Part 2: The meeting of paths

Akiran's hand rests on the hilt of his sword, his eyes darting around the fog expecting attack from all corners. He was vulnerable, but more than that he was angry. This was the second time in less than a day he had a conversation with some damn voice on high, that refused to play it straight. Give up your what cherish, do what you think is good, whatever flavor their serving it's always about trying to get something. The hell does she want with a memory, just being an ass for the sake of being an ass. His nostrils fairing he add his voice coarse and lacking it's charming silkiness "Not gonna speak for the rest, let em make their own choice. If any of ya wanna give something up that's your business." Looking around the fog he yells "I'm tired of you wanna be mighty types thinkin you can play god, if ya want something from me, ya better be ready to take it!"

The voice is positively gleeful. "Oooh, a lively one," it nearly squeals. "I like you. Maybe I'll just keep you and the rest can go. Tell me, dragonborn, how would you stop me? With your little sword?"

Thezra listens intently to the ethereal voice emanating off the mists, keeping quiet as the others try and reason - or in Akiran’s case, argue - with the thing. Her eyes kept peeled around the area, flitting from shadow to shadow, she wracks her brain for ideas. The word ‘fey’ was quickly being thrown about, which sent a knot into her stomach. Whether it was one or not though, both they and fiends had a penchant for perilous deal-making. But a demon was more likely to offer something of supposed value in return. At least, as far as she was familiar. However, her thoughts are interrupted by its unnerving mockery. “Of course he won’t,”  she blurts out. Her eyes go wide, surprised by her own reaction, then narrow as her head snaps towards Akiran. She could feel the mists creeping up over her ankles now, swirling as a jumbled flurry of words race into her head in search of a way out.  “Which is to say, what my companion means to say, is that if you would like something, there’s surely no fun in simply being given  it, yes? I’ve always found it is much more exciting to win  a prize than be given one. So how about it-”  she steps forward, a few feet further from the group, “-a game of prizes?”

The cackle rises up from the ground, as if someone has disturbed a nest full of chattering birds and they've taken to the sky. The ground rumbles again, this time more prolonged, and more severe. "Ahahahaha, a good suggestion," the voice says through the laughs. But the laughs stop as suddenly as they started, and the stillness of the ground is far more sinister than the shaking. "But that's not how this works."

"Would you take a soul?" Katrin says quietly. 

There's a long pause. Not just the voice pausing, but the movement of the mist and the sounds of the forest and bramble around the Fireblades pauses too. "Now that would  be interesting," the voice says. "But I don't have much use for souls."

The relief that Katrin feels crashes through her like a wave pounding the rocky shores of Hol. She's not even sure if she could've gone through with it. But she had offered. And the being had refused. Much to her relief.

Ascian gives Katrin a dully stunned look, before looking back out to the mists. He couldn't let her do that, even if the being had allowed it. Ember's whimpers are a high, inconsistent punctuation that he can't seem to get out of his ears, and the tension in him is beginning to coil. "How do we give you something."

The mist swirls, a form coalescing just beyond detailed visibility. Feminine outline, with long flowing hair that seems to reach nearly to the ground. The only color to be seen are a pair of glowing green eyes. "You simply give it to me," the figure says, the voice the same as before.

"Really? That's all?" Thezra scoffs, looking almost dejected.  "Apologies then. When I offered a game it's because I was under the impression we were in the presence of a... higher  being rather than a common bandit, but I see I was mistaken. I suppose as far as simple banditry goes this does at least bear some theatricality, though? I mean I'm of little power myself but I imagine if I had the ability to quake the ground and shape the weather I'd aim a little higher." Shrugging, she starts to reach within her rucksack for coin. "So how much would you care for? This gold is of high value both to us and to society, and it cannot be easily replaced. Would a hundred do?"

