Dare Dust and Thunder

[Petra Darthinian]

The air was thick with the smell of baked sand and sweat. Sunlight streaked through the large pines that stood guard around the monastery’s training yard in long, golden bars. Dust motes danced like slow-burning embers in the stillness, broken only by the whisper and thud of Petra’s bare feet against packed sand.

Her breath came steady through her nose as she moved—a flicker of motion, then a burst. The wooden stave spun in her hands, humming with the momentum of the last strike. She twisted low, one leg sweeping out, catching an invisible foe in the knees. She rose into a pivoting leap, driving the staff down with both hands, then flowed into a forward roll, tucking and landing in a crouch.

Too slow.

She twisted her grip and tried again, repeating the sequence with sharper angles, tighter control. A lower arcing strike, to leave less of her ribs open. A reverse spin into a double-handed block, working on planting the back foot earlier.

Drill it again. Again. Again.

At the edge of the grounds, Norvyk lay sprawled like some opulent jungle cat, his great scaled body coiled and at rest, spiral-crowned head half-tucked beneath a wing. The burning slit of one golden eye visible as he watched his rider.

"You dropped your weight too soon,” came his drowsy rumble across the grounds.

Petra exhaled through her teeth in a low huff, "I know." An arc of lightning sparked at her grip.

Amusement bled through their bond and she almost spat a snarl at her dragon. Let's see him do this then if he was so confident about it.

Stretching her neck until she heard a crack at the long pull of her traps, the elf rolled her shoulders and launched back into another set, this time faster, breath sinking to her core and steadying her, the stave singing through the air as her body twisted, kicked, slammed, and landed in a fluid sequence. She held the final pose, one leg extended in front, stave braced across her back like a sword on her shoulders. Her muscles trembled, sweat slick on her brow.

"Better." Norvyk praised warmly.

Grinning with smug satisfaction, Petra released and slid into the beginnings of her cool-down set.

Then came a shift. Norvyk’s head lifted from his coil like a serpent rising, slow and unfurling, hissing bellowed breath and those heavy-lidded eyes now sharp and watchful.

“Little Lark… it seems someone wishes to join you.”

Petra straightened, rolling her shoulders with a wince. She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, sending a streak of dust and sweat across her temple. Her eyes, sun-honed, turned toward the edge of the yard to see who had arrived.

“Do they now?”

She smiled, a tilt of interest, like when a wild thing catches the scent of something on the wind.

 

[Cosmo]

(this is one part me playtesting an idea, and another part me giving you somethin' funny and consequential)

She stood- trembling.

Which was an awkward sight, all things considering. She stood but an inch, maybe two, shorter than Petra, her hair thick, long, and white, cascading down her face, against pale skin that mixed with lavender within the shadows. Two small tusks spawn from a pathetic looking pout that curls her lips down and weighs them. Eyes round, and dark pupils blinking back at the knight. A leaf, holding into the wind for dear life. Or sanity. Perhaps even both. Her weapon of choice, a staff, is clutched tightly in her hands, rattling against the ground.

This stranger had petitioned for Petra- but unfortunately, no one had told Petra what, how,- or more importantly why. She takes two steps forward, -click-click- the sound of sandals against the bit of stone that decayed into the dried grass of the yard- her ears pricking upward, goosebumps shuddering down her arms. The energy, the aura of this place- and more importantly, the figure who stood, her sharp gaze familiar with the predators that stalked the walls of her home. It all radiated conflict. Battle. Courage. It tasted like blood and sounded like the warcries of a justice well earned. A stark contrast to the peaceful, tranquil silence of her watery home.

And whether it was a lash of mischief, or perhaps there was purpose, this poor soul was subjected to challenging the dragon knight, in all of her glory.

But in defiance of all odds- some things remain true. This person would turn back to a back she had so carefully tucked against the wall and wrapped, round in nature, and tenderly adored. There are some things in this world that can make even the most peaceful dove fight for what matters. And whatever it is, it gives her the confidence to turn towards Petra, ready to fight.

