Daggerford

There are nights when the wolves are silent, and only the moon howls.


 * So it is on the ninth hour by the Shadow on Idleforge, the 34th day of Bleakdreary in the year 627, for within the heart of the Wildlands there is nothing but silence and the continual hiss of the Jadesnake below the Pride of Deepwater to shatter the serenity of the clear sky above. Moonless as it may be, the shimmer stars upon that velvet canvas suggest that one of those six prowling spheres may just be upon the horizon, yet do little to illuminate the otherwise umbra-cast landscape that rests all around the River Cutter that soars ever north upon wings of water and air.


 * To the west stretches the as-yet undiscovered dark green country that one might assume to be the western reaches of the Wildlands, home to places that exist in name only. To the east of the Pride, however, the landscape has take on a more sinister tone; a sheer cliff face prevents one from witnessing the lands above, but these are lands that need no introduction, for those as the lands of ash and desolation, evidenced by the occasional swirl of charcoal that sweeps from the rocky ledges of the land above to rain down upon the river below.


 * Up above the Pride of Darkwater, one might notice a prominent mass of rock which overlooks the lower lying body of water below, the promontory charted as Serath's Stand by those who have been there to document it. That landmark, when compared to the louder hiss and gurgle of water that originates from further along the river, dictates that the River Cutter has encountered a somewhat precarious stretch of the Jadesnake indeed: Daggerford.

"Certainly different from any other night, Lucius," replies the young Lomasa with a deep chuckle at Lucius' words, finishing off his bread and tucking the linen away in a side-pouch along his pack. Carefully removing it from his back, he settles his pack of the Watch down beside him as he observes the river over the deck. "What will be our first stop, to finally get this scheme moving along?" queries the young Duke aloud, looking off forward at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Ester reaches into her cloak and pulls out a small crust of bread. She starts to nibble at it as she continues her watch. She squints as the large landmark comes into view, her head tilting to the side. "Gentleman, look brightly," she comments.

"It was decided that we were to go to Crown's Refuge," Vhramis speaks up, voice carrying across the deck to the two ex-soldiers. "We've been making good speed, so with luck we'll be there soon. And that reminds me, Lucius...” The ranger rises from his seat on the crate, making his way towards the pair. "I need to speak with everyone about how to act there." He pauses at Ester's call, turning about slowly to look ahead.

"On your watch, Fastheldians!" Bellows Lucius as he stuffs down his own piece of bread and deer jerky and takes a sip of water to the whole crew. "This is, if I realize correctly from the landscape, Daggerford. The river's very shallow here. Perfect for an ambush if someone's here to deliver it. Be vigilant; everybody take a sector of the ship to watch out from."

Motioning up at the cliffs, he nods at Norran. "Glad we're not there, I bet." His hand then reaches to tug on his shield strap and he grips it from behind solidly. Two Deepers and an ex-Blade whom everybody knows as Hugo Wheat ascend from below decks, evidently prepared to assist. They too spread out. "Not now, Vhramis. We can talk about that another time. We've still a week before landing there. Keep quiet as much as possible."

Kael blinks, shoveling that heel of bread in his mouth and chewing, without much regard for things like, oh, keeping your mouth closed, or general politeness in food ravening. Instead, absently, he shrugs off that cloak, ceasing his /leaning/ on the rail and going to something a bit more watchful, if a bit confused. The cloak gets folded, set aside and out of the way.

Syton climbs out of the hatch just in time to catch Lucius's order. He coughs and looks a tad uncomfortable for a second. His eyes scan the deck quickly before his legs carry him off to Kael's side, quarterstaff tapping the deck at his side. He just offers Kael a nod, saying nothing.


 * Daggerford; so named not because the water itself is shallow enough to cross the Jadesnake by, but because a number of dagger-shaped rocks jut out from beneath the waterline, some close enough to cross by, all ready to stab into any unsuspecting vessel that may sail over them.


 * To make things worse, that previously clear sky has since developed a temper; flashes of lightning illuminating the clouds to the west, momentarily casting but the briefest flare of pale white light across the landscape before rumbling with discontent. The rains have yet to start to fall, but the outlook is - as they say - not so good.


