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Down Time [Zinc]
Topic Started: Jan 22 2012, 02:32 AM (520 Views)
draconafin
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Wyrmling
Official candidate or not there was always going to be something of an issue of idle hands… it was a rest day for the candidates and the hunter had decided that he should head out for a bit. He didn’t really have a plan; but he headed in towards Lihn… something which might not have appealed to him a few days ago; it didn’t matter though in the end as both he and Culprit stopped short. The area they had ended up in was known as outer Lihn. It was a rolling expanse of land; more than half of which was dotted in makeshift camps… not unlike the Westernlands he had grown to know. Here though it was not always because houses were being knocked down by the Taint… these were displaced people and displaced families. While he had nothing to offer them he couldn’t help but feel a kinship to these people who lived simply if nothing else. Patting the neck of his war horse the hunter swung down and started towards a small cluster of tents; a few people backed away thinking he might be a solider after something more than a word and a cup of tea. In the end it was the war horse who won over the kids and he leered over one and snorted in their hair, apparently even the battle hardened had soft hearts in the right places.

What he could offer was a soft smile and a helping hand; which with Culprit’s help too could manage to move a few things around like water barrels for collecting the rain. They also managed to dig out some of the over flowed ditches from the last storms that came through. It didn’t take much to get the hunter to help with the turning over a temporary crop land… although the coloured stallion took an apple or two in bribe. By lunch time they were both hard worked and filthy; but the warrior at least had a smile on his face. It always felt good to help people. His muscles were ache slightly with the exhaustion too, but if nothing else it mean he would sleep well tonight… after he managed to bath the stallion that looked more like a bay than his natural coloured self. That very stallion in question snorted and lay down in some of the turned over land and the hunter was glad that they had removed his saddle some time ago, or else it was highly likely that Culprit would have gone rolling with it still on. As it was the war horse tucked himself up and over and wriggled about on his back, much to the amusement of several children.

Managing a chuckle of his own the hunter shook his head at the horse’s behaviour, but left him be. There was nothing wrong with the old war horse enjoying himself. Someone offered him a bite to eat which the hunter politely turned down… with everyone taking a break in the heat of the day there wasn’t all that much to do. Although… on catching sight of a piece of misshapen fire wood he picked it up and turned it over in his hands, it was thick with knots and wouldn’t burn well; a smile came to his face as he sat back down on a impromptu seat that consisted of a rock. Turning it over a again he unhooked his dagger from his belt and sunk it slowly into the wood, twisting both carefully to remove the bark. Then started chipping away here and there… whittling was a habit he had picked up in the West, a hobby almost between battles. A single project could take months, with all the interruptions. A dragonatic face appeared first with a mass of twisted horns that was common for a Karma; a neck started to follow, and so wrapped up in what he was doing the hunter hadn’t noticed a few curious children pressing closer.


[OoC Mini milestone; 50 posts ^^]
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Zinc
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The Owl Waife
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It had been a long time since Larka had been to this part of Lihn. For her bonded however, it hadn't been long at all. He walked with a sure step through the newest addition to the stone city with an ease she rarely saw in him. He knew ever nook and cranny of this place it seemed, and would weave through small pathways left by tents, stepping over things she would have missed had he not told her to be wary of them. At first, she thought it was simply sharp eyes on his part, but she soon became more and more certain that this part of Lihn was where he disappeared to when he often went off on his own. The fact that he strayed so far from the Academy was briefly worrisome, but had he not, it would have kept them from doing what they were out to do today.

Lichen had told her a few times in passing or off-handed in conversations that a lot of the refugees in Lihn were those who had left their entire lives behind them. They had little to their names anymore, and the city was full to burst with people, and jobs were few if any. There was no livelihood for them to attain anymore, and money was short-handed. Healers were far and few in-between and those that offered their services were generally too interested in gold rather than the well-being of those that they were to care for. It was more than the two young healers in training could stand to hear about. Their skills were limited, but they could still be put to use where they needed it.

As they trailed from tent to tent, Larka's supplies over her shoulder in a knapsack she'd once been able to carry her Rosemary in, they cared for those that required it, and those that they could. Now and then, they ran into someone beyond their skill, and with heavy hearts had to shake their head and move on. Any payment offered to them they usually denied. A few times, food was the gift bartered in return for their services though they asked for none, only twice did they take food, to stave off hunger as their work brought them farther into the day. Larka's eyes scanned the tents as she walked beside her dull Rosemary. She remembered the days of living by little as well. She had left to try and find a place, to help make the world a little better, whether through fighting or as she was now, healing, she hadn't known until the day of the hatching.

Lichen's bixbite eyes trailed to his bonded's face at the sudden flux of emotions. "What is it mine?" he asked gently, his voice softer and smoother, lower than it had been when he'd been a younger wyrmling. Larka's eyes met his briefly before she sighed. "I used to live like this." she murmured. "Here?" he asked, his crest flicking upright and his head raising on his neck to look at the surroundings, his nose flushing scents in to be broken down. "No...I...well, my family and I, traveled in a caravan to get here where the Empress brought her people. But along the way, a group of dragon riders came searching for candidates, without my parents blessing, I went with them, disappeared into the night." Lichen had heard some of this story before, but he listened quietly.

"Do you think they're here?" he asked, looking around. "Perhaps." She said with a slight inclination of her head. "Perhaps not." She adjusted the straps on her bag as they cut through another row of tents. "Would you like to find them?" he asked her, nothing in his tone demanded a promise or a denial, simply a prompt. "I don't know..." she murmured.

