Post by FireAngel on Jan 9, 2009 0:15:39 GMT -5
(Ta da! One Kiral post!)
It was a somewhat lazy, idyllic scene. A trim, petite maiden sat with her back against the trunk of a massive, oaken tree that had been growing for some centuries in the midst of the forest. Long, gleaming copper curls fell in silken tendrils to partially mask a lovely, vivid visage, features boldly sculpted over a pale, translucent field of flesh, her physique lushly curved, yet at the same time sleek and lean. Slender, nimble fingers held a thick scroll delicately as jade-hued orbs seemed intently absorbed in the arcane scripting that had nearly faded from the parchment, sunlight dappling down over Kiral as if laying a patchwork blanket of light and shadow over her, while a short distance from the shade of the great oak tree, a great red dragon lay basking in the warming rays, huge wings folded loosely against great sides, the long, slender tail curled around from the hindquarters until the tip rest nearly atop the clawed fore-feet. Chiseled, his head rest atop the tips of black-taloned claws with sleek, deadly sharp horns cresting the ridge of his brow and working in spiny barbs of ruby scale down his back, all the way to nearly the edge of his tail, only the last foot or so lacking the sharp, deadly plates.
The library of the South Tower was…. Magnificent, she was delighted to discover. Filled with scrolls and books, parchments and volumes of the written word, both magical and scientific, the vast chamber in that great, stone tower had delighted her for hours, the scholarly Kiral at last finished with her tutelage in the Water Tower, the West tower, and had moved to the last of the Four Elemental Towers of Majical Learning, the Tower of Fire, the South Tower. Her heart had longed to plunge first into this deep and fiery lore when first her patron had funded the tuition for her educational pursuits, yet with a firm hold over her yearnings, she had pointedly left the South Tower for last. It would be here that the lovely, petite fire-wielding student’s talent would blossom the most, and so she had intentionally made herself master other disciplines first, and when she had first entered the great library at the base of the wide, tall structure at the southern-most quarter of the grounds to Aeryn Castle, the sheer awe of all that awaited her had nearly driven the breath from her.
It had been an agony to select only three items to leave from the library in her possession, treasures that were more priceless than any that lay in the treasury or vault, a value beyond compare, waiting for her to grasp it. She might not have left at all, had it not been the sensation of impatience that tingled in her breast, a warm touch that she knew would become more insistent the longer Brimstone was made to wait. Impatient, spoiled, selfish dragon, he demanded her attention relentlessly it seemed, she thought with a surly curl to lush, pink lips as one of the assistants carefully took her name and the title of the piece she wished to inspect further, admonishing her sternly that ”They were to be returned two days hence, at this precise time, no later.” Glee filled her when she burst from the tower, clutching the precious items, a scroll and two slender books with ancient, faded writing on the covers that she only just barely understood – thus the purpose of the scroll – and quickly made for the beauty and solitude of the forest.
A single, golden eye split open between the ruby ridges cresting the chiseled brow, the inky, elongated pupil dwelling in the massive orb flaring wide, then narrowing as a finger of sunlight seemed to filter at that precise moment through the great, ancient trees. Sunlight coated the massive creature curled on its belly in the warm, golden puddle the afternoon sun made, setting crimson scales on fire, each motion of breath causing a myriad of light to bounce and reflect in bloody prisms of color over the dragon, each minute motion rippling in a glorious, shimmering effect along the length of the coiled beast. Ever watchful, the single gaze slitted around the small clearing, the thick tree where his ‘person’ – as he referred to her with mild disdain, for he would most certainly never belong to a person – sat at the very fringe of where Brimstone lay. Wide nostrils flared, and he watched her study the parchment.
”Fascinating. They’re consonants, but in the female gender.”
Her voice was soft and husky, pitched low so that it couldn’t quite be discerned if she spoke to the dragon, or herself, for she didn’t speak until the eye opened, and indeed, were it not for the sensation of his attention upon her, like a burning tingle in her breast, curiosity in that gaze conveyed in that sensation, Kiral might not have spoken at all. Still, it seemed enough to satisfy the creature, for the eye closed again, a soft, rumbling sigh shaking his great, muscled body, setting the scales on fire all over again. The appearance of a noon-day nap was deceptive, but she was quite relaxed, and he saw little need to disturb the importance of basking.
The sigh seemed to vibrate over the forest floor to her, the head finally lifting from the scroll that contained the translation for the text-books that had seemed to call to the petite scholar, eyes a bright, smoky jade color moving to where he lay. In the midst of her brow, a dark, curling tattoo marred the pale beauty of her forehead, a mark that whispered of magical secrets, a swirling whorl that did not seem to detract from the winsome visage at all, but rather added a provocative, mysterious allure. A faint smile curled her lips as she did not put away the parchment nor make to rise, but instead spoke in a voice that rang clear as a melody to the beast, wry affection lacing the tone to erase the harsh sarcasm of the words.
