Arrival (SL)

[DoS Archive]

From: cyranthered@aol.com (Cyran the Red)
Date: 28 Nov 1999 14:10:22 EST

There was a flash of light, Moribus struck Cyran with his staff, breaking it against the large drakken as he finished the spell. The release of magic flowed wildly flinging Moribus and Cyran in opposite directions. Moribus landed with a considerable thud, his life taken from him by the breaking of the staff, Cyran landed on his back, dazed staring up into what was now a dark sky. He lay there a moment, then rubbed his
eyes. Unsure of how long he had been there.
Cyran moaned slightly as he sat up. Every muscle in his body ached, fresh wounds slowly leaked his black blood onto the ground. Dizziness swept over him as soon as his body moved to the sitting position. Cyran swayed for a moment until the feeling passed. Giving himself an assessment of his wounds, he concluded that he had not been unconscious long. In fact, even with his strength and power, he was quite suprised to find that he survived Moribus
breaking his staff of the magi against him. Cyran put a hand to his throbbing head. One of the scales had been broken off right above his left eye.
"It'll take a few days for the to grow back." Cyran muttered. Taking a closer look at his body, he noticed there were many broken scales. The rest were charred slightly, even though he naturally had an immunity to all forms of fire, they were nonetheless, still burnt. His cuts were insignificant, but they felt all but that. It had been years since anyone had possessed a weapon enchanted enough to cut through his scales. He had almost forgotten what
being wounded felt like. It was a feeling he didn't miss.
Cyran looked around for a moment, to see where Moribus layed, figuring the human to be dead from the blast. A nearly horrified look crossed Cyran's face as he saw no trace of the man, in fact it appeared as if he was no longer in the same place he had fought Moribus and his men. The landscape was completely different, there were trees nearby, along with what appeared to be houses. Voices could be heard from not far away as well.
"This is not the cloakwood." Cyran stated quietly. Slowly he stood, still looking around for some point of reference. In his eight-hundred and sixty-seven years of life, there was not much of the world he had not seen, and assumed it would not take long for him to find out exactly where he was, or so he thought.
Cyran stretched his arms upward and outward, shaking the sting of the engagement from them. His wings spread wide, and he even gave his tail a shake for good measure. Even as beaten up as he was, to any would could see, this drakken was still monstrous. He stood nearly eight feet tall, fully spread his leathery wings were as wide as he was tall, a four foot tail snaked along behind him. All in all, if Cyran were to move about on all fours, he could
easily mistaken for a very young red dragon. For many, that misconception had cost them their lives. Cyran's race, the Drakkens, were nearly unique. There were never more than two-hundred in the world at any given time, this being controlled by the gods themselves. The powers held by such creatures were nearly immeasurable. They possessed all abilities of the dragons color they shared, on top of being naturally magically empowered with spell
capabilities of both priest and wizard alike. To make matters worse for any who faced a drakken, most of the spells took but a mere thought to cast.
Not the case with Cyran, however. He had not chosen to follow up on his magical abilities. Though his magic was strong, swordplay had always gave him most pleasure. Cyran's weapon of choice, the two-handed sword, although being Cyran's size, he easily handled the weapon with but one hand. Over the years, Cyran's strength had grown, to what sages guessed rivaled that of titans themselves. There were stories of Cyran actually uprooting a tree and
throwing it, though the claims came from a drunkard who had fallen into a small ditch as the tale went.
Cyran checked the scabbard strapped to his back between his wings, his sword was still there. He nodded to himself and set out for the buildings he saw. Shaking his head he concluded finding out where he was would actually be more difficult than he first counted on. After all, his race was constantly being hunted down and butchered for their hides. Humanoid races tended to treat drakkens as evil as well, fearing the very sight of them. A reputation
earned by the majority of drakkens known to exist, but not true with Cyran. Cyran just didn't possess the instinct that would influence him to be evil by definition. True he had killed thousands of men, but most were in self defense, or were justified in a form of law.
Cyran stepped into the street, standing next to a street lantern, he gazed at his shadow on the ground. The visage appeared menacing, even to him. The night air was cool and carried the scent of coming winter, clouds blocked out all of the night sky and it's stars. Few people were out, Cyran assumed it was a late hour and most had bedded down for the night. He began walking, past a few buildings until he came to what appeared to be an inn.
"Red Dragon Inn." Cyran said aloud with a hint of humor in his deep voice. Inside he could see the inn was nearly full of customers. Cyran spoke as he pulled the door open and stepped inside,"Well, at least one person in here will know where I am, but seven times as many will want to kill me."