Both were interrupted from their quiet conversation by a sudden exclamation of "Dragon!" It was a loud childish voice, and a few moments later, a young toddler, perhaps three or four summers was clinging to Lichen's leg, giggling. The young Rosemary blinked down at the child, his eyes uncertain, and his mouth hanging open in shock. He was unprepared for this, but he was even more prepared for what happened next. An apparent crowd of younglings who had been gathered around a young man all looked up and stared in delight at the dragon, a few rushing towards Lichen who was looking as if he might balk any moment, the rest, attempting to demonstrate maturity, approached at their own pacing walk, if not somewhat quicker than a normal stride.

Soon Larka's poor dragon had a child clinging to each front leg, several trying to stroke his wings or neck, and a few staring raptly at his crystal. Larka herself just took it with a smile while Lichen tried to figure out where to begin and how to deal with the small humans. Larka picked up a young black haired girl who's gapped smile showed she was starting to lose her baby teeth. "Can I pet him?" she asked her, her eyes wide and hopeful. Larka gave a soft smile. "If he'll let you. Remember dragons aren't pets, they're smart like you or me." she poked the child on the nose and she giggled. Lichen good naturedly swung his head around and the girl reached over and stroked his nose. "Don't crowd him too much now, youngin's" Called an adult from a tent who was laughing with the same mirth that shown in Larka's eyes. Oh to be a child and be fascinated by all that was new again.
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draconafin
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At hearing someone call out dragon the hunter’s molten eyes darted upwards… force of habit if nothing else… at a cry of dragon he had seen entire towns get swallowed. This time it was different… for one the dragon was on foot and judging by its size a Rosemary… although he didn’t get much time to take it in before it was swamped with small children from all over the temporary camp. Mirth tugged at his eyes and mouth… children had such a simple way of looking at the world. It would seem as nothing could bother them right now and with the war so far away that was how it should be as far as he was concerned. They were rightly wrapped up in the dragon and he could have sworn he heard at least one kid ask permission before Culprit snorted over his shoulder… apparently a little miffed he had lost his admirers… although none of them had been bold enough to actually crowd the war horse. Which the hunter was grateful for; he had certainly warned a few of them away from it as the stallion was a creature of habit and if he felt unsafe it wouldn’t be beyond him to treat a child like a Tainted warrior.

Someone else pitched a voice over the crowd, cautioning people not to crowd the dragon… Celestials knew that even the protectors of Sekkai had their own personalities and moods. For what seemed like a long moment he watched the Rosemary swamped with children and wonder just how to deal with them. If he really thought about it the hunter was strangely aware for the fact that this was one of the more unusual Rosemary dragons he had ever seen… and not because he had extra wings or anything like that… but his colour. Most Rosemarys he had seen on the battlefield were bright… flowers amongst the corpses. This one, while none the less charming was well… brown and green as if moss had slowly crawled over a tree and settled in for the winter. Hm… he and his rider were a fair way from the Academy not to be on some sort of errand as far as he could tell; unless they were a Wrymling pair. His eyes drifted back to the knotted branch in his hand; but his ears kept themselves attuned to any possible conversation… it wasn’t that he was eavesdropping; just making sure that no one was going to sneak up on him.

Twisting dagger through wood again he carefully freed the Karma he had been working on from the branch entirely; keeping in mind to add something of a little pedestal for the bust as he did so. Then with quick eyes and careful hands he turned the branch over again and started whittling away at it; making sure to keep one eye on the dragon in front of him. In the past he worked more from memory, but it seemed a shame to pass up such and opportunity. The four legs emerged first, apparently agreeing with the hunter as a soft swirl of medium toned wood that vanished into a dark oak colour just as the dragon shifted from green to brown. It darkened almost to black as the head and shoulders were carved. Then slowly he twisted the dagger hand along a smaller part of the knotted would and started to shape an open wing; oddly enough though the wood seemed to have a life of its own and while the overside of the wing remained nutty the underside turned white along the flight feathers… For the moment it seemed such a shame considering it didn’t seem to match the rest of the dragon. When the second wing did the same thing the hunter almost put it down… it was alright when some didn’t match… or if it was a generic dragon, but this seemed to be making on sense… there were even a few flecks of white in the carving’s crest.

From the looks of it; maybe someone had tried to burn the piece of wood and it had been ditched afterwards… that would certainly explain the variation in tone in a dead tree. Occasionally more tones were found in what people called green wood – or freshly cut wood; but this was neither and only its knotty composition offered any reason as to why. Rather than leaving the piece unfinished he twisted out the last few lines. Leaving a very proud Rosemary standing across the palm of his hand, with his wings stretched out to the sun as if to catch it; other than the wood’s odd nature it almost fit. Quietly he waved one of the kids ogling the dragon over to him and held out the Rosemary carving and asked if she could give it to the rider; for a so called payment he offered her the Karma to keep. Beaming as if he had offered her a block of chocolate she tugged on the rider’s shirt and thrust the miniature dragon out to her and when she got a puzzled look back she pointed out the hunter a few meters back.
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Zinc
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The children had begun dividing their attention between the dragon and it's wyrmling rider, bombarding the duo with questions that they both did their best to answer. Though small and lacking the musculature of his brother or a proper Rosemary at his current age, Lichen was balancing two young children upon his back, which were no doubt, the envy of the rest of their playmates. The girl on Larka's hip was holding the crystal that was on the slip-knot necklace in her hands, her eyes fixed on it in an intense study, asking a few things now and then. Lichen was slowly becoming used to the children who had calmed down as soon as the adult had called them to attention. Abashedly they had all apologized and settled a little more than their earlier hyper activity, though they all still strained to touch the young dragon before them.

