In Service

[matsi]

Sunlight. It was something that Slaen could appreciate after what seemed like an eternity in shadows and subdued by drugs. Weysil was flying at an angle to the afternoon sun that cast the affirmation of that light across his body so that his burnished gold scales reflected maddeningly. They were returning to Uru’baen after their first allowance outside of the fortified city to follow through on a mission and with each downbeat of Weysil’s wings, Slaen’s disposition darkened. For a moment, he simply turned his angular face to the sun and let it wash over him. Soon enough it would seem dim and distant once Weysil landed in the courtyard.

We live, as we always do, commented Weysil. Warfare is never easy, nor does it offer up peace lightly.

Slaen grunted mentally. If they would simply stop resisting, brutal measures would not be needed.

It is the nature of all the races to resist what they feel is contrary to their views.

Slaen balanced as Weysil backwinged into the courtyard, settling his bulk down without stepping on anyone. The rider released the buckles holding his legs in place and slid downward, landing with a thud to the ground. In grim silence, he unfastened a stained sack that had been affixed to the straps. They will only suffer longer and faster. And if that is their choice, then so be it, Slaen said, gripping the sack in one hand and readjusting the golden-pommeled sword with the other.

Without regard or a flicker of compassion in his grey eyes, Slaen chucked the sack at a passing servant. “A gift for the dogs,” he said, watching as the servant missed the sack to allow it to crash to the ground. The thong binding the sack snapped loose and the grim reality of the interior was exposed.

Severed hands, all the right hand, were within. “Proof of the deed,” he said without batting an eyelash. He had been ordered to dispatch a small coven would-be magic detractors; to prove their deaths Slaen brought back their hands. With the servant pale at the prospect of handing appendages to dogs to feed, Slaen turned back to Weysil and began to inspect the straps and saddle for wear or damage.


(An introduction for Slaen and Weysil)

[Tismri]

Marola sat upon Rauthr's back as they flew into the city. They had just spent the day hunting together as they had not for a long time. Marola felt the red bow in her hands, marveling at its craftmanship. She suspected her father had made it himself.
My father... she thought as a wave of sorrow hit her. Though he had been dead for years, Morzan's death had struck Marola hard. Rauthr extended some comfort to her.
Do not worry, Rola, the dark green dragon told his Rider, We shall avenge his death soon. I promise.
I hope so. I don't want the Varden to exist an instant longer. The familiar hatred boiled up in her.
She glanced down and noticed a man and a golden dragon in the courtyard where Rauthr would usually land so Marola could quickly get to her quarters. There was also a pale, frightened looking servant feeding something to the dogs. Rauthr landed in the courtyard, as there was enough space for them both. Marola slid off his back and was about to enter the castle when Rauthr growled at her.
At least be polite enough to acknowledge his presence, Rider, he told her. She glared at her dragon.
I have had enough dealings with men these past few years. Why would I wish to acquaint myself with any more? Still, she stopped and inclined her head toward the other Rider.
"Greetings, friend," she said quietly.

[blodhgarm]

Terrez shook his golden mane that people called hair from his eyes as he dug his dagger into his sharp nails. He knew that his way of sharpening and cleaning his nails and teeth got on the nerves of most people and set them on edge but he didn't care. His black/silver eyes caught movement off to the side and he saw a merchant pale in fear run by him. He growled like an animal at the poor servant but Terrez could care less. The fool had almost bumped into him. He stepped outside and as his dark cloaked flapped soundlessly due to an enchantment he caught the sight of two dragons and their riders. He hated riders, but he decided to continue on his walk and his grooming.

[matsi]

Weysil turned his head to regard the dark green dragon that shared the courtyard with him. There was some sort of draconic nod given by Weysil to the other, followed by introductions. I am Weysil, and he is Slaen, he offered up with the clip of an eyelid. He wasn’t the most social of dragons, but kinship was hard to ignore completely. Besides, he was unsure of where this particular dragon fully stood, and it was simply prudent to be mindful of that.

Slaen, for his part, turned with a slow regard to the woman as she spoke. When her dragon had landed to share the space with Weysil, Slaen was just fine with her ignoring him. Most people were better off being ignored, and he did not excuse himself from that assessment. But she eventually spoke, which meant that something should be offered in return. Social pleasantries might’ve once been a part of his abilities, yet now Slaen glanced by on even the most forgiving of scales.

