Of appearances and other deceits (Apprentice Shapeshifting, Crimson please)

[Darkthael Morgreed]

Midday of Kuras, Ninth Brightening of the First Cycle of Pontius
in the Season of Winter, Era I of the Celestine Mandate,
Era XV Post Fractum.

It was a sunny and slightly breezy brigthening of Pontius, the kind of brigthening most people expend outdoors, particularly in a place like Jaedaxia. The streets across the oldest and best looking parts of the city were filled with people, as were most of the many parks and squares inside the city walls.

Even Daelen, elven mask of the dracon Darkthael, had convinced his creator to take a short stroll amidst the people of the city. The elf was looking forwards for an opportunity to meet people of importance, or posibly admirators among the masses walking in the sun. While the inner-dracon, disgusted with softskin crowds, nonetheless believed that going out at times would help him keep appearances. And who knows, perhaps he would find something of interest outside this brigthening.

----
ooc: Can you work with this Crimson?

[Crimson]

The elf lord with the dracon heart walked amongst the crowded boulevards of the frost-kiseed city known as Jaedaxia. Atop its shingled roofs, castle spires, and sky-reaching structures was fresh snow; and even as he walked, Daelen shivered as the powder fell from the heavens. It was not unlike Trysvale here ... but perhaps colder and a bit more dry. No more farms, no more large expanses of flat, boring land. Nay, there was life here, an atmosphere of excitement, an eternal story unweaving every moment of every brightening.

Peasants wore their work clothes covered with several more layers of cloth, some had cloaks though those were expensive; merchants preferred the fur-ringed coats and matching cloves, maybe even knee high boots. Those were the fashionable choices that season. Dark colored, embroidered vests, leggings, silk suits, etc -- flashy clothes meshed with graying, worn rags. Those made up the crowd of Jaedaxians moving on the cold, slippery cobblestones east of the Southern Quarter. The dracon was not yet used to the pace of life here in the city but he would be soon. The signs too were in some odd half-charismean lettering he could hardly make out. More than once he heard some rapid sounding language he could not comprehend either.

Jaedaxia was a strange but beautiful place.

And depending where he went, it was about to get more interesting.

Secrets : OOC: I can work with it Check out the OFFICIAL MAP and point out where you want to go. That will keep us both on the same page about your whereabouts

[Darkthael Morgreed]

Daelen was surprised by the chilly climate of the city when he fist arrived half a cycle ago. His clothes were warm enough for Trysvale's winter, which was marked enough, yet still he had considered adding a fur coat several times since his arrival to Jaedaxia. As he walked among the whitely tinted landscape, snow began to fall over his head and he shivered a little. Many Jaedaxians hurried at his side, seemingly oblivious to the cold, going about their own little quests and mundane adventures.

He had walked slowly, a bit lost among the fast moving flow of people, sounds, smells and sights of the city. Neither Darkthael, nor his seemings had before been in a community of this size. Born in the accursed diantar village and having lived only in the small farming town of Trysvale after that, Darkthael felt the change quite a bit, and would be surprised to hear that Jaedaxia wasn't the biggest city in the Empire.

Eventually he had arrived at southern quarter of the city, the area known to the locals as Ponts. He found himself surrounded by old houses and a few impressive buildings, some of which seemed to belong to the government and various academies of the city. Daelen wondered for a while what kind of people would live or work on some of the particularly ornate buildings and how would it feel to own one such a place, without even realizing he was staring right at the thanal estate.

The inner-dracon, slightly worried about getting lost in the big city that was so foreign to him, was keeping an eye for any signs and sites that he could use as a reference to undo his way. His mind was even more alert than usual in this strange place.

After a few moments, he resumed his way, wondering where fate would now lead him.

[Crimson]

The Fates were a curious thing on this little tip of the Carmelyn peninsula. The Gift of the Empire had endured seiges, depression, recession, vampires, and now pirates. Where others have perished, Jaedaxia endured. She was as ancient as any golden dragon rumored to live within her, and as clever and cunning as the wisest magus who dared defy her will. Just beyond the pointed roofs and the gothic architecture were chateaus, stone fortresses of rich men, powerful men who lived nearer the clouds than ordinary folk.

