Plot, places, notes :p

Zenyth

Name

Callisto "Sly" Sylverune

Age

26

Gender

Male

Specialisation

Scouting and Reconnaissance

Role

Second in command

Dragon

Illinto

Appearance:

Callisto is a beautiful man, although the majority of the time he is wrapped up in black riding gear that cover everything but his eyes and a sliver of skin between them. He stands at 5'8, not impressively tall but that benefits him in his chosen specialty. Callisto is well muscled, defined even during everyday activities. Something he maintains religeously. His skin is fair, if not lightly tanned, protected from the sun on outdoor missions by his extensively excessive clothing choices.

His eyes are a quartz pink with a hint darker peony flicked throughout the iris. A very catching set of eyes, lined with thick pale lashes on the upper lid. His eybrows are strong and dark, the left having a slice of hair missing from a small scar. In stark contrast, his hair is a platinum, almost white, pearly iridescent colour. Toussled on top of his head, kept choppy and reaching his his jawline, he has to conceal his hair often under hoods or hats during missions or else he sticks out like a sore thumb.

On the left of his face is a jaggard, ugly scar. Starting from the corner of his mouth, it stretches up in a sick fascimile of a smile, finishing after the muscle of his jaw by his ear on his cheekbone. Obtained from when he was captured in his early days of scouting. Captured and kept in a dark, mildew infected room and tortured. This scar is the only one visible above his usual clothing. Beneath his clothes, various deep scars ranging from a few centimeters in length to several inches are scattered across his body. But the main feature are the criss-crossed scar on his back. Two huge slashes in an X shape over his muscular shoulders, stretching down to his waist.

His bonded mark wraps around his wrist in a irridescent white that faces into his skin. The tail of the dragon being a deep purple that fades into the white of the head. Another marking on his body is on his neck, he has a tatoo of dragons wings. The base of the wings start at the back of his neck, the webbing extends to the front of his neck where the longest tips of the wings almost touch.

Callisto's voice is like honey, dripping saccharine in its smoothness. Not overly deep, but a soothing elixir to the ears. Each word is chosen carefully and is pronounced with clarity.

Clinging to his form is the scent of benzoin and lotus flower.

Personality:

Tranquil | Catlike | Quiet | Cordial | Suspicious | Knowledgeable | Saturnine | Fleeting | Calm | Sombre | Slick Talker | Careful | Curious | Intelligent | Tired | Stoic | Overcritical | Chivalrous | Shameless | Reliable | Solitary | Athletic | Orderly | Discreet

Callisto is often found watching those around him, learning weaknesses and strengths that he could use in the future. He also makes note of useful things he sees and replicates them in his own time. He knows his way around words, having a few trysts in his past. But that was before his capture. Since then, he hasn't seemed to show much interest in other people romantically, much to the disappointment of some.

When he does speak, he is often commenting on an improvement to something or a critique. He does have normal conversations, but people seem to be unnerved by his un-earthy quiet. Often losing sleep during long missions or late night patrols, Callisto's quietness is not always from choice, he is simply sleep deprived. Not that many, if any, seem to notice this.

Dependable, Callisto will show up when it counts, even without being asked to. He knows when and where he is needed.

Skills:

Long Range Attacks; From the back of his dragon, Callisto prefers to use a bow and quiver on his scouting missions. Training for many years to become adept as various versions of the bow, including the crossbow. Although his favourite will remain the traditional bow and arrow combination. This has given his highly muscular arms and broad shoulders.

Surveillance; On the back of Illinto and on foot, Callisto is a pro at spying, information gathering and general sneakiness. In fact, it is the only thing he is good at. In training, he focused on this natural gift and honed it into a fine weapon to be utilised by his future team.

Basic Field Medicine and Survival Skills; Often finding himself on long missions away from the base alone, Callisto had to quickly learn how to live off of the land. Patching himself up with natural medicines that he learned from travelling healers, or learning what plants are safe to eat in the area from observing animals or asking the people that live in the area. Callisto thrives in this environment.

Strengths & Weaknesses:

Strengths

1. Long Range Weapons; Well versed in the bow and arrow variety, Callisto is an expert at long range weapons. Although he is not a master of all. He prefers a traditional bow and arrow along with spears.

2. Stealth; Life-long training in stealth hace graced the man with an uncanny ability to navigate in silence. His breathing, his footsteps, everything are inaudible. Callisto often finds himself making others jump with his supposed sudden appearance.

3. Athletic build; Toned muscles lie under his many layers of clothing, maintained through religeous routine that he must fulfill to feel complete with his day.

Weaknesses

1. Hand-to-hand Combat; He never showed great interest in the subject, only learning the basics of defence just in case he found himself in a sticky situation.

2. Overly Cautious; Since his capture, he is very suspicious of newcomers and their intentions. This is reflected in his dragon, Illinto.

3. Lack of Filter; If Callisto thinks something is off, he will say it. Be it something as trivial as somone lying about their favourite colour to something as serious as deceiving him about battle intel, he will point it out without hesitation.

Other: Despite being against regulation, Callisto will often ride with Illinto with no saddle. Enjoying the free feeling of flying together, trusting that Illinto will keep him safe.

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Name

Prince Mikhail "Misha" "Mika" Solari

Currently known as:

Luka Hennley

Age

25

Gender

Male

Sexuality

Undefined and uncaring

Role

Soldier in training

Appearance

[Brief I will ammend]

Standing at a strong 6'1, Mikhail possesses a well rounded physique thanks to his current intense training schedule. Stripped clean of uneeded mass to reveal the muscles beneath, before he entered into Zenyth he held a healthy layer of plush over his muscles, but no longer. His entire body looks as though it has been stretched, his legs are the the majoy envy of many. Long, sculpted and elegant in not only the way they look but they way they allow him to prowl around. His torso is equally lithe and tall, pinching in at his waist in a disgustingly narrow fashion that appears as though he has been corset training in his spare time.

