Private Tales Between Flames and Shadows

[Faramund]

Faramund was too busy screaming to hear what Petra whispered in his ear. The tickle of her breath was nothing when compared to the whoosh of air as Norvyk spread his mighty wings and took to the skies. Leaving the ground was certainly strange. Staying off it, even more so.

And the speed! Well, Faramund was preoccupied with holding on for dear life to notice how fast they were moving. Petra held onto him, the claws on both of her hands digging into his stomach. If it weren't for the thickness of his shirt, he was sure he would have had some fresh scars to boast of.

Closing his eyes against the oncoming wind, the dawnling focused on staying in the saddle. If not for the harness, he was sure he would have been thrown clear by now, likely on purpose.

His composure had grown wings and caught up with him by the time Norvyk finally levelled them out.

Gliding now, Faramund dared to open his eyes. A wealth of stars greeted him, their smiles so bright they were almost blinding. 'Are we there yet?' He shouted, extending a hand towards the sky's cloudy underbelly. He had not expected things to be so quiet. It was almost peaceful.

The view damn near stole his breath away. As well as his dinner.

'I think... I thought...' He risked looking over his shoulder. 'I think I'm starting to understand, why you enjoy flying!'

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

His shouted words were an effective balm against her irritation, and she buried the evidence of that delight into his shoulder. Cold air snatching away his words on the wind and turning them into trailing clouds. The sight made her realize that in her haste, she had forgotten a crucial step.

"One second!!" She yelled to him as she pressed into his back, urging him to lean forward so she could reach the front of her saddle, where a couple of small carved runes were etched into the right side of the pommel. She placed her hand against them and poured a spark of magic from her palm, until they burned a bright red and purple in answer and faded back into the dark leather.

Suddenly, the frigid air around them warmed to a comfortable temperature and the rushing wind quieted to a level where they didn't have to shout to be heard. Leaning back, Petra smirked to herself, thankful for small comforts.

"There we go. That should help some." She wrapped her arm back around his middle. "Sometimes, I forget how terribly annoying and convenient it is that Norvyk and I can communicate telepathically. Ha! So I have Rulgak to thank for thinking to add the spell that lets us speak." Hesitantly, Petra found herself finally relaxing and tucking her cheek against Faramund's back. "The other one is because I would get cold up here." She tsked softly to herself. "Not a very tough thing for a big scary dragon rider I know."

She was quiet for a moment, taking it all in, before taking a deep cleansing breath. "Sorry, Faramund. You had asked me something?"

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'We all seek a little comfort from time to time,' the dawnling replied, listening as the wind's howl was reduced to a mere background hum. He could feel the magic-born warmth probing at his exposed face and neck, trying to wriggle its way inside. Unfortunately for him, it failed, as most magicks did when confronted by his curse.

'It doesn't matter,' he answered her question, shaking his head slowly. Norvyk banked suddenly, causing the knight to cling on for dear life. It was only after the fact he realised there was no real need to.

'How long did it take, getting used to this?' He turned to look over his shoulder. Petra had pressed herself tight to his back, his bulk acting as a convenient windbreak for the she-elf. Even so, he could see how peaceful she looked, up here, amongst the stars. There was no hint of fear upon her elven features. Nor did he notice any signs of apprehension. The skies were where she was most at home, and she knew it.

Faramund wondered if he would ever find peace. Here, with her. Or back down on the ground, with... With...

He blinked. He wasn't sure how or why, but he felt like he had forgotten something. Something important. 'I'm sorry,' he said, unsure of who he was apologising to. 'Did you say something? Petra?'

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Now tepid winds played in her hair, she was already lamenting the knots she would have to unravel, but the deep rumble of his voice that she could feel through Faramund's back had her quickly falling back into a place of comfort. She found herself watching the passing stars and reminiscing.

A sudden need to share another part of herself had her pointing a clawed finger at a particularly bright cluster of stars above them.

"Do you see that constellation there, just under Pneria? That's Mythra's Forge." She chuckled. "Well, what my people call it anyways. My parents believe in the goddess Mythra, many elves do. In fact, they see her as an early version of Astra from Celestialism, and that man just took from our stories and made it their own." She paused, her voice nostalgic and sad for the lost things of the world. "She is all but forgotten now, but I still remember the story of creation that my father would tell us before bed."

Norvyk's wings dipped and adjusted to a gale of turbulence that pushed them higher, closer to those stars.

"I may not recite it as well as my dad, but I can tell it to you if you're interested?"

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Faramund followed the emerald finger to the stars. 'Of course I see it,' he said, as if insulted by the alternative. Mythra's Forge? Now, there was a name he hadn't heard in a while. The elven goddess was as old as time itself, though her glory days were far behind her now. Still, She had done well to hold on this long. Entire pantheons had come and gone in the interim.

Faramund wasn't a particularly religious man. He might've implored the Gods once or time over the years, either out of desperation or in jest.