Neither of them had much time to pay attention to anything other than the children around them. Several times, Larka had caught Lichen flashing her a helpless look, so uncertain was he of what he was supposed to do with small humans, she couldn't help but give a soft chuckle every time, much to his increasing distress. Putting down the girl on her hip, Larka pulled a child off of Lichen's back, and another immediately asked if they could ride him. Firmly, Larka said no, and at the chorus of pleases and large bambi eyes, she couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry little ones, he's younger than all of you, and not quite as strong." she said, teasingly poking the second child she removed from his back in the belly, causing him to giggle as she put him on the ground.

She was about to check on how her Rosemary had faired, when suddenly she felt a gentle but insistent tug on her shirt. She turned to see a young girl gripping the hem of her tunic and smiling up at her. Suddenly something warm and slightly rough was shoved into her hand and she blinked, looking down at the offending object. It was a wooden carving of a dragon, and it looked eerily similar to her own dragon with it's spotty wood and patterning. She blinked and turned it over in her hands, fascinated by the way that Lichen's form had been captured in the carved wood. Lichen as well, turned his head to look with curiosity at what had stolen away his rider's attention.

Casting her attention back to the young girl, she braced her hand on her knee, keeping the carved dragon close to her. "Where'd you get this, sweetie?" she asked. The girl pointed back and gave a sheepish grin before turning and scrambling back towards Lichen, and away from further questioning. Larka righted herself and blinked in the direction that the child had pointed. A man was sitting on a rock not far away. She looked down at the carving in her hand and then back at him. Briefly she turned to one of the children. "Keep an eye on him for me?" she asked, gesturing towards her dragon. The little boy nodded smartly and grinned, scuttling off to stand in front of the Rosemary and started giving orders to his peers, who simply scoffed. Larka shook her head and walked over to meet the mystery artisan.

She paused a few steps away. "One of the little ones said you made this?" she asked curiously, she suddenly felt rather silly for coming over and asking. Then again, it was too lovely a gift to not thank someone for.
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draconafin
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For a moment he almost chuckled to himself when the child he had asked to deliver the carving pointed him out. Well… he had been ratted out after all that; and come to think of it he should have expected it. For one he hadn’t asked her not to tell… and for two… children generally did what they wanted within reason and considering the woman who was now walking towards him was a rider the little girl could have well traded a pat of said dragon for information on the hunter’s location. Amused, at the child’s antics he didn’t bother getting up and moving, she had already seen him anyway. From behind him Culprit snorted again, and there was a faint ‘thunk’ as he hit the back of the rock his rider was sitting on when he attempted to paw the ground. The hunter reached one hand behind him, and upwards to thump the horse’s neck, muttering something about the dragon still being all the way over there… but considering Culprit generally had an issue with people too, that wasn’t going to solve anything. If the war horse wasn’t crowded it should be ok; and given that the stallion looked like he had rolled in every possible patch of mud that was unlikely for now.

“It’s an old habit” was the admittance when the rider finally came over and asked about the carving. Being humble about it was easy… whittling was a skill born of idle hands; and was often used to entertain children who hadn’t managed to make it out of the war zone. It was also good for healing wounds that might have otherwise affected fine motor skills… wounds like those that still bound their way around his wrists in the form of ragged scars. It didn’t matter why he had picked it up or when so the train of thought that might have stared ended as he glanced up at the rider, his molten eyes reaching hers as he stood. That was an old habit too… making sure he was on the same level as someone when he was having a conversation with them; rather than having one person looking up and the other looking down. “Besides,” he nodded in the direction of the Rosemary, “It’s been a while since I was this close to a dragon that was willing to stand relatively still.”

She could continue to pass him over with that questioning look if she wanted to; the hunter was used enough to people wondering just what he wanted. One of the small blessings about being so far from the West was that few people here knew him or what he was like… and oddly enough that was helping him make friends, and bridge some of his own social inabilities. Sure she could well ask why he had given the carving to her… but the fact that he had based it off her dragon it only seemed fitting, that and he really had nowhere to keep it; even if he had moved into the candidate housing for now… just what would he do with it. Maybe if he bonded his own dragon partner he would do one of them… but right now it was just a habit for idle hands. He carefully hooked the dagger he had been using, and the last one of three that had survived his meeting with the hybrid back on his belt. Before he could do anything else though Culprit stepped around the rock and nudged the woman with a hearty butt to the shoulder; he even went so far to whicker as the hunter half stared at him… after all these years had the war horse actually made a friend?

“I’m Striker, by the way,” was the offered introduction as he offered her a hand to shake if she wanted it. It was when Culrpit gave an annoyed snort that the man managed a chuckle and patted his coloured neck; and looked at the woman again. Part of him felt he should let her know that the war horse was not the friendly sort, but he didn’t feel the need to include that the stallion literally had no friends other than him. “And this is Culprit. I’ve never seen him take to someone so fast.”
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Zinc
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Larka inspected the man from where she stood, her hands kept from fidgeting by their grip around the small statuette that the child had bestowed unto her hands. He was a harsh looking individual. In a way, he reminded her of her father, a man who had weathered things in life that she hadn't quite seen. He had the build of someone who knew how to fight, and appeared to have the scars to show for it. It was his eyes however, that caught her attention the longest in her quick inspection. At first she'd thought them dark, but when they caught the sunlight, they appeared to glow as brightly as a flame. It was almost disconcerting in it's own right. An almost hollow sound caused her to look back behind the man at the muddy stallion who had caught the rock he had claimed as his perch with a hoof.

