For centuries, dragons roamed the Earth alongside their non-draconic counterparts. Humans, Elves, and Dryads alike all lived throughout the continent of Agros. They lived separated into three larger countries; humans remained in Eskela, Elves in Flairhiel, and Dryads in Eshal.

Dragons roamed throughout each of the three countries, the borders something they'd no use for; they traveled where their hearts took them, and none had a problem with it. Dragons would sometimes, though very rarely, bond with members of each of the three species, pairing with them so that they'd have the abilities and part of the lives with their other half; this was a great honor, and anyone chosen by a dragon would be celebrated for an entire moon to strengthen their bond. Feasts were prepared, fairs hosted and parties thrown; they would make offerings to the dragon to ensure they were pleased and take care of their bond, often in the forms of their prized livestock or jewels.

However, over time dragons began to become more scarce. Hunters were traveling after them, shooting them down and harvesting their scales for the trade, as their scales were quite nice for armor in the royal militaries.

The dragons vanished entirely from the three countries over time, withdrawing into the mountains far beyond the borders, vowing to never fly over the towns until they are no longer hunted.

Centuries have passed, and no one has seen a dragon; many doubt whether they ever truly existed beyond myths, due to being away longer than the Elder Elf has been alive.

But, recently, four dragons have resurfaced; four young teens have been discovered to have the scales of a dragon partner somewhere on their torso or face, overjoying the citizens of Agros; and not only them, but the hunters as well.

They're sent away into the mountains to find their bonded, well away from the hunters. They must return safely and fully bonded by the blood moon to show dragons and citizens can live alongside each other once again and are allowed no more time by the king; if they do not meet this deadline, the dragons will no longer be safe from hunters.

Can the group do it?

R’jah Ketalone | 175 (looks 17) | Male | Elf | M: Rhett, Raven, Soren

Damn this creature’s little baby legs, R’jah sulked on the saddle, leaning forward in a slouch. He was currently on the back of a chubby little pony whose name was unpronounceable. It was like, Oreian-derag or something like that. He looked down slightly and saw the animal turn its sweet face slightly so that R’jah could see its eyes. Those eyes, so sad and so deep. Like an endless pool of cool, salty water. The elf shifted his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispered the words so softly that he wasn’t sure if they were audible at all. However, he felt better for apologizing about his disrespectful thoughts. The poor creature was allowing him to straddle its back. He might as well be grateful. His grandfather taught him that horses could read the minds of their riders and could communicate through thoughts. Not that he actually believed that…well, it was plausible. Right? After all, he himself was having weird, mind problems. Every once and awhile he’d hear some faint words that seemed a million miles away but were actually a few feet. They were apparently thoughts from the people around him.

He looked at his companions. Each one was taller than himself. Of course, two of them were only three inches taller, but three inches was a lot to an elf. Especially since he himself was three inches taller than the Elvin average. One of them slightly his height was Rhett, the human. Actually, he was fairly similar to him. Pale-skinned, confident, and apparently archery. R’jah noticed the arrows and was impressed by them. They were well-crafted and solidly built, or at least the fletchings were. He couldn’t see the rest of the shaft, as it was covered by the quiver. Hmm, I’ll have to talk to that one, he thought as he took a sideways glance at his own arrows. They were grey goose feathers, most were fletched by his grandfather, but he had done his share of the work, too.

He adjusted his attention to the another one, this was the only girl of the four. Raven, a dryad, was also pale. For a while, he stared up, admiring her crown. It was interesting the way the branches tangled and the flowers perched upon her head. Her complexion with her dark, earthy hair reminded R’jah of his mother. However, his mother didn’t have those eyes, a greenish brown that reminded him of moss or ferns. It had been a while since he had seen those, well, that is before he passed through the Land of Dryads. Before this all happened, he remained in the large cities of men and elves where he…won money from tavern-drinkers.

