Of third eyes and second chances

[Drache]

It was perfect weather for flying. And after spending so much time roving stealthily through the deep caverns in the underground the crimson-scaled dragoness was finding incredible joy feeling the thermals carrying her up into the heavens. She made it look so effortless, spreading her phalanges wide and shifting her wings ever-so-subtly to change her direction.

The summer sun radiated down over the forest, the blazing heat tempered only by the strong breeze that pulled fluffy clouds over the mountains. It was raining on the peaks, the evergreen forest a damp green that Drache could smell even from here. But over the lake with Myrken Town in sight and the forest stretching out all around she didn't have any wet weather to concern her. Bursting through the occasional low-hanging cloud wasn't enough to hurt her, the moisture evaporating from her scales in wisps of white.

It felt good to stretch her wings, and unlike many of those beings who were capable of using magic for the most mundane of things, the half-dragon didn't fall into the cycle of laziness that commonly affected the sorcerously-inclined. Her heart starting to hammer excitedly in her chest, she broke the serene glide of her wings and flapped. Faster, and faster she flew, a red streak across the blue sky. And then she tilted her wings at an angle and shot straight up into the sky, a bestial scream tearing from her golden throat.

The horizon spun over as Drache performed an Immelmann, arcing over backwards in the direction she'd just come and rolling over so that once again her belly was facing the ground. And that was just the beginning. Within a flew fierce flaps she dived sharply, straining her wings to the limit as she arced and looped and tore across the sky. Smoke from her nostrils and open maw streamed behind her in lines of black and red, growing fluffy as the high winds blew them apart. She was quick, agile, as sinuous and deadly in the air as she was in the deep underground.

One could almost believe that the dragoness was doing battle. Perhaps she was reliving some old dogfight, remembering a time when an ice dragon whose face was bigger than her whole body was closing on her tail. Or maybe she was chasing some prey, stretching her claws forward the clutch at an elusive quarry. Whichever the case, if either, she was clearly enjoying herself and her frolic carried her quite a bit farther from the town than she usually flew.

[Pantha]

The calm of the sunny afternoon would find our fae seated upon a raised dais in the center of a stone garden. The zen garden is situated just south of an enormous ancient willow tree, granting sunlight to cast shadows on valleys and hills in the smoothed pebbles that could not be achieved if he had fashioned such a thing too close to the low hanging branches. The large stone he rests on is a good seven feet above the ground and he sits cross legged, lotus style as is common for him to do. He wears little else than flowing green silk pants. Lavender hair is pulled back in a loose braid that he has coiled around his prone form like a great sleeping serpent.

The part in his hair, the edges of his eyes and the flesh around the gem embedded on his forehead have all been painting with gold dust and leaf to reflect the sun's noon day light. His hand are also a shimmering gold and he has them placed gently curled against his bent knees. He is strangely void of any jewelry, but he is at his own home after all, and who does he have to impress with his treasures? The area on his back where his magnificent wings meet is also dabbed golden, the iridescent, jeweled things folded down limp behind him. He looks so peaceful, so serene sitting there staring out across his creation. A grand obsidian boulder begins to move with the mental touch of his mind, cutting a deep furrow into the river smoothed pebbles. From above it looks likes ripples in a pool of water forming.

The old willow creaks and sways to and fro, the wind alone could not account for the way the willow whips dance and move. To the east of the tree and the rock garden is a true garden planted into a cut away clearing. There are of course vegetables there, but the wonder of it is displayed with a wild variety of wild flowers and a large patch of orange budded poppies. Between the garden and the willow trickles a crystal clear creek, supplying both fae and his plant charges with fresh water. All of it is unmistakable from the air, so utterly out of place in the wilds of the deep, deep woods.

[Drache]

Coloured smoke coiled behind the dragoness just as surely as her sleek tail trailed back and forth, the bony spade floating as streamlined as a kite upon the air. For a time Drache felt as though she was leaving her mundane worries on the ground far below. Relishing the power that boiled in her blood, she let flame billow from her maw. At this speed it didn't so much stream forward as it washed back over her, turning her into a draconic comet.

