RP:A New Tomorrow
Part of the The Dawn of a New Era Arc
Summary: Brynhild recruits Xiem to her cause and the pair air out their concerns.
Northern Highlands
The Northern Highlands is what the rangers of the Sage Forest call this region. This is the place you hear so much about, and that it is some of the roughest terrain in all of Hollow. Its still south far enough to prevent the frost or snow that you see further north of here, but the air is chill and crisp. Great peaks adorn the horizon, and strange things have been heard to live there among the cold and snow. Bears, larger than any seen to the south, and strange buildings of death and magic are just some of the tales told about this wondrous land. To the north there seems to be a range, and beyond it some say an estate made of ice or crystal. You have also heard the tales of the castle of a great and powerful mage, although those could be just myths, and wives tales. To the south is a path which leads off in many directions, while to the east is a small castle or building of sorts.
Brynhild form might first be spotted in the distance, approaching the pass where this ‘Xiembantointh, the white’ might be found, just as Dyraxdiins letter had described. Every step is riddled with the metallic clanking of her mithril half-plate, specially designed for her own transformations. Cerulean eyes shift to those few who have gathered around, discussing the riches they have or have not found this day. Brynhild shakes those conversations off and instead searches for the man who fits the grays description; Charcoal gray eyes, sooty appearance with salt and pepper brown hair. Irritation has already begun to riddle her fire filled veins, an annoying trait reds possess - especially in one so old. Such things were only enjoyed during combat or conquest. The thrill often ending with her sinking tooth or claw into the hide of her target. This however, is more like a hunt for clues as to why they were all even here to begin with. The wind kicks up briefly, and for a moment, an errant strand of blonde hair whips about her face madly, before she grabs that folly piece and tucks it back behind her ear. How was she to tell them all apart? Each person gathered at least matched part of Dyraxdiins description. This would go nowhere fast.
Xiembantointh came out of the mines, easily dragging a large sack that is at least three times his height in his human form until he came upon a more open area that will allow for his transformation. The man standing a solid 6’7’’ with his greying brown hair lazily waving just passed his shoulders and obviously dirty from hard work, yet not a drop of sweat pestered the man’s brow or the bulk of his bare arms. It was a quick and smooth transition into a brilliantly white frost dragon and if he stood completely still, one might even think a group of Xalious kids got creative and made such a creature out of snow. Azure blue eyes only focus on what he was doing, uncaring of the other fleeing miners going home after a long day’s work and his front legs hold tightly to the sack before a tentative take off lifts him up into the skies with graceful effort. His hefty cargo not even bogging the very old dragon down in his path and narrowed azure’s focused on the destination before easily banking or fluttering at the right moments through a blizzard. Finally, he comes upon an open field where a small group of workers were bundled up and doing what they were hired to do - build. A booming low and syrupy voice speaks down to the men, “cleaar the waay!” The men really only seen the cargo at first and then the White as he blends so well to the environment, but as soon as they heard his voice, they skedaddled! He slows his decent and set the supply down as gently as possible and then the dragon lands next to it with a small thud, but his hard working employees waste no time in gathering all the stone and metal he bought for them.
Open Area
Should you have traveled from the north, you can now rest easy as the steep hill comes to a flat surface of stone and dirt. As you glance about you can see that to the south is an entrance to a large tent, while to the east you see a large bridge made of stone. To your north, a hill.
Brynhild had almost given up looking for the white. Almost. That is until his transformation breaks the dull scene and an ivory grin besmirches the reds near perfect features. She gives little thought to the other which have surrounded her. Nor does she usher apologies. Instead, the truth of her nature is revealed by a low grumble which starts in the back of her throat that grows louder. Mixing with the saurian that lurks beneath her spelled image. She finally lets lose of her transformation and the pleasant form that is Brynhild shifts - within the blink of an eye. Now all that stands where she once did is a mighty red dragon; scales red, near charred and black at their outermost edges. She’s covered in spikes, things she had used in the past to skewer hopeful riders and lesser warriors. Her tail swats the air, smashing the ground behind her. With a mighty tug of her wings, she’s off. Her lumbering and heavily muscled form built for physical combat is surprisingly agile. With a quick flick of her left wing she’s barrel rolling through a tiny opening within the pass, chasing down Xiembantointh or at least who she believes is this man. When the clearing is reached, she is not far behind. Ushering a loud roar from her bestial lungs, announcing her presence. Those gathered round might panic for a red has just appeared before them. However, she lands and flicks her golden eyes to the white. What is her purpose? Her Saurian voice rings out loud and proud - riddled with the authority only a red carries without title or claim. “You must be who Dyraxdiin has mentioned. It’s surprising to see another white.” She alludes to knowing one other without further discussing such concepts.