An old habit was it? She glanced down at the statuette as he stood, rising to a height taller than she could dream to be. Not that she had a problem being short... She shook her head gently, a soft chuckle coming from her mouth. Well, he certainly had more skill in the arts of precision than she did. Her skills had been in farm work. Heavy labor. The precise movements of a healer that were required of, stitching a wound, applying a salve and being careful to not upset or hurt the patient more than they already were. Practice came from stitching up cloth, a lot of her own clothes sported her own repairs, which she was learning, was often a good idea to be good at fixing up. The wind didn't blow less just because the seamstress was lacking in skill. "Well, thank you..." she said, turning over the statue

She looked back up at Striker and smiled. "I think he's only still now because he doesn't know how to deal with children." She looked back at her Rosemary. Lichen was sitting, his crest flat against his skull and a look of a dragon who had accepted his fate of doom on his face. She covered her mouth with a hand to hide her smile as he looked at her sullenly. Children weren't crowding him as bad anymore, but they were however, trying to coax him into playing some sort of game with him, they were all offering different types of rewards and as before with them clambering to touch him, the Rosemary wasn't sure how to respond to them.

She was quite suddenly knocked off balance by a forceful blow to the shoulder. She stumbled slightly and caught herself, looking in bewilderment at the stallion who had been standing behind Striker earlier. Standing relatively upright again, she reached a hand up to the horse's nose to let him smell her if he deemed to. "Well hello there, sir." she said with a soft chuckle. Carefully placing the statuette within her knapsack hanging off her shoulder she moved her other hand up to his coarse and muddy mane to scratch at the top of his neck, an old trick her father had taught her once when she was little and had just met their plow horse, a gentle old soul named Gimp.

Wiping some of the mud off her hand and onto her tunic, she smiled at Striker. "Nice to meet you." she said, reaching over and shaking his hand. "I'm Larka." she pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "And that's Lichen, my bonded." she said. Looking back at the muddy and patchy horse beside her, she quirked a brow. "Culprit, huh? They make you sound like a trouble-maker, sir." she said with a chuckle, patting his nose.

She paused, looking back at Striker's statement that the horse had apparently taken to her so quickly. "Really?" was the only intelligent thing she could come up with in reply. "Huh..." was the follow-up. She moved her hand away from Culprit's head and scratched at his neck and some of the patchy flaking mud that had dried in his coat. She'd only ever met her family's one horse. Befriending another because it 'liked her' was a foreign idea, but not a necessarily unenjoyable one.
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draconafin
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Wyrmling
When she thanked him the hunter knew at least one brown quirked in question; why. He was still not overly used to people who were even mild compassionate; most of the time in the past gifts were generally taken with a shrug of the shoulders because in the Western Tribes where he had been nothing was taken for granted, it was simply taken… to live. Gifts such as carvings weren’t given they tended to be left around the fire or in tents when everyone had to rally against and incoming Taint and generally they were missing or destroyed after the battle; the latter always more likely. The other part of him shrugged of her thanks as was his nature. His molten eyes settled on her as she made her own comments about her dragon; they then looked over to where the beast seemed to be having an ‘interesting’ time with all the small children. If this had been a camp in the West all the children would have been more likely to make themselves very scarce. While it was good to see they knew that dragons here were good the Rosemary in particular looked somewhat miffed as someone tried to pull on his tail.

She had certainly been right on the money when she mentioned that the dragon wasn’t sure what to do with children… then again… did anyone? Personally the hunter kept them at a distance because of Culprit… but small sticky fingers generally grabbed on to pant legs if enough of them had gotten close enough to watch him or any other of the warriors he knew carve. Some were even fascinated by the sharpening of weapons. It was a train of thought he left alone though as he watched the rider respond the sudden and characteristically uncommon insistence from Culprit. It was clear enough she had been around horses before… although maybe not some as ill tempted as the coloured stallion was normally; with slow movement she let Culprit sniff her before moving to pat him in a form of greeting.

There was no denying the fact that Culprit was enjoying the attention, he whickered again as she scratched at his neck and when Larka moved her hand away the stallion to a step towards her; lipping at her shirt, after more patting. His coloured ears flickered over his white face, although pointing forward; intently listening to his new friend after nearly ten years. He gave an impatient snort when she shook hands with his rider, but leaned straight back into the pats she offered up when she was done.

“He is,” was the chuckled admittance when the woman who had introduced herself as Larka mentioned that Culprit’s name made him sound like a trouble maker. The fact that the stallion was a seasoned war horse was only part of that. He seemed to be born to hate, and had a foul temper… he also liked to let other horses out of the stalls in the middle of the night. Before he could add that – yes, really the stallion liked her – the horse in question went stiff; head jerking upwards and ears flat against his skull.

Culprit screamed first; rearing up, with his hind legs in the air; they slammed down with murderous intent as another horse screamed back at him. The coloured stallion had missed both his rider and his new friend, partly because the hunter had seen the stallion pin his ears and pulled Larka back from the flailing hooves. His neck arched so the veins almost showed, his right leg striking at the ground so much so that a small dust storm gathered around his ankles. He lunged forwards as a group of men on horses came over the low rise of the land.

“Infantry…” was the single word that left the hunter as he kept one eye on Larka and one on the war horse who was ready to charge into battle without him. Culprit screamed again and was answered by the leading horse of the small group… another stallion, champagne in colour… but with fetlocks that were coloured roan. He knew that horse… Blitzkrieg… SHIT! Instantly he stepped away from the rider and wrapped both hands around Culprit’s neck before the coloured stallion could rear again; instead the stallion stomped a foot; this time not caring about his aim and would have caught the hunter fair and square if the man didn’t know him so well. So… it wasn’t just the Infantry, … it was the 8th mounted division; which made that stallion… Culprit’s son and the two of them hated each other. What in the Taint were they doing here? Sure the war might have been over… but to march fully armed into a refugee camp was insensitive.
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When Striker confirmed her guess that Culprit's name made made him seem to be a trouble maker, she raised a brow. So the horse was known for getting into situations of the naughty nature was he? She felt a soft chuckle rise as she continued to gently pet the horse down his head, her hand occasionally trailing to his neck. "Oh?" she asked. "What sorts of things has he gotten up to then?" she asked. As far as she could tell, rather than a trouble-maker, he was a glutton for attention. The pushiness when she'd shook his rider's hand and the lipping at her shirt seemed a good indication for that.

