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Post by arawen on Jan 2, 2016 1:50:26 GMT
Nuruil Briarwood Nuruil was endlessly entertained by his childhood friend's drive to defeat him; he himself lacked such a competitive streak, and perhaps that was why the white haired Lord won more oft than not. In fact he laughed outright as Apophis charged from the sculpted tree home, a brash impatience that Nuruil bowed to. He set his wineglass aside, rising and taking a wooden staff from beside the door. They were going after a young wyrm, but that did not mean they would not encounter unsavory things within the wood. He may own these lands, may patrol them... but they were far too wild and vast for any one person to claim dominion and entirely oversee. The dragon was in such a sect, where things ancient slumbered and Nuruil himself tread with a tensed and quiet step.
He left the house, lightly rapping Apophis's armored shoulder with the head of the staff, lips curling slightly. "This way, my impatient friend. Fire suits you." Like the flame, he was impatient and rash, which was a strange compliment to the forest lord's patience and calmness. Attention snared, Nuruil placed his fingers to his mouth and let loose a shrill whistle, reaching out with his mind at the same time. "Your mount is coming." Apophis's horse sprang from the bush to stand beside its master, just as a hairy mammoth of a horse trotted around the trees, lowering his great skull to brush against Nuruil's hand. "Where we are going the underbrush is sparse, it is rare I get to ride Garaad." That said, he pulled himself up with ease, a hand holding the horse's thick mane as he waited for Apophis, then turned and set Garaad loose, the Shire taking off at a surprisingly brisk pace to the north.
Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Jan 3, 2016 0:06:42 GMT
"That horse of yours needs a good haircut," jested the Lord Iredale, brushing Nuruil's comments off. Apophis' own mount possessed a coat that was far sleeker, and was a very dark shade of mahogany brown that would have appeared black had the sun's rays not been shining down on it. The platinum-haired male got into the saddle of his horse with ease, and wheeled the proud creature around with a tug of the leather reins. The stallion was young, still in his prime, and held his head high. "This dragon might just maul the heads off the both of us, you know."
Still, the idea did not waver the interest Apophis held in meeting such a creature, especially a young one at that. The spymaster could certainly picture himself on the back of such a beast, and the idea brought a private, humoured grin to his face. However, perhaps the forest was the best place for the creature. The image of Nuruil caring for a being that could damage the surrounding landscape with a breath of fire was even more amusing. And so, Apophis encouraged his horse onwards with a sharp kick of his heels.
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Post by arawen on Jan 6, 2016 0:26:05 GMT
Nuruil Briarwood Nuruil lead the way towards the wilder wood, occasionally dismounting to ask passage from trees so ancient, they could have supported a city upon their girth. It was clear this place was wild; magic practically danced in the air, fae folk darting away from the corner of the eyes, and Nuruil himself seemed a bit more faen, his crown of holly bursting into vivid bloom even in winter. Yet as they neared the dragon's nest, the forest began to still, a silent stillness like a giant holding it's breath, a deadly stillness that bordered on violence. It was not just out of concern for the forest that Nuruil wished the dragon gone, though that was his main concern. If left unmolested, there would be death for that dragon. Fire wyrms had no place amongst green things, the forest's own wild dragons were flameless, instead they were of earth and air. Thus, this creature was outsider. Already there were signs of its presence; a tree, deep gouges in it's bark that wept sap like blood, and bushes that had been charred. Then, a break in the trees, unnatural break as many had been toppled over by some great beast, likely the dragonet's mother. Lips pressed in a grim line as he looked at the hissing creature, his eyes moving to Apophis. "We must be swift." He did not like the plodding thoughts of these wild trees, trees too wild even for his hand to gentle down. These were old trees, violent trees, and this could become dangerous should the forest see them a threat.
The dragon is barely a year old, it's delicate wings not yet powerful enough to carry it into the sky. But as the Lords approach, it's serpentine head lifts, and it's many teeth bare in a hiss of flammable gases that ripple in the air. Black as the night, accented with vivid scarlet, it flares its crest and spreads it's wings. It is no bigger than a wolf, but as evidence by the sharp talons and the elk bones scattered about, it is far from defenseless. There is only one sign of the mother; a gigantic ribecage jutting into the sky, scraps of sun-dried, rotten flesh mummified upon the white bone.
It is an orphan, and it is not friendly. Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Jan 11, 2016 13:28:09 GMT
As Apophis rode after Nuruil and his horse, deeper into the forests that Vuoria was famous for, the spymaster tried his hardest not to grimace whenever a fae got too close to him for comfort. He found the little creatures unnerving, and was in fact a little afraid of them. Like giant insects, they were. With a gloved hand, the lord swatted the curious beings away, and urged his horse onwards a little more quickly.
Now that signs of the scaled beast's presence were appearing, Lord Iredale was beginning to understand why Nuruil wished to be rid of the dragon as quickly as possible. It looked as though there were two dragons, and one much larger than the other. Apophis was beginning to wonder whether approaching was wise if that was the case, but then the remains of a much larger dragon - the beast's mother - entered his line of sight. That was a relief. Sort of. There was still the little one to deal with, and even if Apophis was a master when it came to wielding fire, he was not sure how to go about taming a dragon.
"I'm not sure what you wish for me to do," admitted the platinum-haired male as he dismounted from the horse, regarding the orphaned dragon with mild caution. This was the first time he had ever come face to face with a dragon, and the scholar within him found it quite fascinating, to say the least. So much so that he wasn't rightly afraid, as this dragon, even if small, probably had the potential to tear the pair of elves to shreds.
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