Grey eyes slid past her, however, the moment she called him ‘friend’ as the soundlessly moving man crossed the area. Weysil mimicked the observation, a green-gold eye focusing in sharply on the man while Slaen looked back to the other rider. “Good afternoon,” he said in return, his voice flat and lacking any real clear inflection.

Nothing quite like the welcome mat that Uru’baen has, he commented to Weysil.

Remember that there is nothing wrong with civility. It may yet prove to be a boon.

Slaen snorted inwardly. This coming from the same dragon who helped me slaughter and maim those people.

As you keep telling me, Slaen, we must do what we must do.

[Tismri]

Marola was not impressed by the man's response to her.
All right, social necessity over with. I'm going in now.
You could at the very least attempt a conversation, Rauthr told her.
Why would I want to do that? You know I hate socializing with anyone.
Very funny, the dragon snorted, I can think of a certain person you've never seemed to mind spending time with before.
Shut up...you know how much I hated him. I was so glad to hear he was dead after what he did to me. She gripped her bow tighter, the red wood creaking slightly, and her blue-green eyes flashed in anger.
"I do not recognize you. How long have you been in our mighty king's service?" She held a civil tone, but stood stock-still until she was certain Rauthr would be all right with her going inside. Rauthr turned his attention to the gold dragon.
I am Rauthr, and this is my Rider, Marola, he told Weysil.

[matsi]

An eyebrow ticked up just a fraction at the flash of anger in the woman's eyes. Apparently it wasn't a good afternoon for her. Slaen honestly didn't care, but the ire she held in her eyes was too vivid to simply ignore. Turning a moment to tug at the one side of straps that held the saddle to Weysil, Slaen allowed for a small stretch of silence to exist before answering her question.

"Only recently have Weysil and I been... allowed... to demonstrate our allegiance," he said flatly yet with great care as he turned back around. Only recently had they been allowed into the freedom of movement perhaps was a better statement, but caution kept him from stating thusly. "I'm Slaen, and that is Weysil," he added to stop her from asking any follow-up questions.

Slaen doubted she was the probing type, as her intention had originally been to bypass him all together. Of course, she might also have heard of him while in 'protective custody' until his allegiance 'could be assured.' Slaen nearly scoffed at the pretty words that echoed in his head. Protective custody? Assured allegiance? Not that he had had a choice.

And if the rest of the traitors would simply come to terms with reality, then Slaen and Weysil would simply be able to be free of it all and back on their own. And if the price to achieve that was in the blood of others, then so be it.

[Tismri]

Marola slightly raised her eyebrow, the name striking familiar in her memory. Still, she didn't ask any questions. She ran her fingers through her bright red hair, letting it fall past her shoulders again. Her single raven-black lock fell almost in front of her eyes, but she really didn't care.
"A pleasure, Slaen, Weysil," she said, though she did not incline her head or otherwise show any sort of respect. This man was her equal, if even that.
Which I highly doubt, in my opinion. From the way he looks, I would not think him the son of any of the Thirteen.
That pride of yours is going to get you in trouble someday, Marola, Rauthr warned her. But she couldn't help it. Being Morzan's daughter was something she was very much proud of. Not that it was something she flaunted about. Indeed, very few people knew who her father was, or that her mother had been an elven maid. Most knew her to be just a deadly assassin and loyal servant to Galbatorix.
"I am Marola," she told him, "and this is Rauthr."

[matsi]

Slaen turned to tug off the straps and saddle from Weysil, freeing him of the confines. He then turned to look back at the woman. Marola, Weysil supplied helpfully. Casting a look back at the dark gold dragon, Slaen crouched in the courtyard to begin folding up the straps to the saddle for ease of transport.

“Marola and Ruathr,” he repeated, turning grey eyes upwards to regard her from the shados cast around angular features. “You seem tense,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Rough morning of dispensing great justice and whatnot?” He spoke as he worked, prepping Weysil’s saddle for transport and storage. His tone was even, though he was studying her, clouded thoughts behind his eyes.

Straightening once the task was done, Slaen rested one hand on the sword at his hip in casual manner. It was the stance of comfort for many who now lived by the deeds of the sword. “Or is this just how you are?” he added, again without the lack of smile or sign that there was an attempt at humor.