His hair is a rich chocolate brown that lay in soft curls on top of his head, clipped tightly at the nape and allowed to increase in length closer to his crown. He has to be reminded to trim his hair to be within training regulation. Matchingly striking eyebrows sit above sharp eyes the colour of espresso, so dark they might as well be black as coal.

A strong jawline completely free of facial hair matches the angular nature of the rest of Mikhail's form. His nose is straight and large in the centre of his face, perfectly pointed and angular. Matched with high cheekbones and a smirk that could disarm even the prudest of people, Mikhail is a menace to society.

He carries an air of earthy spice, tobacco and whiskey.

His voice is airy with a roughness behind each word as though it is a great effort to simply speak, but it holds a playful lilt of sarcasm no matter what he says.

Personality

Slightly ditzy and full of delight, Mikhail is a free agent in all senses of the term. He lives to service himself and will happily continue to live this hedonistic lifestyle. Although he is a pleasurable experience most days, he possesses the intensity and fury of the dragons they have befriended. A singular benefit to his upbringing in a world of secret wars and murderous royal families, he had to learn how to hold his own. He uses this skill rarely now as he holds no position of power in Zenyth and plans to keep things that way.

Strengths

Weaknesses

Likes

Smoking: Be it tobacco, herbal or some other great invention of the earth, Mikhail deeply enjoys the burning warm it brings to his chest.

Baked goods: Give this man a baked treat and he will be eating out the palm of your hand.

Rain: Especially the rampant storms that bring the drops down like shards of ice, though he does enjoy the more melodic pattering of a spring shower as well.

Finery: He is from royal blood, he oh so enjoys the lavish things in life. Expertly crafted wine, precious metals, silky fabrics. He is spoiled.

Dislikes

Other

Crizavia

Name:

Sir Vervain Honeycutt

Age:

24

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Bisexual, cleanly split down the middle.

Role:

Soldier

Appearance:

A tall, spindle of a man is Vervain. Possessing a looming aura to the area he inhabits, a dark brooding presence that always induces a certain kind of pressure to the room, a tension left unaddressed. His misfortune only continued as his resting face lies somewhere between perpetually bored and incredibly irritated, he does not make friends easily.

With his height of 6'6", Vervain is a certified giant to most average people, he was never the largest fan of his height but it does aid him greatly in his chosen specialty. Gifting him the ability to stand high above the turrets and his dragons shoulders to aim his long bow, making higher ground even more advantageous. Sporting a mostly linear body shape, there is an increase in smooth muscle mass in his upper body that allows the broadness of his shoulders to be more pronounced. Delivering a silhouette that looks rather divine, an inverted triangle where his waist and hips are enviously narrow by comparison. He only acquired this physique after focusing on his long range weaponry, beforehand he was a long rectangle with little definition.

Adding to the imposing image, his hair is kept just long enough to require some form of styling, often leaving some strands that obscure his face just enough to look intentionally creepy. The tail end of his hair just kisses the curve of his nape and shoulders, holding the soft colour of raven's feathers, iridescent gleen and all. A fact he is rather proud of, but he did proclaim he was akin to a raven once and was told he was more like a crow picking through the garbage. He thinks the smaller bird is still a pretty creature, not that many others do. Matching the colour of his hair, a set of sleek eyebrows lay over sharply narrowed eyes lined with dark, long lashes. Akin to the colour of soothing muted blue, but if one were to mix an ungodly amount of white paint into the mix to the point where his eyes appear to possess no irises upon a quick glance at his face.

An angular face with just enough sharp edges to give the impression of a diamond face shape, Vervain keeps his jaw clean shaven at all times, disliking the feeling of the stubble when he draws an arrow. There is a degree of fat at the harshest corners that give Vervain a small saving grace from the overall severity of his appearance.

In stark contrast to his hair, his complexion is pallored, waxen and outright chalky. It looks as though this man has never even heard about the sun's existence, let alone seen it in person. Despite his occupation, Vervain is often hidden beneath something during the day or operating during the night, so sun avoidance is just a part of his job description.

Being a young soldier, Vervain has managed to avoid the marring of his skin as of right now, there are no major scars on his body. The occassional very faded scar from childhood perhaps, but nothing more.

His voice however, is an uplifting treat to hear. Joyful and full of life, Vervain's voice carries the boyish charm that many think are endearing.

Trailing behind this man is the ever present strong scent of pear, cardamom, smoke and oakmoss.

Personality:

Vervain is a bouncing ball of encouragement and energy, he wants to make everyone around him feel happy and content no matter their current circumstances. Playing into his role as moral booster for the closely-knit team of soldiers came naturally to the young man, even if most of his coworkers would rather he kept his mouth shut.

Outgoing and confident in himself, Vervain is almost always the first to talk to new people they encounter, wishing that they have pure intentions. Even if they end up being murderers or plotting to overthrow the nobles, Vervain triest his hardest to see the light in them despite their obvious darkness.

Considering his family situation, he can be particularly barbed on the topic of where his money goes. With a high income as a dragon rider, it is expected that his equipment is the newest it could be, that his clothing is pristine and if it tears that he buys a new one. He does none of these things. All of Vervain's clothing are stitched back together with patches and messy attempts at repair, his sisters are better at reparing his clothes but he never has time to visit home, so he must do it himself. If someone pushes the topic too far they will surely find out that while Vervain is a loving puppy dog most of the time, he absolutely packs a big bite with no bark as a warning.

