Fantasy Breath of Fire: Giantslayer

[Bone2pick]

Escost Huttwil, kid brother of Valeska Hutwill—the woman responsible for translating the draconic language—is the Champion of Bhazavur. He was the first mortal of Dashann ever to be elevated to champion. Escost was only sixteen when he accepted his patron dragon, but that was twenty five years ago.


Since then dozens of other tombs have been opened. Some of them were unlocked by men speaking the now translatable key words sculpted onto their seals; other graves rolled their stone doors away by their own authority—their Cha'sids ready to accept human visitors. It has been an impactful quarter century as communities throughout the underworld hatched their first champions.


But the crusade to reclaim the surface has, to the disappointment of many, yet to begin. During the brief history of the champions they have only managed to slay three giants, two of which Escost was personally responsible for. He lost an eye for his efforts; giantslaying is perilous business. However, the enemies are not without victory—Khulok the Messenger took the life of Henric champion of Iojurn while in dragon form. His death reminded humanity that their new monstrous allies were not invincible.


Escost, frustrated by the champions slow progress, put out a call for a gathering. The Cha'sid broadcast his summons via their telepathic link. Every undertown with an open dragon grave was informed to send their champions, by the last day of summer, to meet in Groundwater. If they continued to attack as individuals the two sides would remain locked in a standstill, but if they organized their assault they could start reclaiming their homeland.


The last day of summer would mark the first day of the war.

 

[Bone2pick]

"We're honored to have you."


The young freckled girl was beaming with excitement as she straightened the cords around Desna's neck. She was part of the welcoming party that had been greeting the dragon champions as they arrived over the course of the weekend. Desna smiled warmly back at the girl, remembering to keep her fangs covered, and bowed graciously.


"The honor is ours."


The reply came from the man next to Desna. Noa, a Mothsong Monk in his late twenties, had rescued his friend from having to flash her dragon tell. The girl returned a playful bow of her own and then rejoined her peers in the welcoming party. Desna started to thank her partner but was interrupted when he reached out a hand to inspect her new dragon cords.


"I'm shocked they didn't layout the red carpet for you." Desna rolled her eyes at Noa's remark.


"It's just a bit of rope."


"Today it's rope, tomorrow it's a crown."


She chuckled and yanked her cords away from Noa.


"If that happens I'll order you to be my court jester."


"Well, I do love their hats..."


The two traded a laugh before they strolled into the city. They watched as a strapping teenage boy jogged from torch to torch to sprinkle chalky powder into their flames. Once the powder was applied the warm yellow and orange fire of the torches changed and burned cool blue. This was how the residents kept track of "night" and "day" in the underworld. Blue torches usually signaled bedtime, but the night was still young.


Desna and Noa pointed out every charming shop that they passed to one another. There was a leather tanner, a tin smith, a pottery shop, a candlestick barn, a spice wagon, a map artist, and dozens of other stores. Groundwater was a commercial hub in the underworld. The two monks continued down main street towards the crashing water at the heart of the city.


It was named Echo Falls, and it was the one of the most well known natural features under the surface. Its roaring base, where it misted for hundreds of yards in every direction, was illuminated by great barrels of fire—each one burned starry blue. Desna looked up into the soaring blackness above their heads and wondered where the infinite water came from. She felt Noa's tension swell beside her before he spoke.


"Mankind has everything he needs in the underworld."


It was a sore subject for Noa—for all of the Mothsong Monks—because their order preached that humanity's displacement below the surface was for the betterment of the species. As a result, the order didn't support the idea of a crusade against the giantkin. But Noa, Desna's dearest friend, had accompanied her to Groundwater anyway.


"I agree, but the monsters above our heads should not make that decision for us."


He let her have the final say on the matter. And the two admired the majesty of the falls in silence.

Spoiler

Dragon Champions are given gold colored cords (rope) to hang around their neck and shoulders to identify them as honored guests of Groundwater. Think graduation cords.

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

Malias played with the cords around his neck idly. He was never one for decoration, anything he wore was always for the ease of movement or combat. It also meant that he'd had to move his scarf and tie it around his arm. It was a scarf, it was meant to be wrapped around his neck. He sighed and let his fingers drop. At his waist, his armor clinked from the movement. He'd decided to not be aggressive and didn't wear the armor, but kept it close by to have the option of being ready as fast as possible.


