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Fantasy Draconic Slavery
- Thread starter Viper
- Start date
Myrta
Junior Member
Knock, knock.
"Miss Iryelle! Miss Iryelle, please get up. If you oversleep this time, master Oyra will most certainly not be very pleased with your conduct and-- Oh, you're awake already?" Alysaria blinked in surprise after opening the door to her chambers.
"Really, Alysaria? You think that I'd be able to oversleep my own promotion to a full-fledged dragon rider? I feel like I should be insulted," Iryelle frowned at her own reflection in the mirror as she struggled to fasten a pendant chain around her neck. The young maid blushed immediately.
"I-I apologize, I didn't mean to imply that you are irresponsible."
"I said that I should be insulted, not that I am," Iryelle corrected her with a small smile. "Given my track record, it was an entirely reasonable assumption to make. Now since you're here, will you help me with this stupid thing?"
"Right away, miss Iryelle. That's a beautiful pendant. I don't think I've ever seen you wear it, though. Is it new?" the maid asked, her nimble fingers working on the task.
"Nothing ever escapes you, huh? And no, quite the opposite, it's actually very old. A family heirloom to be exact. I thought that it would be appropriate for this occasion." Iryelle still remembered how her father had given it to her vividly, the iron grip on her shoulders and the strange fire in his eyes. "Make no mistake, my dear daughter, this isn't just a pretty trinket to adorn your neck. It's a piece of night sky, it's a shard of a distant star. The reason our family has such a treasure in our possession is simple: we are worthy of it. You aren't yet, but one day you will be, too. Wear it when you carve your own path and not a moment sooner." The phrase 'not a moment sooner' probably meant 'AFTER you pass your examinations,' but Iryelle refused to deal with such technicalities. Her success was a foregone conclusion anyway, so why not allow herself a little morale booster?
"Thanks, Alysaria, that'll do." Standing up, Iryelle spared one last look at herself in the mirror. The dark uniform hugged her body perfectly, not a hair out of place, and she couldn't help but feel slightly impressed by herself. Possibly for the first time ever, the girl understood the meaning of the old proverb about clothes making the man. The uniform made her look older, more mature, but primarily just more respectable. The young woman staring at her commanded respect by her mere presence and Iryelle quickly discovered that she enjoyed it. This was exactly how she wished to be perceived. As someone not to be trifled with, someone who held power. Right, now the only thing that remains is to actually grab this power and don't let go.
"You may return to your duties," she turned to Alysaria, "it's almost time for me to leave anyway. I'll handle it alone from now on."
"Certainly. Good luck, miss."
Iryelle revealed white teeth in a blinding smile. "Luck is something I won't need, but I appreciate the sentiment." If the maid thought her statement to be arrogant, she didn't let it show. Alysaria merely nodded and left quietly, leaving her to her own devices. Iryelle took a few deep breaths to clear her mind. Unneeded thoughts had to be purged if she intended to overcome the greatest challenge of her life. It was one of the tasks that demanded almost single-minded devotion. Those unable to command their mind rarely survived their first encounter with a real dragon. It was difficult to restrain such a beast in time if things went awry, so failed apprentices usually ended up serving as dragon food. Not that such fate awaited her, but preparation shouldn't be underestimated. Once she felt sufficiently mentally prepared, Iryelle headed for the courtyard where her master was waiting for her.
"Good morning, master Oyra."
"Good morning. Shall we go?"
"... That's everything you will tell me? No words of encouragement? No old piece of wisdom to fill my heart with confidence?"
"You're way too confident for your own good as far as I'm concerned, so no."
"I don't know what I expected, really," Iryelle laughed. "But yes, let us go. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
It took them half a day to arrive to Grungswald, the place dubbed as "dragon castle" by the general populace. The nickname captured the essence of the place quite accurately. The isolated stronghold made of white marble had something almost sinister about it, something that made Iryelle shudder involuntarily as soon as she stepped inside. It's probably the sheer size, the girl thought. Well, that, and also the mystery. No historical records said who had built Grungswald; it had simply stood there from the dawn of time, abandoned and seemingly a natural part of the landscape just like mountains and rivers. Her people had claimed the fortress for the purpose of housing dragons relatively recently, too, so it didn't feel theirs just yet. Iryelle was willing to bet that whoever had constructed Grungswald hadn't been human. Why, that much she couldn't tell. The conclusion came to her as naturally as breathing.
"Welcome, master Oyra," a short man rushed to them, "and miss Razdullahan. The name is Iryelle, isn't it?"
"Yes, that would be me," the girl beamed while her master just nodded.
"We've been expecting you. Everyone else is present already. Come."
Refraining from any commentary for once, Iryelle followed the man through the endless corridors and to the underground where the dragons resided. "All the dragons you're going to see here are unpaired and in need of a rider, so choose carefully. Don't forget that once you enter the ceremonial room, you are forbidden to speak to your master until your exam is over. Failing to adhere to this rule will result in you failing automatically." The words didn't really reach Iryelle. They had gone over the rules of this exam extensively, so she chose to admire the architecture instead of listening to them for the xth time. Once the man stopped in front of large gilded door, it became obvious that their journey was over. It took three large, heavy-looking keys to unlock them. Iryelle would be willing to bet that they were heavily enchanted, too, since security was obviously something they didn't wish to neglect.
She entered wordlessly, looking around what turned out to be a rather spacious cavern. A servant approached her and handed her a pair of necklaces, the tools that would bind her and her dragon together. Meanwhile, master Oyra joined other dragon riders standing solemnly in a circle. It was a sacred moment, one that only happened once in life of every apprentice dragon rider. If she failed today and yet survived miraculously, Iryelle would still be expelled from the order. Dragon riders didn't give out second chances. Not that I'll need one. I came here to walk away with a dragon under my command and that's exactly what I'm going to do. The dragons were all in human form, staring at her with varying level of interest. Iryelle returned each gaze fearlessly, her expression unreadable as she looked for something which eluded her. She had asked master Oyra how to choose, what qualities to look for, but the man had merely shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. You'll know what you're looking for once you see it. Trust me on this."
Iryelle was beginning to think that it was all a bunch of nonsense, and then she saw it. Or, more accurately, felt it. A strange, almost indescribable pull.
"He is the one I am choosing to duel," she pointed at Molan, her voice firm.
"Miss Iryelle! Miss Iryelle, please get up. If you oversleep this time, master Oyra will most certainly not be very pleased with your conduct and-- Oh, you're awake already?" Alysaria blinked in surprise after opening the door to her chambers.
"Really, Alysaria? You think that I'd be able to oversleep my own promotion to a full-fledged dragon rider? I feel like I should be insulted," Iryelle frowned at her own reflection in the mirror as she struggled to fasten a pendant chain around her neck. The young maid blushed immediately.
"I-I apologize, I didn't mean to imply that you are irresponsible."
"I said that I should be insulted, not that I am," Iryelle corrected her with a small smile. "Given my track record, it was an entirely reasonable assumption to make. Now since you're here, will you help me with this stupid thing?"
"Right away, miss Iryelle. That's a beautiful pendant. I don't think I've ever seen you wear it, though. Is it new?" the maid asked, her nimble fingers working on the task.
"Nothing ever escapes you, huh? And no, quite the opposite, it's actually very old. A family heirloom to be exact. I thought that it would be appropriate for this occasion." Iryelle still remembered how her father had given it to her vividly, the iron grip on her shoulders and the strange fire in his eyes. "Make no mistake, my dear daughter, this isn't just a pretty trinket to adorn your neck. It's a piece of night sky, it's a shard of a distant star. The reason our family has such a treasure in our possession is simple: we are worthy of it. You aren't yet, but one day you will be, too. Wear it when you carve your own path and not a moment sooner." The phrase 'not a moment sooner' probably meant 'AFTER you pass your examinations,' but Iryelle refused to deal with such technicalities. Her success was a foregone conclusion anyway, so why not allow herself a little morale booster?
"Thanks, Alysaria, that'll do." Standing up, Iryelle spared one last look at herself in the mirror. The dark uniform hugged her body perfectly, not a hair out of place, and she couldn't help but feel slightly impressed by herself. Possibly for the first time ever, the girl understood the meaning of the old proverb about clothes making the man. The uniform made her look older, more mature, but primarily just more respectable. The young woman staring at her commanded respect by her mere presence and Iryelle quickly discovered that she enjoyed it. This was exactly how she wished to be perceived. As someone not to be trifled with, someone who held power. Right, now the only thing that remains is to actually grab this power and don't let go.
"You may return to your duties," she turned to Alysaria, "it's almost time for me to leave anyway. I'll handle it alone from now on."
"Certainly. Good luck, miss."
Iryelle revealed white teeth in a blinding smile. "Luck is something I won't need, but I appreciate the sentiment." If the maid thought her statement to be arrogant, she didn't let it show. Alysaria merely nodded and left quietly, leaving her to her own devices. Iryelle took a few deep breaths to clear her mind. Unneeded thoughts had to be purged if she intended to overcome the greatest challenge of her life. It was one of the tasks that demanded almost single-minded devotion. Those unable to command their mind rarely survived their first encounter with a real dragon. It was difficult to restrain such a beast in time if things went awry, so failed apprentices usually ended up serving as dragon food. Not that such fate awaited her, but preparation shouldn't be underestimated. Once she felt sufficiently mentally prepared, Iryelle headed for the courtyard where her master was waiting for her.
"Good morning, master Oyra."
"Good morning. Shall we go?"
"... That's everything you will tell me? No words of encouragement? No old piece of wisdom to fill my heart with confidence?"
"You're way too confident for your own good as far as I'm concerned, so no."
"I don't know what I expected, really," Iryelle laughed. "But yes, let us go. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
***
It took them half a day to arrive to Grungswald, the place dubbed as "dragon castle" by the general populace. The nickname captured the essence of the place quite accurately. The isolated stronghold made of white marble had something almost sinister about it, something that made Iryelle shudder involuntarily as soon as she stepped inside. It's probably the sheer size, the girl thought. Well, that, and also the mystery. No historical records said who had built Grungswald; it had simply stood there from the dawn of time, abandoned and seemingly a natural part of the landscape just like mountains and rivers. Her people had claimed the fortress for the purpose of housing dragons relatively recently, too, so it didn't feel theirs just yet. Iryelle was willing to bet that whoever had constructed Grungswald hadn't been human. Why, that much she couldn't tell. The conclusion came to her as naturally as breathing.
"Welcome, master Oyra," a short man rushed to them, "and miss Razdullahan. The name is Iryelle, isn't it?"
"Yes, that would be me," the girl beamed while her master just nodded.
"We've been expecting you. Everyone else is present already. Come."
Refraining from any commentary for once, Iryelle followed the man through the endless corridors and to the underground where the dragons resided. "All the dragons you're going to see here are unpaired and in need of a rider, so choose carefully. Don't forget that once you enter the ceremonial room, you are forbidden to speak to your master until your exam is over. Failing to adhere to this rule will result in you failing automatically." The words didn't really reach Iryelle. They had gone over the rules of this exam extensively, so she chose to admire the architecture instead of listening to them for the xth time. Once the man stopped in front of large gilded door, it became obvious that their journey was over. It took three large, heavy-looking keys to unlock them. Iryelle would be willing to bet that they were heavily enchanted, too, since security was obviously something they didn't wish to neglect.
She entered wordlessly, looking around what turned out to be a rather spacious cavern. A servant approached her and handed her a pair of necklaces, the tools that would bind her and her dragon together. Meanwhile, master Oyra joined other dragon riders standing solemnly in a circle. It was a sacred moment, one that only happened once in life of every apprentice dragon rider. If she failed today and yet survived miraculously, Iryelle would still be expelled from the order. Dragon riders didn't give out second chances. Not that I'll need one. I came here to walk away with a dragon under my command and that's exactly what I'm going to do. The dragons were all in human form, staring at her with varying level of interest. Iryelle returned each gaze fearlessly, her expression unreadable as she looked for something which eluded her. She had asked master Oyra how to choose, what qualities to look for, but the man had merely shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. You'll know what you're looking for once you see it. Trust me on this."
Iryelle was beginning to think that it was all a bunch of nonsense, and then she saw it. Or, more accurately, felt it. A strange, almost indescribable pull.
"He is the one I am choosing to duel," she pointed at Molan, her voice firm.
Viper
One Thousand Club
Molan sat with his fellow dragon kind in a fairly large room placed underground like they were prisoners, which was not far from the truth. Sitting in this room Molan could see veteran dragons, old and scared, who returned to this castle after their rider died, he could see plenty of freshly caught beasts who were understandably having trouble even standing up on only two legs let alone conversing, but there were few like him that were both young and accustomed to being in a human form. The young ones within the chamber were likely just taken from the wild as adolescents or they simply understood humanity better than most. Molan knew from his studies that Stone dragons were often very comfortable in human society due to how often they accepted bribes from merchants or kings.
Drawing from readings, conversations, or missions were the only ways that Molan truly understood his kind. He was hatched in this place, he never was truly free or allowed to fully wander like all other Storm dragons, so Molan knew that he lacked a lot of personal experience and information as to how dragon kind really lived. He should have been able to fluently speak and read more than just one language, he should have traveled a large portion of the world, he should have raced across a stormy sky with his parents and sister, he should have… he just should have done and been more. Molan feared that after being raised by humans for his whole life he was more like them than he was a true Storm dragon, which both disgusted him and filled him with sorrow. Molan was a dragon, he knew and was proud of this, yet he was nothing like the newly captured dragons who snarled and stumbled within their humans forms.
Not that being different was surprising though, very few dragons were ever hatched in captivity and as far as Molan knew only he, his sister, and two other dragons had been raised by the dragon riders although they had tried to steal and even breed more but with little success.One of the successfully hatched ones was killed when she was young during an escape attempt, the other one Molan had not seen in months so his fate was unknown, while Molan’s sister Indira had been paired up with a rider a few years back. She was doing fine more or less, although she was doing little to make a name for herself and instead seemed to spend a lot of time laying on her back in submission. Molan only saw her in passing though when they were not out doing jobs so he never got full explanations as to who or what caused her entire body to be covered in bruises so frequently. Molan and Indira used to be inseparable, training, playing and even sleeping together whenever at all possible while they were growing up and learning how to best serve their captors.
Normally Molan was not locked up in the ‘dragon's castle’ but the dragon riders had thrown him in here after he had ‘accidently’ put a charge inside of the entire armory that caused every piece of metal in there to give a strong, but not deadly, shock to whoever dared pick something up. It had taken days and a lot of singed hands to expel all of the electricity so understandably, the superiors did not find the prank as amusing as Molan had. They told him that he would be taught a lesson, that this time he would not get off so easily, and it was not an empty promise they made.
Molan regretted his prank fully now. It had been weeks since he last saw his sister and it was starting to get to him. He was antsy, always tapping his foot or finger, and he was sensitive to the point that he snapped at any dragon who looked at him funny or got too close. He got in a good number of fights while he was trapped in here, finding that fights against newly turned dragons to be one of the most easy things he had ever done. Grungswald may have just been a glorified prison but at least it just threw everyone into one room and then left them alone except when giving them food or some other hot shot rider apprentice came to test their metal.
Molan had been chosen for a duel once before, actually winning the fight within the first few minutes by simply charging his body with electricity then ramming into the idiot who seemed to have forgotten that Storm dragons did not need to be in the sky to summon electricity. It had felt overwhelmingly satisfying to take down a rider with his own claws but not getting in trouble for doing so (for once). The man died as far as Molan knew, or at least he was still in a coma,but it was hard to say since it wasn't like dragons got updates on how their challenger faired. Molan also regretted hurting that man now. If he had let the rider claim him he would have been let out of Grungswald and could have seen his sister again. Better to be a slave with his sister than free of control but alone… although being free of control with his sister was still a constant dream of Molans.
The fond daydream of freedom with his sister was cut short by the sound of the great doors unlocking. They were the only exit and entrance of this chamber so when they even moved everyone took interest. Molon did not get up from his quiet spot leaning up against the wall, but from across the room he did see a few of the freshly caught dragons jump to their feets and hunch over as if ready to pounce. “Idiot, sit down or you will get killed.” Molon whispered this to himself, his face unflinching but his eyes locked onto the fire dragon, knowing that the fool would not hear his from so far away but giving the advice anyway.
Thankfully though, the fire man did not attack and instead stood there just growling which sounded odd coming from a human form that was more or less naked. Molan just rolled his eyes and let his eyes return to the wannabe rider only to see her finger pointed directly at him. “Me again? Very well… let’s get this over with.” Molan sighed these words as he stood up from his seat on the ground, his voice was deep and naturally had a deep rumble to it in the back of his throat. Someone once said that his talking voice reminded them of thunder rolling in the sky but neither Molan or Indira could hear the similarity.
Unconsciously Molan walked with his head tilted down, letting the hood and his hair hide some of his face from view, but his eyes were always glaring upwards at whoever he was talking to. In this case it was the rider who had picked him out that Molan’s cloud grey eyes were boring into. Molan had decided already that he was not going to kill the rider, he was simply going to put on a good show so that he would be claimed as an official dragon mount and see his sister again. His freedom was, as always, a sacrifice he made for his sister only this time there would be no chance of going back. Speaking to the one who was not yet a rider, Molan nodded his head,“I’m ready when you are, Apprentice.”
Drawing from readings, conversations, or missions were the only ways that Molan truly understood his kind. He was hatched in this place, he never was truly free or allowed to fully wander like all other Storm dragons, so Molan knew that he lacked a lot of personal experience and information as to how dragon kind really lived. He should have been able to fluently speak and read more than just one language, he should have traveled a large portion of the world, he should have raced across a stormy sky with his parents and sister, he should have… he just should have done and been more. Molan feared that after being raised by humans for his whole life he was more like them than he was a true Storm dragon, which both disgusted him and filled him with sorrow. Molan was a dragon, he knew and was proud of this, yet he was nothing like the newly captured dragons who snarled and stumbled within their humans forms.
Not that being different was surprising though, very few dragons were ever hatched in captivity and as far as Molan knew only he, his sister, and two other dragons had been raised by the dragon riders although they had tried to steal and even breed more but with little success.One of the successfully hatched ones was killed when she was young during an escape attempt, the other one Molan had not seen in months so his fate was unknown, while Molan’s sister Indira had been paired up with a rider a few years back. She was doing fine more or less, although she was doing little to make a name for herself and instead seemed to spend a lot of time laying on her back in submission. Molan only saw her in passing though when they were not out doing jobs so he never got full explanations as to who or what caused her entire body to be covered in bruises so frequently. Molan and Indira used to be inseparable, training, playing and even sleeping together whenever at all possible while they were growing up and learning how to best serve their captors.
Normally Molan was not locked up in the ‘dragon's castle’ but the dragon riders had thrown him in here after he had ‘accidently’ put a charge inside of the entire armory that caused every piece of metal in there to give a strong, but not deadly, shock to whoever dared pick something up. It had taken days and a lot of singed hands to expel all of the electricity so understandably, the superiors did not find the prank as amusing as Molan had. They told him that he would be taught a lesson, that this time he would not get off so easily, and it was not an empty promise they made.
Molan regretted his prank fully now. It had been weeks since he last saw his sister and it was starting to get to him. He was antsy, always tapping his foot or finger, and he was sensitive to the point that he snapped at any dragon who looked at him funny or got too close. He got in a good number of fights while he was trapped in here, finding that fights against newly turned dragons to be one of the most easy things he had ever done. Grungswald may have just been a glorified prison but at least it just threw everyone into one room and then left them alone except when giving them food or some other hot shot rider apprentice came to test their metal.
Molan had been chosen for a duel once before, actually winning the fight within the first few minutes by simply charging his body with electricity then ramming into the idiot who seemed to have forgotten that Storm dragons did not need to be in the sky to summon electricity. It had felt overwhelmingly satisfying to take down a rider with his own claws but not getting in trouble for doing so (for once). The man died as far as Molan knew, or at least he was still in a coma,but it was hard to say since it wasn't like dragons got updates on how their challenger faired. Molan also regretted hurting that man now. If he had let the rider claim him he would have been let out of Grungswald and could have seen his sister again. Better to be a slave with his sister than free of control but alone… although being free of control with his sister was still a constant dream of Molans.
The fond daydream of freedom with his sister was cut short by the sound of the great doors unlocking. They were the only exit and entrance of this chamber so when they even moved everyone took interest. Molon did not get up from his quiet spot leaning up against the wall, but from across the room he did see a few of the freshly caught dragons jump to their feets and hunch over as if ready to pounce. “Idiot, sit down or you will get killed.” Molon whispered this to himself, his face unflinching but his eyes locked onto the fire dragon, knowing that the fool would not hear his from so far away but giving the advice anyway.
Thankfully though, the fire man did not attack and instead stood there just growling which sounded odd coming from a human form that was more or less naked. Molan just rolled his eyes and let his eyes return to the wannabe rider only to see her finger pointed directly at him. “Me again? Very well… let’s get this over with.” Molan sighed these words as he stood up from his seat on the ground, his voice was deep and naturally had a deep rumble to it in the back of his throat. Someone once said that his talking voice reminded them of thunder rolling in the sky but neither Molan or Indira could hear the similarity.
Unconsciously Molan walked with his head tilted down, letting the hood and his hair hide some of his face from view, but his eyes were always glaring upwards at whoever he was talking to. In this case it was the rider who had picked him out that Molan’s cloud grey eyes were boring into. Molan had decided already that he was not going to kill the rider, he was simply going to put on a good show so that he would be claimed as an official dragon mount and see his sister again. His freedom was, as always, a sacrifice he made for his sister only this time there would be no chance of going back. Speaking to the one who was not yet a rider, Molan nodded his head,“I’m ready when you are, Apprentice.”
Myrta
Junior Member
In a past so distant that it almost felt like a previous life, back before her training had even started, Iryelle had asked master Oyra what meeting your dragon for the first time was like. The man had used to brush off most of her concerns as mere frivolities, but he had thought long and hard about this one. "Most of all, it is overwhelming," he had said after few moments of silence. "Very much like standing under a waterfall. Remember that it will be a mental battle as much as a physical one, so make sure not to fall into that trap." Master Oyra was a wise man and Iryelle would follow him to the ends of Earth if he just asked, but honestly? The soon-to-be rider was beginning to think that in some ways, he just had a penchant for dramatics. The wave of fear he had described so candidly simply didn't come. The guy standing in front of her looked just like that, a guy. A guy who could turn into a deadly beast, but she happened to be trained to fight exactly such beasts. So why the need for panic?
With a smile entirely inappropriate for the occasion, Iryelle put on her own necklace. It was a simple-looking metallic thing one could easily mistake for a collar, except that it crackled with energy the second it assumed its place around her neck. The fight would reach its conclusion once the second necklace found its host, weaving their fates together. Or once she died. Iryelle suddenly realized that she was strangely okay with the possibility. If she were to die here, it would mean that all the blood, sweat and tears had been for naught. That she was ultimately worthless. Better to just drop dead than having to live with the shame, really. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword and she drew it slowly, the blade shimmering in the faint light of torches. "I'm as ready as I will ever be, dragon. Shall we dance?" Iryelle bent her knees slightly in a mockery of a curtsy.
The next sequence of events happened so fast that she barely had time to blink. The young man's form stretched and suddenly there was a white dragon with black spikes standing in his place, baring his fangs threateningly. Iryelle didn't waste her time admiring the transformation. Instead she stepped back quickly to put some distance between them, her sword in a defensive position. It turned out to be a wise decision because, had Iryelle stayed in her previous position, she would have likely ended up smashed under the dragon's mighty legs. Whew, close enough.
The dragon proceeded to go on offensive immediately and she let him, evading the series of attacks skillfully, but not even attempting to land a hit. It must have been a sorry sight. An aspiring dragon rider, a supposed elite of this country, doing everything in her power just to stay alive while the dragon dominated the scene completely. Utterly humiliating. Iryelle didn't like it, either, but she had to swallow her pride. The cards were so heavily stacked against her in this exam that the term "unfair" didn't even begin to describe it.
Ignoring the unfairness inherent in a human vs. dragon fight, the main problem was that they both fought with fundamentally different goals in mind. Iryelle obviously couldn't slay her mount. She couldn't do that even if she wanted to because the order had given her a ceremonial blade imbued with magic, one which had been forged to hurt without inflicting actual damage. Dragons - unlike people wishing to become riders - were a rare resource. It made sense that the order protected them while offering no such protection to the riders. Iryelle didn't complain. Not at all, the rules had been clear to her from the beginning. It just meant that she wasn't about to charge at him blindly. In a fight where one wrong move could end her, the young woman had to evaluate the dragon's abilities first. And if she wanted to do that, she had to watch carefully before striking. Show me how you fight, my friend. Show me where your weaknesses lie, reveal your true self to me.
Dodging another attack, Iryelle noted with no small amount of satisfaction that he really wasn't faster than her. All that body mass apparently translated into reduced mobility. Another thing she noticed was that the dragon, no matter how he moved, tended to leave his right side unguarded. An opportunity. Her body moved before she even consciously made the decision, faster than lightning. The dragon's claws missed her neck by mere centimeters, but she didn't even flinch, instead burying the blade in his side. The beast roared in agony and promptly rewarded her for the action by tripping her legs with his tail. Oh fuck no. That was the worst position to find herself in in the presence of an angry dragon! Not willing to get stomped to death, Iryelle rolled away from him as far as she could before rising to her feet. The fall had definitely bruised her judging by the pulsing pain in her right arm, but dammit, was the success worth it.
The dragon then waved his powerful wings and suddenly he was out of her reach, hanging in the air ominously. Iryelle thought the scene to be strangely beautiful. The sentiment dwindled considerably, however, the second the air crackled with electricity. She hurled to the side just in time to dodge a large ball of energy flying in her general direction. Wait, that's not true. It wouldn't have hit me even if I had stayed there, Iryelle realized. She hadn't seen it before because her instincts had forced her to move, but the location of the black spot on the wall told her that the dragon's aim had been seriously off. Was he a bad shot? Or had pain distracted him? Nevermind, that really doesn't matter now.