Strengths:

ᯓ➳ Mental Fortitude: Vervain is a difficult man to ruffle the feathers of, he is able to keep his mind calm and focused on the task at hand. He does this my utilising breathing techniques, which in turn enable his fine motor skills to be fine tuned accordingly.

ᯓ➳ Upper Body Strength: His upper body is comprised of tight, well formed muscles to enable his long range weaponry work. Particularly his longbow, it requires a vast degree of strength to draw back and aim at a moving target to successfully hit true.

ᯓ➳ Overwhelming Optimism: No matter how dire the circumstances, Vervain keeps a positive disposition, seeking out the potential good in all situations. Sometimes he tries to seek the postive energy a little too desperately. It would take an ordeal of great hardship to shake this disposition.

Weaknesses:

ᯓ➳ Trusting: A double-edged sword that has gotten Vervain into many a predicament. He wants to trust those around him that he views as good people, but more often than not this leads to the poor man being taken advantage of.

ᯓ➳ Close Combat: Close quarters fighting is not his strong suit in the slightest. Whilst he can hold his own for a short period of time, his attacks mostly consist of bareknuckled strikes at any part of his opponent. He needs serious training in this department, luckily his incredible ability with long range weaponry enabled him to join the guard, under the agreement that he must train his weak area regularly.

ᯓ➳ Desperation: Vervain is in a hard place, having to support his family with his earnings alone. His father is bed-ridden and his three younger sisters all rely on Vervain for their survival. He will do anything to keep his job and will sacrifice almost anything in order to keep his family fed. It can cause him to become rather high-strung and anxious, converting to a twitching stuttering mess when something isn't working out in his favour as he desperately tries to sweet-talk. He is so spread thin that he often has dreadful sleep, increasing his fatigue as the weeks go on.

Likes:

➶ Vervain is an avid enjoyer of everything musical. He often ventures down into the entertainment houses and taverns in order to seek out the talent hidden within them. He is also muscially inclined himself.

➶ Food. Goodness, does he love food. When he first arrived at the training grounds and his meals became more than a slice of stale bread and stringy gristle, Vervain was beside himself. Coming from a poverty stricken background, the lands that are being destroyed are his family's livelihood, without their farm land they have no ability to feed themselves. Thus, he is not only a fan of food but borderline obsessive over it.

➶ Quiet, early morning archery practice. It brings him a moment of tranquility in his busy mind. It allows Vervain to close out the harsh reality and focus on that one thing he truly loves doing.

Dislikes:

➶ Cruel behaviour towards those less fortunate. Whilst most people also have this view, Vervain becomes extremely pent up about any negativity brought upon those with less. He would never speak up to those of a higher rank, but on nights when he has sipped one too many a drink, he has been known to get into a heated argument with the wealthier patrons of taverns.

➶ Those who are perpetually pessimistic, it brings on an awful feeling to the entire space that person is in. He does his best to counteract these people if he ever runs into them. There is a degree of pity for these people, rather than outright dislike.

➶ Birds. Not only do they disrupt his concentration when he is shooting, but they have beady little eyes that look like they're plotting something nefarious. They're feathered little weirdos and he doesn't enjoy their company at all. Apart from crows and ravens. They bring him pretty things and are smart enough to stay out of his way.

Dragon:

TBD

Affiliations:

Family: They live on a rundown farm on the outskirts of the kingdom, having their land poisoned by something that ruined all of their crops. It poisoned their animals next and now they have nothing but the small cottage in the middle of the fields. His 3 younger sisters are all under the age of 17, they use their time to craft and make clothing to sell at the market. It isn't enough, so Vervain must request that a very large portion of his earnings are delivered to his family rather than himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name

Ciati Monde

'chee-AH-tee'

Age

23

Gender

Female

Sexuality

Heterosexual

Role

Herbalist

Appearance

Ciati is a charming young woman with a slim torso that widens towards her hips in a smooth curve. Draped in sunkissed skin, she embodies warmth and summer, the points of her body are dusted with freckles. Notably along the bridge of her nose and her shoulders. A small collection of scars marr the plane of her left jaw and cheek, three swift slices through her flesh earned from the swiping of a nearby dragons wing as it grappled with her partners. The scar tissue is significantly lighter than her complexion.

With a height of 5'5" she is stock average in that department.

Her hair reaches her waist but is almost always pulled up out of the way. When she does eventually let it out from its confines, it falls in subtle waves of auburn. Her eyebrows are straight and are slightly shorter than normal, laying beneath are a pair of almond hazel eyes lined with thick brown lashes.

An artefact of her occupation is the constant scent of herbs, tea, incense and on occassion pure alcohol that follow Ciati around.

Personality

When she has the time to unwind from her tightly coiled and fractious habits, Ciati is a fun loving women with a big heart that wants to enjoy life to its fullest. The only problem? They're at war, there is no time for big, bright smiles and intoxicating laughter. Gradually she found herself losing the light she once nutured so lovingly, unable to claw back its warmth she has given up on trying to salvage that last sliver of herself.

Embracing the melancholy, Ciati moves through the days with little thought other than serving her purpose to the kingdom. She was trained and so she must serve. The Monde family is a lineage of highly capable physicians, it is expected that she serves the royal family and kingdom with her life. With the emergence of dragons and the new warfare that came with them, suddenly the Monde's life devotion became a lot more deadly.

