eмpreѕѕ oғ ғιre

                              Dawning sunlight stretches over marble, a lavender haze tinged with soft red. It makes its way across the span of the bed, glistening scales illuminated. She is roused, a series of awakening rumbles as lithe body finds relief in a long stretch. She seeks him, hands gliding over silken fabrics until they trace the length of his back. Nuzzling closer, Adrastia invades; a blanket of warmth about him, bare skin on skin, claws rifling through dark locks. Another purr, wings draped about the both.

                  “How long have you been up?” She always knew when he wasn’t sleeping, yet he never disturbed her.

           Adrastia sits comfortably, curled feline-like in her perch and surrounded by aromatic flowers; some blooming with the shine of the moon, others finding their rest as the sun’s warmth left them. Ashen claws trace idly over delicate petals of some strange, pale-white plant whilst the other supports cheek in hand. Yet, familiar scent--not that of the garden, no--approaches her sanctuary. She needn’t turn to acknowledge, the softly rumbling purr was enough.

          “Did you get bored of the politics of the dinner table?” Inquires she, hand falling to pluck a burning pipe, from which she takes a long draw. Dark smoke exhaled, slight tilt of the head so that glowing eyes may find him.

                              “OHO, I SUPPOSE IT ISN’T then,” he’s amicable at the prospect of this discovery; that dragons are indeed hoarders of all things shiny and valuable. “How pleasant. Dragons in other planes differ than what I am used to, the variety away from absolute madness is nice. As I recall, there are no KIND or curious stereotypes pinned to Mahjarrats. Just nasty, low blow ones. ––––– I like to think it’s just an unhealthy dose of fear and jealousy. But, alas, I am too old to really be bothered with small insults.”

                         Adrastia barely even gets three syllable word out before he sits upright in an instant at the prospect of new knowledge and information, the motion so quick in excitement he doesn’t even CARE about any of the droplets of wine that may have tumbled across his silken robes. “A library?! I suppose I now have an even bigger reason to start learning your language, yes?”

                               She is caught off guard by his enthusiasm, though it tells naught in her body beyond the slight raise in expression. He is a Spymaster; in his world, knowledge is power, and he was insatiably hungry to learn. “Yes, a library,” Repeats the Empress, allowing a moment pass between his sudden burst. “It is one of the largest to be found in the Empire, sought out by many scholars of both new & old age. Not all the texts are Draconian, alas one could assume it makes up a majority of the shelves.”

                              HE HAS YET A SOLID, cohesive reason to mistrust her after all the allotted work and time they have put together. A soft, beckoning whisper from the back of his skull gives a deep pondering for Sliske to later theorize on. If a Mahjarrat tends to take on the traits of an environment after some time, how LONG will it take for him to start taking on some of the changes of Yolgonik? He’s reeled back by her voice and stows away that philosophy for later.

                                          “I was well versed in many, many Gielinorian and otherworldly dialects and languages, I was even around to see some of them go silent and dead. A sign of my age, I suppose.” Sliske leans forward to her despite their privacy and smiles warmly, “Is it too terribly stereotypical to ask if there is anything in particular that you horde or find CHERISHED among material possessions? I try not to sink too far into greed and possessions, but I do like fine fabrics and writing inks. Sometimes good journals.” He delicately takes the ornate glass and settles in a chair, draping easily as he can with such a long, and lithe frame.

                “Ah, I understand that quite well. To watch a language die out is...depressing.” Even worse was to see the culture that went with it. A civilization & their history, gone. She tries not to dwell on it, instead focusing on the question asked of her. Fine fabrics? Duly noted, unable to keep her smirk from growing further at the curious thoughts arising in her mind. 

                Softly does she tread, footsteps gone unheard over warm marble floors; ghost-like, drifting through vacant halls and slipping through the library doors. The book-keeper had long since retired, all candles snuffed except for the few lit by the sanctuary’s single visitor--Oriuna. This is where she was typically found, if not at the side of the Empress, nose to a book in the pursuit of fresh knowledge. Books bring her comfort, as Adrastia has come to learn. 