Sheathing her sword, Iryelle grabbed a crossbow from its place on her back instead. If the dragon thought he could recuperate while in the air, he was sorely mistaken. What kind of fool would fail to bring a ranged weapon to a confrontation with a creature that could fly? Certainly not her. The dragon was soon showered in missiles, most of them hitting the target reliably. It turns out there are disadvantages to being so large, huh? Kind of challenging to miss you, mate. The bolts were enchanted in the same way her sword was, so they didn't actually cause any injury, but it must have hurt. The dragon apparently also agreed that flying brought him more trouble than it was worth, so he landed, the impact engulfing her in dust. Ahh, my eyes! For a scary moment, all Iryelle could rely on her was her hearing. Fortunately, the dragon's weight didn't let him move silently, so she got out of his way even while rubbing her eyes and coughing violently. Then her vision cleared and the combat resumed.
The duel was going on for a while, neither participant managing to overpower their opponent. I... I need to end it fast. Bathing in her own sweat and breathing heavily, Iryelle could that she wasn't going to last much longer. If this went on, the dragon would beat her through endurance. With that threat looming on the horizon, a plan was born in her mind. Time to bet everything on a single card. Fear probably would have been a reasonable emotion considering what exactly she was going to do, but at this point Iryelle just wanted to get it over with. She evaded the dragon's claws and lunged forward, seemingly aiming for his torso, then she unexpectedly drove the blade upwards instead. Upwards, right where his neck happened to be due to an instinctive movement made in order to block her attack. The dragon froze in place for a second and that was all the time she needed. With his neck now conveniently in her reach, she attached the necklace to it.
It was over. She won.
With a smile entirely inappropriate for the occasion, Iryelle put on her own necklace. It was a simple-looking metallic thing one could easily mistake for a collar, except that it crackled with energy the second it assumed its place around her neck. The fight would reach its conclusion once the second necklace found its host, weaving their fates together. Or once she died. Iryelle suddenly realized that she was strangely okay with the possibility. If she were to die here, it would mean that all the blood, sweat and tears had been for naught. That she was ultimately worthless. Better to just drop dead than having to live with the shame, really. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword and she drew it slowly, the blade shimmering in the faint light of torches. "I'm as ready as I will ever be, dragon. Shall we dance?" Iryelle bent her knees slightly in a mockery of a curtsy.
The next sequence of events happened so fast that she barely had time to blink. The young man's form stretched and suddenly there was a white dragon with black spikes standing in his place, baring his fangs threateningly. Iryelle didn't waste her time admiring the transformation. Instead she stepped back quickly to put some distance between them, her sword in a defensive position. It turned out to be a wise decision because, had Iryelle stayed in her previous position, she would have likely ended up smashed under the dragon's mighty legs. Whew, close enough.
The dragon proceeded to go on offensive immediately and she let him, evading the series of attacks skillfully, but not even attempting to land a hit. It must have been a sorry sight. An aspiring dragon rider, a supposed elite of this country, doing everything in her power just to stay alive while the dragon dominated the scene completely. Utterly humiliating. Iryelle didn't like it, either, but she had to swallow her pride. The cards were so heavily stacked against her in this exam that the term "unfair" didn't even begin to describe it.
Ignoring the unfairness inherent in a human vs. dragon fight, the main problem was that they both fought with fundamentally different goals in mind. Iryelle obviously couldn't slay her mount. She couldn't do that even if she wanted to because the order had given her a ceremonial blade imbued with magic, one which had been forged to hurt without inflicting actual damage. Dragons - unlike people wishing to become riders - were a rare resource. It made sense that the order protected them while offering no such protection to the riders. Iryelle didn't complain. Not at all, the rules had been clear to her from the beginning. It just meant that she wasn't about to charge at him blindly. In a fight where one wrong move could end her, the young woman had to evaluate the dragon's abilities first. And if she wanted to do that, she had to watch carefully before striking. Show me how you fight, my friend. Show me where your weaknesses lie, reveal your true self to me.
Dodging another attack, Iryelle noted with no small amount of satisfaction that he really wasn't faster than her. All that body mass apparently translated into reduced mobility. Another thing she noticed was that the dragon, no matter how he moved, tended to leave his right side unguarded. An opportunity. Her body moved before she even consciously made the decision, faster than lightning. The dragon's claws missed her neck by mere centimeters, but she didn't even flinch, instead burying the blade in his side. The beast roared in agony and promptly rewarded her for the action by tripping her legs with his tail. Oh fuck no. That was the worst position to find herself in in the presence of an angry dragon! Not willing to get stomped to death, Iryelle rolled away from him as far as she could before rising to her feet. The fall had definitely bruised her judging by the pulsing pain in her right arm, but dammit, was the success worth it.
The dragon then waved his powerful wings and suddenly he was out of her reach, hanging in the air ominously. Iryelle thought the scene to be strangely beautiful. The sentiment dwindled considerably, however, the second the air crackled with electricity. She hurled to the side just in time to dodge a large ball of energy flying in her general direction. Wait, that's not true. It wouldn't have hit me even if I had stayed there, Iryelle realized. She hadn't seen it before because her instincts had forced her to move, but the location of the black spot on the wall told her that the dragon's aim had been seriously off. Was he a bad shot? Or had pain distracted him? Nevermind, that really doesn't matter now.
Sheathing her sword, Iryelle grabbed a crossbow from its place on her back instead. If the dragon thought he could recuperate while in the air, he was sorely mistaken. What kind of fool would fail to bring a ranged weapon to a confrontation with a creature that could fly? Certainly not her. The dragon was soon showered in missiles, most of them hitting the target reliably. It turns out there are disadvantages to being so large, huh? Kind of challenging to miss you, mate. The bolts were enchanted in the same way her sword was, so they didn't actually cause any injury, but it must have hurt. The dragon apparently also agreed that flying brought him more trouble than it was worth, so he landed, the impact engulfing her in dust. Ahh, my eyes! For a scary moment, all Iryelle could rely on her was her hearing. Fortunately, the dragon's weight didn't let him move silently, so she got out of his way even while rubbing her eyes and coughing violently. Then her vision cleared and the combat resumed.
The duel was going on for a while, neither participant managing to overpower their opponent. I... I need to end it fast. Bathing in her own sweat and breathing heavily, Iryelle could that she wasn't going to last much longer. If this went on, the dragon would beat her through endurance. With that threat looming on the horizon, a plan was born in her mind. Time to bet everything on a single card. Fear probably would have been a reasonable emotion considering what exactly she was going to do, but at this point Iryelle just wanted to get it over with. She evaded the dragon's claws and lunged forward, seemingly aiming for his torso, then she unexpectedly drove the blade upwards instead. Upwards, right where his neck happened to be due to an instinctive movement made in order to block her attack. The dragon froze in place for a second and that was all the time she needed. With his neck now conveniently in her reach, she attached the necklace to it.
It was over. She won.
Viper
One Thousand Club
Seeing his future rider put on the necklace brought him mixed feelings and Molan found his eyes hovering on it the entire time up until the actual battle. Even as the woman smiled and bowed confidently, his eyes were locked onto the collar like necklace which he could hear crackling and sparking from her neck. On one hand, that chain was his key to getting out of this basement prison, to his sister, yet on the other hand it was the symbol of what little freedom he had left getting stolen away. Molan did not want to be a pet of humans, their slave, since it was enough that he was their prisoner already but in this life even dragons apparently had to make hard choices when the cards were stacked against them. It was freedom or family, which for Molan was an easy choice to make.
When he transformed into his true form, the one he should have grown up in, Molan instantly felt less depressed and more enthused. Just being in his true body made him happier, not to mention it was very satisfying to physically look down on the humans which was something he could not often do when in human form. As a dragon he was tall but as a human he was average sized at best, he certainly was never the tallest person in the room. Now, even though he did not plan on killing or even breaking his rider, at least he was going to be getting a bit of ‘play time’ in before he was forced back into the human form he knew so well. It was this eagerness for battle that cased Molan not to hesitate in beginning the fight. WIthout having the courtesy to give her time to get used to the sight of his true form, Molan went on the offensive.
The fight was going well and Molan was mentally laughing as his future riders danced around the arena trying to avoid his constant attack. This was fun! Unfortunately however, the fun ended when the rider buried her enchanted blade into his side. The sword may not have made a true wound but the pain was real. Dragons were often scaly creatures so normally it was hard to get to their flesh, but these rider weapons always had some sort of enhancement that made the task easier for them… and damn it hurt! Forgetting for a moment that he was not planning on killing her, Molan violently swung his tail and knocked the girl over wanting to stomp on her head like a grape. Luckily for them both, she dodged it.
The fight went on like this for a while, Molan attacking and the girl dodging, or the girl attacking and Molan having to keep reminding himself that the goal was to lose. Getting hurt over and over made it hard to focus on the goal though, his primal instincts screaming at him to stop holding back. Although to be fair, maybe even without holding back he may have lost. Not only did the constant bolts hit his large form consistently, but the girl was not bad, no master rider or anything but she was clearly not a novice. The dragon wondered, mid fight, if he would have been able to beat her in common hand to hand combat. He had been trained in it and personally he thought he was a fairly good fighter both on land and sky no matter the form. Molan would get his chance though since he would be paired up with her for… god until one of them died most likely.
As the fight went on, Molan could tell that the human was slowing down. It was understandable though, the battle had went on for a while and it took a lot more energy for a human to run across the arena than her much larger counterpart. He needed to bring it to an end, for the sake of meeting Indira again. So he did something that his fighting style did not normally include, blatant lunging. When he did so he could almost sense that the human was up to something under him, and sure enough, instead of getting a pain in his chest like he had expected he felt a very pointed, very deep thrust into his throat.
All of the pain from before were nothing in comparison to feeling a blade get thrown into his neck. He roared in raw agony as not only did he feel his scales and flesh cup open but he also had his air practically cut off at the same time due to where the enchanted blade pierced. This battle may have just been an illusion when it came to him but that did not mean it was a walk in the park. If this had been a real battle her attack would have most likely killed him. This time though all it did was freeze him in place as Molan tried to comprehend the pain and his sudden blockage of air.
When he regained even a slight bit of his senses, the necklace was around his draconic neck and the fight was technically over. Out of habit, Molan turned back into his human form as soon as he noticed his loss. In the past if he stayed in his dragon form for more than necessary the riders who raised him always got upset so even if he wanted to be in his true form, he had been tried not to be.
Molan was on his hands and knees when he turned back, gasping and clutching at his neck as if holding a wound that did not exist. Although the pain was fading he soon found himself touching and probing at his new collar. As a dragon it was tight around his neck like a true collar with the gem simply looking like another scale, but as a human it hung down low, the storm gem at the center of his chest practically as large as his fist. It was just one more thing weighing down his spirit.
“At least that’s over with.” Molan whispered to himself as he coughed off the last of his pain. He would probably be sore for the next few days but there was nothing visible. Stumbling to his feet, the attacks and the bonding apparently having sapped his energy. “Well then, rider, I suppose congratulations are in order. Glad to see that I did not crush open your skull back there.” Molan gasped hoarsely, being the first one to offer his opponent congratulations. He kept a hand to his throat but he did take the time to glance up at the rider and give her a smirk as he spoke. “Looks like we will be working together now… good luck. I was given the name Molan Scur by your comrades, so you should call me that. Pleasure to meet you.”
When he transformed into his true form, the one he should have grown up in, Molan instantly felt less depressed and more enthused. Just being in his true body made him happier, not to mention it was very satisfying to physically look down on the humans which was something he could not often do when in human form. As a dragon he was tall but as a human he was average sized at best, he certainly was never the tallest person in the room. Now, even though he did not plan on killing or even breaking his rider, at least he was going to be getting a bit of ‘play time’ in before he was forced back into the human form he knew so well. It was this eagerness for battle that cased Molan not to hesitate in beginning the fight. WIthout having the courtesy to give her time to get used to the sight of his true form, Molan went on the offensive.
The fight was going well and Molan was mentally laughing as his future riders danced around the arena trying to avoid his constant attack. This was fun! Unfortunately however, the fun ended when the rider buried her enchanted blade into his side. The sword may not have made a true wound but the pain was real. Dragons were often scaly creatures so normally it was hard to get to their flesh, but these rider weapons always had some sort of enhancement that made the task easier for them… and damn it hurt! Forgetting for a moment that he was not planning on killing her, Molan violently swung his tail and knocked the girl over wanting to stomp on her head like a grape. Luckily for them both, she dodged it.
The fight went on like this for a while, Molan attacking and the girl dodging, or the girl attacking and Molan having to keep reminding himself that the goal was to lose. Getting hurt over and over made it hard to focus on the goal though, his primal instincts screaming at him to stop holding back. Although to be fair, maybe even without holding back he may have lost. Not only did the constant bolts hit his large form consistently, but the girl was not bad, no master rider or anything but she was clearly not a novice. The dragon wondered, mid fight, if he would have been able to beat her in common hand to hand combat. He had been trained in it and personally he thought he was a fairly good fighter both on land and sky no matter the form. Molan would get his chance though since he would be paired up with her for… god until one of them died most likely.
As the fight went on, Molan could tell that the human was slowing down. It was understandable though, the battle had went on for a while and it took a lot more energy for a human to run across the arena than her much larger counterpart. He needed to bring it to an end, for the sake of meeting Indira again. So he did something that his fighting style did not normally include, blatant lunging. When he did so he could almost sense that the human was up to something under him, and sure enough, instead of getting a pain in his chest like he had expected he felt a very pointed, very deep thrust into his throat.
All of the pain from before were nothing in comparison to feeling a blade get thrown into his neck. He roared in raw agony as not only did he feel his scales and flesh cup open but he also had his air practically cut off at the same time due to where the enchanted blade pierced. This battle may have just been an illusion when it came to him but that did not mean it was a walk in the park. If this had been a real battle her attack would have most likely killed him. This time though all it did was freeze him in place as Molan tried to comprehend the pain and his sudden blockage of air.
When he regained even a slight bit of his senses, the necklace was around his draconic neck and the fight was technically over. Out of habit, Molan turned back into his human form as soon as he noticed his loss. In the past if he stayed in his dragon form for more than necessary the riders who raised him always got upset so even if he wanted to be in his true form, he had been tried not to be.
Molan was on his hands and knees when he turned back, gasping and clutching at his neck as if holding a wound that did not exist. Although the pain was fading he soon found himself touching and probing at his new collar. As a dragon it was tight around his neck like a true collar with the gem simply looking like another scale, but as a human it hung down low, the storm gem at the center of his chest practically as large as his fist. It was just one more thing weighing down his spirit.
“At least that’s over with.” Molan whispered to himself as he coughed off the last of his pain. He would probably be sore for the next few days but there was nothing visible. Stumbling to his feet, the attacks and the bonding apparently having sapped his energy. “Well then, rider, I suppose congratulations are in order. Glad to see that I did not crush open your skull back there.” Molan gasped hoarsely, being the first one to offer his opponent congratulations. He kept a hand to his throat but he did take the time to glance up at the rider and give her a smirk as he spoke. “Looks like we will be working together now… good luck. I was given the name Molan Scur by your comrades, so you should call me that. Pleasure to meet you.”
Myrta
Junior Member
I won. I actually won. Suddenly feeling very tired, Iryelle stuck her sword in the ground and grabbed the hilt for support. If the action damaged the delicate enchantment, master Oyra would undoubtedly confiscate her entire month's salary to reimburse the order, but she was too busy trying to stand upright to care. Her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. What the hell is wrong with me? Iryelle had worked herself to the bone routinely since the age when most girls' issues consisted of worrying whether their imaginary friends could come to their pretend tea parties. She was no stranger to exhaustion. Hell, exhaustion could be described as her most faithful companion. And yet, somehow, this felt very different from the usual state of just not having the energy to spare.
The nature of that mysterious component eluded her until she collected herself enough to actually register the dragon's predicament. He had to be in tremendous pain. Oh, she thought with a start, it's... it's a relief. Not even pride due to succeeding where most people failed, just the feeling of having a weight taken off her shoulders. Happiness that it was him writhing in pain on the floor and not her. Despite all the bravado displayed earlier, this had been her first close encounter with the possibility of death. And it had shaken her, as she now realized with an almost painful clarity. So, it turns out that I am not brave, merely stupid enough not to be aware of the danger until it has passed. Great, just great.
Unaware of her little existential crisis, the dragon approached her to... congratulate her? Wow, now that's a spirit. I half-expected him to be furious with me for practically enslaving him. Although, Iryelle supposed, his response did make sense. He had been born into servitude and thus probably accepted the idea years ago. It wasn't like his disapproval could change the tangible reality of the cursed necklace around his neck. No, treating his rider with healthy respect was a perfectly logical action to take. Riders who took pleasure in teaching their dragons manners through pain existed, after all. No dragon wanted to invite such behavior. Iryelle offered him a wide smile even if it wasn't an accurate representation of her current emotions. If he could follow the etiquette despite just having been subjected to a simulation of a deadly injury, then she could, too.
"Oh trust me, I'm glad for that, too. I bet that killed by a dragon would look nice on my tombstone, but yes, being alive certainly beats that honor. And thank you. I'm glad to meet you as well, my name is Iryelle Razdullahan. Feel free to use just Iryelle, though, everyone calls me by my first name." As long as the dragon understood who exactly was the boss in their relationship, Iryelle had no issue with treating him in a friendly way. There was no point in antagonizing someone who would spend a significant portion of his life as your companion, really. The rider opened her mouth to continue speaking, but master Oyra had other plans.
"Good job, Iryelle. You've done well," he interrupted her matter-of-factly. She turned her head towards her master, wonder written in her features.
No way, an actual praise? Is he feeling sick?
"It could have been better, of course. That last maneuver of yours was incredibly risky and we will talk about it in detail later, young lady. Still, what you've done sufficed for now even if you still have a long way to go."
Yes, Iryelle smirked, that's more like it. This is the master I know.
"It is an honor to meet you as well, dragon," master Oyra bowed respectfully. "Should you ever need something, do not hesitate to turn to me for an advice. We may not be bound formally, however my obligations to my apprentice do not end with her promotion and you are a part of her world now. It would be too cruel to leave you to deal with that all on your own."
"That almost sounds like you're comparing me to some rare and nasty illness. I don't know what's worse, whether it's that you did it or the fact that I am not surprised in the slightest."
"Congratulations, Miss Iryelle," one of the other masters approached her, "and congratulations to you too, Molan, for finally having found a worthy rider. A celebration is in order and I wish you many successful battles in the future, however I must implore you to leave at once. It is not advisable for bonded dragon - rider pairs to remain within the walls of Grungswald for too long." The reason hadn't been stated outright, but it didn't have to be. Iryelle had heard stories about jealous dragons targeting the one who had been chosen by a rider. Some of them have had spent so much time effectively imprisoned in the cavern that every missed opportunity to get out felt like a bitter loss and venting their anger on the one luckier than them was simply too tempting. No, better not to give them a chance to do so.
"Right," she nodded. "So I assume that we're leaving for the capital?"
"Yes, we shall notify the king of your accomplishment. He will be expecting you."
Molan was given some time to say his goodbyes (if he wanted to) and pack his belongings. After that, the three of them got inside a carriage waiting for them in front of the main gate. Flying on Molan's back could have gotten them to the capital much faster, but a royal decree forbade riders from using their dragon's power before swearing the oath of loyalty and Iryelle wasn't about to start her career by breaking a law. Besides, she was tired. So, so tired. Maybe a nice long rest in the carriage was exactly what she needed in order to recuperate. Her eyes closed on their own and for a while, it looked like Iryelle had fallen asleep. She even wanted to, but her curiosity didn't allow her to drift away. Not when her freaking dragon was sitting just few inches away from her, possibly open to a conversation for the very first time.
"Will you miss it? Grungswald, I mean," she clarified without opening her eyes. "How long did you even live there?"
The nature of that mysterious component eluded her until she collected herself enough to actually register the dragon's predicament. He had to be in tremendous pain. Oh, she thought with a start, it's... it's a relief. Not even pride due to succeeding where most people failed, just the feeling of having a weight taken off her shoulders. Happiness that it was him writhing in pain on the floor and not her. Despite all the bravado displayed earlier, this had been her first close encounter with the possibility of death. And it had shaken her, as she now realized with an almost painful clarity. So, it turns out that I am not brave, merely stupid enough not to be aware of the danger until it has passed. Great, just great.
Unaware of her little existential crisis, the dragon approached her to... congratulate her? Wow, now that's a spirit. I half-expected him to be furious with me for practically enslaving him. Although, Iryelle supposed, his response did make sense. He had been born into servitude and thus probably accepted the idea years ago. It wasn't like his disapproval could change the tangible reality of the cursed necklace around his neck. No, treating his rider with healthy respect was a perfectly logical action to take. Riders who took pleasure in teaching their dragons manners through pain existed, after all. No dragon wanted to invite such behavior. Iryelle offered him a wide smile even if it wasn't an accurate representation of her current emotions. If he could follow the etiquette despite just having been subjected to a simulation of a deadly injury, then she could, too.
"Oh trust me, I'm glad for that, too. I bet that killed by a dragon would look nice on my tombstone, but yes, being alive certainly beats that honor. And thank you. I'm glad to meet you as well, my name is Iryelle Razdullahan. Feel free to use just Iryelle, though, everyone calls me by my first name." As long as the dragon understood who exactly was the boss in their relationship, Iryelle had no issue with treating him in a friendly way. There was no point in antagonizing someone who would spend a significant portion of his life as your companion, really. The rider opened her mouth to continue speaking, but master Oyra had other plans.
"Good job, Iryelle. You've done well," he interrupted her matter-of-factly. She turned her head towards her master, wonder written in her features.
No way, an actual praise? Is he feeling sick?
"It could have been better, of course. That last maneuver of yours was incredibly risky and we will talk about it in detail later, young lady. Still, what you've done sufficed for now even if you still have a long way to go."
Yes, Iryelle smirked, that's more like it. This is the master I know.
"It is an honor to meet you as well, dragon," master Oyra bowed respectfully. "Should you ever need something, do not hesitate to turn to me for an advice. We may not be bound formally, however my obligations to my apprentice do not end with her promotion and you are a part of her world now. It would be too cruel to leave you to deal with that all on your own."
"That almost sounds like you're comparing me to some rare and nasty illness. I don't know what's worse, whether it's that you did it or the fact that I am not surprised in the slightest."
"Congratulations, Miss Iryelle," one of the other masters approached her, "and congratulations to you too, Molan, for finally having found a worthy rider. A celebration is in order and I wish you many successful battles in the future, however I must implore you to leave at once. It is not advisable for bonded dragon - rider pairs to remain within the walls of Grungswald for too long." The reason hadn't been stated outright, but it didn't have to be. Iryelle had heard stories about jealous dragons targeting the one who had been chosen by a rider. Some of them have had spent so much time effectively imprisoned in the cavern that every missed opportunity to get out felt like a bitter loss and venting their anger on the one luckier than them was simply too tempting. No, better not to give them a chance to do so.
"Right," she nodded. "So I assume that we're leaving for the capital?"
"Yes, we shall notify the king of your accomplishment. He will be expecting you."
Molan was given some time to say his goodbyes (if he wanted to) and pack his belongings. After that, the three of them got inside a carriage waiting for them in front of the main gate. Flying on Molan's back could have gotten them to the capital much faster, but a royal decree forbade riders from using their dragon's power before swearing the oath of loyalty and Iryelle wasn't about to start her career by breaking a law. Besides, she was tired. So, so tired. Maybe a nice long rest in the carriage was exactly what she needed in order to recuperate. Her eyes closed on their own and for a while, it looked like Iryelle had fallen asleep. She even wanted to, but her curiosity didn't allow her to drift away. Not when her freaking dragon was sitting just few inches away from her, possibly open to a conversation for the very first time.
"Will you miss it? Grungswald, I mean," she clarified without opening her eyes. "How long did you even live there?"
Viper
One Thousand Club
At the mention of her having ‘killed by a dragon’ on her tomb stone, Molan was seconds away from telling her that that inscription would simply be a copy of so many other humans and that she should think of something more original. Unfortunately though, his snide comment was stopped when the other riders approached. He stepped back a step to give them just a bit more room so that they could talk without him interrupting. He kept his head low and his hands tucked into his cloak, submissive by all appearances. It was hard to tell but some of these riders may have been the very same that raised him, that beat him, that separated him from his sister, so it was best to appear calm around them so that they would not take action against him. His snide could wait until he had a bit less attention on him.
When one of the other riders, a teacher from the sound of him, addressed Molan, the dragon was a bit shocked. His kind were valuables, respected for their worth and not for who they were, but this man seemed genuinely polite… It was almost how a human should treat a dragon. “Thank you, but I’m sure that I can put up with whatever Iryelle throws my way. As I’m sure you know, I’ve had plenty of experience dealing with different riders. Still, should something come up, I will not hesitate to contact you.” Over my dead body, Molan added in silently, putting on the act but not really meaning any of it. He had the past experience, that part was true, but when it came to asking for help Molan would sooner die than lean on his captors for something. He would play the game, but he would not show his cards.
Molan was not as fond of the second rider who approached, acting as if Iryelle was a worthy rider when in truth there was no such thing. He had tried to keep quiet most of the conversation but at the mention of a celebration Molan accidentally let out a harsh ‘tsk’ in disgust. Drunk riders were often violent riders, and if that were not enough, the smell of the alcohol burned his more sensitive nose. It was always a horrid time so Molan had avoided them even as a wild youth, but in this case he would likely get put on a pedestal so that all of the riders and common people could stare and poke at the new dragon who was under their control.
Despite his general pessimism for this entire situation, Molan was more than happy to leave Grungswald. It was one of the only perks of getting paired up, outside of seeing his sister again. “I am ready to go now. There is nothing here for me.” Everything that was his own was either on his back or out in the world, waiting for him. Plus, the other dragons did not like Molan as a rule and getting his freedom would only add to that preexisting hatred. The wild ones hated any dragon that submitted to human rule while those that were old and broken hated any dragon that even slightly disrespected their human captors, so Molan often found himself stuck in the middle of the two sides.
Molan climbed into the carriage, wishing he could have flown. He really wanted to stretch his wings and fly for real, something he had not been able to do in weeks during his imprisonment at the dragon castle. His body in response to the fresh air was itching to be set free… sadly though Molan did not have a say in the matter and so sat down with his head resting in one of his palms as they bounced down the long road towards the capitol. His foot was tapping though, constantly and in rapid motions. He had so much energy and likely would have rather ran next to the carriage instead of being on it just to burn some of it off. The fight had been painful, not exhausting, which left his adrenaline running high. Molan also would have liked some water, but his pride as a dragon was too strong to ask for anything from his human companions.