Strengths

Medicine: Training under academics and practicing doctors for almost a decade had given Ciati a vast background of knowledge to utilise in the field. From emergyency procedures to herbal cures for sore muscles, Ciati is fast approaching expert level in her chosen career path.

Field experience: Ciati has been assigned to the scouting group since she turned twenty and in those three years she has seen her friends be ripped from the skies. She has had two previous dragon riders assigned to her, but both have succumbed to skirmishes with Zenyth. Despite the trauma associated with the events, it has given her insight into how people act in life threatening situations, she hopes that her new partner will be able to benefit from her experience.

Weaknesses

Traumatised: Bearing witness to her partner's death twice within three years has taken its toll on her mental fortitude. She has yet to face the enemy again since the death of her last partner, Lyssandra, and she worries that this time she won't be able to keep herself together. Especially if she sees that white haired demon again.

Flawed self-defence: Whilst it was taught to her in passing, Ciati is not going to pose a threat to any trained combatant. She can hold her own against a civilian, but no one who wanted to help her improve had the time or lived long enough to see her train.

Likes

Foxglove & Wood-Sorrel - She finds these two plants very intriguing, she used to have a potted wood-sorrel in her possession but after her first partner died she neglected to care for it and it withered.

Petrichor

Insects

Dislikes

Harsh heat

Non-compliant patients

Name:

Illinto

Age:

102

Gender:

Female

Rider:

Callisto Sylverune

Appearance:

Illinto is a smaller dragon, standing at 16 feet tall, she is often dwarfed by other dragons her age and older. Build with a litheness that other's aren't often gifted, her body is long and agile. Flexibly beyond belief as though she was made of mist. Her long, slender legs make up the majority of her height. Her neck is long and elegant as well, but only adds another two foot onto her height from the shoulder. Her serpentine shape is perfect for her specialisation.

Illinto's scales are a shadowy muted purple on her rear end, starting from the end of her ribcage to her tail, her front half from heat to end of ribcage is covered with milky irridescent scales before reaching her stomach plates that are pliable. Her stomach place colour matches that of the scales in the area it is on her body like a gradient. While the white beginning at her ribcage is brighter in its shimmer, the irridescence is carried throughout her whole form like a sheen. Her wings are attached by the main arm and the webbing runs along her flanks, attached there too. The membrane is also a lighter colour at the tips, darker at the origins close to the arm, just shy of that pearly white of her front half. The edges of the membranes are adorned with tiny almost invisible hair.

Her head is narrow, pointed like an arrow for dynamics. Her shorter horns, shaped like that of a blackbuck are aimed caudally. One other small set of horns grace her temples, short and sharp. Her teeth are long and deadly, narrow and angled backwards as to keep her grip on her prey, if it struggles to escape, they will simply sink further onto her fangs. While her face looks serene and gentle, with a pair of lilac eyes that carry a softness, those fangs change her appearance the second her mouth opens into something sinister. The pupils of her eyes are feline like that of other dragons, but they're blurred when at full dilation, the edges of the black blurring into the lilac of the iris. Her sclera is black as the night and contrast the white scales surrounding them perfectly.

Along her back run short but needle sharp scales, they run all down her spine until half way down her tail. This is where her bladed tail begins. On the underside of half of her tail is a sickeningly sharp blade-like scale. Reaching a point so fine, it is barely visible with the naked eye.

Illinto's voice is soft, etheral and her words are followed by a gentle echoing no matter their environment. Rarely raising in volume when she angers, she instead opts for fierceness through tone and venomnous words.

Callisto has gifted Illinto with many trinkets and jewellry. She refuses to wear anything that makes sound, so she has many chains and beautiful necklaces that adorn her nest. But on her body she wears silver cuffs on her two main horns. The base of her neck sporting a similar thinner cuff with a dipped point at the front. Illinto's ears are long and pretty, she had Callisto install earrings. On her left ear are two small silver studs and one hanging jay feather. On the right is similarly one small silver stud and two silver loops closer to her head.

Personality:

Illinto is an observer of her environment, using the information she gathers to analyse the people around her. Ensuring she is fully aware of the current circumstances. She carries an air of other-worldliness around her, hanging like a cloud. These activities often means she is standing on her own in a group setting rather than participating in the larger conversation.

If angered, she seethes. Bubbling beneath the surface before she lashes out with harsh words, her tone insulting and cruel. But never loud. Her voice is never raised above that of quiet conversational volume, it is uncertain if this is by choice or by biology.

She would protect Callisto with her life, she has done in the past and will do in the future. Illinto is ferociously protective of her rider and is very aggressive to new comers to his social circle. If the creature shows little interest in her rider, she treats them as per her normal personality.

Strengths

1. Speed; Illinto is incredibly fast, like an arrow flying from its bow, she can launch into the night and vanish into the darkness within a second. Unmatched in this regard, she can escape tricky situations with this skill or descend upon her foe before they even knew they were dead.

2. Silence; Going hand-in-hand with her speed, Illinto is silent in flight and damn near close to silent on foot. The tiny hairs on the edge of her wings help dull the sounds of her flight.

3. Sharp; Her biggest defence is the large blade on her tail which she can use to slice through enemies. Along her back, the sharp spines stab into any part of the creature attacking her from that angle.

4. Flexible; Illinto's bones are spongy and can bend. She can compress her ribs to slip through small spaces and twist her body in unnatural ways that are uncomfortable to watch.

Weaknesses

1. Physical Strength; Illinto is not physically strong, she has toned muscles, but nothing compared to other bulkier dragons. She could be bitten in half if a larger dragon got a hold of her.