He also felt a little bit bad about what had happened with the welcoming party. The poor young girl who'd come up to him had caught him by surprise. If he hadn't stopped himself, he would have broken her nose. Where he was from, you didn't run up to someone unless you were planning on challenging them to a fight. It was only after he'd nearly injured her that she explained the circumstances.


Even after he'd apologized, he still got the feeling that she was scared of him. He sighed. He hated making a bad impression. It would make a bad impression on Ardebit. He was hoping he could use this endeavor to promote his hometown's specialty a little more. They had some trade, but trading with a major place such as Groundwater would make life easier.


As he walked, he noticed people staring at him and talking among themselves. He wondered if it was because of the cords around his neck, or because of the scales along his spine and on the backs of his arms. He supposed that it was an unusual Dragon Tell, though he wasn't particularly self conscious about it.


He wondered if he had time to wander about. He was most curious about the metalworking style of Groundwater...and a little curious about the combat they practiced.


He also wanted to sample some of the local cuisine. He loved Ardebit, but the food was rather bland most of the time.

 

[Aldur]

It began. The Cleaver stood still as the girl put the cord around her neck. She did not enjoy having things hanged around her neck. It hinted at a slave collar, which in turn aggravated her slightly. But she endured. These people meant her no harm, and she intended to do the same.


As awkward as it was for the short girl to reach The Cleaver's neck and avoid her menacing gaze, she welcomed her to the ceremony.


"We are...honored to have you."


"I thank you." came the calm, yet faint reply. She had no use for those words deep in the tunnels. The Cleaver could have sworn that the townsfolk gave her funny looks. She figured the culprits were her draconic features or Kaya. The girl who had welcomed her retreated quietly, not looking back at the woman. She had started pacing around the town's streets, not bothering to admire the decorations and the shops.


The Cleaver noticed two figures who looked out of place. They wore similar garments and kept to themselves. She noticed one had the very same cord strapped around her neck. The Cleaver followed.


They stopped at the Echo Falls. In spite of her apparent exile from the civilized portion of the underworld, The Cleaver had heard of the Falls prior to her arrival in Groundwater. She failed to see the beauty of the true beauty of the landmark, passing it off as just a pretentious structure. What were the people of Groundwater if not lucky for finding the waters close to their settlement.


"They might have settled here just for the source of water." She thought to herself. "Or perhaps they found the waterfalls only after they arrived?" She dismissed those thoughts and approached the two monks.


"Hail, strangers. One of you wears a cord identical to mine." The Cleaver turned to the woman. "Are you one of the champions?"

 

[Sharuum]

The quiet scratch of quill on paper. The scent of glue and ink, slightly reminiscent of fish. A diminutive form hunched over a wide desk with neat stacks of parchment on either side. One blank, the other possessing manuscript written in a consistent, compact hand. Her wrists and fingers black with smeared ink, one unsightly smudge across her forehead only partially obscured by dark, heavy bangs. Her eyes, narrowed in concentration behind thick spectacles, blinked wearily as she reclined and wiped the nib of her quill on the apron across her lap.


It had been a long evening. Though it was hardly imposed without consent. The thick gold cord hung heavy around her neck with the weight of a responsibility Anat wasn’t ready to face yet. She’d arrived in Groundwater some weeks ago, before even the call had gone out. Since then she had sequestered herself away contentedly in her rooms, mostly transposing manuscripts for her uncle, ignoring customers and customs alike.


Today though, she thought anxiously, she had sworn she would go out. She owed Eucle that much at least. From somewhere beyond herself she felt a calmness steal over her, huge and intangible and distinctly not her own - but comforting regardless. She stood and began to dress.


-


Some time later she hovered next to the door exiting the quiet shop. The ink had been mostly scrubbed away and her filthy chemese had been replaced with more suitable skirts and bodice. Her hand, scaled and clawed, was tucked away safely in a heavy glove that disappeared into long sleeves. The rope however still hung with terrible obligation from her shoulders and was more telling than her unfortunate hand altogether.


With a resigned sigh she opened the door and stepped outside. She took some comfort in the blue flames. There was something soothing about the night, a sort of manufactured privacy that was as close to the real thing as one could get in the streets.