 * Those flashes of light do not reveal any Wildlings at the banks ready to ambush the vessel, however, nor any devious raiding parties looking to hijack a ship. Silver lining...

"We may very well be walking soon enough, Lucius, at the looks of things," answers Norran, his pale lips contorted into a faintly amused grin as he reaches a hand over his shoulder. Taking a firm grip on the hilt of Retribution, Norran draws the gleaming steel claymore from the baldric on his back slowly before lowering the tip of it into the wood of the deck. His hands then rest securely on the handle and crossguard, ready to lift the blade at a moment's notice as he stares out carefully over the distance.

"Didn't know we were /here/," Vhramis murmurs, regarding the nearing rock formations and suppressing a shudder: too many memories. He remains where he stands by the middle of the boat, waiting, though his expression grows a bit distant as he stares upwards almost blankly. The flashing lightning stings his eyes, drawing a few tears, before he's forced to look down again. "Hope the crew knows what the hell they're doing," he mutters.

Ester cringes as the weather changes and quickly pulls up the hood of her cloak. She unleashes her bow from her shoulder and steps back as she spies one of the spires that jut from the water. "Oy...," she grunts and whips her head around to source out the crew members in charge of steering the ship, her expression tense.

"Once more, keep silent as much as possible unless you absolutely must speak." With that, the current commander of the expedition (the other being asleep or else busy) lets his voice stop as he heeds his own order. His eyes move out to search the Wildlands by the banks of the Jadesnake for anything, watching attentively.

Kael moves to say something... looking up to eye the sky, but Lucius's order effectively stills his tongue. Shivering slightly at the chill, the young Freelander simply goes back to watching the shoreline, absently resting a hand on Syton's shoulder for a moment.

Syton looks sideways to Kael, then back to the shoreline. His eyes narrow as he carefully watches the darkness. The young Freelander tightens his grip on his staff with one hand and pulls up the hood of his cloak with the other.

Wolfsbane shudders again at the ominous rumbling from the skies, fixing his attention on a spot of shoreline directly in front of him. His eyes stare as the foliage passes slowly by, the man's mouth tight.


 * Just as the crew of the Pride of Darkwater plan their course through the jagged teeth of the section of the Jadesnake known as Daggerford, something unexpected starts to happen.


 * It begins with a subtle shudder below the deck; a sensation not that unusual given that the River Cutter is sailing on rough water during the makings of the lightning storm, but there all the same. This is followed by a second shudder, the rumble of cargo shifting in the hold, and then a groan of fatigued timber.


 * There's a flash of thunder, a streak of lightning towards the northwest, and then those subtle vibrations cease just as the first lashing of rain starts to rake the deck. A few Deepers look concerned but most don't seem to have paid much interest to the creaks and groans of the hull, set as they are on getting the Pride of Darkwater safely through the navigational hazard ahead.


 * An unearthly screech of malevolence heralds from *somewhere* along the river; a dreadful ethereal noise unlike anything ever heard on this world, made worse only by the quiet of a crew under orders not to make sound.


 * And then, with a second groan and a muffled *woomp* sound, part of the port hull explodes in a shower of timber and splinters, the Pride of Darkwater lurching first to starboard, and then tilting back to port as she begins to take on water.


 * An aptly timed rumble of thunder mocks the fate of those below.

The sound causes Norran to become /far/ more alert, maneuvering the claymore to rest against his shoulder as he begins to step backwards. The following explosion puts the armored Lomasa off-balance, but his footing remains stolid enough to keep his position as he stares into the night. "I /knew/ we should've walked!" retorts the Lomasa into the night, reaching to take up his pack and sling it over his shoulder. "What in the /Light/ was that!"

"Good Light," Vhramis blurts out, bolting into motion at the explosion on the deck. The ranger spreads his legs to distribute his weight more as the ship lurches, reaching out a hand to grasp the railing of the deck. He blinks in stunned amazement, looking to the rest of the turmoil on deck.

