RP: Fire with Fire
Summary: Thamalys meets Demeter, the latter returning from a... hunt, believe it or not. Curious as well as worried in witnessing such strange endeavour from a fellow Avian, the Blue tries to learn more about the Lamashtian's past - and, perhaps most prominently, about her plans for the immediate future. The frosty outskirts of Frostmaw are soon abandoned in favour of the Tavern, where , properly lubricated by some well-deserved beverages, some exchange of information ensues - accompanied by a rather unusual fiery display. The two Avians thus learn, or start to learn, about the phenomenal differences between their kingdoms - and, about their equally complex relationship with pyromancy as well...
Frostmaw: Icey Path
Demeter has had enough of the frostmaw wolves, there was a pack that was tracking her through the wilderness. Except they seemed to stay back as she got closer to the town. Only one seemed to be following behind her, with a curse under her breath Demeter pulled out her sword from its holster against her belt. The ruby ring upon her left middle finger began to steam, the sword metal doing the exact same still it looked red hot. A soft whisper from her pale pink lips, the sword ignited. Turning around in time for the large wolf to lunge at her. Dropping herself down into a crouching position, waiting for the perfect time to raise her sword up in a left to right slashing motion. The blade slicing through the wolf, almost cutting the beast in half. Landing to her right side, burning smell of fur echoing into the winds. Standing with a growl of her own, noting her cloak was now bloody. Slipping it off wrapping the outside inwards, in doing so it reveal the overly large charcoal wings. Giving the chance to stretch them out before tucking them back in tightly. Upon her form was leather pants, leather vest. Hair done in multiple braids, grey eyes squinting to keep the snowflakes from landing between the eyelashes. Scar running across her face, slight L shaped nose from being broken too many times. Tattoos filed with black, outline in crimson. Swirling into her family crest upon the left side of her neck. Picking up her flaming sword giving it a hard shake to get any fur that was trying to melt onto the blade off, except the flames began to spread up her arms dancing outwards off the blades. “Balls.” She says in her thick Icelandic accent. Moving back down to a crouching position closing her eyes to concentrate to cause the flames to dance up and over her body into the ruby ring before she lost absolute control.
Thamalys was making his way back from the high peaks. A journey worth several days for many, but not for the Winged Beast, who nonetheless found himself ambling through the outskirts of Frostmaw as opposed to defying the winds and return to Larket straight away – as he had promised. What he told to the Guild’s people in Ara was that he needed to replenish some of his herbal stashes with rare winter specimens – and that was no lie, he was basically uncapable of any of the latter. However, it was just half of the story. What the Blue truly needed was some time for himself – away from the clamour of Ara, the endless stream and screams of the wounded. Rather oddly for whomever might not know him well, the Avian trudged through the familiar layers of icy snow barefooted, sporting only black, loose trousers and a similarly coloured shirt, this one however decorated with silvery embroideries in the shape of flames, leaves and stars, all of those mingling together into a spectacular menagerie. On his back, the fabled Gossamer Halberd, laced onto is shoulder with clever loops of leathery strings. Across is torso, the laces of a rather bulky satchel, from whence it came a strong scent of mint and... catnip, one might think. Silent as a shadow, the Spellblade approached a turn in the path only to witness a fellow Avian making short work of a winter wolf. He frowned – not that anyone noticed, small snowflakes whirling around him the only witnesses. He came closer, sort of taking advantage of the fact that Demeter appeared to be intent in shoving some magical fire into a ring. The Blue judged it wiser to wait until the end of that process (assuming Demeter would have eventually managed to convince the ring to cooperate fully) to sidestep and making himself plainly visible, the huge curtain of his silvery wings neatly furled into a metallic mass. “You could have... flew away?” offered the Healer, the question mark being quite lost into his gruffy tone. Plainly enough, though, his solid blue gaze was transfixed onto the above mentioned ring.
DemeterItalic text || All but a single flames listened, anger increasing as the frustration peaked. The tiny flame was then sent to the corpse of the wolf, kicking snow over onto it to put it out. Finally, it was. Bending down placing her hand above to wolf’s eyes closing them as she spoke a silent blessing to the creature. Placing her pointing and middle finger to her lips followed by placing it on the corpse’s forehead as in a way of her former people to help send the spirit to the after life. “I am sorry you had to perish, if there was another way, I would had done that. Was you or I. I picked life.” Placing the sword back away, pulling a dagger from her boot she began to gut it. Not leaving it here to waste, was good meat and fur to make clothes. The wolf died, but his body would not be neglected. What she couldn’t use she would leave for the wild beast to gorge upon. Catching an image of someone nearby out the corner of her eye, causing the Lamashtian to stand up quickly to her full six foot two. “I could’ve, but I was hunting. Then became the hunted, cycle of life. I leave parts here, I blessed and thanked the wolf. It will feed others now too.” Her grey eyes narrowed to focus upon Thamalys, “You were the avian in the tournament with a flaming sword?” Demeter reached up to toss her braids behind her, “How did you get that sword? Are you from Eldur Kingdom?”