Something gold flashed in the corner of her vision. Anat’s stomach dropped. Too soon, she groaned inwardly. I just need more time.


But she did not turn away, instead she took a hesitant step towards the lithe form some twenty paces away. “E-excuse me!” She called, projecting her voice as well as she could despite the anxiety that gripped her chest. “S-sir?”

Spoiler

She's talking to Malias . :3

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

Malias was enjoying himself, taking in the sights, he'd even gotten to eat a few things, though he'd had to stop because he couldn't deal with the fact that people treated him differently because of his status. It was a weird thing. In Ardebit, he was known by everyone and treated normally, but here, he was treated as someone special.


"E-excuse me!" he paused. He was sure he'd just heard someone, but it had been soft enough that he wasn't sure. Quiet and slightly forceful, that is the impression he got. He looked around "S-sir?" he spotted her when she spoke again. He wondered what this young woman wanted. Then he noticed the same golden ropes around her neck as were around his.


He felt something stir within his chest. What was it? He searched his mind for the right word, then it popped up 'Kinship'. It wasn't a feeling he'd ever had before and he had a feeling that it wasn't his feeling to begin with. Ever since he'd become a Champion, he'd occasionally feel strange emotions, it had been even worse as he got older.


Having a really old spirit living inside of you didn't really help when his emotions could affect your own.


Snapping himself out of his reverie, he began to walk to wards the woman who'd gotten his attention "Yes?" he asked "May I help you?"


@Sharuum

 

[Redrobinwing]

A leather bound notepad sat opened on a wooden desk. The small vial of ink was placed next to it, dark in hue, was currently sealed shut. At the back of the desk was a small pot, worn in color but with art engraved on it. Connor gently picked it up and twisted it around, analyzing it for clues as to its origin. A large, humanoid creature was looking down on a group of what looked like humans. The creature towered over everything else on the engraving, and seemed to be speaking with the humans. The image was repeated on all sides and had little to no changes other than the occasional scratch mark. He placed it down, took off his gloves, and began writing in the notepad. 'Similar in style to other art we've uncovered, highly likely to be the same scene as well.'


After placing down his quill, the young man got up and stretched for a moment. The room he was in could be described as bland and boring, with a simple bed, a nightstand, and a single desk and chair. A candle remained unlit, and a backpack leaned against one of the desk's legs. Connor walked towards the bed and grabbed a piece of paper that laid on the nightstand.


'Dear Connor,' it read, 'Why didn't you tell us about your trip to Groundwater? Roy and I decided to write you after Dad told us about the invitation you received. We realize that you're busy, but try to remember next time, okay? Anyways, Roy and I are doing well. He's been swamped with work for the guards at Athom, but I imagine he'll be fine. I've been out on duty, boring as ever, but I think they were talking about promoting me, which would be great. How've you been? Anything exciting? I'd imagine a place like Groundwater is interesting to explore. Just remember not to get carried away with work, please. Get outside more.' Connor glanced at the pot and chuckled. 'Write us back when you get the chance. Sincerely, Jack'


Connor sighed. After a long moment of pause, he decided to take his brothers advice and go explore for a bit. After putting on a proper pair of trousers, he grabbed his room key and walked out the door.

 

[Bone2pick]

"Hail, strangers. One of you wears a cord identical to mine." The Cleaver turned to the woman. "Are you one of the champions?"

Both monks took a moment to look the enormous woman up and down. Desna was the greatest female athlete in Qatqain, even before becoming a champion; and Noa was a nearly six foot tall martial arts master, but neither could measure up to the physical specimen before them. Desna noted the scales flaked around the woman's eyes and she stroked her cords reflexively. Then she felt the ancient spirit attached to her stir. The dragon, though immaterial, had caught the scent of one of its own. Desna felt adrenalin trickle under her flesh.


"I am. My name is Desna, champion of the wyrm Wraprax." She bowed politely. Desna attempted to conceal her fang-like canines out of habit, but then she dropped the effort after reminding herself that she was speaking with another champion.


"And this is my order brother Noa, we are Mothsong Monks from Qatqain." Noa bowed at his introduction and then, after explaining that he needed to meditate, excused himself from the group. Desna refaced the powerful champion after she watched Noa walk through the shadows around Echo Falls.