“Poor Brimstone… You must put up with my endless hours of reading while you get to lay and do naught, lazy dragon. Tch, and while I see to it you have fodder to feast upon and a nice warm home in the Mews when the winters get too cold. Yes, I can see the trial of your life.”
He did not seem inclined to react, as if displaying an overwhelming elevation to her comment, instead letting out another deep, slow breath, a faint whisp of steam twirling from his nostrils, scarcely visible in the brilliance of the sun. Kiral gazed at him for a moment longer, bemused as ever that the great beast had attached himself to her in a bonding of soul to soul that saw her ever responsible for his care and he for her safety, utterly unexpected to say the least. Still, no matter how he grumbled or growled, snapped or snarled, he was safer than traveling with a whole legion of the Lord and Lady’s own Castle Guards. Jade eyes framed by the long lashes dropped back to the parchment again, and the love for the written word again reared its head, overtaking her interest in anything else.
When a light finger of a breeze twirled through the forest, it slipped through the trees and around the trunks with a playful touch, finding the figure seated with her back against the massive trunk and the black boots planted on the earth before her so the parchment rest on the angled surface her thighs created. The single, fat braid nestled amid the thick curtain of brilliant, copper locks shifted slightly with the toying touch of the zephyr sliding over the expanse of pale, alabaster skin revealed when the edges of the emerald green cloak fell open. Thick lashes lay half-lidded over the jade-green orbs, rapt upon the scroll while a hand lifted in a distracted motion to brush the tickling sensation from her creamy throat, the pale flesh gleaming as if dusted in gold with the glow of the sun spotting the woman. A tiny, ivory replica of a dragon’s skull lay nestled in the hollow of her throat, the ends of the vibrant green fabric held over slim shoulders by way of that clasp, folds of fabric flowing to find the clever little clasps at the ends that would adhere the garment to the cuffs around slender wrists.
“This has to be… at least a thousand years old. Fifteen hundred, maybe. Oh Brimstone, no one has spoken this in centuries.”
The note of excitement in her softly breathed voice could not be mistaken, her entire features illuminated by the thrill of what lay within her hands, only just now realizing that the text’s she had selected would bring forth an imp of fiery regions after their mastery had been completed.
Time was relatively meaningless, so long as the unexplored texts awaited the woman’s eager mind, the sun rising high overhead, burning with a glory that warmed the land in golden rays, Bel, the Sun God pouring His attention to the nurturing success of His children, wrapping loving fingers around her. When her stomach clamored for attention, she dug into a small, leather pouch that sat discarded at her side for a chunk of bread, pulling a bite from it and nibbling without even lifting her gaze from the curled scroll that she poured over. The translation was complex, a language rich and filled with so many subtle nuances that it nearly made her head swim, the scholar quickly discovering a linguistic talent she’d little realized err her studies began. When the bread made her mouth dry, a small bottle of elven wine was produced from the tan bag, the seal quickly broken and a small, pewter goblet produced. Something in her rebelled at drinking straight from the bottle, she realized before her thirst could be quenched. The rich, deep burgundy liquid splashed into the cup and the bottle was quickly re-corked. Her patron funded her well, but not so well that she could let the earth drink up what was meant for human consumption.
The rich flavor of the wine burst over her tongue with that first sip, the flavor nigh to intoxicating, so vivid and yet, filled with so many subtle flavors that for a moment she was forced to simply savor the drink, letting the liquid linger on her tongue before swallowing it slowly. The elf-folk were known for their heady brews, and Kiral was not displeased by the bottle she’d managed to procure from the tavern before Brimstone finally hauled her beyond the City walls and lead her on quite the merry, if not tiresome, walk through the thick forest to their current location. She had sought only a suitable seat before settling in the posture she now lazed in. Another sample was taken from the pewter cup, savored as deeply as the first, before the cup was set on the earth at her slim hip. The parchment commanded her attention again, now that homage to the wine was completed.
Perhaps it was the sound of the leaves, crunching so merrily through the forest, that first drew that large, gleaming golden eye open again, though it was quickly joined by its twin, both orbs blazing as the pupils flared, then narrowed, roving until discovering the location from whence the traveler came, and therein pinioning to that portion of the thickly canopied trees, shadows whispering and slithering as if rippling around motion, forced into action and swirling in agitation from it, and settling as the moving figure passed, so blithely on his jaunt. Domestic was not to be associated with a creature of the race as Brimstone was, though accustomed to humanity he was still, wild as he had been when first eyes had been settled on the petite figure he now saw himself as being responsible for the safety of. Still, intelligence was not passed by the dragon-kind. His head lifted slowly as the swirling of the shadows in the depths of Endryss Forest indicated that what passed through the afternoon came steadily their way.