But the dracon was seeking something else. He wanted more than to blend into the shadows like some common thief; no he wanted much more. A different seeming, an entirely new life each time he closed his eyes and endured torture beyond pain. This was his heart's desire. And for several precious moments, his heart sang a hymn of excitement until something within the recess of his mind buzzed a warning. It felt as though someone just tried to stick a taloned finger through his ear to touch the surface of his mind.

Wandering tensely for several more moments, the elf lord seeming checked over one shoulder to the next but found no one. Occasionally, a random Jaedaxian would scurry past him -- but usually on the opposite side of the sidewalk he was trodding on. La Ponts was an interesting place but at this candlemark, most of its inhabitants were either at work or within the respective locations of their trade.

Then, Darkthael felt it again. Something caused a ripple in his subconscious as one would against a calm watery surface. What was it? Who was it?

Laughter.

"Clever dracon" came a muffled voice. Spinning around the elf lord would suddenly find himself several paces from a cloaked figure with a turban, his mouth covered with a frilly colored scarf. He stood just about Darkthael's height but seemed thinner though it was hard to tell against his layered clothing. "You are not from here" he went on. The man had dark skin, human for the most part, but his eyes were a dark amber color -- a sure sign of a bad shapeshift. He blinked and his eyes widened in amusement. "Speak then, scalebrother, what is your true form's name?"

[Darkthael Morgreed]

Ignorant of the long and troubled history of the walls, roads and buildings in which midst he traveled, Daelen was nonetheless marveled by the appearance of their current state. The elven mind was an admirer of beauty and sophistication, and thus appreciated the Gift of the Empire and it's view and important houses with jealous admiration. The third mind was therefore easily distracted by the glamour of the city.

Not so the inner-dracon. When the intrusive, defiling, horrible touch of the call came to him, he instantly reacted. His eyes looked around for anything they could find suspicious and for close or immediate threats. His hearing sharpened, in case steps where already directed towards him. But it was his mind, his most valuable sense, that was immediately sent in pursuit of the intruder. He attempted to locate the other with the call, to find the exact position of the offending scalekin and start walking in the opposite direction immediately.

But, at least in the use of the call, the stranger seemed to be much more experienced than himself. Before he could even get a general direction of the dracon, the other contacted him, and Darkthael responded. Though no words left Daelen's lips.

- Darkthael is my true name as a dracon, if you must know. Who are you that is skilled in the arts of our kind, yet can't or won't fully hide his appearance? - He answered the question using the call himself. Trying to produce a defiant tone with his still imperfect sending. Touching the mind of the other was painful, more so than it had been with Leilani or Paean. Perhaps it was just because the inner-dracon was afraid and felt less at ease in this strange new place, but Darkthael perceived a stronger discomfort than usual in his contact with the scalebrother's signature.

Suddenly, the weight of his trusted sword in the left side of Darkthael's belt became curiously calming and reassuring. He eyed carefully the stranger, looking for visible weapons, but knowing fully well invisible ones could be just as deadly. How powerful was this one's grasp of the call? And why did he show his true eyes?

[Crimson]

Every moment Darkthael used the Call, it felt like scratching against a metal surface with his bare teeth. The sensation was not surprising, but that didn't mean it was any more pleasant. Regardless, he knew this particular dracon's signature now ... he may have a hard time sneaking up on Darkthael again in the future. His sword, secure against his side, provided relative comfort though the hooded, scarfed, and turbaned dracon may not have thought so. He had no weapons visible, but that may just be a pleasant trick to lure unsuspecting muggers into their death.

"Darkthael" he repeated, though not with the Call. His voice was course much like rocky sand but still muffled by the thick colorful scarf he wore around the bottom half of his face "welcome to the City of Fates, the Gift of the Empire. You are searching for something" he went on "what do you seek in my icy corner of Jaedaxia?" Once more, the stranger's amber eyes brightened hinting at a hidden grin. "As for my appearance" he carried on after Darkthael replied "I prefer to mould the way softskins see me however I please. Some call it vanity, I call it practice. Heh."

"If it's skindancing you seek, I happen to know someone rather close to my heart" he added after a stiff chuckle "are you willing to pay? Or are you as broke as you look?"

[Darkthael Morgreed]

The elven seeming flinched almost imperceptibly at the mention of his true form's name. He looked discretely around for anyone who could have listened what the stranger had just said, but chose not to comment on it for the moment.