"It's exciting to speak with another champion. Please tell me about yourself."

 

[Sharuum]

Anat blushed and bowed her head, taking solace in the sight of her shoes. “My name is Amat Amos,” she began breathily and so quickly she nearly tripped. “I champion the dragon Eucle and I hail from that township of Banta.”


She looked up, her dark eyes nervous and searching behind thick spectacles but hesitant to meet the stranger’s gaze. Eucle stirred somewhere in the back of her head, manifesting in a strange buzzing that worried nosebleed. It was a weird, though not wholly unpleasant sensation. If this is what it meant to feel a connection to someone, borrowed or otherwise, Anat welcomed it.


“I haven’t met the other champions yet,” she continued shyly, “you’re the first one since I arrived here. It’s all rather terrifying isn’t it? The townspeople are like vultures - those are these carrion-creatures from the Times Before; massive feathered things that flew around in the sky and feasted on the discarded dead. But they were highly opportunistic w-which is what I’m really trying to say. T-they look at us like vultures probably looked at their food but I suppose I don’t really know what vultures looked like at all. Banta has a really small lib-” Anat stopped, blushing horrendously again. She was talking too much. “S-sorry.”


@Seraph Darkfire

 

[Aldur]

They studied The Cleaver. She noticed that they looked shocked upon seeing her. She assumed it was her size, but remained silent. The two monks would not be the first to do so. Her expression did not change.


Desna introduced herself and named the dragon spirit she hosts. She bowed to woman respectfully. The Cleaver's eyebrows subtly shot up in surprise. She gave a quick nod, after which her expression became blank again.


She continued to show The Cleaver her companion. "Order brother". Brother. It reminded her of her siblings. Nose twitched and eyes were forced to blink as an instinctual reaction. She gave a slow nod to Noa as he excused himself.


Desna insisted that the conversation's point of interest becomes The Cleaver.


"Ma'gar..." A chill went down her spine, hairs along the body shooting up as they could. "I am called 'The Cleaver'. This..." She touched the handle of her weapon. "...is Kaya. I scavenged until now." The last statement referred to her new purpose now, of being a Champion. "I notice you hide your fangs. Is it out of fear?"

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

He chuckled slightly "My name is Malias Seriean, Champion of the Dragon Erisdar, from the Smithing Town of Ardebit" he gave her a small polite bow. He smiled to be as friendly as possible "I can imagine what you mean" he said grinning as he looked around "Though I was imagining it being more like someone gazing at a new weapon"


Malias nodded "They look at us as something dangerous, strong, and capable of defending them" he'd always had a strange feeling about being a Champion. He enjoyed having a Dragon inside of him. He never really felt alone, even in the darkest pits of a cave. He wondered that if they were the weapons, what would happen when they were no longer useful.


In Ardebit, the old weapons were melted down and their metal used to make new ones. Or if it had been often enough, it would be retired and placed as a memento of past achievements. He shook the thoughts out of his head and returned his attention to Anat "Well, don't worry about it, people are people" he said chuckling "Some like being alone, some like being the center of attention" he looked around them "And some like gazing at others"


"Everybody is different but we all need each other to stay alive" he tapped the gear at his waist "We chose to become Champions, we have to at least do our part" he grinned.


@Sharuum

 

[BDark]

Dominic had done what he always did--He stayed in the shadows, moving silently and swiftly, not an eye catching him. He didn't like the whole rope thing, but he had wrapped it around his right shoulder instead of his neck, it went under his arm and over it a few times. The ranger wasn't moving much, however, staying at points where he could see much for a few minutes. He was taking in this new place, lit by blue flames during night time. In his hometown, Ozryn, there were a few openings in the top of the cavern, letting a few beams of sunlight in. They still needed torches, however.


He felt something different, new. Something stirring in his stomach--Not like he was sick, but... He didn't know how to describe it. It was an unusual feeling. But he felt that it wasn't exactly his, but rather coming from the spirit of the dragon that had chosen him. Dominic had come to understand Birroth very well in the past few years, and something inside him made him feel as if there were other dragons around here-Champions like him and like his own dragon. He trusted this feeling, and he waited patiently.