The explosion and lurch catches Ester by surprise and she loses her balance and stumbles backward trying desperately to keep it. She fails and ends up sprawled on first butt and back, the quiver causing her to roll to the side. She loses grip on her bow and it skitters across the deck, coming to rest about five feet away from her flailing hand. With a grunt she pushes herself up to her knees and scrambles after it.

Kaboom! Thus goes part of the Pride of Darkwater's hull, and what is Lucius Nepos's reaction? Well, it would be to order some form of cohesion, but unfortunately the soldier is chucked to the ground like a rag doll in the hands of an angry child. There is a thump as he impacts with the wooden deck and due to the tilting of the ship it is a few moments before he can get up. "RUN US AGROUND, DEEPERS!" Yells Nepos as he pushes up with his spare hand, grasping his spear off the ground and sliding it quickly into the shield compartment for storage. "Wheat! Go rouse those downstairs to make sure they're correct! Get any bags people may have left if you can!"

The Freelander at the rail isn't keeping his feet better than anyone else - the formerly steady structure of the Pride offering a betrayal in wild surging and the cracking of wood - Kael stumbling back, away from the explosion and scream, landing flat on his arse with a snarl and a yelp. He rolls over, doing his best to scramble back to his feet in the aftermath, an expression of pure panic on his face.

Between his staff and the railing in front of him, Syton certainly has enough to hold onto as the ship lurches. Still, not being accustomed to explosions, the diminutive Freelander's response is rather uncoordinated. He flails, stumbles, and ends up down on his knees. Syton gets back to his feet quickly, following the tilt of the ship back towards the port; he makes for the mast with a panicked, aimless expression.


 * As the Pride of Darkwater takes on water the vessel itself is pulled by the currents of this stretch of the river to the western bank of the Jadesnake where, through some unconventional-steering and with a tremendous crash, it apparently comes to a rest against one of the teeth of Daggerford. 


 * The deck itself remains at an angle; not steep enough to slide down or fall over from, but one that might skew someone's perception a little. Rain slick and littered with a number of displaced barrels and crates, that very same deck has still become somewhat hazardous to walk around, requiring careful footing from those that brave it.


 * A yell of "Report!" hails from the navigator, a cry that echoes through the ship and back again as one Deeper relays to another that the Pride of Darkwater has sustained a large hull breech on the aft section of the port side of the vessel, just along the waterline. That same report claims that no cargo has actually been lost, though the cargo hold itself is currently taking on water. And then it happens:


 * There's a final flash of thunder, just as the rain begins to die off, that once again illuminates the landscape beneath a brief flare of pale light; illuminating the deck, the water, the forests to the west, the rocky cliff face to the east, and a tall and equivocally malicious entity "stood" along the shore a few yards behind where the Pride of Darkwater has come to rest; an entity seven foot tall in height, as black as smoke, and shaped like an abstract shadow of a person. It is generally featureless, ethereal in nature, has clawed hands but no legs. Indeed, it just seems to trail off into the ground.


 * Above all else though are the 'eyes', for when the flash of light has gone and darkness grips the land again, two points of burning red remain, silently watching the stricken vessel. And then they're gone.


 * Just like that.

If Norran has any trouble with the deck, it's far from noticeable. Managing to keep his footing in the awkward setting about as well as he could solid level ground. His sabatons hold well against the deck, standing completely still as he stares off in the direction where the figure briefly stood. His emerald eyes remain focused on the spot, the figure truly gone or not, his visage grim from beneath the leather hood of his cloak. The grip on his claymore tightens as he looks forward. "We need to get off this ship!" calls the Lomasa, however obvious his statement may seem as he turns to face the others.

Wolfsbane continues to hold tight to the railing of the deck, his knuckles white under his gloves as he frantically jerks his head about to try to keep track of his companions scattering about the deck. The last flash of light causes him to freeze as green eyes fix on observing red. "Ester!" he shouts, panic edging into his voice, trying to make his voice heard over the turmoil. "Ester! Did you… Ester!" the man calls, before suddenly staggering away from the railing. He yanks the bow down from his shoulder and holds it at the ready.