Stopping as he closed the door, Cyran stood straight up, arms on his hips as if waiting for someone to jump up and attack. After a moment Cyran relaxed a bit. Only a few patrons in the tavern even looked at him, those that did, looked back to what had their attention before he entered as if they didn't care. Gazing around, Cyran was nearly overwhelmed. Never before in one such common place had he seen so many different races of beings sharing a roof
without being enslaved. He saw elves, dwarves, humans, a gnome skittered by chased by some other creature he could not identify. The scent of a man with lyconthropy caught his attention until a man in the corner farthest from the firepit hailed a serving girl for another drink. Cyran immediately recognized the man as a vampire. Cyran closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.
The door opened behind him, hitting Cyran squarely across the back with a resounding "thud".
"A thousand pardons...uh...sir?" A young human girl squeaked as she ducked under Cyran's arm and into the tavern.
Cyran slowly walked over to the bar. Leaning against it he hailed the barkeep.
"What can I get fer ye?" The barkeep asked.
"Where in the abyss am I?" Cyran said coolly. His yellow glowing pupiless eyes fixed on the man.
"Why this be the Red Dragon Inn." The barkeep found a slight bit of humor in that statement due to the person he spoke to's appearance. "The city be called Rhy-Din. Can I get ye a drink?"
"Rhy-Din." Cryan whispered to himself, then nodded to the barkeep. "Whatever you have on tap will do."
The barkeep went about pulling a stout from a keg behind the bar. Cyran watched curiously. So far, not a single person had called him out for his hide, or for that matter, even appeared like they cared he was there.
"That'll be two coppers." The barkeep spoke as he placed the drink on the bar before Cyran.
Withdrawing the two coins from a pouch pinned to his sword's scabbard Cyran eyed the man and spoke, "Tell me..." Cyran turned his head and regarded the entire tavern with a sweeping motion. "Is the rest of Rhy-Din like this place?" The barkeep gave Cyran a curious look. Looking straight back to the man Cyran clarified," I mean, are all races tolerated as they are in this tavern?"
"Oh...aye, I believe anyway. Most places that is. Seems this realm be a magnet for travelers from other realms, or so I hear."
Cyran grinned inwardly. To the barkeep, it appeared nothing more than a showing of may sharp teeth. He turned around slowly while taking a drink from the stout. His thoughts went to the battle with Moribus. He had been casting a spell when Moribus swung his staff. "That's it." He whispered. That explained how he had gotten to this place. The magic backfired and must have opened a portal sending him here, which so far was a blessing.
Cyran strolled around the tavern, examining the tapestries. A few people nodded to him as he passed, Cyran nearly laughed having never having been greeted by anything other than a swordpoint. As he walked about the inn, he noticed people coming and going from a doorway across the inn itself. He made his way over, and slowly opened the door to peek in. From his vantage point, all Cyran could see was a stairway down, and a few banners hanging in what
appeared to be a larger room below the inn.
"Interesting." Cyran stated as he stepped through the door. Starting down the stairs, the sound of swords clashing filled his ears. Instinctively he reached for his own blade, expecting to be rushed and attacked. The thought was chased away as soon as the following cheer came. "Gladiators?" Cyran asked himself. He quickly descended the stairs, his question being answered almost immediately by a uniformed woman stating that "anyone wishing to duel,
find a partner and notify me with your request."
Cyran watched from the bottom of the stairway for a few moments. Duelers as they were called in the rings were cutting and slashing each other apart, but the wounds healed nearly immediately, and yet another uniformed individual announced point for one or the other, or sometimes even both. Cyran stopped a man carrying a tray of drinks and asked, "How can two people fight, and nearly kill each other, but not do any harm?"
Hubie smiled at Cyran. "The rings are enchanted, all wounds heal as they are made." With that, Hubie scurried off to serve the drinks that he carried.
Cyran's mind was now off and running. Had he died? He always figured that he'd burn in the nine hells for the lives he had taken, but they were in self defense. He shook his head. Maybe he had died and actually gone to the seven heavens. This surely wasn't the twin paradises. He looked down at his body. The wounds had scabbed over now, and they ached, but were tolerable. "No." He concluded. "I am not dead." He said with another grin. At this very
moment, not even earning his way to eternal life in the seven heavens could be as good as this Rhy-Din seemed to him now.
Still grinning, Cyran stepped further into the arena, taking in the sights of the banners and logos. All the smells, all the faces, he even returned a nod now and then. A few people looked at him curiously, but noone stepped up to question him. He ordered a drink from Hubbie, having left his upstairs and turned his attention to watching the rings. Finally being able to watch some swordplay without being involved...just to stay alive.