Rolling and dipping in and out of clouds, leaving streamers of Glitterfire in her wake, she almost lost herself to the power. Explosions of force created shockwaves that cracked liked rolling thunder. She played with the very air, creating tunnels and slides to play in, invisible save for the way they coiled the clouds into fantastic shapes. A mere speck high above, she turned the sky into her plaything.

She came very near to casting the spell. The one that she both adored fiercely and dreaded terribly. The one that made her give too much and took too much away when it finally faded away. The magic coiled and twisted inside her, a moment's thought away from becoming reality before she realized what she was doing. Sobered, her pupils narrowed and her slow climb stalled as she stopped flapping and slipped into a tail-slide.

She spiraled slowly as she free-fell towards the forest below, plummeting rapidly while digesting the shocked realization of what she had been about to do. Only her close but locked wings kept her from tumbling tail over horns. Pointed trees swelled in her eyes and at the last second, when it seemed she would surely impale herself on those narrow boughs, her wings snapped out and she shot over the woods, leaving a wake of whipping treetops rippling out behind her.

An immense willow loomed, its wistful tendrils swaying gently. The presence of the huge tree in an unlikely location was enough to capture her attention, but it was the flash of gold and the orderly gardens that caused her to bellow a greeting, essentially buzzing Zilliah's tower with a clarion call that sounded more like a clear horn than the angry roars she usually made.

Another immelmann followed by a slow dive brought her around to circle the fae's clearing and she looked down towards him.

[Pantha]

~~~~~ Zilliah ~~~~~

Not even the bellow of the drake dancing high above him, above his home could tear his gaze away from the stone as it crawled at a snail's pace along its given path. It tore through the sand and stone below it with the steady calm of a boulder caught in a glacier, gouging rivers and lakes and smooth plains in it's wake. His home, however, was not in such a deep state of mediation as he, and it visibly trembled and quaked at the sight of her spewing flame, spinning around and about like a comet plummeting to the earth. It stretches out to Zilliah with a creak and a groan of bending wood, the effort of such quick movement causing its thick bark to crack and splinter under its own hefty weight. A branch extends, willow whips slithering up from the ground to waver in the air as they try to touch the fae, to break the devout reverie he is in. That they can reach so far is an astounding feat. They wrap around his neck and face, bending his head up to look at the sky and dragon thing circling the compound.

He smiles so gingerly and lifts a golden hand to caress the tickling leaves, trying to reassure and sooth the fear they cry out in. Has he ever let him come to harm in all these many centuries? He knows this one and she is not here to bring death and flame. They reluctantly retreat back to the main bulk of the trunk, trusting fully in the faith the fae has spoken of. His handsome face is gazing up at her now, following each descending circle she makes, his face and gold painted body flickering like a living jewel in the sunlight.

That she has finally found his home does not come to a surprise to him. Had she been an earthbound creature, burdened by horse or foot, he may have startled. There were no roads or paths that led this far out and he resided in a place that was not situated between any two particular places that would make it a crossroads of sorts for any traveler.

His hand is raised in greeting, turning this way and that so that light may reflect off gold leaf and signal her down. The stone stills in its path so that she might perch upon it when she lands. He so dearly hoped she would not be so rude as to disturb the patterns he has etched into the bed of water polished pebbles.

[Drache]

The firedrake watched as the ancient trunk moved of its own accord and remained in the air for a time, watching curiously. The sense of nature magic was not new to her and had she not been born with a soul of fire and brimstone it would have been the song of earth and sky and yes, even flowing water that had called her down her lifepath. Generally, she posed less of a threat to the awakened willow than the typical human, would that the tree could know it.

There were secrets about her upbringing that made her very different to the immense dragons from whom she was descended, and not just physically. Secrets that caused her to still her flame so that even her nostrils no longer smoked as she circled the pretty glade. Had she not chased the rotted corpse of the undead dire boar for miles through this same woodland, taking injury in the process until she could catch it in the open and bring about its fiery demise rather than starting a forest fire?

The shimmering raised hand conveyed the invitation and with a final backwards loop, she dropped from the sky, her raptor-like talons alighting on the convenient boulder. The inevitable downdraft from her backflapping wings unfortunately disturbed some of the smallest stones close by, but a love of all things artfully and lovingly crafted she wouldn't have ruined the rock gardens willingly.

Standing in the bright sunlight she seemed like a ruby-encrusted sculpture in the brief pause before she tucked her wings along her spine. Wearing nothing but the bandeau and leather thong she preferred, there were plenty of red and gold scales to cast their fiery glitter across the rock garden. She rotated on the spot, tail weaving back and forth as she looked around. Finally turning back to her unsuspecting host, "Good afternoon, Zilliah." No mention was made of whether or not she had disturbed him. If he hadn't wanted a visitor he wouldn't have waved her down, and that was that.

[Pantha]