"Soon..." He quietly told the dragon inside him.


Dominic stayed in the gathering darkness as he had always done, but without realizing it, he walked into the range of torch light. The golden light upon him shone, finally revealing him to eyesight. He didn't really like having many eyes upon him laid, but he was okay with it. Dominic didn't go back into the shadows, however. He wasn't trying to hide from anybody, he just felt more comfortable at the shadows, unseen, unheard. His 'Dragon Tell' wasn't that obvious from a distance, but when closer, his pure brown and black eyes could be noted.


"We chose to become Champions, we have to at least do our part." He heard a stranger saying. He looked over his shoulder and saw two people talking, both had golden chords similar to his. He knew they were champions, even more when the 'feeling' from Birroths spirit got stronger. Dominic watched them out of the corner of his eye, his hand ready. If he got in danger, at any moment, he could pull his bow, nock an arrow, aim, and fire all in five seconds. He doubted he would have to fight at that moment, but he kept his guard. His eyes watching carefully the two champions, his ears listening to other noises. And his hand ready.

 

[Sharuum]

“I-I suppose so,” she agreed hastily, smiling awkwardly at the space somewhere behind Malias’left elbow. “It just makes me nervous. I’m not a weapon - not really. Eucle honestly made a mistake when he picked m-” she stopped, her face turning a fantastic shade of red. Something beyond herself stirred. A magnificent anger, self-righteous and ancient welled up inside Anat’s stomach. It was not her own ire, but rather was directed at her. Eucle was not the sort of personality to tolerate self-pity.


She coughed, fanning, and did not continue. Anat’s eyes widened however whenever the form emerged some few meters to their right. The gold rope on his shoulder indicated his status. While this alone was enough to intimidate her, it did little to help her nerves that he oozed out of the shadows like some particularly crafty bull spider. “H-hello!” She greeted him, clasping her hands in front of her and giving her best. thought wobbly, imitation of a curtsy.

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

He chuckled "I think the Dragon's knew what they were doing when they picked us...probably" he said grinning. Erisdar was surprisingly laid back most of the time, while his emotions always poured through, he wasn't highly temperamental. He turned when he saw Anat's eyes widen, his body shifting into a defensive position before he noticed the golden rope around the man's neck.


"Wow, now that is some stealth" he said chuckling "I didn't even sense your presence" his chest warmed with the feeling of kinship again "That is pretty good, being able to hide from other Champions" that feeling of Kinship usually told him he was near a Champion. The Dragons could sense each other far better than any human.


@Sharuum @Darkiplier

 

[BDark]

Dominic had turned slowly as Anat and Malias spoke. He studied them briefly, then finally spoke, his voice deep yet silent. "More champions then, eh ?" He said as he noticed the golden ropes around their necks, he then glanced briefly at the one wrapped around his left shoulder. "It's good to be around your kin, isn't it ?" He asked. But the statement wasn't directed towards the two champions, but towards Birroth.


"And who would you be ?" He nodded towards the other two. Dominics face was emotionless, but his eyes kept moving, scanning every inch and corner, studying the two champions and watching the city. He was mainly focused on the champions, however. His shadow was cast before him as the light of the crackling fire came from behind him. Dominic seemed to be wearing some cloak... His form seemed to be shimmering against the rocks behind him, almost disappearing. But, in reality, he wasn't. It was his clothing. He then pushed the cloak behind his back, revealing his simple white cloth shirt and his brown leather pants. Dominic was a muscled man, and his hand was over his throwing knife already. He didn't pull it out or even close his hand over it, but he was ready to pull it out and hurl it at any person at any moment. Or at any beast.

 

[Sharuum]

"Anat Amos," She introduced herself breathlessly, curtsying again. "I am originally from Banta but my uncle owns that map shop over there. I came to Groundwater a few weeks ago." Anat stopped and averted her eyes, embarrassed. They probably realize that means I've been holed up all this time. She grimaced.


He certainly is intimidating. She mused sullenly, giving Malias a moment to introduce himself. It seemed to Anat that every other Champion was a paragon of martial prowess. Probably most something most sane dragons considered valuable. Emotion flooded her, irritation and amusement wrapped up like some sort of weird cerebral indicator that informed Anat the Eucle very much considered her a worthy choice. She felt relieved. It was hard not to respect and admire the huge personality that hovered somewhere just below her conscious brain. It was thanks to him that she could stand here at all.