Thamalys had never saw anything quite like it. An Avian… hunting? And on the ground, even. Very few things made sense anymore… or maybe, he was just too old. With a sigh, he stepped forward, curiously observing the details of her ritual. Most definitely an outsider, or perhaps an outcast. None of this… noisy, grimy, dirty business would have been tolerated by a proper Scherezade citizen. He kept a few feet of distance, not entirely confident in Demeter’s ability to keep her own flames in check. “I… cannot say understand – not coming from someone like you. But then again, your words sound… different, if you do not mind me saying. Ah, look at me…” continued the Blue, gently shacking his head, his dreadlocks following that movement with a lazy sway, “forgetting my manners and commenting on other’s. Yes, I am Thamalys, and I too favour the company of flames… albeit, I must say, I am not proud of having wounded one of our own in that duel – some stupid fanfare that was…” grunted the Spellblade, chiefly to himself. He strode closer to the wolf, his eyes moving back and forth between the corpse and the Lamashtian. “My sword… it is a long story. I will tell you, and I will tell you – something - about where I come from… if you would tell me where is it in Lythridel that an Avian can be bred to favour haunting wolves with fire and blades. What say you?” There is no threat in those words, albeit his voice did forget forever what sounding kind was like. The Blue was curious more than anything else, particularly when faced with fellow Avians who, for one reason or another, failed to align with the pompous, elitist standards of the Flying City.
Demeter was definitely an outsider, outkast too. All because her father’s stupid ego, and the high courts thinking her bloodline needed to be cast from their ranks and kind. When he said he couldn’t understand she sighed out loud, rolling her eyes. Using the snow to clean her blade before pulling a satchel off of her shoulder to load the meat and fur into. “I am Demeter Viviane Alabaster, the Lamashtian. I come from the land called Eldur. That is the name of the kingdom I was in. No it is not close by, took me two years to get here.” She did her best to dumb down her accent, noting his own dreadlocks. “Those tournmanets are just to boost egos, yes? Although they are fun to watch, reminds me of home. We had fights daily. Good training.” Kicking more snow on the wolf to freeze the meat more before she would pack it up, “I told you now, you can tell me. It took me two long years to get here. I had to leave home, I am an outkast. I hope I am too far from the rest the Tzur to look for me.” Looking him over, studying his movement to make sure he was not planning an attack. She trusted no one but one in these lands.
Thamalys nodded, desperately trying to recall anything at all about a place called Edlur. Nothing sprung to mind, but then again, history and geography were not exactly his strong suits. “It sounds like a proud name, and a suitably proud land to go with it… you must tell me more…” simply stated the Blue, carefully taking the measure of the Lamashtian. She looked as tense as a string of a violin tuned by a 4-year old. “Would you walk with me? Frostmaw is not exactly famous for warm welcome and cheerful folks, but their mead is still grand, and their taverns would accept a hunter of any denomination.” He did not wait for an answer, he just started to walk toward the plaza, the wind howling across the path and sending huge puffs of immaculate snow into the frosty air. If the fellow Avian would have followed, the Winged Beast would have tried to get the conversation going, whilst offering to lead the way – he feared very little and wanted to put Demeter at ease by giving her the ultimate advantage in terms of positioning. “Ego, yes. And spectacle, I guess. Training is different – in my book, you do not end up breaking anyone wings…” he cleared his throat, the guilt of that gesture still fresh in his mind, where the Black, unbeknown by anyone else but the Blue, softly chuckled. “I too, I guess, can considered an outcast. I have abandoned the ways of my City and quite literally forgotten about my past. I am old enough to know where I walk without anyone telling me to put one foot in front of another if that makes sense.” For a while, he kept silent, whilst the frosty alley of the town closed upon them. “My sword, then. Stain it’s her name. She has been forged here in Frostmaw, out of Blue Steel and Elerium. It contains a part of my as well, and it is a danger to everyone, myself included. You would have noticed she is not with me today… how about – your – blade? Sharp enough to cut down a wolf in a single swoop, that is no mean feat…” By then, the Tavern must have been in sight, and with it the promise of a rather well-deserved beverage.
