Fantasy delaying the skies [dragon riders]

[Casey]

{Please look at Overview, Setting/Locations and Lore for information on the roleplay and the character sign-up for the rules (NB!) and sign up sheet}


WIP = Reserved for roleplaying
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[Casey]

Dragon Riders of Aventador
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xxx

The Aetus Sumus Games had originally been established as a brief game between friends at different riding schools, back when duels between dragons and riders were kept as secretive, underground, and hadn't attracted much attention. After all, dragons and their riders were meant to be peacekeepers, not initiate fights for dominance and the better-of-the-two title - though, among the youngsters who just seeked attention and approval from their acquaintances, duels became a way to prove their superiority to others. The word spread about the tournaments that were held, eventually growing in size until they were held between entire schools and, over the progressing years, to anyone that signed up. Aetus Sumus Games were held annually, right on the brink of spring slipping into summer and the flowers folding into apples, for four days. It became something of the Aventadorian culture for all; one need not a dragon, as there were markets to trade in, live music, food of all shapes and sizes, activities for the children and those who did not compete or bid on the winners. Things became a bit dark with the tournaments and duels, which took on many different forms: racing, both in flight and on the ground, even in the ocean; scavenger hunts, with clues to where to go and what to collect in order to be the winner; obstacle courses in the course of flying, which took up to the circumference of the island and along the separations of the archipelago; archery; one on one duels, and much more. Some didn't choose to fight or participate and rather bet on the participants, losing and gaining money between one another. The four days out of the year became ones that many dreaded and many couldn't contain their excitement over.


When the time did come for the tournaments to be held. many flocked to the western hook of the island to the seaside, slightly mountainous town of Littleshear, to watch the spectacle of dragon fighting at its best. It brought in riders from every nook and cranny of the island, be they from just beyond Frycas Grove or as far as the Barrens, ready to fight, trade or simply perform in an effort to find employment or gratification from strangers. Some just came to watch the spectacles of duels. The markets were bustling on the second day when Gale arrived; swimming with children and adults, dragons and hatchlings that prances around the feet of those who rushed through the widened pathways in order to get to whichever destination that they had chosen. She, personally, found it absolutely hilarious, despite the wide paths to allow large dragons to walk without hassle, to watch Agora attempt to walk without swaying his tail, as doing so would sweep every citizen off their feet within a ten metre radius. Most days, it was a joy to have such a large creature to call her bond, but on others, she could see how much of an adaption he had taken in order to adjust to her lifestyle in the bustling cities since, as much as she loved little town with open plains and silence, she found the thickly crowded towns and cities to have more adventure and entertainment than a town whose annual news was someone tripping over a rock and falling on their face.


"Need help, Agora?" She asked him, earning a look, which she just laughed in response to and shook her head while she drove forward and through the crowds. Gale could ride him if she desired and not have to put in so much effort into getting where she desired to go, but she preferred walking and seeing the world from her own perspective, rather than one of a tall dragon which cast shadows over the ground using his wings without even realising it - she was even sure that some were walking a bit closer to shield themselves from the comfortably warm rays. Where was she pushing to? She didn't know, really - originally, she was driving her way to secure a place in one of the tournaments, but then she became distracted by the sheer number of sellers and what they had to sell, becoming infatuated with the variety of food and items on sale, mostly for the tourists brought in from the other island kingdoms which had only recently received notice of the tournaments fought and were keen on finding out what was going on. Aventador was unique for its vast array of dragons - the creatures were otherwise rare. Gale's near empty pocket was burning a hole with the miniscule amount of money she had taken, mostly because Agora insisted that she only take enough for food and sign-ups, otherwise she would spent it all. It was true - it was frustrating how well he knew her, at times.