2. Size; While it may have its uses sometimes, being small often means being picked on or teased. Even worse, the target of an attack.

3. Fragile Teeth & Spines; Illinto's snake-like teeth may be deadly, but bent in the wrong way, they can snap. The same goes for the spines that run along her back. She can heal these wounds, but the teeth take longer to replace.

4. Very vulnerable underside; Her pliable belly scales are extremely vulnerable to attack. While they allow her great flexibility, a wound here could be fatal.

Name

Endry

Age

50

Gender

Female

Rider

Vervain Honeycutt

Appearance

Endry is a ball of muscle, whilst she maintains an average size for her age, she possesses explosive strength beyong her means. Paired with her enthusiasm, she makes for quiet the unusual dragon.

Her scales are alabaster white, originating at the midline of her underside. Collections of scales are dappled across her body with the highest concentration of colour at her back before becoming sparse as they travel down her sides. Porcelain, glauceous blues adorn her body, standing out sharply against the white backdrop. Resembling something similar to a koi fish, but with a strict colour scheme of blue shades.

Her nose is white, but as you travel up towards the crest of her head it meets the collections of blues. Vervain speculated that it was for sea hunting, the pale underside concealing her from the creatures below and the blue hiding her from threated from above.

Her tail has nothing special, a muscular limb with nothing at the tip other than the point of the end.

On top of her head is a rack of antlers that resemble that of a young elk, elegant and intricate. They are the colour of aged bone that lighten faintly at each tip. Her eyes are a shade of amber, matching the gemstone with its flecks of darker and lighter areas.

Her wings are equally muscular, with thick membranes the same colour pattern as the rest of her. The underside a crisp white, the top a collection of blues that give way to pure white at the tips, where talons the same colour as her antlers sit.

Personality

She was born within the confines of Crizavia's dragon pit. Hatching here, she knows nothing else other than the humans and her fellow bonded dragons. The life that her kin live out in the wild is far removed from this dragon.

Endry was elated when she was bonded, she adores her rider and is often looked down upon by other dragons due to her enthusiasm regarding her bonded status. With this comes a protectiveness that she rarely has to utilise.

She is still young and learning how to be a true dragon, a dragon as definied by Crizavian standards at least.

Ciati Monde | Crizavia | War Hall - Very early morning

They had been sighted over Oxmire. That was closer than they had ever been before, less than a days flight from the capital of Crizavia. Three dragons with their riders had passed over during the night, only witnessed by the watchmen in their towers who sounded the alarm bells that summoned the resident Oxmire riders to take to the skies in pursuit of the intruders. This past year they had become bolder, encroaching deeper and deeper into Crizavian lands and their numbers were growing.

Ciati’s eyes skipped from furious faces to panicked to exhausted as she stood with the other partners of riders, not that she had one anymore, they were required to sit in on all meetings regarding strategies so that they did not hinder the riders with their confusion. The majority of partners for riders were scouts or messengers, there were few medics left in their bastion. Healers, medics, herbalists, anyone that had an ounce of curative touch in their veins were sent on the riskiest missions which often meant they never returned home. Perished with their riders after being thrown from their mounts. Luckily, Ciati had managed to avoid that outcome twice, others were not as fortunate.

Francessca was a lovely young woman with a background in nursing that had enlisted to serve her kingdom, she was dead within the first three months. Dianna was another, a bright spark with a mind that could solve any problem, her light was snuffed out six months and five days into her service.

Ciati had given up befriending the other medics, every time it only led to more distress and heartbreak. There is only so much sorrow a person can take on before it manifests itself in a melancholic, closed off person not willing to form any sort of relationship with anyone. One other person who seemed to have a similar death defying luck was Josephine. She still spoke to Josephine as a friend, friendly and polite, there were no others that she made an effort to talk to. She was in the gathered partners as well, not that Ciati could see her in the crowd, she was too short, but she would be there.

In the centre of the room lay an large ornate table with a map held down by paperweights on all four corners that displayed all of Crizavia and the neighbouring kingdoms, including the newly overthrown Zenyth. On the other side of the table stood the dragon riders, their leathers and armour already strapped to their trained bodies, looking sternly at the map as the commander spoke of new flight paths, new scouting parties, areas of keen interest. It was the same every meeting, a long elaborate plan that never truly came to fruition. Zenyth always managed to slip under their noses, like shadows in the deepest abyss, they were untouchable in a group and invisible alone.

None of this was drawing her interest. The only thing that nibbled at her nerve ending was the delegation of her new partner. In three years she had befriended two riders, both had gone down with their dragons and both times Ciati managed to claw her way onto another rider’s dragon and deceive death. As the saying goes, third times the charm so either this third partnership would see they both live long happy lives or, more likely, Ciati would finally be outsmarted by death.

The noise in the hall raised as the commander dismissed the masses, each group huddling together to confirm their new assignments. Scouts muttered about the best route to take to avoid being seen, soldiers discussing methods of murder that she would rather not bear witness to. A presence to her left made Ciati slide her distant hazel eyes towards the person, hardening her gaze as she realised it was Darian, the head of the medic assignments, he held a short piece of parchment in one roughened hand. Ciati made sure she stood straight, her shoulders leveled and her attention solely on her superior as he tapped a forefinger on the paper.

“Ciati…Ciati, ah yes.” Darian’s weathered voice muttered, never once glancing up at the woman he was naming. “Your new assignment, oh you drew quite a good card this time Monde.” Ciati couldn’t quite place the inflection in his voice, was it genuine or was it sarcasm, it lasted too short for her to analyse any longer as Darian looked up at her, meeting her calculating eyes. It made her brain stumble for a moment as she righted her expression.