~~~~~ Zilliah ~~~~~

There is a tangible sense of serenity in the confines of his little manicured grove, a feeling that comes naturally without aid of magic to make it manifest. Not even the fleeting fear of the giant, living tree that gave the fae shelter could break the peacefulness. With the drake so near now, it has gathered its numerous branches tighter to properly veil his home behind a sea of whispering green leaves.

The ground beneath the willow is covered in a thick mass of hearty green moss. A walk way of round, flat stepping stones that each holds a visible matrix of fossilized sea fauna polished smooth by repetitive wear leads out from the massive truck to circle around from the stone garden to the creek to the real garden and back again, disappearing into the shadowed envelope of the weeping willow. And out here, in nature bent to his will and liking, he looks more at ease than ever she's seen him at the inn. He is master here, and has been for a great many years.

The instinctual fear that attracted him so to the dragoness could not be found on his features, nor would she find it in a thumping, racing heart. He was still and silent and beautiful. Achingly beautiful at that. He looked so young now, like a boy just barely blossoming into adulthood, no more than sixteen or seventeen if judged by human years. He seems so sickeningly innocent too. How could this be the same boy who hissed and twisted pretty features into wrath and hate? He leans forward now, dipping his torso into a respectful bow to her.

Did she know then, that this place she looked upon, this garden of rock and sand and the life breathing tree, was a place that only a handful of souls had ever laid eyes on? Her own lair had seen more humanity in its depths in the short time she had claimed it than his dwelling had in several decades. He was a gracious host, even if he was something of a weary hermit, reluctant to let the place he put his head down at night be seen by her reptilian eyes, or the eyes of any other for that matter. Those slitted, amber eyes can count themselves only one of two females to have ever beheld it as well.

And what she could see now would only be miniscule compared to what lie hidden below ground sheltered by the roots of that enormous tree. Fat and stout, it almost rivaled the Dagger herself in size above ground, below were dark pits filled with his treasures, all of it cradled protectively within the soil. Even if he desired to show it to her, she wouldn't be able to squeeze into the tight places to reach it or coax the roots to unfurl and give her passage.

The stone she is now latched to begins to move, cutting a line right through the perfect swoop of rounding curve it had been making, bisecting one of the inner rings that had been made so long ago that it held collected rainwater like a mote around his dais. He would not begrudge her the damage that was done via her presence here. Was that not the point of such a garden? The very essence of tending the stones was to teach one patience. It was meant to be torn down, smoothed over and rebuilt time and again. Closeness was required so he would not have to lift his voice above a soothing, melodic whisper. Or was it? Even from a good distance away she would have been able to hear him. “Welcome, Drache. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

[Drache]

Amber eyes flashed towards the shifting hill of green and an expression of wary respect flitted over the dragon-lady's snouted face. It wasn't often that she found herself at odds with the living earth she hunted through, below, and above, and she didn't intend to make such a confrontation part of her day.