Glancing to his side at his new rider, Molan was surprised to see her eyes closed as if sleeping. He couldn't blame her, she had just fought a dragon for a very lengthy battle, and if she were not tired after that she would have had to be a monster of some kind too. He was content to leave her alone, but apparently she was not content to be left that way because without even having the decency to open her eyes she began interrogating Molan. The storm dragon took this chance to openly sneer beneath his cloak hood, surprised he had to explain this since he figured even apprentice riders would have heard about one of the few domestic hatched dragons but apparently not.
“Hah! I’ll be happy if I never see that prison again in my life!” Molan laughed sharply, the shock of the question making him forget that he was trying to be a ‘good boy’ until he got to see Indira. “I’ve only been there for a few weeks now, I lost count after I reached a month, but before that I never had to be there before.” Molan answered honestly, glad to be free of the glorified pen. “I was raised by your rider people, hatched in some mountain lab to the north. I have been passed through different rider compounds ever since, training and working with whoever needed the help of a dragon on their missions. I only was sent to Grungswald as a punishment after getting on the bad side of some riders.” Molan purposefully left out his sister, not trusting this rider yet to divulge something so important and close to his heart. The female storm dragons existence was no secret but if Iryelle did not know, Molan felt no need to educate her on this subject. He also did not feel the need to mention the fact that by 'get on the bad side of some riders' he meant that he had injured many of them as he sabotaged their weapons and armor... both things that could have been deadly if the conditions have been even slightly changed.
The dragon was silent after he answered the questions, tempted to try and end the conversation there, but human politeness required that someone reciprocate interest in another even if that was not the true case. So, with almost a sigh in his words, Molan asked the first thing he could think of, “What about you? Where did you come from? Are you a descendant of some other rider or what?”
When one of the other riders, a teacher from the sound of him, addressed Molan, the dragon was a bit shocked. His kind were valuables, respected for their worth and not for who they were, but this man seemed genuinely polite… It was almost how a human should treat a dragon. “Thank you, but I’m sure that I can put up with whatever Iryelle throws my way. As I’m sure you know, I’ve had plenty of experience dealing with different riders. Still, should something come up, I will not hesitate to contact you.” Over my dead body, Molan added in silently, putting on the act but not really meaning any of it. He had the past experience, that part was true, but when it came to asking for help Molan would sooner die than lean on his captors for something. He would play the game, but he would not show his cards.
Molan was not as fond of the second rider who approached, acting as if Iryelle was a worthy rider when in truth there was no such thing. He had tried to keep quiet most of the conversation but at the mention of a celebration Molan accidentally let out a harsh ‘tsk’ in disgust. Drunk riders were often violent riders, and if that were not enough, the smell of the alcohol burned his more sensitive nose. It was always a horrid time so Molan had avoided them even as a wild youth, but in this case he would likely get put on a pedestal so that all of the riders and common people could stare and poke at the new dragon who was under their control.
Despite his general pessimism for this entire situation, Molan was more than happy to leave Grungswald. It was one of the only perks of getting paired up, outside of seeing his sister again. “I am ready to go now. There is nothing here for me.” Everything that was his own was either on his back or out in the world, waiting for him. Plus, the other dragons did not like Molan as a rule and getting his freedom would only add to that preexisting hatred. The wild ones hated any dragon that submitted to human rule while those that were old and broken hated any dragon that even slightly disrespected their human captors, so Molan often found himself stuck in the middle of the two sides.
Molan climbed into the carriage, wishing he could have flown. He really wanted to stretch his wings and fly for real, something he had not been able to do in weeks during his imprisonment at the dragon castle. His body in response to the fresh air was itching to be set free… sadly though Molan did not have a say in the matter and so sat down with his head resting in one of his palms as they bounced down the long road towards the capitol. His foot was tapping though, constantly and in rapid motions. He had so much energy and likely would have rather ran next to the carriage instead of being on it just to burn some of it off. The fight had been painful, not exhausting, which left his adrenaline running high. Molan also would have liked some water, but his pride as a dragon was too strong to ask for anything from his human companions.
Glancing to his side at his new rider, Molan was surprised to see her eyes closed as if sleeping. He couldn't blame her, she had just fought a dragon for a very lengthy battle, and if she were not tired after that she would have had to be a monster of some kind too. He was content to leave her alone, but apparently she was not content to be left that way because without even having the decency to open her eyes she began interrogating Molan. The storm dragon took this chance to openly sneer beneath his cloak hood, surprised he had to explain this since he figured even apprentice riders would have heard about one of the few domestic hatched dragons but apparently not.
“Hah! I’ll be happy if I never see that prison again in my life!” Molan laughed sharply, the shock of the question making him forget that he was trying to be a ‘good boy’ until he got to see Indira. “I’ve only been there for a few weeks now, I lost count after I reached a month, but before that I never had to be there before.” Molan answered honestly, glad to be free of the glorified pen. “I was raised by your rider people, hatched in some mountain lab to the north. I have been passed through different rider compounds ever since, training and working with whoever needed the help of a dragon on their missions. I only was sent to Grungswald as a punishment after getting on the bad side of some riders.” Molan purposefully left out his sister, not trusting this rider yet to divulge something so important and close to his heart. The female storm dragons existence was no secret but if Iryelle did not know, Molan felt no need to educate her on this subject. He also did not feel the need to mention the fact that by 'get on the bad side of some riders' he meant that he had injured many of them as he sabotaged their weapons and armor... both things that could have been deadly if the conditions have been even slightly changed.
The dragon was silent after he answered the questions, tempted to try and end the conversation there, but human politeness required that someone reciprocate interest in another even if that was not the true case. So, with almost a sigh in his words, Molan asked the first thing he could think of, “What about you? Where did you come from? Are you a descendant of some other rider or what?”
Myrta
Junior Member
The dragon's sharp laugh forced her eyes open, fatigue be damned. Iryelle had expected a wide range of reactions from sadness to outright refusal to answer a question that could be considered deeply personal, but this surprised her. Not even the content of his declaration, but its rawness. "A dragon's trust must be earned," master Oyra had taught her. "The bond created by the necklaces is but the first step on your journey." From what she had read about rider - dragon relationships, the dragons generally didn't open up easily. Their obedience was granted, yes, but not the access to their hearts and minds. Most of them didn't go for open antagonism for obvious reasons, however they didn't allow their riders to get too close. Discussions that approached the forbidden territory of emotions tended to get shut down very fast. Molan, on the other hand, sounded entirely unrestrained. Was it just a farce or did he really lack the reservation of his kin?
Well, it's not like I can do anything but play along, so it's not like it matters. "I see," Iryelle nodded, "then I guess I don't need to feel guilty for forcing you to abandon your beloved home." It wouldn't have bothered even if that had been the case, but not even Iryelle was loutish enough to rub it in his face. The dragon may have been just a means to the end, but every fighter worth their salt took care of their weapon. Just like swords were meant to be kept sharp at all times, dragons' emotional needs had to be attended to so that poor mental state didn't interfere with their work. It was a rather simple concept. "Still, I didn't know that you were also allowed to live outside of Grungswald without a bonded rider. How- Ow, what was that for?!" Iryelle turned to master Oyra after having received a slight whack over her head. "This is for making me waste my breath on your lessons when you clearly never listen," he uttered, poison practically dripping from his words.
"Yeah, well, you can't reasonably expect me to remember every little detail, now can you? The brain is a precious organ, burdening it with unnecessary information isn't a very tactical decision. It's far better to just ask when you need to know instead of learning everything you can in case you happen to need it in the future," the rider shrugged. "That's why we have libraries, so that we don't have to store excessive knowledge in our heads." Master Oyra sighed in response, his tired tone suggesting that this particular exchange was a recurring theme in their conversations. "How very convenient that you can justify your own laziness with such ease." Iryelle would have normally fought tooth and nail to emerge victorious in this argument, but it just didn't feel right to ignore the dragon. "Your pre-Grungswald life sounds rather exciting," she redirected her attention back at Molan. Especially since even watching grass grow sounds more exciting than the Grungswald life. "But wasn't it difficult working with people with whom you didn't share any bond? I thought that... that it wasn't a common practice."
"Not a common practice" was a bit of an understatement. Most people were terrified of dragons who couldn't be tamed with a rider's single thought. Then again, she supposed, it's probably different with dragons hatched in captivity. Although the whole "domesticated dragons are tamer" theory seems to fall apart when I consider that he apparently got to Grungswald for causing trouble. Iryelle suffered from no delusions regarding his misconduct. Molan must have done something heinous in order to have his freedom taken away. The order treasured dragons so much that they overlooked their bad behavior as hard as they could. A dragon could probably eat someone and they'd write it off as "unfortunate accident." If they had felt the need to punish him, then Molan had likely overstepped the boundaries in a drastic manner. Still, she didn't want to inquire. At least not right now.
"What, me? No," Iryelle chuckled. "It's rarely a family business." Mostly because riders tend to die before they are able to have children. "Technically I'm a noble, but I decided that I actually wanted to do something important with my life, so here I am. I should probably get rid of my surname officially at some point so that it doesn't attract unwanted unwanted attention." Suddenly feeling thirsty, Iryelle grabbed one of the water bottles hidden underneath their seats and took a long gulp. "What about you? Do you have any family?" Dragons usually didn't care for family units much, but the one piece of information that Iryelle did remember about storm dragons was that they were an exception to that rule.
Well, it's not like I can do anything but play along, so it's not like it matters. "I see," Iryelle nodded, "then I guess I don't need to feel guilty for forcing you to abandon your beloved home." It wouldn't have bothered even if that had been the case, but not even Iryelle was loutish enough to rub it in his face. The dragon may have been just a means to the end, but every fighter worth their salt took care of their weapon. Just like swords were meant to be kept sharp at all times, dragons' emotional needs had to be attended to so that poor mental state didn't interfere with their work. It was a rather simple concept. "Still, I didn't know that you were also allowed to live outside of Grungswald without a bonded rider. How- Ow, what was that for?!" Iryelle turned to master Oyra after having received a slight whack over her head. "This is for making me waste my breath on your lessons when you clearly never listen," he uttered, poison practically dripping from his words.
"Yeah, well, you can't reasonably expect me to remember every little detail, now can you? The brain is a precious organ, burdening it with unnecessary information isn't a very tactical decision. It's far better to just ask when you need to know instead of learning everything you can in case you happen to need it in the future," the rider shrugged. "That's why we have libraries, so that we don't have to store excessive knowledge in our heads." Master Oyra sighed in response, his tired tone suggesting that this particular exchange was a recurring theme in their conversations. "How very convenient that you can justify your own laziness with such ease." Iryelle would have normally fought tooth and nail to emerge victorious in this argument, but it just didn't feel right to ignore the dragon. "Your pre-Grungswald life sounds rather exciting," she redirected her attention back at Molan. Especially since even watching grass grow sounds more exciting than the Grungswald life. "But wasn't it difficult working with people with whom you didn't share any bond? I thought that... that it wasn't a common practice."
"Not a common practice" was a bit of an understatement. Most people were terrified of dragons who couldn't be tamed with a rider's single thought. Then again, she supposed, it's probably different with dragons hatched in captivity. Although the whole "domesticated dragons are tamer" theory seems to fall apart when I consider that he apparently got to Grungswald for causing trouble. Iryelle suffered from no delusions regarding his misconduct. Molan must have done something heinous in order to have his freedom taken away. The order treasured dragons so much that they overlooked their bad behavior as hard as they could. A dragon could probably eat someone and they'd write it off as "unfortunate accident." If they had felt the need to punish him, then Molan had likely overstepped the boundaries in a drastic manner. Still, she didn't want to inquire. At least not right now.
"What, me? No," Iryelle chuckled. "It's rarely a family business." Mostly because riders tend to die before they are able to have children. "Technically I'm a noble, but I decided that I actually wanted to do something important with my life, so here I am. I should probably get rid of my surname officially at some point so that it doesn't attract unwanted unwanted attention." Suddenly feeling thirsty, Iryelle grabbed one of the water bottles hidden underneath their seats and took a long gulp. "What about you? Do you have any family?" Dragons usually didn't care for family units much, but the one piece of information that Iryelle did remember about storm dragons was that they were an exception to that rule.
Viper
One Thousand Club
“You are more than welcome to still feel guilty.” Molan commented, chuckling without any humor in his tone. “Your people forced me to abandon my home long before I ended up at that castle.” The meaning of this was fairly clear, or at least it was to Molan. He spoke of his egg being stolen twenty years ago, how they took him from his true home in the wild long before he even hatched. Molan wanted his rider to feel guilty, wanted her to suffer just as he was, yet just by watching this Iryelle he could tell that she would not grant him even that small pleasure.
Speaking of small pleasures, his rider getting a good whack in the head which caused him to laugh with real humor this time although he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide it behind a cough. The girl deserved it for forgetting something as important as his existence. Captured dragons were rare, and those hatched in captivity were even more so, which should have been considered important information… at least in his opinion. ‘Stupid humans with their small, earthly brains’ Molan thought, a smirk on his face as he watched the pair banter back and forth over what was considered important. Dragons were smart by nature, capable of understanding and remembering things perfectly for years. With Psychic Dragons being the most intellectually strong, Storm Dragons were actually on the lower end of this spectrum but even still Molan could easily remember things from his childhood no matter how basic the lesson or event was. An additional gift given to them for having a larger lifespan than the average human, Molan always figured.
When the conversation returned onto him, Molan could only sigh and lean his head back so that he could look up into the sky. It was a sunny day unfortunately, not a rain cloud in sight. “Exciting was not the word I would use, but it was better than Grungswald so take that however you will. As for difficulty with working with others…” Molan chuckled, his shoulders shaking up and down as he turned his crinkled, grey eyes onto Iryelle. “It wasn't difficult for me at all, although my temporary riders would not say the same. About us working together though, I may have just as much of a bond with you as I did them, but you have a magical guillotine around my neck right now so I’m sure I will not ‘forget’ you during a mission or anything. I’ll be a good little serpent for you to steal glory from, don’t worry.”
God, keeping his mouth shut was hard. Any question that was asked to him with met with an honest, although not positive, response. Molan was not that good of a person, well dragon, he lied, he stole, he beat, and caused other people to be beaten.... But he knew how to behave when necessary. Talking about the past though, especially since Molan was proud of his misdeeds, was not making him appear as behaved as he wished he was. Oh well, there was no taking back what had been said already so all Molan could do was push on.
“A noble huh?” Molan questioned even though he heard Iryelle right just fine. “I’m surprised someone born with a golden spoon in their mouth would even want to be a rider but whatever, you want to risk your life kissing the boots of anyone with one more year above you go right ahead.” Molan shrugged, not caring enough about her origin to really judge. Besides, he may have understood the political hierarchy that these human lived by but since it did not apply to him, he held none of the prejudices and expectations most people did. You were either a human, an animal, or a dragon, there was honestly little else Molan cared about… well besides if that human was a rider or not. Considering his past, that was the only thing he really cared about when it came to human titles.
The conversation had been going well so far, Molan was smirking and acting his usual blunt self, but at the mention of family his whole body shifted. His head which he been looking up towards the sky came forward, turned low, while the mocking smile fell into a neutral mask that he hide under his dark hood which he pulled even lower as he spoke, “I may.” He answered vaguely, his tone short and distant. The answer was not a no but it wasn't a yes either. Indira was not this woman's concern, nor was any other family he may have something she needed to know about. It was a sore conversation topic with him, he did not trust anyone enough to speak about his sister with no matter how much he would have loved to talk about her.
“I’m going to jog next to the carriage.” Molan said suddenly, standing up even though they were moving. “I have a lot of pent up energy after being trapped in Grungswald for so long and I would rather not reach the capitol without burning some of it off. You have no complaints, do you, Rider?” Although he asked for permission, Molan was not waiting to get it. He flung himself off of the carriage, landing on the dirt road with a loud thud. “I won’t go far.” Then with that, Molan ran several meters ahead of the carriage and stayed there for as long as his draconic stamina would let him.
Molan clearly did not want to talk anymore.
Speaking of small pleasures, his rider getting a good whack in the head which caused him to laugh with real humor this time although he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide it behind a cough. The girl deserved it for forgetting something as important as his existence. Captured dragons were rare, and those hatched in captivity were even more so, which should have been considered important information… at least in his opinion. ‘Stupid humans with their small, earthly brains’ Molan thought, a smirk on his face as he watched the pair banter back and forth over what was considered important. Dragons were smart by nature, capable of understanding and remembering things perfectly for years. With Psychic Dragons being the most intellectually strong, Storm Dragons were actually on the lower end of this spectrum but even still Molan could easily remember things from his childhood no matter how basic the lesson or event was. An additional gift given to them for having a larger lifespan than the average human, Molan always figured.
When the conversation returned onto him, Molan could only sigh and lean his head back so that he could look up into the sky. It was a sunny day unfortunately, not a rain cloud in sight. “Exciting was not the word I would use, but it was better than Grungswald so take that however you will. As for difficulty with working with others…” Molan chuckled, his shoulders shaking up and down as he turned his crinkled, grey eyes onto Iryelle. “It wasn't difficult for me at all, although my temporary riders would not say the same. About us working together though, I may have just as much of a bond with you as I did them, but you have a magical guillotine around my neck right now so I’m sure I will not ‘forget’ you during a mission or anything. I’ll be a good little serpent for you to steal glory from, don’t worry.”
God, keeping his mouth shut was hard. Any question that was asked to him with met with an honest, although not positive, response. Molan was not that good of a person, well dragon, he lied, he stole, he beat, and caused other people to be beaten.... But he knew how to behave when necessary. Talking about the past though, especially since Molan was proud of his misdeeds, was not making him appear as behaved as he wished he was. Oh well, there was no taking back what had been said already so all Molan could do was push on.
“A noble huh?” Molan questioned even though he heard Iryelle right just fine. “I’m surprised someone born with a golden spoon in their mouth would even want to be a rider but whatever, you want to risk your life kissing the boots of anyone with one more year above you go right ahead.” Molan shrugged, not caring enough about her origin to really judge. Besides, he may have understood the political hierarchy that these human lived by but since it did not apply to him, he held none of the prejudices and expectations most people did. You were either a human, an animal, or a dragon, there was honestly little else Molan cared about… well besides if that human was a rider or not. Considering his past, that was the only thing he really cared about when it came to human titles.
The conversation had been going well so far, Molan was smirking and acting his usual blunt self, but at the mention of family his whole body shifted. His head which he been looking up towards the sky came forward, turned low, while the mocking smile fell into a neutral mask that he hide under his dark hood which he pulled even lower as he spoke, “I may.” He answered vaguely, his tone short and distant. The answer was not a no but it wasn't a yes either. Indira was not this woman's concern, nor was any other family he may have something she needed to know about. It was a sore conversation topic with him, he did not trust anyone enough to speak about his sister with no matter how much he would have loved to talk about her.
“I’m going to jog next to the carriage.” Molan said suddenly, standing up even though they were moving. “I have a lot of pent up energy after being trapped in Grungswald for so long and I would rather not reach the capitol without burning some of it off. You have no complaints, do you, Rider?” Although he asked for permission, Molan was not waiting to get it. He flung himself off of the carriage, landing on the dirt road with a loud thud. “I won’t go far.” Then with that, Molan ran several meters ahead of the carriage and stayed there for as long as his draconic stamina would let him.
Molan clearly did not want to talk anymore.
Myrta
Junior Member
"I'd rather not, but thanks for your concern," Iryelle smiled at Molan sweetly when he suggested that she should still feel guilty. Old records left behind by her predecessors did mention this strange phenomenon when dragons sometimes tried to control their riders psychologically. The humans did have an edge over them, so they attempted to reclaim the dominance in a different way. Guilt was always a handy instrument, especially given their human-like appearance. Some riders were all too eager to forget the true nature of their companions. Well, if he thinks that he can play these games with me, then he's sorely mistaken. Shame me all you want, my friend, but you will never make me feel bad over fruits of my life-long labor. Tough luck.
Still, Iryelle decided to remain relatively civil. She would show him just how futile his efforts were, but that didn't require throwing her manners to the wind. The rider understood his actions on a certain level. He had probably tried to push her boundaries to see just how far his freedom extended, which was perfectly reasonable from his point of view. Iryelle just had to stand firm without getting too personal. When you disciplined a dog, you couldn't blame him for his misdeeds, either. The fault could always be traced back to the incompetence of the animal's handler and this case was no different. Her mistake had been appearing too friendly, too approachable despite her status.
Molan continued to push and push, but Iryelle only smiled wider. He had gone straight for her pride, a weak spot of many riders, however the attempt had been way too transparent to pierce the armor of her ego. It reminded her of a caged wolf baring his fangs at his captors helplessly. "Yes, I do have a magical guillotine around your neck, so don't you forget it. I'd hate to be forced to use it, you know? We could be great together, you and I. I'd hate for that potential to be squandered because of something as petty as personal disputes." He wouldn't bait her into an argument, at least not so early, but reminding him of the difference between their positions couldn't hurt, now could it?
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," the rider chuckled, this time genuinely amused at the way Molan had described her choice of career. "Just between you and me, though, being born with a golden spoon in one's mouth," Iryelle made quotes in the air with her fingers, "is overrated. Yes, it beats being born to starving farmers who struggle to feed their family, but there are certain, how to put it, limitations placed on you by your lineage. Noblesse oblige, this is how they call it. Nobility obligates. If you happen to be a woman, it's a code-word for 'deal with the fact that you will be your parents' and/or husband's pawn for the rest of your life.' So I became the king's pawn instead because at least there was a choice in this fate," Iryelle shrugged. Acknowledgement of the illusory nature of her freedom may have stung at one point, but she had accepted it a long time ago. All people wore their own chains. You could only cheat the system by wearing yours proudly.
Iryelle expected the conversation to go on for hours with both of them fighting for supremacy, but then a curious thing happened. Namely, it turned out that while Molan could dish it out, he couldn't take it. One step into the forbidden territory was enough for him to retreat immediately as if he'd been burned. Family issues, huh? Now that's something to remember. Haven't they told you that you shouldn't reveal your weaknesses so readily, dragon? Not that she wanted to use it against him, but it would have been easy. Laughably so. "Sure, I don't mind. Feel free to flex your muscles, Molan," she shouted after him and closed her eyes. Fatigue clouding her senses once again, Iryelle could feel herself succumbing to slumber. And why not? There wouldn't be a better opportunity to steal few hours of rest. The capital - The Pearl Among the Cities, as historians had dubbed it - deserved her full attention. Facing it with a mind heavy with weariness would have been a crime. With this thought, the young rider finally fell asleep.
When Molan finally returned, Iryelle was sprawled all over her seat unceremoniously, saliva dripping from her mouth. It didn't look like she planned to wake up any time soon. "Here, dragon," master Oyra handed him a bottle of water. "You must be rather thirsty after such an exercise." The old man smiled at him warmly, although the smile soured rather fast. "It is not my place, dragon, but allow me to apologize for my apprentice. I have known her for longer than anyone, excluding her honorable parents of course. Iryelle is not a bad woman, she's merely used to working on her own. She doesn't yet understand the intricacies of cooperating with a noble creature such as yourself. Be patient with her."
Almost as if she could sense it somehow, Iryelle woke up minutes before they reached the gates of the capital. Razdira, The Pearl Among Cities. The legend had it that Razdira had supposedly been built within a day after the gods had blessed the laborers working on it with a small dose of their creative frenzy originally used to form the very fabric of the universe. Lowly human bodies hadn't been able to withstand the intensity, so they had all taken their last breath before twilight, but their sacrifice had been rewarded with Razdira's existence. People didn't really believe it, not after they had turned to the idea of taming the world through their own knowledge, but the particular legend was still popular. Razdira, the city built of white stone and gold, radiated divinity.
Iryelle was just stretching when someone knocked on their carriage. "Miss Iryelle Razdullahan and her companions?" an uncertain voice called out. Master Oyra, currently sitting the closest to the door, opened it without hesitation. "Yes, that would be us. Who are you and what do you need?" The man sighed in relief and handed him a letter bearing the royal seal. "I am so glad that I made it before you entered the capital. The king sends his regards. He also sends you this letter. You are to read it at once and follow the instructions contained within." If they wanted to ask further questions, they were out of luck because the messenger disappeared behind the city walls. "Huh," Iryelle took the letter from master Oyra, "that was weird. Anyway, let's have a look at this mysterious letter, shall we?" And mysterious it was.
Still, Iryelle decided to remain relatively civil. She would show him just how futile his efforts were, but that didn't require throwing her manners to the wind. The rider understood his actions on a certain level. He had probably tried to push her boundaries to see just how far his freedom extended, which was perfectly reasonable from his point of view. Iryelle just had to stand firm without getting too personal. When you disciplined a dog, you couldn't blame him for his misdeeds, either. The fault could always be traced back to the incompetence of the animal's handler and this case was no different. Her mistake had been appearing too friendly, too approachable despite her status.
Molan continued to push and push, but Iryelle only smiled wider. He had gone straight for her pride, a weak spot of many riders, however the attempt had been way too transparent to pierce the armor of her ego. It reminded her of a caged wolf baring his fangs at his captors helplessly. "Yes, I do have a magical guillotine around your neck, so don't you forget it. I'd hate to be forced to use it, you know? We could be great together, you and I. I'd hate for that potential to be squandered because of something as petty as personal disputes." He wouldn't bait her into an argument, at least not so early, but reminding him of the difference between their positions couldn't hurt, now could it?
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," the rider chuckled, this time genuinely amused at the way Molan had described her choice of career. "Just between you and me, though, being born with a golden spoon in one's mouth," Iryelle made quotes in the air with her fingers, "is overrated. Yes, it beats being born to starving farmers who struggle to feed their family, but there are certain, how to put it, limitations placed on you by your lineage. Noblesse oblige, this is how they call it. Nobility obligates. If you happen to be a woman, it's a code-word for 'deal with the fact that you will be your parents' and/or husband's pawn for the rest of your life.' So I became the king's pawn instead because at least there was a choice in this fate," Iryelle shrugged. Acknowledgement of the illusory nature of her freedom may have stung at one point, but she had accepted it a long time ago. All people wore their own chains. You could only cheat the system by wearing yours proudly.