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

"Malias Seriean" he said introducing himself "I've only been in Groundwater for a little while" he was intrigued by the length of time Anat had been in Groundwater already. He was the type of person who didn't get along well with being secluded for long periods of time. He needed to be moving.


He'd already guessed that Anat wasn't much of a fighter, given the way she acted and the way she stood. While he wasn't uneducated, his knowledge was limited to the things he learned in his home. This woman would prove to be an invaluable asset, she was bound to be far more learned than most other Champions. Her dragon was probably as smart as she was as well.


A feeling of indignation flooded through him 'It isn't like she's got the only smart dragon' he thought to himself, consoling the Dragon within him.


He then looked towards the cloaked Champion "I don't believe you gave your name" he said.


@Sharuum @Darkiplier

 

[Bone2pick]

[QUOTE="Aldur Forgehammer]"I notice you hide your fangs. Is it out of fear?"

[/QUOTE]
Desna right hand touched her lips as she mulled the blunt question over. While her thoughts stirred she spied her ghostly reflection rippling over the surface of the lake beside her. She opened her mouth ever so slightly and let her forked tongue roll out. Her new gifts had come at a cost.


"I suppose it is. I do what I must to try and not frighten others. The look on their faces, the horror... Yes. I can feel pain and fear too."


Desna pulled herself away from her reflection, pushed her hair back with one hand, and smiled tiredly back at the scavenger queen.


"You are named after a weapon. I understand that such a title recognizes your strength, and living outside of an undertown requires great strength. But I suspect you're much more than a warrior—more than your name suggests." Desna's stared at The Cleaver's freckled scales and then glanced down at her own champion cords. "I suspect we all must be more than appearances and names..."


Her last sentence trailed off until it was barely over a whisper.

 

[Aldur]

Fear?


The Cleaver watched Desna's display. She gazed in the flowing waters at her reflection, uncovering one more tell the Cleaver hadn't noticed so far. A forked tongue.


After that an answer followed. Why would others fear what is there to protect them? She asked herself, but then she remembered. The Cleaver remembered the look on the slaves' faces after their masters were slaughtered. They saw what the Cleaver couldn't. A monster, born from wrath and baptized in the blood of those who had forgotten compassion. It was standing in front of them. Eyes wide open and breathing heavily.


She clenched her fists. Another chill went down her spine. That's what she was. She was the tool humanity needed to rid itself of its shackles. To free itself of its oppressors, the Giants.


"I understand."


...

You are named after a weapon.

"I am a weapon!" her tone was raised, but only slightly. She stood put and let the monk finish her inquiries.

I suspect we all must be more than appearances and names..."

"I am a tool. Humanity may use me to repel the Giants and restore itself in the outside world. I wish nothing more." Her voice was monotone.


"What about you?"

 

[Bone2pick]

The monk inhaled the champion's intensity and then slowly digested the woman's declarations. The Cleaver was a weapon—a tool for battle—that much was evident at first glance. Desna nodded back at her fellow champion.


"I am certain you are. The best of us become what we need to be in order to survive." The monk gestured around the cavern of Groundwater before she continued. "Our ancestors, creatures of the open sky, became tunnel dwellers within a generation."


Desna peered across the lake to spot Noa. Her Mothsong brother was seated peacefully near the crashing falls, more than likely deep in meditation.


"My order teaches us that we can be more than what we are needed to be. That our true selves lie dormant until we attain harmony. The path to harmony requires study, courage, charity, honesty, and meditation. And most of all, it demands a love of every dark corner of our home, the underworld." Desna's speach grew heavier with each breath.


"But those teachings aren't as clear to me as they once were. My beliefs have been shaken ever since I was chosen by Him. By the wyrm... Ever since I started to feel the pull of the surface."


After a quiet moment the monk lowered herself to kneel beside the rippling lake. She waved a pale hand over its waters and then, ever so gingerly, she scooped out its frigid contents. Desna sipped some of the liquid and then flicked the rest onto her neck and chest. She stood back up and smiled at The Cleaver.