Zilliah's comeliness and semblance of youth was lost on the dragoness, at least in anything more than a completely objective sense. It was only right for him to be at peace and content in his own home, even arrogant and haughty if he wished. She would have considered it odd if he had appeared afraid in his own glen.

She could not know how rarely the fae accepted company and would have been genuinely surprised to learn that she had been received so readily. Secrets about his past she hadn't had the chance to learn between her own worries and the way he had scorned her in the beginning.

She had an inkling of the coils of deep passages where treasure nestled, but while the fae lived the thought of ever trying to come close to it wouldn't even cross her mind. Or maybe it would, but that wasn't to say she'd have preferred the fae's treasure over himself. As she had told the bard, it hadn't taken her too many decades to learn that occasionally there were things she wanted that couldn't be bought. Friendship of a truest kind was one of those pursuits.

As the stone beneath her started to shift, her knees bent slightly and her wings flared with a golden shimmer: the instinctive reaction of the flighted when the ground no longer offered stability.

"A ssstrong sssummer breeze and flightsss of fanccccy are two things you could thank," she replied when the stone had stopped, dipping her torso in a bow that left her wings flipping up in the back.

Upon straightening she gestured to the surrounding rock garden with wings and claws. It seemed that outside of the tavern she let an instinct to posture like a proper dragon have free reign. "It is very beautiful here. I expect you enjoy having a tranquil place where your mind is free from the thoughtsss of others?"

[Pantha]

~~~~~ Zilliah ~~~~~

By now there are several things the dragoness must know about him. First would be his complete lack of civilized manners. Second would be his uncanny ability to flip flop moods in a blink of an eye. The third, which was likely a direct result of the first two character flaws, was his seeming inability to keep or acquire friends. It took someone with an endless amount of patience to put up with him for very long. While at first it may seem like all of this stems from boundless, self centered vanity, the core truth lie in what he was. He was not human. Even the half blood before him knew more about the proper etiquette when dealing with others than he did. He lacked discipline and even such simple things like companionship during his formative years, leaving forever a mark on his personality.

So when she comments on him having such a beautiful place where he can get away in peace, it does hurt him a little. This was his self imposed prison, his lonely asylum even at times. All of this made for one poor host to his newly arrived guest. Wouldn't the proper thing to do be inviting her in? Offering her food or drink? Fear of her seeing inside his home is almost paralyzing. She will have to be content with the outside of it for now. He looks over at the stream and considers asking her if she would like a drink from it. He has no food fit for a dragon to eat. Would it be insulting to offer a dragon flowers and berries and radishes?

Before he knows it, he has fallen into an awkward silence, just staring at her helplessly. “Would...would you like some water? I'm afraid I do not have much to offer to guests. I...I'm not accustomed to having anyone here.” He finally fesses up and begins to slide off the dais to walk delicately across the stone garden towards the stream, peering over his shoulder to see if she will follow. It was a curious thing to see him, even here in his natural home, walking instead of just flying over to it.

[Drache]

What was 'civilized' to a half-dragon? Manners meant something very different to dragonkin than they did to most fleshlings. Drache's ability to behave cordially among others was born primarily out of cunning rather than any ingrained sense of propriety. Oh, she got on well enough, but her mannerisms clashed with others on a nearly daily basis. Zilliah's version of civility might be just as foreign to the half-drake as it was to most who frequented the tavern, but she had little room to complain. She -had- complained, but that was beside the point. She was volatile and hot-tempered, but it seemed a vast difference between the pair was that while she might not have patience and discipline in the normal sense, she was as stubborn, covetous, and far-seeing as her draconic fore-bearers. She had nothing if not time to plot and scheme over the things she wanted.

And the two magical beings seemed prone to misunderstanding each other, as evidenced by the hurt Zilliah felt at her comment. She referred only to his talent to see into the minds of others, and while she didn't have such a skill she had learned from past acquaintances that telepathy could sometimes be a curse too with so many voices clamouring in your head.

Her expression became wary as his demeanor shifted into awkwardness. Perhaps she wasn't welcome after all, the fearful tree betraying its Master's inner emotions? And then he was offering water and for an instant she thought he was threatening her. Who invited a fire-dragon to have a drink at a stream? The flowers and berries would have been a better choice. She watched him leave and hopped carefully down to the garden, treading lightly across the stones, though she hesitated when it came to following him very close to the stream.

"Water, no. I usually make it a point to avoid it," she replied. A tiny wisp of smoke puffed up from her nostrils, a silent reminder of her element of preference.

"I arrived unexpectedly," she said, waving a dismissive wing at his concern over offering her creature comforts. "That you let me come down to greet you is offering enough. I hope I did not disssturb you." Her tail twitched.

He may have been thankful to know that despite what treasure and trinkets may lay inside to be deliciously coveted, she had a healthy respect for the whiplike tendrils of his willow and cast suspicious glances at it every once in a while.

[Pantha]