There was another dryad, Soren. He was rather opposite to the groups theme. His skin was richly tan and it seemed as if tree branches were growing out from his head. It also looked like he rolled in a pile of leaves, but it didn’t look like a complete mess. He knew that if he did that that his he’d look like an unruly cow. Maybe that was just apart of the dryad magic. The cloud covering the sun faltered and shone in his eyes. Damn the sun, his thoughts growled. He’d have to squint to continue studying his taller companions, so he shifted his eyes to his own sight level. Damn those stupid tall species. I hope you all get knocked off by a branch. He couldn’t help but break what he thought was a mischievous smile at the thought of the somatotrophin-overdosed imbeciles crashing to the ground. His smile faded when he realized that Soren would still stand at his height, if not more. He should’ve complained for a taller ride.

He let his tongue rest in his mouth for what seemed hours, occasionally opening his mouth to speak but he never knew what to say exactly. He didn’t know these people. They were on a species-saving mission for crying out loud. What he would have to say about it would sound childish comparing to these probably heavily-educated individuals, and of course he couldn’t reveal his true intelligence on the subject. Even if he was a scholar, he wouldn’t be sure what to say. So far the past few weeks had flashed before his eyes. It was rather crazy and it wasn’t a good kind of crazy, rather the confusing, dizzy type that you get from being blindfolded and spun for a piñata. He hoped that this piñata would be worth the trouble and spill more than just the cheap stuff. First things first, it took them for what seemed ages to approve his trip through Eshal because of his small criminal record. He wasn’t there to steal anything or to gamble (maybe a little). He was there to reach the dragons. Of course, since they welcomed him so nicely he decided to take something with him. Of course, a handful of berries from some stranger’s bush isn’t much payback but it would have to do for now.

His eyes swiveled from side to side, bored of his surroundings. It was all the same. Short, stubby excuses of trees and the sun’s stinking glare. The silence was killing him. If he couldn’t add anything to what was happening on this mission, he could at least break the quiet. He leaned back in his saddle and dropped his head backwards in a lazy motion. He let out a snuffed noise that was a poor imitation of someone sleeping.

“Oh. My. Gods.” He emphasized the three words, “this has got to be the hottest day of my life. Or at least the most annoying. By George, is that steam rising from your head?” He pointed at Raven’s dark hair.

A little while later he slouched heavily on his mount’s neck so that his torso rested on it. To add emphasis he panted like a dog and occasionally he blew down the throat of his shirt.

“I’m gonna die in this barren wasteland surrounded by tall peoples.” He grumbled to his pony.

He scratched the back of his neck wear his dragon scales were. Ever since they popped up, his neck felt a bit stiffer than usual and he could feel the difference. It was an odd sensation. Since it felt foreign, apart of him was frightened by it and the other part of him knew that it was his ticket to the adventure. He looked at his traveling companions. It was an adventure that included these guys, so he should probably try to get to know them better. Or at least for them to know him better.

So, what should I recite for them?

After a high debate, he finally settled on a fairly short but informative one. He cleared his throat and melodramatically closed his eyes and put a hand over his heart.

My name is R’jah Ketalone

Ruh-jah—not Rah-jah—please mind

I can cook, shoot, sing, write, and ride

I speak with much pride

To inform you that I’m self-taught

And will face all dangers that evil hath wrought

He opened his eyes and realized that he had forgotten over fifty percent of this poem and that he had just recited the wrong verse as well. For a second you could see his oh shit moment. He licked his lips and opened his mouth to end the poem in hopefully a clean and non-embarrassing way.

My name is R’jah Ketalone

I bid thee farewell

And we’ll meet again…uh, in the pits of Hell

He then bowed as best as he could while on horseback. It could’ve gone worse and to be honest, he had gotten out of tighter spots with worse rhyming skills. He shook away the memories of him rhyming orange with Florance. That had been a bad day. But this is a new one, he reminded himself. He waited for his audience’s applaud, similar to one that his mother always encouraged him with. Whether he would get one or not, he expected some form of praise.