If only- she chose a far more reasonable route to do this, other than charging at her and making a clumsy swing forward with her staff.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

There was quite a bit of distance between the edge of the training grounds and where Petra stood—enough that the girl had to run the whole stretch just to close it. Petra had time to blink once, then twice, before sharing a bemused sidelong glance with Norvyk. His tail gave a lazy twitch. Petra raised a brow.

The girl was fast, she would admit, but unsteady. The elf clocked the too-tight clutch of her grip, the awkward rhythm of her charge. But there was a determined set to those cowed shoulders that had Petra shifting her stance with interest, giving the stranger the full square of her body and the weight of her attention when facing any threat.

The staff came swinging in a wide arc.

Petra caught it mid-strike, her hand clapping around the haft with a sharp smack, pleasantly surprised by the power behind it when she felt the smarting in her palm.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Brows lifted encouragingly, Petra grinned, letting the stave drop gently to the side as she guided it down and out of line. “While I admire your fire, most sparring partners at least say hello to each other before trying to knock the other around.”

She released the staff and stepped back a pace, her own hanging loose and ready at her side. A taloned fist pressed to her sternum as she dipped her chin in a warrior’s greeting, sweat still gleaming along her brow.

“Syr Darthinian of the Dawn,” she offered, her voice warm with amusement. “A pleasure. Are you a guest, or a new Knight I’ve yet to meet? Because whether you came here looking for a fight or a little instruction, I’ve time for either.”

@Cosmo

 

[Cosmo]

The staff twists out of her hands.

This young warrior was never good at making the first move. But, at least, with the staff removed out of her hands, she felt far more comfortable. Responding was far, far more easier. And she would much rather use her hands. That felt more natural to her.

In a moment of self reflection- she wasn't even quite sure why she let them shove a stick into her hands anyway. She knew why she struck first- that was for the 'element of surprise'. But, surprise probably would've worked a bit better if she didn't stand out in such stark contrast in the middle of the arena. Her fingers roll into each other with a nervous fiddle, looking back at the night- who was far, far more warm than she had anticipated. For some reason, in her own head, she had built up this image that Petra was some sort of nightmarish emblem of bravado and badassery- and she felt but a small butterfly fluttering aimlessly in her wake.

"I.. am- a guest." she paused. "I came with a very important mission. To- to me." She looked around cautiously, ears flickering, twisting, before turning back to face the knight, suddenly stiffening. The act might've given her an inch in height. "I.. I need your help in.. identifying something."

".. but, I.. was told I had to pay in combat?" There's a pause, and a sinking feeling- realizing her own naivete may have perhaps left herself exposed once more. This.. was an order of holy knights, right? Why wouldn't they just..? Her face started to burn red with realization. Dawn can be just as unforgiving as dusk in the right circumstances.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

“Pay in… combat?”

Petra blinked, frowning slightly as the girl’s words settled. “That’s not... really... a thing we do here. I don’t know who gave you that impression, but if you wish to spar, there’s nothing more you need to do than simply want to be here."

She was struggling with this budding desire to reassure the girl's skittish nature, but Petra wasn’t the best at soft words, and it was difficult to make herself seem less threatening when her shadow fell long, her shoulders broad, and her veins ran lightning-hot with dragonblood.

Still, she wanted to try, her mouth ticking uncertainly to one side, her eyes quickly flitting sideways to exchange another fueled glance with Norvyk, who watched her with an amused and very unhelpful eye. Great, thanks, good buddy.

Turning back, Petra lifted a hand and scrubbed at the back of her neck. “Look… as a guest, I’m happy to help you however I can. Sans beating you into the sand.”

She paused, then added with a hopefully encouraging smile, “Unless that’s still on the table. Your call.”

@Cosmo

 

[Cosmo]

Breathe in.. Let the energy come through. Breathe out. Let the energy flow out.

The blossom did not exist as one. It was the sum of three parts. All three needed to be balanced, curated, pruned. But each component of a lotus had it's own properties- and like any tool, it had specialized purpose. She took the moment, her eyes closed, as if she had sucked herself inside, growing still and quiet, her essence returning in a controlled hiss, her eyes slowing opening in her mouth. She held her energy behind her gaze, and as if someone turned the lens, she spoke. More eloquent, careful, like a stork dancing within the waters- careful not to disturb.