The tone of voice indicates a smile. "Oh, this banditry is far from simple," it says, this time with an unfettered menace that seems to cut through the mist like blade through flesh. The figure dissipates, whisked away on a sudden breeze. The mist flares around them, disturbed and displaced by great repeated gusts of wind. The acrid scent returns, this time much stronger. It fills the nostrils and stings the eyes of all but Ascian and Ember. The mist swirls into a tumultuous cloud, the beating of each progressive blast of wind seeming to grow stronger and stronger. Finally, with a thundering crash, the wind stops and the mist begins to still. A massive, looming shape peers through the mist, growing larger and larger as it seemingly snakes its way toward the Fireblades -- its eyes still glowing that pale green. The voice comes again, on the surface, still light. But it rumbles with deep undertones that seem to shake the earth the party stands on. "And you, little morsel, are in over your head." The mist is pierced, and the great green scaled head peers through at the party, its eyes burning with green fire. The scaled mouth opens, revealing lines of massive, sharp teeth. The laugh that spills out of the mouth is as self-satisfied as it is bone-chilling terrifying.  "So now," the green dragon says, "Where were we?"

Fuck. Shit. Fuck, shit, shit, shit, fuck. Katrin can hardly believe her eyes. A dragon. If she'd expected to ever run into something straight out of fairy tale, it was not here. Not now. Not yet. "There is no way we win if we fight this,"  she hisses to Thezra. "Don't do anything stupid. And this time, I mean it."

At once the faux-brashness she'd put on under the assumption they were dealing with some manner of spirit or fey vanishes, and is replaced with a sinking feeling that plummets from her chest to the pit of Thezra's stomach. For the first time since leaving Ore'agah, a feeling comes over her, stronger than the hate she'd felt in facing down Duar'ken, deeper than the relief she'd experienced in seeing him fall, and more engulfing than the deep sense of distrust she held for any who were not her kin. Fear.

Akiran's hand flies away from the hilt of his sword, moving as if the metal was burning. Falling to one knee and hanging his head as the green scales of the chromatic dragon came into view. Fear building within the warrior as his mind flashes back to his clan elder's den surrounded by stone and murals depicting Clan Sovine's triumphs throughout the ages. One mural always drew the young Dragonborn's eye. An ancestor of his clan fighting in a field of snow upon a high peak, standing alone shield and sword in hand against a crazed blue dragon. Akiran as a child often reenacted the scene with his wooden training shield and sword. At least he did until his clan elder Shavel caught him mid act. The elder let out a huff of cold air and rapped Akiran across the head with his cane. Telling him that the Metallic Dragons were honored kin, and were to be shown the upmost respect, though they have not graced the world in many years.  But the Chromatic were beyond dangerous, and should be avoided, only to be attacked with an overwhelming force and great planning. They were known to be cruel and volatile their whims changing from moment to moment. Many villages had been lost to the un-tempered fury of chromatic tantrums, they were not a foe to fight with on a whim. Keeping his head low he he begins to speak in formal draconic and as reverent a tone as the Dragonborn can muster, hope that his words can stop the chaos, warring against his rising fear  "My deepest apologies honored kin. I did not know a great one held sway over these lands. My companions and I meant no disrespect, we were simply blinded by our ignorance."

The sight of the looming dragon brings bile rising unbidden at the back of Sable's throat. The wizard's eyes dance from each one of his companions to the next, a dozen different scenarios running through his mind. Each one comes down to a single pragmatic question. Who was he prepared to sacrifice? As Akiran kneels, Sable slowly begins to back away from the dragon.

Lilliana bites her tongue hard to avoid snapping at this strange creature at its arrogance to think it was owed something of theirs, but then the others were handling it better than she probably could at the moment and so she remains quiet. Right uo to the point where the dragon shows it’s true form and she lets out a little, scared noise as she stares at those massive teeth that could rip her slender form into bite-sized morsels.  They’d just earned a lot of gold, perhaps they could simply pay off the dragon? Or was it too far gone after Thezra, once again, opened her mouth to piss off someone she underestimated? Despite the fear of the massive creature, she was able to shrug some of it away, unlike that debilitating fear that had afflicted her in the sewers beneath The Crossroads. She wanted to say something, but Akiran knelt before the dragon and began speaking to it in what she assumed was the tongue of dragons? As Sable cowers away, Lilliana steps up to Akiran and places one hand lightly upon his shoulder to let him know that he wasn’t alone here. She stares up at the dragon with a proud, slightly defiant set to her shoulders despite the dryness in her throat and the slight quiver of her hands.