What was he searching in Jaedaxia? Well, that was easy to answer, assuming Darkthael would want to answer. Would this alarming character know anything about a Golden Dragon in the city? It was not impossible, since the scalebrother would probably be as interested as Darkthael himself about rumors of such a creature's existence. But just now he couldn't bring himself to trust this person, so he didn't answer at first, and let him speak for a bit more.

"A... brave attitude to deliberately show yourself as scalekin while wearing their skin for a mask" - Commented Darkthael in low voice, speaking now through the lips of his seeming, tired of holding the mindlink required for speech with the call. He did not even attempt to hide his opinion about bravery in the tone of his voice. Darkthael had long ago learned the always high price of bravery and the value of a little self-preserving inteligence.

That the other dracon believed Daelen S'Aldran in his elegant and carefully chosen clothes to look 'broke' was an insult the second mind would not usually allow to go unpunished. But whenever the inner-dracon wanted to speak, the seeming was always silenced, and for the time being Darkthael insisted in talking to the stranger himself - "I would indeed be interested in improving my grasp on shapeshifting, and I believe I can pay a reasonable price if I like the results you or your... friend can manage. But before we go discussing this further, I do want your name, since you already have mine."

Darkthael didn't trust this person. But then again, Darkthael trusted no one, he knew only about people he should avoid and people he could use, and in that respect he couldn't make up his mind yet about this other. The scalebrother had hinted, after all, at one of the few things Darkthael could not easily refuse, knowledge about the art that was his life and secret, a knowledge the dracon had found quite hard to find elsewhere.

[Crimson]

The amber-eyed dracon grinned toothily at Darkthael's last request. "My name is something of a mystery, a secret" he returned evenly "you'd best learn that your True Form's name is worth your life, eh? Follow me if you still want to learn skindancing. And the price is one hundred golden crowns. We don't accept banknotes here, especially note Empire issued ones." He scoffed, an audible display of his distaste for the current Empire. Whether it was history or more current events that made him bitter, he never said. Either way, he turned and moved swiftly over the cobblestones with or without Darkthael in his elven seeming behind him.

It only took several minutes, and within that time both dracons passed the more notable establishments, academies, and the more affluent locations within la Ponts. High, iron gates and walls veiled most estates and manors; other, smaller educational centers even hired guards with stern, unmoving eyes bearing sword and spear. Perhaps the Jaedaxians had adopted to the frigid Everwinter by becoming as cold as the ice themselves ... one may never know. Suddenly, the dracon before him turned into a dark alley between two red brick apartments. He passed through the shadows like a friend and paused only to click a summon over his boney shoulder. "We are here, scalebrother" he hissed in low tones "welcome to Draconkin Manor."

Before them was a heavy wooden door. At the end of his sentence, a metal slit opened and two green reptillian eyes appeared on the other side of the entrance. "You with someone?" another low, snakelike voice asked in harsh Charismean.

"Another brother" amber eyes replied.

There was a shuffle of chains, the obvious noise of disarming locks, followed by a sudden thud as the thick door opened. Inside was a brown scaled dracon dressed in soft leather straps and a comfortable looking cloak to fend off the cold. "Get in before the warm gets out" he hissed uncomfortably. Inside, Darkthael would find a modest stone fireplace and a noisy hallway filled with a variety of races, all of them talking casually, none of them unarmed. One nasty looking suarid with heavy plates for hide rumbled noisily toward the pair of dracons as they entered.

"Serale there Ss'thraaa" amber eyes noted with a thin grin "you up to trouble again." Ss'thraaa grunted something in a strange tongue and Amber Eyes laughed dryly. "You better bring extra daggers" he returned before patting the bulky saurid against his spiked back.

"You better wait here" he told Darkthael after reaching what looked like the end of a soup kitchen line "while I get the boss man, eh? Sit tight. And don't try anything funny. Everyone here is mercenary and won't hesitate cutting off your talons if you ain't careful."

[Darkthael Morgreed]

Daelen's expression didn't shift in the slightest at the other dracon's comment about true names, but the dracon inside would have hissed and spited like a common snake if he only could. It was true, he had given his name carelessly. Then again, it was not his name that he treasured, but the secret of his nature, a secret that had already been lifted by that half-curse known as the call. Also luckily enough, 'Darkthael' was the name the dracon had chosen for himself, one none but scalekin knew of at the moment. Associating it with his appearance in true form would prove most difficult to anyone but himself.