Iryelle expected the conversation to go on for hours with both of them fighting for supremacy, but then a curious thing happened. Namely, it turned out that while Molan could dish it out, he couldn't take it. One step into the forbidden territory was enough for him to retreat immediately as if he'd been burned. Family issues, huh? Now that's something to remember. Haven't they told you that you shouldn't reveal your weaknesses so readily, dragon? Not that she wanted to use it against him, but it would have been easy. Laughably so. "Sure, I don't mind. Feel free to flex your muscles, Molan," she shouted after him and closed her eyes. Fatigue clouding her senses once again, Iryelle could feel herself succumbing to slumber. And why not? There wouldn't be a better opportunity to steal few hours of rest. The capital - The Pearl Among the Cities, as historians had dubbed it - deserved her full attention. Facing it with a mind heavy with weariness would have been a crime. With this thought, the young rider finally fell asleep.
When Molan finally returned, Iryelle was sprawled all over her seat unceremoniously, saliva dripping from her mouth. It didn't look like she planned to wake up any time soon. "Here, dragon," master Oyra handed him a bottle of water. "You must be rather thirsty after such an exercise." The old man smiled at him warmly, although the smile soured rather fast. "It is not my place, dragon, but allow me to apologize for my apprentice. I have known her for longer than anyone, excluding her honorable parents of course. Iryelle is not a bad woman, she's merely used to working on her own. She doesn't yet understand the intricacies of cooperating with a noble creature such as yourself. Be patient with her."
Almost as if she could sense it somehow, Iryelle woke up minutes before they reached the gates of the capital. Razdira, The Pearl Among Cities. The legend had it that Razdira had supposedly been built within a day after the gods had blessed the laborers working on it with a small dose of their creative frenzy originally used to form the very fabric of the universe. Lowly human bodies hadn't been able to withstand the intensity, so they had all taken their last breath before twilight, but their sacrifice had been rewarded with Razdira's existence. People didn't really believe it, not after they had turned to the idea of taming the world through their own knowledge, but the particular legend was still popular. Razdira, the city built of white stone and gold, radiated divinity.
Iryelle was just stretching when someone knocked on their carriage. "Miss Iryelle Razdullahan and her companions?" an uncertain voice called out. Master Oyra, currently sitting the closest to the door, opened it without hesitation. "Yes, that would be us. Who are you and what do you need?" The man sighed in relief and handed him a letter bearing the royal seal. "I am so glad that I made it before you entered the capital. The king sends his regards. He also sends you this letter. You are to read it at once and follow the instructions contained within." If they wanted to ask further questions, they were out of luck because the messenger disappeared behind the city walls. "Huh," Iryelle took the letter from master Oyra, "that was weird. Anyway, let's have a look at this mysterious letter, shall we?" And mysterious it was.
Miss Razdullahan,
I am most pleased to welcome you and your dragon to the service to this kingdom. I have heard great things about you and I have no doubts that you shall prove to be an asset. Unfortunately, as much as I'd like to show my appreciation through traditional means, there are certain circumstances which make this impossible. I request of you to arrive in secrecy, Miss Razdullahan, and separate from your dragon. Come to my palace at different times. No matter what happens, you must not be seen together in public. Try to mingle with the locals.
There's an explanation, but I can only tell you - both of you - in person.
Regards,
king Pyrait, the first of his name
I am most pleased to welcome you and your dragon to the service to this kingdom. I have heard great things about you and I have no doubts that you shall prove to be an asset. Unfortunately, as much as I'd like to show my appreciation through traditional means, there are certain circumstances which make this impossible. I request of you to arrive in secrecy, Miss Razdullahan, and separate from your dragon. Come to my palace at different times. No matter what happens, you must not be seen together in public. Try to mingle with the locals.
There's an explanation, but I can only tell you - both of you - in person.
Regards,
king Pyrait, the first of his name
Viper
One Thousand Club
Molan ran in front of the slow moving carriage for hours, his body tiring after the first but he pushed on through sheer willpower and stubbornness. His heavy, black cloak weighed him down and caused the dragon to sweat. It was just another disgusting human bodily function that Molan was far to used to but still hated the idea of. Dragons had scales and so they did not sweat, due to that Molan hated sweating on principle.
“Thank you, sir.” Molan said, taking the skin of water and chucking down several swallows of the cool liquid. The apology caught Molan off guard but he listened quietly to the master's words until he was done, glancing at the old man through the corner of his eye. “I wasn't aware that babysitting a recluse was part of this job…” Molan muttered to himself before addressing Oyra directly, handing the water back at the same time. “I’m afraid your words are wasted on me, sir. My loyalty is bound to her solely because of the threat on my life, I have no choice but to be patient with her no matter my personal tolerances. Still, your apology is appreciated, as is your clear respect for my kind. Both are rare things.”
The rest of the ride to the capitol was silent and Molan stayed in the front of the carriage, staying close to Oyra, clearly preferring his company to the dozing rider in the back. Seeing the great pearl of the kingdom did nothing for Molan, he had seen it many times in the past and if he had to call a place home, it would be Razdira. This was where the bulk of the riders lived as well, sort of their base camp where they trained, received orders, and recovered. The king also lived here so that he could dish out orders to his best knights as well as govern the economic hub. Due to both of these factors, Razdira was the safest most defended town in the kingdom. The shining white stone wall surrounded the town, blocking enemies from sneaking into the town although it was useless against the dragons which could be seen circling overhead.
Molan turned his head to the sky, looking for a familiar pair of white wings and black spikes. Due to the high rider population, there was also a high tamed dragon population. It was not uncommon for you to walk down the street and see someone with feet long blue hair or see someone wearing leaves and vines instead of classic clothing. Here dragons could walk freely without getting odd, or scared looks from common citizens. Dragons could be forced into human form against their will but what they looked like afterwards could not be changed as easily. Often a dragon’s scale color would become their hair color, but this was not a rule, some dragons could change this through magic and often would use this as a way to rebel in a small way. Molan of course also showed his rebelliousness through choosing white hair instead of black, and since he did this, so had Indira.
Hearing someone knock on the carriage caused Molan to cock his head to the side in curiosity. Now this was usual. There may have been a wall around the city but there were not checkpoints or searches normally. When Molan saw the letter passed into the window, he immediately changed seats so that he could look over Iryelle’s shoulder and read along with her. “Well, well, isn't this exciting?” Molan grinned, this turning out to be the best situation that he could have wished for. Now he could go track down and visit his sister alone without this stranger hanging around at the same time. Whatever the true, mysterious, purpose behind the cryptic note, for now it was working in Molans favor so he was not dwelling on it. “It looks like me and you have to split up, my dear rider. I am so disappointed.” Molan laughed, clearly not disappointed at all.
“I shall be kind and let you take the carriage, Iryelle, I will proceed on foot.” Molan seemed very perky all of a sudden, already climbing out of the carriage. “I shall meet you in the castle within a few hours, rider.” Then, surprisingly, Molan bowed at the waist in a mock form of respect and manners before loudly slamming the door behind him.
~~~
Now alone and out of sight of the carriage, Molan knew exactly where he was heading towards. He had two ideas about where he would find Indira, both of them with her rider unfortunately. The second option was the barracks, but first Molan headed towards the Wyvern Horn Tavern. It was a place popular with Dragon Knights and their more common soldier brethren. It was always filled with drunken fools with more balls than brains. It was the best place to find Crevan Reynard, the rider with the nickname of fox face and the grandchild of one of the original riders.
Molan hated him. Sure, Molan hated everyone but this man was high on that list… and for good reason. Not only did he hold Indira’s leash, but he held it tightly. Crevan used Indira like a slave, not a partner, he had her carry his things, clean, and even stopped her from speaking to others without his permission. He was a tyrant, and the first person Molan would kill if he could get rid of one human but Indira, her heart kind and shattered, would never allow that.
When Molan threw open the Horn Tavern door, sure enough he found the bastard himself sitting at one of the tables with cards in hand and a pile of coins right in front of him. Crevan was winning, as he always did when Indira stood on the other side of the table and helped him cheat. She had a frown on her face the polar opposite of Crevan’s victorious smile, but the expressions shifted when they both looked up to see the dragon standing in the doorway.
“Molan!” Indira squealed, abandoning her post and rushing over to her brother. Molan met her halfway, their arms instantly wrapping around each other in a tight, unbreakable grip. They rested their heads in each other's shoulders, seemingly ignorant of the world around them as they simply enjoyed being together after so long. “I am so happy to see you.” Indira whispered multiple times during the hug to which Molan always responded with a simple ‘me too’. It was a touching scene, like a wife welcoming her lover home from war or a parent finding their child after a decade after losing touch of them, but it was ruined when a familiar voice broke through.
“Weren’t you in prison after that stunt of yours? There is no way you broke out, so why are you here?” The smooth, voice came from a tall boy with vibrant orange hair that was in a very rough, wild main. But his face was the selling point, the main reason people often called him fox face. He was smirking, always cocky and proud with his eyes slightly narrowed, with a long sharp nose and an even sharper chin. Gods, just seeing his face set Molan off.
The twins pulled apart, Molan taking his position in front of his sister in a way that was openly protective. “You are one to talk. Weren't you in trouble for setting that farmers barn on fire for refusing to give you lodging?”
Crevan shrugged, “They dropped the charges. It took some time but they eventually remembered seeing me leave their property and some other soldier setting the place on fire. Old people you know? Can’t even remember their own names but are still allowed to cast blame on poor innocent victims like me!” Dramatically, Crevan placed a hand on his heart although his face did not change expression, “Your turn, sparky, answer me.”
“I have a rider now.” Molan answered simply, his head turning towards his sister in expectations for the outburst that was sure to come.
“What!” Indira finally spoke up, “That’s great, I can finally see you more! Who are they? Did they come with you, why are you alone? Oh, did you see the King yet? I hadn't heard about any celebration going on today, so I had no idea-”
Crevan cut in. “Shut up Indira. No one was talking to you.”
“I was talking to her.” Molan shot back, his face an open sneer. His tone changed from aggressive to soft every time Molan changed who he was speaking to. “And to answer your question, sister. She is here, she just said that I could go for a walk before heading to the castle. So no, I have not met the king yet but it will likely happen soon.”
“Well then, let's go meet this lucky lady. I imagine, considering our dragons are related, I will be working with her on occasion as well.”
Molan raised a hand, “No way. I have no interest in introducing you to her or working with you.”
“I wasn't asking for permission~” Creven sung, heading out of the tavern without waving to his friends who had been watching the scene attentively, “Come Indira.” He ordered, to which the female storm dragon obliged instantly. As expected, where she went Molan followed, the twins holding hands as they followed the fox face towards the castle. Their dark cloaks opposing the shining, silver armor of the man in front of them not ignorant of the way the siblings where happily, innocently, whispering to each other the whole time.
“Thank you, sir.” Molan said, taking the skin of water and chucking down several swallows of the cool liquid. The apology caught Molan off guard but he listened quietly to the master's words until he was done, glancing at the old man through the corner of his eye. “I wasn't aware that babysitting a recluse was part of this job…” Molan muttered to himself before addressing Oyra directly, handing the water back at the same time. “I’m afraid your words are wasted on me, sir. My loyalty is bound to her solely because of the threat on my life, I have no choice but to be patient with her no matter my personal tolerances. Still, your apology is appreciated, as is your clear respect for my kind. Both are rare things.”
The rest of the ride to the capitol was silent and Molan stayed in the front of the carriage, staying close to Oyra, clearly preferring his company to the dozing rider in the back. Seeing the great pearl of the kingdom did nothing for Molan, he had seen it many times in the past and if he had to call a place home, it would be Razdira. This was where the bulk of the riders lived as well, sort of their base camp where they trained, received orders, and recovered. The king also lived here so that he could dish out orders to his best knights as well as govern the economic hub. Due to both of these factors, Razdira was the safest most defended town in the kingdom. The shining white stone wall surrounded the town, blocking enemies from sneaking into the town although it was useless against the dragons which could be seen circling overhead.
Molan turned his head to the sky, looking for a familiar pair of white wings and black spikes. Due to the high rider population, there was also a high tamed dragon population. It was not uncommon for you to walk down the street and see someone with feet long blue hair or see someone wearing leaves and vines instead of classic clothing. Here dragons could walk freely without getting odd, or scared looks from common citizens. Dragons could be forced into human form against their will but what they looked like afterwards could not be changed as easily. Often a dragon’s scale color would become their hair color, but this was not a rule, some dragons could change this through magic and often would use this as a way to rebel in a small way. Molan of course also showed his rebelliousness through choosing white hair instead of black, and since he did this, so had Indira.
Hearing someone knock on the carriage caused Molan to cock his head to the side in curiosity. Now this was usual. There may have been a wall around the city but there were not checkpoints or searches normally. When Molan saw the letter passed into the window, he immediately changed seats so that he could look over Iryelle’s shoulder and read along with her. “Well, well, isn't this exciting?” Molan grinned, this turning out to be the best situation that he could have wished for. Now he could go track down and visit his sister alone without this stranger hanging around at the same time. Whatever the true, mysterious, purpose behind the cryptic note, for now it was working in Molans favor so he was not dwelling on it. “It looks like me and you have to split up, my dear rider. I am so disappointed.” Molan laughed, clearly not disappointed at all.
“I shall be kind and let you take the carriage, Iryelle, I will proceed on foot.” Molan seemed very perky all of a sudden, already climbing out of the carriage. “I shall meet you in the castle within a few hours, rider.” Then, surprisingly, Molan bowed at the waist in a mock form of respect and manners before loudly slamming the door behind him.
~~~
Now alone and out of sight of the carriage, Molan knew exactly where he was heading towards. He had two ideas about where he would find Indira, both of them with her rider unfortunately. The second option was the barracks, but first Molan headed towards the Wyvern Horn Tavern. It was a place popular with Dragon Knights and their more common soldier brethren. It was always filled with drunken fools with more balls than brains. It was the best place to find Crevan Reynard, the rider with the nickname of fox face and the grandchild of one of the original riders.
Molan hated him. Sure, Molan hated everyone but this man was high on that list… and for good reason. Not only did he hold Indira’s leash, but he held it tightly. Crevan used Indira like a slave, not a partner, he had her carry his things, clean, and even stopped her from speaking to others without his permission. He was a tyrant, and the first person Molan would kill if he could get rid of one human but Indira, her heart kind and shattered, would never allow that.
When Molan threw open the Horn Tavern door, sure enough he found the bastard himself sitting at one of the tables with cards in hand and a pile of coins right in front of him. Crevan was winning, as he always did when Indira stood on the other side of the table and helped him cheat. She had a frown on her face the polar opposite of Crevan’s victorious smile, but the expressions shifted when they both looked up to see the dragon standing in the doorway.
“Molan!” Indira squealed, abandoning her post and rushing over to her brother. Molan met her halfway, their arms instantly wrapping around each other in a tight, unbreakable grip. They rested their heads in each other's shoulders, seemingly ignorant of the world around them as they simply enjoyed being together after so long. “I am so happy to see you.” Indira whispered multiple times during the hug to which Molan always responded with a simple ‘me too’. It was a touching scene, like a wife welcoming her lover home from war or a parent finding their child after a decade after losing touch of them, but it was ruined when a familiar voice broke through.
“Weren’t you in prison after that stunt of yours? There is no way you broke out, so why are you here?” The smooth, voice came from a tall boy with vibrant orange hair that was in a very rough, wild main. But his face was the selling point, the main reason people often called him fox face. He was smirking, always cocky and proud with his eyes slightly narrowed, with a long sharp nose and an even sharper chin. Gods, just seeing his face set Molan off.
The twins pulled apart, Molan taking his position in front of his sister in a way that was openly protective. “You are one to talk. Weren't you in trouble for setting that farmers barn on fire for refusing to give you lodging?”
Crevan shrugged, “They dropped the charges. It took some time but they eventually remembered seeing me leave their property and some other soldier setting the place on fire. Old people you know? Can’t even remember their own names but are still allowed to cast blame on poor innocent victims like me!” Dramatically, Crevan placed a hand on his heart although his face did not change expression, “Your turn, sparky, answer me.”
“I have a rider now.” Molan answered simply, his head turning towards his sister in expectations for the outburst that was sure to come.
“What!” Indira finally spoke up, “That’s great, I can finally see you more! Who are they? Did they come with you, why are you alone? Oh, did you see the King yet? I hadn't heard about any celebration going on today, so I had no idea-”
Crevan cut in. “Shut up Indira. No one was talking to you.”
“I was talking to her.” Molan shot back, his face an open sneer. His tone changed from aggressive to soft every time Molan changed who he was speaking to. “And to answer your question, sister. She is here, she just said that I could go for a walk before heading to the castle. So no, I have not met the king yet but it will likely happen soon.”
“Well then, let's go meet this lucky lady. I imagine, considering our dragons are related, I will be working with her on occasion as well.”
Molan raised a hand, “No way. I have no interest in introducing you to her or working with you.”
“I wasn't asking for permission~” Creven sung, heading out of the tavern without waving to his friends who had been watching the scene attentively, “Come Indira.” He ordered, to which the female storm dragon obliged instantly. As expected, where she went Molan followed, the twins holding hands as they followed the fox face towards the castle. Their dark cloaks opposing the shining, silver armor of the man in front of them not ignorant of the way the siblings where happily, innocently, whispering to each other the whole time.
Myrta
Junior Member
"Yes, I can tell that your heart is weeping at the mere thought of our separation," Iryelle chuckled. Did his attitude bother her? Well, slightly. Unlike some riders with superiority complexes, she didn't demand being worshiped as a deity. Outright kissing her boots would be both awkward and unnecessary, true, but Molan didn't have to make it that obvious that he'd rather spend time anywhere but in her company. That wasn't how dragon - rider relationships worked. Some degree of respect should always be involved. At the same time, Iryelle knew from experience that begging for respect wouldn't get her anything even close to it, so she decided to solve the problem with her usual strategy: by ignoring it. "Have fun. Although try not to have too much fun if you know what I mean. I don't think that the king would thank us for drawing too much attention to ourselves, even individually." What king Pyrait intended exactly eluded her, but he had ordered them in no uncertain terms to keep a low profile. If Molan went against his wishes, there would be consequences. A duty towards your king was sacred.
Before she could provide further instructions on how to behave with her out of the picture, Molan excused himself. "Well," Iryelle shrugged, seemingly without care in the world, "he isn't a child even if he sure can act like one. He should know how to avoid being seen as suspicious, right? I don't feel like chasing after him and giving him advice on how to... I don't know, not kill random people." The disapproval in master Oyra's eyes couldn't be mistaken for anything else. "He won't kill anyone just because he's a dragon, Iryelle, and complaints about immaturity are just rich coming from you of all people. Listen, I know that I won't have any official authority over you soon. I'm also very much aware that you're yearning to stand on your own legs. That's all well and good, but trust me when I say that I'm only about to give you this advice because I have your best interests at heart. Treat him better."
Iryelle raised her eyebrow. "What? I'm treating him just fine. There are people who would spill his blood for what he's demonstrated here, you know."
"Yes, the lowest of the low. Do you really wish to compare yourself to such people, Iryelle?"
The young rider paused in surprise. "Of course not, but... I haven't done anything wrong. I don't know how to treat him better when he clearly isn't interested anyway."
"Oh, Iryelle." Oyra's tone sounded sad now, sad and strangely distant. "You really don't understand, do you? Yes, you may not have done anything wrong, but you haven't done anything right, either. What you have done is the barest minimum to not be considered a tyrant. That is commendable, but it won't win you his respect. Respect still has to be earned like in any other relationship. It won't magically spring into existence just because you beat him in a combat."
"Technically it should. Might makes right and I did beat him," Iryelle remarked. Master Oyra opened his mouth to complain, but she just raised her hands to stop him before righteous anger could consume him. "No, no, that was a joke. I know what you mean, master, but I really have no idea how to improve our relationship. If you cast aside your habit of criticizing me just for two seconds, maybe you will remember that it was him who started this whole hostility thing, not me. And what am I supposed to do? Let him trample all over me? I'm still a rider. I can't afford that. I don't want to."
"Why do you think that he's been, as you put it, hostile?"
"What?"
"Think about it. Why?"
"I... I.... That's a good question." Iryelle fell silent. Why would he intentionally sabotage his chances of getting along with his rider? Could she have offended him somehow? How, though? Iryelle knew that her gift for insulting people was unparalleled, but she had been holding back! No, scratch that, I was walking on eggshells. "He probably just doesn't like me," the rider concluded her thoughtful analysis. "Which is fine, but--"
"Right now yes, he probably doesn't. And that's because, my dear apprentice, your positions aren't equal. Which is something you recognize when it suits you and simultaneously ignore when it doesn't."
"What do you mean?"
"You have no problem comprehending that you're above him and therefore he should obey you, yet you don't get that he might feel threatened or humiliated in your presence. Imagine having to trust a complete stranger with your life. Now imagine that stranger acting familiar as if you were friends and then joking about possibly having to kill you. You can't joke about these things, Iryelle. You just can't. A rider first has to earn their dragon's heart through kindness and humility. Any other path is blocked."
Iryelle's blue eyes widened. "I haven't thought of it like that."
"Yes, that is your problem. You just don't think."
Friendships didn't come to her easily. People tended to dislike Iryelle based on first impressions and the initial dislike only mutated into positive feelings later as they got used to her temper. It usually happened, though, and that had made her grow complacent. She had automatically supposed that her dragon would learn to tolerate her too in time, but maybe that had been foolish. Perhaps the power imbalance between them was indeed too large for something like that to occur.
The carriage was moving slowly in the sea of other carts and people always hurrying somewhere, so slowly that it would have been faster to just go on foot. Iryelle felt tempted by the thought, but she dismissed it immediately. I'd stand out too much in my uniform. And probably also every time she opened her mouth. Despite having spent majority of her life away from her home, the rider had never been able to get rid of her strong northern accent. It marked as an outsider to anyone in possession of ears. Northerners didn't like abandoning their homes in the mountains unless absolutely necessary, so her presence could cause a small commotion even in the capital where people of different cultures lived side by side.
The rider's patience was eventually rewarded as the carriage stopped in front of the castle. "Ahhh, finally!" Iryelle climbed outside, stretching and enjoying the feeling of the sun kissing her skin. "Let us not waste time on frivolities. Come, my apprentice, you don't want to make the king wait." Right, the king! It took all of her willpower to stop herself from just running through the endless hallways of the castle right to the throne room, but fortunately her upbringing of a noble helped. You don't want to make a fool out of yourself, a tiny voice whispered in her ear. And so Iryelle headed there in calm, measured steps even if her entire being was trembling in anticipation.
It didn't surprise her much when she saw Molan few meters ahead of her - the traffic had been dreadful - but it appeared that he wasn't alone. Did he really blow our-- wait, no, the girl has a necklace. She must be a dragon, too, which would make the other guy her rider. The tension in her shoulders receded a bit, although it didn't leave entirely. "Hey, Molan," she greeted him as they approached. "Are these your friends?"
"Oh, so she is the one!" the unknown man grinned and shook her hand. His grip was strong, almost too strong to be considered friendly, and Iryelle found herself squeezing his hand just as hard to match him. "I'm pleased to meet you, rider. Crevan Reyhard. You must have heard of me already."
"I can't say I have, actually, but nice to meet you all the same," she answered truthfully. "Iryelle Razdullahan."
Crevan's smile faltered for a moment, but he controlled his reaction quickly. "Razdullahan? As in, the Razdullahan? Well, I guess that aristocrats aren't required to have basic knowledge about our order. Not that surprising. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."
Iryelle stared at him incredulously. "What?" What is this guy's problem?
"Nothing, nothing," Crevan replied as everyone began heading towards the throne room once again, "I was just a little shocked at how low the standards have fallen." Alright, Iryelle, don't get angry. Remember master Oyra's words? Kindness and humility. Kindness and humility. Kindness and humility. Repeating the mantra, the rider bit herself in the tongue and managed not to say anything offensive. The same couldn't be said about Crevan, however.
"Don't worry, though, you will learn soon." Kindness and humility. "You have plenty of time to do so considering how young you are. That sword of yours looks heavy, do you want me to carry it for you?" Kindness and--- you know what, no, fuck him, he's not my dragon. He has no right to disrespect me so openly. Even if his behavior weirded her out more than it insulted her, she couldn't let him get away with it. That would mean establishing her reputation as that of a weakling willing to be abused. With that thought, Iryelle stopped in her tracks abruptly and tripped him. To Crevan's credit, his reflexes prevented him from falling, but he still faltered.
"Oh, I apologize from the depth of my heart," she smiled sweetly at him, "but it appears that I am so incompetent that I haven't even mastered the art of walking properly yet. Suddenly I didn't know what to do with my legs. You're right, the standards have truly fallen."
"Iryelle!" master Oyra raised his voice.
"What? I apologized!"
Fortunately, the debate couldn't continue because they reached the throne room by that point. It was empty aside from few riders and their dragons standing silently around the throne. The king himself - a tall, blonde man with sharp features - was seated on the throne. Iryelle dropped on her knees the second she saw him.
"Welcome, Iryelle Razdullahan. I have been expecting you, both you and your dragon. Once again I apologize for the lack of accolades, however you will understand soon. Are you ready to recite your oath?"
Not even raising her eyes from the ground, Iryelle nodded. "I swear on my honor, and on the honor of my ancestors, that I shall remain your faithful servant until my dying breath. My sword belongs to you. My life is yours to do with as you please. Without you, I am nothing, and let nothingness swallow me whole if I ever stray from the path."
"Good," the king nodded, evidently pleased. "Let it be known that I accept your oath, Iryelle Razdullahan. How about you, dragon?"
Before she could provide further instructions on how to behave with her out of the picture, Molan excused himself. "Well," Iryelle shrugged, seemingly without care in the world, "he isn't a child even if he sure can act like one. He should know how to avoid being seen as suspicious, right? I don't feel like chasing after him and giving him advice on how to... I don't know, not kill random people." The disapproval in master Oyra's eyes couldn't be mistaken for anything else. "He won't kill anyone just because he's a dragon, Iryelle, and complaints about immaturity are just rich coming from you of all people. Listen, I know that I won't have any official authority over you soon. I'm also very much aware that you're yearning to stand on your own legs. That's all well and good, but trust me when I say that I'm only about to give you this advice because I have your best interests at heart. Treat him better."
Iryelle raised her eyebrow. "What? I'm treating him just fine. There are people who would spill his blood for what he's demonstrated here, you know."
"Yes, the lowest of the low. Do you really wish to compare yourself to such people, Iryelle?"
The young rider paused in surprise. "Of course not, but... I haven't done anything wrong. I don't know how to treat him better when he clearly isn't interested anyway."