The dragon's smile widens, seemingly relishing the fear and defiance she had inspired in these mortals. "Now," she purrs, the sweetness of her voice undercut by the deep rumbling of its timbre, "I believe you were posturing? If you'd like to fight, I'll oblige you. My original offer still stands, though. Alternatively, you could simply owe me a favor."

Katrin narrows her eyes, staring down the dragon. "What is of value to you? Gold? Or sentiment?"

Ascian drops back to a knee, his frail arms wrapped fully around Ember's neck to lock him in place as the wolf strains to escape. The high-pitched whines in his ear rattle through him as thoroughly as the trembles of the earth had, as the presence of a  dragon  within yards of him has; for a long moment he buries his face in the fur, trying to calm the wolf to no avail. The whimpers are somehow infinitely worse than the fear of what might happen next, and each escalation and strain against his biceps surges the acidic taste of nausea in the back of his mouth higher.  " Stop,"  he rasps at the dragon against silver fur.  "Please."

His voice still calm and respectful he switches to common and says "None of us wish to fight you honored kin. Forgive the posturing we did not know we were near greatness." His head racing as he tries to placate the great monster, as he told Lillli back in the tunnels. If his blade was of no use, his honeyed words were his last weapon.  Reaching slowly to the pouch on his hip he takes it and lifts it up "If you ask any of them, they will tell you that I value gold above most else. Some may even say I value gold more than their lives."  with a quick glance to Thezra   "So in honor of our meeting I offer up all of my gold in hopes that we both have the good fortune to meet again as the years go by."

The dragon lets out a low chuckle at the plethora of responses, spilling out over each other. Its eyes first rest on Katrin. "I value a great many things. Wealth and riches, of course. But I have much of that already. My desire for my first offer is not for my gain, but your loss. I want you to feel the pain of losing something -- something tangible, nothing as fleeting as a memory. I have no interest in those." Then, she turns to Ascian. "I cannot choose who is afraid and who is not, morsel. But your pup is right to fear me." Her eyes blaze green, and her smile turns up another notch. To Akiran, she says, "Enough of your groveling, honored kinsman ." It's clear from her tone that the respect Akiran is showing is not being returned. "I do not want your gold. It is surely a paltry sum, and easily replaceable for someone even so incompetent to leave home without their armor on."

Katrin looks around at her companions. The one's she'd led into this mess. "I assume you've got a name?" She turns back to look at the large dragon. "I've got something for you." It's painful, to bring them out again, the starry gloves once again held in hand, at one time had been deadly in the hands of someone who they'd all loved. And who had fallen. Maybe he'd save them again, one last time. She holds them up, blinking back a stray tear.

The dragon's head coils in, closer to Katrin's outstretched offering. "Krutaelis," the dragons says. "What are these?"

"They once belonged to a dear friend. He lost his life, not long ago." Katrin doesn't back away as the dragon, Krutaelis, moves in closer to her. "He was a Keeper, and a servant of Tempus. And he saved us."

Krutaelis leans in closer, massive nostrils sniffing at the handwraps. "I told you," she says, fire roiling in the back of her voice, "I have no use for memories. I'll give you one. Last. Chance.  to not waste my time."

For a long moment, Sable freezes, eyes closed and teeth gritted as he fights the instinct to run for the hills. His guts churn with the inner turmoil of self-preservation battling it out with loyalty to his friends and allies. Finally, the wizard takes a step forwards again, planting his staff firmly in the ground as he takes another, striding up to join Katrin where she's baring her soul before Krutaelis. "Great and powerful Krutaelis," he begins with a bow. "I apologise for mistaking the subtleties of your sorcery for that of a lesser being. We did not know who's ground we tread. If I might speak for the Fireblades, we would be honoured to take you up on your offer of a favour. We are a group of individuals with diverse skills and abilities. Truly, I believe and hope that you would find our service more fruitful than our subjugation."