"One hundred crowns is a price I will pay" - Was his only response

As he followed Amber Eyes through the city, he also wondered if he could and should kill him after getting what he wanted, preferably before having to pay him the hundred metals, but 'after' worked too. The scalebrother was clearly deceiving, manipulative and not particularly noble of heart, he remembered Darkthael much of himself, and because of that, quickly earned his hate. Perhaps he would do well to learn about Amber Eyes antipathy towards the Empire in case the information proved useful in the future. But just as he was thinking about that, they arrived to their destination.

The elven seeming quickly and discretely examined the group of people surrounding him, and both minds decided that, for the moment, abiding by their "host's" recommendations was the only thing they could do. Daelen found a reasonable place to wait, as far from the others as possible and with his back to the wall. It was not the time to go nosing around, and if no one talked to him he would remain there in silence.

In this place, his choice of seeming and clothes was probably a poor one, but it was not a situation he had anticipated. The presence of the brown dracon compounded the problem with the discomforting touch of the call he produced on Darkthael. And the fearsome saurid also managed to produce some discomfort with his presence, even without psychic means.

[Crimson]

'The others' Darkthael's elven seeming decided, were a dangerous lot. True to his word (surprisingly) Amber Eyes' description of them as mercenaries was accurate enough. There were cethars, dwarves, a few elves, a good number of humans, and of course dracons. None of them spoke much but rather kept their conversations down to the minimum greet -- intention -- then thanks. It was a reliable method, one Darkthael knew how to use himself. No need in giving too much information in unnecessary times. The humans in particular, though, spoke to their kin and exchanged stories about their exploits. The dwarves muttered and huddled together while the cethars and elves managed to keep to themselves while avoiding the dracons at all costs.

The place also seemed like a reception area, a gathering hall of sorts. It was stuffy, but it was warm and Darkthael even in his elven seeming was already shivering under his scales. The warm was a welcomed companion even if it smelled like musk and smoke and cheap ale. The stone walls of the gathering hall seemed to reflect the heat as well, and as he leaned against it, Darkthael felt much better about his current predicament. He somehow managed to find a teacher in such a vast, foreign place. Perhaps the fates were smiling at him.

Or toying with him, like a pet.

A servant, a young boy with short hair dressed in dull colored robes, bowed in front of Daelen and said, "the master sees you now." If the dracon in his elven seeming decided to follow the servant boy, he'd lead him past the throng of mixed races and through a series of stone hallways before arriving at a door. He knocked.

"Enter" a rough voice came from inside.

Opening the door, the servant boy bowed once to the figure sitting atop a heavy looking sofa with Amber Eyes seated on a uncomfortable looking wooden chair beside him. "Go" the new figure dismissed the servant. He was human, from the looks of things, with a heavy chest, large shoulders, and wearing plate armor. He had a rugged look about him, a large jaw, and deep blue eyes. His greasy blond hair had been tamed with braids here and there but still encompassed much of his features like a mane.

"You are dracon?" he asked in heavy tones "show me."

It wasn't a request. It was a command. And beside him, Amber Eyes grinend with pleasurable amusement. This was going to hurt. Both Dracons knew it.

[Darkthael Morgreed]

Darkthael was not unappreciative of the warmth of the room or of the apparent luck of finding an instructor for the dracon arts in this strange city. Nonetheless, since he was among seemingly very dangerous people and half at the mercy of a scalebrother he would rather see dead, happy emotions and trust in the fates didn't quite fill his heart at the moment. No, he feared this place almost as much as he was interested in learning the arts, and soon he would discover his fears not to be completely without reason.

When the human servant came to fetch him, Daelen followed without visible hesitation. The inner-dracon knowing that already at this point, trying to flee would probably be a most unwise decision. - "Thank you" - He told the boy simply after he delivered him to the door. The gesture was sincere, he had nothing against the human child for the moment.

On command, he entered the room. He looked towards the human, and greeted him with a "Serale sir" and a hint of a bow, the man didn't look like the sort of person Darkthael would like to anger. The dracon did however try for an instant to tell if he could sense any new signature of the call in this place, attempting to ascertain whether the man was human indeed.

The man's order felt for a few moments like a poke with hot irons to the dracon in disguise. It would painful, it would be humiliating, it would be more of his secrets thrown into the claws of the annoying amber eyed dracon, but it would also be unavoidable. The human didn't seem the sort that would give him a say in the matter.