Eventually, the brown-haired woman found her way and was rushing towards where the tournament sign-ups were, her eyes scanning over the boards which listed the rules of each, much like an amusement park's 'you have to be this tall' restrictions. Gale had originally wanted to do a scavenger hunt, since it was both wits and speed, an impending pressure that she absolutely adored and liked it even more when they won (which wasn't often, actually), though she frowned when she approached closely enough to read the rules. "Minimum four, maximum six?" She read aloud, eyebrows drawing together and twisting upwards in pure confusion. She looked at the sign to make sure it was sign - Rascal's Scavenger Hunt. For once, she was upset that she was right. Gale huffed to herself in pure frustration and turned, only to walk front-first into Agora's head, who had somehow caught up with her in the time it had taken for her to edge closer and read the signs. It was purposeful, as he was bowing his head downwards, and she wouldn't have a problem with it if his spines didn't get caught on her shirt and begin to lift it. She untangled the mess before it could put her in a further mess, as she was already getting a few looks for her straps that substituted as sleeves - women were expected to be 'modest' and wear clothing that was considered that way, but it was hot, and she wasn't one to go by the norms.


"Minimum four?" Agora's rumble repeated as he lifted his head, golden eyes setting on his rider, who had her arms crossed and her lips pursed. "You're big enough to be considered three. When did they change the rules?" Gale asked, causing a deep chuckle to leave Agora's chest while he bumped her shoulder slightly. He spoke with a vague hiss, didn't move his lips. It wasn't needed; dragons spoke differently. Some spoke like a snake's rattle, but Agora was older and had perfected his 'accent' slightly better. "Maybe we can find someone?" He suggested, only to be shot down with a childish, "I don't want teammates, though. People get annoying."

 

[Rook]

The red pass dragon landed near the gates of the city, folding in her incredibly long wings. She shook them a bit, shivering as the small water droplets from the clouds hanging low in the sky cascaded down the inlets where skin met bone. The leathery skin stretched between the fingers of her wings was the only part of her body not covered in bony plates, which made her appear far more fearsome than she ever intended to. Her rider, on the other hand, had the exact opposite appearance. He was panting slightly, recovering from the thin air they had been flying in. On his back was a long black case- perhaps a weapon? His hair was blasted back, held in place thanks to the windy conditions of the flight. He seemed harmless, and a bit overwhelmed. The dragon shook her head slightly at his care free expression, making her way through the gates.


Logan sighed, eyeing the seemingly fluid throng of people. It was enormous- the city, that is; far larger than his home to the west. Cirian didn't seem to mind the living sea too much, as she kept walking forward without issue. He adjusted slightly, settling into the rut between two of his friend's dull back plates. "Couldn't you have grown to be a bit less..." he slipped slightly to the side, bruising his leg on another blunt point. "...bony?"


Cirian huffed, shaking slightly to knock him off balance again. She was still slightly frustrated that he had chosen to ride rather than walk even though they were in the city, but allowed it anyway. Logan had developed a deep fear of being crowded, especially by people, so Cirian humored him. She found it ridiculous, but every human had their own special quirk; Logan just seemed to have a few dozen more than everyone else. He straightened once more, wrapping his fingers around the bony plate on his friend's head. She was very young, only 12, yet had grown so much in the last few years. He had long since given up on wrestling with her like he did when she was still small- a few broken ribs had taught him his lesson. He still teased her about being older than she was, but she always returned the tease with a solid tail swipe under his legs. They were closer than family, even with a few cuts and bruises appearing every now and then.


"There's a few riders gathered around that bulletin. Maybe thats where we sign up?" Logan suggested, pointing toward the tournament sign ups. Cirian snorted, clearly unimpressed by his detective skills. "Hey, you're the one who decided not to tell me when you found it." Stepping carefully through the crowd, the dragon made her way over to the sign ups, lowering her head to allow Logan to slide off. His eyes scanned the tournaments, carefully reading over the different rules. "You feel up to a race, Cirian?"


"I'm not built for speed," she replied, her voice once again sending shivers down his spine. "I have stamina, you know this." Logan nodded, once again eyeing the boards.


