Private Tales Of Sand & Dragonfire

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Chaceledon laughed and soared upward. He felt as though he never wanted his feet on land again. No mere creature clinging to robes and campfires to survive. He was warmth and fire, and his flames had turned the very sands to glass. We can go anywhere, koiros, do anything! The world is ours. He flew toward Maraan. Doubtless they had not seen a dragon in a very long time, and he intended to make an entrance. Celebrating by getting you a cup of sweet cold water and making love in the best Maraanian inn we can find is what I plan.

A few days away by foot was nothing to a dragon. It took less than an hour to fly over the trading city, and quite obviously cause sheer panic. Chaceledon cried out and threw another gout of flame high into the air, showing off his scales and power to the crowds below. No doubt visions of their town being razed to the ground danced in their heads, and Chaceledon was too pleased with his display to notice. He went straight up into the air, a ribbon of scales and fur...and all of a sudden, Seteta was holding him as a man again.

They didn’t seem to be plummeting the thousand or so feet to the ground. Chaceledon was resplendent in orange robes that matched his hair, layers of orange blossom, pale milky silks, and gold. He held her in his arms, his eyes full of love and adoration. “Let me show you how a dragon makes an entrance.” he whispered with a spark of mischief, offering the crook of his arm to her. Magic flooded through his skin. “Walk, as though descending a staircase. Chin up. Head forward. Don’t look down.”

He stepped ‘downward’ to show her, and offered his hand.

Seteta
 
Seteta continued to cling to Chaceledon's mane, and though his speed and the height of his flight still sent her senses whirling, and not always in the best of ways, nothing could stop the joy that thrummed through her as he spoke.

Chaceledon said:
We can go anywhere, koiros, do anything! The world is ours. He flew toward Maraan. Doubtless they had not seen a dragon in a very long time, and he intended to make an entrance. Celebrating by getting you a cup of sweet cold water and making love in the best Maraanian inn we can find is what I plan.
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It seemed a fine plan to her, for the most part.

When they reached Maraan, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at his display, although if one could see her, an amused smile would have been observed as well. Then, she was clinging tightly to him again as he flew straight up into the air until suddenly it was his more familiar form she clung to, and she settled her head against his shoulder for a moment, arms slipping around his waist, as her pulse calmed.

Chaceledon said:
“Let me show you how a dragon makes an entrance.” he whispered with a spark of mischief, offering the crook of his arm to her. Magic flooded through his skin. “Walk, as though descending a staircase. Chin up. Head forward. Don’t look down.”

He stepped ‘downward’ to show her, and offered his hand.
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"Sehejib," she spoke quietly as she took his arm, glancing down for a just a moment and yanking her eyes back to his face as her face paled slightly. "How are we going to pay for an inn?"

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon tittered a laugh, touching her cheek and looking into her eyes. “A god who comes out of the sky and could obliterate this town doesn’t pay for a damned thing.” he told her with a mischievous look. He guided her down as though down a sweeping staircase, head up and eyes forward. Unafraid of falling. Seteta wouldn’t feel anything but warm air supporting her feet, like a plush carpet of magic.

Chaceledon’s feet hit the ground and he tossed his hair a bit, looking at the assembly of stunned faces in the marketplace. “I need a room for the night, as much cold water as you will supply, tea, and food. In return for lodging you will have the favor of Hokkaido’s dahn.” he announced.

They would be fielding requests for half a day if the response was anything to go by. Chaceledon chose an inn that looked clean and somewhat expensive, and kissed Seteta‘s cheek. “Your finest bed.” he purred to the innkeeper without taking his eyes off her.

Seteta
 
Despite Chaceledon's obvious control of his magic, and that he wouldn't let her fall, Seteta couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief when her feet touched the earth again. She bit at the inside of her lip a little nervously as Chaceledon... bartered the favor of his dahn for the favors of the townspeople and innkeepers. It was an odd form of currency for her, but she wasn't unfamiliar with it. Her tribe had just never been prestigious enough to utilize it.

She let him take care of all of it. Even if some of it was baffling to her, Chaceledon was clearly in his element here, and she wouldn't spoil it for him after he'd waited for so long.

