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Sarah didn’t know what had come over her--possessed her to throw herself into this complete stranger's arms. Her bouts of insanity acted up at random, and for them to occur in public was always a terror that lurked her subconscious; what she would say or do in such moments was utterly unpredictable, but often a hazard to her own well being. One of these days, she might find herself dead before she'd snapped out of it.
'Snapped out of it' implied a sudden realization, and was the usual process of return to sanity, but not this time.
She'd suddenly clung to him in for reasons he didn't know. All he could tell was that she seemed to be in need of the physical contact, so as his gentle and compassionate nature dictated, he did not react by pushing her away...
But neither did he return the embrace, at first. This was a stranger, after all. A female stranger, whose emotions seemed could be particularly unpredictable and any action on his part might be read as an advance. All the same, the seconds ticked by and she made no explanation for her behavior whatsoever--nor did she let go.
The awkwardness and concern mingled together, but he felt somehow it would do no good to ask her what she was doing... It seemed that perhaps she needed comfort, and no combination of words seemed fit to vocalize in this situation, without intent of further bringing her down.
Slowly, he reached up a hand, brushing his fingers gently through her quills. The seconds turned to minutes, and still he continued on in this way, without words or actions of protest--just calmly stroking her quills, and as time dragged further on, he slipped an arm around her in a comfortable, loose hold. He felt her heart beat, her lungs draw breath into her fragile form.
It was in this slow, sleepy way, she came to realize her situation as her right mind came back to her. Fear brushed against her nerves, but the fingers caressing her scalp were gentle and swept it away bit by bit. She was reluctant to move.
Finally, the situation fully dawned on her and she pulled back...but not out of fearful panic. Her eyes met his, and she felt his loose grasp on her ready to break. He retracted the hand near her face. Her mouth opened a bit, embarrassment lightly tinging cheeks. She wanted to apologize, but...
The embarrassment died away, leaving her speechless. There was no judgment in this stranger's eyes. None at all. He did not look at her with understanding, per say, but...
She felt safe, as if she were with a lifelong friend. Though she had completely and utterly violated social boundaries, she almost felt there was no need to apologize.
Lingering doubts were vanquished when he offered a tender smile. Thoughts danced in her head; this could have been anybody--anyone at all sharing the bench with her. It could have been someone who would push her away, hit her, or scream at her. It could have been an abuser, or a playboy, or someone who would have otherwise taken advantage of her. A pickpocket. A con artist. A voodoo doctor who might curse her out of irritation.
But of all people, she'd been graced with this kind man.
Thank God.
There was no need for an apology, but she felt the weight of awkwardness drape over her, as she was still practically in his arms. Of all the first meetings she'd had, this was the strangest, and she couldn’t think of a word to say. In such a situation, it would only be more awkward to start a conversation.
She actually hadn't needed comfort at all, or so she thought.
Slowly, she moved away from him and got up to leave. She started walking. One pocket, two pocket. A part of her felt awful for doubting his integrity but she still couldn’t believe he hadn't done anything to her at all. Her wallet was still there, with all its cards.
He came up behind her, walking at her side. He was quiet as he looked at her, still no judgement in his eyes.
Her first instinct was to be on guard, but as their eyes met again, all tension melted away.
For once in her life, she felt completely safe. She knew she could trust him even if she didn't know his name.
((I wrote something for and RP group, but it’s pretty beefy, so I figured I could repost it here too, if people wanna read it))
Searching through the many tomes his parents and ancestors collected, Xydiat found a tome of most curious nature. "The nature of Warlocks and the origin of Pact magic", is its name. The tome itself was dusty, ancient, and its foreword spoke highly of 'arcane paladins' and 'dragonbound loyalty'. He chuckled at how the book was clearly written during the height of Dragonkind's magical potency, or by someone who really wanted to butter up a scaled ruler.
At first, his eyes but lazily analysed the pages. The young lord was, if anything, curious and bored and simply seeking some stimulation. But upon seeing the... ah. Something caught his eyes. They sprung to life, his black cloak of shadow flickering out of existence. "Most smallfolk make for wonderful vassals. The power a pact grants is only measured in the control it wields. Best suited as smallfolk with no innate power. As those with magical attunement can, given the right tools and knowledge, cut the ties and steal the power for themselves. The lifebound tie is not to be considered lightly, as the dragon submits his power as a tool and chain. To maintain multiple pacts requires great magical power and control."
He read the book throughout the night. By morning, his mind had been set in stone. Though he had retreated from society at large in his castle and town in the Shadowfens, this was tempting. What would he do with a little minion, he wondered. Maybe send them on little adventures, out and about? His mind swirled many ideas, his scribe wrote down many titles and suggestions.
It was late at night when his eyes saw the landscape far away and he stopped citing. The hills, the trees, the ocean shores. No, this wasn't for him, no adventurers were needed. He didn't care about war or politics either. All boring, and endangering his life. He wanted entertainment... but jesters are easy to come by.
"A warlock is bound, by life, to its patron. This connection is a rope and chain, by which a warlock can be summoned at will." Another thought. No, he didn't need an errand boy. Or a prostitute on demand. "Usually, magical scars burden the warlock, as the power of a mighty dragon overwhelms the smallfolk."