A sudden tenseness in the stallion as he jerked his head up and laid his ears flat had her retracting her hand quickly. The sudden attitude change had startled her, and through their bond, Lichen caught that sudden spike of emotion and his head jerked in her direction, his crest flaring up as Striker pulled her away from the screaming stallion and it's flailing hooves. Larka's heart stuttered in fright and she watched the horse rear up, his eyes rolling. Was it something she'd done?

Larka jerked back again as she heard another horse screaming in reply to Culprit. Her head turned to follow the sound just as something grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back with considerable force. "Mine! Mine!" It was Lichen's voice in her ears. "Are you hurt? Did you get kicked?" he asked, his voice panicky, his bright violet-pink eyes were wide, the pupils wide in fear.

Larka blinked at Striker who was currently clinging to the neck of his stallion who still seemed to be going ballistic over the sight of...what had he said? She blinked back at the assembly of men marching through the refugee camp. Infantry. Her eyes narrowed. "Mine?" Lichen's voice called her back from her scrutiny.

She looked back at the Rosemary to find that he was a disheveled mess, his crest and wings were fluffed up and he still looked quite shaken by what he'd just seen. She patted the side of his neck absently, looking back to the soldiers which had stopped to wait as the rider of the champagne horse tried to get his mount back under control. Judging on the face off of screaming between the two horses, it wasn't likely to happen very soon...

"What are they doing out here?" she asked quietly, her words directed to her dragon. Lichen looked away from her at last, his eyes blinking at the assembly of men. "They're all fully armed and in a refugee camp. Do they expect trouble?" she asked him. She turned to see that all the children that had been playing with Lichen were either frozen and staring at the soldiers or had stole back to their parents who were leaning in the entry-ways of their make-shift homes and watching the soldiers with worry. Clearly their appearance had unsettled them all. Couldn't they have just gone around the camp instead? Larka shook her head.

She looked back to Culprit and Striker and moved to help try to calm him when Lichen pulled her back, holding her in place firmly. "You're going nowhere near that beast." he growled, his crest up and his wings fluffed up again. "Let his owner handle him. He knows what he's doing at least..." he let his rider go, and she sighed, standing where she was and looking between the soldiers and the duo she'd just met. This was quite the day after all...
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draconafin
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Even though the hunter knew he could ask Culprit to restrain himself a little, he also knew when he was asking too much of the coloured stallion. So when Culprit screamed again the hunter let him go as he half lunged have charged at the champagne stallion that was his son. Blitzkrieg reared up again too before charging after his so called farther; this time managing to dislodge his rider in the process; the armoured man hit the ground with such a collection of sound the rest of the horses in the division pinned their ears and turned on heel against their riders’ best attempts to rein them in. Sure they might have been trained against such sounds… but with two stallions going after each other and an irritated Rosemary dragon only a few paces away only the few more insane chargers might have held their ground; even if they were bigger than the dragon in question. Holding their ground was not worth the risk. At the very least the hunter could be grateful for the fact that they turned away from the camp and back down towards the main road that led into Lihn; leaving him with a stallion to try and rein in… a stallion who was already hammering at the few gaps in the champagne stallion’s armour.

Before he could cross to where the stallions had moved their fight the hunter was brought to a halt of his own; a sword blade levelled at his throat. It would seem the other rider had gotten his footing back… and had a score to settle. His molten eyes followed the length of the blade to the man holding it, the narrowed in both question and a comment of ‘you really don’t want to fuck with me right now’. His hand rose against the sword, the palm feeling its bite and the fact that it had been recently used. Or at the very least recently sharped and he pushed it away, only to have the other rider bring it back up to his neck. Molten eyes met ice blue and the two of them stood their ground for the moment. Although everything about the man who only had a dagger on him seemed to challenge the other who had to steady his sword hand with his spare hand.

“Traitor…” hissed the man holding the sword and the hunter merely blinked at him.

“It’s been a while Daemon…” was the cold remark as the younger of them regarded his so called attacker. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my horse under control.”

Neither of them moved; the hunter did not admit to the so called crime that the infantry leader was pushing at him. It was a long time ago and Daemon’s memory was faulty… in the night in question the hunter had pulled Daemon and two of his men away from a Disruption dragon. He could not have managed any more before it had dislodged the ground and buried them. Regardless Daemon considered him a traitor for not trying; and also considered him a man who had abandoned the arm, which the hunter maintained, was impossible because he had never signed up. Even though Daemon clearly wanted blood the younger man unnerved him… because he had seen him fight and it was said by others he fought like an animal… what other fool would take on dragonriders in hand to hand… not to mention his near Tainted stallion would charge dragons. The hunter’s eyes narrowed at the other man again and his hand gripped the Daemon’s right where it held onto the hilt of the sword; one twist would be all it would take to disarm him.
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Zinc
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By the time that Culprit and the champagne colored stallion were allowed to hurl at each other, the children had all but disappeared into the tents or behind their parents, leaving the Rosemary-bonded pair, the two men and their stallions, and the infantry, who it seemed...wasn't about to stay for long either. Instinct it seemed, was a stronger drive for the mounts of the infantry, than the hands that attempted to stay them with vicious pulls to the bits. The horses simply let their heads fly back against the pressure on their mouths and their eyes rolled as they ran helter-skelter. It was obvious most of the men had given up and simply clung to the fleeing beasts as they went, not wanting to risk being unsaddled at the frantic pace.