When he leaned in and kissed her cheek, she couldn't hold back a beaming smile.

Chaceledon said:
“Your finest bed.” he purred to the innkeeper without taking his eyes off her.
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Her face flushed slightly, though more from anticipation than embarrassment, but she still turned to the innkeeper and said, "Your finest available bed, please."

She didn't mind Chaceledon using influence to acquire things, but kicking someone out of a room they were already in just didn't sit well with her.

Chaceledon
 
The innkeeper flushed and fished keys from a rack, offering them to Chaceledon. Chaceledon dangled the keys in front of Seteta, smiling at her. “Hold these, darling.” he whispered, dropping them on her breasts and sweeping her into his arms. He never took his eyes off of her as they headed upstairs.

It wasn’t the finest bed in Maraan, to be sure, but it was large and clean. Spacious, linen and cotton sheets, and plenty of pillows. The room was next to a small balcony with a beaded curtain, sweeping cool breezes toward them. Chaceledon carried her across the tacky rug and playfully dropped her on the bed. He clambered atop her on all fours, grinning down at her. “My keys?”

Seteta
 
"What keys?" Seteta blinked up at him as Chaceledon crawled over her, her eyes wide with feigned innocence and a mischievous smile teasing at her lips.

Then her gaze turned a little more serious, though no less heated, and she reached up to stroke her fingers over his cheek, then down, and she tucked his hair back over his shoulder.

"I love you." She smiled softly. "You've never asked what sehejib means. You're the only one I've ever called that."

She pushed herself up, just enough to press her lips to his. "It means the one who makes my heart glad."

Chaceledon
 
Seteta couldn't help humming quietly to herself, nor the lightness to her steps, as she and Chaceledon traipsed back downstairs. She was clean, though in desperate need of new clothes or freshly laundered ones, and her heart was contented, and her body sated... at least with one need. Now, though, she was famished.

"Sehejib," she murmured, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, "what desert fare have you missed the most? We should have that first."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon was in a buzz of happiness. Clean, though his bath had taken over two hours after Seteta had finished, and hungry. Gods, he was hungry! Being so cold for so long he hadn’t realized he wasn’t eating adequately. He’d been so cold, so sleepy, so sluggish, that anything he’d eaten had been like throwing a gigantic log on dying coals.

He proudly looked down at his lover. His koiros, the woman who painted the skies for him. She did look a bit ragged; he needed to burn her clothing and make her something suitable. He eyed her. “My darling, you’ve already given me something I sorely missed eating.” he smirked.

He set them down in the tavern he’d carried her through on the way up to their room, and ordered a small bowl of rice and grilled chicken. He ate a third of it, daintily, and let Seteta have whatever she wanted. He’d barely eaten enough to satisfy a housecat. “Darling...we do need to make haste to Annuakat. I feel so terrible for leaving Rheinhard behind...and knowing that wraith has his claws in him again...I can’t just go home, or pretend everything is right again. At least now we don’t have to worry about anything but water; I can fly us.”

Seteta
 
There was only one thing Seteta could do in response to that sort of comment.

She elbowed him in the ribs, and not daintily either.

Once in the tavern, Seteta smiled at the sight of a few other Abtati. They weren't any she knew, but to hear her own tongue again was a delight, and one of the servers was conversing with the others in fluent Abtat.

When they seated themselves at a table, another server quickly approached them, and though Seteta looked askance at Chaceledon's meager request, she chattered away in Abtat, ordering several of her favorite dishes. Hopefully, everyone in town knew by now that the copper-haired stranger with lavender eyes was the dragon, and they wouldn't have to slink out of the place without paying.

When their food came, Seteta bit back no small amount of irritation at the little amount of food that Chaceledon ate. She herself feasted on lamb kabobs, cucumber salad, and wedges of melon. When Chaceledon set aside his dish of rice and chicken after eating a mere third of it, she scowled. He began to speak before she could swallow the food currently in her mouth, though.