~~~~~ Zilliah ~~~~~

He visibly cringes as she kindly lets him know he has made a clumsy mistake in his attempt to be accommodating. “Forgive me...”

He squats down and catches a mouthful of water in a cupped hand. The cold water is brought to his gold spattered lips and he tilts his hand up to drink it. Some of the metallic flakes wash free of his gilded hand to be ingested.

“Surprise me, yes. Disturb me? No.” He hops from one stepping stone to the next as he approaches her again. “I'm pleased that you like it here. It's just, just that I've not had someone come here in a very long time. I am at a loss at what I should do. “ An embarrassed flush tints his pale cheeks red.

He looks over at the great willow and the leaves begin to rustle and relax from their defensive posturing. There are gaps now where she can see past greenery to catch shadowed glimpses of the tree house. He has burrowed like a weevil right into the main bulk of the trunk, hollowing it out to suit his needs without doing any real harm. The ancient living thing has even allowed him to affix rounded windows in a few places.

[Drache]

Drache's scaled visage contorted in a slight frown. She was seeing a side of the fae she hadn't seen before and she had reason to be suspicious. "There is nothing to forgive," she insisted, watching him drink and wondering at the purpose behind the gold powder daubed on his flesh.

She shifted back and forth on her talons as he came back, his confession seeming to her to come from nowhere. Was he expecting a suggestion? She had known other fae in her time. Some cordial and almost human, some cruel and malicious in their trickery and seeming hellbent on making her suffer greatly for daring to come near their glens. Zill hadn't always been very friendly to her and it seemed as though she was expecting something along those same lines. She would have felt much better if Zill was another dragonkin. In that case she would be happily posturing faux-aggressively, billowing flame and trading unspoken threats and the like.

"Thisss...thisss is your home, Zilliah. You do what you want. That'sss what a lair is -for-." If your guest didn't like how you did things, they could always leave, provided they could find the door and you didn't decide to eat them first. She didn't feel sorry for seeing him or finding out where he lived and how interesting it was, but she was starting to regret arriving so suddenly. "Perhaps you could jussst talk with me. I do not believe I am a difficult guessst to please," she ended reassuringly.

She stepped back with a slight hiss when the tree began to relax, mistaking the initial movement as a threatening gesture. She could easily imagine those thin but infinitely strong tendrils snaring her wings and crushing them with the popping snap of broken phalanges, pulling her close enough for root to reach and drag her into the moist, cloying soil. The sick lurch of her gut bordered on claustrophobia. She managed to recover after a few seconds and peered warily into the gloom beneath the trees sheltering veil.

"Interesssting that it has sssurvived sssuch alterations. My own lair is carved out of the living rock of the mountains, but a live tree ssseems much more impresssive." Her appreciation was genuine, but she also felt she should say something polite after reacting like that.

