Mirrors & Broken Glass

“Ah yes, a roving band of mad antique collectors. Let’s just keep breaking things at them and hope they lose their spirit and leave.” Xi’mia had no idea where this wild outburst came from. Certainly this was not a place for humor, she felt crazed. Her heart beat so hard it felt liable to jump out of her throat and seeing the hooded figures fight through her improvised impediment made her blood rush even more. Unlikely things were bound to happen this night.

Unlikely as the absolute stranger in front of her being an adept mage. Hydrokinesis no less.

“Blight me that was a good shot.” The elf paused to wonder at the young man’s combative abilities. That was only a moment before she was running behind him, praising her luck. “Bless the rising sun I found you. Rebels are crawling around the palace in droves, and I’ve no way to fight my way out if I get caught by them.” She admitted freely, no point in being paranoid while swept up in a moment. The blades of water were pointed away at the moment and that was enough proof she needed of loyalty at the moment.

“Now tell me. How long do you expect you can keep this up?”

“All night, if need be. But--” A grunt of effort punctuates his statement, his movements directing the water into another succession of swipes to slash through the air - the other intruders had exercised only a sparse moment of caution after seeing their comrade fall, before pushing back into pursuit and gradually edging the two of them deeper into the gardens, away from the castle.

His magic deflects the sword that cuts a little too close for comfort to his face, rather grazing his arm, though it does little to dissuade another attempt to run him through. Dodging aside, his attention catches for a moment on the audible, quickened beats in the chest of the woman behind him, of the cloaked figure in front, and his own, rushing in unison.

Through the sheeting rain (a storm at sea was not like a storm on land.  On sea, the ground shifted and heaved, and wind, water and static seemed to surround you all at once, creating an unstoppable din. As if one were a magical grounding rod for some low magic spell.  It also played tricks on the mind),  Avi thought he saw what he could only describe as a shimmer, like a school of flying fish bursting into the sun on a clear day.

But this was no clear day, and Avi frowned, heartrate accelerating as he tried to wipe the water from his eyes.  He was in deep ocean right now; stories of Ivar’s great serpent surfaced in his mind.  Of sailors who were so deep at sea, that before they died, Ivar sent his serpent to take them down and join his army below.  

The unnerving whoops didn’t help either - but then Avi heard what could only be described as a saving grace.

A dragon’s voice.

And it was making a joke, no less.

There was nothing more reassuring to Avi in a dire situation, than a dragon who could be funny in a situation where Avi was sure he was going to die.  The juxtaposition easily reminded Avi of his own frail mortality, gave him a surge of energy and will to live.

“Please Master Dragon!”  Avi called out.  The sloop was falling apart, there was no helping it now.  The storm drowned out so much of what Avi wanted to say, so he kept it simple.  He whipped his head around, trying to locate the dragon.  “Help me!”

He felt the familiar tingle of magic pool at his core, like ripples on the surface of water starting to stir as he weighed the risks of attempting to extend his influence towards the ocean in such a volatile state for the simple purpose of guiding a lone sailor through the storm. Glossy black eyes clung to the shape of the stressed ship, narrowed for the rain and the wind but seeing it nonetheless for what it was; Once a proud and hardy vessel, now falling apart at the seams, claimed by the depths, or, inevitably so.

It was not going to make it to shore.

(Dar nahin, captain. The sea won’t have you if I will it.)

It’s a bold claim to make, even for one such as he, but the arrogance fueled him, and the sudden rush of determination to save this one man from a fate that’d taken hundreds of thousands before him was enough of a focus to let the dragon push onward, feeling the unruly winds, gaze fixed on the sails and it’s severed riggings whipping sharply about.

The flight back to Glasswater - or, whatever remained of the Keep, following the rebel assault - was a more laborious stretch than it should’ve been, not solely for the still fresh marks marring his torso and the gentle constriction of his chest - but for the notable absence of that familiar weight upon his back, the knowledge of his rider sound and safe back at the refugee camp only a slight comfort.

Every so often he’d sense a sudden jolt through their bond and get caught on the possibility that Sorin’s finally awoken, that he was an idiot to stray away too far not to be there when it happened, only to feel that ever so heavy dullness of sleep still lingering at the back of his mind and his excited relief quickly diminished.

He’d gotten restless, doing nothing but waiting and fruitlessly trying to catch any decent rest himself for the incessant worry. He needed to occupy himself with -- something, and despite the manner of his own injuries effectively rendering any sort of lengthy excursion inadvisable at best, there hadn’t really been anyone around with the care or authority to stop him.

 So. There he was. Standing alone in the rubble of an broken city.

@vitreusvipera​

They landed some odd hours ago. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still swaying back and forth. It churned her stomach, made her skin crawl. She was hungry, but knew nothing would stay down.

So there she sat on a dock, perched on a barrel, hazel eyes at the fading sun. There was the urge, the need, to settle in farther in land for the night, but until then, she glared.

“Stupid water,” she mutters, closer to a growl, “Stupid water and your stupid waves and stupid being the only way to cross you is on a stupid ship!” Her words got louder as she ranted. She respected the ocean, she was as powerful as Indi strove to be. But that didn’t have to mean she liked it. “Next time give me a bridge and I’ll cross you better! I hope you like the gifts I gave you!”

“Not a good journey, then?” He queries, though his tone sets it more in the direction of a joke than an actual question, quirking a brow to accompany it just for good measure. Vitre certainly hadn’t meant to intrude on the other’s apparently highly personal and heated one-sided conversation with the ocean, but the way her voice raised up just at the moment he had deigned to walk past made it hard to miss.