“Lucien Vin Kelsir, he is your new partner.” Darian offered one hand to lazily point across the meeting table with a slight tremor in his arm. Ciati nodded her head and followed his gesture, she hadn’t really taken the time to learn any rider that wasn’t in her squadron, names meant very little to her. It wasn’t particularly difficult to realise who Darian was point at, as on the other side of the table the commander was standing with a similar small parchment and pointing towards her, beside him was a tall man with a blisteringly cold gaze already locked onto her form. Ciati met it calmly, taking note of the rider as a soldier rather than a human. Well muscled, tall and confident it seemed, all good things to have in a person in charge of your life in the near future. He looked experienced. That was the most important and obvious thing that stood out to Ciati, he had seen things that had tarnished his soul, that was good. That meant their likelihood of survival had increased from nil.

Ciati moved to address Darian but he had already stepped away to find the other newly solo people to give their new pairings to. She stood there for a moment before resigning to the fact that most riders were significantly narcissistic, at least in her experience. She doubted the rider would move to her side of the table, they were elite soldiers who were highly trained and most importantly had the devotion of a dragon. Why would they approach first?

She turned her head away from his eyes as set about walking around the table to meet him on the other side. When she was assigned her first partner her chest had been rich with anticipation of who they were, what they were like, was their dragon impressive or sneaky or chaotic. Now, Ciati simply wondered how many expeditions he had been on and how many people in his squad had died on those missions.

Reaching her destination of approximately two feet away from Lucien, she lifted her head to view his face close up. Noting the divot in his lip where a scar disfigured the muscle beneath, she introduced herself as professionally and unemotionally as she could manage.

“Specialist Ciati Monde, first degree herbalist and medic.” Ciati announced her position and specialisation curtly. She had been sought after in the ranks after healing particularly lethal injuries on multiple occasions, allowing her to rise in the medical rankings to specialist quickly. Her voice was strong, giving nothing away about her first impression on her new partner. She only stood square, giving a sharp nod of her head along with her introduction, waiting expectantly for his reply.

Vervain Honeycutt | Crizavia | War Hall - Very early morning

The summons to the war hall had come in the form of a screeching messenger, he came barrelling into the barracks clamouring about a meeting, that Zenyth had been spotted in Oxmire. His thin blanket and hard mattress had never felt comfier in that moment when his fellow riders had dragged themselves to stand around the room. With a heavy heart, Vervain followed suit. Slipping the mandatory leathers onto his limbs, securing all of the buckles and braces that came with it.

The commander was irate when they had arrived, already muttering to his trusted companions about the mess this past month had been. Four raids in as many weeks, all left Crizavia unscathed and apparently taking home whatever they had been hunting down. Vervain’s squad was an impressive lot, they normally found their quarry and dealt with them accordingly, unfortunately none of these raids had been within their jurisdiction.

With a side-long glance, Vervain passed his eyes over his squad mates as they stood straight backed beside him. Particularly towards Lucien. Vervain had not been appointed to this squad for very long, leaving a lot of questions about its members to be discovered. His previous squad had been made for scouting, long-range specialists and stealth. He had been pulled from that team when this one had lost their resident long-range member along with Lucien’s partner.

Not all riders had partners, those capable of looking after themselves as well as another were delegated with carrying the burden of a non-rider medic or messenger along with them. Vervain hoped he never had to face the difficult task himself, but he could hold some admiration in his heart for those that did manage that feat.

As ever, Vervain stood looking like death itself, pallored and dead-eyed staring now at the commander as he began to structure the new formations on the map. Moving little wooden figures around with great concentration as he explained his new plans to combat this rise in raids from Zenyth. Ever since the emergence of draconic companions, war had become something far more fierce and deadly, only kingdoms with a nesting ground within their territory stood a chance at defending their homes. All of the kingdoms with no stronghold of dragons were beaten down and consumed by the formidable foes within the first few years.

Zenyth has been one of those kingdoms engulfed, except it was special. They did not get dragged into the land of a nearby kingdom with dragon riders. It had happened so quickly, an overnight affair that had left Zenyth royal blood spilled across the mountains and a new leader in their place. Ever since that night Zenyth had been cutting through Crizavia, making away with their supplies, anything they desired. Whilst there were reports of other kingdoms also having faced Zenyth raid parties, it seemed that their sights were keenly fixed upon Crizavia.

The never-ending explanation of his new plan finally finished and the commander leaned back to dismiss the gathered troops with one flourish of his hand before escaping with his higher ranking members to discuss topics too important for their ears to comprehend. Vervain’s shoulders fell back into their usual slightly slumped stature, something he had adopted since growing into his full height. Being this tall was more hindrance than benefit, aside from his archery, it encumbered most aspects of his life.

Their squad had been moved up. Further from the safety of the rookery and barracks to an outpost where many Zenyth riders had been reported in the past few months. The squad that was currently trying to tackle that beast was made up of rookies and trainees that wouldn’t stand a chance against the highly trained enemy. If the death toll from that outpost was anything to go off of, at least.

Vervain raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing the pads of his fingers flat against the sides before turning to look at Lucien. Preparing for some sort of remark about their new assignment, only to see a woman staring at him. He hadn’t seen her before, but she was staring up at his teammate with an intensity that almost drew a snort of laughter from the back of his throat. He couldn’t blame her, he looked like a piece of work and truly he could be just that.