"I.. will let you make that decision. Please let me take a moment to introduce myself, and why I am here." she explained. She turned away, walking towards the knapsack. She kneels, tender, reaching under it, and cradling it to her chest like a young mother, her expression confused and scared. She twists on one heel, with an oddly acrobatic grace, before bringing the item to Petra.

"I am Sabine, of the Stilled Blossom temple." she explained. She holds her breath, sticking her gaze onto the top of the knapsack. The tips of her fingers curl around the top, and she tugs it loose, letting it reveal it's contents. "I am.." What was the best word for this? They don't have one- she remembered the frustration, explaining this. "A.. practitioner, of Kede there." Her brows furrowed. Was that a great response? Not sure. But she had to have faith. Even if channeling into the fourth road was always a task..

"I found.. this, during one of my trials. Which.. led the grandmasters to believe that I must start my final test. And that is to find, and protect.. whatever this is, and ensure it breathes it's first breath."

And as such, the mystery. It was an egg. A rather.. very large egg in fact. One that certainly wouldn't be normal to find near where her temple was. But alas, here it was in her arms. "I am here, because after travelling for quite a bit- some.. I think it was a detachment, advised that you or your dragon might know what it is, and could help.. guide me, to my next steps." She held the egg forward for inspection, apprehensive.

"I have become more aware that payment is usually required for such knowledge. I can share the insights of Kede. I can possibly- even.. offer my services in other ways- I have found that there are items that I know how to make, like.. incenses? The weaves. Um." She struggled. "I can even spar if you still wish."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

When Sabine revealed the egg, Petra straightened with sudden interest. She had never seen an egg like that before— it had a surface like burnished ivory, marbled in muted golds and greens, like sunlight filtered through leaves across moss-veined stone.

Norvyk stirred with a low rumble, tectonic and like the slow shifting of the earth. Petra glanced over just in time to see him rise from where he’d been coiled at the edge of the clearing, the sinuous length of him unfolding with tucked wings. He prowled forward, sand shifting underclaw with dull thuds. She turned back as the weight of his presence rose behind her, his regal head arched over Petra’s shoulder to hover above the girl and the egg.

The breath that escaped his nostrils was hot and damp. He inhaled twice, with deep, long draws through his nostrils that fanned Sabine’s hair and stirred her robes.

Then Norvyk exhaled sharply and drew back— the tilt of his head was slight, but Petra knew her dragon well enough to know that whatever hope had sparked his interest had soured just as quickly.

“It’s no dragon,” he said, voice edged in disappointment.

@Cosmo

 

[Cosmo]

The dragon's sudden movements reflexively made the orc jump back, reaching for the staff. For some reason, she was more oddly prepared to fight the dragon than she was the knight that was paired with him. Her eyes were wide, both careful, and fascinated, trying to gleam messages from the behavior, shuddering a bit underneath his impressive stature. This was certainly a sentient creature- and if it was home, one might have even given it the title of a 'Great Spirit'. However, despite how fascinated she was by it's responsive gaze and turquoise scales, her heart falters at the announcement, and her shoulders sink.

"Damn it all.." She sinks to the ground, still carefully tucking the egg in her arms, gently cradling it.

"I am never going to get to return home." her voice sounds so small, despite her stature. Despair crippled her grace, making her curl slightly, leaning her head against the egg. "What -are- you, why can't you just.. tell me?!" she mumbled to herself, to the egg. Her long fingers curled into little fists, that gently pat the ground. She swallows her air for a moment, knowing that her moment of grief should not burden the knights- they have already given her more than enough time.

With that, she stands up, brushing her hair back. "Well.. thank you great knight. Great dragon. It seems I still have a long way to go before I get my answers. I am humbled for your time and thankful for your aid." She bowed respectfully, pulling herself up, but her head hung still, afraid to look at the two.