And since the waters were unlikely to speak back - deeply opinionated though they were - he figures he might as well offer his own piece.

Sorin watched wide-eyed, whistling low as the soldier went flying. It was a brutal way for someone to go but they had fucked with his boy and nobody fucked with his boy. 

He wrapped his arms around the dragon’s neck, a quick hug before replying. 

(I was looking for that dumbass when the ballroom blew up)

He looked out toward the city, he saw fire and heard screaming. 

(Innocent civilians are in danger, the castle will be fine, we need to go out and help them.)

He looked back up at Vitre. 

(Are you up to it?)

(Good work on not getting yourself exploded, then.)

There’s only so many ways he could plausibly wrap himself around Sorin in this form short of constricting him, though his neck does curve towards him in a manner that almost resembles a reciprocated embrace, before unwinding back again and following his rider’s gaze towards the plumes of smoke rising above the keep. The not-so distant smell of ashes and panic.

His fringes flared with a huff.

(They haven’t managed to kill me yet. Let’s go.)

@vitreusvipera​

The squall seemed to come out of nowhere, and Avi cursed the fact that he’d chosen the small war sloop instead of the larger make.  Or even the Makara - which was currently docked in Rajayer for much well-needed repairs, after the attack on Glasswater.

But even without his flagship, time was of the essence and Avi needed to get around the Loqoalan islands.  He’d just returned from House Dhavale after a spirited conversation with his Uncle - he was so close to reaching Rajayer, when the storm fell on them in sheeted torrents.

Avi and his small crew leapt to work, Avi hardly even needing to shout out orders as the shezhani prepared the masts and emergency longboats, and everything required should anything go wrong.

And it did go wrong.  A wave swooped high and the small sloop did its best to climb it, Avi himself grabbing the wheel to guide the ship through the break.  He could hear that ugly, ominous groaning of wood, the strain on the ship as it seemed to peak, then slow and then -

CRACK 

“Abandon ship!” he heard his lieutenant call out, but Avi stubbornly held on, telling them all to obey the lieutenant, take the long boats and save themselves.  He’d had ships crack under the pressure of the sea before, and he’d still managed to steer them back to land.  He couldn’t afford to lose another ship.

“Good captain and all that,”  Avi muttered to himself, muscles screaming in protest as the wheel threatened to give way, but he held fast.  His crew listened to the orders - he could see the small boats sailing out of the storm, to his great relief. He’d lost shezhani today, but hopefully not all.  “Good captain my arse.  You’ll not have me yet, Ivar, you fucking ocean-dwelling cock.”

He hadn’t planned to drift quite so far out to sea, but as ever the deep waters had an odd way of seeping into the corners of his mind, stealing troubled thoughts away into nothing but a comforting swirl of blue and black and creamy foam gently edging the ever growing waves, all but short of flicking playfully at the tips of his talons in his low glide. 

It rushes higher, suddenly, and the icy cold water is almost a bite.

By the time the winds had began to ominously stir under his wings and shift the air around him, he’s already far enough out that turning around would be a longer flight back to land than simply pressing on - and though he does afford himself a liberal string of internal expletives for not catching his error sooner, he has little choice but to weather bravely onward, pun unintended.

The sky and ocean alike darkened within minutes, his own scales reflecting nothing but dull shadows as the rainfall quickly went from a trickle to a pour. Even with the sharp eyes of a hunter making out silhouettes on the horizon proved tricky - then all at once the figure of a vessel came into view, almost seemingly out of nowhere, and he found himself falling in beside it.

Though his first thought was to turn to worry for this lonely ship and it’s captain, Vitre couldn’t help a surprised burst into a fit of laughter for the words he picks up over the storm, an odd, whooping sound to be heard from the aquatic beast and washed away in the blow.

🏹- For a talent they wish they had

Swordfighting. He’s much more adept as a mage than a melee fighter (not to mention weapons are superfluous in his dragon form, anyhow), though he does have some skill with smaller knives.

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc) 

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist 

Dirt and grime. Mud can stay but it’s on thin ice.

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist

Seagulls. Also, class inequality. 

📲- Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like.

Other dragons. He’s aware that he probably should be feeling some kind of kinship with others of his kind, but in after years of alienation and general feelings of inadequacy in their presence, he tends to just prefer the company of humans or elves.

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about

His webbed fringes tend to flare or deflate in accordance to his mood, and shake slightly when he’s feeling nervous or stressed. In human form, he has a habit of absently running his hand through his hair for similar reasons.

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc)

🏹- For a talent they wish they had

Being able to play any sort of instrument would be very sexy of him, he thinks.

👻- For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

Loving the ocean comes as naturally to him as breathing - however, he is not ignorant of the stories of ancient creatures lurking in the depths, and the idea that even as a sea serpent he’s neither the largest nor necessarily the most dangerous thing down there settles him with... unease.

☢️- For a controversy or scandal they have been able to keep mostly under wraps

Oh, Vitre has never been one to keep any sort of drama under wraps - be it others’ or his own - and he gained quite the reputation during his stay at the Order’s breeding grounds for being in near constant conflict with both peers and teachers, incidents including but not limited to:

Picking fights with dragons 3x or greater his own size (reoccuring)

Threatening to drop an aspiring rider off a roof for “offensive comments”

Dropping an aspiring rider off a roof

Spraying water at visitors and other annoyances

Purposefully antagonising senior dragonrider pairs

Creating a mudpit in training grounds

Instigating a mass indoor elemental display