"Oh, Iryelle." Oyra's tone sounded sad now, sad and strangely distant. "You really don't understand, do you? Yes, you may not have done anything wrong, but you haven't done anything right, either. What you have done is the barest minimum to not be considered a tyrant. That is commendable, but it won't win you his respect. Respect still has to be earned like in any other relationship. It won't magically spring into existence just because you beat him in a combat."
"Technically it should. Might makes right and I did beat him," Iryelle remarked. Master Oyra opened his mouth to complain, but she just raised her hands to stop him before righteous anger could consume him. "No, no, that was a joke. I know what you mean, master, but I really have no idea how to improve our relationship. If you cast aside your habit of criticizing me just for two seconds, maybe you will remember that it was him who started this whole hostility thing, not me. And what am I supposed to do? Let him trample all over me? I'm still a rider. I can't afford that. I don't want to."
"Why do you think that he's been, as you put it, hostile?"
"What?"
"Think about it. Why?"
"I... I.... That's a good question." Iryelle fell silent. Why would he intentionally sabotage his chances of getting along with his rider? Could she have offended him somehow? How, though? Iryelle knew that her gift for insulting people was unparalleled, but she had been holding back! No, scratch that, I was walking on eggshells. "He probably just doesn't like me," the rider concluded her thoughtful analysis. "Which is fine, but--"
"Right now yes, he probably doesn't. And that's because, my dear apprentice, your positions aren't equal. Which is something you recognize when it suits you and simultaneously ignore when it doesn't."
"What do you mean?"
"You have no problem comprehending that you're above him and therefore he should obey you, yet you don't get that he might feel threatened or humiliated in your presence. Imagine having to trust a complete stranger with your life. Now imagine that stranger acting familiar as if you were friends and then joking about possibly having to kill you. You can't joke about these things, Iryelle. You just can't. A rider first has to earn their dragon's heart through kindness and humility. Any other path is blocked."
Iryelle's blue eyes widened. "I haven't thought of it like that."
"Yes, that is your problem. You just don't think."
Friendships didn't come to her easily. People tended to dislike Iryelle based on first impressions and the initial dislike only mutated into positive feelings later as they got used to her temper. It usually happened, though, and that had made her grow complacent. She had automatically supposed that her dragon would learn to tolerate her too in time, but maybe that had been foolish. Perhaps the power imbalance between them was indeed too large for something like that to occur.
The carriage was moving slowly in the sea of other carts and people always hurrying somewhere, so slowly that it would have been faster to just go on foot. Iryelle felt tempted by the thought, but she dismissed it immediately. I'd stand out too much in my uniform. And probably also every time she opened her mouth. Despite having spent majority of her life away from her home, the rider had never been able to get rid of her strong northern accent. It marked as an outsider to anyone in possession of ears. Northerners didn't like abandoning their homes in the mountains unless absolutely necessary, so her presence could cause a small commotion even in the capital where people of different cultures lived side by side.
The rider's patience was eventually rewarded as the carriage stopped in front of the castle. "Ahhh, finally!" Iryelle climbed outside, stretching and enjoying the feeling of the sun kissing her skin. "Let us not waste time on frivolities. Come, my apprentice, you don't want to make the king wait." Right, the king! It took all of her willpower to stop herself from just running through the endless hallways of the castle right to the throne room, but fortunately her upbringing of a noble helped. You don't want to make a fool out of yourself, a tiny voice whispered in her ear. And so Iryelle headed there in calm, measured steps even if her entire being was trembling in anticipation.
It didn't surprise her much when she saw Molan few meters ahead of her - the traffic had been dreadful - but it appeared that he wasn't alone. Did he really blow our-- wait, no, the girl has a necklace. She must be a dragon, too, which would make the other guy her rider. The tension in her shoulders receded a bit, although it didn't leave entirely. "Hey, Molan," she greeted him as they approached. "Are these your friends?"
"Oh, so she is the one!" the unknown man grinned and shook her hand. His grip was strong, almost too strong to be considered friendly, and Iryelle found herself squeezing his hand just as hard to match him. "I'm pleased to meet you, rider. Crevan Reyhard. You must have heard of me already."
"I can't say I have, actually, but nice to meet you all the same," she answered truthfully. "Iryelle Razdullahan."
Crevan's smile faltered for a moment, but he controlled his reaction quickly. "Razdullahan? As in, the Razdullahan? Well, I guess that aristocrats aren't required to have basic knowledge about our order. Not that surprising. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."
Iryelle stared at him incredulously. "What?" What is this guy's problem?
"Nothing, nothing," Crevan replied as everyone began heading towards the throne room once again, "I was just a little shocked at how low the standards have fallen." Alright, Iryelle, don't get angry. Remember master Oyra's words? Kindness and humility. Kindness and humility. Kindness and humility. Repeating the mantra, the rider bit herself in the tongue and managed not to say anything offensive. The same couldn't be said about Crevan, however.
"Don't worry, though, you will learn soon." Kindness and humility. "You have plenty of time to do so considering how young you are. That sword of yours looks heavy, do you want me to carry it for you?" Kindness and--- you know what, no, fuck him, he's not my dragon. He has no right to disrespect me so openly. Even if his behavior weirded her out more than it insulted her, she couldn't let him get away with it. That would mean establishing her reputation as that of a weakling willing to be abused. With that thought, Iryelle stopped in her tracks abruptly and tripped him. To Crevan's credit, his reflexes prevented him from falling, but he still faltered.
"Oh, I apologize from the depth of my heart," she smiled sweetly at him, "but it appears that I am so incompetent that I haven't even mastered the art of walking properly yet. Suddenly I didn't know what to do with my legs. You're right, the standards have truly fallen."
"Iryelle!" master Oyra raised his voice.
"What? I apologized!"
Fortunately, the debate couldn't continue because they reached the throne room by that point. It was empty aside from few riders and their dragons standing silently around the throne. The king himself - a tall, blonde man with sharp features - was seated on the throne. Iryelle dropped on her knees the second she saw him.
"Welcome, Iryelle Razdullahan. I have been expecting you, both you and your dragon. Once again I apologize for the lack of accolades, however you will understand soon. Are you ready to recite your oath?"
Not even raising her eyes from the ground, Iryelle nodded. "I swear on my honor, and on the honor of my ancestors, that I shall remain your faithful servant until my dying breath. My sword belongs to you. My life is yours to do with as you please. Without you, I am nothing, and let nothingness swallow me whole if I ever stray from the path."
"Good," the king nodded, evidently pleased. "Let it be known that I accept your oath, Iryelle Razdullahan. How about you, dragon?"
Viper
One Thousand Club
Molan and Indira had been happily whispering to one another, catching up a bit after their weeks of separation, yet he tensed up when he heard the voice of his rider coming from just behind them. “Damn it…” Molan whispered, before turning to Iryelle. He did not get the chance to answer though because, just as would be expected from the fox face, he broke and do so himself.
The scene which unfolded was both amusing but also worrisome. One one hand, Molan absolutely loved to see Crevan get taken down a peg even in such a small way. On the other hand though, the temper within Crevan was openly rising as each passing moment went on. Indira could tell this as well, and her hand which had been holding onto Molans tightened at the sight. It was hard to say if her reaction was out of a protectiveness for her rider, or if it was out of fear for what her rider would do in response.
When the King entered through, any immediate reactions were put to a halt. Not even Crevan would dare openly disrespect his king… although in private he often took a different stance. Scoffing, Creven reached out and roughly grabbed Indira by the arm, pulling (throwing) her to the ground so that they both were bowing to the king. Molan however did not immediately follow his sister down to the floor, he was too busy glaring daggers at Creven for being so rough. Normally Molan would have bowed too, or at least placed a hand above his heart in respect, but his attention was diverted so the dragon did nothing but stand there in frozen rage.
Still, no one pointed it out, although Indira did give her brother a glance as if to say ‘ignore Crevan, just behave’. He probably would have stayed like that for longer however when the King addressed him, Molan snapped out of his red haze. “Huh? Oh yeah…” Clearing his throat and casting a final gaze at Indira, Molan made his future as a slave official, “I, Molan Scur, swear myself into the service of you, your kingdom, and Iryelle Razdullahan for as long as my eyes see and my wings beat.” And that was it. Molan did this fairly casually, as if he did not take it seriously, however that was simply his nature. At least his oath was more than a lot of dragons did, half of those beasts outright refused to offer their loyalty. Molan would have been one of them if it were not for his twin kneeling in submission right next to him.
The king pondered for a second but in the end he nodded, “That will do dragon, I accept your oath. Now…” The king paused and looked up into the room, addressing everyone inside, “Everyone who is not a rider team, leave.” The others in the room quickly went to follow their orders, even the guards and other nobles headed out. At the same time, Crevan got back onto his feet. Indira followed soon after, her ascent much slower and unsteady han her masters. The Riders were in a class all their own so this exclusivity was not unheard of. Riders were the best of the best, the most intelligent scholars, the strongest knights, and the most charismatic of nobles. They worked hard to earn their prestige so even if everyone did not like it, they understood why the riders were given more private information.
The King continued once they were alone. “Now, as many of you know, over the past few years our relationship with the Caridin (name can be changed) Kingdom to the east has deteriorated. Now, up until this point there has been no open warfare or skirmishes however I have recently been informed of some troubling news pertaining to our neighbors. There have been rumors that the Caridin armies have been experimenting and employing a familiar strategy… the use of dragons.”
Several gasps were heard in the room, followed by muttering and concerned exclamations. Crevan though, he did not seemed bothered at all and was just nodding his head as if he was already aware of this turn of events. Molan though did not take this information as well. It was bad already that one kingdom was kidnapping and enslaving his kind, but if a second nation was doing the same? Well, then the draconic situation was about to go from simply an inconvenience to outright dangerous. These humans would call the extinction of wild dragons in their desperate attempts at out arming each other for war. What would happen to Indira if this kingdom went to war with Caridin, turning the battlefield into a dragon versus dragon massacre?
The King raised in hand to silence his group, “Calm yourselves. This is but a rumor and we have no confirmed sightings of Caridin forces riding or even attempting to work with dragons. Still, this is a threat to our national security but we cannot to afford to risk war on a rumor nor can we cannot stand idly by either. This is why I have summoned you all here today. I have decided that the best course of action will be to send a handful of teams into Caridin to discover if there is any truths to these rumors or not. This job requires not only skill as a rider, but of knowledge on politics. The rider chosen for this must be able to act according to proper manners so that they do not draw unwanted attention… due to this, Iryelle, you are the one who shall be sent on this mission. Your past linage, although you have put it in your past, will help you blend in with the other liaisons. This task does require some deceit and cunning, which is why I asked you to arrive separate from your dragon and why the normal ceremony did not occur. “
“You both shall be sent to Caridin in a carriage where you will find a change of clothes, supplies, and other necessities that you will need. Your mission is to find out the truth of these rumors, and if they turn out to be true, then you are to feed us knowledge about their operation. The methods that you do this are up to you however no one is to learn that you two are not true political liaisons, you are undercover. Now, time is of the essence so you and your dragon will leave at dawn, is this understood?”
The scene which unfolded was both amusing but also worrisome. One one hand, Molan absolutely loved to see Crevan get taken down a peg even in such a small way. On the other hand though, the temper within Crevan was openly rising as each passing moment went on. Indira could tell this as well, and her hand which had been holding onto Molans tightened at the sight. It was hard to say if her reaction was out of a protectiveness for her rider, or if it was out of fear for what her rider would do in response.
When the King entered through, any immediate reactions were put to a halt. Not even Crevan would dare openly disrespect his king… although in private he often took a different stance. Scoffing, Creven reached out and roughly grabbed Indira by the arm, pulling (throwing) her to the ground so that they both were bowing to the king. Molan however did not immediately follow his sister down to the floor, he was too busy glaring daggers at Creven for being so rough. Normally Molan would have bowed too, or at least placed a hand above his heart in respect, but his attention was diverted so the dragon did nothing but stand there in frozen rage.
Still, no one pointed it out, although Indira did give her brother a glance as if to say ‘ignore Crevan, just behave’. He probably would have stayed like that for longer however when the King addressed him, Molan snapped out of his red haze. “Huh? Oh yeah…” Clearing his throat and casting a final gaze at Indira, Molan made his future as a slave official, “I, Molan Scur, swear myself into the service of you, your kingdom, and Iryelle Razdullahan for as long as my eyes see and my wings beat.” And that was it. Molan did this fairly casually, as if he did not take it seriously, however that was simply his nature. At least his oath was more than a lot of dragons did, half of those beasts outright refused to offer their loyalty. Molan would have been one of them if it were not for his twin kneeling in submission right next to him.
The king pondered for a second but in the end he nodded, “That will do dragon, I accept your oath. Now…” The king paused and looked up into the room, addressing everyone inside, “Everyone who is not a rider team, leave.” The others in the room quickly went to follow their orders, even the guards and other nobles headed out. At the same time, Crevan got back onto his feet. Indira followed soon after, her ascent much slower and unsteady han her masters. The Riders were in a class all their own so this exclusivity was not unheard of. Riders were the best of the best, the most intelligent scholars, the strongest knights, and the most charismatic of nobles. They worked hard to earn their prestige so even if everyone did not like it, they understood why the riders were given more private information.
The King continued once they were alone. “Now, as many of you know, over the past few years our relationship with the Caridin (name can be changed) Kingdom to the east has deteriorated. Now, up until this point there has been no open warfare or skirmishes however I have recently been informed of some troubling news pertaining to our neighbors. There have been rumors that the Caridin armies have been experimenting and employing a familiar strategy… the use of dragons.”
Several gasps were heard in the room, followed by muttering and concerned exclamations. Crevan though, he did not seemed bothered at all and was just nodding his head as if he was already aware of this turn of events. Molan though did not take this information as well. It was bad already that one kingdom was kidnapping and enslaving his kind, but if a second nation was doing the same? Well, then the draconic situation was about to go from simply an inconvenience to outright dangerous. These humans would call the extinction of wild dragons in their desperate attempts at out arming each other for war. What would happen to Indira if this kingdom went to war with Caridin, turning the battlefield into a dragon versus dragon massacre?
The King raised in hand to silence his group, “Calm yourselves. This is but a rumor and we have no confirmed sightings of Caridin forces riding or even attempting to work with dragons. Still, this is a threat to our national security but we cannot to afford to risk war on a rumor nor can we cannot stand idly by either. This is why I have summoned you all here today. I have decided that the best course of action will be to send a handful of teams into Caridin to discover if there is any truths to these rumors or not. This job requires not only skill as a rider, but of knowledge on politics. The rider chosen for this must be able to act according to proper manners so that they do not draw unwanted attention… due to this, Iryelle, you are the one who shall be sent on this mission. Your past linage, although you have put it in your past, will help you blend in with the other liaisons. This task does require some deceit and cunning, which is why I asked you to arrive separate from your dragon and why the normal ceremony did not occur. “
“You both shall be sent to Caridin in a carriage where you will find a change of clothes, supplies, and other necessities that you will need. Your mission is to find out the truth of these rumors, and if they turn out to be true, then you are to feed us knowledge about their operation. The methods that you do this are up to you however no one is to learn that you two are not true political liaisons, you are undercover. Now, time is of the essence so you and your dragon will leave at dawn, is this understood?”
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Myrta
Junior Member
Geez, could you possibly make it any obvious that you don't want to be here, Molan? Maybe spit at the king's feet? Iryelle didn't particularly blame him for his attitude, not after master Oyra's illuminating speech, but it was a bit childish. Molan didn't have a choice, so the oath could indeed be viewed as a mere spectacle. Many would agree on that. There was a difference between being dragged to your duty kicking and screaming, though, and accepting it with your head held high. The dragon had chosen the former. Perhaps he saw honor in this passive resistance, but did the gesture really mean anything if he couldn't free himself through temper tantrums anyway? Words were empty unless backed up with actions. None of Iryelle's thoughts bled into her expression, however. She remained solemn, kneeling in front of her king like as if her body had petrified in this position. A perfect image of a faithful servant.
Only when the king ordered everyone else to leave did Iryelle allow herself to rise back on her feet. The circumstances surrounding her oath of loyalty were more than suspicious, but she suppressed the questions itching to be asked. A dragon rider's role didn't consist of prying into the reasons behind their ruler's commands. No, now she served as his sword, a weapon ready to strike should he wish to rain destruction down on his enemies. How much the king planned to reveal was up to him. If he thought it better to put a wool over her eyes, then Iryelle simply had to believe that there was a good justification for the decision. It quickly turned out, though, that king Pyrait didn't intend to keep many secrets from her.
So... there's a possibility of Caridin stealing our technology? Iryelle's eyes widened. One didn't have to be a seasoned politician to grasp the ramifications behind such a development. Their country, although blessed with exceptional people, didn't have much to offer in terms of raw resources. They had only risen to prominence very recently after having invented the means to control dragons. The whole world trembled with fear of their military might. Now what would happen if someone else, namely the kingdom of Caridin, got a hold of their sole trump card? Even if they didn't wish to retaliate for the perceived past wrong-doings, shifts in power as drastic as this one would undoubtedly be historically always created chaos. Chaos which could very easily grow into an open conflict. A war would swallow the two countries, perhaps even the entire continent. Its jaws would hungrily feast on the corpses of their children and everything would burn, burn, burn. No, Caridin had to be dealt with before they could challenge them on equal terms. Even if it meant leveling the foreign kingdom to the ground as a precaution.
Still, the king proved himself to be a wise and patient man because he had no such plans. Where others would strike with a hammer, Pyrait chose to send a dagger hidden in silk. Her, specifically, under the guise of an ambassador. Claiming that the idea made her happy would have been an outright lie. Iryelle had severed her ties with her family mainly to escape all that political bullshit, but at the same time, it wasn't her place to complain. A service to a kingdom took on many different forms, self-sacrifice being instrumental to them all. If her cursed surname could unlock doors that would otherwise remain firmly shut, then so be it. "I understand, my king," Iryelle bowed her head. "I shall do everything within my power to determine whether there's a grain of truth in these disturbing rumors."
"I am happy to hear that," the king said. "I hope that my trust in you is well-placed. If you do not have any further questions, Iryelle, I suggest that you rest for now. The servants have already prepared a chamber for you and your dragons, so go gather your strength for tomorrow's journey. You will need it." Nothing of importance occurred to her, so Iryelle bowed for one last time and excused herself. The short nap in the carriage hadn't done much to wash her fatigue away, which made the prospect of an actual bed look very tempting. "I'm going to sleep," she informed Molan. "Feel free to do whatever you want in the meantime, but be ready for our departure when the time comes." As Iryelle watched Molan go his own way, her old master approached her with a wistful smile on his face.
"You know, Iryelle, I didn't think you'd really make it when you asked me to train you all those years ago, but here you are. Congratulations."
"Thank you, master." Normally she would have complained about the lack of belief in his own apprentice, but it didn't seem appropriate. "What will you do now?"
"I suppose," master Oyra caressed his chin thoughtfully, "that I will return home. There is no need for me to linger in the capital. I shall enjoy the fact that my castle is quiet and peaceful for once although I do imagine that it will feel a bit unnatural after living with you for so long. And after that? Who knows. Right now I will just let my old bones rest."
"Once again, thank you for everything," Iryelle hugged him tightly. She could feel her eyes burning with unshed tears, but frantic blinking suppressed them. Letting the final moments between them go sour wouldn't be right. The promotion to the ranks of real dragon riders should be a happy occasion!
"Now, now, no need to suffocate me. This is not the last time we see each other. Goodbye for now, Iryelle. Goodbye and good luck." And just like that, master Oyra left without looking back even once. It was probably easier for both of them, a clean cut instead of dancing around their separation awkwardly.
Completely exhausted on both physical and emotional level, Iryelle let a servant lead her to her chambers. She practically collapsed on her bed, thoughts swirling in her head rapidly as sleep overtook her.
Dawn came quickly, perhaps quicker than she would have liked, and the pair found themselves in a carriage again. "God," Iryelle yawned, "this is possibly my least favorite method of traveling ever. Just my luck to be stuck with it indefinitely despite technically being a dragon rider." Oh, how long she had been dreaming about cruising the skies! "Anyway, Molan. I suppose that it would be a good idea to agree on our backstory before we get to the Caridinian borders. My identity is taken care of, I'm my boring old me except that I never decided to actually do anything interesting with my life. But who are you? My bodyguard? That would make the most sense, I guess, but if you have any other suggestion, share it. Tell me more about the person you are. Your name, your history, how you started to work for me. I would never go to a foreign country with someone I don't trust, after all, and some familiarity is required for that." Iryelle may have secretly disliked the mission she'd been assigned, but nobody could accuse her of not taking it seriously.
Only when the king ordered everyone else to leave did Iryelle allow herself to rise back on her feet. The circumstances surrounding her oath of loyalty were more than suspicious, but she suppressed the questions itching to be asked. A dragon rider's role didn't consist of prying into the reasons behind their ruler's commands. No, now she served as his sword, a weapon ready to strike should he wish to rain destruction down on his enemies. How much the king planned to reveal was up to him. If he thought it better to put a wool over her eyes, then Iryelle simply had to believe that there was a good justification for the decision. It quickly turned out, though, that king Pyrait didn't intend to keep many secrets from her.
So... there's a possibility of Caridin stealing our technology? Iryelle's eyes widened. One didn't have to be a seasoned politician to grasp the ramifications behind such a development. Their country, although blessed with exceptional people, didn't have much to offer in terms of raw resources. They had only risen to prominence very recently after having invented the means to control dragons. The whole world trembled with fear of their military might. Now what would happen if someone else, namely the kingdom of Caridin, got a hold of their sole trump card? Even if they didn't wish to retaliate for the perceived past wrong-doings, shifts in power as drastic as this one would undoubtedly be historically always created chaos. Chaos which could very easily grow into an open conflict. A war would swallow the two countries, perhaps even the entire continent. Its jaws would hungrily feast on the corpses of their children and everything would burn, burn, burn. No, Caridin had to be dealt with before they could challenge them on equal terms. Even if it meant leveling the foreign kingdom to the ground as a precaution.
Still, the king proved himself to be a wise and patient man because he had no such plans. Where others would strike with a hammer, Pyrait chose to send a dagger hidden in silk. Her, specifically, under the guise of an ambassador. Claiming that the idea made her happy would have been an outright lie. Iryelle had severed her ties with her family mainly to escape all that political bullshit, but at the same time, it wasn't her place to complain. A service to a kingdom took on many different forms, self-sacrifice being instrumental to them all. If her cursed surname could unlock doors that would otherwise remain firmly shut, then so be it. "I understand, my king," Iryelle bowed her head. "I shall do everything within my power to determine whether there's a grain of truth in these disturbing rumors."
"I am happy to hear that," the king said. "I hope that my trust in you is well-placed. If you do not have any further questions, Iryelle, I suggest that you rest for now. The servants have already prepared a chamber for you and your dragons, so go gather your strength for tomorrow's journey. You will need it." Nothing of importance occurred to her, so Iryelle bowed for one last time and excused herself. The short nap in the carriage hadn't done much to wash her fatigue away, which made the prospect of an actual bed look very tempting. "I'm going to sleep," she informed Molan. "Feel free to do whatever you want in the meantime, but be ready for our departure when the time comes." As Iryelle watched Molan go his own way, her old master approached her with a wistful smile on his face.
"You know, Iryelle, I didn't think you'd really make it when you asked me to train you all those years ago, but here you are. Congratulations."
"Thank you, master." Normally she would have complained about the lack of belief in his own apprentice, but it didn't seem appropriate. "What will you do now?"
"I suppose," master Oyra caressed his chin thoughtfully, "that I will return home. There is no need for me to linger in the capital. I shall enjoy the fact that my castle is quiet and peaceful for once although I do imagine that it will feel a bit unnatural after living with you for so long. And after that? Who knows. Right now I will just let my old bones rest."
"Once again, thank you for everything," Iryelle hugged him tightly. She could feel her eyes burning with unshed tears, but frantic blinking suppressed them. Letting the final moments between them go sour wouldn't be right. The promotion to the ranks of real dragon riders should be a happy occasion!
"Now, now, no need to suffocate me. This is not the last time we see each other. Goodbye for now, Iryelle. Goodbye and good luck." And just like that, master Oyra left without looking back even once. It was probably easier for both of them, a clean cut instead of dancing around their separation awkwardly.
Completely exhausted on both physical and emotional level, Iryelle let a servant lead her to her chambers. She practically collapsed on her bed, thoughts swirling in her head rapidly as sleep overtook her.
Dawn came quickly, perhaps quicker than she would have liked, and the pair found themselves in a carriage again. "God," Iryelle yawned, "this is possibly my least favorite method of traveling ever. Just my luck to be stuck with it indefinitely despite technically being a dragon rider." Oh, how long she had been dreaming about cruising the skies! "Anyway, Molan. I suppose that it would be a good idea to agree on our backstory before we get to the Caridinian borders. My identity is taken care of, I'm my boring old me except that I never decided to actually do anything interesting with my life. But who are you? My bodyguard? That would make the most sense, I guess, but if you have any other suggestion, share it. Tell me more about the person you are. Your name, your history, how you started to work for me. I would never go to a foreign country with someone I don't trust, after all, and some familiarity is required for that." Iryelle may have secretly disliked the mission she'd been assigned, but nobody could accuse her of not taking it seriously.
Viper
One Thousand Club
“What?” Molan whispered, for once stunned into silence. This was not the plan. This was not why he allowed himself to get roped into serving some stupid human for the rest of his life. The whole point of being here was so that he would stay in the capitol most of the time with his sister, or at least within the kingdom! This was the opposite of every hope and dream that Molan possessed and the crushing weight of all of it being taken away from him froze him to the core. He couldn't even voice his opposition to the idea. He was overcome with emotion ranging from sadness to anger to powerlessness, so much so that he just stared at the king wide eyed and unblinking as his hands shook. He chained himself for nothing!
Before he knew it, Molan saw Iryelle start out of the door of the throne room. He had to follow, he had to willingly follow the human woman or else he would die. There wasn't even time to say goodbyes. All Molan could do was cast a sad, dejected gaze at the hopeful Indira and the smirking Crevan next to her who seemed to be enjoying the scene before him far too much.
When Iryelle addressed Molan, the dragon did not look up from the ground. He was admittedly still locked into a stunned silence due to his sister being ripped away from him for the third time. When his ‘master’ ordered him to be ready by the morning, Molan nodded silently. What else could he do? A choice was non existent. Still, this temporary freedom gave Molan what he wanted, a chance to go see his sister before he left for… who knew how long. Indira and Crevan were just leaving the throne room when Molan turned the corner, literally running into them as he ran. Thankfully, out of the pair it was his sister he actually hit. The pair toppled to the ground in a heap but it only took seconds for them to realize who they were once again with. Crevan did not react to help his dragon even though it took him longer to figure out that it was Molan doing the tackling.