"A grave warning to all: Do not bind pacts with dragons. A dragon's strength can easily break and consume pacts, similar to an able smallfolk. Do not see it as a marital commitment, for one will ever rule the other."
'Bleh.' He thought. 'This book is useless.' He closed it and offered the large grimoire to his assistant. "Bring this to the library. And bring me something else. News of other dragons and their stupid ideas." He stopped.
Hand hovering in the air, he swiped the book and flicked through the pages. "Applications, applications... spies. I'd love a spy. But spies die. I'd rather not... of course." A filthy grin curled up the dragon's black lips, the shining silver glittering as he dragged his slimy tongue across. "I'd love a storyteller. A cute little thing, begging for its life with grand stories. And with this power.. yes... they couldn't even run."
It had been weeks. None of the smallfolk met his requirements: Meek, weakwilled, adventurous and exciting and most importantly, magically dead. It frustrated him, though over time, the idea sunk away, and his servants could breathe fresh, calm air once more. That was, until the guards wheeled in a lizard from the fen.
"Liege. I present to you a dying lass." The guard saluted and the dragon huffed.
"What is it to me, soldier? Take this bleeding mess away. It is not my problem nature feeds on serfs." He said, shooing with his hand, turned to a small book about the joy of architecture.
"She's not a local, sire. More importantly..." The soldier produced a golden coin. Wait, a gold... she didn't dress like someone who would hold a coin of gold. A story, how exciting! "We believe she may be involved in something. Turning her over can earn us favour and keep the borders quiet. A recommendation from the lieutenant."
"Nevermind that. She's perfect." He ordered the guard to empty her possessions onto the ground. Certainly no small collection. Books, writing tools, magical scrolls, a mana crystal, or something like it. Yet, she herself was entirely magically dead.
"She's dying, liege. We must act..."
"Away, soldier. Bring my marking tools." They didn't hesitate, and the lord was left with the lizard. He peered at her, curious.
"Like what you see?" She answered with a sneer.
"How cute, it can speak too."
"Speak? So says the overgrown lizard."
The shadow dragon lifted his front paw and placed it on the cart, pushing until it cracked and broke. "You're dead. And more importantly, very aggressive for a corpse. What's bothering you?"
Groaning, and shivering from the odd magic he pushed into her, she tried to keep her sass about her. "You dragons and your 'tude. You get everything on a nice plate, magic, power, influence... and now you're mocking someone on death's door. I guess it's hard to be above something when you're lower than..."
A cry emerged from her, the hand pushing down further. Not that he worsened her condition, it was just the agitation of her existing wounds. He couldn't risk actually bringing her past the brink of death; he wasn't THAT good.
"Sssh, sssh. Calm there, little girl. If you want to go out with a bang, maybe I can help." The soldiers returned, and as soon as they handed the dragon a bag of goods, he shooed them off. "I can offer you power. Great power."
"The power to look like an idiot?"
"Magical power. Crystals cannot give you what you seek, but I can. My name is Xydiat. Speak."
"Ophinia Onistecua. Nice to meet the grim reap..." Her attitude was pushed out, as was the air in her lungs. Magic knit together her flesh, though only enough to stop her from fainting from bloodloss.
"Good girl. Now, speak: Where did you get that coin?"
"I... worked as a servant for." Ophinia couldn't breathe well, the hand resting too harsh on her. "Some jackass. Figured I'd buy out my contract, with tip."
The lord laughed and laughed. His paw was removed, as he started to scribe a circle into the ground. A simple channel and focus for his magic. What a hoot, a smallfolk running away with coin. "Little girl, tell me. Do you want power? Do you want to live? Do you want to go out with a bang when the time is right, instead of quietly in the room of a dragon who could care less?"
"Depends on what your plan is, blackscale."
"Before I explain, let's establish another rule. I am your Master now. Address me as such. Speak." Xydiat was having the time of his life. What was it again... lifebound? Oh, this was fantastic. Even if she fought him every step, the friction was like rubbing one's hands together on a cold winter day.
"Master. What do you want from me?" She asked with a weak tone. The bleeding was getting too much for her, and she began to mentally deflate like a balloon.
"Look at you, better than my old dogs. I want some excitement. You seem good for that."
"I'm... exciting. But I'm not a stickler."
"Wasn't my plan. I will simply recall you when I require entertainment." The circle was complete. He verified it once, no, twice. "Might I add, you say Master like a natural."
"I know enough to work a lot of odd jobs. People like ass kissing and good work."
"Bwahaha." The black dragon felt like falling over. What jester could beat such a sassy smallfolk? "Though I am not like that. This is more." He hovered his hand over her, the scaled paw casting a dark shadow, until only the shimmering claws remained visible for her.
"I am your master. Wherever you are, whoever you serve. Your blood pumps from my heart. Your muscles are bound by my strings. When you speak, I breathe the air. In return, you may wield my power, life alongside me, and, probably the finest part of the deal; not die."
Ophinia was normally hard as a rock. But this was scary. Was he the grim reaper? He sure had the theatrics for it. The hand floated closer, until her nose rubbed up against the soles. At least he washed himself. It didn't seem intentional though.