"I am and I will. I shall need to change myself first" - If a place to change clothes was offered, Darkthael would use it. If no response was given, he would relieve Daelen of his clothes where he stood, folding them carefully and storing them away, that being hardly anything compared to the figurative nakedness that would follow, as Darkthael reverted to his true hideous form.

He would fall to his knees in an instant as his legs and arms contorted and distorted into the skeletal limbs of his dracon form, scales piercing his soft elven skin. He would keep his eyes open and alert through most of the process, part in defiance against the grinning of Amber Eyes, part for more practical safety considerations. Even as his broken wings and tail sprouted from his body, his stare would be seen, barely aware in spite of the maddening pain. Only as his skull broke and bended into a reptilian snout and the draconic features of his face emerged, would Darkthael close his eyes, trying the best he could to suppress a howl of pain.

If he survived the momentary helplessness of the transformation, he would rise again, more than a quarter candlemark afterwards, in the full horror of his black dracon self.

[Crimson]

If Amber Eyes continued to find pleasure in the writhing, twisting transforming form of Darkthael on the floor, he didn't show it. Instead he watched as the elven disguise was asked to change his clothes into a loose-fitting set of tan robes -- the clothing of an acolyte. He was granted apprenticeship before he even transformed by the Master. That thought made Amber Eyes a tad uncomfortable; but again, he didn't show it.

For several long moments, Darkthael felt his body jumble and churn like a bag of splintered bones. He felt his spine unhook from his skull while his ribs, in agitation, rubbed dangerously close to his lungs. His heartrate quickened until there was only a dull, rhythmic beating against the ringing that was going on in his head. The pain was maddening, if not blinding. Ten times he tried not to howl, but twenty times did a ragged cough, a whimper escape his lips. It was unnatural, it was a curse, but it could be controled and made into an advantage.

Perhaps that slim hope, that aspiration, relieved Darkthael of a little pain. But at the end of the agonizing minutes, some quarter of a candlemark later, he shivered, naked save for the ugly dress-like gown he wore, on the floor. It was humiliation, but it was necessary. He would have never been accepted if he did not comply immediately, without question.

The Master stood, his plate armor rubbing against some soft leather and chainmail beneath. He walked over toward the dracon's shivering form. "So you are" he growled "when you can stand, your scalebrother will show you your quarters for the duration of your studies. But you must swear that this location will remain secret. Speak to no one of it. Understood?" He stood there, waited until Darkthael could muster the strength and nerve to reply. His voice was dry, and it caused him another fit of coughing. "Good."

The armored man stepped over Darkthael then, opened the door, and departed. This left him with Amber Eyes who remained seated, his yellow orbs fixed on Darkthael, his arms crossed over his robed chest. "Interesting" he said "looks like I'm your new master." And that grin of his never left his face.

[Darkthael Morgreed]

ooc: Sorry, really sorry. Had been meaning to post here for a while, but the past week has sported quite a lot of work, followed by a little more of the same

IC:

"Thank you, sir. Not one soul will hear of this place from me" - Answered Darkthael as soon as he could, in the piercing cacophony that was his true form's voice. That promise was also perfectly good. The last thing the dracon ever wanted was to explain of this place to anyone, much less talk of his reasons to be in here in the first place.

Darkthael rose as quickly as he could without hurting himself or losing balance. His red eyes staring at the scalebrother rather inexpressively, as he heard him proclaim himself as his new instructor. He would not answer, but, for the moment, would indeed follow the other wherever he indicated.

Darkthael was prepared, regardless of his opinion of him, to gain any useful benefit from Amber Eyes that the other dracon was capable and willing to offer. But if his scalebrother expected him to defer to him in docile servitude, then he was very much mistaken. He would listen, he would learn, and he would do his very best to surpass and preferably humiliate his annoying teacher. Then, he might pay back the services of Amber Eyes, with either a hundred solid crowns, or a single backstab.

As for the true Master of the so called "Draconkin Manor", well, that was an altogether different matter. Darkthael made mental note at this point of never crossing the powerful human. Also, perhaps he could find some interesting opportunities working for such a man, maybe as Amber Eye's eventual replacement.

But those were plots for another brigthening, for the moment, he was only interested in learning more about the curse and secret ace of his race. Amber Eyes could have his fun for now.