                    She stays, momentarily, to watch in silence the other’s peaceful slumber. It was the most serene she had seen her before--no worry, no anxieties, just sleep. There comes a swell of fondness in the Empress’s chest, a deeply maternal response as she finds her way over in silence. Adrastia had no intentions of waking her, instead placing her once-worn robe about the sleeping mage after having carefully removed the tome from her lap. It’s bookmarked and set to the side, knowing well the other might wake to continue at a later time. Clawed fingers extinguish each burning candle; the soft glow from the outside world is all that remains, casting shadows throughout the library. 

You’re growing. It’s so finite, so defined. It almost makes Lady stop in her tracks, having since - due to an impulsive drive - been inching her way up closer to Adrastia’s side in a hungry yearn for company. Nevertheless, the smaller dragon continues working her way up to the other’s perch, then nestles right in next to her. Not quite a mother-daughter like situation; more like a friend to a friend. A close intimacy shared among different equals, give or take some details and ranks.

“Honestly, beats me. I didn’t make this vessel, so as far as I know, My’rath could’a determined me to be nothin’ but teeth in the end.” She rests her head on Ad’s thigh, giving a deep yet content sigh. No personal boundaries, indeed.

At the answer to her question, Lady listens. Driven by curiosity, she attempts to soak in all she can about what Adrastia has to say about her homeland. Part of her almost wishes she could have come from there; fellow dragons, people who would consider her one of them in a heartbeat. She hasn’t belonged to a people outside of the general concept of ‘humanity’ in thousands of years. It’s lonely, being the only surviving creature of your species.

“Interestin’ how it all works together. Yanno? Like, there’s all these little pieces and bits that just kinda make it all flow. The fact you gotta stay close to a home is so foreign to me, though I feel like there was a time when I used to be bound like that.”

Her head shifts, but doesn’t leave the Empress for long. All this talk has made her homesick for a place that no longer exists.

“Kinda miss it, kinda don’t. These days, I tend to take my land with me.” Pirates sail, and she was no exception. “Makes it nice, inna way, though uh… sometimes. Sometimes it’d be nice t’go back and just belong somewhere again.”

                         “What ever it is you find yourself becoming, I will admire it nonetheless.” She finds her clawed hand smoothing over the other’s hair, having taken the closeness as an invitation to interact. It’s a slow, gentle motion performed quite idly; gaze settled somewhere off in the distance, ears tuned to the conversation (but mind partially elsewhere, thoughts always inescapable.)

                    Adrastia had always been ‘bound’, and knew nothing more, yet at times yearned for difference. She had risen to rule prematurely due to the loss of her mother, so she was never given a chance at freedom to find herself elsewhere, no duties to return to. The children of royalty held responsibility so few could understand. In a way, it was as if she were her Empire; ruler & domain entwined as one entity disguised as two.                        “It can be restricting, at times, though my duty to my people never falters. If anything, I simply yearn for rest--a moment to breathe without the burden of my Empire’s needs weighing my shoulders. Even when I am here, I cannot truly relax. It is not in my nature to when I know what needs to be done, what is happening.”

he wonders distantly, morbidly, what the autoignition temperature of his floorboards is. so he holds his breath and prays that maybe the backpedaling is enough, sighing deep in relief when she smooths herself out and continues. disaster averted. for now.

         he runs tongue over lips in thought. “every couple weeks, usually. for a handful of months at a time and then— nothing. that was about a month ago.”

shoch had talked to him in vague terms. and he had an understand of what she is, on paper— but like james knows adrastia holds the title empress of fire and that’s certainly up there in james’ book of names to run away from very fast, the details are fuzzy.

         “I know the dragon part, and I know she’s powerful. she never used the word god but—” he heaves a sigh, frustrated. “look, I’m so pathetically out of my element here. I don’t like not knowing things, ad. help me.”

a pause, because he’s still speaking to someone who could literally incinerate him.

          “please.”

            Brows that had eased now furrow once more, concerned--perplexed--by the god’s patterns. What is it that drew her to this world when what little magic remained was slowly fading? A flurry of thoughts raced through her mind, but not one held a believable answer; Shochraos was needed, and the empress could live without clarity so long as she saw the elder god’s return.

