Rugan lay beneath the warm furs of her bed. Though her matteress was slowly getting harder and more uncomfortable over the years, she didn't really care at the moment. A dragon sized headache beat in the back of her mind, threatening to shatter her skull should she wake up. Her clothes smelled of ale and the fact that she was still in them proved how much she had been drinking last night. Too bad she couldn't remember it all.
"Let's get going! Every rider with a dragon able to, take your images from Dulath - she's going to lead you back to where we got the food. Take every last bone and unused carcass back and dump it into the river bed! No exceptions! Not one piece of meat or bone left over!" An extremely loud, squawking voice boomed through the silence of her slumber. Rugan sat up so suddenly it seemed as if the room had been thrown ahead of her. Vision and sense rushed back to her aching head and, true to her thoughts, smashed her mind into a million sharp needles of pain.
Rugan groaned, pressing a hand firmly against her forehead and closing her eyes against the daylight that seeped in through the window (window? She had no windows in her room). Her hair hung in ragged clumps around her shoulders, pulled completely out of its straight pony tail without a hope of getting it arranged again in under an hour. Forcing her blurry eyes open, the dark skinned woman looked up and around at her surroundings.
"What the...?" She breathed quietly, seeing, not the familiar walls and tables of her room, but a bed with another woman sleeping on it and furnishings she would never think to own herself.
Up and at 'em. Porth rumbled with a bit of smugness in his voice. From the images he sent, she could tell that he was already up and trying to impress the ladies with his hard work.
Piss off ye over grown, mutated lizard. Rugan growled back, throwing off her covers and stumbling to her feet. She noted absently that she had slept on the floor while giving the other woman (T'ver??) the comfy bed. How nice of her drunk self.
My, my. Aren't we in a nasty mood this morning. The massive Sparkul born dragon chuckled quietly. He gloated his awakeness over his rider, and a nagging hint in the back of his mind that he had finally won a flight.
What the hell happened here? Rugan continued to growl and mutter in her mind. She would be in a foul mood until the headache wore off. Then she would only be in a disagreeable mood.
What does it look like? Porth returned dryly. Rugan froze, staring at the sleeping T'ver in shock. Dread filled her body, sobering her in an instant. A new kind of anger flooded her mind as Porth burst out in laughter. Got you! Ha! You just drank yourself stupid last night. Didn't bed a single person.
Bloody wherry. The metal smith hissed. Through a fog of pain, she managed to remember where she had put her hair tie and stumbled over to the table covered in empty bottles. She must have drank a lot to actually get drunk. It wasn't an easy task for someone with her consititution. Grabbing the brown leather tie, she pulled her wild mess of black hair back and held it up in a loose pony tail. It still looked like she had taken dead roots and stuck them to her head but at least it would stay out of her face.
Come on. Baeris needs workers to clean up this mess. You humans are disgusting when you party. The large brown sent images of a wonderfully sunlit ground, covered in the remaining refuse of the frenzy. Rugan winced and nearly threw up.
Would you cut that out! I'm havin' a hard enough time keepin' my head on my shoulders. I don't need my stomach up in my throat too. She literally snarled. When both her head and stomach had settled, Rugan began walking as straight as she could for the doorway.
A loud, high-pitched chirp interrupted her attempts to calm her mind. Rugan grimiced painfully, pressing a hand to her temples and cast a dark glare at the air above her head. Gray flitted around her in circles, chirping a happy song now that his mistress was up.
"Go to Mystic, Gray. I don't think you're allowed back here yet." Rugan growled under her breath, sending the firelizard bold images of Mystic. Cooing sadly, the little gray flit gave his owner one last glance then disappeared between.
I think he misses you. Porth's strong voice invaded her privacy once again. Rugan nearly crumpled to the floor with the force of her splitting headache.
Would you get lost. She seethed. Firelizards weren't allowed at the flight and I doubt they're allowed back now. Give me a minute to get my head on straight and then I'll come out to help. She felt Porth release a long sigh before the brown's presence left her mind. Finally with time to herself, Rugan slumped to the floor and placed her head between her legs until the pounding of her nerves would settle. It had been a loooong flight.
The cleaning had taken a few hours to finish and by the time she was done, Rugan could've sworn that every muscle in her body was running a protest. Her limbs were limp with shaking nerves; her head still ached terribly; and her stomach turned cartwheels with hunger pangs and a touch of nausea.
You should come see this, Rugan! The Healing Den's starting to move. Porth projected excitedly into his bond's mind. A pain filled groan escaped her lips as the tall, burly woman clutched her temples.
No. No more watching. I want to get back to the Warren and close my eyes forever. Her voice had lost its angry edge from the morning. Still, Porth could take a hint when his rider wanted to be left alone.