"Please forgive my ramblings. It was nice to speak with you Cleaver of Ma'gar. I look forward to seeing you at the gathering tomorrow."


With that the monk bowed and departed.

 

[BDark]

"Dominic." He said, bowing his head to both of them briefly. "Champion of..." He hesitated, Dominic wasn't comfortable, he gripped his knife then put his hand back beside him, the knife still in its place. "Champion of Birroth..." He said quietly and in a low voice. He glanced over his shoulder then back at the two, and shifted uncomfortably. Dominic didn't like being watched by people, even if they're no enemies.


"I don't like it here, being in the open..." He said in a low voice. It was true, he wasn't used to it. He usually stayed in the shadows, blending with the walls. "It was nice to meet you." Dominic then turned away, pulled the cloak over him, and disappeared into the darker areas, camouflaging with the rocks around him.

 

[Bone2pick]

The Gathering


The next day the champions were summoned by the adolescent volunteers of the welcoming party. The youths led their honored guests to a large militia bunker on the outskirts of Groundwater. A steel grate covered a sinking stairwell. It was swung aside and each man and woman decorated with golden cords was ushered down.


The champions funneled out of the stairwell and into a combat training gym. Candlelit chandeliers illuminated most of the room, but they were supported by two gaping fireplaces that flanked the north and south walls. Racks of spears, maces, and hand axes stood against the edges the room, and a large copper table was out in front of the northern fireplace.


Seated at one end of the table was a genteel woman with grey streaked hair. Her warm smile had soft wrinkles around its edges. She looked genuinely pleased to see the variety and vitality of the newly arrived champions. At the other end of the table, standing, was a tanned man in his early forties. He had a tightly groomed salt and pepper beard and moustache, and a charcoal grey bandana pulled down over one, presumably, missing eye. The gold cords of a champion were proudly displayed over both of his muscled shoulders.


The sight, no—the mere presence—of this one-eyed champion aroused many of the dormant wyrm spirits in the room. The ghosts knew the entity's name and titles: it was Bhazavur, the Silver Sire, the Fang of Judgement. A legend had returned to Dashann.


"I can feel the power of every ghosts bound to you. Can you not feel the same?" The man's words were heavy with thought and authority. The champions, most at least, nodded along in agreement.


"Good. We are connected, you and I. You and each other. And not by destiny... Life never intended to house two souls inside a single body, but the rules had to be broken. Our only would be saviors had long ago moved on to the afterlife. Mankind should have been left without an answer, without a weapon, yet here we are." The one-eyed champion crossed in front of the table and motioned for his audience to come closer. After everyone had moved into a tight-knight group he stretched an open hand towards the smiling seated woman.


"Allow me to introduce my sister Valeska, the first human to translate the draconic language. Because of her, we were able to learn the secrets to unlocking the dragon tombs. Her work and efforts have given mankind a chance to rewrite our future." His sister waved off the praise playfully and then pressed her hands together and nodded respectfully at the crowd of champions.


"I am so overjoyed that everyone could be here today. Thank you so much for coming." She was softly spoken, but sincere. Her brother continued.


"Not everyone answered the call, but I expected as much." A somber silence gripped the gym for a moment while he looked over the faces of the champions before him. "I am Escott, champion of Bhazavur, and I'm the first human to ever bond with one of the ancients. I've learned quite a lot in the last twenty five years. I've explored the surface, swam through its oceans, hid in its forests, and searched through its ruins...I've fought. I've lost fights, I've lost a lot of fights. I've had my bones broken. I've been dragged out of the sky by my tail. And I've had a hay barn hurled against my snout." A restlessness snaked its way through the gathered champions. Escott's words rang true.


"And I've won fights. I've held the enemy under my claws... And I've killed. But it's all been for nothing. You can't win a war that way, and you can't liberate a people that way. The biggest lesson I've learned—we've learned," Escott pointed back at his sister, "is that a war needs at least two armies. The giants have theirs, and it's high time we gather ours."

 

[Sharuum]

Anat shuffled in nervously, her shoulders hunched and eyes focused entirely on the heavy, serviceable boots she’d decided to wear for the occasion. Her skirts, unwieldy as they were, did well to hide her shaking knees. Today she’d left the glove sitting on the mantlepiece. Her dragon tell, one predator claw heavy with armored scales, was balled tightly under her left armpit.