               "That does not surprise me,” Her voice is almost chuckling, despite the tension of the situation. “She is far more humble than many of the elder gods, though it surprises me that you did not bother her for answers.” Given his CURIOUS nature, a stubborn resolve to know all that he could, it’s unfitting that he knew so little of the ancient taking nest in his own home. Mayhaps it is best he stay in the dark--yet she doubts he will let her keep it so. 

                 She exhales--almost in a sense of defeat--the smoke from her lungs; her body moves with quiet grace, taking strides to the nearest seating and hoping he would take heed to follow. There was much to discuss, and it was clear now that finding what she needed would take longer than anticipated. The only concern was whether or not the issues could hold long enough for the resolve before spiraling into purest chaos.

     “ I do, ” she admits. “ I do, just–… It is personal. ” She doesn’t elaborate; her worship to Azura is obvious, given her heritage, but her worship to Nocturnal remains a well guarded secret. Nobody but two of the closest friends she has is to know.

Though surprise flickers in her expression briefly, upon the answer. Evergloam. The one place she expects to go upon death; her deal with Lady Luck was written in blood. “ I have to wonder how you even entered those realms. And how you stood it for so long. ”

      The thought of Quagmire makes her grimace.

Hands clasp together, and she leans forward on the edge of her seat eagerly. Adrastia is nothing if not an endless font of knowledge, of wisdom and stories she could listen to for a decade.

    “ Yes, ” Valvossa says, “ tell me. ”

                And she shall not ask. Instead, the ancient seems to ponder her wonder for some time. Truthfully, she had not spoken much of her past to anyone; most dragons, while prideful, still wore a shroud of mystery. The realms of Oblivion & their rulers were also a sore subject. “Despite the reputation of the Princes, there is much to learn from their realms. Secret, powerful things--the very things that give them their reputation. Though, I suppose to immortals, it is not as unbearable as it can be to man.” Yet, it was also SURVIVAL; there were things Vahdinal sacrificed for sanctuary. Valvossa needn’t know.

              "Across my lifetime, my path has crossed the likes of each Prince, each situation varying; each interaction negative, or positive. Some I respect--and the respect is returned--and the others would have my hide. Molag Bal is one, though he once saw me as a possible weapon for his use in breaching Tamriel when I found myself stranded in Coldharbour. As one can expect, the Lord of Brutality is not kind when things do not go his way.” She rumbles, expression souring with his name alone. His prowess was about the only thing she could admire. “Sheogorath can be infuriating, to say the least, but his chaos is important, and I’ve an unspoken fondness of him; childish, but with a deep and gloom history. I have known him both as Sheogorath and Jyggalag, who’s name most may not be aware of, and maybe should leave it as such.” 

                                    ❝OH, ABSOLUTELY. I DO MY best work all by my lonesome and without prying eyes. I’d prefer NOT to have a translator hovering incessantly over me within the next month or so. We Mahjarrat learn fast. It won’t take long, Kapraliv di ixen. It is a TRAVESTY that I cannot share my mother tongue with you.” His keen eyes follow her hands, and an ear flicks under the dusky umbral hood, taking in the room and its gilded furnishings. “”Say, just reasonable curiosity  – –––– is gold a plentiful resource here?”  Not that Sliske cares; his vanity and greed do not lay soundly on material goods, at least nothing like simple precious metals. His goals go FARTHER, incomprehensibly so.

                                    “Oh? Aha ha, oh, fine. Count me in, I suppose. I do rather like the BURN. Quite a tingle.” Pale, silvery stripes wrinkle in amusement at her, sulfur giving a playful flash like the flip and gamble of a coin through the air, “ –– Who told you of my little moments of gluttony?”

                  A slight smirk blooms across her features, oddly satisfied with the utterance of draconic tongue. It fit him well, their language; spoken with grace & like a true native, once he got the hang of it. Alas, that may simply be thanks to his voice. "Oh, it truly is. I have always been FOND of language; I was immersed into the study quite young, as royalty should always be versed in communication. Mayhaps we might still find a way without making my ears bleed.” The empress ponders, briefly, the power that might come with such an unforgiving language. “Yes, though these lands yield many other incredible things than simply gold, a common and incredibly traditional material sacred to dragonkind.”