Chaceledon said:
“Darling...we do need to make haste to Annuakat. I feel so terrible for leaving Rheinhard behind...and knowing that wraith has his claws in him again...I can’t just go home, or pretend everything is right again. At least now we don’t have to worry about anything but water; I can fly us.”
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"Can you?" Seteta's voice was skeptical as her gaze fell to Chaceledon's dish. "Perhaps for a while, when you were cold and kept from your true form, that little amount of food could sustain you. But it won't be sufficient now."

She picked up a lamb kabob and set it across his unfinished bowl of rice and chicken, and slid a melon wedge across to him as well.

"We're not going anywhere until you eat all of that. I've no desire to fall from the sky because you wear out halfway between here and Annuakat."

Really, she'd rather that he ate far more, but if he wasn't used to it, it would make him ill. They would have to work up to it gradually.

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon cleared his throat, rubbing his ribs where she’d elbowed him. For such a small woman, she had very sharp elbows. He knew she wanted him to eat more, especially with that look at his bowl. She slid across a melon wedge and a lamb kabob, and he looked down. He didn’t quite know what to do with the feast in front of him, so he picked up the melon wedge and ate a very small slice of it.

“I won’t fall out of the sky, don’t be silly.” he muttered. He couldn’t eat this much. He’d get fat. He was horrified of being fat. Entire estates had been cleaved in two and entire dahns obliterated because someone was making the children chubby. He ate a small piece of the lamb and a bit more of his rice, then pushed it back towards her. “That’s enough excess for today I should think. Now, you’re in desperate need of new clothing. I saw a shop across the street. I won’t be a moment.”

Seteta
 
"Chaceledon." Seteta's voice was firm, broaching on argument as he began to rise from his seat, and she reached across to snag his wrist before he could move away.

"I'm going to stay in these nasty, dirty clothes no matter what you might buy to replace them if you don't sit down and eat that food."

She smiled up sweetly at him, then. "And if I have to stay in them so long that they disintegrate into dust, then I shall simply walk around naked for all to see."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon sighed and sat down again, looking at the food. “Seteta...I can’t.” he rubbed the back of his neck, and nibbled quietly at the melon. Maybe he could...just get it over with. Eat like Rheinhard did. Just putting things in his stomach. He wouldn’t gain too much weight from one meal, could he? He was flying it off soon anyway. He was shredding the melon more than eating it. He finished the slice, or rather what was left of it, and looked nervously at the kabob and rice bowl.

Quickly, then, like downing alcohol. Thank the gods it wasn’t sweets. He ate the rest of the food quickly, and felt that...rock in the pit of his stomach. That feeling of fullness. He sat up with a deep breath, and stood. “We are replacing those dish rags on you.” he said sternly. He walked outside, made sure he was out of sight of the inn, and vomited into the nearest ornamental vase. His body was repulsed by that feeling. He was repulsed by it. He wiped his mouth and took a moment to center himself.

He would wash his hands and his mouth out before he returned to Seteta. It didn’t take him long to pick out a sensible abaya and light linen pants, along with some goggles for flying and a scarf for her face and mouth. He set them on the table a bit shakily, and sat down again. “There. Now no one in Annuakat will mistake you for a beggar.”

Seteta
 
Her own food, delicious as it was, seemed to turn to sand in her mouth as Seteta watched Chaceledon eat. He ate far too quickly, and when he stood and declared that her 'dish rags' would be replaced, it was with the air of a child who would have his own way, no matter what, but was trying to hide it.

She waited quietly, picking at her food, until he returned.

His hands shook as he set the neatly folded stack of clothing on the table. Seteta was silent as he sat down again.

Chaceledon said:
“There. Now no one in Annuakat will mistake you for a beggar.”
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"I find no shame in being mistaken for a beggar," Seteta said softly. "Where did you get the clothing? I'll take them back."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon gave her a look. “Then I won’t tell you where I’ve gotten them. Please, koiros, you are clean but those clothes have seen better days. They’re destined for the rag pile. Here, these are the same style.” he tapped the clothing. “Minus the lenses. They’re for your eyes to protect them while we fly.”

She knew, didn’t she? That he hadn’t eaten the food? Or at least, hadn’t been able to keep it down. It was difficult to explain to her...but it had been an immediate reaction to get sick. He had visions of his mother teaching him how to purge when he was a child to make his frame skinnier and better looking. Bottles of things like ipecac were so commonplace in draconian households they might as well have been towels. How could he explain to her that to him, to his people, dragons were supposed to be above excess?

