The cloaked figure pulled back the length of the bow and released an arrow across the archery range. The blade cut through the air like a speeding knife and hit the target just centimeters off-center. A shiver rippled through her back and she cussed just barely under her breath in a foreign language. She lifted her free hand, which was covered by a black gauntlet, and the projectile tore itself from its place and returned to the palm of the shadowy creature. Another archer, a half-elf dressed in leather that was obviously embracing the more immortal side of their lineage, turned briefly to confusedly study the cloaked person beside him. But after a few seconds of obvious befuddlement, he returned to his own work. The woman placed the arrow back in her quiver and turned around abruptly. The faint outline of a wet nose sitting atop a canine mouth, and the glint of daggerlike teeth, appeared and disappeared from the shadow cast by her hood. Her eyes caught something in the distance and she hung her bow on her back, proceeding to exit the archery range and survey the Outdoor Training Arena for an ideal place to continue practicing.
A spot such as that was found, although it was currently being occupied by two heavily-built swordsmen partaking in a friendly practice fight. The cloak of the creature flew behind her as she rammed into one of the duelists with the side of her torso. The attack was so unexpected on the man's part that he toppled over, much to the confusion of the other fighter. He leapt back to his feet and picked up his sword, proceeding to hold the weapon up to the cloaked figure's neck. She backed away with her hands in the air, but the swordsman continued his silent threat. He pulled his sword from its lethal position to push down her hood. What was revealed to him was the grinning, sadistic face of Ita the Reckless. She withdrew her submissive gesture almost immediately and pulled her own blade, a Blood Sword. The fighter that had not been tackled by Ita recognized her and ran away, but the other man was blinded by anger and thus had no care for whom he was dealing with. The two of them dueled for several seconds before the man collapsed to the ground, his stomach sliced open. Ita kicked him out of the way and turned her attention toward the horizon. 'Charlotte. It is time. How far are you and Dengar from the Outdoor Training Arena, if I may ask?' she thought to her daughter, sheathing her blade.
Charlotte had decided not to bring Pepper today, for the simple fact that was a valuable horse. A horse that might end up stolen, killed, or perhaps even just covered in scrolls. Either way, the horse could stay home. Instead Charlotte was casting a long, black shadow across the ground. Her great red wings were stretched out across the sky, their full and extremely impressive wingspan of twenty feet catching a variety of fearful looks from the ground. Then an impressive building came into sight, which was very different from the Training Arena as she knew it. What in the world happened? Did Lothlomendil randomly decide to make an entire arena poof into existence? But this was of little matter.
A little bit of Chaos invaded her mind, and then Ita inquired where she was. Charlotte answered simply with an image of how far away she was, using her own sight.
But Dengar, I wouldn't know. She answered. Her thought voice sounded a little annoyed. Training had been nasty this morning, a man's crossbow snapped, and the string nearly took out his eye. The field medics and surgeons saved him, but Charlotte had to pay a sum for his retirement. Some days, it was miserable being a mercenary general. Dengar wasn't her responsibility at the least. Certainly he was her brigadier general, but only on the field.
She adjusted her glide, and went into a gradual slope that brought her into the front of the building. There she simply strode through, tracking her mother's presence. The crowds had begun to gather, and as she walked into main arena complex. Surrounding them both was hordes of people, all chanting for blood. This was amusing, unless Ita truly planned for this to be a blood sport of sorts.
Then her day would simply get even worse. The archdemon flicked the visor down on her helm, and laughed. This laugh brought silence through the whole crowd, simply because it was so typical, and so unlike what they expected from Tarian'Amarth. Her hand went down to her zweihender at her hip, and another on the dagger that lay concealed in the skirt of her Bloodshed armor.
"Mother, what would the plan be today? I hope that it doesn't involve satisfying these people's desires." Charlotte explained. That was the honest truth of the matter, she didn't want to fight her mother or her uncle. It would end badly, and specifically for the mortal. She would survive, no doubt, but not without a significant amount of her blood staining the arena. And winning would be near impossible for her. But at the very least, perhaps it would be fun.
She drew her blade in the normal fashion, throwing the scabbard onto the ground and raising the blade into the air. Her other hand quickly darted back to her dagger, and she gave an exhasperated sigh. If this was a combat, she would be seriousling thinking about taking a nice long vacation. Somewhere warm and sunny.
Dengar was on his way to the Outdoor Training arena in Salquedor in a much more interesting way than most other people would get there. He was currently speeding through the air inside the belly of a dragon. The story to as how he had managed to get inside a dragon alive and whole, was very long and complex, and would be told another day. The point was that the Dragon was loosing height at a rate which was dangerous.
Furiously, the guardian tried to hammer his way out of the 'belly of the beast' before he was consumed by its many stomach acids. His Blade of war was not strong enough to rip through the tough flesh and scale of a dragon, and no matter how hard he hammered at the side of the bruised stomach, it just wouldn’t cut through! Bubbling acids were now filling up very slowly in the bottom of the stomach. Dengar's war boots were fairly protective, but he didn't want to risk them being kept under the acid for too long.
The dragon was plummeting through the air now, but for what reason? Perhaps he had accidentally ripped a hole in it’s throat whilst sliding down it’s oesophagus, or maybe it just choked to death the moment Dengar entered it’s mouth. He pounded his fists on the side of the stomach in a desperate and futile attempt to escape before impact with the floor, but his efforts were too late. The Dragon slammed into the stands, just behind the archery range. The impact sent all the fluids in the monster’s stomach flying and completely washed over Dengar’s armour. The Lizarian curled up into a ball to minimize the risk of getting coated in weak spots (neck or eyes). A rib cracked through the flesh of the stomach, creating a big enough gash for the hulking guardian to squeeze through. Now his only barrier to the outside world and fresh air was a thick hide of Dragon skin, but this was now a lot easier to tear open seeing as it was battered and bruised from the landing. With an almighty swing he ripped his way out of the Dragon with one swipe from his Blade of war, and stumbled out gasping for air.
At least the Dragon had taken him to his destination, and as Dengar stepped forward to the crowd of people gathered around a fighting arena, he shoved his way past many civillians who got in his way. Luckily for them, he did not kill them and eat them. These days he was more restricted on his needless rampaging and bloodthirsty attacks on villagers, as he was not permitted to attack civillians unless authorized by an employer or Charlotte. Dengar was an animal, a savage. It was not natural for him to be kept under such restraints as these, although his concentration on the rules did seem to lapse slightly whenever he was away from the Blood Ravens.
As he got to the front of the crowd, he just got a glimpse of Charlotte and Ita conversing together. Dengar strode forwards and nodded towards his niece, a sign of acknowledgement and spoke in a gruff and low voice, “You called master?” A drop of acid ran down his visor as he spoke and melted it’s way into one of Dengar’s scales. Thankfully, his scales where thick enough to take away the stinging pain of small drops of acid so he did not react to the small amount of steam which was released with contact with him.