Not that the buggers ever care to reply, he thought, riding the wave of turbulence to newer, dizzier heights. 'Why not?' he shrugged, spotting several familiar consternations and naming them in turn. 'If only to pass the time, it'll help take my mind off of how high we are right now.' He peered out over the drop, regretted it.

Eyes on the horizon, he thought, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. Easy does it. Soon be down. Easy does it...

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"In the beginning, the only sound was a forge hammer's resonating boom upon an anvil as it birthed countless stars, their light spreading boundlessly across time and space, painting the cosmos with its radiance.

From that raw abyss came the essence of life—a being whose tears became our water, the sustenance of existence. And what was once a void of everything and nothing transformed into a cosmic Goddess—a colossal, unfathomable figure embodying eternity.

Radiant colors sprouted from her head, each strand a chaotic kaleidoscope of nebulas, galaxies, and dying suns. Worlds of every kind and feature could be seen within her braided plaits. Every strike of her hammer becoming both Creation and Destruction. Her very hair was a tapestry of time; the past, present, and future of all life woven together.

And from her chest, she pulled the first beating heart and placed it upon the anvil, striking her love into all beings, so they would never know a lonely day under her sovereign.

But the Goddess, amidst her mounting creation, found the quiet and solitude tiresome. So, she forged her own voice and began to sing a mighty song to the rhythm of her hammer. Her voice giving birth to all music and stories that would ever be. And with her chanting, she made the ability to speak both truth and deceit, a lover’s whisper and an enemy’s promise, and all the timeless ballads and battle cries a warrior-poet would ever utter.

Now with existence forged, her universe stood ready for the children she yearned to grace it with.

Yet before anything else, she had to set about crafting an identity—a persona that every child in the cosmos would come to know and speak, in both reverence and curse alike.

She would be Mythras the Starsmith- the First Goddess, Maker of All Things.

She would become the author of all love and tragedy, redemption and heartache, penning the eternal saga of War and Peace that would unfold across the coming eons.

For a name is a powerful thing. When we give names to things, we give them power. Power to feel and express and create connections with those around them. What is a soul, if not the embodiment of the identity we forge for ourselves?

And that was Mythras, the first lonely soul in all the Universe."

Petra paused, allowing the weight of the tale to settle between them. She shifted in the saddle, readjusting where her thighs pressed against his.

""That's why many who believe in Mythras adorn their hair like I do," she explained softly. "It's a celebration of life, a tribute to creation. Just like singing for us isn't just music—it's a sacred act, connecting us to the world around us."

"However," Petra continued, her tone shifting into a bitter note, "I lost faith after my sister's death. And I don't foresee a return." She sighed dramatically, trying to lighten her anxiety. "And I expect my family will consider it one of the many... many surprises I have for them when we get there."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Faramund listened or rather tried to as Norvyk carried them through the skies. All of... this was new to him, and while he didn't lack for courage, he would certainly have preferred to have had this conversation on solid ground, looking up at the stars and not gliding between them. But he had made a solemn promise to help Petra, come what may.

Surprisingly, her story helped him hold onto his dinner, gave him something else to focus on other than the drop.

What is a soul, if not the embodiment of the identity we forge for ourselves?

'I like that!' Faramund nodded, committing Petra's words to memory. 'Thank you for the tale,' he continued, keenly aware of the way the she-elf's thighs pressed against his. For support. 'Maybe you would care to sing for me, of a time. For... us.' Meaning the Order.

Faramund pictured the Knoll in his mind's eye. The smells and sounds of the Monastery's feast-hall came easily to the dawnling. He had spent a good portion of his time there, listening, watching the others weave tales and share stories of their experiences. Plus, there was plenty to drink.

'We'll be alright,' he promised, turning to look Petra in the eye. 'Faith or no faith, I'm certain your parents keep you as close to their hearts as you do them. I know I'd miss you.'

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra suddenly found the sky irresistibly more interesting than having Faramund's face so close to hers. She was grateful for the cover of night and the way it hid the mauve blush that crept under her golden skin.

Clearing her throat, she absently nodded while trying to recover from the way his last statement sent a dip through her stomach. "Uh... Right." She half-smiled with a sharp exhale "I would like to say that you have a good point. But also, you haven't met my mother." A cryptic expression on her face as she finally looked at Faramund. "So, if you think I won't be using you as the world's biggest buffer from the moment we get there, you're in for a rude surprise yourself, bud."

Norvyk banked softly to the left, following the bend of the river to the north and the sight of the mountainous Spine blocked the distant eastern horizon with its rocky bones. Instinctively, Petra gently squeezed Faramund's middle against the lurch. Knowing how unsettled he was to be up so high and without any means to control the very creature he was astride. It didn't escape her notice how much it must have taken him to trust her with this. The elf was determined to do all she could to keep his ass in the saddle and his lunch down. More so, because Petra didn't know what Norvyk would do if Faramund got vomit on his scales.

The growl that vibrated through her legs a moment later was enough to secure that hypothetical as worst-case scenario for everyone and Petra laughed away her dragon's cantankerous response.

With a lighter heart, she found herself teasing Faramund once again, "Are you saying that you miss me often then?"