"There aren't many tournaments that don't require a team, and we both know how that will turn out," he complained, only to be interrupted by a gush of hot breath from Cirian's nose. "Sorry, sorry, I'll tone down the negativity. Well, the slots are filling up fast."


Before he could continue, the two were interrupted by a slightly nervous voice. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Logan turned, examining the small man ahead of him. He seemed to be tending the stand at which the sign ups were located, and held a broom in both hands. The rider's expression completely changed, switching from what could be considered happy to entirely shut off and emotionless.


"No," he said with a scowl. the attendant nodded quickly and scampered behind the boards once more, allowing Logan to turn to the sign ups once more. Cirian nudged him harshly, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Bah, leave me be." He turned around, looking into his friend's eyes. They held this position for a few seconds before Logan sighed and looked at his feet. "I know, I know. Im trying."


"Not hard enough. Now sign us up, quickly. More riders are arriving."

 

[Javax]

Dnias Sycreihl

A few miles out past the outskirts of the bustling city was a caravan of wary travelers, hoping to arrive at the city before the tournaments and competitions began. The wagon appeared to house only two people—one male and one female, both in their forties or so—who have been married for over two decades. The quaint couple appeared to be friendly and kind to all, but this was not the case. Up front, they were simple merchants who traveled from town to town, city to city, selling and trading their wares to hopefully make a living and survive in the ever-growing world. Behind closed doors, they held dark secrets that would cause the most merciful god to turn their nose up at them in disgust. They stole, lied, cheated, murdered, and committed many obscene crimes. And they weren't alone. In the back of their caravan were five or so shackled children whose ages ranged from six to twelve. These nameless, forgotten children were owned by the couple as slaves. Not only did this married couple illegally acquire these children by kidnapping them and killing their parents, but they also used the children for their own sexual pleasures.


These two criminals were the assassin's targets.


The nimble Dnias watched the caravan hobble along down the dirt road from the side, hidden amongst the shadows that the few trees in the area offered with her wolf ears flattened against her head in concentration. A black dragon was flying high overhead, only in sight of those who would be looking for him and keeping an eye on his rider. She didn't need to wait anymore; there was no one within miles, and each second that passed this couple was growing closer to their destination, which meant the assassin would need to wait longer. The dark-clad bastard slung her ironwood bow off her shoulder and retrieved an arrow, putting it between two fingers and notching it on the string. She was ahead of them, so she had a clear shot of the woman, who was leading the reigns of the horse. With quick succession, Dnias stood up, drew the string back as far as it could go without snapping, took quick aim, and releasing the projectile. The arrow whizzed through the air and, in a few milliseconds, pierced the left eye of the woman and embedded itself into her brain, instantly killing her.


The horse whinnied and halted, stamping around in confusion. The assassin shouldered her bow and ran to the caravan. A swift stomp on the wooden ties that connected the horse to the caravan broke the wood, and she smacked the horse's rear, to which is reared in response and sped off down the road in fear. Crying was heard from inside the caravan followed by a clearly audible slap of skin on skin contact, the crying ceasing immediately. The dragon rider's furred ears twitched in anger and frustration. Unsheathing her dual daggers, she made her way to the back of the wagon where the man was exiting. He didn't have a chance to react to the assassin before a blade connected with his throat and slit open his flesh, dark red liquid spurting and flowing out of the deep wound. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, the life draining from his body.


Dnias opened the flap of the wagon and peered inside at the children. Their eyes were wide with shock and fear, flicking from the dead man to the assassin repeatedly. The androgyne bent down and searched through the corpse's pockets, finally finding the key that would unshackle the children. Only a few moments passed and all five children were unbound and crowding around on the dirt road with lost gazes. They had no clue where they were from, where they were, who they could go to, or anything that could help them. A pang of sympathy hit the assassin's heart like a shot to the chest, but she immediately submerged the feeling and locked it away.