Demeter brows drew tightly together as he wanted to learn more about her land. Why? Maybe he wasn’t from there, she thought about letting her guard down, she had seen him fight already maybe she could injury him long enough to get away. The thought left when she finally noticed his wings were very different then any other avian she has ever encountered, he was definitely not from where she was. Looking to the wolf she had carved up before she agreed to walk with him, “Yes.” Moving to where she could keep an eye on him, rolling the fur into a cloth followed by the meat. Packing snow with it before putting it away. Catching up to him, but not exactly beside him. Grabbing her clean cloak of illusion to hide her wings from sight and sound, draping across her shoulders. “If wings are broke, it is poor training. Never touch another’s wings unless interest in being their mate. If it is a fight, and a wing gets broke, fair game.” She gives a nod to him, if he saw it or not. “Past is behind us, there is no benefit of looking back. Alas, it does make sense.” Listening to him about his sword, “Ruby, her name is ruby. She was made with the essence of a phoenix and dragon breath. Only the high court’s Tzur Kar promised blood line are given this sword.” Lifting her left hand up to show the ring, “Eye of the phoenix to keep the sword bonded to me, easier to control. Just, I have a hard time controlling my own fire. It is raw and wild, like my spirit. Hard to-“ pauses. “tame, stubborn and hardheaded. Not trusting.” Seeing the tavern in sight was a good feeling, looking forward to a good hard brew. Plucking a cigarette from behind the high pointed ear, lifting her thumb up as steam swirled wrapping around the cigarette until a flame trailed constricting around the edge. Taking a few puffs before she closed a fist around the thumb.
Frostmaw: Icey Path
Thamalys listened, trying to read in between the lines. He expected her to belong to some sort of nobility, but she was talking royalty. An interesting affair. || Lest us hope she has managed to lose her own people on her way into Frostmaw… || he silently pleaded to the Black. The latter just growled, revelling in his host’s pain. “Very neat”, he offered as a simple answer to the Lamashtian’s explanation of her sword’s history. In reality, he was severely worried. He took him long enough to master his own magic, and his temper, as mercurial as he might have been in some rare occasions, was nothing like the feisty soul of Demeter – that much was very clear. He pushed the tavern’s door open. Well, tried to – the hinges were sealed with fresh new ice, which required a proper shove with his left shoulder to give way. With a loud bang, the winged duo thus announced itself to the quite sparse audience inside. Drargon, presently talking with a not-bad-looking halfling sat at the bar, jumped a little. “Thamalys, ye’ old feathery oaf!” barked the innkeeper, which resulted in a cascade of cautious laughers. The Blue was fairly well known in Frostmaw, but few dared to approach him, and even fewer to mock him in the open – a wise choice. “The bird of Sven is my name, eating my wings to make me tame…” whispered with a sigh. “My apologies, the door was frozen… again”, he bellowed, and with that remark the Spellblade proceeded to a table in the corner of the ample room. Drinks would have swiftly followed, together with – at the request of the Blue – a chunky candle, plainly made of yellow beeswax. He stared at her scar. “When did you discover you had the power to shape flames? Did it come when you acquired the sword, or earlier? Knowledge is the first step toward control, and the road to the latter is not free from dangers. I of all creatures should know…” and with that, it thought it best to take a proper sip from the foaming mug of red ale sitting squarely on the black wooden table between them.
Demeter tilts her head as he used her weight into his shoulder to open the door, the way the barkeep and he spoke to each other caused her brows to raise curiously. The barkeep had seen Demeter in here a few times before, always ordering the same. Bottle of whiskey, shot glass and a medium to rare steak. Using her hip to bump Thamalys, as in a way to make sure he was okay. Especially since he just apologized, before that a sigh. Following him to the table, sitting with her back to the wall keeping a view to the open tavern. “I was eight, began training with a dagger at eight. Sword at ten, life changed and we became Lamashtians. My bloodline only. When I was eight, I could only produce steam which meant to start training. We embrace our flames as if it is part of our soul. We are the fire nation, there is other elemental nations. We are the warriors, the ones you do not betray. Strongest milita.” Picking up her mug, sniffing it before she took a hefty drink from it to make sure she couldn’t smell any posions. “Your wings, why are they so different? I worry one day my flames will become too much and will burn mine away. Not that it has before, but I have come from a long line of Tzur.”
Thamalys digested the exotic tales of the Lamashtians not without some measure of genuine wonder. Other elements? She was obviously not overly keen to discuss such matters freely, but it was a start. And what if this information was to reach Scherezade? The Wind only knew what could have happened. The Blue laid his hands on the table, absentmindedly scratching the old wood. “My wings? Ah, yes. They are covered, each feather individually, in pure silver. It was a powerful magic from a talented druid, named Artia. They have served me well ever since. The magic is such that the silver does not weigh on them, and yet it makes them impervious to anything. Arrows, blades, magic… and yes, even fire. Speaking of which…” he paused for a moment, as, with his left hand, uncovered part of his right arm. The ivy-shaped tattooed came to life, twirling onto his pale skin like a multitude of snakes. A split second after, a slick, thing tongue of blue fire oozed from the ink itself, only to run up till the very fingertip of the Avian, climb on top of the candle, and light it up. The entire process took a negligible amount of time, and the Blue didn’t even look at it. In fact, he was looking straight into her eyes. “Can you manipulate regular fire as well? The flames in the fireplace over there” - and with that he causally pointed is left toward the back of the room – “or, perchance, my very own magic as well?” The blue light danced between them, as if to tease the Lamashtians.
