2005 10:44 am
- Location: Middle of Nowhere
- Contact:
Selverat rose from his place, as Kerkael carefully withdrew his head from the doorway. “We’ll help. Ker, send a general query to the entire Clan.”
A rumble of assent came from Kerkael, even as Selesst rose from his seat and Krethae jumped down from her perch.
Meanwhile, Kalju found himself in another, slightly smaller hallway. The doors here were larger than human-size, but smaller than reasonable for Myrsilkains to pass through. A few were hanging slightly ajar, others closed tight, one was completely open, the crystal lights dimmed to a low level. Voices came from several of the rooms, murmured conversations in various languages, and some that are strange half-conversations, like the speaker is talking aloud to themselves.
A rumble of assent came from Kerkael, even as Selesst rose from his seat and Krethae jumped down from her perch.
Meanwhile, Kalju found himself in another, slightly smaller hallway. The doors here were larger than human-size, but smaller than reasonable for Myrsilkains to pass through. A few were hanging slightly ajar, others closed tight, one was completely open, the crystal lights dimmed to a low level. Voices came from several of the rooms, murmured conversations in various languages, and some that are strange half-conversations, like the speaker is talking aloud to themselves.
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Guest
Spyridon blinked as his mind raced to catch up with what his ears were hearing. His mouth worked with no voice for a moment before he could finally use his tongue as necessary. "The-the entire ... I appreciate the concern, but is that quite necessary?" he asked. "Kalju wanders, certainly, but he never wanders quickly. I'm sure he hasn't gone far, and you did say no one within these walls would harm us."
He stepped out into the hall and glanced both ways. It was a matter of deducing which way he had gone out the door. Selverat had been leaned against the one side of Kerkael's head, so Kalju would have had to go through the opposite direction in order to have gone through relatively unnoticed. And following the dragon out, he would have seen the rest of the hall and more than likely headed ... "This way," he breathed, and started in the logical direction.
Logic hadn't failed him yet in dealing with the boy, and he'd been dealing with him and his wanderings for the better part of a year now.
--
Kalju stared at the doors, cocking his head awkwardly to the side first one direction, then the other. Doors. Many doors. Open doors, closed doors, but most of them were noisy doors. People inside, and people usually asked what he was doing so he couldn't see what was inside.
But one door was very welcomingly open, very pleasantly dimmed in the light, and his eyes felt better just looking at the aperature. He wandered slowly over to the door, hovering just a moment to see who or what he could see inside, but was then drawn in by the comforting dimness and pale glow of the crystals.
He stepped in, staring around, trying to stay as quiet as possible, just so he wasn't caught so soon as to not know what was in here.
He stepped out into the hall and glanced both ways. It was a matter of deducing which way he had gone out the door. Selverat had been leaned against the one side of Kerkael's head, so Kalju would have had to go through the opposite direction in order to have gone through relatively unnoticed. And following the dragon out, he would have seen the rest of the hall and more than likely headed ... "This way," he breathed, and started in the logical direction.
Logic hadn't failed him yet in dealing with the boy, and he'd been dealing with him and his wanderings for the better part of a year now.
--
Kalju stared at the doors, cocking his head awkwardly to the side first one direction, then the other. Doors. Many doors. Open doors, closed doors, but most of them were noisy doors. People inside, and people usually asked what he was doing so he couldn't see what was inside.
But one door was very welcomingly open, very pleasantly dimmed in the light, and his eyes felt better just looking at the aperature. He wandered slowly over to the door, hovering just a moment to see who or what he could see inside, but was then drawn in by the comforting dimness and pale glow of the crystals.
He stepped in, staring around, trying to stay as quiet as possible, just so he wasn't caught so soon as to not know what was in here.
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StarFyre
- Ancient Dragon
- Posts: 3246
- Joined: Wed Jul 06, 2005 10:44 am
- Location: Middle of Nowhere
- Contact:
Selverat shrugged, a small smile on his lips, walking alongside Spyridon. “Mainly, the query is more of a, ‘if you happen to see this boy, would you please tell us?’ not a ‘everyone, turn over every nook and cranny to find him.’ We consider it polite, more than anything. Also a general warning to those who are in the middle of experiments and tests, that they might have a curious visitor looking in on them.”
“It also lets people know that a youngster isn’t here by themselves, with no one to look after them.” Krethae spoke up. “A lot of us look at children as treasures to be protected, and if one is here by themselves, they often get ‘adopted’. It would take longer to find him, then.”
Kerkael walked lightly behind them, moderating his pace enough to keep with the four humans. He felt rather apologetic – after all, it was his fault, in a way, that the boy had been able to wander off. He hadn’t known precisely how prone to wandering the boy was, despite the comments of the elder of the two. It made him think, though, that perhaps Selesst and Chandye were correct, perhaps they were losing their touch, slowing down, becoming lazy.
Perhaps, horror of horrors, they were getting old.
He shot a look down at his bondmate, measuring the man against what he knew of human aging. As Selverat aged, so would he – that was the price of such a complete bonding as they had, though his human didn’t realize it. But no. His bondmate showed none of the signs of approaching age. They were fine, just horribly out of fighting trim.