One was either skinny and beautiful or muscular, and he hadn’t been as skilled as his brother or father at putting on muscle like that. He sighed. “Would you please let the food thing go? I haven’t passed out in the air since I started flying and I’ve eaten more today than I have in weeks.”

Seteta
 
"You weren't gone long," Seteta stated. "There's only a limited amount of shops you could have been to in this span of time. I'll find them."

His next words, though, sent a chill through her.

Chaceledon said:
“Would you please let the food thing go? I haven’t passed out in the air since I started flying and I’ve eaten more today than I have in weeks.”
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He had passed out in the air before?

She sat in stony silence for several minutes, just trying to process what he'd said. And everything he wasn't saying, too.

"We won't be flying," Seteta said at last, and held up a hand before Chaceledon could protest.

"This morning was the first time you'd flown in seventeen-thousand years," she continued. "You don't have sufficient fuel within your body to maintain your present form, let alone your dragon form in flight."

Her jaw clenched angrily, but most of her anger was not with him, and so she took a deep breath, and pushed it away. Now was not the time.

But if what Oor had said was true, that Chaceledon's dahn had disowned him, perhaps it was for the best, if these dangerous habits had come from them in the first place, and from some of the things the Volkers had told her, she suspected that was the case.

"We will join a caravan to reach Annuakat," she said. "I will not allow you to endanger yourself or me by flying such a great distance when you're not in the physical condition to do so. Neither of us can help Rheinhard if we are dead."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon huffed in frustration. “You need clothing.” he said sharply. “Don’t be silly and start some crusade because I won’t stuff myself. I want to be able to fit through the door of my own estate thank you very much. I haven’t let standards slip in seventeen thousand years and I’m not about to start now. Not this close to home, anyway.” She was angry with him. It would take a blind man not to see it. What had she thought, that when they reached the sands he would start eating like Rheinhard did when he prepared for winter?

“A caravan could take weeks. Maybe longer. I can get us there in a day, with much more privacy and less people.” Chaceledon urged her. “Koiros, do you really think I’d put you on my back if you were in danger in any way?”

He hoped she wouldn’t return the clothing. She needed it and her abaya was beyond saving. She needed soft sandals, airy linens, to make it through the desert. Not the rags she’d worn in a troll-infested swamp.

Seteta
 
"If I need clothing, then you need fuel for your body," Seteta replied. "And a caravan to Annuakat will take ten days, at most. It's an established route, we wouldn't be meandering through the desert."

Seteta sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. This was backfiring so badly.

"I don't think that you would willingly endanger me, sehejib," she said softly at last. "But it's been seventeen thousand years since you took your dragon form. I know that it's an inherent part of you, and magic consists of a lot of it, but expecting you to be able to fly like you did back then without taking care of your body now, especially after all you've been through... would be like me trying to build a castle with my magic right after being ill."

She reached over and rested a hand gently on his. "Please, sehejib," she pleaded. "You won't be able to help Rheinhard if you don't have the physical strength to do so."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon grasped her hand gently, and looked at her strangely. Did she think he ate the way he did because of his confinement? He had eaten that way since he was hatched. It hadn’t been any self-imposed starvation, though food was scarce in Witherhold at times. He kissed her hand. She truly thought he was starving, and weak, and wouldn’t be able to carry them further.

He restrained himself from carrying the argument further. She didn’t understand how his people worked. It seemed only fair that he bring her to that knowledge slowly, since being confronted with it head-on disturbed her so. How would she feel if she knew he was being oh-so-casual? He hoped there was another dragon between here and Annuakat; there had been other dahns when he had left. Their families were few and proud, but surely a few of them would have had children by now?

Or at least, child negotiations would be decently far along.

He rose and rolled his shoulders. “Well then, I suppose we had best find a caravan. Go ahead and change, we’ll get dirty enough on the road.” he tried to keep his tone gentle.