“Congratulations Molan! To get such an important job is remarkable, especially since this is your first official mission!” The chipper, voice of his twin congratulating him caused Molan to sneer.
When he spoke there was no joy in it, there was mostly just sorrow. “I don’t give a shit about the job or this human kingdom. Hell, I don’t even care if other dragons are getting captured over in Caridin. I just…. Damn it, I’m supposed to be staying in the capital like all the other rider teams!”
“But think about it!” Indira encouraged, “You get to travel! You have always complained that we never got to leave this place, you should be happy about this!”
Before Molan could remind his sister about why he was not happy, Crevan broke in first, “Indira you really are naive, you know that? The poor baby here is about to cry because you can’t come with him. He’s going to be so lonely without you by his side at every hour!” Although Crevan spoke the pitying words, he was laughing all the while so the normal connotation could not be found. “Oh, or maybe he is more worried about you being left alone. He is overprotective of you, after all, so maybe that’s why he’s weeping like a child right now!”
“I. Am. Not. Weeping.” Molan corrected angrily as he snapped his eyes towards the rider. Although there was a bit of water in his eyes none of it was falling, so it was close enough that Molan was not lying. “And I’m not worried about her being alone, I’m worried about her being stuck here with a sadist like you!” This was actually not far from the truth. The pair of storm dragons have been apart many times and although neither loved the idea, each of them had their own ways of coping with it and their own individual reasons for opposing the separation. Besides the fact that it was in their nature to want to be with family, Molan was worried about his sister being hurt by Crevan or someone else due to her passive nature. While Indira was always concerned for the opposite reason, that her brother would get into a fight and die due to his rebellious temper.
Crevan was not impressed or insulted by Molan's accusation, he simply shrugged and looked at his nails in a mock form of casualness, “Whatever are you talking about, Molan?” Creven said in fake innocence, “Why, I’m no sadist, I’m only trying keep Indira in check. You have no idea how much trouble she causes behind closed doors! I can’t count all of the times she got blood on my clothing or broke one my nails while I was ‘training’ her how to behave. My heart breaks bit by bit every time I have to punish her for making those messes!"
Molan knew of this, but to have it rubbed in his face so openly set off his already turbulent emotional state. Molan jumped at Crevan, fully intending to finally punch the smirk off of the cruel riders fox like face, but he was stopped by a small but firm grip on his arm. “Molan, don’t!” Indira shouted, literally holding her brother back from her rider. She may have been a bit small and fragile, but she was still a dragon and a warrior so her grip was strong enough to stop the attack. Moving in between the boys, Indira directed her words to Molan, “It’s okay, I'm okay, so you don’t have to worry about me. Just go to Caridin and do your mission well.The sooner you complete your job the sooner you will come back, okay? I’ll be right here waiting for you, fit as a fiddle like always.”
Deflating, Molan sighed and at least stopped trying to get to Crevan, “Fine, whatever. I’ll do what that noble wants and come back as soon as I can.Take care, okay?” Pulling his sister into a hug, Molan glared daggers at the smiling Crevan over her shoulder. “If I come back and she has one bruise I am going to eat you alive.” Molan growled.
“You would have to be able to transform at will in order to do that, so do forgive me if I am not quivering in my boots.” Pushing his orange hair out of his face, Crevan started to leave, “I am bored now so come along, Indira. And ta-ta, Molan, best of luck on your mission.” Then just like that, it was over. The storm siblings did one more quick goodbye before Molan was forced to watch his twin run off in the opposite direction after a man that was the opposite of virtue.
~~~
The morning came quickly after that, Molan resting deep through the whole night, choosing to sleep on the roof instead of in one of the proper bedrooms. As he approached the meeting place, Molans previous sadness from yesterday had turned into bitterness. This was a lot more normal for Molan who was often described as having a chip on his shoulder, so this temperament was better than the alternative. At least he was more used to being angry than he was being sad, so he could contain it better.
Iryelle did not greet him so Molan did not either. He was fine if they worked together in silence. He was not here to make nice, he was here to get his job done so that he could return home. That was it. “I can agree to that. Flying would have been so much faster than riding in this stupid wheeled box.” Molan nodded, staring out into the street watching the sky as best he could. It felt strange to be pulled a horse. Not only because Molan had eaten horses before, but because they were animals enslaved... they were just weaker, dumper, and less magical animal slaves.
“My identity?” In all honesty Molan had not considered very much what his alias would be or how he would blend in while in Caridin. He had been far more concerned about figuring out how to do the actual mission, finding out the truth behind the rumors, not the unnecessary lie. It seemed pointless to try to appear official when they could have just walked around undetected and unnoticed, but luckily Molan did enjoy tricking his human en-slavers so coming up with a fake life was not that hard to ramble off. “My mother and father worked for your family long before I was born, my mother was a maid and my dad swore himself into your family's service. So when I was born, I followed in his footsteps as a . Due to that me and you grew up together, bring the only ones on the property around the same age, and even though we are childhood friends I am first and foremost your guard meant to serve and protect you. Oh, and I’ll call myself… Emil Roman. Molan Scur is not exactly subtle after all” The bio came out in a rush, Molan just saying the first origin that he could think of.
After a second Molan turned to Iryelle and raised one of his pale eyebrows at her, knowing that at least coming up with their background will require some team work. “Does that work for you, Iryelle? All I know is that you were a noble so I have no idea if that fits in with your past or not."
"Oh yeah, I should probably do this before we get there..." Molan said once Iryelle answered his question. Closing his eyes Molan focused inwards, onto his human form. Normally it was a background thought, something as easy as breathing, but each and every dragon had an influence over their human appearance. You could not go too far out of bounds but hair length, style, and sometimes color could be changed with just a little focus and, of course, magic. Unfortunately for Molan, he had basically looked the same his entire life so changing is appearance took focus and likely would require conscious thought until he got used to it. His 'default' human for at birth was not unlike how he looked now, white hair, black clothing, grey eyes. But going incognito as a human would not be possible with white hair, it would be a dead give away, so instead Molan focused his attention to his body and willed change. Before Iryelle's very eyes, from root to tip, Molans hair was stained black until it was shining obsidian while his clothing on the other hand became lighter, the same white that his hair used to be. "There, that should do it. Do I look more human now?"
Before he knew it, Molan saw Iryelle start out of the door of the throne room. He had to follow, he had to willingly follow the human woman or else he would die. There wasn't even time to say goodbyes. All Molan could do was cast a sad, dejected gaze at the hopeful Indira and the smirking Crevan next to her who seemed to be enjoying the scene before him far too much.
When Iryelle addressed Molan, the dragon did not look up from the ground. He was admittedly still locked into a stunned silence due to his sister being ripped away from him for the third time. When his ‘master’ ordered him to be ready by the morning, Molan nodded silently. What else could he do? A choice was non existent. Still, this temporary freedom gave Molan what he wanted, a chance to go see his sister before he left for… who knew how long. Indira and Crevan were just leaving the throne room when Molan turned the corner, literally running into them as he ran. Thankfully, out of the pair it was his sister he actually hit. The pair toppled to the ground in a heap but it only took seconds for them to realize who they were once again with. Crevan did not react to help his dragon even though it took him longer to figure out that it was Molan doing the tackling.
“Congratulations Molan! To get such an important job is remarkable, especially since this is your first official mission!” The chipper, voice of his twin congratulating him caused Molan to sneer.
When he spoke there was no joy in it, there was mostly just sorrow. “I don’t give a shit about the job or this human kingdom. Hell, I don’t even care if other dragons are getting captured over in Caridin. I just…. Damn it, I’m supposed to be staying in the capital like all the other rider teams!”
“But think about it!” Indira encouraged, “You get to travel! You have always complained that we never got to leave this place, you should be happy about this!”
Before Molan could remind his sister about why he was not happy, Crevan broke in first, “Indira you really are naive, you know that? The poor baby here is about to cry because you can’t come with him. He’s going to be so lonely without you by his side at every hour!” Although Crevan spoke the pitying words, he was laughing all the while so the normal connotation could not be found. “Oh, or maybe he is more worried about you being left alone. He is overprotective of you, after all, so maybe that’s why he’s weeping like a child right now!”
“I. Am. Not. Weeping.” Molan corrected angrily as he snapped his eyes towards the rider. Although there was a bit of water in his eyes none of it was falling, so it was close enough that Molan was not lying. “And I’m not worried about her being alone, I’m worried about her being stuck here with a sadist like you!” This was actually not far from the truth. The pair of storm dragons have been apart many times and although neither loved the idea, each of them had their own ways of coping with it and their own individual reasons for opposing the separation. Besides the fact that it was in their nature to want to be with family, Molan was worried about his sister being hurt by Crevan or someone else due to her passive nature. While Indira was always concerned for the opposite reason, that her brother would get into a fight and die due to his rebellious temper.
Crevan was not impressed or insulted by Molan's accusation, he simply shrugged and looked at his nails in a mock form of casualness, “Whatever are you talking about, Molan?” Creven said in fake innocence, “Why, I’m no sadist, I’m only trying keep Indira in check. You have no idea how much trouble she causes behind closed doors! I can’t count all of the times she got blood on my clothing or broke one my nails while I was ‘training’ her how to behave. My heart breaks bit by bit every time I have to punish her for making those messes!"
Molan knew of this, but to have it rubbed in his face so openly set off his already turbulent emotional state. Molan jumped at Crevan, fully intending to finally punch the smirk off of the cruel riders fox like face, but he was stopped by a small but firm grip on his arm. “Molan, don’t!” Indira shouted, literally holding her brother back from her rider. She may have been a bit small and fragile, but she was still a dragon and a warrior so her grip was strong enough to stop the attack. Moving in between the boys, Indira directed her words to Molan, “It’s okay, I'm okay, so you don’t have to worry about me. Just go to Caridin and do your mission well.The sooner you complete your job the sooner you will come back, okay? I’ll be right here waiting for you, fit as a fiddle like always.”
Deflating, Molan sighed and at least stopped trying to get to Crevan, “Fine, whatever. I’ll do what that noble wants and come back as soon as I can.Take care, okay?” Pulling his sister into a hug, Molan glared daggers at the smiling Crevan over her shoulder. “If I come back and she has one bruise I am going to eat you alive.” Molan growled.
“You would have to be able to transform at will in order to do that, so do forgive me if I am not quivering in my boots.” Pushing his orange hair out of his face, Crevan started to leave, “I am bored now so come along, Indira. And ta-ta, Molan, best of luck on your mission.” Then just like that, it was over. The storm siblings did one more quick goodbye before Molan was forced to watch his twin run off in the opposite direction after a man that was the opposite of virtue.
~~~
The morning came quickly after that, Molan resting deep through the whole night, choosing to sleep on the roof instead of in one of the proper bedrooms. As he approached the meeting place, Molans previous sadness from yesterday had turned into bitterness. This was a lot more normal for Molan who was often described as having a chip on his shoulder, so this temperament was better than the alternative. At least he was more used to being angry than he was being sad, so he could contain it better.
Iryelle did not greet him so Molan did not either. He was fine if they worked together in silence. He was not here to make nice, he was here to get his job done so that he could return home. That was it. “I can agree to that. Flying would have been so much faster than riding in this stupid wheeled box.” Molan nodded, staring out into the street watching the sky as best he could. It felt strange to be pulled a horse. Not only because Molan had eaten horses before, but because they were animals enslaved... they were just weaker, dumper, and less magical animal slaves.
“My identity?” In all honesty Molan had not considered very much what his alias would be or how he would blend in while in Caridin. He had been far more concerned about figuring out how to do the actual mission, finding out the truth behind the rumors, not the unnecessary lie. It seemed pointless to try to appear official when they could have just walked around undetected and unnoticed, but luckily Molan did enjoy tricking his human en-slavers so coming up with a fake life was not that hard to ramble off. “My mother and father worked for your family long before I was born, my mother was a maid and my dad swore himself into your family's service. So when I was born, I followed in his footsteps as a . Due to that me and you grew up together, bring the only ones on the property around the same age, and even though we are childhood friends I am first and foremost your guard meant to serve and protect you. Oh, and I’ll call myself… Emil Roman. Molan Scur is not exactly subtle after all” The bio came out in a rush, Molan just saying the first origin that he could think of.
After a second Molan turned to Iryelle and raised one of his pale eyebrows at her, knowing that at least coming up with their background will require some team work. “Does that work for you, Iryelle? All I know is that you were a noble so I have no idea if that fits in with your past or not."
"Oh yeah, I should probably do this before we get there..." Molan said once Iryelle answered his question. Closing his eyes Molan focused inwards, onto his human form. Normally it was a background thought, something as easy as breathing, but each and every dragon had an influence over their human appearance. You could not go too far out of bounds but hair length, style, and sometimes color could be changed with just a little focus and, of course, magic. Unfortunately for Molan, he had basically looked the same his entire life so changing is appearance took focus and likely would require conscious thought until he got used to it. His 'default' human for at birth was not unlike how he looked now, white hair, black clothing, grey eyes. But going incognito as a human would not be possible with white hair, it would be a dead give away, so instead Molan focused his attention to his body and willed change. Before Iryelle's very eyes, from root to tip, Molans hair was stained black until it was shining obsidian while his clothing on the other hand became lighter, the same white that his hair used to be. "There, that should do it. Do I look more human now?"
Myrta
Junior Member
"Hmmm," Iryelle wrapped a strand of hair around her index finger, "I guess that the basic structure of that cover identity isn't bad, Molan, but we need to work on the details. For example, there's absolutely no way anybody with a working ears would believe that we grew up together. I get that we all probably sound the same to you, but the truth is that we just don't speak in the same manner. Your accent sounds really off for a Northerner." There was always a chance that Caridinians wouldn't be able to distinguish one foreign accent from another, but Iryelle didn't want to bet the success of their mission on their enemy's ignorance. Presumably they were going to deal mainly with the veterans of diplomacy. Those people had built their entire careers on studying foreign cultures and their skill had reached such a height that their king valued their service. How naive it would be to hope that they would miss this extremely glaring inconsistency?
"We don't have to alter it drastically to make it believable, though. Let's just say that your father swore himself into my family's service when you were already twelve. His previous master died without leaving any heirs behind and our families used to be affiliated, so it looked like a logical step. From then on, we indeed did grow up together." Iryelle paused for a second, mulling over their possibilities. How were they supposed to fabricate a plausible cover that would withstand any scrutiny in the few hours this journey would take? Not that I don't appreciate the trust you have placed in us, king Pyrait, but perhaps you have overestimated our abilities. Except... Except if the solution to an unsolvable puzzle lies in the refusal to accept the challenge in the first place. Ha, and to think that master Oyra taught me that running away from your problems is never the answer.
"Still, you shouldn't talk much about me. It's not that I doubt your ability to bullshit through everything, but the issue is that the Razdullahan family is quite famous and people will be able to spot inconsistencies. If you can get away with it, avoid speaking about my personal matters and justify it with some nonsense about protecting my privacy. If you absolutely have to speak about me, then address me as an individual exclusively and dodge the topic of my family, understand? The alternative is giving you a crash course on the Razdullahan history throughout the ages, but not even I am that cruel. Unless you want to hear all about my cousin's crazy aunt Greta, of course. I wouldn't dare to deprive you of the freedom of choice," the dragon rider smiled. "A fascinating woman, by the way. She threw her husband out the window because he supposedly cheated on her."
Before Iryelle could share more details about the turbulent marriage of Greta and Fynrel, Molan decided to change his image. And quite drastically so. She watched in awe as his hair and clothes sort of swapped colors, barely managing to keep her jaw from dropping. Sure, it may have been a small change if one looked at it from a neutral point of view, but Iryelle had never seen dragon magic before. "I had no idea that you had such cool tricks up your sleeve! Yeah, you do look more human. Originally I wanted to suggest for you to dye your hair, but I suppose that this is more effective. Isn't it exhausting for you, though? To keep it up at all times, I mean? Because if it's too demanding energy-wise, it may be better to go for the more mundane solution." Iryelle shifted a bit in order to try and find a cozier position, but unfortunately the carriage hadn't been constructed with comfort in mind. Everything had been sacrificed in favor of speed.
"Ugh. If I didn't know any better, I might think that this mission is in fact just an elaborate revenge for something terrible I've done and it hasn't even began properly yet. Back to the topic, though. So as I said earlier, you should avoid talking about me, but some details of my life might come in handy in case you are forced to. You know my name, that doesn't change. I'm nineteen, my birthday is in three months. I used to be a rebellious kid, the type that gives her parents aneurysms routinely, so you can invent bizarre stories about me stealing my father's sword and chasing local dogs and it will be in character. Even people who actually knew me as a child would believe that. I suppose that my fake self grew out of it eventually, though, so now I'm a proper lady. Oh, and I have a younger brother. He's called Bryst and he's way too kind for his own good. My father..." Iryelle paused for a second, hesitance showing on her face before she waved her hand. "Well, that doesn't matter, you have a rough outline already. Or is there anything else you would like to know? Ask away."
Suddenly the carriage stopped dead in its tracks, way too earlier than Iryelle expected. "What? We can not be there yet." The estimate proved to be right when indignant chanting began resonating through the air and something that was probably a turnip hit the closed window of their fiacre. As much as Onratyans liked to paint Caridinians as utter barbarians, Iryelle was certain that such things did not happen in the capital. Such things weren't supposed to happen even outside of the capital, but here they were. "What the..." Carefully, she moved closer to the window to assess the situation. And how did it look? They were surrounded by a crowd. Sone of the people were holding torches, some of them improvised weapons and the others seemed to be bare-handed, but all had one thing in common: hatred burning in their eyes. Hatred and thirst for blood. Once Iryelle opened the window slightly, the chanting finally reached their ears in full force.
"... home! No deals with enemies, go home!"
"Great," Iryelle remarked, sounding less scared than she likely should be, "an angry mob just when I can't show that I actually know which end of the sword is good for stabbing and you can't turn into your true form. Now what?"
"We don't have to alter it drastically to make it believable, though. Let's just say that your father swore himself into my family's service when you were already twelve. His previous master died without leaving any heirs behind and our families used to be affiliated, so it looked like a logical step. From then on, we indeed did grow up together." Iryelle paused for a second, mulling over their possibilities. How were they supposed to fabricate a plausible cover that would withstand any scrutiny in the few hours this journey would take? Not that I don't appreciate the trust you have placed in us, king Pyrait, but perhaps you have overestimated our abilities. Except... Except if the solution to an unsolvable puzzle lies in the refusal to accept the challenge in the first place. Ha, and to think that master Oyra taught me that running away from your problems is never the answer.
"Still, you shouldn't talk much about me. It's not that I doubt your ability to bullshit through everything, but the issue is that the Razdullahan family is quite famous and people will be able to spot inconsistencies. If you can get away with it, avoid speaking about my personal matters and justify it with some nonsense about protecting my privacy. If you absolutely have to speak about me, then address me as an individual exclusively and dodge the topic of my family, understand? The alternative is giving you a crash course on the Razdullahan history throughout the ages, but not even I am that cruel. Unless you want to hear all about my cousin's crazy aunt Greta, of course. I wouldn't dare to deprive you of the freedom of choice," the dragon rider smiled. "A fascinating woman, by the way. She threw her husband out the window because he supposedly cheated on her."
Before Iryelle could share more details about the turbulent marriage of Greta and Fynrel, Molan decided to change his image. And quite drastically so. She watched in awe as his hair and clothes sort of swapped colors, barely managing to keep her jaw from dropping. Sure, it may have been a small change if one looked at it from a neutral point of view, but Iryelle had never seen dragon magic before. "I had no idea that you had such cool tricks up your sleeve! Yeah, you do look more human. Originally I wanted to suggest for you to dye your hair, but I suppose that this is more effective. Isn't it exhausting for you, though? To keep it up at all times, I mean? Because if it's too demanding energy-wise, it may be better to go for the more mundane solution." Iryelle shifted a bit in order to try and find a cozier position, but unfortunately the carriage hadn't been constructed with comfort in mind. Everything had been sacrificed in favor of speed.
"Ugh. If I didn't know any better, I might think that this mission is in fact just an elaborate revenge for something terrible I've done and it hasn't even began properly yet. Back to the topic, though. So as I said earlier, you should avoid talking about me, but some details of my life might come in handy in case you are forced to. You know my name, that doesn't change. I'm nineteen, my birthday is in three months. I used to be a rebellious kid, the type that gives her parents aneurysms routinely, so you can invent bizarre stories about me stealing my father's sword and chasing local dogs and it will be in character. Even people who actually knew me as a child would believe that. I suppose that my fake self grew out of it eventually, though, so now I'm a proper lady. Oh, and I have a younger brother. He's called Bryst and he's way too kind for his own good. My father..." Iryelle paused for a second, hesitance showing on her face before she waved her hand. "Well, that doesn't matter, you have a rough outline already. Or is there anything else you would like to know? Ask away."
Suddenly the carriage stopped dead in its tracks, way too earlier than Iryelle expected. "What? We can not be there yet." The estimate proved to be right when indignant chanting began resonating through the air and something that was probably a turnip hit the closed window of their fiacre. As much as Onratyans liked to paint Caridinians as utter barbarians, Iryelle was certain that such things did not happen in the capital. Such things weren't supposed to happen even outside of the capital, but here they were. "What the..." Carefully, she moved closer to the window to assess the situation. And how did it look? They were surrounded by a crowd. Sone of the people were holding torches, some of them improvised weapons and the others seemed to be bare-handed, but all had one thing in common: hatred burning in their eyes. Hatred and thirst for blood. Once Iryelle opened the window slightly, the chanting finally reached their ears in full force.
"... home! No deals with enemies, go home!"
"Great," Iryelle remarked, sounding less scared than she likely should be, "an angry mob just when I can't show that I actually know which end of the sword is good for stabbing and you can't turn into your true form. Now what?"
Viper
One Thousand Club
At the comment of their accents Molan tilted his head to the side in contemplation, Iryelle having hit the nail right on the head. Growing up around humans did not help him pay attention or care about their cultural differences. There was only one thing accents meant to Molan… “Well, that explains why you are so much harder to understand than most people.” He commented nodding his head as if figuring out a hard riddle. “But fine, whatever, I came to work for you when I was twelve instead.” Of course, Molan did not care that much about his origin lie, so he had no problem rolling over about this matter. She could poke and adjust whatever she wanted, as long as she did not ask him to pretend to be her fiance or a dragon hunter that is. He would be stubborn later, Molan was sure of it.
Molan chuckled at Iryelles compliment, her trust that he could bullshit his way out of things being the most flattering thing she had ever said to him, but he also found it funny that the Razdullahan family was considered famous when he himself had never heard of them until a few days ago. What was a bit less amusing was the way she was spelling out the obvious to him. The first rule of lying was not to mention unnecessary details, only say what needed to be said rather than piling more unnecessary lies over unnecessary lies. Molan rolled his eyes as he responded to his riders orders, biting back a smart comment, “Do not worry, even if I knew every inch of your life in great detail, I would not go around chatting about it. And no, I would rather not hear your entire history although I will admit that aunt Greta sounds like a wonderful woman… for a human of course.”
Molan threw out his hands with pride, “Of course we dragons can do this! You riders may stop up from transforming but we still are able to use some of our magic even though most of it is locked away. We are far from mundane mortals, despite that we may look like them.” It was true, Molan and his other kin could still use magic in their human forms although it was far less than their full power. In Molans case specifically, in his dragon form he could summon an entire thunder and lightning storm to overtake the skies, but as a human the best he could do was send a charge through his hands and into a conductive medium such as metal or liquids. Even this though was weak because the charge was rarely enough to kill someone with only one blow. “Exhausting? No. It’s just… takes a touch more focus. I have not changed my appearance so drastically since I was ten, but I’ll get used to this quickly enough.
It was hard not to note the way Iryelle avoided talking about her father. So she had some family drama too, huh? That was something Molan could relate to so he left it more or less alone, “A rebellious child, the goody-goody Bryst, and a father I barely know, that sounds easy enough.” Thankfully, it was not uncommon for guards to pay little attention to the inner workings of the families that they are guarding, so making this out to be mostly just a job or at least a topic not to be spoken about openly would not be impossible. In Molans case, he fully intended to tell anyone who pushed too hard that he was not a bard or messenger, if they wanted to know something about Iryelle’s family they could go ask her themselves or just bugger off. He was a meat shield, that was it.
The hardest part about this ruse was going to be acting like he actually cared about Iryelle’s safety for more than just the fact that if she died, so would he. He was going to actually pretend to be honestly loyal, which was something Molan never felt to anyone but his sister. ‘Maybe that is what I should do?’ Molan thought, ‘Attempt to act like this human is my sister… even though they look and act completely different it may help sell it just a bit more.’
This theory came into play very quickly, far sooner than Molan thought it would at least. Out of nowhere the carriage came to a stop. The dragon had no idea how long the trip was supposed to take so he would not have questioned it were it not for the way Iryelle reacted and the sound of something hitting the carriage. Glancing out the window Molan saw a familiar sight, an angry mob. Yet just like his rider, fear was not the emotion the came to him. No, instead Molan seemed to be feeding off the chaotic group, visibly perking up just by feeling the angry charged air.
“Well, it looks like I’m just as popular here as I am back home. This must be different from the respect as a rider that you are used to, huh?” Molan joked, not finding their lack of popularity something to be worried about. Slowly, Molan started to get into character although there was a bit of a mocking tone to it. “And do not fear, ‘my lady’, dragon form or not, I am far from helpless. I’ll get rid of these humans away one way or another, so you sit back and let your 'body guard' handle them… It is what I am here for after all.”
Although he had no weapons himself, not even a dagger tucked into his robe, Molan threw open the carriage door and stepped out into the street confidently. From the outside, it was possible to see just how pathetic this group of people were. Their weapons were practically nonexistent, Molan saw more pitchforks and rolling pins than he did actual blades. Meaning, this was no official barricade but a group of overworked peasants who seemed to think that just by getting violent they could control politics that they did not even understand. They probably couldn't even read! This point was proven even more so when one of the faceless humans in the crowd threw another piece of fruit at Molan, the fruit missing him entirely as it slammed into the side of the carriage in a large splatter.