“Luka Hennley” | Zenyth | Training Grounds early morning

The routine was the same as it always was. Wake before the crack of dawn, drag himself reluctantly down the spires and join the other trainees in the training ground. The short cut grass crisp with frost beneath their boots as they stood in formation for their superior, Collin River. The man himself imposed an air of authority over the field of trainees, casting his gaze over each and every one of them, noting any and all flaws in their physique or demeanour. Honestly, each morning was like an individual inspection of their souls.

Mikhail stood with his spine as straight as an arrow, his hands tucked neatly behind his back, perfectly in line with his fellow men and women. Just behind Collin the first licks of sunlight began to cast a glow over the horizon, blinding the trainees and leaving Collin little but a shadow in their eyes.

He had been training for months under this regime. It had taken him even longer to even be considered for entry into the training program. After all, it was no typical infantry they were all scrambling after. The best of the best here stood the heightened chance of claiming a dragon of their own, to wage hell against their enemies and taste the freedom of the skies. Good gods did he want to know what it felt like up there. To feel the harsh strike of the wind as it cut past him, the feeling of clouds as he pelted through them at unimaginable speeds. He almost felt intoxicated when he daydreamed too much about the topic.

In fact, that intoxicated feeling and his daydreaming had just landed him with a square right hook to the jaw from his sparring partner. A strangled noise came from the depths of his throat as his head flew backwards, his guard falling and legs battling to keep himself from toppling backwards. He could taste the bloom of iron in his mouth from where his lip had been split, his tongue had been sliced as well.

“Ah, shit, sorry Luka.” His partner, Sanderson, had quipped the moment his knuckles had connected with his jaw. “Though you’d’ve been able to dodge that one, what’s up with ya?” Mikhail blinked the stars from his eyes and focused on the hand that was being extended to him, with a soft chuckle and a crooked, blood-smeared smile he took the offered help and hauled himself upright.

“Not my fault you have a disgustingly strong right hook.” He charmed, using his now free hand to wipe the dripping red from his jaw but it stained the floor beneath them already. In the morning training, the cold air had been scared off by the overexertion of his muscles, the shirt that once felt far too little defence from the elements now sat slick against his muscles. Ensnaring his body, it felt like he was being suffocated by the piece of flimsy black fabric.

“I will return the favour, fear not.” Mikhail raised his arms back into a guard, a glimmering spark of determination in his eyes as he delivered a disarming wink to Sanderson. The response was a snort of laughter at the overt gesture, earning Mikhail a flurry of less aggressive strikes that bounced off of his forearms, aided by the sheen of sweat over his skin.

The same actions continued for a while, the occasional side step or daring jab from Mikhail but for the most part he ate up the attack with his guard. He was waiting for an opportunity and finally he was blessed with it when Sanderson’s sidestep went minutely too far, his centre of gravity was compromised and Mikhail monopolised it. In a strike as fast as a snake, Mikhail’s knees collapsed, bending down so that he almost met the floor, one arm extending to aid in his balance whilst a long leg shot out like lightning from his guard. The bone of his shin met the flesh of Sanderson’s calf and blasted through the weakened stance like a hot knife through butter, the sound of the impact loud enough to draw some glances from the nearby pairs, the Sanderson fell to the ground in a crumpled pile.

Ever the well-trained soldier, Sanderson was quick to attempt to right himself, arching an arm out elbow first to intercept Mikhail as the other man descended upon him. Mikhail was too quick this time as he fixed himself on top of Sanderson, legs pinned either side of his waist and crushed a forearm down onto his partner’s neck. He let the full pressure of his muscles crush down onto the delicate structures of Sanderson’s neck for little longer than a heartbeat before relenting to mild pressure.

He grinned down at Sanderson like a proud cat bringing home a particularly fat rat. “Told you I would get you.” His satisfaction was evident in the way his voice purred from his lips that were still covered in his own drying blood.

Ciati Monde | Crizavia | War Hall

The difference was stark from her previous partner, she had only been paired with other women before and they held a more approachable demeanour than this man. Not that he wasn’t polite, but there was an air about him that made Ciati’s senses light up. Not intrigue and not curiosity, but there was something here that he sensed would eventually cause some sort of issue. What that would be, she didn’t know. Apparently his dragon was going to be as disarming as he was considering the promise of being eaten if she didn’t make a good impression.

Honestly, Ciati held little opinion on dragons themselves, as a collective they were the only thing between Crizavia and Zenyth, so she appreciated their cooperation. She had liked her partner’s dragons enough to bring them a treat every now and again, but dragons were selective creatures and truthfully they only really cared about their rider. They were more catlike than she had expected in that aspect. They were incredible creatures and she held a sort of adoration for their ridiculous strength and ability, they were intelligent and strong. Humans truly were weaklings by comparison, the egotistical nature many dragons held made some sense when viewed in that light.

What did perk her ears was the announcement of his ranking, a captain would be far more dangerous than a regular rider. Captains held a sense of responsibility which often manifested in self-sacrifice for their squad, unfortunately for Ciati she would be riding the same dragon as the captain when they went down. Then again, she hadn’t heard of this Captain Lucien before so he might be unremarkable and hopefully that meant they would both live to see retirement. Unlikely, but a woman could have dreams could she not?

Her polite reply was halted before the words could even form on her tongue as the commander continued his rattling about the horrific loss they had just sustained. She had known Oraya, a sweet woman with eyes too kind for her line of work. When she had first been recruited such a loss would have gripped her heart and twisted it until it tore in half, but now she had faced so many deaths that it was almost inevitable that everyone she knew would die in some brutal manner. Herself included.