Lichen and Larka watched as the man who had been unsaddled by his raging war-horse that was now doing it's own version of battle with Culprit, who, it seemed, was a fair bit less docile than Larka had believed, stood and moved to intercept Striker. Both dragon and rider gasped as suddenly the man pulled a sword and raised it to the other's throat. While Larka was left stunned by the sudden approach and intentions of the man to her newest acquaintance, Striker it seemed, was more irritated than frightened, and reached up to push the blade away without anything even resembling hesitation.

"Traitor..."

What? Larka blinked at the man's words, still too stunned by the sudden change in the atmosphere to form a coherent sentence, much less move to try to diffuse this situation that had suddenly gone from a normal day to something all together more frightening. Daemon...as Striker had named him, seemed fair intent on causing harm, and while she felt a flare of anger at him for suddenly making the situation worse, she had no feasible means to break up the two men. She wasn't armed, and she'd simply get in the way.

The other half of the bond however, had something all-together different in mind. His own anger at the sudden unsettling atmosphere that the human infantry had brought into a refugee camp of all places, accompanied by the sudden intent to spill blood their made his feather ruffle in the wrong direction. A sudden boiling in his blood caused him to bare his teeth in a snarl and before he could even recognize what he was doing, he had charged forwards and shoved the man wielding the sword down into the dirt, his paws pressed on the man's chest with all the force his considerably young bulk could generate.

"Alright, I've seen enough of you and your men." the Rosemary growled. "You are a disgrace to the military for bringing your men through a camp full of children and families that have tried to escape what you all bring to mind. What's worse, now you're trying to cause harm. Did you hear me?" he asked, leaning his head down to bare his needle sharp fangs at Daemon's face. "There are children here. If you're going to kill someone, do it somewhere else or take it to the Taint. Collect your horse, and your men. Don't come through here again."

Lichen's crest was flared up and his wings were half opened, blazing the bright pink. Behind him his tail lashed and he stepped off the man, growling low in his chest. Larka could only stare in open shock, her jaw hanging slightly open. She could feel the wyrmling's rage burning through their bond, and was rather surprised. It was the first time that the young Rosemary had ever been anything besides gentle and calm. It was...to be honest...a scary change. Larka looked from her dragon to the man still laying on the ground, wondering if he would heed the warning, or simply continue what he had been doing earlier.
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draconafin
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His grip on Daemon had been lose and thankful so; as he left his hand fall free of the other man’s when the young dragon seemed more than fit to intervene and chose to. Daemon hit the dirt with no time to cruse before the brown Rosemary was in his face; the hunter taking one step to the side to avoid the dragons lashing tail as a snarl wasn’t the only thing that crossed the young dragon’s parted jaws. It would seem if nothing else the youngling had a strong sense of moral high ground; for that the hunter found himself in agreement with the dragon. The war in itself had large amounts of senseless violence but even then people tried to make sense out of that… and he personally knew that if Daemon didn’t crave his pay check from the Empire so badly it was possible the man could have sided with the Taint on a bad day. Carefully the Westernland’s warrior walked up beside the dragonet and crouched to look his once friend in the eye… which was near impossible as the man was too busy attempting to stare daggers at the dragon who had him well and truly rooted in the mud.

“Rider! Get your damn BEAST off me!” snapped the man who considered himself a commander. Sure enough he had heard the Rosemary’s words… but figured the beast for well… a beast; despite the fact they fought against the Taint they were bound to have less brains than them. Although it was a little concerning to have a dragon leering down at him… even if an armoured war horse might be bigger. The fact that it was growling didn’t help matters, nor did the sudden explosion of a bright colour on the beast’s wings.

“Her name is Larka,” the hunter remarked calmly; his molten eyes watching the other man as Daemon half glared at him. “And, Lichen here has a point. The camp is full of children and yet you march in here the same way you would on a Tainted raid.”

With that the hunter eased himself back to his feet; half looking over his shoulder at the other man as he crossed to where Daemon’s sword had landed. Some men might have taken the chance to hold the weapon back to Daemon’s throat but the man who called the Westernlands home by choice was not one of them. Weapon in hand he looped it through his belt for a moment and cast his eyes over the small hill looking for where the two war horses had taken their differences. One hand rose to his lips and he gave a pierced whistle that was rarely used in his time with Culprit, rather than a request it was demand that the war horse come. Over the years together he had developed different calls for his the coloured stallion who was friend and comrade. There was stallion scream followed by the sound of thundering hooves as the Culprit came tearing back up the hill… the armoured Blitzkrieg not far behind him; although with some plates missing off his armour. From the looks of it they had given each other a bad run for it; as both were war veterans and knew what they were doing. At first glance it was hard to tell if there was a victor to their scuffle.

In the end, the Champagne stallion had more grazes that cuts as he had been armoured beforehand. Culprit had a few deep hoof nicks in his neck and shoulders, both of which would have been aided by the steel ‘boots’ on the Infantry horse. Still the coloured stallion whirled around on reaching his rider; ready to hold his ground if the hunter had not grabbed Blitzkrieg’s reins. The coloured stallion’s ears flattened against his skull as the warrior lead the younger stallion a few paces away and singled Culprit to stand his ground of the moment. Out of the two stallions, Blitzkrieg had always been the madder… impossible to control; even if he would let anyone on his back. His lips were cut around the bit with old scars that proved this. Sure he made a fine war horse, but the kinder thing might have been to put him down or retire him as his temperament was as unpredictable as badly made fireworks and often just as hot. Furious still Blitzkrieg tried to tear the reins from the hunter’s hands; and the man retaliated but swinging up into the armoured saddle. Instantly the Champagne stallion rooted to the spot and started trying to throw the man for interrupting him.