She pointed down the road towards the city. "Civilization is that way," she told them simply, her thick accent obvious in her voice. The children hesitated, taking a moment to soak in the words, and cautiously made their way around the dragon rider. Once past, they glanced back at her nervously and then began running down the road, eager to escape from their now-deceased slave-owners and the terrifying killer. Their fear caused the assassin's lips to turn upwards in a sly smile.


A shadow passed over the caravan and woman, a black dragon landing in front of Dnias. She averted her gaze from the backs of the children and peered up at her companion. Vritra gazed down at his rider at a moment then looked up at the children disappearing down the road. "Our work here is done?" he inquired telepathically.


Dnias nodded, walking over to the side of Vritra to which he lowered himself to the ground so that his rider could mount him. "We must go meet our contact, now." Once Dnias was settled, he stood up and launched himself off of the ground, unfurling his wings and flapping a few times to get the feel of the wind and gain altitude. Once high enough, he dived slightly to build up momentum and soared towards the large city, towards the place where they would meet their contact to receive their payment.

Tagged: N/A


Mentioned: N/A


Location: Desolate traveler's road

 

[Jarkov Malachai]

Tyr Rugaard, Monk of the Damned Ones Path.

On that bright summer day, when the good cheer and happiness of the games, flowed through the air and laughter flowed from almost every lip be they winner, loser, on both the field and betting rings a most peculiar thing was spotted coming up one of the less traveled roads. A lone figure, cloaked and swath in thick fabrics, face hidden by both a deep cowl and wrapped in cloth so not but his eyes were visible. Mud covered his footwraps and the bottom hems of his cloths, splattered across his person. It had rained a few days ago, and an observant fellow might take that into account and realize that this traveler had been on the road for at least a week if not more.


Take also, the fact that his material choice for clothes and gear, was of the less sophisticated style of the Borderlands people, though a smattering of all the other regions was present. One then could concur that this fellow came from the Badlands, or at the very least traveled there often and by his look might be a member of one of the more fanatical religious monasteries which lay by those dreaded lands.


Heavy, wooden frame pack on his back, laden with all manner of sealed packages, containers and waterproofed leathers holding in precious goods as well as the things one might need on a long road trip by foot.


With a knarled but straight, ironwood staff in one hand whilst the other on the straps of the frame pack, the far distant figure never slowed despite the apparent weight it obviously pressed upon him and soon the Cloaked Man entered the premises of the games without so much as a nod at the guards and a grunt at the children.


It was with great apprehension and disgust that he walked into this mess, but driven by a greater need, one cannot live on hope and determination alone, no matter how hard he might try. Despite his… disagreements with the Riders, the festival brought out all sorts of people, including those who bought the sort of things the Traveling ‘Monk’ specialized in.


As the Monk went from vendor to vendor, stall to stall, avoiding any talk with passerbys but listening to all, selling a few things here, some there, he began to realize something that was slightly… off about this festival. True it was only the 3rd he had come to but something was tangibly different about this time. Underneath all the laughter and joyous cries there was a sort of desperation to it all. Someone laughing to loudly, eyes open to widely, the occasional glance over the shoulder, or trembling of the hand. Oh yes, The Monk had been around to long and in too many dark situations for him not to notice.


Weaving his way through the crowds to a specific contact of his with connections to the… darker side of any market, he slid into place alongside the man who was right where the Monk had predicted. At a stall selling alcoholic beverages.


Ordering a mug of ale and then sniffing its contents specifically for any mysterious odors and upon finding none, drinking it.


The two sat in silence for a while before the other man, not the Monk, spoke. “You know it’s a damn shame… All this fuss about when theres rumors of that Darkness coming around, doom and gloom all that. Heard a couple of foolish dragons and their riders decide they would investigate it themselves and never came back… what a pity. I suppose though it’s a good time to have a tournament like this then, these games. They allow people to pretend that everythings all right when anyone with a lick o’ sense can see the coming storm and is running from it.”


The Monk nods. “Better to know what direction the storm winds blow before running off though, ‘lest you be caught out in its merciless grip.”


“True.” Replied the other.