"Life or die? Power or weakness? All I ask, slave, is that you heed my call and entertain me. I will not send you on quests, I will not send you on errands. Unless I change my mind. Speak."
"What do you want me to...?"
The dragon grumbled and tried to hide his disgruntlement. He should've figured she wasn't going to play right into his hand. Maybe he read too many books. Things always work out smoothly in there.
"Kiss my claw, slave. Call me what I am to you. Open your heart, your mind, and let your old life die, and be replaced by mine."
"Does it really have to be this dramatic?" The lizard asked in quivering voice, on the verge of preferring death. This was, to say the least, more than she'd image a romp in the woods would do to her. The hand lowered, a claw at her lips. She heard, through the darkness, energy coursing from the circle, causing flames of shadow to lap at the air.
Powerful magic flowed through her body. It was like an inferno burning her up. The tissue grew back, slowly. Odds were, she'd still need a few weeks to come back, but she found the strength to grab his claw and plant a single kiss upon it. She noticed her hands were starting to emit shadows of their own, the fire burning out her hands.
The dark dragon felt life leave his body. Not too much, mind, but enough that he could sense it. It was in her now. He could move it. She was like a little cloud. Left right... instantly here and quickly there.
The circle was burnt out. The markings were now an ashen black, the cart reduced to splinters. The dragon looked out the window, reading through the book again. "I should've prepared this more. Bah." He grumbled to himself, flicking through the tome and absorbing its lessons.
The lizard rose from the ashes, dusting herself off. Quietly, she scrambled to get her gear and figured she'd hit the road. But as she reached the door, she was back in the centre of the room. She tried a few times, before she stomped over to the dragon.
"The hell is this about?" She growled. "We're done, I'm off." She grabbed her side, feeling the pain kick in again. Nothing he caused, just her unhealed wounds.
"Was I not clear enough? Little girl.." He lifted a claw, stroking her chin and lifting her head up. "Can you not sense me? Feel my power?"
"I don't feel much."
"Bah, fine, I'll give you a crash course if I must. I should've figured magic would be a bother to you." With a snarl, he put his finger on her forehead. "But enough of that. How do you feel?"
"Pain? A lot of it? I mean, you didn't fix me entirely."
"Oh, thanks for reminding me! Thank me, slave. Say I'm just the best for fixing you up at all."
"What..." Her throat closed and she felt like... a doll on a string, really. She, half-choking, looked up at him.
"That wasn't smoke and mirrors, little girl. If you truly served nobles, you must have a proper voice. The voice you use to address those superior to yourself. Use it. Speak."
"Thank you for healing me, my lord." Ophinia knew not to tempt dragons too much. Especially not one that seemed to have an invisible hand on her throat.
"On your knees." She dropped, and to be fair, he was starting to have issues hiding his excitement. He was internally squealing at how this was working out. Not only was she nice and sassy, she listened too! She was as rare as the coin she stole, so to speak. "Fate has given us both what we want. To me, entertainment. To you, power. But we'll get to that. I'm not sending you off until you're able bodied and can control your magic enough not to set yourself on fire."
He frowned. Did her just... no, he didn't hear her thoughts, but something made him more acutely aware of what she was trying to think. Maybe she was just that predictable. "Think nice things. Think about all those smallfolk you'll make gasp in surprise as you clad yourself in shadows, cast spells on their mind. I am a pure dragon. I have much power, and thus, so do you." He wasn't too aware on HOW much he really gave, but hey, he wasn't the one risking it.
"That does sound nice. Can I blow up buildings?" She inquired with a curious frown.
"Well, er... with training, probably?" He shrugged, not too sure. Realizing what she just did, he frowned. "Do you think you're clever?"
"I am clever. You need a better poker face." He coughed and cleared his throat. "Master."
"Let's be clear. The better you obey and listen, the less time I have to waste grooming you. Provided you serve me well, you are but one step below me. Which is to say." His cloak of shadows grew as he spread his wings, clumsily trying to appear large in the room. "To others in this castle. To me, you are ever humble, obedient, loyal!"
Ophinia stumbled back and gripped her equipment closer. Clumsy or not, a giant dragon appearing more imposing was something that makes anyone but a steeled dragonslayer fall over in fear. "Y-yes, Master."
"Excellent. Leave. I already told my servants to show you your room. And talk to the guard captain. You'll be getting combat lessons. You are my lifebound client, and I'd prefer that be a long life."
"Hey, quick question." She asked, stepping backwards away from him, towards the door. "Do people like, know? Or about what this...?"
"I haven't a clue if other pacts exist, slave. And to my servants you are a guest. I will insure nobody else will know. Only within my domain are you my equal. Outside the walls of my castle, even my cleaners will shove you aside. After all, what stories would you gather if you weren't working your way up? And don't forget, they have no obligation to you unless I tell them. And for now, a guest, perhaps with enough stories, an equal."
"To others?"
"Such a clever girl." He snickered to himself and turned to the outside world. A messy start, but he was content. Maybe he should clean up his language. He couldn't really boss someone around as 'slave' in public, as fun as he found it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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