Krutaelis scoffs again. "Very well," she says. "You will owe me. When the time comes, this mark will tell you what you must do." The force of her voice disturbs the mist around, and little trails of it begin to spiral in toward an upper arm of each Fireblade. The cold tendril pokes once, and a bright, burning heat sears the skin. It lasts for a mere few seconds, and then fades to an agonizing ache. The mist continues to twist and form, until it completely pulls away from the Fireblades and leaves a corridor of unshrouded ground. There are no brambles, no obstacles -- nothing blocking their way. "Do not stop. Do not turn back. Continue walking until you are out of my mists. Farewell, little morsels. Until we meet again." The thundercrack of massive leathery wings whips once, and then is gone -- leaving the Fireblades alone with only the corridor to guide them through the fog.

Sable holds it together until Krutaelis appears to be gone, before erupting into a stream of curses. "Scheiße, fuck, leck mich am arsch," he cries, clutching at his arm, before pulling up his robes to inspect the damage.

Katrin barely winces as her arm burns, glancing over at Sable as he swears. She grunts, then turns and starts walking out of the mist. Whatever this dragon had in store for them....there was no way it was going to be good.

The mark that Sable finds on his upper arm is not unlike the marks that adorned the chests of Gesrik's men. It looks like an intricately carved series of open wounds. It does not bleed, but it stings like flayed flesh when exposed to the open air. It is not large, only double the size of a standard gold coin, made of concentric, spiraling circles.

Sable sighs and wonders silently if anything can be done about these marks, before pulling his sleeve back down. "Well, it could be worse. We could be dragon-food," he notes aloud.

Ascian winces, the pain searing over a part of his arm he knows is already inked black, and knows looking at the wizard's mark that the glyphs he'd had tattooed are now doubtless interrupted. After carefully inspecting Ember and finding him spared, he stands slowly. "What kind of things does a dragon want."

"An impressive hoard?" Sable ventures, stretching his neck left and right as they walk. "To crush its enemies, see them driven before it and hear the lamentations of their women?"

"Oh." He accepts that quietly, feeling the anxiety ebb and something else rise in its place. Barnes' drugs weigh heavily at his hip, a solve to this entire situation – and something he hadn't been able to bring himself to offer. I won't leave you , he'd said just last night. He couldn't break a promise, could he? Not one like that. But maybe he should have; maybe that's exactly what she'd wanted. He glances toward Akiran, who for all intents and purposes looked like he should be an expert on the matter.  "Is that true."

His arm burning with pain, Akiran lifts the sleeve of his silk tunic with a slowness born of reluctance. Looking at the symbol etched into his silver scales, Akiran feels something he hadn't felt in years, something he had not allowed him self to feel, shame. Not only was he an exile, banished from his tribe to live forever in dishonor, he now bore the mark of a chromatic dragon and even worse was forced into it's service. Quickly lowering his sleeve, as if hiding the mark will lessen the shame. It takes him a moment to even realize the rest are speaking.  His voice dejected and slow he replies "A chromatics whims shift like the blowing snow, even  Krutaelis   does not know what she will demand.  But whatever it asks of us will not be pleasant. We are cursed, forced to serve a monster."

Thezra stood in what was at first abject fear at thinking they were to be immediately devoured and then sheer shock and awe at the massive size and sheer grandeur of the green giant that had appeared before them. She’d truly believed the being that had trapped them had simply been some manner of spirit or fey; something easily swayed by whimsy and will. To see a dragon though… So struck was she she could not bring herself to talk as the others tried in vain to avoid their fate. When the piercing bit of pain suddenly erupted across her arm, her senses finally came back to her and she looked up as it left. “Wait-!” but it was already gone.  “That was… incredible. Are you all alright? I-I’ve never seen such raw might and power like that before; unflinching and uncompromising, graceful yet brutal. I do not much care for being marked by any but myself,” she says as she rubs a hand over the mark and then to her own inked skin nearby, “but I am in awe. Are all dragons like that?”