"What in the Light?" Asks Lucius, too dumbstruck to actually do anything about the entity. He happily keeps his footing as the storm starts to really rage on, fastening the chinstrap on his steel helmet so that it doesn't move from his head. "Start to descend the ship everybody, use ropes - Norran and Ester, you two go first so that you can defend if need be. Watch for that bloody creature! Vhramis, you go last after those on deck. I'm going below deck to see if they need help."

Ester grabs the bow and jumps to her feet just in time for the tilting of the ship. She sidesteps and sways but this time manages to steady herself. She catches sight of the figure out of the corner of her eye and does a double-take, squinting at the now dark spot her expression questioning and tense. Her question answered by Vhramis, Ester yells back, "I saw something." She casts a glance at Lucius, and then at the railing, "Descend where? The river..."

Kael slips and scrambles his way over the deck to the mast, loosing his footing once or twice and once running hard into a crate. It's that large, central, steady, piece of wood that he steadies himself against, a glimmer of burning embers in his eyes... and not faring /any/ better after he looks over the railing just in time to see that /thing/ vanish. When in doubt, it seems, you steady /other/ people - "Syton, y' alright?" There's more than a note of panic there.

Syton slips as he moves along the deck, but it is a controlled slide that carries him into the mast, albeit somewhat roughly. "I am fine. You?" he says to Kael, quickly, not really waiting for an answer. A frantic look around the deck, then he urgently adds, "We have to go." Just that quickly, he pushes off the mast and begins to scramble towards the side of the ship that rests on solid ground.


 * As quickly as the storm picked up, that very same storm dies down. In the wake of that weather comes only quiet and calm; the very heavens themselves returning to a state of pure clarity with clouds breaking and turning to nothing, and the painting of stars upon a canvas of ink holds court once more within the sky above the Wildlands.


 * Indeed, the sudden and dramatic change in weather is a curious thing indeed, as is the general feeling of peace that has fallen upon the surrounding landscape in the wake of what has been an hour of hell. Yet within that calm rests another impression that, again, may seem out of place; for where there is tranquility, there is also an icy grasp of something entirely different.


 * It's a sense of dread and a tingle of overwhelming fear on a visceral level runs countermand to that sudden climate of serenity and calm; an aura that those who have experienced it before may be able to attach to a presence not yet seen.


 * In the depth of the blanket of darkness that men call night, atop the promontory above Daggerford known as Serath's Stand, a phosphorescence of empyreal crimson washes over the landscape, visible by all below and anything that inhabits the lands above and beyond.


 * Amber orbs crest over the edge of the jutting landmark, set within a wedge-shaped head of draconian grace and might that features a jaw containing a number of sharp, pristine white teeth. A slender neck permits that head to peek down as the owner watches on; the crystal depths of deep wisdom amidst the endless substratum of wisdom and malice laying the flesh bare and naked to the world beyond.


 * "You're lost again," a draconian rumble explains in a matter-of-fact kind of way; a statement with an voice dripping with power and contained indifference. "Fastheld is to the south."

The sudden unnatural silence seems to shake Wolfsbane just as much as the ferocity of the storm just passed. He swallows heavily as he remains tense and still, bow held before him almost wardingly. And then the blanket of fear descends upon the ship, unmistakable and bone chilling all at once, rooting his feet firmly to the deck, despite the slickness of the wood. "No..." he whispers, the denial simple and forced, the man barely able to breathe. Almost woodenly, the man staggers backwards, seeming almost like a jerking puppet, before he gains momentum, and soon the man is sliding and rushing below deck.

Lucius Nepos ascends from below decks with his pack strapped to his back and a few Deepers in tow, those that weren't doing something absolutely critical below decks. He stops almost immediately. That crimson form, again. This obviously what stilled him. "Arbitrator." He calls out, eyes wide but voice steady. "We were headed to the north. But I imagine you knew that, already.'

Ester spies the form and shudders at the voice. "Vhramis," she gruffs a drawn out query. "Who is that?"

Kael ... just... stares. Sinking ship? Ethereal thing? Explosions? Crates? Tilting decks? All of it pales in comparison to the awe of looking up at that draconian vision. He goes to a knee - not out of respect, but because a fidget takes his leg out from under him on the slippery deck.. and simply doesn't seem to notice.. "Light..."