---
The room was large, with shelves upon shelves of books along one wall where a desk was also placed. A thick tome was open on the desk, an equally thick tome open next to it on the left, in front of an inkwell and a feather quill. To one side, two chairs sat facing each other, a small table between them, scattered with fragments of pottery, scribbled notes on torn pieces of paper, stones ranging from common, dull looking pieces to rough gemstones to cut and polished things that caught the low light and glowed softly, and other, less immediately identifiable things.
A heavy looking, black coat embroidered with deep blue patterns along the edges was slung over the back of one of the chairs, nearly touching the floor. Two thin, slender swords were also slung there, hanging at either side of the chair from a silver fishbone-style belt.
Two large piles of blankets took up two corners, one on either side of the door, looking like nothing more than extremely large, oversized cat beds. Both beds were empty at the moment, though a couple of scattered blankets implied that they had been slept in not too long ago.
The walls that were unoccupied by bookshelves were occupied by storage shelves at a human height with drawers beneath them and tapestries hung above them. The shelves were filled with the vagaries of life: knickknacks, pictures, sketches, notebooks, and things along those lines. An unfinished puzzle took up the top of a table placed near the wall, a stool slid under the table to keep it out of the way.
A doorway led deeper into the den, no door hung in it, though there were no lights on past the first room.
“It also lets people know that a youngster isn’t here by themselves, with no one to look after them.” Krethae spoke up. “A lot of us look at children as treasures to be protected, and if one is here by themselves, they often get ‘adopted’. It would take longer to find him, then.”
Kerkael walked lightly behind them, moderating his pace enough to keep with the four humans. He felt rather apologetic – after all, it was his fault, in a way, that the boy had been able to wander off. He hadn’t known precisely how prone to wandering the boy was, despite the comments of the elder of the two. It made him think, though, that perhaps Selesst and Chandye were correct, perhaps they were losing their touch, slowing down, becoming lazy.
Perhaps, horror of horrors, they were getting old.
He shot a look down at his bondmate, measuring the man against what he knew of human aging. As Selverat aged, so would he – that was the price of such a complete bonding as they had, though his human didn’t realize it. But no. His bondmate showed none of the signs of approaching age. They were fine, just horribly out of fighting trim.
---
The room was large, with shelves upon shelves of books along one wall where a desk was also placed. A thick tome was open on the desk, an equally thick tome open next to it on the left, in front of an inkwell and a feather quill. To one side, two chairs sat facing each other, a small table between them, scattered with fragments of pottery, scribbled notes on torn pieces of paper, stones ranging from common, dull looking pieces to rough gemstones to cut and polished things that caught the low light and glowed softly, and other, less immediately identifiable things.
A heavy looking, black coat embroidered with deep blue patterns along the edges was slung over the back of one of the chairs, nearly touching the floor. Two thin, slender swords were also slung there, hanging at either side of the chair from a silver fishbone-style belt.
Two large piles of blankets took up two corners, one on either side of the door, looking like nothing more than extremely large, oversized cat beds. Both beds were empty at the moment, though a couple of scattered blankets implied that they had been slept in not too long ago.
The walls that were unoccupied by bookshelves were occupied by storage shelves at a human height with drawers beneath them and tapestries hung above them. The shelves were filled with the vagaries of life: knickknacks, pictures, sketches, notebooks, and things along those lines. An unfinished puzzle took up the top of a table placed near the wall, a stool slid under the table to keep it out of the way.
A doorway led deeper into the den, no door hung in it, though there were no lights on past the first room.
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Guest
Spyridon smiled, largely with relief. He didn't particularly want to be held responsible for a full-scale search of the premesis for his charge that they could likely find without one.
"I understand," he said easily. "And I appreciate it. This is quite regular for him. I'm sorry for the trouble." As they walked, he kept his eyes peeled for things that possibly would coerce his charge out of the main stretch.
--
Kalju looked around, standing stock-still in the middle of the room, listening carefully and taking in all the details. More tapestries nearly pulled him out of the center, until he saw the books on the table. He took a step towards them, walking in a drifting manner, until he saw the shelves and shelves of books.
He staggered away from the books on the table and turned towards the bookshelves, his fingers running along the spines, seeking anything that looked interesting, pulling them out half-way when he couldn't read the spine.
The thought that someone lived here never really crossed his mind.
"I understand," he said easily. "And I appreciate it. This is quite regular for him. I'm sorry for the trouble." As they walked, he kept his eyes peeled for things that possibly would coerce his charge out of the main stretch.
--
Kalju looked around, standing stock-still in the middle of the room, listening carefully and taking in all the details. More tapestries nearly pulled him out of the center, until he saw the books on the table. He took a step towards them, walking in a drifting manner, until he saw the shelves and shelves of books.
He staggered away from the books on the table and turned towards the bookshelves, his fingers running along the spines, seeking anything that looked interesting, pulling them out half-way when he couldn't read the spine.
The thought that someone lived here never really crossed his mind.