Logs:Returned
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| RL Date: 13 November, 2015 |
| Who: Ka'ge, Zymadiath, Draozu |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: An apprentice reclaims his master. |
| Where: Somewhere off Southern's Coast |
| When: Day 18, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| His memories labeled this place as home. But the image is little more than a craggy lump of rock in the middle of the sea. Zymadiath appears from Between, a dark dragon coated further in the darkness of cloud-covered night. But the visualization of the area was off and the bronze catches an unexpected paw-full of rock and debris to reroute his momentum, violently backwinging in need to gain unanticipated elevation. Abrupt displays of agility, though not readily demonstrated, is here a talent of the bronze that saves the necks of them both. The pair take to the sky again, letting the dust of their inadvertent near-collision settle. No movement is seen from above, no sudden light of a fire by a suspicious resident roused from slumber by the noise, no evidence of signals blazoned in alert. But that doesn't mean a thing. Down. Ka'ge's hesitance is clear, even in that single word. Nothing more is needed, that one alone being necessary to articulate past his mental indecisiveness as they continue to circle the starless sky. Zymadiath lands on a cliff's edge, where the small secluded island's stone makes a sheer drop into the deep dark blue of the ocean below. Before his dragon even touches down, the bronzerider has unbuckled himself from the straps, swinging off to the rough, dusty ground the moment the dragon's talons dig into its dry soils. Ka'ge smacks the bronze's forelimb with an unimpressive thud- It's dismissive; it's an immediate 'get out of here' which is heralded by the dragon in an unquestioning, twisted spring off the cliff and upwards to take back to the skies. He spirals higher until he blinks out of the area, all in as much silence as the effort could possibly permit. The boy once known as Kaelige climbs and slides his way across the too-familiar rocky terrain, cautiously slow, carefully patient to craft as little noise as possible, each movement as deliberate as the last. The foliage has changed some, a few extra plants, a few extra stretches of moss across the boulder faces. But it'd not been enough time, the turns too few, for anything more. He passes a small grove when the feeling of a presence stalls his movements in their place. The thin edge of the blade that can be felt just below his last rib isn't surprising given his assumption of who had been more skilled than he in following him, and he slowly straightens without turning. "Master." His voice, even whispered in his low tones, seems too loud for the night he'd been maneuvering in such dedicated silence. "Do you bring something of value?" Draozu's voice is a smooth, relaxed and deep baritone that carries the semblance of a feline's prowess and a drop of honey to it that doesn't quite match the weapon he demonstrates. That voice of his is a little muffled, a leaf held bitten between his teeth. "Information." He stands still, with the faint short-lived edge of a smirk drawn with, "And me." "Information." Contains a grunt of agreement, "But no life has value. Even yours, kid. Iashun's not doing you any good if you let me on you like that." But the man is amused, and the chiseled knife is withdrawn. Ka'ge turns around to face him, and the father-figure he represents. There'd be no embrace, though, no evidence of expression of affection. This was a man something of legend within his own circles, when he wasn't confined to a lump of rock in the middle of an ocean. He felt untouchable, and not once had Ka'ge himself earned even a clap on the shoulder. The man, of his earlier forties, wears the same clothing as Ka'ge, the patchy dark grey tunic crowned with an oversized hood that hides his eyes, drawn as it is. Facing each other, it looks not unlike a mirror showing Ka'ge's older self, if only with dirty blonde hair. The silent stand-off between the two breaks as Ka'ge drops his head fully in a bow of respect running deeper than anything else the boy believes in. "I've come for you, sir. You and anyone who wishes to follow you." The two watch each other with equally shadowed eyes once he straightens again with slow intention. "I believe I've come across a small holding that will suit you. Regardless, it's better than this rock." "I'll decide that." Draozu comments, chewing his leaf in thought. "Careless, as always. Did it slip your mind to send me a warning so I could have them collected already? Stay here, try not to make any more of a show." And the older man turns, fading into the dark of the brush with a natural fluidity that Ka'ge has yet to fully master. It's only an hour, though the time crawls by. The soul-gripping darkness of Zymadiath snakes into a weightier presence, « You could have left this behind. » It's a whisper, a shadow over his shoulder. A conscience with its own construct of morality. « Yet you seek to bring it back with you now from a place it could have been let to die. » The shadows flare, engulf, attempt to drown the mind of the one they've bonded, « Is it worth it to kiss his dirty boots? » Mine are no cleaner. Ka'ge's thoughts are grim and unashamed, tainted with a hint of unaddressed affection for the man clouding whatever clearer judgement the bronze may offer, I need him. « No, you don't. » When the self-proclaimed master returns, a handful of others trail him up to the cliffside. The subsequent, dramatically-timed appearance of the bronze above them from Between brings about a mixture of emotion, various members of the group whispering everything from oohs-and-ahs, to bitter grumblings of distaste and distrust. He drops onto the cliffside with quiet flourish, his bared teeth and faintly red-flecked eyes morbidly brilliant against the nigh-black mask of his face, to both confirm and exaggerate those deeply imbedded fears. He'd not come to comfort. It would be all before dawn that on the back of Zymadiath, these exiles would return to the mainland. Nestled in a mountainous valley some way southwest of Fort Weyr, Greyholt Hold would lend itself to becoming the soil for the seed to be planted. For those select few to dig new roots, both in a claim underground as much as over. And for Draozu to begin again |
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