“Speaking of wind blowing, mayhaps a little bird could help me out with some ingredients I require? I would be more than happy to exchange in equal value, weight to weight.” The Monk continued.


“Ill see if theres a bird around sir, but you know how fiddle they are.” The man finished, gulping down his ale and then leaving the booth to continue on.


The monk sat there for a few more minutes to finish his own, upon doing so he stood up, left a few coins for the stall keeper, reached down to grab his frame pack and upon hefting it up over his shoulders vanished back into the throng of people thinking the whole time about what he just learned.


A few more hours of wandering around and selling a few things here and there and buying others, the Monk decides he would head to where the proving grounds were and see just who signed up this year.


The cloaked man, still an oddity in the summers heat, approached the sign up boards and read the rules. He carefully did not go near any of the Riders though had no problem with stepping over tails and underneath legs of the dragons who the riders were bonded with, but again he avoided their bonded and the young dragons who hadn't bonded yet. He didn’t fear his disgust would show upon his face, no he was too well in control of his own emotions for that. One did not become a mage, or at least live for very long as one, if one did not have control. But even so… no use tempting fate.


As the Cloaked Monks steel gaze traveled down the list of bout’s, trials and the like, he couldn’t help but snort derisively, drawing the attention of those around him.


“These are trials? Bah, what little use are these when no pressure save to win is involved?” The man questioned aloud, more to himself than anyone else.


“Life teaches more than silly games, especially when your prize is your own life, caught at the cost of your opponents. But I see they still do not allow any… Non Riders. A pity.”

 

[Abyss]

(Sorry for the hold up, it's not the best but here you go!)


Mordacai and Ragnok lay relaxed among the waving grasses of a hill topped with ragged outcroppings of stone: a gentle breeze played through the humans hair and tugged at the fins of the dragon, almost as if wind itself were tugging at them to join her in the sky. The human was deep in thought, almost on the verge of dosing off when his companion shifted beside him for what seemed to the first time in many hours. The dragons long neck twisted until it curved downwards to face Mordacai on almost eye level and Mordacai looked up to meet Ragnoks bicolour gaze, the bloodstikes eyes contrasting like a sun and moon drifting side by side. "Do you think it would be worth it?"


Mordacai didn't have to ask to know what the other was talking about: from their vantage point they could both see the town of Littleshear in the distance, with a steady flow of human and dragon traffic entering and exiting the city, some of whom were trailing with wagons and carts that were no doubt laden with goods from across all the islands. Such a sight beckoned to the travellers, as it wasn't often that the fugitives were provided with an opportunity to venture into a large town such as that one unnoticed, and even less that they were able to see the Sumus Games in action. If the events were busy enough this year then they might even be able to get away with entering one of the minor competitions. It would be a dangerous thing to try, with such a varied crowd there was a chance someone might recognize one or both of them, but their funds were starting to look a little skimpy and anything remotely valuable that they could gather from the trip would help pay for the supplies that Mordacai didn't have the tools or skill to craft or gather on his own.


"I think that we won't have another chance like this until next year." And there's always the chance we don't make it to next year. Mordacai didn't voice the last part aloud, they'd lived with bounties on their heads for long enough that Ragnok knew just as well as the human that their way of life was precariously balanced; like two figurines on a blade of a knife they could fall at any moment, never to return from the abyss. Ragnok broke away first, sitting up with a deep breath and turning with a thoughtful look on his face to gaze at the bustling town. "Then we're wasting time, let's go while there's still a large enough crowd to keep the guards from looking at any one person too closely." Confident with his decision the dragon stood up and flexed his powerfull wings, clearly aching to return to sky once more.


Mordacai followed at a slower pace: stretching the kinks out of his back and retrieving his knapsack and bo staff. Ragnok carried the few other things they needed or had to sell from a harness around his neck and chest that were either unable to fit in the knapsack or too heavy for the human to carry himself, so before mounting Mordacai checked all the straps and buckles to make sure everything was properly secured and not chaffing or causing discomfort for the wearer. Once the inspection was finished Mordacai climbed into place between Ragnoks shoulders and crouched down in preparation for take off: then with a powerful thrust of the bloodstrikes wings-- between one heartbeat and the next-- dragon and rider were suddenly air-born and gone with the winds. The rocky hill shrinking to an undistinguishable lump behind them.