Syton reaches the railing, but he is held back by the sudden stillness. He looks around the deck, then follows the many looks up to the dark form on the cliff. "Shades..." he murmurs breathlessly, frozen in place.


 * What were once fleeting whispers in the air, a shifting of winds so faint that they subconsciously played the senses, have now grown amidst the Pride's peril to be a more steadfastly perceivable sensation, if perceived beyond the current confusion the Pride's predicament presents its crew and the presence of a well known sentinel of crimson.


 * Perhaps it is only the nocturnal migration of a bird flock, far into the starry horizon. Perhaps it is another storm echoing its song long before its arrival. Whatever the source, it is as eternally measured and persistent as time itself and only a small measure of such time passes before a vast shadow spreads upward from the meeting of water and sky, shrouding the stars in its passing. A cloud, maybe, against the darkened heavens, casting a shadow over the tempestuous waters. And it is most definitely on the move. 


 * Those fleeting whispers amplify into a sound far more ominous, heralding the approach of something far more substantial than a flock of ravens. Blending well with the colors of night, the shape is hardly discernable to man's eye beyond the obvious observation that it is indeed rather large.

Ester's gaze remains fixated on the drake on the ridge until she catches the sound in the sky. Her face ships upward and she scans back and forth. With one smooth movement she reaches behind her head, pulls the end of the leather tie on top of her quiver and flicks it open. An arrow is drawn.


 * The metallic red Dragon on the ridge above the crew of the stricken Pride of Darkwater casts his gaze towards the heavens to grant the considerable outline in the sky above a passing glance before just as swiftly turning his vision back upon the River Cutter below, ears perking to a full fan as he regards the speaker with an air of mild bemusement.


 * "You Imperials have an annoying habit for stating the obvious," Val'sharax remarks with a sigh of barely contained tolerance, tilting his head to the left as he does so, "Even though that which is truly obvious remains beyond your perception, even when it is beneath your feet." Though he rests - one might assume rests, that is - atop the jutting promontory high above the Jadesnake, that smooth yet authoritarian rumble sounds as clear as the very firmament above him, "Tell me: which one of you insufferable /children/ is responsible for bringing a Shadow Wraith into this Plane?"

Wolfsbane nearly falls as he rushes below deck, not answering any of the questions directed towards him. Loud banging, should anyone hear it, suggests that the man has tripped more than once in his task in the crew quarters, likely already in disarray from the chaos of events just a few minutes previous.

And then he emerges again, carrying with him a large, wool wrapped bundle in one arm, his bow clutched in the other. His path takes him steadily towards the closest position on the deck to the distant, observing crimson drake. Attempting to force himself to a stop on the slick wood of the deck, he stumbles, striking his knees hard, face following, a broken nose staved off only by a last minute throwing of his hands in front of him.

Not hesitating a heartbeat at his close call, he rolls the wool bundle out across the deck, revealing two sheathed swords. The Lady's Flight is discarded onto the deck and the two sword hilts are grasped instead, and with a firm yank, the ranger draws forth twin scimitars of dazzling seraphite. He rises to his feet and falls still, listening to the Drake's questions, the man's face turning stony as he stands rigid.

Shadow wraith? Eh?" Lucius asks in some confuswment, attention pointing to the sky at the sight of the second drake. "Light, it's /her/." He says in barely a whisper, and then turns his attention to the clanking on deck as Vhramis slips and falls. His eyebrows narrow inwardly. His expression becomes shocked, mouth falling agape. "What /are/ you doing?!" His eyes shift from Ester, to Vhramis, and then back to the Drake.

Kael just... stares, slowly pulling himself up to his feet, hanging on to the mask for some semblance of support - rational thought evades him still, at the moment - it's debatable whether he's even seen the second vision. Pale, he simply bears witness.

Ester answers Lucius, "Preparing..." and blinks at the Drake's question as she turns her attention to the ridge. “Bloody frid on a Zahir's ass, me I think" she mutters to herself, with fear hinting at the edges of her tone. She steps back and moves into a defensive position, the arrow now notched but bow and tip lowered to the deck.