Tegan J. said: His arm burning with pain, Akiran lifts the sleeve of his silk tunic with a slowness born of reluctance. Looking at the symbol etched into his silver scales, Akiran feels something he hadn't felt in years, something he had not allowed him self to feel, shame. Not only was he an exile, banished from his tribe to live forever in dishonor, he now bore the mark of a chromatic dragon and even worse was forced into it's service. Quickly lowering his sleeve, as if hiding the mark will lessen the shame. It takes him a moment to even realize the rest are speaking.  His voice dejected and slow he replies "A chromatics whims shift like the blowing snow, even  Krutaelis   does not know what she will demand.  But whatever it asks of us will not be pleasant. We are cursed, forced to serve a monster." "Keep your voice down," Sable hisses back at Akiran, peering into the mist left and right as though Krutaelis could reappear at any moment. "We still tread her domain. Somebody had to say something or we'd all be meat by now. This was my first time meeting one in person too, Thezra, but that's what the books say, yes."

Akiran stares at Thezra with his snout fixed into a dumbfounded gaze. Did she not realize they were little better than slaves now. Shaking his snout at Sable's rebuke, the Dragonborn turns and begins walking down the path "Let's just get the fucking mushrooms, sooner we do that sooner we can get back to the Sluicegate. And I can find how much whiskey it'll take to forget today."

The entire encounter just blurred passed Lilliana as she continued to stare at the massive form of the dragon before them all. She hesitated a moment too long and before she could say anything else, the trickster Sable suddenly offered up their services to a green dragon. And again, before she could do anything else, there was a burning sensation on her arm and she gasps against the burning pain as she turns to stare at the offending brand. The stare turns to a glare as this dragon lifts off just as suddenly as it had appeared. 'Servitude yet again.' She glares at Sable, but instead of launching into a tirade about his audacity and selling them into servitude without their consent, she stomps up behind Akiran. "I understand exactly what this is as well, even if the others are too stupid to recognize for what it is."  She whispers to him. No matter how much she fought against it, ran from it... here she was again serving something else's whims but her own. She wanted to scream at the injustice, to lash out and destroy the very grounds that this beast  claimed as it's own. "Do not forget it, Akiran. If you forget, then you might allow someone to make this choice for you again. I can promise you, that I will never let anyone else make a choice like this for me, ever  again." She shoots a glare over her shoulder at Sable's form. 

As they continue to move out of Krutaelis's fog, Katrin stares woodenly ahead as they walk, keeping slightly apart from yet another disagreement. She thinks back to what Krutaelis had said. Back to what everyone around her had said, as they had all attempted to appease the dragon in one way or another. If just one of them had been willing, able, to give up something precious. Maybe they could've been spared this fate. And for once, boldness and artful words hadn't won any of them favor. Not even Akiran. She clenches her hands in frustration as the others bicker behind her. "Enough!" She wants to shout. But she doesn't. Shouting won't help. A stiff drink, as Akiran had mentioned, might dull the pain for awhile. But the shadow of Krutaelis was upon them now. And they were all to blame. 

After an hour of walking through the cleared path, Krutaelis's fog ends abruptly. The sun returns, and the Fireblades feel the sticky humidity as their clothes, damp from the mists, cling to their skin. Regardless of discomfort, they can see that they've moved far from the forest, and are now atop a large hill. The fog that they followed here has receded and visibility is good for a few miles. Scanning around, they can see the dark opening of a cave not more than a thousand feet away from their current position. Checking the map, it is almost certainly the right place.

The swell of relief that Katrin feels at leaving the mists behind is dampened only by the dull pain on her upper arm. She folds the map up, putting it away in the bag of holding. "Let's go." 

Lilliana hadn't said much during the last hour, silently brooding over the recent events as the raw pain of the flayed skin of her arm constantly rubs against her clothing. When they finally spot the dark opening of the cave, she slips her pack from her shoulders with a heavy sigh of temporary relief, but before she could enjoy the respite Katrin seems prepared to continue moving. The pain of her arm had quickly become more than just an irritating distraction and needed some attention before they ventured into the depths of the cave. "Katrin, could we rest for a bit? I really need to bandage this wound on my arm; it's hurting something fierce. I am not sure how the rest of you are holding up so well against the pain."