“Ugh.” Molan snarled, the stink of the clearly rotten food reaching his nose. The storm dragons first impulse was to go punch each and every one of the idiots to the ground until they submitted but he held himself back, his experience taking orders winning out against his lack of interest for serving. Just because he didn't care didn't mean that he would purposefully make the mission fail. Besides, most of these people seemed to have such horrendous aim that they were realistically in little danger.
Clearing his voice, Molan called out above the chant, “Lower your weapons and return to your homes! This is the carriage of Lady Razdullahan and she is here with official sanction from your rulers. Continue this course of action and not only will the guard hear of your treatment against their noble guests, but I personally will not stand for it. The next person who dares threaten my Lady will suffer the consequences.” As Molan spoke he tried his best to not only sound more official than he really was, but to test his theory that pretending to be protecting his sister would make the lie easier.. And he was right. Imagining his sister being the one threatened this way caused the words to flow off of his tongue and his normally resent gaze to keep its ferocity.
For a moment the crowd seemed to pause, the idea of getting in trouble with the guards or with Molan personally causing them to hesitate. This did not last long though. “Do not threaten us foreigner!” One of the men called out, his hand reeling back as he threw a fist sized stone right at Molans pale face. The rock made contact… but not with it’s target. Molan stepped aside when he saw it hurtling towards him and instead caught it in his gloved hand, throwing it back at the man in the same motion. This time the rock hit it’s goal with a crack, the mans knee instantly buckling. The contact was so sudden and hard that the mobber fell to the ground hissing in pain.
As he watched the man groan Molan couldn't decide if he was hoping that the leg had been broken or if he hoped that it had not. Personally, Molan wanted the man dead but for the sake of the job it would have been best if the man walked away with just a bad bruise. “That was a warning! Let us pass in peace!” This time, despite Molans young appearance, the angry mob seemed to back off. If he could almost shatter a man's leg with just a warning then what would happen if he actually got serious? The peasants were not willing to risk it. So even though they did not leave or stop muttering slander, they quieted their chant a bit and cleared the road just enough so that they could ride through without being blocked. Tensions were still high and some of the mob seemed to still be considering resuming their attack, but none made any immediate moves.
Molan did not get back into the carriage right away, instead choosing to walk on the outside of it as if he was still prepared to act against anyone who dared try something, but he did approach the window where he knew Iryelle was sitting and spoke into the crack. “Well,that was fun, wasn't it? And here I thought I was just going to be stuck playing butler this whole time, but it looks like we are going to get a bit more excitement than that! Thankfully the relations between our lands is more hostile than I thought it was…” As he said this Molan smiled, hoping that he would get more chances to actually fight someone during this mission.
This was just as much a personal taste as it was an instinctual one. Storm dragons were known for thriving under chaos, under battle and war, while when in peace they had been known to loose mental heath and muscle mass quickly. Their bodies were meant for near constant action due to often traveling through lighting storms that threatened to shock them out of the air too, so calm weather and lifestyles were unfit for them in nearly every way. If you wanted a peace loving, relaxed dragon that would always choose talking over fighting, Ice or Psychic dragons were the best fit.
“Is this common for you noble types?” Molan asked quietly, still through the window, “I get bandits coming after you for your money, but peasants? What do they have to gain from throwing rotten food at you? They should have eaten the fruit while it was still good, maybe then they would not have be so angry…” Human society made no sense at times like this. Even if the mob was just rioting due to some sense of patriotism, Molan still could not understand. Storm dragons were nomads, and Molan himself had never had a solid home since he got moved around a lot, so he had very little understanding or appreciation for the physical definition of home. To him, his home was with his sister, not where he slept. Not to mention the ideas of countries and kingdoms being the most unrealistic part of human life.
Molan chuckled at Iryelles compliment, her trust that he could bullshit his way out of things being the most flattering thing she had ever said to him, but he also found it funny that the Razdullahan family was considered famous when he himself had never heard of them until a few days ago. What was a bit less amusing was the way she was spelling out the obvious to him. The first rule of lying was not to mention unnecessary details, only say what needed to be said rather than piling more unnecessary lies over unnecessary lies. Molan rolled his eyes as he responded to his riders orders, biting back a smart comment, “Do not worry, even if I knew every inch of your life in great detail, I would not go around chatting about it. And no, I would rather not hear your entire history although I will admit that aunt Greta sounds like a wonderful woman… for a human of course.”
Molan threw out his hands with pride, “Of course we dragons can do this! You riders may stop up from transforming but we still are able to use some of our magic even though most of it is locked away. We are far from mundane mortals, despite that we may look like them.” It was true, Molan and his other kin could still use magic in their human forms although it was far less than their full power. In Molans case specifically, in his dragon form he could summon an entire thunder and lightning storm to overtake the skies, but as a human the best he could do was send a charge through his hands and into a conductive medium such as metal or liquids. Even this though was weak because the charge was rarely enough to kill someone with only one blow. “Exhausting? No. It’s just… takes a touch more focus. I have not changed my appearance so drastically since I was ten, but I’ll get used to this quickly enough.
It was hard not to note the way Iryelle avoided talking about her father. So she had some family drama too, huh? That was something Molan could relate to so he left it more or less alone, “A rebellious child, the goody-goody Bryst, and a father I barely know, that sounds easy enough.” Thankfully, it was not uncommon for guards to pay little attention to the inner workings of the families that they are guarding, so making this out to be mostly just a job or at least a topic not to be spoken about openly would not be impossible. In Molans case, he fully intended to tell anyone who pushed too hard that he was not a bard or messenger, if they wanted to know something about Iryelle’s family they could go ask her themselves or just bugger off. He was a meat shield, that was it.
The hardest part about this ruse was going to be acting like he actually cared about Iryelle’s safety for more than just the fact that if she died, so would he. He was going to actually pretend to be honestly loyal, which was something Molan never felt to anyone but his sister. ‘Maybe that is what I should do?’ Molan thought, ‘Attempt to act like this human is my sister… even though they look and act completely different it may help sell it just a bit more.’
This theory came into play very quickly, far sooner than Molan thought it would at least. Out of nowhere the carriage came to a stop. The dragon had no idea how long the trip was supposed to take so he would not have questioned it were it not for the way Iryelle reacted and the sound of something hitting the carriage. Glancing out the window Molan saw a familiar sight, an angry mob. Yet just like his rider, fear was not the emotion the came to him. No, instead Molan seemed to be feeding off the chaotic group, visibly perking up just by feeling the angry charged air.
“Well, it looks like I’m just as popular here as I am back home. This must be different from the respect as a rider that you are used to, huh?” Molan joked, not finding their lack of popularity something to be worried about. Slowly, Molan started to get into character although there was a bit of a mocking tone to it. “And do not fear, ‘my lady’, dragon form or not, I am far from helpless. I’ll get rid of these humans away one way or another, so you sit back and let your 'body guard' handle them… It is what I am here for after all.”
Although he had no weapons himself, not even a dagger tucked into his robe, Molan threw open the carriage door and stepped out into the street confidently. From the outside, it was possible to see just how pathetic this group of people were. Their weapons were practically nonexistent, Molan saw more pitchforks and rolling pins than he did actual blades. Meaning, this was no official barricade but a group of overworked peasants who seemed to think that just by getting violent they could control politics that they did not even understand. They probably couldn't even read! This point was proven even more so when one of the faceless humans in the crowd threw another piece of fruit at Molan, the fruit missing him entirely as it slammed into the side of the carriage in a large splatter.
“Ugh.” Molan snarled, the stink of the clearly rotten food reaching his nose. The storm dragons first impulse was to go punch each and every one of the idiots to the ground until they submitted but he held himself back, his experience taking orders winning out against his lack of interest for serving. Just because he didn't care didn't mean that he would purposefully make the mission fail. Besides, most of these people seemed to have such horrendous aim that they were realistically in little danger.
Clearing his voice, Molan called out above the chant, “Lower your weapons and return to your homes! This is the carriage of Lady Razdullahan and she is here with official sanction from your rulers. Continue this course of action and not only will the guard hear of your treatment against their noble guests, but I personally will not stand for it. The next person who dares threaten my Lady will suffer the consequences.” As Molan spoke he tried his best to not only sound more official than he really was, but to test his theory that pretending to be protecting his sister would make the lie easier.. And he was right. Imagining his sister being the one threatened this way caused the words to flow off of his tongue and his normally resent gaze to keep its ferocity.
For a moment the crowd seemed to pause, the idea of getting in trouble with the guards or with Molan personally causing them to hesitate. This did not last long though. “Do not threaten us foreigner!” One of the men called out, his hand reeling back as he threw a fist sized stone right at Molans pale face. The rock made contact… but not with it’s target. Molan stepped aside when he saw it hurtling towards him and instead caught it in his gloved hand, throwing it back at the man in the same motion. This time the rock hit it’s goal with a crack, the mans knee instantly buckling. The contact was so sudden and hard that the mobber fell to the ground hissing in pain.
As he watched the man groan Molan couldn't decide if he was hoping that the leg had been broken or if he hoped that it had not. Personally, Molan wanted the man dead but for the sake of the job it would have been best if the man walked away with just a bad bruise. “That was a warning! Let us pass in peace!” This time, despite Molans young appearance, the angry mob seemed to back off. If he could almost shatter a man's leg with just a warning then what would happen if he actually got serious? The peasants were not willing to risk it. So even though they did not leave or stop muttering slander, they quieted their chant a bit and cleared the road just enough so that they could ride through without being blocked. Tensions were still high and some of the mob seemed to still be considering resuming their attack, but none made any immediate moves.
Molan did not get back into the carriage right away, instead choosing to walk on the outside of it as if he was still prepared to act against anyone who dared try something, but he did approach the window where he knew Iryelle was sitting and spoke into the crack. “Well,that was fun, wasn't it? And here I thought I was just going to be stuck playing butler this whole time, but it looks like we are going to get a bit more excitement than that! Thankfully the relations between our lands is more hostile than I thought it was…” As he said this Molan smiled, hoping that he would get more chances to actually fight someone during this mission.
This was just as much a personal taste as it was an instinctual one. Storm dragons were known for thriving under chaos, under battle and war, while when in peace they had been known to loose mental heath and muscle mass quickly. Their bodies were meant for near constant action due to often traveling through lighting storms that threatened to shock them out of the air too, so calm weather and lifestyles were unfit for them in nearly every way. If you wanted a peace loving, relaxed dragon that would always choose talking over fighting, Ice or Psychic dragons were the best fit.
“Is this common for you noble types?” Molan asked quietly, still through the window, “I get bandits coming after you for your money, but peasants? What do they have to gain from throwing rotten food at you? They should have eaten the fruit while it was still good, maybe then they would not have be so angry…” Human society made no sense at times like this. Even if the mob was just rioting due to some sense of patriotism, Molan still could not understand. Storm dragons were nomads, and Molan himself had never had a solid home since he got moved around a lot, so he had very little understanding or appreciation for the physical definition of home. To him, his home was with his sister, not where he slept. Not to mention the ideas of countries and kingdoms being the most unrealistic part of human life.
Myrta
Junior Member
Iryelle felt, to put it mildly, disturbed. It wasn't that she didn't trust Molan to deal with these people. Far from it, actually. The day some unwashed peasants could beat a dragon, even in human form and thus severely weakened, would be the day Iryelle voluntarily took a vow of silence. Fear didn't even begin to enter into the equation. No, what bothered her was the inability to do something about the situation herself. Years of training had equipped her with all the skill needed, but the current mission had bound her hands. Aristocrats who engaged in swordplay generally only did so for the aesthetic aspect, preferring theatrical, dance-like moves to styles that actually worked. If she got out of the carriage and acted like a seasoned warrior, even these people who had probably never spoken to anyone of importance would be able to tell that something was fishy here.
"Hey, these people are Caridinians. What do we know? Perhaps this is a traditional gesture of respect in their culture," Iryelle returned the joke, desperately trying to control the nervous energy buzzing through her body. 'Get your sword!' shouted her instincts and damn, how much she wanted to obey them. In an extraordinary demonstration of restraint, the dragon rider just gave Molan a crooked smile. "Oh thank you, my knight in shining armor. Everything is in your hands. Just one little thing, though. I understand that things can get heated and I won't blame you if this escalates, but if it's even remotely possible, don't kill anyone." Suddenly Iryelle looked serious, a sharp contrast to the previous playfulness.
"It's just that killing poorly armed peasants doesn't seem like a good start to our diplomatic career. Just a thought." With those words, the dragon rider put her arms behind her head and left everything up to Molan. It was a strange feeling, surrendering the control to someone just like that. Slightly disconcerting. Come to think of it, I've never done it before. Iryelle didn't mistrust people, at least not explicitly. It was just that most of the time, she couldn't imagine anyone being better suited for... well, pretty much anything... than her. The confidence had been misplaced often and Iryelle had suffered for it in the past, but all those mistakes she had made? They belonged to her, too. There was a certain bitter satisfaction in not being able to blame your own shortcomings on someone else. Besides, many of the old blunders had taught her something new. Admittedly some of them probably should have been obvious in hindsight, such as the dearly-paid confirmation that bees really didn't like to be bothered, but still.
He's doing remarkably well considering the situation, though, Iryelle thought as she observed Molan's actions through the small window. Dragons were said to be impulsive creatures ruled by their blood-thirst. All the stories she had read as a kid, stories supposedly based on real events, portrayed them as unable to resist the temptation of a good fight. Not even master Oyra could deny that there was a grain of truth to this perception of the beasts. Hell, one didn't have to be irrationally violent to want to slap these peasants around a bit. And yet here he was, actually attempting to negotiate. Maybe his talents are wasted on being a warrior. The role of a diplomat would... ouch, okay, maybe I spoke too soon, Iryelle cringed at the sound of a bone breaking. Damn, that must have hurt like hell.
She didn't plan to cry into her pillow over the troublemaker's fate, especially since he was asking for it, but on some level, Iryelle could find pity in her heart. Fractures weren't very pleasant. Aside from that, if this guy depended on physical labor (which he probably did), he could say goodbye to his income for god knew how long. The worst case scenario meant outright dying, abandoned both by his friends and family. He wouldn't be the first one nor the last one to experience such a betrayal. Those who were supposed to be the closest to you often showed their true colors when it really counted. Well, nothing aside from his own stupidity compelled him to antagonize a guy obviously much stronger than him. That's called natural selection.
If nothing else, then the man's sacrifice at least prevented the conflict from getting bloody. Sensing the imminent doom, the villagers dropped their intentions promptly and began returning to their daily routines as if they just hadn't assaulted them. Astonishing. Perhaps this really was their traditional way of greeting strangers. Iryelle let out breath she hadn't even been aware of holding in. No sooner than that did the dragon rider realize how much tension had accumulated in her body. Funny how stressful it can be to be forced into the shoes of a bystander, eh? And to think that this likely won't be the last time a situation like this occurs. Gods, give me strength. Iryelle almost thought something about "stupid kings" and "nonsensical orders," though the sense of duty within her murdered that notion before it could even be fully born. King Pyrait surely knew what he was doing. He must have.
"Good for you," she smirked at Molan, "I'm glad that you're having fun. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you felt bored on this mission. It's nice that at least one of us is enjoying the trip." Then her expression suddenly grew more hesitant, as if what she was going to say didn't come to her easily. "Seriously though, good job. You handled that really well." Do you see that, master Oyra? Well, obviously you don't, but I just tried to do this positive reinforcement thing you approve of. You'd be proud! Or maybe not exactly proud, though definitely less ashamed than usual. All in all, the compliment was a little weak, however Iryelle also didn't claim to be an expert in this field. She had complimented someone, what, three times before? Give her a break! Molan's next question made her smirk grow into a full-fledged smile, except that there wasn't a trace of happiness in it.
"No, it's not very common. Not even the bandits scenario you have just described is, actually. These guys usually think twice before trying to rob someone of noble descent. They prefer to attack our servants, but never us directly because, well, it's unpleasant when people like us get personal and that's what usually happens the second our lives are threatened. Back to the topic, though," Iryelle waved her hand. "I... don't think that they have anything to gain from this. It seemed like a purely emotional response. I had no idea that the relationship between our kingdoms was that bad. It was fairly obvious from the very start that they have no great love for us, but we haven't really harmed them as far as I know." Economic coercion doesn't count. "What is pretty appalling is the evident lack of control the Caridinian king has over his subjects, though. Assaulting a diplomat? That's a fairly serious crime no matter how you look at it. If we were a real delegation, then..." Iryelle shut up in the middle of her sentence, her eyes widening. It was her famous 'I-have-just-got-an-idea' expression which alone gave people who knew her well aneurysms.
"Hey, what if we used it to our advantage? Almost nothing happened, but who has to know that? Certainly not the king. We can arrive late on purpose and say that some bandits ambushed us in the forest while making it very obvious why we were targeted. You may even rough me up a bit for the proper dramatic effect. Normally this would cause an international incident, but since we're so dedicated to preserving the peace between our kingdoms, we're willing to keep our mouths shut. And bam, just like that, they owe us a favor! What do you think?" Yes, Iryelle was actually asking, not ordering him around. At least not yet. The dragon rider was half-convinced to do whatever she wanted anyway, but perhaps his input could help.
"Hey, these people are Caridinians. What do we know? Perhaps this is a traditional gesture of respect in their culture," Iryelle returned the joke, desperately trying to control the nervous energy buzzing through her body. 'Get your sword!' shouted her instincts and damn, how much she wanted to obey them. In an extraordinary demonstration of restraint, the dragon rider just gave Molan a crooked smile. "Oh thank you, my knight in shining armor. Everything is in your hands. Just one little thing, though. I understand that things can get heated and I won't blame you if this escalates, but if it's even remotely possible, don't kill anyone." Suddenly Iryelle looked serious, a sharp contrast to the previous playfulness.
"It's just that killing poorly armed peasants doesn't seem like a good start to our diplomatic career. Just a thought." With those words, the dragon rider put her arms behind her head and left everything up to Molan. It was a strange feeling, surrendering the control to someone just like that. Slightly disconcerting. Come to think of it, I've never done it before. Iryelle didn't mistrust people, at least not explicitly. It was just that most of the time, she couldn't imagine anyone being better suited for... well, pretty much anything... than her. The confidence had been misplaced often and Iryelle had suffered for it in the past, but all those mistakes she had made? They belonged to her, too. There was a certain bitter satisfaction in not being able to blame your own shortcomings on someone else. Besides, many of the old blunders had taught her something new. Admittedly some of them probably should have been obvious in hindsight, such as the dearly-paid confirmation that bees really didn't like to be bothered, but still.
He's doing remarkably well considering the situation, though, Iryelle thought as she observed Molan's actions through the small window. Dragons were said to be impulsive creatures ruled by their blood-thirst. All the stories she had read as a kid, stories supposedly based on real events, portrayed them as unable to resist the temptation of a good fight. Not even master Oyra could deny that there was a grain of truth to this perception of the beasts. Hell, one didn't have to be irrationally violent to want to slap these peasants around a bit. And yet here he was, actually attempting to negotiate. Maybe his talents are wasted on being a warrior. The role of a diplomat would... ouch, okay, maybe I spoke too soon, Iryelle cringed at the sound of a bone breaking. Damn, that must have hurt like hell.
She didn't plan to cry into her pillow over the troublemaker's fate, especially since he was asking for it, but on some level, Iryelle could find pity in her heart. Fractures weren't very pleasant. Aside from that, if this guy depended on physical labor (which he probably did), he could say goodbye to his income for god knew how long. The worst case scenario meant outright dying, abandoned both by his friends and family. He wouldn't be the first one nor the last one to experience such a betrayal. Those who were supposed to be the closest to you often showed their true colors when it really counted. Well, nothing aside from his own stupidity compelled him to antagonize a guy obviously much stronger than him. That's called natural selection.
If nothing else, then the man's sacrifice at least prevented the conflict from getting bloody. Sensing the imminent doom, the villagers dropped their intentions promptly and began returning to their daily routines as if they just hadn't assaulted them. Astonishing. Perhaps this really was their traditional way of greeting strangers. Iryelle let out breath she hadn't even been aware of holding in. No sooner than that did the dragon rider realize how much tension had accumulated in her body. Funny how stressful it can be to be forced into the shoes of a bystander, eh? And to think that this likely won't be the last time a situation like this occurs. Gods, give me strength. Iryelle almost thought something about "stupid kings" and "nonsensical orders," though the sense of duty within her murdered that notion before it could even be fully born. King Pyrait surely knew what he was doing. He must have.
"Good for you," she smirked at Molan, "I'm glad that you're having fun. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you felt bored on this mission. It's nice that at least one of us is enjoying the trip." Then her expression suddenly grew more hesitant, as if what she was going to say didn't come to her easily. "Seriously though, good job. You handled that really well." Do you see that, master Oyra? Well, obviously you don't, but I just tried to do this positive reinforcement thing you approve of. You'd be proud! Or maybe not exactly proud, though definitely less ashamed than usual. All in all, the compliment was a little weak, however Iryelle also didn't claim to be an expert in this field. She had complimented someone, what, three times before? Give her a break! Molan's next question made her smirk grow into a full-fledged smile, except that there wasn't a trace of happiness in it.
"No, it's not very common. Not even the bandits scenario you have just described is, actually. These guys usually think twice before trying to rob someone of noble descent. They prefer to attack our servants, but never us directly because, well, it's unpleasant when people like us get personal and that's what usually happens the second our lives are threatened. Back to the topic, though," Iryelle waved her hand. "I... don't think that they have anything to gain from this. It seemed like a purely emotional response. I had no idea that the relationship between our kingdoms was that bad. It was fairly obvious from the very start that they have no great love for us, but we haven't really harmed them as far as I know." Economic coercion doesn't count. "What is pretty appalling is the evident lack of control the Caridinian king has over his subjects, though. Assaulting a diplomat? That's a fairly serious crime no matter how you look at it. If we were a real delegation, then..." Iryelle shut up in the middle of her sentence, her eyes widening. It was her famous 'I-have-just-got-an-idea' expression which alone gave people who knew her well aneurysms.
"Hey, what if we used it to our advantage? Almost nothing happened, but who has to know that? Certainly not the king. We can arrive late on purpose and say that some bandits ambushed us in the forest while making it very obvious why we were targeted. You may even rough me up a bit for the proper dramatic effect. Normally this would cause an international incident, but since we're so dedicated to preserving the peace between our kingdoms, we're willing to keep our mouths shut. And bam, just like that, they owe us a favor! What do you think?" Yes, Iryelle was actually asking, not ordering him around. At least not yet. The dragon rider was half-convinced to do whatever she wanted anyway, but perhaps his input could help.
Viper
One Thousand Club
“No, we wouldn't want me getting bored, would we? So keep getting in trouble if you don’t mind.” Molan did not get to beat up humans as much as he wanted to, and he wanted to alot, so even just snapping at that one man was a fun little distraction. Most of the time he had to hold back from doing actual harm to people, although there was a few times in the past he had fought bandits and other riff raff with permission from whatever rider was around him at the time. Still, Molans bloodlust and desire to redirect his rage was never sated. Hopefully, if these attacks kept up, he would actually get to expel a bit of his anger fully.
The out of nowhere compliment caused Molan to literally freeze in place as his face twisted to reflect that confusion. He was not used to hearing compliments… ever. So even though her complement was a bit weak and semi awkward, Molan accepted it fully only to reciprocate the same level of awkwardness as he thanked her, “Oh, uh, thanks I guess… I’m used to lying to people so it wasn't a big deal.” He tried to pass of his thanks as nothing, casual, but getting her paise honestly made him feel openly uncomfortable. Sure, Molan always went on and on about how dragons deserved more respect from their human companions, but when it came down to actually getting it Molan did not know how to act. He had never gotten much praise in the past excluding the few riders who were like Master Oyra and treated dragons like actual people. The positive words coming from someone as cocky as Iryelle only made the whole situation even stranger.
Thankfully, the moment passed rather quickly and Molan was able to get back into more familiar territory… wishing harm on to humans without specific reason. “Well that’s surprising. If I were a bandit I would make sure to target you noble folk servants or not. I mean, who would honestly get intimidated by a nobleman or his family that spent more time getting fat or on the dance floor rather than on the battlefield? Besides, you can only get in trouble for something if you leave survivors to tell your tale. It’s hard to seek vengeance on someone when there is no one alive to point the finger after all.”
For the third time, the subject quickly changed to something completely different. This time it was boring politics. Molan rolled his eyes but did not interrupt. As already stated, Molan did not care about the mission but he had no intention of sabotaging it either. As Iryelle laid out her plan though, Molans face turned from disinterested to one of contemplation. It wasn't a bad idea, trying to leech out a favor right off the bat, plus the lie was more fun than the truth in this particular situation.
“I like it.” Molan said honestly, “Although, as much as I would like to beat you up a bit, I don’t think you should show up incredibly hurt. A few cuts and cruises should be enough since it shouldn't look like the bandits actually got their hands on you. We will need to break the carriage a bit and I suppose I can take a few bruises too if it’s necessary, but if you look too hurt it is going to make both of us look weak. I’m your bodyguard remember? We don’t want their first impression of me to be that I’m so helpless I was unable to protect you from some lowly bandits.” Although Molans pride did play a role into his words, mostly he was thinking strategically. Getting the favor was well and good, but appearing weak in a foreign kingdom was dangerous even without the political strife. “There will be plenty more people who want us dead once we get there and I suck at holding back so if something comes up where I have to fight, people will get suspicious of the difference. Besides, acting super weak will give them no reason to wait to spring an attack on one of us, and don’t we want to keep your identity a secret for as long as possible?”
The storm dragon was actually trying to logic his way through the situation before he remembered his own situation, “That’s my thoughts on the matter at least. It’s up to you though.” Molan shrugged, the casual motion not at all matching what he was really feeling. He was going to be pissed if he had just wasted his breath on a plan that barely even concerned him. “I’m not the one who is going to have to sell this to the prissy pants up there, getting the upper hand is going to be up to you, so I’ll just go along with whatever you choose ‘my lady’.”
“Whatever we are going to do, we should probably pull over once we find a clearing. We need to get this rotten fruit off of the clearing before the stench sticks… more than it already has.” As he said this Molan reached up to his nose and rubbed at it, as if hopping the action would decrease the smell. Some of the peasants had thrown food at the carriage and although the main parts of it had fallen off, the streaks and smell had not. Molan had smelt burnt corpses that smelled better than this. “Bandits don't throw food, and if I have to stand next to this thing for much longer I’m going to hurl. We can prep the carriage while we stop.”