Given he was so used to temperamental beasts the hunter might have chuckled in a different situation; but instead he twisted Blitzkrieg around his leg until the stallion ran out of steam and stood their panting heavily, allowing the man to swing down again without objection. As he lead the horse back towards his rider; but keeping clear of Lichen the hunter hung Daemon’s sword back on his saddle before looking back at the man.

“Your horse was always crazier than mine… but from the looks of it you have ruined him somewhat… He used to respond better.” The last part was said with some regret as he patted the tired old soul. “So what will it be; leave? Or continue your discussion with Lichen?”
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Larka was thankful that Striker had been able to see the brown blur of a Rosemary that had decided to strike his attacker into the mud. She could only steep in her mental disbelief at the sudden reaction that had been instigated from the gentle soul of a Rosemary. Clearly his ideals and attitude had been ruffled something fierce by this man who was the sudden fixation of sudden and intense loathing that still carried even after the little lecture that Lichen had given him was through with.

However, Lichen almost turned around again to strike the man once more into the dirt, as he was called a 'beast'. Generally the comment would have slid off his back, perhaps accompanied by mild hurt. But with this infuriating little man, there was no hurt. There was only extreme distaste in his arrogance and his regard towards those that tried to knock sense into his head. It was Larka that stayed him however, placing a hand before him and murmuring "It's not worth it." before stepping forwards, her own body finally beginning to respond properly now that she had fully recuperated from the shock of her bond and the situation handed to her.

"I will order him to do nothing." She said softly, her arms crossing over her chest. "Because quite frankly, I agree with him." She said. She could feel Lichen hovering behind her, no doubt the snarl still on his face, his white teeth bared and his feathers up, making him appear larger than he was. While Larka turned to watch Striker retrieve the sword and then emit the piercing whistle she could only assume was to call his horse, Lichen was rooted to where he stood, a few steps from Daemon, his head low, and his crest flattened against his skull.

Larka's eyes scanned over the horses as both came tearing down the hill, Culprit coming to the call, and the champagne stallion it seemed, was still out for blood. As Culprit turned to defend upon arrival, she got a good look at all the damage that the grounded man's horse had done to him. The armored horse was seized and led away. He was missing some pieces of armor, at which she felt a flicker of pride for the skill that Culprit apparently had in tearing into his opponent but then snorted softly to herself. Just because he was the mount of that wretched man didn't mean she should wish the horse ill will.

Twisting so she could get into her pack, she pulled out a small jar of rosemary saliva, and held it in her right hand as she approached Culprit from the left. "Hey boy," she said gently, her hand reaching out to his flank and skimming gently across the surface of his hide to let him know where she was standing in relation to him. "I'm just going to take a look at what that that other horse did to you okay?" she asked, knowing that the horse wouldn't be able to answer her, but still it felt like it was the right thing to do. She tsked at the damage that had been done, before uncapping the jar and dipping her fingers in and began to carefully apply it to a few of the deeper marks to help speed the healing and fight any infection that might try to begin.

"What a day..." she sighed. Lichen paced nearby, trying to calm himself, but still casting glares to Daemon every now and then, but also switching his gaze to Striker as he dealt with the crazy man's horse. As Striker returned and prompted his question to the man, Lichen decided with a flick of bitterness, that if he was to ever heal the man in the line of duty, he'd 'forget' the painkillers.
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Daemon’s icy eyes had narrowed when the rider in question had refused him, although she did manage to get the damn beast to back off. With a look of hatred for all three of them he slowly got to his feet, vainly attempting to dust off what he could of the mud; still glancing daggers at the dragon. Heated words dying on his tongue though as he caught sight of Striker with his horse… and more dangerously within reach of his sword. Traitor through and through it was dangerous to be unarmed near this man and he half snatched Blitzkrieg’s reins out of his hands when he was asked what he would do. His gaze lingered on Lichen; then on the man who had caught his horse… under his breath and only those closest would have heard he remarked to Striker that they weren’t done yet. Then with some difficulty – because of all the mud – he remounted the horse and trotted him down the hill in the general direction the rest of his men had gone.

Culprit snorted when the woman came near him… normally of crowed the stallion would make a grand show of rearing; but this time the colour war horse just flickered his ears. He had decided before that he trusted this woman… and he let her com close again… maybe she would pat him? His ears twitched again and his right hoof pounded the ground a little until the other stallion left. Then he simply stood where he had been asked too as his rider crossed back over to him and rubbed his hands through the coloured mane.

“You’re a filth…” was the affectionate comment to the stallion as his molten eyes looked over the damage that had been done… nothing deep enough that it wouldn’t stop bleeding on its own. Which meant none of it would need dressings… a good sign if either of them had wanted to be anywhere. Although given that Culprit was already covered in mud infection would be a big issue to look out for. The hunter rubbed the stallion down again; freeing what he could of the coloured mane before he looked at both Larka; and then Lichen, choosing to address the dragon first. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Thank-you though. I wouldn’t waste your anger on him… he blames me for something that happened a long time ago.” As he said it Culprit head-butted him in the chest for attention… the war horse was intelligent enough to work out that Larka couldn’t pat and do whatever else she was doing with the funny smelling stuff at the same time. Obligingly he reached for behind the stallion's ears and rubbed them, despite the conflict that had happened the man felt more trusting of Larka and Lichen, it wasn’t every day that someone stood up for a just cause. Lead alone one he seemed to be stuck in the middle off. Those molten eyes of his caught sight of the rider again who was working with his horse’s shoulder; before talking to her.