~


"I don't remember there ever being this many humans at the games before." Ragnok stated with mild trepidation as he sidestepped a cluster of children that appeared suddenly from under the wing of a spiky purple and black wyvern close by before disappearing again into the throng of flesh that blocked most of the streets.


"That's because they weren't this popular the last time we were in town." Mordacai walked alongside his bond, weaving his way through the crowd and doing his best to keep a grip on one the harness straps as he attempted to stay at the dragons side and avoid being swept away by the mass. "And it's no longer just the dragon riders that come to participate, now the rest of the public joins in however they can." The human balanced on his toes, trying to seek out their destination: They needed to find the sign up boards and register for one of the events still open. "I think I see it Kai. Look on your left—there's a huge dragon next to it." Indeed there were quite a few dragons already crowded around the boards, almost all of which were giants in comparison to the rider, but there was only one dragon that was able to tower over practically everyone and everything surrounding it. "I wonder what event he's going to be in..." There was a sudden hitch in Ragnoks step as he said it and Mordacai felt it as the bloodstrike paused for a moment as if actually going through the list of possibilities before continuing onwards with a slightly faster pace; curiosity emanated from his side of the link in waves.


By the time they managed to make it to the board a good chunk of the previous dragon and rider pairs had already left the gathering around the sign up board but Mordacai still found himself cramped and avoiding a tail swipe from an aggravated plains dragon just in time for Ragnok to weave himself gracefully between them. "Doesn't look like we have many options," very few of the slots they desired had been left unfilled,"and most of what's left looks like teamwork events." They both looked around, hesitantly eyeing their surroundings and occasionally lingering on a few other riders and dragons whom seemed to thinking about something as well. "Maybe there's a few others that need to pair up, lets go ask around."

 

[Casey]

To see that Gale was frustrated didn't take any specialised observationist. Her slender but still strong shoulders had hardened into jagged lines of tension, her usually guarded expression was one which bore an upset hole into whatever her eyes had taken to staring at. This was Agora who, rather than also take on her frustration, managed to keep an aura of serenity and calmness about him which seemed to ebb off the sharpened scales which covered and protected his body, bleeding into the air around him. He had come a long way from when she found him, showing in the calm manner that he responded to situations that would have once aggravated him and had him biting and snarling. The abnormal mass of young, near child-like dragons littered around the area was a good test for when Agora had them clustered and chewing at his tail spikes, where he sent them off with a heavy huff, rather than react to the patterned yaps and chitters with a hiss and a snap.





"I am sure that there are others who find themselves in the same situation as we do," the dragon calmly uttered, nudging at the backpack that replaced the sour features that he had been faced with, and it sent Gale stumbling forward and into another woman, who she uttered an apology to when she received a dirty look, but, upon realising that it was directed at her cooling shorts and thin-sleeved shirt - which exposed the masses of scars on her arms and shoulders, as well as her tattoo -, she just raised her eyebrows and let her face say all the curses that didn't spill from her lips. Judgmental, much? Her thoughts hummed. She never truly understood the dress codes which were imposed on the genders: in the small towns, it had been enforced more on the basis of religious modesty and 'not attracting the wrong attention' than in the large cities where the range of personalities were too wide to categorise, which influenced her mostly environment-based choices, but didn't often receive much open-armed acceptance. Did Gale care, though? Not particularly.