Syton's chest rises and falls heavily as he stands, transfixed, staring up at the cliffside Drake. After several seconds, a different kind of panic overtakes him. He pulls his eyes away and scrambles back towards the mast. "Kael, we--" he grabs a hold of Kael's arm, but loses his words as his eyes fall upon the figure in the sky.


 * In a land where shadows dominate the aspects of being, cast by all things living and not, the mystery shape begins to take a more recognizable form. The vigilant eyes of countless stars glint sharply across rippling curves of sapphire, contrasting with the rather flat plane of darkness that spans to either side of the serpentine form. Lastly, twin orbs of violet bow aside to cast their immortal gaze over the tiny figures below, guiding the shadow that rapidly glides over the watery maw of Daggerford.


 * A thunderous crack trembles the cloudless skies as those wings splay wider-still, leathery membranes catching the air and bending the currents into submission. With the grace of a weightless feather, the cerulean majesty embarks on an airborne ballet of spiraling glides, tail rolls, and other acrobatic feats required settling her massive frame nearer to the landscape without wiping the minute gathering from the teeth of the river. She seems in no hurry, however. Time was not something the Queen of Dragonspine drew concern over.


 * "Foolish whelps," the red dragon remarks, contempt dancing around both words as he presents his verdict of those below, "Channeling forces you can not begin to understand while maintaining that same misplaced faith that nothing of peril will ever happen to *you*."


 * A low rumble of scorn punctuates the Dragon's statement; Val'sharax in turn moving to push himself up onto all fours with a level fluidity and grace far removed from what one would expect of a creature his side.


 * Great wings - each half the span of his body - unfurl to stretch taut behind his back with a great *crack* of leather and air displacement before the Dragon steps closer to the edge of the ridge above, claws soundlessly raking the stone beneath.


 * "However, such circumstances are no longer mine to amend. You have brought this creature forth, and you shall be the ones to suffer the consequences of your actions now that you know what it is that hunts you. The Order remains unaffected, and the Balance is no longer an oath I am sworn to."

The tense form of Wolfsbane shifts just slightly as Ester nocks her arrow, the ranger lifting his voice in a quiet, yet abruptly commanding tone. "Ester. No violence," he states firmly, eyes lowering to her bow. He turns his attention back up to the distant Val'sharax, and slowly lifts the two scimitars to cross them over his head for a moment, the glowing blades creating their own brilliant light in the darkness. He promptly lowers them to his sides again, and speaks; now raising his voice. Likely he suspects Val'sharax can hear him anyway. "While you don't serve the balance anymore, I come to you again offering another trade, Arbitrator. These two blades are my offering."

Ester nods slowly at Vhramis. "Aye," she states, her voice hoarse, her face sick with worry. As the swords are raised she looks confused for a moment and looks to the Drake for an answer as well as casting furtive glances at the shore and the sky as the other Drake comes in for a landing.

Kael slowly looks over at Ester... and then back to the red Drake - slowly coming to himself enough to croak out.. "m' cloak." Ah. Something the wolf can do, at least... he scrambles carefully across the slippery deck to pick it up, Syton's imperative ignored... one eye always on the awesome creature on the hill above.

Syton is, once more, entranced by the Drakes. He does not seem to notice Kael's departure, nor the deal that Vhramis has propose. His attention goes from one set of glowing eyes to the other, then back again. His mouth hangs open, wordless.


 * A misty gust is driven from the churning waters of the Jadesnake, blown upward by a sweeping tree trunk of a tail as Kalath'aria makes her final circle in the descent. Her path encircles the roosting place of Val'sharax but posture speaks nothing more than indifference towards his presence. There's a low frequency rumbling dictated in passing, however, and for a moment it looks as though she might barrel up into the ridge. Moments before a showering of rubble would have rained over the stupefied heads, the beast banks her wedge-shaped head aside and the rest of her follows accordingly.


 * Unlike her crimson companion, Kalath'aria chooses to come to rest at a more eye-level proximity. Mighty wings that share the span of her hundred foot body pummel the chilled air and send the water's surface parting beneath her cautiously splayed toes. With the delicacy of a feline, the dragoness settles herself around shards of stone in the shallows. When the final few tons of her mass have come to ease, her neck curls back and head rests with a sideways tilt.