Eucle stirred, she felt intangible wings stir somewhere below her ribcage. A fire burned low and hot in her bones. Her cheeks flushed with the sudden intensity of emotions that were not her own. The impression was too old, to complicated to translate into words. But what she did feel was an enormous respect for the grey-haired man who spoke now, respect and perhaps some envy.


"Not everyone answered the call, but I expected as much."


She looked up indignantly. Surprise and distaste coloring her features for just a moment before she remembered herself and glanced back at the shoes several inches to her right. The gold on her shoulder caught her eye for just a moment, several loops arranged artfully against the dark blue of her shawl. Her mind drifted.


"...is that a war needs at least two armies. The giants have theirs, and it's high time we gather ours."


The ghost inside her blossomed, folding outward into a consciousness huge and unknowable. Her bones shook with a wordless, soundless roar. Her blood rushed with the sound of wingbeats and her heart pounded with a sudden vigor that ill-suited her temperament. She swooned and staggered, falling gracelessly into the figure to her right. “Sorry!” she squeaked breathlessly, holding up her hands in supplication. “Sorry.” .

Spoiler

I don't really mind who she falls into, I left it deliberately ambiguous. It can be an NPC if no one particularly wants to include that in their next post. :3

 

[Seraph Darkfire]

Bhazavur. The name wasn't whispered in a voice, but in feeling. It resonated within him like a warm fire. Malias knew that Erisdar wasn't the most sociable of all Dragons, but even he honored his brethren with his presence. He listened to the talk of the surface and fighting the Giants and Eridar responded, flooding his body with the memory of battle. While Erisdar hadn't fought the Giants before, he'd fought Dragons plenty of times.


The Giants were truly formidable if they could give a Dragon trouble.


'But now we are together' Malias thought, gaining a resounding confirmation from Erisdar.


Malias was mildly annoyed that not all of the Champions hadn't answered the call, but the feeling from Erisdar was different. There was no annoyance or anger, just acceptance. Dragons and Humans were free, free to do whatever they wanted. A Dragon chose a champion that was similar in desire and thought. They might be enemies, they might be allies, or maybe they'll have nothing to do with it all. That was their choice.


Malias was forced to accept it as well. He didn't like it, but the feelings he got from Erisdar were hard to ignore. Erisdar understood other Dragon's far more than he did anyway.


"...is that a war needs at least two armies. The giants have theirs, and it's high time we gather ours."





Those words brought both Malias and Erisdar to the peak of excitement. A silent roar from within him and a splitting grin on his face. His skin was red from the excitement of having a battle. After all, he and his Dragon were both ones who enjoyed a good fight, but rarely chose to seek it out. To fight and to win. That was their goal.

 

[Aldur]

The chamber was large. Training grounds! she thought. Inside there were two figures. It wasn't long until the other spirit her body housed recognized one of them and stirred. The Cleaver felt her body heat up. She couldn't tell if Magar was overjoyed or enraged due to the intensity of his signals. She gawked at the one-eyed champion.

I can feel the power of every ghost bound to you. Can you not feel the same?

The Cleaver's eyes remained fixed on the man. She did not react to his words. Along came an introduction of the man's sister. The other figure whose identity was revealed to the group at that very moment.


The Cleaver's gaze shifted focus to her. Valeska. She didn't think much of the name. It was a name like any other to her. But she, Valeska was the first to decipher the dragons' tongue. It was an impressive feat. The bulky woman blinked for the first time since she entered the chamber.

Not everyone answered the call, but I expected as much.

Magar's signals returned. A drop of sweat traversed the entirety of The Cleaver's face before falling to the ground. She could almost hear roars. Roars which she never heard before.


The last statement sparked a shimmer in The Cleaver's eyes. She couldn't agree more. Mankind needed an army. An army to claim its former home and drive out the oppressing giants.


Suddenly, The Cleaver was surprised when a figure with a petite frame stumbled onto her. She would bring her own hands as to prevent her small-scale downfall, but alas, she was fine.

Sorry

The bulkier woman intently stared down the smaller one. No words were ushered but after a few hesitant tries a barely audible "Don't worry." emerged.


"Are you alright?"