Lucien’s voice was what drew her mind back to the present, a question left hanging in the air as she blinked absently up at him. “I have no plans.” She confirmed, glancing just past his shoulder in time to see Josephine also approaching a rider. Her eyebrow quirked in interest as the other medic spoke to a terribly tall and gloomy looking individual. Suddenly, Ciati was appreciative of the rider she had been assigned.

“Goat is a favourite of his?” She mused, letting her eyes glide back over to meet Lucien’s and meet them for a heartbeat before beginning to walk past him and towards the exit. She needed to eat something if she was going to charm a dragon. “I thought goat would be tough and tasteless by comparison to the other options dragons have,” Ciatia continued absentmindedly. “My previous partner’s dragons enjoyed fish the most, I never left a mission without smelling like a fisherman.”

With that, she pushed out the door with the other people busying themselves with the start of their day. Some people had a crestfallen appearance, clearly facing the news of deaths more empathetically than herself and Lucien. When she had witnessed her first death, Ciati had lay awake in her cot staring at the ceiling with a racing mind. Wishes that her friends and squad would mourn her death, that she would live on in their memories and bring them some sort of happiness with those memories. Then they all died around her, leaving her with the weight of their memories. Those memories did not bring her happiness like how she had hoped. They were shackles that weighed her down and restricted her so much that her body felt heavier, her mind even more so.

“How many partners have you had, Captain Lucien?” Ciati asked abruptly, her stride consistent, expecting that the man was following her to the dining hall. A great number of others were joining them in their mission to obtain food, if it could even be called that. They only rolled out the good stuff when they had a victory, which never happened. The tasteless food they did receive had enough nutrients and protein to support their athletic upkeep but did nothing to satiate the craving for seasoning.

Vervain Honeycutt | Crizavia | War Hall

Unwilling to interrupt his captain and his new partner, Vervain has allowed his shoulders to slump again, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of his issued cargo pants. Unlike the rest of his squad, who had completely suited up before coming to the meeting, Vervain had yanked on the black undershirt and cargo pants and sauntered to the hall. The dining hall was calling his name, the flavourless slop was difficult to stomach a few months ago, but now his stomach craved the sustenance. Just as he adjusted his foot in order to stalk walking towards the tall double doors of the war hall, he heard a voice too close to him to be idle chatter of others.

In vague surprise, Vervain twisted his neck and looked around himself but didn’t see anyone looking in his direction. It was a woman’s voice and it wasn’t the one that had just started to saunter away with Lucien. Only when he began to continue his route and glanced down at his own feet did he spot the woman in front of him. Clearly, this was who had been speaking to him. Vervain looked down at her, the mess of his hair shrouding his forehead a little as he angled his jaw downwards to see her properly. Bewildered as to why this woman was introducing herself to him, he stood frozen in time for just long enough for her to explain it to him.

The commander had not told him he was getting a partner. He had to fight to hide the gleam of disappointment in his eyes, it didn’t work very well as the flash of realisation and subsequent wince gave it away. He didn’t want a partner. In fact, he thanked his good graces every night that he didn’t have another person he had to ensure made it through the mission attached to his dragon. Endry was a particularly friendly dragon, it wouldn’t be an issue to introduce her to new people, in fact she enjoyed it very much. It was Vervain that didn’t want to include another person in their team.

“Vervain Honeycutt.” He offered, opting for simply his name rather than all the trimmings of his rank and specialisations. He was far too distracted by the fact that this woman had never been paired with a rider before. It brought about a whole other obstacle they were going to have to navigate, that being said he had also never had a partner before. He cursed his luck with a deep intake of air, pushing it out through his nose in one long smooth action.

Tilting his head back up to the retreating figures of Lucien and this Ciati woman, Vervain resigned himself to his fate. There was no bargaining to be had, no way to get rid of this woman so unfortunately his day of eating and training had just turned into a day of dragon introductions and teaching Josephine how to not fall off a dragon. Lovely.

“We should join them, we need to eat and introduce you to my dragon before we have to head out to the next outpost.” Vervain tried to offer a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wasn’t a mean person, he did enjoy talking to others, but it was the mere fact that he now had to handle another person on his dragon that had soured his morning. “And if you haven’t been partnered before, we’re going to have to teach you how to not fall off a dragon.” Vervain’s voice held a small indication of amusement, but he was telling her the truth. If she couldn’t stay on Endry, then she was going to fall to her death on the first flight.

“First, let’s get something to eat. Lucien is a warhorse and he makes us train just as hard, I need to eat something before he starts cracking the whip.” This time his accompanying smile was wider as he raised a hand to gesture for Josephine to start walking ahead of him, out the door and to the dining hall. He neglected to address Lucien with his ranking, ever the disobedient newbie, he enjoyed the flicker of annoyance he got from his superior whenever he did it.

He had to slow his pace in order to not overtake the shorter woman, his long strides eating up the ground whilst she was clearly doing her best to keep up with his pace. Vervain cast his eyes out across the crowd, spotting the familiar heads in the distance of his squad as they also made their way to the promise of breakfast. The shuffling of their infantry was far too slow for his liking and his eyebrows settled lower on his eyes as he thought about it. Hoping to pull his thoughts away from his disgruntled ones, he glanced down at Josephine, watching the top of her head bob up and down as she walked.

“Have you been out on any missions at all? Or is this going to be your first assignment ever?” Vervain was truly interested in the answer, but he was also attempting to softly gauge just how green this woman was. He wasn’t extremely experienced himself, but he had been in this squad for six months. There was only one other recruit less experienced than him and they had fallen from their dragon in their first month, succumbing to their injuries shortly after being transferred back to the barracks.