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'I live to serve!' Faramund replied, unperturbed by Petra's threat. If her mum hit anything like she did, odds were he'd be okay. Tensing up slightly as Norvyk descended, Fara grimaced. The sudden, random jolts and change in altitude were doing him no favours, though he had a sneaking suspicion Norvyk was only trying to accommodate him. Or maybe that was Petra asking him to?

Stupid wyrm.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, the dawnling felt a grin tug at his lips. 'Of course I am!' He answered candidly, hoping to put Petra on the backfoot in their current bout of verbal foreplay. 'Why? Does that... surprise you?'

Grinning, he adjusted his position, knees hugging Norvyk's sides. The dragon carried them along the winding river course, over lands of oak and alder, ash and willow. The Valen was a place of great natural beauty, even at night. Petra had fierce competition in that regard.

Fara felt she was doing just fine.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"Well, yeah. I guess it does." Petra paused thoughtfully, ignoring the way her chest warmed. "Honestly, sometimes I just forget that people actually think of me when I'm not around. Like, if I'm not actively there in front of them, there's no real reason for them to perceive me. Does that make sense?"

She knew it stemmed from a place of insecure vulnerability. It was a tender hurt that was tucked deep in the farthest corners of her heart. A place that protected her from being abandoned once again by those she held dear.

So it was scary to realize just how easily Faramund was able to reach in and see her. A very real fear that he would hurt her and leave her behind like so many before him if didn't like what he discovered. To be seen with all the worst parts of yourself and still choosing to stay? Now that, that was a magic more unbelievable than dragon flight itself.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'It does.' Faramund nodded, eyes forward. He spent more time on his own than most Sworn. Scouting. Ranging. Uprooting problems and reporting them back to the Monastery for those in charge to deal with. Sometimes they sent someone to assist him on his travels. Sometimes he would run into others on the return trip.

And sometimes they ran into him. Or rather flew.

'Don't worry about it,' he said. 'Duty carries us all far, far from home. Longest I've ever been away was three months. Or maybe it was four?' He paused, mulled it over. 'The welcome I received when I made it back was... well, everything,' he smiled, shuffled about some. The monastery was home, yes, and he loved its rugged beauty with all his heart.

But he loved its people more.

A sudden malaise overcame him. Gripping the saddle horn tightly, Faramund bowed his head as a great sense of disquiet crept its way through his bones. Eyes, once golden-brown, flickered black. If Petra discovered what raced through his mind right then, she probably would have stuck a knife in his back. Assuming gravity didn't get him first.

'How far is it... to Erendale?' He asked. 'Only my dinner's decided to... disagree with me. Bloody fish!'

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

She noted the shift in Faramund's demeanor, could feel the way the muscles in his back tensed as he grew quiet before abruptly changing the subject.

Norvyk sensed her concern and spoke into Petra's thoughts a moment later, "It's not as if he can avoid your questions so far from the ground." The dragon's words punctuated by surging into an updraft before leveling out.

Choosing to ignore her dragon's advice, Petra instead allowed her friend to play into his farce. She didn't think it fair to force him to answer questions because he was stuck up here with her. As much as the thought of having him at her mercy any other day made her want to purr with a playfully sadistic satisfaction.

Turning a studied eye to the sky, the Dawnling was quiet for a moment or two while she tracked the movements of the stars. Patting Faramund's torso casually, she answered, "I reckon we'll be there by sunrise if we keep flying at this pace. So just a few hours more. Dragon flight may be fast. But this is still the Valen Wilds and Norvyk isn't exactly a portal stone. You're welcome to take a nap if you'd like." Grinning, she leaned close and teased into his ear, "And I even promise to not let you fall. Knight's honor."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Faramund felt Petra's breath tickle his ear. He thought about turning to face her, deciding at the last moment not to. Her proximity was a big enough distraction already, as his likely was for her. 'Will you hold me tight and whisper sweet nothings in my ear?' He teased back, finding enough of the old Faramund within himself to muster a response despite the sinking feeling in his stomach.

She'd be better off letting you fall.

Blinking, his gorge rising in sudden disgust, Faramund directed his gaze towards the back of Norvyk's head. What do you mean by that? Faramund demanded angrily, hoping the dragon could hear his words, and that he wasn't just talking to himself.

In answer, Norvyk turned his head to the side, golden eyes afire as they fell upon Faramund.

What do-... mean-... that? The great storm-dragon replied, his voice confused as well as annoyed. What you said, just now. About letting me fall. The dawnling tried again, the link between them tenuous at best. There was a pause. Then, Norvyk blinked.

I did no-... thing.'

It was then a sudden wave of nausea washed over Faramund. Leaning back against Petra, his head abuzz with voices, the knight tried and failed to overcome the strange sensation currently racking his body. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a time the world grew silent.

All save for the voices.

When they opened again, he was back to his old self. 'Sorry, did I-' He sat forward, glad for the harness Petra had provided. 'Shit! Did I fall asleep? Shit!'

Petra Darthinian