Seteta
 
Seteta bit her lip, but nodded. It was as good as she was going to get him to agree to for now. Ferenzi had said that Chaceledon's mother had forced him to eat just cucumbers and water for a month. This was an issue that went very deeply into his past, even before Oor, and she had no idea how to begin challenging that aspect of dragon culture.

She gathered up the clothes, a little sad now that she'd lost the robes Chaceledon had first fitted for her back in the shop in Fal'Addas before she ever had the chance to wear them, and stood when he did.

"Come with me?" she said, smiling softly, and slipping her hand into his as she went to change. "We might find a caravan that agrees to take us on this afternoon, but no one will be leaving till morning anyway. We have some time."

Seteta did not want the special moments they'd shared so far today to be marred by this... disagreement. As much as Chaceledon's strict habits with food concerned her, as certain as she was that no matter what he said he was not eating enough, she knew it was not something she could force on him in an a day.

So for now, she would wait. He had, at least, agreed to the caravan.

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon took her hand and looked at her, a soft smile replacing the anxious look he’d had on his face. “My beauty, I have all the energy in the world to help you into bed. And if I ever falter, please get Rheinhard to force feed me cake.” he said jokingly. A caravan it was. How bad could it be? He didn’t much favor rattling along in another cart for two more weeks, but he’d waited this long to fly. He could make it a little longer.

He took her in his arms upstairs and kissed her, his hands sliding down her rib cage. “And you’re mad if you think I’d miss a moment of time with you.”

Seteta
 
"You jest," Seteta said, eyes narrowing, as they ascended the stairs hand in hand. "But I will hold you to it if the occasion ever demands."

Once back in their room, she set the new clothing aside, and welcomed Chaceledon's arms around her, stretching up to meet his kiss.

"I know you're eager to reunite with Rheinhard," she whispered, "but forgive me if I'm selfish for a little while. We've had so little time together lately where we weren't surrounded by people and trying to save the world."

She tugged at his clothes, pulling them off a layer at a time, kissing each patch of skin as it was exposed, eventually pushing him back to the bed. She stripped her own clothes off, dropping them carelessly on the floor. They were filthy and almost threadbare in places now, and had served her well.

Seteta smiled at Chaceledon, then pushed him back to lie on the bed, and settled next to him on her side, her face even with his. Slowly, gently, her fingers stroked over his face--his brow, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, his chin--and she followed the path of her touch with gentle kisses, and then her hands settled on his chest as she pressed her forehead to his.

"I love you," she murmured. "No matter what disagreements we may have, don't ever forget that."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon laid back on the bed, and welcomed her into his arms. He was content to lay there and look at her, his fingers tracing the curve of one hip and the shape of her thigh. “I love you. I think once I show you what it means to be a dragon...what I was raised with...you’ll understand. It’s ingrained. I’ll try, just not all at once.” he told her softly, lifting his hand to brush away a flyaway bit of hair.

The mention of Rheinhard made him smile. “You’ll be as selfish as you please on my estate. It’s tradition to keep the estates of dead dahni, family members, as though they were alive. It shouldn’t have changed a bit. Once we’re there, we’re free. You and I. Rheinhard, well, we can distract Rheinhard with any assortment of well-built guardsmen.” he snickered.

Seteta
 
At Chaceledon's words, Seteta quietly sighed. She suspected there was much about dragon culture that she was going to disagree with. Dislike. Perhaps even hate. Right now... she was trying to move too quickly. She knew too little to take be able to tackle anything problematic, she realized.

She'd thought that perhaps the thing about food had been... a family thing. Or an issue with Chaceledon's mother. She hadn't realized it was a cultural thing.

It's going to take a great deal of compromise on both our ends, she thought. If we have children together. But one thing I won't tolerate is starving my children. I don't care what his family might think.

As he spoke of Rheinhard, though, she smiled.

"We'll find someone for him," she murmured. "Someone who can handle who he is, and the darkness of what Oor has cursed his family with."

Her hands began to quietly wander over Chaceledon's skin, mapping every curve and line of muscle, every scar.

"Tell me about your family," she asked. "About your dahn. The type of things I need to know when I meet them."

