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Solivar
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re: [RP Open Thread] In the temple of the Dragons

Wyrmrest Temple, constructed as it is for the scale and comfort of dragons, lacks certain amenities more common in places where the residents are not, by virtue of their nature, mostly indifferent to the elements. A place, for example, to sleep that is entirely out of the breath of the Dragonblight's icy wind; a place that is, for example, well and truly warmable. A certain compromise on these needs is reached with ingenuity: two merchant kiosks pushed together, overlaid with a length of canvas to make a rough enclosure and an enchantment on the floor that causes it to radiate warmth. Pallets are laid, blankets are spread, a quick restorative meal of toasted flat bread with cheese and hot summer wine is consumed.

Outside, the vast arch of sky begins to darken, Northrend's golden aurora shining behind the thickening clouds.


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Twinyarrow
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re: [RP Open Thread] In the temple of the Dragons

Twinyarrow stretched laying back upon the pallet, unmoving, on the threat Folami would call the huge dragon-kin guards should he not get his rest. SO he remained in place, gazing up at the vaulted ceilings. His mind wondered and he found himself retracing the events of the past few hours. A niggling feeling of hopelessness found its way into his thoughts before he steeled himself, refusing to allow it purchase in his ruminations.

He recounted memories of recapturing of some part of his brother. But of those memories, only the last.... the touch of something so alien as to make Kharfuur seem common as an Orc Peon troubled him. When it reached him it swallowed him whole and he shuddered slightly. There was an emotion behind it. Not wrath, nor madness... but something else. Something he could not place for the enormity of it.

He smiled inwardly. It was not unlike ascribing emotion to the sea, yet every sailor would talk about angry seas. He wanted to discuss it with the others but held it in check for now. He needed to know what he was sharing lest he drive the long struggling members of this quest further from their target. This Foehand.

Then, resigning himself to being unable to decipher it's meaning he instead marveled at the tenacity of his guild mates in keeping him safe through the sudden flight from Dalaran. This land, tough and beautiful in a primal way, was far beyond his ken or powers to preserve himself. He marveled at it... yet he found himself a bit agitated he could not have survived without them.
Jadedinsc
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re: [RP Open Thread] In the temple of the Dragons

Folami spends a little time simply watching the dragons fly about in the sky reliving childhood memories of the first time she spied a dragon on their one family trip to Orgrimmar. Aside from a few birds, it was the only thing in the sky. Its massive wingspan nearly blotted out the sun, or so it had seemed to a child's eye.

"But Mother, they're so big! How can they fly so high?"

"I don't know, dear child. They were here long before we were and they possess an intimate knowledge of the wind. Or perhaps it's just magic." In her mind she hears her mother chuckling joined soon after by her father. Happier times in spite of everything.

"I believed you, Mother, until the day magic took you away from me." She shivers and pulls her two cloaks around her tightly. The cold finally becoming more than she can comfortably handle, she retreats to the pallets being as quiet as possible so as not to disturb Yarrow or any others who might already have returned.

She too stares at the ceiling, picturing the dragons flying in and out the upper levels. It provides a nice distraction from the frightening thoughts whispering from the darker corners of her minds. As a child, she felt so small beneath the dragon's shadow. It seems impossible that now she could feel even smaller when surrounded by dragons, old gods, and ancient powers she cannot possibly fathom.
Skyspear
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re: [RP Open Thread] In the temple of the Dragons

Skyspear takes up station with his back against one of the booths, still as a gargoyle except for his ears tilting and twitching, taking in any movement in the area. He would pace, but the clank of armor might disturb the others... and on that note, he finds himself once more searching the faces around him.
Darren Tereos
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re: [RP Open Thread] In the temple of the Dragons

The Windspeaker, named Jarrand, kicked his heels hard to the sides of his armored wyvern, spurring it to the sky with strong, pressured flaps of the beast's wings. His course was due South from Wyrmrest Temple, to see the land where the orphan, Neshala, had presumably last been seen. His winged mount, used to the inhospitable northern climate, flew straight and true, with nary a sideways glance at the dragons circling the temple.