Rugan wandered slowly towards the dining hall of the Den. She was only slightly hungry because of the twisting knots of revultion still in her stomach. The dragons had made more of a mess then the humans and both were equally disgusting. She glanced up at the twisting hallways in front of her to take her mind off the horrid memories. With a slight jump of surprise, Rugan noted that Baeris was walking in the opposite direction of her, looking more like a zombie then a living being.
"You look like hell." The metal smith growled softly. Baeris cast her an exhausted, emotionless gaze that seemed to confirm her zombied state.
Fishing around in the small pockets of her pants, Rugan pulled out a white, plastic bottle that clattered with the contents within. She remembered vaguely the name Mystic had given her when she handed her the bottle before departure. Tylenol 3; the pills within were called. From what Mystic had said, they were an earthen remedy for headaches. Rugan popped two into her mouth, swallowed then handed the bottle to Baeris. "Here. Mystic says it supposed to help headaches."
"I am never doing this again." Baeris muttered while downing two more of the minute, white pills. "Never."
Rugan quirked a smile, returning the bottle to her back pocket. "I can understand." Both women winced as one of the dragons gave off a frightfully loud bellow. In reality, it wasn't that loud but to two fragile minds, it was like the beast had shrieked in their ears. Baeris walked off, shaking her head and vowing to get some sleep after this. No matter what. Rugan continued on her chosen path, somehow managing to stumble her way into the dining hall.
The tall, hungover woman slumped into the nearest chair, staring at the table with an almost devote fixation. Getting the world to stop spinning was getting to be a chore.
"Would you like something to drink?" A young, wiry boy with wild blonde hair approached her cautiously. His blue eyes were wide with the innocence of youth and he wore a simple drudges apron.
"Klah. Black." Rugan replied with a light nod of her head. The kitchen drudge scampered off and she was once again left to her own fogged thoughts. Resting her broad arms on the table, she clasped her calloused hands in front of her and stared down at the scars metal working had given her. She was only 25 years of age now. 7 years ago, she'd been abandoned on the front steps of the Warren in hopes that Mystic would take care of her.
When she learned that her parents had gone on without her, Rugan had thrown a fit. She refused to co-operate with any of the current riders and had given Mystic the hardest time of all. Her parents were the only family she had ever known, now they were gone too. Her mother and father had left the Liron encampment 18 years previous, when Rugan was barely even a year old. They'd taken a vow to keep the hydras away from the struggling clans as they tried to regain their glorious numbers. From that day on, they had wandered the land of Magik without rest. No town would harbour them for longer then a week. No traveller passed them that didn't glance at Rugan's mother with suspicion. Rugan was a quarter Liron; her mother was half. Since learning of people's hatred of half-breeds, Rugan had learned to show them the same mistrust. She may look human, but she remembered how they had shunned her and her family for 18 years.
"Here's your klah, miss." The boy's shy voice startled her out of her reveries. Rugan took the steaming mug from his hands and muttered a polite 'thank you'. The boy smiled impishly and scurried off to finish the rest of his chores.
Rugan sipped at the strong concotion slowly. Normally, she would down a cup before setting to work but today, she wanted to savour her time alone. The gods knew that her head would again be pounding with noise as soon as she got back to her smithy. She grinned softly at that thought.
The smithy wasn't, in fact, hers. It belonged to one of Mystic's old traveling companions, Dungar. When she had first come to the smithy, under Mystic's orders of finding a job, she had sworn to give the dwarven man as hard a time as all the other occupants of the Warren. She was quite nicely surprised when Dungar refused to put up with her sour tempers and blazing glares. He'd set her to work in the smithy every time she got angry and, over time, Rugan had come to accept the smash of metal on metal as a sort of release. Dungar became like a mentor to her and soon she honed her wild rage into a sharp, cutting skill.
Rugan took a long swallow of the burning liquid, glad to feel it sear down her throat and warm her empty stomach. She'd drained half of the klah already. After Dungar came the expansion of the Warren. People came in droves to find their glory as dragon riders. Along with the wave came Siltek, Moonshadow, Terra and Tristen. Rugan smirked and gave a rueful chuckle at the thought of them.
Siltek was her cousin by blood. Though almost 30 years her elder, the full-blooded Lironess was just as hot headed and sharp tongued as herself. Moonshadow was Siltek's husband and acted like a calming border when both women seethed with anger. Terra was another dwarf and dragon rider that had made her home in the smithy. She had a wit all her own and could work miracles with metal. Then there was Tristen. Rugan downed the last of her klah with the thought of him. Her foster son. He was growing up faster then anyone had thought possible and was actually becoming likeable. Unlike when he had first been given to Rugan's care and hated everything about the Warren. Perhaps that's why Mystic chose Rugan to care for him; because she had been there herself.