Her wandering hands paused for a moment. "Ah... I should probably start teaching you Abtat. If my hopeful-husband cannot speak the tongue of my birth... Muti will be highly disappointed."

Chaceledon
 
Chaceledon contentedly threw his robes over her, bringing her closer to him under them. He kissed her, settling his head on the pillow. She wanted to know more about his dahn? He could accommodate that. He missed them, and they were so close. Only a flight away.

“Dragons are led by mated pairs. A dahna, mother, and dahnesh, father. Fathers usually name feats of skill for their daughters’ and sons’ hands in marriage...if I remember right, my father had to make a thousand glass flowers before dawn, each unique and thoughtful. They couldn’t just be copies. My mother was in love with another man, but Hokkaido won, so she wed him.” he smiled softly. “I have a sister, Carnelia, and a brother Cassius. Get it? Chaceldony, carnelian, and cassetite. All gemstones. Mothers choose the names of their children, and they usually choose things from their dahn. My mother Peridot was gifted in glassblowing and gemstones, so we were named after gems.”

Chaceledon brushed her hair with his fingers, and drew a small tendril down to braid while he talked. “Carnelia is shamed. She married against my parents’ will, to a hedahn, or someone who doesn’t have a family. As far as I know, they were cast away from the deserts and I haven’t seen her since. Cassius is gifted in metalwork and weaponry; I don’t think he’s taken a husband or wife yet. No one took after our father; maps and the stars.”

“Dragons are raised to be works of art. Living works of art. We dance, we sing, we learn instruments, poetry, the art of conversation. Beauty in everything we do, even combat. My mother is going to go to pieces looking at my fingernails. Appearance is everything to a dragon, and once you’re old enough, older dragons can bid on your nemahji, your virginity. It..” he vaguely gestured, “...establishes your standing. A hedahn purchased you? You are hedahn yourself. A famous and well regarded dragon purchased you? Maybe a dahnesh? You’ll find marriage proposals more easy. I was sold to a dahnesh for bolts of cloth, slaves, and gemstones. Things significant to my house. Then I disappointed them by being obstinate. Funny enough Carnelia was a virgin when she eloped, and Cassius a dahnessar; an uncle of ours.”

Seteta
 
Seteta hummed quietly and snuggled close, returning Chaceledon's kiss. She'd missed their quiet, intimate rest times in the nights from early in their journey. While she was glad that he, at least, was free from Oor now, there had been moments beforehand that she enjoyed immensely.

She listened, smiling at the way he spoke of his family. She wondered how he could be so confident about what his family was doing now, but she supposed if their lifespans were as long as tens and hundreds of thousands of years, then perhaps his being gone for long enough that the Abtati had built an empire and then passed into forgetfulness, it was still only like... a few years, or decades at most, to the reckoning of a dragon. Perhaps that was why his family had never tried to get in touch with him.

Seteta pushed the thought of the letter Oor had tried to show her away. Even if it was real, even if Oor had insisted that Chaceledon would recognize Hokkaido's script, the chances of forgery were too high, and she wouldn't burden Chaceledon with that knowledge.

Besides, if one was to be disowned by their family, a letter was a cowardly way to handle that.

When he started braiding strands of her hair, she laughed quietly, but didn't stop him. She'd noticed that he liked to do things with his hands almost all the time.

"It's... sad that your mother had to marry someone she didn't love," Seteta murmured when Chaceledon finished speaking. "I hope that she grew to love your father."

Her fingers continued to slowly, gently, stroke and swirl over Chaceledon's skin. Sensual, for now, but not sexual. She just wanted to be surrounded by him. His warmth, his scent. Gazing into his violet eyes until the world around her fell away completely.

She was quiet for a few moments, parsing out her thoughts and which questions she wanted to ask. She had a lot of things she wanted to say about dragons being raised to be living works of art but figured she should hold her tongue on those matters for now.

"So... the nemahji," she asked first. "Is it like... a fostering, of sorts, if it establishes standing? Where you're still a member of your dahn, but the one who acquires you is similar to a mentor?"

Seteta gnawed at her lip a little nervously then. "If I have to complete some feat of skill to win your hand, what is your father most likely to request of me?"

Chaceledon
 
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