Demeter listens to his tale of how his wings became silver, he was correct to think that was all she would reveal about the lands she came from. No idea what the local avians would do, especially if the found out the type of blood, cursed blood ran through her. One of the reasons she kept her wings secluded, another was why reveal a weapon so freely? With this one, his wings were mighty protected. Less attention on her the better, easier to move about without getting noticed. Another large drink was took, followed by a long draw from the smoke before she pinched the cherry off of it and tossed the butt into the fire place. Grey eyes studied his own as he looked into her own, using her peripherals to watch what he did. Eyes usually move or glance to a target before strike, was he challenging her? Fire began to dance behind her pupils, brows relaxing to show her amusement at what he was doing. “I have in the past, as the flames back before were of magical means.” As he went about teasing her, she played back. Slowly exhaling as steam rolled from her slight cracked pale lips, moving the tip of her tongue to lick along her lips while a flame the size of a rain drop hovered above it. Flicking her tongue outwards, casting her own flames to move to the flame he held at the candle. Swirling around it like a snake, before joining in. Instead of controlling it, her flame and his started to become one. Hues constantly changing, grey orbs looking to the fireplace. Lifting her left-hand palm pointed to the fireplace, turning her hand over. Only then did the fire in the fireplace roar loudly, growing. Beads of sweat forming upon her forehead, jerking her hand back as the flames of the fireplace began tickling at the floor. The fire stayed that way until most the wood burnt away, going back to a normal size.
Thamalys watched very closely, as the fellow Avian unleashed her own magic. He did not know the extent of her raw power – something that she will have to assess at some point – but could see she was putting quite the effort in manoeuvring the flames. A brilliant result as far as candles go, a tad bit of a dangerous outcome as far as it concerned the tavern’s fireplace. “Oi! We’ll have none of that nonsense in here, eh?” snapped Drargon the moment he realised something was afoot. “Relax, old man, would you?” growled the Spellblade in return, as a good portion of his skin started to glow into an ominous blue tint. It took a while for the innkeeper to calm down and for the small talk of the tavern to reprise, but eventually they sort of got back to their own business. “It’s unnatural, that’s what that is…” complained in a low voice a sturdy dwarf at a table nearby, before a stern glance of the Blue abruptly ended the complaint. “You are doing very well…” he conceded the Winged Beast in getting back to Demeter. “One thing that I can tell you is that, at some point, sooner rather than later, you will have to try and let go of everything you have, every ounce of magic you are capable of. Preferably where no one can see you and nothing can catch fire, of course. Only then, you will fully realise the danger you represent to others, and why it is so crucial for you to learn to master your magic perfectly.” He paused for a second, flicking the little finger of his right hand. With a hiss, the blue tongue of fire burning the candle left the grey and mutated into a small dragonfly, beautifully carved into liquid flame and very convincingly buzzing around the two. “To me, gaining control meant to focus on shaping the flames to my desire. It gave me something to work on, to put my mind into other than the desire to burn everything around me. It took a few years… from simple shapes to rough animal forms, but it was worth it. You, however, are very different. I am afraid I do not know what might work in your case. Not yet, at least…” and with that, the Avian sat down, slowly sipping his drink, soaked into a perfect mixture of worry and curiosity.
Demeter inhaled deeply and exhaled just as so, it was something hard for her to control. The magic was growing quicker then she could control it, hence why she preferred weapons easier to control over her own magic. Drargon snapping caused her gaze to snap to him, trying her best to not glare while she took lower part of the cloak to dab the sweat away. Her thoughts left as soon as she saw his skin glow a blue tint, her hand itching to touch his flesh but kept her hands wrapped around the mug. His words cut like a blade into her mind, “Release it? I will melt rocks, the ground, magma will develop. I cannot, Thamalys. I release that amount of fire, the area will not be the same. Last time I tried, I passed out to find my clothes turned to ash and my companions on the mission were nothing but bone and ash. They could not even stop my flames. Before that,” pointing to her scar, “I got a sword across my face and melted the sword to nothing from being scared. I need to find my balance, one day. It grows like a tree within, faster than I can control it. It feeds from my emotions. It is best to not have emotion, then when I block the emotion it is easier to control.” Having concentrated so hard on showing what he wanted, the crimson had covered most the black of the tattoos, pulsing. Reaching to the back of her cloak, pulling a flask from it. Pouring some of the crimson fluid into the rest of her mug, putting the flask back away before she chugged the rest down. Before she even sat the mug down, a feather fell from her wings within the enchanted cloak. “Other things play into not able to control.”