[Pantha]

~~~~~ Zilliah ~~~~~

“You really think so?” He rubs his fingers together, smoothing golden powder and flakes back over the spots where water had washed it away. His face contorts into a mischievous grin and he reaches out for her face, trailing his fingers over her face to paint her with it too. “You really only wish to talk to me? I thought by now you would know that I am terrible at that. I have trouble saying the right things. I don't want to anger you here.”

He spins away from her now, prancing off towards his flower garden. He stoops down to pluck a dandelion. Even plants that others considered weeds found a home here in his glen. As he lowers himself to the ground, those wings must flick up and away from the ground. He brings the yellowy bloom to his nose, smelling it as if it were a precious rose and not a common, pesky thing.

In the next instant he is crushing the flower to his cheek bones, outlining the golden mask he's painted around his eyes in bright orange yellow. The ruined remains are dropped into the grass and he snaps another from its stalk, holding it up to her as he situates his legs into his typical cross legged position.

[Drache]

"Yesss, I do," she affirmed, not really knowing which comment of hers he was questioning but standing by everything she'd said so far anyways.

She lifted a lip as his hand darted near, coming close to nipping at him in a reflex. But when he left a trail of gold powder streaked across her scales she tilted her head back and forth, able to see the stuff out of the corner of her eye. She was intrigued by it, having never worn any kind of make-up or kohl in her life. The closest she had ever come was when long-ago friends painted her wings for a Hallow's Eve festival. She resisted the urge to touch it lest she rub it off.

"Why not? You sssay that as though I'm much better at it. I find it hard to count sssomeone a friend when I know ssso little about them. Anger me? Thisss is your placcce. I should be worried about angering you, Zill."

She followed him as she talked, stepping nimbly over river-washed stones and avoiding the flowers when possible. To her, all sweet-smelling things were slightly pesky. The only flowers she could enjoy the scent of were the very musky ones. And one time she had come across some that smelled of rotten meat. Those were -very- interesting. But not very tasty.

Lowering herself to the ground in front of him, she assumed a kneeling position with her taloned feet framing the base of her tail, which curled around her knees and back again. Her wings tilted in opposite directions so that their long bones could rest along the ground.

She reached for the dandelion but instead of sniffing it she just held it between two clawed fingertips, slightly baffled about what she was supposed to do now.

[Pantha]

~~~~~ Zilliah ~~~~~

“You don't like flowers.” It was more of an observation than a question. Another failed attempt it seems. Then in a brief, sudden epiphany he realises what he can do with her that she might enjoy. He jumps to his feet, his wings flexing to help him balance as he darts over to the tree. He grabs two great big handfuls of willow whips and begins to climb up into them. He disappears in then from her view, a rustling of excitement as he yanked something free from a thick over hanging branch.

Two huge, crescent shaped blades falls into the earth. They pierce the soil, impaling themselves in it under their heavy, steel weight. The both look like slices of waning moons, fat at the leather bound centered grips. They taper off to double sided sharped edges. And it would be no surprise that these too are encrusted with gems as well. One has a smattering of rubies while the other is frosted in blue topaz.

A thin, silver chain is attached to each center binding and they reach up and up into the tree where the fae is still perched, hiding and waiting for her response to his weapons. They look too heavy for someone as fragile and feminine as Zilliah to wield.

[Drache]

The half-drake shook her head a little. "I don't really."

And then he was off, scampering up into the crown of his home in a way that rather reminded her of a squirrel. She had just managed to settle down comfortably when she found herself rising again, watching after the fae somewhat warily.

The two weapons glittered before they plunged into the earth. The dragoness prowled over to them and circled them once, eyeing the glittering gems.

"Very pretty," she admired covetously. "What do you call them? And why the chains?"

A simple spell of appraisal coiled almost automatically from her outstretched claws as she sought to divine what kind of powers these items were bewitched with.