"I told you that we should have brought Brendon or Jazz, or... Sam! Sam and Nira would have come." The girl pointed out when she returned to the shade that was cast under Agora's wings despite how he had already put strain into folding them onto his back, where they would usually hang comfortably at his side, and let her skin recover from the harsh sun that it had been exposed to and shone an annoyed but still faint pink in reaction. She didn't have many friends, which was why she was rather at the Games with only her dragon, rather than a cluster of others who she claimed to be the closest to. Gale had spied a few masses of them, all with stereotypical, high-pitched voices and the best quality dresses or clothing, and had promptly avoided their drawls by quickening her pace and letting Agora find his own way of weaving through the crowds.


"Brendon does not have a ride, Sam and Nira do not fight, nor compete, and you hate Jazz."


"No, Agora, I -- that was a joke. I don't hate Jazz." She did.


"Lying is bad for your health."


"So is trying to be witty and instead sounding like a dad that's trying too hard to be 'hip'." Their conversation evoked a few passing chuckles from those who had been shamelessly eavesdropping, which wasn't surprising. Everybody did - when such a large dragon attracted the curiosity of others, there would no doubt be eavesdroppers. The brown-haired girl did it when she found a dragon extremely endearing but didn't find the confidence to approach and comment, much like a child would. Dragons were something she found extremely fascinating, and would never cease to be amazed by the vast variety of species and abilities that the ancient creatures possessed and used without so much as a second thought. When she heard someone utter about the lack of spaces for non-riders, her eyes, shining their pale brown-green in the light, scanned for the source of the statement, and upon finding it in a bundle of wraps and material, narrowed her eyes. It wasn't condescending nor judging, just to enhance her sight in the staining environment.


"They do allow it, if you're speaking about the billboards," she informed, calling over in a louder voice to attract the attention of the stranger, just shortly after Agora informed her that he would search for a pair to compete alongside, then raised his head and attempted to barely-deftly work around the remaining people who were looking to see what to sign up for. Gale felt like she should wear a sign with 'Sign up with an antisocial pessimist and her gigantor-dragon - it'll be fun!' around her neck to attract someone. She turned her body a bit to look more inviting than she was at that point in time: hot and bothered. "You'd have to inquire at the desk, but they do hold specific tournaments for those who don't ride or don't want to work with their dragons, or you can join a pair of riders for the other tournaments which don't specify. The non-rider sign ups are at the, uh," her eyebrows furrowed in thought, but she relieved the creasing on her forehead when she remembered, "Fighting arena. It's just a little while further down the main... path."


|@Jarkov Malachai|| @Abyss if you want to reply to Agora|

 

[Javax]

Dnias Sycreihl

Health: 100%

• ☣
• ☢
• ⚡

• Tag: N/A
  
  
  With: N/A
  
  
  Mentioned: N/A
  
  
  Location: City streets "The Wretched Lion" Tavern
• Outfit: [Clothing] [Mask]
  
  
  Equipment:
  
  
  Bow and arrows
  
  
  Dual blades
  
  
  +500 gold
  
  
  
• Notes: Pretty long. Sorry. o-o

The flight to the large city was short, the duration only taking about two minutes or so. The speed Vritra possessed was a characteristic that Dnias would hardly ever complain about. It allowed the duo to arrive at their meeting places and destinations much faster, resulting in faster payment times. Unfortunately, it also meant that the hybrid would need to lean down close to her companion's body and hold on tightly so as not to be thrown off by the raging winds that blew past them. Vritra also had a habit of toying with his rider, doing occasional tricks in the air to strike fear into Dnias. The hybrid, though, was never pleased by the dragon's tricks. It didn't stop him from continuing to do it, though.


Vritra had just finished doing a single barrel roll through the air. Dnias's ears flattened against her head in fear and agitation. "Would you stop doing that?!" she snapped through their telepathic link, her claws digging into the leather of the saddle.


The shadow dragon's body vibrated as he chuckled, clearly amused by her reaction. "It is fun, though." His voice was cheerful yet held a tinge of evil, his smirk obvious in his voice.


The lycanthrope only snorted in response, displeased with his idea of "fun".