Katrin stops, then turns to look at the girl. To look at all of them. She would have been perfectly happy to keep going. But a warm breeze caresses her cheek, and she hears a soft voice. "Rest," Rose says, running a thumb across her cheek. "Just rest."  "Fine. Take the time you need." She turns abruptly from them again, folding her arms across her chest, staring stonily at the dark cave waiting for them.

Sable has been clutching his arm with the opposite hand while they walk and growing increasingly pale as time draws on. "Yes... a moment to rest would be appreciated," he grunts, before settling down with his pack and peeling back his robes to pay more attention to the injury.

Lilliana slips quietly to the ground with a contended groan as she begins digging through her backpack for a clean rag that she could wrap around the mark upon her arm. She pours some cool, clean water from her waterskin down over the burn to clear away and sweat or dirt before patting it dry gently with the cloth, wincing occasionally. Once cleaned and dried, she wraps the cloth carefully around the wound before tying it off. She stares at the bandage for a while before she takes hold of a simple brushed metal bracelet and twirls it once around her wrist as her face takes on a thoughtful expression. As she watches her arm, black ink begins to ooze out of the bracelet and begin working its way up and around her entire arm up to the shoulder, leaving her arm from wrist to shoulder completely covered in black ink. Another twist causes the ink to begin withdrawing back into the bracelet, but leaving behind ornate and beautiful tattoos in black ink, covering every visible patch of skin. Near her shoulder is the twin moons with a gorgeous field of stars and other celestial bodies visible in the star field, as the image shifts to a mountainous terrain filled with the outlines of a pine forest climbing up the sides of the mountain from a valley that wrap around her forearm. She examines the work with a satisfied nod before leaning back against her pack and drinking some of the water from her skin.

Lilliana's magical bracelet immediately catches Sable's eye. He watches with interest as the tide of ink washes back and forth over her skin. "Fascinating," the wizard notes. "However did you come to possess such a delightful trinket?"

Lilliana turns to Sable. "A traveling trinket salesman on the roads between Fireblades and Crossroads; he had the oddest saddlebag emblazoned with a griffon. Given that I am trying to hide, I thought perhaps it would be idea for a quick disguise, but it's also fun to play around with hiding unwanted marks upon your body." There is a bit of venom in these last few words as she looks Sable in the eyes, but then her face softens with a look of shame before she quickly glances away from him and stares at the ground between her legs for a long moment. "I am sorry, Sable..... No, not just Sable, all of you. These last few days have been very trying for me and I have been taking it out on all of you, even after you took me in the way you did."   She forces herself to look up and look each member of the Fireblades  in the eyes. "There is no excuse for my behavior. I---"   'Am an aasimar in hiding from some vile people that want to use me in horrible, awful ways that would terrify you to very souls if you even had the slightest inkling of understanding and I desperately need companionship and I'm all alone and afraid and... and... I'm just a child...'  She wanted to blurt it all out, she would feel so much better if she did, to unburden herself upon them, but instead she just said. "I didn't realize how terrifying it can be to be an adventurer. I promise to do better."

Sable arches an eyebrow at Lilli's anger, but says nothing of it. "You don't have to apologise for not being prepared to face a dragon , Lilliana. Neither was I. Tell me, what have my friends told you of Gesrik?" He asks instead.

Thezra folds her arms over her chest as she leans against a chunk of stone protruding from the ground of the hill, watching Lilliana stumble her way through an apology. It hadn't actually occurred to her just how new this all was to the girl. She seemed easily frazzled at times but like she'd been involved in this sort of life for some time. That said, if the girl felt any anger towards Sable for taking the deal, Thezra couldn't fully understand it. The more the mark sat on her arm, the more its faint, constant burn pinned a twisted knot of disgust into her mind over the idea of one day being forced to act without choice on someone's behalf. But if Sable hadn't done it she was seconds from doing so herself. After all she had nothing of value on her own person to have given, and a creature of such might and stature had an undeniable level of right to demand as it pleased.  Nevertheless she finds herself nodding along with the wizard's words; none of them had expected just who the voice carried on the winds would belong to. Some things cannot be prepared for.  She reminds herself. Rubbing the mark gently, she sighs. But that doesn't mean they can't be worked around eventually.