 * A deeply bellowed laugh laced with a queer combination of amusement, disdain, and ended with a sigh of grave knowing is directed pointedly at the boat. "The toys of men," a shockingly sultry purr flows forth from a throat that if desired, could belch the force of a thousand gales, "They are only one aspect of Fastheld to fall to the forces beyond its safe borders." The weight of her gaze shifts to the meaty inhabitants of said boat, lingers there a moment or two, then at last flickers up to the overhead silhouette of Val'sharax. "And still this one attempts to buy your favors with such fallible things."


 * "An offering, Vhramis Kahar?" the Keeper of Names inquires after Kalath'aria finishes, taking stock of this presentation with some degree of amusement as the Instrumentalist presents a shared opinion. Trinkets and baubles owned by others are of little interest, but when one offers a trade to a Red Dragon... well, that's an entirely different thing. His fanned ears fold back for a moment as he considers this, winging slowly beating once or twice as he stands there upon the ridge above, amber orbs burning against a radiant backdrop of polished crimson.


 * "Tears of Shal'var, I see. And just what," he rumbles slowly, "Do you believe these trinkets of yours are worth? What has empowered you to believe you can barter a trade with *ME*?"

The appearance of the second, unnoticed by him, Drake, is enough to cause Wolfsbane to freeze again, eyes widening slightly as Kalith'aria chooses her landing spot. His mouth dry, he gapes at the Sapphire Drake, merely blurting out something that sounds a bit like, "My Lady." He stares, wide eyed, for another few moments, before forcing his attention again to the more distant Crimson. "..There is no offense meant in the offering. It's the free will you've spoken to me of so many times before that allows me to make offers and attempt to ply trades. If you do not wish these swords.." His hands shake slightly, and the twin 'thunks' of seraphite blades sinking cleanly into the wooden deck below ring out as his wrists go a bit weak. "..Then I would ask you if there was anything else I could offer, instead."

"Light, why do I always get stuck with these idiots?" Lucius asks; rhetorically of course as Val'sharax, for all intents and purposes, rejects Vhramis's trade. At least in the Eastwatcher's eyes. He winces at the response, and looks at Kalath'aria, perhaps for some sympathy. A frown eats away at his face, tugging downwards. He simply shakes his head.

Ester stands silently, listening. Her arms shake a little and she clears her throat. "Vhramis," she hoarses, "I think this is my fault."

Kael cradles that cloak to him, crouching near the stricken boat's rail, at this point, looking between both Drakes - expression somewhat lost. Awed, certainly - but this, it seems, is beyond him.

When faced with a choice of which Drake get his attention, Syton seems to choose the one at eye-level. Half-behind the mast, he watches the sapphire Drake with a predictable mixture of awe and curiosity. Vhramis, Lucius, Ester, and the crimson Drake get glances.


 * Kalath'aria leaves her counterpart to do his own dream dashing or wish fulfilling, whichever the case may be, and turns her full attention back to the object of her curiosity. And what a curiosity it must be, to have summoned the return of She from her seeming sabbatical.


 * Slitted pupils expand and contract, nostrils flare, exhaling a rather moist billowing of river fog. Or perhaps it was just a sneeze. Unfolding her curvilinear neck to inspect the hull of the vessel, the Instrumentalist slithers forward a short twenty or so meters until she is abreast with it. A very audible sniff inhales each and every loose bit of lint, dust, debris, and man hair from various portions of the Pride, each giant burst of snuffling resulting in vaguely different furrows of her scaled brow or wrinkles of her "lips".


 * The flowing mandibles sway as her jaws flex and ear fans snap outward to produce a grander image than the docile form first offered. Very carefully, she threads her massive skull between human and boat, occasionally bestowing individuals with a glance from her violet eyes. The jaws briefly pass over within hand's reach of Vhramis's dropped offering - and Vhramis - to offer the items a mild snort. Waves lap against the broken Pride as she sidles further along the craft and lastly comes to rest her snout against the deck at Ester's feet. At this close range, the woman can better see the true beauty of the Shadow's more impressive forms. "Fault?"