It was a somewhat lazy, idyllic scene. A trim, petite maiden sat with her back against the trunk of a massive, oaken tree that had been growing for some centuries in the midst of the forest. Long, gleaming copper curls fell in silken tendrils to partially mask a lovely, vivid visage, features boldly sculpted over a pale, translucent field of flesh, her physique lushly curved, yet at the same time sleek and lean. Slender, nimble fingers held a thick scroll delicately as jade-hued orbs seemed intently absorbed in the arcane scripting that had nearly faded from the parchment, sunlight dappling down over Kiral as if laying a patchwork blanket of light and shadow over her, while a short distance from the shade of the great oak tree, a great red dragon lay basking in the warming rays, huge wings folded loosely against great sides, the long, slender tail curled around from the hindquarters until the tip rest nearly atop the clawed fore-feet. Chiseled, his head rest atop the tips of black-taloned claws with sleek, deadly sharp horns cresting the ridge of his brow and working in spiny barbs of ruby scale down his back, all the way to nearly the edge of his tail, only the last foot or so lacking the sharp, deadly plates.
The library of the South Tower was…. Magnificent, she was delighted to discover. Filled with scrolls and books, parchments and volumes of the written word, both magical and scientific, the vast chamber in that great, stone tower had delighted her for hours, the scholarly Kiral at last finished with her tutelage in the Water Tower, the West tower, and had moved to the last of the Four Elemental Towers of Majical Learning, the Tower of Fire, the South Tower. Her heart had longed to plunge first into this deep and fiery lore when first her patron had funded the tuition for her educational pursuits, yet with a firm hold over her yearnings, she had pointedly left the South Tower for last. It would be here that the lovely, petite fire-wielding student’s talent would blossom the most, and so she had intentionally made herself master other disciplines first, and when she had first entered the great library at the base of the wide, tall structure at the southern-most quarter of the grounds to Aeryn Castle, the sheer awe of all that awaited her had nearly driven the breath from her.
It had been an agony to select only three items to leave from the library in her possession, treasures that were more priceless than any that lay in the treasury or vault, a value beyond compare, waiting for her to grasp it. She might not have left at all, had it not been the sensation of impatience that tingled in her breast, a warm touch that she knew would become more insistent the longer Brimstone was made to wait. Impatient, spoiled, selfish dragon, he demanded her attention relentlessly it seemed, she thought with a surly curl to lush, pink lips as one of the assistants carefully took her name and the title of the piece she wished to inspect further, admonishing her sternly that ”They were to be returned two days hence, at this precise time, no later.” Glee filled her when she burst from the tower, clutching the precious items, a scroll and two slender books with ancient, faded writing on the covers that she only just barely understood – thus the purpose of the scroll – and quickly made for the beauty and solitude of the forest.
A single, golden eye split open between the ruby ridges cresting the chiseled brow, the inky, elongated pupil dwelling in the massive orb flaring wide, then narrowing as a finger of sunlight seemed to filter at that precise moment through the great, ancient trees. Sunlight coated the massive creature curled on its belly in the warm, golden puddle the afternoon sun made, setting crimson scales on fire, each motion of breath causing a myriad of light to bounce and reflect in bloody prisms of color over the dragon, each minute motion rippling in a glorious, shimmering effect along the length of the coiled beast. Ever watchful, the single gaze slitted around the small clearing, the thick tree where his ‘person’ – as he referred to her with mild disdain, for he would most certainly never belong to a person – sat at the very fringe of where Brimstone lay. Wide nostrils flared, and he watched her study the parchment.
”Fascinating. They’re consonants, but in the female gender.”
Her voice was soft and husky, pitched low so that it couldn’t quite be discerned if she spoke to the dragon, or herself, for she didn’t speak until the eye opened, and indeed, were it not for the sensation of his attention upon her, like a burning tingle in her breast, curiosity in that gaze conveyed in that sensation, Kiral might not have spoken at all. Still, it seemed enough to satisfy the creature, for the eye closed again, a soft, rumbling sigh shaking his great, muscled body, setting the scales on fire all over again. The appearance of a noon-day nap was deceptive, but she was quite relaxed, and he saw little need to disturb the importance of basking.
The sigh seemed to vibrate over the forest floor to her, the head finally lifting from the scroll that contained the translation for the text-books that had seemed to call to the petite scholar, eyes a bright, smoky jade color moving to where he lay. In the midst of her brow, a dark, curling tattoo marred the pale beauty of her forehead, a mark that whispered of magical secrets, a swirling whorl that did not seem to detract from the winsome visage at all, but rather added a provocative, mysterious allure. A faint smile curled her lips as she did not put away the parchment nor make to rise, but instead spoke in a voice that rang clear as a melody to the beast, wry affection lacing the tone to erase the harsh sarcasm of the words.