[Tismri]

Marola showed not sign of any emotion on her face at his comments.
"It is how I am," she stated simply, "It's a little hard to not be tense after being an assassin for six years, along with many years of training beforehand." She gazed at him curiously, but with a mostly blank expression on her face. Her hand went to the small of her back, the location of her long knife which acted as a second hidden sword for her. It and two daggers on her shoulders were hidden under her black cloak.
"And what about you?" she asked, "You seem as emotionless as a comatose dog. What have you been doing to make you so?"

[matsi]

Slaen’s eyes drifted a moment to regard her action. It wouldn’t have meant much but in the wake of claiming to be an assassin, well, gestures simply became so much more. Slaen remained as he was, however, banking on their commonalities for now. Her question to him caused the slight tightening of his angled eyes.

“Living in darkness,” he stated, his voice a measure sharper, a measure darker. “I took a bit more convincing,” he said with a brief, humorless smile, “to align my priorities correctly for the good of the country.” It was as diplomatic as Slaen was able to get. He was aware of Weysil watching them both with the slow blink of a green-gold eye.

You let her know too much, Slaen. She will surely put two and two together and realize where exactly what our past is in terms of the Empire. For emphasis of his disagreement to Slaen’s choice of wording, a spiral of smoke curled up from his nostrils.

She is an assassin, Weysil. If this is truly her past, then she is going to figure it out on her own. Have you ever heard of a stupid assassin? Of course not, because they don’t live past their first mark. No, better to be seen as cautiously open than completely withdrawn and holding back information.

“An assassin?” he asked after a moment. “How did you come about Ruathr, then?” Slaen remained where he was, though he did consider at some point he should deliver the news of the culling. “Or have you been an assassin while also being a Rider?”

[blodhgarm]

occ: Dang who all moved on.

Terrez stood off to the side as the riders talked. They were so stuck up they didn't pay attention to the person that would in actuality be the most danger to them at the moment. Of course they wouldn't kill each other for risk of the risk but he now hidden in a shadow could easily flick the dagger that was now digging into his teeth into one of their throats. "Fools one and all."

[Tismri]

Marola was vaugely aware of another presence behind them, but didn't pay much attention. Rauthr would destroy him if he turned out to be a danger.
"Rauthr hatched while I was on a mission," she explained. In the back of her mind, she was mulling over his explanation.
I wonder... She would have to think more on it later.
"I was to steal the dragon eggs from the Varden. Rauthr was in one of those eggs, and I only succeeding in taking him. I have been training as an assassin for years before I became a Rider." She smiled a little.
"Though the fact that a dragon did hatch for me was not overly surprising. My father was a Dragon Rider as well."

[matsi]

Weysil shifted his attention to surveying the courtyard as a whole. The afternoon sunlight caught on the ridges of his head as he turned his head about. A trail of smoke curled upwards from his nose as he spoke to Ruathr. The shadows here hold much, do they not? If it came to it, of course the dragon would go to murderous lengths to blot out any threat upon Slaen's being.

"Daughter of a Rider?" He studied her a moment with a shift in weight and stance. "Who was your father?" he asked levelly. Parentage was a curious thing. He knew his mother, but not his elven father so talk of parentage was a hesitation point for him. Some found great pride in their lineage, while others found talk of it offensive.

A moment, however, was taken to simply slide his gaze over the courtyard where the drift in awareness was felt. Slaen knew Weysil was watching where he himself couldn't, and in times where one never knew what the corners hid, it was a solid comfort.

[blodhgarm]

Terrez shook his head his golden mane flying wildly. They seemed to have noticed him yet didn't know where he was. His eyes roved over all of them. The dragons seemed to be the ones overly protective so he would watch them and the humans seemed to confident in their dragon's protection. Soon though he had a perfect trajectory for a goo throw and a easy escape route. "Now for some fun." Terrez smiled and with a quite and quick incantation his presence surfaced everywhere then disappeared then reappeared. It continued to do that in every shadow and hiding place and his silver black eyes seemed to appear in places his presence wasn't.

[Tismri]

Marola smiled slightly at the question, knowing the man would probably be surprised at the news.
"My father was Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn. Murtagh," she held back a sneer of disgust at the name, remembering her confrontation with the man, "is my half-brother, though you should not expect either of us to act as relations. Neither of us even knew about the other until his dragon hatched."
When she ceased speaking, she gripped the hilt of her knife more tightly, sensing some danger near at hand. She didn't like feeling so vunerable. She nodded to Slaen.
"If you desire to continue this conversation, I suggest we do it indoors. There is danger out in the open."