Just as he said this, Molan caught sight not only of a small clearing just wide enough for them to pull into, but he also saw the sparkle of water through the trunks of the forest. There was no guarantee that what he saw was actually water but it being there would be convenient. Before even waiting for Iryelle to get out of the carriage herself, Molan began searching the ground for some kind of large stick to serve as a make shift weapon. They needed to put some dents into the carriage in order to make their 'attack' believable, and Molan had a distaste for weaponry so he personally had nothing to use. His hands, magic, and dragonic state was enough to face his foes... not to mention the fact that by using man made weapons Molan felt like he was betraying his 'wild' origin.
The out of nowhere compliment caused Molan to literally freeze in place as his face twisted to reflect that confusion. He was not used to hearing compliments… ever. So even though her complement was a bit weak and semi awkward, Molan accepted it fully only to reciprocate the same level of awkwardness as he thanked her, “Oh, uh, thanks I guess… I’m used to lying to people so it wasn't a big deal.” He tried to pass of his thanks as nothing, casual, but getting her paise honestly made him feel openly uncomfortable. Sure, Molan always went on and on about how dragons deserved more respect from their human companions, but when it came down to actually getting it Molan did not know how to act. He had never gotten much praise in the past excluding the few riders who were like Master Oyra and treated dragons like actual people. The positive words coming from someone as cocky as Iryelle only made the whole situation even stranger.
Thankfully, the moment passed rather quickly and Molan was able to get back into more familiar territory… wishing harm on to humans without specific reason. “Well that’s surprising. If I were a bandit I would make sure to target you noble folk servants or not. I mean, who would honestly get intimidated by a nobleman or his family that spent more time getting fat or on the dance floor rather than on the battlefield? Besides, you can only get in trouble for something if you leave survivors to tell your tale. It’s hard to seek vengeance on someone when there is no one alive to point the finger after all.”
For the third time, the subject quickly changed to something completely different. This time it was boring politics. Molan rolled his eyes but did not interrupt. As already stated, Molan did not care about the mission but he had no intention of sabotaging it either. As Iryelle laid out her plan though, Molans face turned from disinterested to one of contemplation. It wasn't a bad idea, trying to leech out a favor right off the bat, plus the lie was more fun than the truth in this particular situation.
“I like it.” Molan said honestly, “Although, as much as I would like to beat you up a bit, I don’t think you should show up incredibly hurt. A few cuts and cruises should be enough since it shouldn't look like the bandits actually got their hands on you. We will need to break the carriage a bit and I suppose I can take a few bruises too if it’s necessary, but if you look too hurt it is going to make both of us look weak. I’m your bodyguard remember? We don’t want their first impression of me to be that I’m so helpless I was unable to protect you from some lowly bandits.” Although Molans pride did play a role into his words, mostly he was thinking strategically. Getting the favor was well and good, but appearing weak in a foreign kingdom was dangerous even without the political strife. “There will be plenty more people who want us dead once we get there and I suck at holding back so if something comes up where I have to fight, people will get suspicious of the difference. Besides, acting super weak will give them no reason to wait to spring an attack on one of us, and don’t we want to keep your identity a secret for as long as possible?”
The storm dragon was actually trying to logic his way through the situation before he remembered his own situation, “That’s my thoughts on the matter at least. It’s up to you though.” Molan shrugged, the casual motion not at all matching what he was really feeling. He was going to be pissed if he had just wasted his breath on a plan that barely even concerned him. “I’m not the one who is going to have to sell this to the prissy pants up there, getting the upper hand is going to be up to you, so I’ll just go along with whatever you choose ‘my lady’.”
“Whatever we are going to do, we should probably pull over once we find a clearing. We need to get this rotten fruit off of the clearing before the stench sticks… more than it already has.” As he said this Molan reached up to his nose and rubbed at it, as if hopping the action would decrease the smell. Some of the peasants had thrown food at the carriage and although the main parts of it had fallen off, the streaks and smell had not. Molan had smelt burnt corpses that smelled better than this. “Bandits don't throw food, and if I have to stand next to this thing for much longer I’m going to hurl. We can prep the carriage while we stop.”
Just as he said this, Molan caught sight not only of a small clearing just wide enough for them to pull into, but he also saw the sparkle of water through the trunks of the forest. There was no guarantee that what he saw was actually water but it being there would be convenient. Before even waiting for Iryelle to get out of the carriage herself, Molan began searching the ground for some kind of large stick to serve as a make shift weapon. They needed to put some dents into the carriage in order to make their 'attack' believable, and Molan had a distaste for weaponry so he personally had nothing to use. His hands, magic, and dragonic state was enough to face his foes... not to mention the fact that by using man made weapons Molan felt like he was betraying his 'wild' origin.
Myrta
Junior Member
Had Iryelle been more observant, she would have noticed Molan's reaction to praise. The problem that this exact quality was missing from her otherwise considerably wide repertoire, so it went undetected. Instead, the dragon rider focused on laughing at his theories. "You know, from what you're saying, it's really obvious that you aren't human. It's not about physical strength. Sure, I imagine that the bandits would find it really easy to disembowel someone who has spent their entire life complaining about the cushions under their ass not being silky enough. From this viewpoint, aristocrats truly are an easy prey. The problem is that once you kill one of them, you can bet that their family is going to thirst after revenge. And unlike families of peasants, these people have considerable resources at their disposal. If you cross them, their henchmen will find you sooner or later. It's just not worth the trouble, really."
Iryelle shut up as Molan explained his rationale, a phenomenon about as rare as snow in the middle of July. The longer he spoke, the more she was glad that something had spurned her to ask about his opinion. Even though most of the points he raised had occurred to her before, it became increasingly apparent that she could find a reliable advisor in Molan. "Yeah, I'm also not planning to arrive beaten within an inch of my life. There have to be more pleasant ways to skip work than recovering from the wounds inflicted by my own dragon. And while we're at it, I'd appreciate it if you didn't cause any injuries that could impede my fighting style. Theatrics are all well and good, but there's a real chance that I'll be forced to defend myself, so don't do anything to my arms. I want to be able to hold my sword." The king had ordered her to do anything within her power to avoid being found out, but Iryelle didn't think that getting into a fight could jeopardize her position. Dead people couldn't speak, after all.
"All in all, I think that my wounds should be more or less just cosmetic. Bruise my face, that should earn me some sympathy points. Maybe I'll even cry. You were right when you said that you should look strong, but I could actually benefit from being perceived as weak. Hell, I'm nineteen. Most of the people I'm going to work with won't respect me anyway since they believe that age translates into competence." Not that it was a necessarily faulty conclusion because youth usually did mean next to no experience, but still. People of Caridin were about to find out that underestimating your enemy shouldn't be considered a viable tactic unless you desperately craved to taste defeat. "You see, Molan, if they think that I'm a weakling, they will be less guarded around me. Why should they be careful around a moron who can't put two and two together, right? Stealing their secrets should be laughably easy if I pull it off."
First things first, though. Molan was right, they needed to take care of the carriage first to make the illusion of an ambush more believable. Iryelle happily got out of the carriage, stretching her stiff limbs. "Have I mentioned already how much I hate traveling? This should be classified as some kind of torture. I don't understand that people who actually enjoy traveling exist," her face contorted in something close to disgust. The disgust only deepened when the time to deal with the rubbish came. "Gross. I kind of feel the need to confess that I had not expected this when I signed up for this job," Iryelle smirked as she collected the scattered pieces of rotten vegetables. "This is also why I don't believe peasants when they complain about being taxed too much. If anything, the taxes are too lenient if they have food to waste."
Thankfully, it didn't take too long to clean up the mess. Far more challenging task was awaiting them now, though. Iryelle looked at the carriage, her expression thoughtful. "Alright, so how do we go about it? It would be pretty silly to just inflict random damage, as entertaining as the prospect seems. If we are too clumsy with fabricating the evidence, they will suspect that something is amiss. So, imagine that you're a bandit. It is my life that you're after, you don't care about the carriage. How would you proceed?" Iryelle let the question hang in the air for a while, letting Molan answer if he felt like it, before she provided her own insight. "I think that they'd try to stop the carriage, so we should damage the wheels. Not too much obviously since I don't feel like walking all the way to the capital, but yes. It doesn't have to be anything too great in scope, it's not that difficult to stop these carriages. They're constructed with speed in mind, but sturdiness. Next step, I think, would be dragging me out, so it makes sense that they'd do something to the door in the process. Here we can afford to go wild for the dramatic effect. Do you think that we should rip them off? They look flimsy, so it's not that far-fetched that bandits could cause that kind of damage."
Once they discussed the plan properly, they had to put it in action. This, strangely enough, proved to be the pleasant part. Taking out her frustrations on the innocent object proved to be downright therapeutic for Iryelle, someone very used to physical activities. Finally it feels like my muscles are useful again! The happiness wasn't meant to last long, though, because now they had to care of another facet of their camouflage. Iryelle's injuries, to be precise. To say that she wasn't looking forward to that would have been an understatement. The dragon rider merely sighed, her gaze finding Molan once again. "Well, I suppose that you get to enjoy your fun now. I can tear my clothes alone, so no need to concern yourself with that. Just take care of my face like we agreed." With these words, Iryelle closed her eyes and braced herself for what was to come.
Iryelle shut up as Molan explained his rationale, a phenomenon about as rare as snow in the middle of July. The longer he spoke, the more she was glad that something had spurned her to ask about his opinion. Even though most of the points he raised had occurred to her before, it became increasingly apparent that she could find a reliable advisor in Molan. "Yeah, I'm also not planning to arrive beaten within an inch of my life. There have to be more pleasant ways to skip work than recovering from the wounds inflicted by my own dragon. And while we're at it, I'd appreciate it if you didn't cause any injuries that could impede my fighting style. Theatrics are all well and good, but there's a real chance that I'll be forced to defend myself, so don't do anything to my arms. I want to be able to hold my sword." The king had ordered her to do anything within her power to avoid being found out, but Iryelle didn't think that getting into a fight could jeopardize her position. Dead people couldn't speak, after all.
"All in all, I think that my wounds should be more or less just cosmetic. Bruise my face, that should earn me some sympathy points. Maybe I'll even cry. You were right when you said that you should look strong, but I could actually benefit from being perceived as weak. Hell, I'm nineteen. Most of the people I'm going to work with won't respect me anyway since they believe that age translates into competence." Not that it was a necessarily faulty conclusion because youth usually did mean next to no experience, but still. People of Caridin were about to find out that underestimating your enemy shouldn't be considered a viable tactic unless you desperately craved to taste defeat. "You see, Molan, if they think that I'm a weakling, they will be less guarded around me. Why should they be careful around a moron who can't put two and two together, right? Stealing their secrets should be laughably easy if I pull it off."
First things first, though. Molan was right, they needed to take care of the carriage first to make the illusion of an ambush more believable. Iryelle happily got out of the carriage, stretching her stiff limbs. "Have I mentioned already how much I hate traveling? This should be classified as some kind of torture. I don't understand that people who actually enjoy traveling exist," her face contorted in something close to disgust. The disgust only deepened when the time to deal with the rubbish came. "Gross. I kind of feel the need to confess that I had not expected this when I signed up for this job," Iryelle smirked as she collected the scattered pieces of rotten vegetables. "This is also why I don't believe peasants when they complain about being taxed too much. If anything, the taxes are too lenient if they have food to waste."
Thankfully, it didn't take too long to clean up the mess. Far more challenging task was awaiting them now, though. Iryelle looked at the carriage, her expression thoughtful. "Alright, so how do we go about it? It would be pretty silly to just inflict random damage, as entertaining as the prospect seems. If we are too clumsy with fabricating the evidence, they will suspect that something is amiss. So, imagine that you're a bandit. It is my life that you're after, you don't care about the carriage. How would you proceed?" Iryelle let the question hang in the air for a while, letting Molan answer if he felt like it, before she provided her own insight. "I think that they'd try to stop the carriage, so we should damage the wheels. Not too much obviously since I don't feel like walking all the way to the capital, but yes. It doesn't have to be anything too great in scope, it's not that difficult to stop these carriages. They're constructed with speed in mind, but sturdiness. Next step, I think, would be dragging me out, so it makes sense that they'd do something to the door in the process. Here we can afford to go wild for the dramatic effect. Do you think that we should rip them off? They look flimsy, so it's not that far-fetched that bandits could cause that kind of damage."
Once they discussed the plan properly, they had to put it in action. This, strangely enough, proved to be the pleasant part. Taking out her frustrations on the innocent object proved to be downright therapeutic for Iryelle, someone very used to physical activities. Finally it feels like my muscles are useful again! The happiness wasn't meant to last long, though, because now they had to care of another facet of their camouflage. Iryelle's injuries, to be precise. To say that she wasn't looking forward to that would have been an understatement. The dragon rider merely sighed, her gaze finding Molan once again. "Well, I suppose that you get to enjoy your fun now. I can tear my clothes alone, so no need to concern yourself with that. Just take care of my face like we agreed." With these words, Iryelle closed her eyes and braced herself for what was to come.
Viper
One Thousand Club
“Fine , fine.” Molan said, waving her request not to cripple her away. That went without saying, or at least it should have. The temptation was there, Molan had a bad habit of always considering the best way to effectively get rid of the humans around him, but the necklace bouncing beneath his now white robe was a constant reminder that it was not even an option. She could kill him with a thought after all, so even if he tried to do something damaging to her without permission it would be pointless. Still, Iryelle must have felt that pointing out the obvious was necessary when dealing with him since this was far from the first time she had done so just today. It was a tad bit insulting. “Bruises, nothing more, I got it.”
“You cry on command?” Molan questioned with a light chuckle, finding it hard to imagine her crying in the first place let alone when just acting. “Wonders never cease I guess….” When Iryelle continued the humor turned into light frustration.Apparently she had missed the point of his comment nearly completely. She needed to appear hurt in order to gain sympathy, yes, but her getting injured did not reflect on her at all. She was a noble, a politician, so being bad at combat was not unsual, but he was supposed to be her guard, and therefore every injury on her body made him appear incompetent. Her physical state meant nothing for a nobles reputation but everything for a so called ‘protector’. She could appear weak through the way of handling the attack, not the physical cost of it. “You're the boss, I guess.” Molan submitted, shrugging, not willing to argue it. He said his points and did not feel strongly about the matter enough to push. That time would come, without a doubt.
When they pulled over, Molan had already been a bit far off looking for something to use to bang up the carriage but Iryelle wasn't talking quietly so he could still hear her just fine despite the distance. “Try having wings and not being able to use them…” Molan muttered bitterly, before responding more loudly, “Imagine how the horse feels! He’s the poor sod that has to pull us all this way!” He was glad that he was further away from the carriage at that point, his nose had already had enough of the rotten fruit stench stuck on the carriage and the fresh air was doing well to quell the nausea. He was glad to hear that is was just as unpleasant for his human companion as it was for him. “I imagine we are going to have to do a lot of shit that we did not expect. Your king seems fond of inconveniencing people for his own agenda…. Although I agree, the peasants seem just as selfish if this is what they do with their food.”
Molan could not relate to the humans in this way very much. He was a meat eater, often finding that consuming vegetables or sweets upset his stomach no matter which form he was in. He could drink anything thankfully from water to wine, and the meat near raw to burnt, but other foods seemed to be a bit more picky a subject for his kind. If he could survive off of fruits and vegetables he sure as hell would not be throwing it at others once it went bad, at the very least. In fact, his food would never get bad in the first place because he would eat it before that happened. Wasting food was stupid and pointless, especially when you never knew when your next meal was coming. Or in a human perspective, you never knew if the next harvest was going to be good enough to live off of.
Molan had already been thinking about how to break the carriage, so by the time Iryelle had cleaned off the carriage Molan had returned with several objects suitable to do just that. There was a rock, fairly large and definitely heavy, and a branch just about the size of a spear and sharpened at the front. Molan had no weapons of his own so this was his attempt to improvise. “I’d break the window. Try and hit you with an arrow or at least drive you out of the box. Quick and direct, little to no messing with the carriage or a guard.” Molan answered as he flipped the heavy rock up into the air, catching it absentmindedly several times. “I’m going to use the rock to shatter at least one of them, okay?”
Iryelle’s strategy was a bit different than the dragons, it was not wrong per say, but it was certainly different. Molan liked to keep a distance, pulling tricks and cheats to edge the battle in his favor no matter how immoral it was. His past instructors had described his style as being roguish, like the tactics a common thief or assassin would employ. Iryelle, at least from Molans perspective, seemed more like a classic warrior with the usual brutish, upfront battle style that was far more noble than his methods. Whether this observation was correct or not did not bother Molan, his opinion had been made about the sword woman's fighting style already.
“That works.” Molan nodded, taking the branch he had brought over into his arms as he headed over to the carriage wheels. Oh, he still intended to mess with at least one of the windows but he would follow his direct ‘orders’ first. The pair of trained fighters made quick work of the carriage, By the time they were done the carriage looked like it had been properly attacked by a group of thugs with weapons. A few dents, a crack on the door, and even one of the wheels was made so that it wobbled when turned. Molan was satisfied with the results. Just like his rider, he had enjoyed the expulsion of energy very much. So when he was done his adrenaline was already flowing strongly through his body and he was in a better mood than he had been all day. Fighting, or really any physical activity, had a habit of perking him up, as Iryelle was likely going to learn soon enough.
At the sounds of the sigh and Iryelle’s words, Molan let the branch he was holding fall back to the ground as he turned to her. He may not have thought injuring Iryelle was the best plan, nor damaging her clothing, but if he was going to do it he wasn't going to use such a weapon to do so. The others would surely think him weak when they first arrive but if any of the guards or warriors at the capitol questioned why Molans ‘lady’ got so hurt during a simple bandit attack, Molan would simply have to prove to them that the loss was a fluke and he was still capable of breaking every bone in their body without breaking a sweat. Molan would have plenty of chances to improve his warrior reputation once they settled in, he was so at least.
With Iryelle’s permission granted, Molan allowed himself to clench his fist in preparation for hitting her. Now this was something he wanted to savor. He would likely never get another chance to hurt his own rider ever again, so Molan wanted to remember the feeling well. This desire was honestly nothing personal. The dragon had a grudge against all humans, and since Iryelle was now the sole holder of his chain, she was the best person for Molan to direct his blame to about his situation. Naturally, this ‘honor’ of hers was seen as something far less positive from Molans point of view and it came with a few drawbacks. As for Molan’s feelings on her personality… well, he had met worse people but he was not going to be calling her friend any time soon either.
Perhaps he should have given her warning, but Molan did not see fit to do that before he brought his hand up into the air and sent it flying towards her face. The back of his hand made solid contact with her jaw, the hit highly audible. Molan had tried to hold back, honestly, but as his past instructors or sparring partners knew, the dragon was not the best at withholding his strength. The hit could have been softer and produced the same bruise, but it also could have been a lot harder and have had actually broke something. Thankfully, that was more or less all they needed to really do to her face to make the ruse believable, “Here, give me your arm. I’m going to see if I can cause some finger shaped bruises that will make it look like someone tried to drag you.” Molan held out his hand, not doing it without permission but from the way he spoke it came off as insistent.
Once Iryelle’s injuries were done, it was Molans turn. The idea of willingly letting someone hurt him was repulsive. Many times in the past he had to do it just to save his sisters or his own life, some riders were cruel, but each time it pissed him off to no end. This time though the threat was not immediate and the pain was not completely necessary to accomplish anything important. This was just a part of the plan that he had unfortunately agreed to.
“Alright let's get this over with.” Molan said as he held out his arms out to the side is an almost sacrificial matter. If Iryelle was going to show up to the capitol bruised, than her guard had to look like he was in a hard fight too. “Give me a few cuts with that sword of yours and a few hits, whatever strikes your fancy, ‘my lady’.” Unlike Iryelle, Molan did not shut his eyes in preparation for the soon to be coming attack. He just stared at his rider, with more anger than fear. I can’t believe I am letting a human do this to me again. He thought finally right before the first blow came.
“You cry on command?” Molan questioned with a light chuckle, finding it hard to imagine her crying in the first place let alone when just acting. “Wonders never cease I guess….” When Iryelle continued the humor turned into light frustration.Apparently she had missed the point of his comment nearly completely. She needed to appear hurt in order to gain sympathy, yes, but her getting injured did not reflect on her at all. She was a noble, a politician, so being bad at combat was not unsual, but he was supposed to be her guard, and therefore every injury on her body made him appear incompetent. Her physical state meant nothing for a nobles reputation but everything for a so called ‘protector’. She could appear weak through the way of handling the attack, not the physical cost of it. “You're the boss, I guess.” Molan submitted, shrugging, not willing to argue it. He said his points and did not feel strongly about the matter enough to push. That time would come, without a doubt.
When they pulled over, Molan had already been a bit far off looking for something to use to bang up the carriage but Iryelle wasn't talking quietly so he could still hear her just fine despite the distance. “Try having wings and not being able to use them…” Molan muttered bitterly, before responding more loudly, “Imagine how the horse feels! He’s the poor sod that has to pull us all this way!” He was glad that he was further away from the carriage at that point, his nose had already had enough of the rotten fruit stench stuck on the carriage and the fresh air was doing well to quell the nausea. He was glad to hear that is was just as unpleasant for his human companion as it was for him. “I imagine we are going to have to do a lot of shit that we did not expect. Your king seems fond of inconveniencing people for his own agenda…. Although I agree, the peasants seem just as selfish if this is what they do with their food.”
Molan could not relate to the humans in this way very much. He was a meat eater, often finding that consuming vegetables or sweets upset his stomach no matter which form he was in. He could drink anything thankfully from water to wine, and the meat near raw to burnt, but other foods seemed to be a bit more picky a subject for his kind. If he could survive off of fruits and vegetables he sure as hell would not be throwing it at others once it went bad, at the very least. In fact, his food would never get bad in the first place because he would eat it before that happened. Wasting food was stupid and pointless, especially when you never knew when your next meal was coming. Or in a human perspective, you never knew if the next harvest was going to be good enough to live off of.
Molan had already been thinking about how to break the carriage, so by the time Iryelle had cleaned off the carriage Molan had returned with several objects suitable to do just that. There was a rock, fairly large and definitely heavy, and a branch just about the size of a spear and sharpened at the front. Molan had no weapons of his own so this was his attempt to improvise. “I’d break the window. Try and hit you with an arrow or at least drive you out of the box. Quick and direct, little to no messing with the carriage or a guard.” Molan answered as he flipped the heavy rock up into the air, catching it absentmindedly several times. “I’m going to use the rock to shatter at least one of them, okay?”
Iryelle’s strategy was a bit different than the dragons, it was not wrong per say, but it was certainly different. Molan liked to keep a distance, pulling tricks and cheats to edge the battle in his favor no matter how immoral it was. His past instructors had described his style as being roguish, like the tactics a common thief or assassin would employ. Iryelle, at least from Molans perspective, seemed more like a classic warrior with the usual brutish, upfront battle style that was far more noble than his methods. Whether this observation was correct or not did not bother Molan, his opinion had been made about the sword woman's fighting style already.
“That works.” Molan nodded, taking the branch he had brought over into his arms as he headed over to the carriage wheels. Oh, he still intended to mess with at least one of the windows but he would follow his direct ‘orders’ first. The pair of trained fighters made quick work of the carriage, By the time they were done the carriage looked like it had been properly attacked by a group of thugs with weapons. A few dents, a crack on the door, and even one of the wheels was made so that it wobbled when turned. Molan was satisfied with the results. Just like his rider, he had enjoyed the expulsion of energy very much. So when he was done his adrenaline was already flowing strongly through his body and he was in a better mood than he had been all day. Fighting, or really any physical activity, had a habit of perking him up, as Iryelle was likely going to learn soon enough.
At the sounds of the sigh and Iryelle’s words, Molan let the branch he was holding fall back to the ground as he turned to her. He may not have thought injuring Iryelle was the best plan, nor damaging her clothing, but if he was going to do it he wasn't going to use such a weapon to do so. The others would surely think him weak when they first arrive but if any of the guards or warriors at the capitol questioned why Molans ‘lady’ got so hurt during a simple bandit attack, Molan would simply have to prove to them that the loss was a fluke and he was still capable of breaking every bone in their body without breaking a sweat. Molan would have plenty of chances to improve his warrior reputation once they settled in, he was so at least.
With Iryelle’s permission granted, Molan allowed himself to clench his fist in preparation for hitting her. Now this was something he wanted to savor. He would likely never get another chance to hurt his own rider ever again, so Molan wanted to remember the feeling well. This desire was honestly nothing personal. The dragon had a grudge against all humans, and since Iryelle was now the sole holder of his chain, she was the best person for Molan to direct his blame to about his situation. Naturally, this ‘honor’ of hers was seen as something far less positive from Molans point of view and it came with a few drawbacks. As for Molan’s feelings on her personality… well, he had met worse people but he was not going to be calling her friend any time soon either.
Perhaps he should have given her warning, but Molan did not see fit to do that before he brought his hand up into the air and sent it flying towards her face. The back of his hand made solid contact with her jaw, the hit highly audible. Molan had tried to hold back, honestly, but as his past instructors or sparring partners knew, the dragon was not the best at withholding his strength. The hit could have been softer and produced the same bruise, but it also could have been a lot harder and have had actually broke something. Thankfully, that was more or less all they needed to really do to her face to make the ruse believable, “Here, give me your arm. I’m going to see if I can cause some finger shaped bruises that will make it look like someone tried to drag you.” Molan held out his hand, not doing it without permission but from the way he spoke it came off as insistent.
Once Iryelle’s injuries were done, it was Molans turn. The idea of willingly letting someone hurt him was repulsive. Many times in the past he had to do it just to save his sisters or his own life, some riders were cruel, but each time it pissed him off to no end. This time though the threat was not immediate and the pain was not completely necessary to accomplish anything important. This was just a part of the plan that he had unfortunately agreed to.
“Alright let's get this over with.” Molan said as he held out his arms out to the side is an almost sacrificial matter. If Iryelle was going to show up to the capitol bruised, than her guard had to look like he was in a hard fight too. “Give me a few cuts with that sword of yours and a few hits, whatever strikes your fancy, ‘my lady’.” Unlike Iryelle, Molan did not shut his eyes in preparation for the soon to be coming attack. He just stared at his rider, with more anger than fear. I can’t believe I am letting a human do this to me again. He thought finally right before the first blow came.
