RP:A Reunion of Dragons

Part of the The Dawn of a New Era Arc

Location: Scrathulclaw Hall

Synopsis: At the Request of Scandal, Dyraxdiin heads to Venturil and Scrathulclaw Hall to meet with Brynhild. A Dragon claiming a very old name; Grymvettir. When he arrives, he is greeted by a dragon disguised as nothing more than human. At each other's request, the other reveals their true forms. They talk of days long since past, the old wars. Of family long since dead or missing. Brynhild promises to help Dyraxdiin find his long lost sister because her fate is unknown. She also announces her want to bring the empire of old times back, though perhaps modified. Dyraxdiin ends up agreeing, and freely chooses to be her Arbiter. Once more their paths entwine. The great wyrm Dyraxdiin and a very old red dragon, Brynhild.

A Reunion of Dragons

Brynhild rides over the outlying borders of Scandals property. The massive ‘home’ as he called it had become more of a nightmare for her to navigate than even she was willing to admit. What do you expect with a red? Her recently acquired, gallant, steed neighs at her, offering her better guidance on how to pull those reigns. She’s frustrated. Grown tired of waiting around this massive abode. With an irritated sigh, the hot blooded red climbs down from her horse, and ties him off to a nearby fence. To only pull that helm free of her human disguised head; revealing blonde and braided tresses which fall into place. She stood amidst the flora and fauna dressed in her ancient, mithril half-plate; magically inscribed to tell the deeds of a specific dragon named Maldryxiin. If any were to recognize such things, it would be another ancient - these whelplings living today would understand none of this. The helm previously mentioned is tucked under her left arm and Brynhild leans against the fence. She loathed idle time. There were things she could be doing, and she hoped that Dyraxdiin would hurry up. If he had not forgotten her entirely after all these longs years of slumber.


Dyraxdiin carries himself sheathed within a mask of relative ease, his footsteps to the cobbled path ring out like the ticking hand of a clock - another moment of what has been nearly an eternity, grinding away, since last they saw one another. The great wyrm wears his usual mithril half-plate and gray half-robes, his staff travelling alongside him, invisible, as though an ever-watchful shadow. How is it she could still be alive? He finds himself wondering, worrying. Could it be possible? Dyraxdiin shakes his head, clearing his mind of such trivial thoughts and forges ahead. Upon entering the courtyard that stands at the fore of this home, Dyraxdiin's blue eyes flit about in search of the individual Scandal mentioned in his message. And then he sees her. "You're the reason I've come, then?" His voice is deep, sure and utterly non-commital. A dragon can look any way they please in mortal form - perhaps she is just a pretender. His eyes find the armor, Maldryxiin's armor. A lump rises in his throat, threatening to choke him, "Show me your true form."


Brynhild finds her rising impatience thrown off by this man who enters the courtyard. Is this truly Dyraxdiin? Brother to Maldryxiin? She doesn’t bat at eye to his noncommittal voice - her own laced with the annoyance she’s always possessed. True she’s never been one to appease those around her by altering her personality. Appearing just as she had always, even before her slumber. When cerulean eyes shift to look over the gray robed male and his armor, she ponders over his words. “I am.” She squints, recalling days that have long since passed. If this is Dyraxdiin, then how did he survive. “My true form?” The human disguised red Dragon begins to laugh. It’s only when those things die down that she responds thusly. “And here I thought us reds couldn’t wait. It seems I was wrong.” She offers a smirk at her own words. If he wanted to see her true form, so be it. She casts her helm aside, like it were trash, and it skids across the stony floor. “But I can’t promise you’ll like what you see.” Her tone alters, changes; mixing with the true identity that lies beneath the surface. Rumbling within the chest of this false humanoid shell. With a moment, the spell is undone and a Red dragon shifts into form. Her scales a deep crimson - near charred and black around the edges. Her body littered with scales and spikes - her neck carrying a plethora of protruding scales that have grown out over time and could be used to impale hopeful riders. She is most definitely the Dragon from Dyraxdiins memories - though more physically aged. “And now,” She huffs out in her deep grumbly voice. “You have witnessed Grymvettir. Now come out of your shell.” She utters for him to reveal himself.


Dyraxdiin watches, awe-struck, the reveal of Grymvettir. A true red dragon. Her appearance reminds him of Maldryxiin, and a pang of sorrow finds itself bleeding out of his otherwise composed features. She is alive. The great wyrm gazes up at her, a smile of pride, sorrow and joy to ripple across his features - so many mixed emotions conveyed in the most common of mortal manners. But, instead of falling to his knees and crying to the gods that be, like a simple mortal would, Dyraxdiin meets her request as she did his. He releases his hold on his spelled form. In a matter of moments, he grows exponentially, horns to lance up and six-wings to spread out wide. His heavily-scaled form flexes, tail whipping in the age-old gesture of a dragon finally breaking free from the cramped space it was previously held within. His now gray saurian eyes regard Grymvettir, his tongue to speak the old language of High Saurian, "How have you survived this long?" His tone guttural, raw and natural. Standing next to her, he is reminded of their late-night strategy meetings, her fiery temper flaring every time he told her the time had not come yet. A temper she finally unleashed in the form of a dragon's wrath upon the dwarven halls. Had it really been so long?