The words of the red dragon, Lady Aurastrasza, echoed in his head, the Shaman's thoughts the only thing loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind as his wyvern headed towards the frigid Southern coast of Northrend. The Lady had said that Neshala had been tracked as far as the coast, but that no magic could find where she had gone from there. Jarrand knew that the magics the dragons had no doubt summoned would have been powerful, probably more than he could conceive in mustering should he have spent several lifetimes practicing his art. However, he meant to take a more simple approach. While no person may have seen what went on when Neshala reached the ends of her footprints, there was one thing that had: the spirits of the waters that hemmed the frigid lands of Northrend. Jarrand meant to ask these same spirits what they saw.

As the glimmering ocean came into view, Jarrand eased his wyvern toward the ground. In landing, the shaman dismounted, his feet landing at first heavily in the snow. While it might be midsummer in Durotar, here the snow was still thick on the ground. Patting the head of his mount affectionately, Jarrand took a moment to center his being, whispered a request to the icy spirits he could feel so near, then stepped again, this time walking over the snow, leaving neither footprint nor sinking an inch into the snow.

Jarrand found himself at the edge of the ocean, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky beach rhythmic and soothing. Again, taking a moment to center himself, he looked out in front of him, less with his and more with spirit-sight, looking to find to which spirit he might best ask his question. Slowly, the water in front of him resolved itself into a shape, vaguely humanoid, though the form of its features indistinct. Nonetheless, the air of expectancy filled the space between the shaman and the spirit.

“Great Spirit of Water, I seek your aide and your knowledge. Many moons ago, a blood elf named Neshala came to these waters. She is kin to those I call allies and we must find her, to avert great catastrophe. I ask you for an answer in return for the service I have done in preserving the balance, in righting the unrest that scours these lands. I ask you to reveal what you saw when Neshala found herself in your presence.” Jarrand, finding himself breathing heavily, paused and waited for an answer from the spirit before him.


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Solivar
Guardian - Lore Master

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re: [RP Open Thread] In the temple of the Dragons

The spirit is silent for a moment as it considers Jarrand's request, coiling around itself in a drift of seafoam. Without warning, it abruptly surges forward, reaching out to grasp him with limbs of icy salt water, lifting him from the sand and into its own whirling, rushing substance. It insinuates itself into his ears and up his nose, past his clenched teeth and down his throat, into his lungs -- and, as it does, he finds himself able to breathe, finds the spirit's deep rumbling voice, like the tide rushing ashore, filling him. See.

The vision is blurred at first, as though he is looking up at something through the surface of rippling water: a slight figure, slim and short, dark of hair and fair of skin, clad in a simple white shift. She stands on the shore, the surf washing about her feet and ankles, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, gazing emptily out to sea, with expression neither on her face nor in her eyes. When she moves, those motions are jerky and without coorindation, hesitant, almost as it she is walking against her will, or in her sleep. Every step takes her deeper into the water, the chill of which she does not even acknowledge, walking until the shore falls away and natural buoyancy takes her, floating for only a moment before her dark head sinks beneath the waves, as well.

A sinuous motion in the dark below -- the flash of scales in the dim moon and aurora-light that passes through the surface of the dark water. Naga -- two females, priestesses from their regalia, and a heavily armed and armored male -- catch the girl before she can drift too far or, for that matter, drown. One of the priestesses holds a shell, its enchantments strong enough to be perceived even now, to the girl's lips and she breathes deep of the water, as naturally and untroubled as Jarrand is now. The priestesses wrap their arms about her waist and shoulders, drawing her along as they descend, their guard swimming a wary perimeter around them as they go.

Kaldorei ruins cover the sea floor here: the wreckage of what must have been an enormous city, scattered among the corals and bones of great leviathans, schools of fish and cold-loving aquatic plants. Much of it seems to have fallen, almost intact, into the watery abyss as the ground level subsided in the millennia following the Sundering: the buildings become more intact the further the trio swims until they come to an enormous arched colonnade. More flickers and shimmers in the dark: naga priestesses swimming between the columns in a sinuous dance of welcome, twining about one another in a manner both sensuous and disturbing.

A vast open courtyard lies at the end of the colonnade, intact only at the edges, where the paving stones form the remnants of what must have once been a mosaic of exceeding beauty for a few feet -- beyond which lies nothing. The seafloor falls precipitously away, as though sheared off, the abyss so deep that bottom cannot even be perceived.

The priestesses bring the girl to the very edge, where another of their kind awaits -- a witch-priestess of enormous size and unusual coloration, her scales a darkly gleaming mixture of deepest violet and gold. She reaches out and takes the girl's hands in her own and draws her out and down, into the dark waters below, until both are lost from sight.


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