“Poor Brimstone… You must put up with my endless hours of reading while you get to lay and do naught, lazy dragon. Tch, and while I see to it you have fodder to feast upon and a nice warm home in the Mews when the winters get too cold. Yes, I can see the trial of your life.”
He did not seem inclined to react, as if displaying an overwhelming elevation to her comment, instead letting out another deep, slow breath, a faint whisp of steam twirling from his nostrils, scarcely visible in the brilliance of the sun. Kiral gazed at him for a moment longer, bemused as ever that the great beast had attached himself to her in a bonding of soul to soul that saw her ever responsible for his care and he for her safety, utterly unexpected to say the least. Still, no matter how he grumbled or growled, snapped or snarled, he was safer than traveling with a whole legion of the Lord and Lady’s own Castle Guards. Jade eyes framed by the long lashes dropped back to the parchment again, and the love for the written word again reared its head, overtaking her interest in anything else.
When a light finger of a breeze twirled through the forest, it slipped through the trees and around the trunks with a playful touch, finding the figure seated with her back against the massive trunk and the black boots planted on the earth before her so the parchment rest on the angled surface her thighs created. The single, fat braid nestled amid the thick curtain of brilliant, copper locks shifted slightly with the toying touch of the zephyr sliding over the expanse of pale, alabaster skin revealed when the edges of the emerald green cloak fell open. Thick lashes lay half-lidded over the jade-green orbs, rapt upon the scroll while a hand lifted in a distracted motion to brush the tickling sensation from her creamy throat, the pale flesh gleaming as if dusted in gold with the glow of the sun spotting the woman. A tiny, ivory replica of a dragon’s skull lay nestled in the hollow of her throat, the ends of the vibrant green fabric held over slim shoulders by way of that clasp, folds of fabric flowing to find the clever little clasps at the ends that would adhere the garment to the cuffs around slender wrists.
“This has to be… at least a thousand years old. Fifteen hundred, maybe. Oh Brimstone, no one has spoken this in centuries.”
The note of excitement in her softly breathed voice could not be mistaken, her entire features illuminated by the thrill of what lay within her hands, only just now realizing that the text’s she had selected would bring forth an imp of fiery regions after their mastery had been completed.
Time was relatively meaningless, so long as the unexplored texts awaited the woman’s eager mind, the sun rising high overhead, burning with a glory that warmed the land in golden rays, Bel, the Sun God pouring His attention to the nurturing success of His children, wrapping loving fingers around her. When her stomach clamored for attention, she dug into a small, leather pouch that sat discarded at her side for a chunk of bread, pulling a bite from it and nibbling without even lifting her gaze from the curled scroll that she poured over. The translation was complex, a language rich and filled with so many subtle nuances that it nearly made her head swim, the scholar quickly discovering a linguistic talent she’d little realized err her studies began. When the bread made her mouth dry, a small bottle of elven wine was produced from the tan bag, the seal quickly broken and a small, pewter goblet produced. Something in her rebelled at drinking straight from the bottle, she realized before her thirst could be quenched. The rich, deep burgundy liquid splashed into the cup and the bottle was quickly re-corked. Her patron funded her well, but not so well that she could let the earth drink up what was meant for human consumption.
The rich flavor of the wine burst over her tongue with that first sip, the flavor nigh to intoxicating, so vivid and yet, filled with so many subtle flavors that for a moment she was forced to simply savor the drink, letting the liquid linger on her tongue before swallowing it slowly. The elf-folk were known for their heady brews, and Kiral was not displeased by the bottle she’d managed to procure from the tavern before Brimstone finally hauled her beyond the City walls and lead her on quite the merry, if not tiresome, walk through the thick forest to their current location. She had sought only a suitable seat before settling in the posture she now lazed in. Another sample was taken from the pewter cup, savored as deeply as the first, before the cup was set on the earth at her slim hip. The parchment commanded her attention again, now that homage to the wine was completed.
Perhaps it was the sound of the leaves, crunching so merrily through the forest, that first drew that large, gleaming golden eye open again, though it was quickly joined by its twin, both orbs blazing as the pupils flared, then narrowed, roving until discovering the location from whence the traveler came, and therein pinioning to that portion of the thickly canopied trees, shadows whispering and slithering as if rippling around motion, forced into action and swirling in agitation from it, and settling as the moving figure passed, so blithely on his jaunt. Domestic was not to be associated with a creature of the race as Brimstone was, though accustomed to humanity he was still, wild as he had been when first eyes had been settled on the petite figure he now saw himself as being responsible for the safety of. Still, intelligence was not passed by the dragon-kind. His head lifted slowly as the swirling of the shadows in the depths of Endryss Forest indicated that what passed through the afternoon came steadily their way.