Brynhild and her temper have -never- once waned. Even over the years of slumber forced upon her, she dreamed of rampaging through dwarven halls, through their high keeps, built of mithril and stone. She brought death to them all thousands of times and now; all of these things fade in her proud, beating heart. The tongue of High Saurian. Dyraxdiin lived. If she had been one ounce lesser than she claimed, tears might escape her yellow dragon eyes - for even Dyraxdiins sight brought back the pain from eons ago. Maldryxiin. Much like the era’s of those days long since past, her temper wanes - filters through the cracks like sand in the wind. “I thought I lost you as well.” Her voice flexing the ancient tongue as if it were only yesterday. “When we bankrupted the empire, and we were split, I thought that you had died. I thought that I had lost everything. The dwarves and elves, put me into a slumber. Where I’ve slept for a very long time, beneath the mountains of Xalious itself.” The steed she once referred to as noble, is freaking out in the background. Two dragons sat talking within a courtyard. Perhaps it thought it would become a snack? “I only rose recently. To find our empire gone. Replaced by these fools who mimic our old customs and standards. Tell me Dyraxdiin,” It was good to call his name once more. No matter how much he reminded her of his brother. “How is it you still live?” How has he functioned living under the power of mortals?


Dyraxdiin bows his head to her and holds it there for a time, a gesture of good-will and the bond that they share. A familial bond, one that has somehow managed, against all odds, to remain unsevered. He remains quiet for a time, reminiscient or perhaps in humility of it all. Either way, he eventually speaks, "It seems... we were close enough to be affected by the same, or at least a similar spell. The mages they... I couldn't fight all of them, casting their petty, imitation magic at me all at once." His wounded pride shows here, in as slight a fashion as can be shown on the nigh unchanging features of a dragon, "They were unable to kill me and instead forced me into slumber. I awoke a few years ago, in Xalious like you." In that time, whole nations had risen and fallen, new races had taken up the torch of leaders of the world and everything had changed... except, perhaps, these two. "Ishar...?" He questions, curious to know if she had learned of the fate of his sister, their sister, since her awakening.


Brynhild closes her eyes, the only visible form of sympathy she is able to show in her current form. Her head shakes once, “Isharuveain..” She finishes the name for him. Truth be told she had no clue about their sisters fate. The ancient red had often squabbled with her in the past over ridiculous matters. But now, it seems that those silly things were all that held the memory of her together. Years have been unkind to most of her memories, and a fog still seems to riddle her thoughts. She does know the truth of his words. That nations have risen and fallen. That their once beloved Empire has crumbled and become naught more than a fairytale of days long forgotten. “We will find her Dyraxdiin. I will help you and her. Together, we will discover the fate of Isharuveain.” She huffs a puff of smoke at the horse still going berserk beside them. “But I’ve need of an Arbiter. I’ve begun to gather the dragons I can find Dyraxdiin.” She moves her gaze to make direct contact with him - fighting through all those old memories. “I plan to bring a new empire into the world of mortals. There will be war,” of that she’s certain. “I need a good thinker, who knows how to halt a reds rampage. But whether you join me in this endeavor or not,” She sighs, “I will not let Isharuveain fall into nothing more than myth and then finally forgotten.” She pauses for only moments. "Will you join me, Arbiter?"


Dyraxdiin is reminded once again of all that they lost. His parents, his family... Ovicelas. Is war truly what is needed now, while the wounds they carry are still so fresh in their minds? For him, the war was only a few years ago - for Grymvettir, it must still seem like days ago. He remembers well the rage deep within his chest, the desire to fight even when there is nothing left to fight for. And the Empire... it's entirety had been swept away. Is there anything from that time that is worth bringing back? Dyraxdiin turns his head from her, gazing down to the upset horse, in silent thought. "I've struggled since awakening. I have no true friends in this world," His eyes turn back to meet her, "How could I, when none know of all that I have been through? When none could share understanding of the war that haunts me so?" He nods his saurian head, resolute determination shining brightly behind his gray eyes, "I believe it is time to restore our nation. To show these whelps who we have always been. You have your Arbiter."


Brynhild gives a firm nod to Dyraxdiin. It does feel as though it were only yesterday that she was among the fire and death of the ancient Dwarven kings hall. That only last week Maldryxiin had suffered defeat. That even the death of Ovicelas had brought about the partnership of these two, very old dragons; Though her form has not yet changed into a great wyrm like Dyraxdiins. Their bond is one of mutual hatred and revenge. But now, those things are long since gone, despite how they still burn so strongly within Brynhild. “The time is now indeed.” An Arbiter had been found. One from those days which have dwindled by, as if flipped like a page within a scholars book. War is inevitable. Especially among the mortals. They will fight back, as proud as they are. Brynhild shifts once more, taking hold of her transformation spell - slipping back into her human guise. The armor she wore did indeed belong to her dead lover; Dyraxdiins brother. However, modified for her frame. She looks down to it once. “I have need of a good smith, who can repair something as old as this.” She moves her sights back to him. “Let’s head inside and catch up a little.” She offers a very human smile to the gray before turning to head into the building.