Taking a trip down memory lane? Porth's deep, baritone voice broke in on her thoughts suddenly. Now more sobered then the morning, Rugan didn't jump at the noise in her mind. I'm hurt that I'm not in your thoughts. The dragon sounded smug and playful, as he usually was.
You're always in my face. Why would I want ya in my mind? Rugan growled mentally. A light smirk touched her lips, denoting that she was in a better mood then before. Both knew that she couldn't help but remember Porth's hatching. The brown had been so shaky on his new legs that he looked as if he was preforming a confused dance across the sands while he searched for her. From that day on, he had grown to become one of the largest, strongest and boldest browns of the Warren. His sharp horns were a point of pride for the klah coloured dragon. Since Sparkul's disappearence, there weren't many dragons with the same head knobs. His shoulders rippled with muscle and his talons were kept long and sharp, perfect for battle. When Mystic had made them Wing Leaders, Porth's ego expanded two fold.
Porth grinned and rumbled low in his throat, though it wasn't audible to Rugan. We're back in the Nexus now. We can leave any time you want. He replied with his message then left to swoon a green that had remained from the flight to lay her eggs.
Rugan muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes. Porth was a womanizer. There was no other way to put it. With a low sigh and more protest from her muscles, Rugan pushed herself to her feet and turned to leave the dining hall.
She began wandering slowly through the halls, not really knowing which tunnel to take to get out. With no pressing matters that needed to be tended to, Rugan didn't really care if it took her all day to find the exit. It'd be one day spent away from chaos.
Eventually, her wanderings took her to a nearly forgotten part of the Healing Den. Here, the halls were darker and the floors covered in dust. Very few entrances lined the path she traveled and no people could be seen. Rugan was about to turn back, cursing her lack of direction, when a familiar chirping noise caught her sensitive hearing.
"Gray?" The tall metal smith called out to the abandoned corridors. The chirping came again, closer as she moved farther into the dim halls. Following her skilled senses, Rugan walked towards where she supposed her absent minded flit had lost himself.
The room that she turned into was far darker then the halls and wider then normal sight would be able to see. Rugan looked into the dark recesses of shadows and made out the large bulk of a dragon laying beside her small, gray firelizard.
Gray chirped again, happy and inviting. He waddled a few steps away from the large dragon then flitted into the air and over to Rugan's shoulder. The dark skinned woman stared at the dragon suspiciously, one hand reaching up to reassure her buoyant friend. "Who's there?" She called gruffly, peering harder into the darkness.
Yarpath. The smooth, gentle voice replied in her mind. The bulk of shadows shifted and the dragon rose to his feet, moving forward a few paces into the light. Even there, he seemed to cling to the darkness. His hide was dimed with dirt and peeling skin. His head hung shallowly from his shoulders as if too heavy to be held up. You look like hell.
The comment caught Rugan off guard. She blinked in surprise then cast the large bronze a wry smirk. "You're one to talk."
Were you in the flight? Yarpath asked with a small smile. He watched cautiously as Rugan walked forward and took a seat on a boulder by the wall. Her dark eyes were hidden to him so he couldn't seen her reaction.
"Aye. Porth has been wantin' to fly ever since he was 3 years old." She grinned slightly. "He's 7 now."
So you are bonded. The sad words were more of a comment then a question.
"Aye." Rugan raised a brow slightly. "You're abandoned, aren't you?"
These are the abandoned dens. Yarpath nodded affirmatively. Your firelizard seems to have taken a liking to me. Perhaps you can visit from time to time... since you're already bonded.
The metal smith's brow crawled farther up her forehead. "And what would stop you from bonding an already bonded rider? I've heard of two dragons joining with one candidate."
Yeah, why not? Porth rumbled deeply from the dragon sized entrance to the abandoned dens. A wide, draconic grin spread across his face as he snaked his long neck through the opening. His eyes whirled a mischevious green as he looked at the startled bronze. I could use an alibi for my nightly escapes.
This is very kind of you. Yarpath spoke slowly, still slightly surprised by Porth's sudden appearence. The tendency of Warren creatures to appear and disappear at random was something that took getting used to. But unless Baeris approves, I doubt it would work.
"Then I'll have to talk te Baeris." Rugan said with a slight smirk. She pushed herself to her feet and told Porth to 'wait there'. As if that over sized pig would listen to her. As she left the abandoned dens with instructions on how to find Baeris, Rugan thought briefly of why she was doing this. The truth was, she didn't really know. After all the people who had shunned her, hated her, avoided her, she knew what it was like to be abandoned. Then all those of the Warren who had taken her in and refused to give up. Friendship was something that came with time. Giving it a jump start didn't hurt either.