Xiembantointh flicks his mane toward the voice and instinctively steps before his fleeing workers to protect them if he needed to. Pupiless azure eyes that seem to glow take in the dragon form and a head tilts is issued before the dragon language came easier to the white, “the Grey? I see…” For the moment he doesn’t appear to be defensive, but he won’t slip from his dragon form just yet and will wait till he knows who this is before possibly putting his employees in danger. “Another, you say?” A quick glance to the skies as if she brought this ‘other’ white dragon with her. His own scales nearly rival that of the pristine white snow around them and glitters in the light as fresh, undisturbed snow might. A bow of his head in greeting for he is always the first to extend an olive branch, friend or foe, “I am Xiembantointh the White.” The air almost felt tense and still around them, or was that just the chill of Frostmaw? Breaking the silence, he quieres, “And. Who. Are. You?” His wings tuck and fold around himself in wait for the introduction in kind, but still holds off until it is evident that she is, indeed, friend - or at least isn’t going to gobble up his recently acquired workers (OSHA and all that.)
Brynhild is not one to give into the formalities of state or policies. She is as she has always been; haughty, mildly irritated and always ready to rip into the hide of an aggressor. Though what is surprising is how she does respond to the whites words. It is not in Saurian. Instead, she grabs hold of her transformation spell, shifting before his eyes into the eerily perfect form she uses to beguile lesser minded individuals. Whether she deems Xiem as that or not, is yet to be seen. Finally, cerulean eyes look up to the whites form, examining his scales or perhaps his potential prowess. “I hate the cold.” She voices her own concerns as if bothered she had to set foot in the snow once more. She shifts on foot and moves to get a better view of his haul, and the workers he seems to protect without taking a single aggressive action. She had been ignoring his question until this very moment, and with a final sigh she responds. “I am the red dragon known to some as Brynhild. To others as Grymvettir.” She seeks to make direct eye contact with Xeimbantointh before continuing. “I’ve been gathering those of our kind and Dyraxdiin, my Arbiter, has informed me that your views align with our own. I simply thought to meet you.” Despite her temperament, she is holding such things at bay well - for a red. “It’s a pleasure to meet one spoken of so highly by the gray.” She proffers a genuine, mortal smile. She means no harm to him or his crew. Just perhaps a conversation.
Xiembantointh shifts shortly after she does to a mortal, yet tall and habitually built looking man. Still only wearing a simple navy blue short sleeved shirt with pants cut to wear boots and a myriad of rings on random fingers. His beard, hair choice and outfit gives off a very bohemian vibe as if he was just a common, kind traveler. Nearly all of the workers get back to work except for one who comes over to offer Xiem some warm tea, but his low and rough bass of a voice kindly declines with a, “no thank you, brother.” A smile is given to Brynild as she said she hates the cold, a smile that warms his entire face, “I love the cold.” He motions for the worker to offer the woman the tea and he does, hesitantly. A look of recognition at the name she provides and he closes most of the distance between them to shake her hand firmly as that smile still impossibly shapes this man’s more gruff features into kindness, “I have been told of you! Yes!” A jovial chuckle comes from Xiem and his whole aura emits what some would call an infectious joy. His broad shoulders shrug up at the mention of being spoken highly of and he lets out a sort of, ‘pfft’ sound before humbly running a hand through his hair, thus making it all fall to one side on the top, “me? Nah… Just a simple contractor, but I do believe that many things need to be rebuilt and if it is for the side of light - I am honored to be included.”
Brynhild has no concept of what mortals do or do not do in their customary greetings, and as such, she hesitates for a moment when offered a hand shake by Xiem. However, what he might receive is rather awkward, for instead of dainty fingers meeting the grip of his hand, she offers him a warriors shake. Her fingers grip his forearm and clasp around it, in an iron, vice like grip only she can produce. She’s even intimidating in this form - her height is closer to that of the male Kuronii of venturil, at over six and a half foot. Xiem might find that she doesn't even look up into his eyes, that hers are simply at the level of his own, perhaps an inch or so above his own. Then without word, her grip is released and she takes up the offered tea from his worker, with a simple nod. “Thank you,” a very rare set of words escape her lips. “You pose an interesting comment Xiem, that I’m not sure on how to answer. Often the side of light, has different meanings to different people.” She lofts a brow to him mid statement. “So tell me, are you opposed to having a gathering of our race? Where we can be free? Not hunted down by mortals and their traps, for our scales and claws? Are you opposed to having a rebirth of our nation, where dragon kind -and- mortals work together, none greater than the other? Even if it means we might bloody our hands?” She poses a plethora of questions for him to think over. To politely discuss with him over this rather warm tea, which she now promptly sips.