“My thanks to you too Larka.” Then with a soft smile he looked back at the dragon. A light tease to his tone as he suggested letting the refuges know that the coast was clear… Lichen might not be too keen on catching up with all his new friends again. “I suppose we should tell the locals that the Infantry have gone. No doubt they have things they would rather be doing than hiding.”
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Lichen watched Daemon leave upon his crazed horse, his crest was still flat against his head and his muzzle, though no longer baring his teeth, was still wrinkled in the threat of a return. As the man disappeared through the tents, the dragon snorted, shaking himself out, his feathers still displaced from raising up in all his irritation. He sat and sighed, shaking his head, he could feel a hesitant touch across his and his rider's young bond, a touch of curiosity. One that asked 'Are you alright?' he looked at her and saw she had paused in rubbing the salve on the horse's neck to look at him, her eyes earnest. He gave a small nod and looked over as Striker spoke to him.

"Perhaps not." he said with a sigh, his head turned to look over at the tents and the humans that were watching with disapproval and wariness as the men disappeared from their camp. "But I did it for them anyway. He was a thoughtless man intent on cruelty and I hold no respect for him now as a military officer." he shook his head, going over to stand beside his rider, but kept a respectful distance from Culprit, in case his presence made the horse uncomfortable.

Lichen watched the man rub Culprit's ears. "Why does he wish you harm?" He asked suspiciously. Though Lichen had no affection for Daemon, he knew that he and his rider barely knew Striker and his war-horse either. Perhaps they had just helped a man in the wrong and had not even realized it. He glanced at his rider, but she seemed more content with keeping her eyes to her work, though he could tell by her expression that she was interested in an explanation from the man as well. This had been quite the experience after all.

She capped the Rosemary saliva and put it back in her back carefully, beside the small Rosemary statuette. "It's no trouble. It is a healer's duty to help those that need it." she murmured, gently scratching some flaking mud from Culprit's neck. The horse had taken a beating, and while she'd gotten the flesh wounds, she had yet to find out where the bruising was, and there wasn't much that she could do about that at this point..

Larka nodded at Striker's suggestion. "Indeed. I don't think that they appreciated the intrusion. It was....no doubt unsettling." she said softly. She'd remembered when the soldiers had come to her family's farmlands and warned to leave lest they wish to be caught up in battles they didn't want. A fair warning. She had been ushered inside as the troop had marched up to their small barn. Though they'd offered her a friendly smile, quite different from this group, she'd still felt uncertainty bubble up.
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draconafin
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The hunter was still rubbing the stallion’s ears when the dragon a few paces behind him spoke up again; answering the tanks that he had remarked on. His molten eyes of his flickered back to the dragon as the Rosemary talked; it was still more than a little unusual for him to see a dragon talking, especially so close. unusual, but something about it was right all the same and he managed a nod in agreement when Lichen mentioned that his true motives had been from the people of this particular encampment, that was something he could defiantly respect. In fact he would have well done the same, he had already been ready to deal with Daemon if he had to; the intervention from Lichen was not something he had expected, even if it was a welcome one. One of his hands patted Culprit’s neck and started to run slowly down the stallion’s coloured leg, looking; or more correctly feeling for any swelling. Or even for any heat that could be a pre-warning to bruising and swelling later; a horse with swollen muscles could well founder and that would put them out of action for a few weeks at the least, not something that would be practical if they were still in the west.

His hand reached Culprit’s fetlock as Lichen’s continued speech mentioned that he had no respect for Daemon as a military man; on hearing that the hunter chuckled before he lifted the war horse’s hoof and stretched his leg out slowly, watching for a flicker of ears that might tell of any strain in the limb.

“Respect him or not Lichen, he gets paid to do it…” was the musing as he let the stallion have his leg back and resettle it on his own accord before he started to check the other leg out in the same way. “Perhaps unfortunately because he is good at it; his nature is fine for going up against the Taint. But he doesn’t have a lot of respect for other people; and in turn they don’t respect him. Only soldiers answer the chain of command and he has become reliant on it over real conversations.”

While not talkative by nature the hunter was free enough in his comments to the dragon. Maybe it was because felt better to talk about it, or maybe because he owed both dragon and explanation of what they had happened; regardless of who was to blame if anyone. Carefully he stretched out the stallion’s other leg and let him have it back before running a hand down over the coloured back. Looking for any nicks or dents there, or in Culprits flank; but from the looks of it the two stallions had remained face on for most of their fight. On hearing the dragon’s next question the hunter’s molten eyes narrowed a little and he straightened up slowly from checking one of Culprit’s hind legs. A thoughtful hum escaped him; thinking it over… it was a long time ago after all… even so, he let out a small sigh and looked directly at Lichen as if addressing another human.

“Daemon blames me for the loss of most of his first troop,” while short it was the truth… but it would seem that the hunter would explain that. “A Disruption had levelled the camp of the eighteenth about two days ride west of the main border. In that attack Daemon and several of his men were separated at the time. Of the five left alive they were in a trench that had been dug to hide from ground attacks. He followed them in and the Disruption followed him. At the time I managed to get in around behind the dragon and pulled Daemon and two of his men free of the trench before the Disruption levelled it… burring everyone still in it.”

The left of the story was left there; the other men had already been dead before that event. Those three mean left in the ditch though… the hunter felt sorry for the loss, but at the time he had done what he could. Even though he wasn’t in the Army, he just happened to be near the ruined encampment at the time. Daemon had blamed him for all if it; although the more likely truth was it was the Taint’s fault, or Daemon’s because he had not yet earned the trust of his mean before launching an attack on a Tainted encampment the day before and several men had fled the fighting… and were possibly followed back to the eighteenth. Regardless of the reason, the hunter was glad enough for the so called distraction with Larka answered his suggestion of letting people know it was safe to come out again. With a nod he started towards the nearest makeshift building and called out with a tentative hello.
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