When the two arrived at the city, they opted to avoid the traditional mode of entry. Instead of stopping by the gates, Vritra landed in the middle of a fairly desolate street. Although no one was under them that time, if anyone were to be in the way, the duo would not feel any remorse or guilt for their injuries. Or death, if it came to that. The black dragon flapped his wings a few times, sending waves of wind over the area and blowing away any light items and accessories that the people nearby possessed. Some shouts of alarm and annoyance were directed towards them, but they ignored them.


Dnias could feel the judgmental glares boring into her and her dragon as she slid off of him. Many people of the city didn't approve of the outcast and her dark-natured dragon, especially the authorities and officials. They tended to cause an unnecessarily large amount of trouble for the partners in crime, hoping to drive them away from their beloved land of Aventador and "back to the wasteland they came from". Unfortunately for them, Dnias and Vritra were there to stay, pleased with their lifestyle.


Dnias flipped her hood up to shroud her face in shadows and repositioned her mask to make it more comfortable. She hated being recognized for her facial features, so she always made sure that her identity was hidden. Too much information could be acquired from a simple face, and Dnias wanted to diminish that as much as possible.


The half-breed gently placed her hand on Vritra's neck, just below his head, and patted it a few times. "I will go meet our contact," she told him, her eyes scanning the many disapproving faces of the city. "I will call you if things go awry."


Without a response, Vritra hopped up into the air and flapped a few times, gaining altitude before speeding off to the outskirts of the city to take cover in the forest but still be close enough to be able to still be linked to his rider. On any other occasion, he would circle the city high up in the air, casting fearful shadows over the people and buildings of the city, but given that the dragon-rider games were going on, he opted to avoid the competition altogether and sit outside the city walls. He'd be able to take care of himself, anyway, if someone were to come along and bother him.


The assassin watched her companion disappear from sight then began walking the streets of the city. Her contact was to be meeting her in a simple tavern called "The Wretched Lion". The inn usually harbored drunkards and weary warriors and travelers, boisterous off-key singing originating from the building as drunk morons sang along with the bard and brawls occasionally breaking out on the property as people fought over who was right about various subjects.


Dnias began passing by the sign-up area for the upcoming Aetus Sumus Games. She sneered at the riders who were signing up. The competition was never a thing that she was interested in, nor was Vritra. The two weren't a form of entertainment for an audience, being bet on who was the best team. She preferred sticking to the shadows; not being put under the spotlight as people judged her efficiency and skill.


The cloaked killer passed by the crowds silently, wanting to distance herself from the large amount of people. Before too long, she had made it to the tavern, which was placed not too far from the area where the sign-up booths were. Unfortunately, she couldn't distance herself too far from the crowds, but being inside an inn where alcohol—and her money-totin' contact—was present was better than being in the midst of a bunch of judgmental strangers.


She opened the door to the building and was immediately barraged with the smell of cooked meat, alcohol, sweaty men, and the loud sounds of laughter and shouting. The hybrid couldn't help the disgusted look that overcame her features, but she continued to walk in and search for her contact. He had told her that he would be sitting at a table alone in the far corner of the tavern. It didn't take much time for her to pinpoint him from the rest of the inhabitants.


The wolf-human strode her way over to the contact, his rugged features immediately recognizing the assassin. He gestured for her to sit across from him, to which she complied. "I thank you, Merciless," he greeted, using her alias. He leaned down and picked up a bag the size of his palm, sliding it across to her. The hybrid picked up the bag and carefully opened it, peering inside to confirm the payment. Once she saw the gold, she nodded curtly and stuffed the gold into her pouch.


The contact suddenly stood up, taking a swig of his alcohol to finish it off. After he set the glass back down, he said a simple "Pleasure doing business with ya" and took his leave, disappearing into the crowd outside, five hundred gold pieces poorer.


One of the women working at the inn walked over and inquired if the hybrid would like anything, and she requested a bottle of mead. Dnias paid the required price and the woman soon returned with her small order. The dragon rider took a drink of the alcohol, enjoying the sweet liquid that trailed down her throat.