Xiembantointh doesn’t give into the intimidation by simply not even acknowledging it for he has never used his size or strength to impose upon other dragons or mortals. Nor does he feel emasculated by a woman being taller than him and his smile becomes a constant, but she may pick up a distant twinkle in those charcoal grey eyes. What in this world could make anyone so content and happy? He seems unshakeable. While listening to her musings and questions, he steps from in front of her to the side of her to watch the workers as if surveying the future. There is one giant, one elf and a few humans all working for and alongside this dragon. Not just listening to Brynhild, but really hearing her and considering every word in the silence before a reply, “I am not opposed to having a gathering of our race for it would be a good thing to be a part of a brood once more, as long as we can all work together. If mortals are doing such things then I feel sorry for them for they made enemies out of the most powerful allies they could have had. No, Brynhild, I would love to see our nation strong once again and work alongside many different races, far and wide. I have bloodied my hands before,” for once his tone got somber and more sincere as he looked down at the snow. Sounding much older, much wiser as he said, “but tell me… Brynhild… As you know every race has their share of darkness and evil. There is no shortage of cruelty in this world and I want to know that if it came down to it,” his honesty shows in his deep charcoal gaze as it seeks her. “Would you rise up against one of our kind if they wish dominance of mortals and put an end to their ways, whether it be by force or… death?”
Brynhild does finally take notice of his oddball jovial ways. Just as her intimidation is a natural and unintentional aspect of herself, she’s realizing that his displayed cheeriness is a unique quality in him. She watches the different races gathered, all working for Xiem and she proffers a half grin, which tugs at the corners of her lips. He was already living peacefully with those gathered around. When his gaze drifts to the snow beneath their feet and his tone grows solemn over memories of his own distant path, she finds the words to respond. “I do not wish to dominate by sheer force. Though my will and haughty nature often comes off as crude or crass, I have an Arbiter, who knows how to keep me in check.” She sips the tea once more, thankful for the heat it provides while they talk. “But know this, I am what Dyraxdiin would call a true red dragon. I was created by the Saurian council to wage war. Some sixty-seven-thousand years ago, I helped bankrupt the Dwarven empire. Though war is in my nature, I seek to control such things. No matter how difficult. Our times are different now. People need guidance, not oppression. If a dragon beneath my banner or otherwise, tries to rise up and oppress the weak for his own personal gain or benefit, I will crush him beneath the fire and brimstone of my own claws. With every ounce of the power granted to me in my magically crafted existence.” Before Brynhild, as a member of the first clutch of red dragons, the closest they had to a physical combatant designed for war was what they used for home defense.
Xiembantointh takes stock of the woman’s words and kindly interjects, “or she.” His daughters and wife shown him something he has always suspected - that women can be just as fierce and strong, if not more so, as men. Gender or scale color was never an indicator to him on someone’s being and he lets actions speak louder than words, just like he lives his own life. It seems as though he is about to change the subject as his gaze went back to his workers, “look at them… Even though I pay for their labors, I still hope to Arkhen that they work for me out of respect and brotherhood, but a part of me suspects that their willingness to work for me is more out of fear. We forget sometimes how larger than life dragons can seem to their world and I suspect you know that many will assume the worst of this. In spite of all that,” his warm smile cracks over his whole face again in his boisterous and hearty infectious laugh as he so easily found it while his hand offers another shake - or warrior’s shake if she prefers. “I will align with you, Brynhild, and help as much as I can to rebuild what us dragons have lost. If you will have me of course,” only his head tilts down to offer a bow in his humble ways. No, he was not going to be attempting to place a kiss on her ‘dainty’ hand and, as a matter of fact, his gaze never even lingered passed her face this whole time. Was he being respectful or uninterested? He’s a whole different being entirely, regardless of the color his scales or his grief. As long as he is busy and he has a hunch that being a part of the brood will aid in that.
Brynhild nods to his interjection. “Indeed. Or she.” She finally offers a small laugh to his cheery nature. It seemed that even he, knew how to get a red to stay calm. Apparently humor worked well. “We’d be delighted to have you. Welcome to the brood.” She smiles once more and looks to the workers and ponders curiously over his words once. Its true that most dragons are feared in these lands - they’ve rightly earned that reputation. “And there is much to rebuild friend. I will inform the others of your acceptance to join.” She proffers that same ingrained warriors shake she had given before. “Until then, I’ll let you get back to work. We shall have our first summit soon.” Brynhild finally finishes the tea, and hands the cup back to Xiem. “I’ll be seeing you.” Much like her entrance to this clearing, she turns away from them all and shifts. Her mighty wings give a beat - filling the scene with a gust of wind that sends her massive frame sailing through the air. Brynhild heads south, towards Venturil. Before long she is gone from sight - vanishing behind the mountains.