 * The commentary from one Lucius Nepos in the wake of Vhramis's plea is something that manages to pique the interest of the great red dragon; an interest made manifest by a narrowing of those amber eyes, a furling of those vast wings neatly behind his back, an unseen lash of a sleek and sinewy tail, and a proverbial drop in both tone and temperature of that empowered draconian voice.


 * "Be mindful of those you misrepresent with your opinions, Lucius Nepos," Val'sharax warns, "For in doing so you mark yourself as the most foolish of all. You understand the way of the Red Dragonflight, Vhramis Kahar - limited as we may be - and that is of interest to me because I do not know *why*..."


 * His voice, previous lined with promises of dire consequences and cold contempt, takes on a warmer tone now. "...and there are few things in these lands that I can say that about." At that the Dragon falls quiet and - with a final glance towards the Sapphire Dragoness and the crippled River Cutter that she so curiously explores - turns with cat-like grace away from the ridge to silently prowl back into the Ashlands beyond, the sweep and drag of his tail over the side of the promontory the last image that those below are permitted to see as he departs.

Wolfsbane stands as still as possible as he's reacquainted with Kalath'aria's massive jaws, the last encounter seeming so long ago, and yet painfully familiar as she passes so close by him. He continues to stand still as the Crimson speaks to Lucius, and then back to him, his eyes fixed on the distant point of it's massive form - or perhaps beyond. And as the drake turns and walks away, he still stands rigid, until he abruptly begins to tremble, the spasms starting in his hands, and extending to the rest of him. The fit lasts for but a few seconds, but as it passes, the ranger collapses backwards onto the deck, landing on his rear, seeming unable to try, or even think, to get up.

Ester swallows as the Drake questions the word. She licks her lip and nods slowly. Vhramis falls and she loses her thoughts for a moment. With a shake of her head she speaks an answer, voice trembling a little, "Aye... that thing... that wraith... I think it was me."

Syton continues to observe the remaining Drake, peeking out at her from halfway behind the mast. Confusion mixes liberally with awe as he looks from the Drake to Ester to Vhramis. He is silent, though his eyes speak volumes of his fear, confusion, and curiosity.


 * ''"You..." Kalath'aria echoes, tone betraying neither uncertainty nor confirmation. The muscles in her jaws draw tightly, ear fans collapse in on themselves as her head swoops down to taste the waters. When she resurfaces, a quick shake sends each drop back into its home. "It is but a glimpse..." A glimpse of what, she does not say.


 * ''She does, however, seem to convey that her time here has been spent long enough and backpedals towards the fallen Vhramis. The chevron tip of her tail snakes over the side of the boat and nudges the scimitars back to his prone person with a gentle touch. "Vhramis Kahar."


 * ''Turning away now, the dragoness takes her leave, abandoning the humans to endure the rest of their night's fate alone, at least in the physical sense of the word. Her presence, as clearly written on the faces of those behind, would take time to diminish. "Many things to consider. Many things on which to dwell."’’


 * ''Obsidian claws bore with ease into the base of the stone ridge, casting small plumes of dust into the dampened air. And so the Instrumentalist climbs in the wake of Val'sharax, wings folded closely to her body except for the occasional use of her clawed 'thumbs' to catch larger pieces of debris and toss them further aside. Only when her sleek bulk has reached the zenith does she spread those wings and launch herself forth into the sky. ‘’


 * ''The ascent is a slow one, sending as much turbulence into the air as her landing, and once risen to a suitable height, she circles slowly, deliberately, scanning the waters with purpose. On the fourth passing, the glistening teeth part and a tempestuous mix of garbled, drake tongue and ear-splitting shrieks rock the heavens. The sound ripples outward, carried by the winds born of her wingbeats, and reverberates into the horizon. On that prized note, the Queen is gone, vanished back into the stars above, cloaked between shadows.’’


 * ''And with that, the inhabitants of the Pride of Darkwater are left - once again - to their own devices.’’

''Return to Season 5 (2007)