Indrus|Male|Enovian

Wind hissed through his feathers, Indrus’s powerful wings driving him through the clouds at staggering speeds. Many miles below him, a herd of ibex was galloping down the mountain, hooves clicking on stone as they leapt over gullies and boulders. Indrus snorted in excitement, the thrill of the race flooding his veins with adrenaline. He pumped his wings harder, straining to reach the rocky arch he had marked as the finish line before the first of the goats passed beneath it. Indrus flapped his wings one final time before tucking them in close to his sides and entering a twirling dive, the hiss of the wind turning into a shrill whistle. He did a barrel roll as he passed beneath the arch before unfolding in a flourish of brilliant blue feathers, his tail snapping down to flick against the horns of the ibex that had passed beneath the arch just seconds after Indrus did. The brown goat bleated in protest, before its cries were drowned out by the thunder of the other ibexes’ hooves. Indrus gave a final roar of victory before soaring off in search of something to eat.

The lands of Agros were foreign to Indrus, his egg having been laid after the exodus of the dragons. He had grown up far from here, in a place of windblown pines and gently sloping mountains crisscrossed by glacial streams. Yet something had drawn him to the lands of Eshal with its dense forests and jagged peaks. A pull that Indrus couldn’t understand and couldn’t deny had compelled him to fly for weeks before settling here, making his lair atop the highest crag he could find. He had spent the next several days assembling a nest for himself, enjoying the variety of foliage available to him once he figured out how to make use of it (his previous nest-building experience was limited to mainly coniferous trees). Indrus also found himself appreciating the diversity of plant matter present, and remembered his mother reminiscing about the flavor of the willow bark that grew in this region. Thinking about his mother also reminded him of why she had left Agros in the first place, those many centuries ago. Though Kiona had told Indrus many sorrowful tales over the years, none made her as sad as the story of her flight from Agros.

As he mulled over what had brought him to Agros and what he knew of these lands, Indrus browsed the shores of the lake that sat at the foot of the mountains he now called home. His indigo claws became flecked with soil as he used them to rip up tree roots and flowers, before snapping off pieces with his beak and swallowing them. Indrus then dug his claws into a tasty-looking branch that he hadn’t tried before and tore it away from the tree’s trunk. The branch was easily as long as Indrus was tall and over a foot in diameter, yet the dragon picked up the wood and flew away with it like it weighed nothing at all. The sunset was just beginning to paint the sky in vibrant pinks and purples when Indrus landed back at his lair. He set the branch beside the bathing pool he had created by damming up a nearby stream with boulders so that the water was redirected into a large pit he had dug previously. Indrus washed his claws in the icy water before beginning to preen himself. As he groomed his feathers, Indrus reviewed what he knew of Agros for what seemed like the twentieth time.

Kiona had lived in Eshal before the dragons were driven out, but it seemed as though the centuries between her departure and Indrus’s arrival had wrought some changes on the land. The forests were denser than he had expected, and the mountains smaller. Kiona had been raising two hatchlings when she was forced to flee, and irrational though it was, Indrus still harbored hopes that they might have survived and remained in Eshal after all these years. He had seen no dragons of any type since coming to Agros, though he knew that previously the lands had harbored hundreds of his kind. What he had seen were humanoids. They were the reason his mother had been forced to flee, and their reactions to Indrus now seemed no different than what his mother had described. During his journey through the countries of Agros, he had been attacked multiple times with weapons of all kinds. Luckily his feathers were thick and the people hadn’t been at close range, but since those fateful first encounters Indrus had been wary of any person he saw. During his travels he had simply avoided populated areas, but now that he had staked out a territory his methods were becoming more aggressive. Before Agros, Indrus had used his ice breath perhaps once or twice. Yet upon settling in Eshal, barely a day went by that he didn’t have to exhale icy mist upon some bloodthirsty mortal looking to cause him harm. Indrus didn’t think he’d killed anyone so far, but he dreaded the day that he was cornered and forced to use lethal force. When he curled up in his nest for the night, Indrus’s dreams were filled with images of a gold-eyed dryad with a crown of branches haloed in shards of ice.