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Character: Janatheil
Stage: Apprentice
Luck: 18 (+13 from Asi'wi) = 31
Creature: Peisio x 8 || Aiskala x 3 (Additional Rolls on P.3)
Success Rate: 31 - 100 || 81 - 100

Win x 8: 280/2 = 140
Win x 2: 80/2 = 40
Loss x 1: 20/2 = 10

Total: 190exp, Levels to 27 with 18/27 exp left over, +24 stat points to distribute, +10 LUK 1/3LUK exp, + 8 Peisio Dragon Orbs, +2 Aiskala Dragon Orb

Word Count Required: 3,300
Final Word Count: 3,761

Dark clouds rolled in from the southwest like billows of grey smoke, roiling one over the other in contorted, bubbling motion as they seeped and crawled ever further across the sky. The wind that came with them, Jana knew now with the dragons gone, was not magic, but storm-brewed and bitter-cold. It whipped through his hair, tossing blonde locks every which way and he frowned, shoving one hand loosely back through them and reaching down with the other, holding a palm out for his companion.

“I’m sure you’re right…” His throat felt faintly papery from the sharp, ragged breaths of the fight, but he ignored it, shoving the sting in his muscles down, too. He could worry about being tired later. For now, he had a younger dovaa’s safety to see to and both of their lives to look out for. “Any brilliant native tricks up your sleeve?”

Janatheil glanced down, not really noticing how long Asi’wi’s fingers had stayed in his until the younger boy yanked sharply away. He blinked and watched the other turn and stalk off, but said nothing. When Asi’wi fetched the hastars, Jana whistled and then clicked his tongue, drawing his forward and then patting a palm to the creature’s neck. Weapons securely holstered, he moved around, gripped the saddle, and gave a beat of his wings to provide thrust and lift as he straddled and remounted.

“Aye,” he said, eyes focussed on the surrounding mountain range, suddenly less ethereal now and more ominous, with the storm brewing between and over their peaks. “Wouldn’t want t’ get you in trouble.” Pulse picking up with some mixture between giddy thrill — the rush of danger providing a n** to his mood — and anxiousness, he clipped his reins and nudged his mount into action. In moments, they were off.

On hastarback, it thankfully did not take long to reach the mountains themselves, his mount’s hooves soon digging into the deeper, looser snow of the rising terrain. Finding shelter, however, was another matter. Despite the casualness with which he had shrugged off his younger companion’s earlier comment about him ‘freezing to death,’ the longer they spent trudging their way up the mountainside, the more Janatheil began to feel as though the surrounding cold were seeping into his clothes, down into his skin and lodging itself there.

It didn’t help that with every passing minute, the sky darkened and soon, it began to snow. Within a handful of breaths after the first few snowflakes cut the air, Janatheil swore it went from clear to white in the blink of an eye, the wind and precipitation so thick as it howled around the rocks that he could barely make out his companion on his hastar despite being within two arms’ distance of him.

He grit his teeth to keep them from chattering, and told himself he was only imagining the fact that he couldn’t feel his toes.

Janatheil shuddered, blinking rapidly to keep his eyes awake — and partly for the irrational fear that they would freeze shut if he didn’t. When Asi’wi spoke, the words were beyond welcome, and he gratefully turned his hastar to guide it after the younger boy, shivering from tip to toe as he followed. The instant they stepped past the lip of the opening, he felt — heard — the difference, the constant, beating pressure of the prevailing winds cutting down and his ears feeling as though they could at least function again. It was a low-hanging cave, however, and after several spans of hunkering low to keep from butting his head, he dismounted, swallowing back another full-body shudder and stomping his boots to breathe life into them.

“Never thought I’d be so happy to climb inside a rock throat,” he grunted, covering his frigid lips with his gloved hand a moment later and rubbing over them. Not completely numb, at least. That was a good start. Turning his attention forward, he narrowed his eyes, surveying the glossy, smooth black rock tunnel that seemed to climb gradually upwards into the body of the mountain itself. “Wonder how far back it goes…” he mused aloud, “…and if anything else thought shelter was a good idea before we did.” Gaze flicking sidelong towards his companion, he gave a smaller version of his characteristic boisterous grin. “So. When was the last time you went cave climbing?”

“Never?” Janatheil repeated with a startled glance in his companion’s direction. Though he had asked, he had thought, surely, a native of Aisko — even one young as Asi’wi — would have had some experience in its mountains and ice caves. He shrugged, however, tucking the information away and smiling even as he rubbed his hands up his arms and started in through the tunnel system. “Aye…first times for everything,” he agreed. “And I’m flattered to take this one.”

It was only with reluctance that he left behind the heat of their hastars, but supposed it was a wise enough move to secure them somewhere safe and sheltered from the winds. They didn’t know at this point, after all, what the rest of the cave might entail. The further they moved in, the more the distant storm became, its sounds muted by the rock and drowned out to a low, eerie wail in the background. Eventually, Janatheil could hear his own breath again as it curled out from his lips, white in the shadowy space of the cave.

He reached to his hip pocket, drawing out a spelled lightstick and tapping it to the cave’s side to activate it. The most basic of aedaun magic, scribed into it in small spell runes, lit up at the activity, warming to a healthy white glow that illuminated well enough of the surrounding area to see more clearly.

“How long do your storms usually last?” Janatheil questioned, as much to fill the space between them with sound as to actually get an answer. His eyes, in the meantime, scanned the dark rock — smooth and glistening, as though worn down over the years by water, or ice — but uneven, with dips and groves as well as risen areas. His attention caught, and narrowed, on a fresher looking portion, more ragged, as though something — claws? — had torn or scraped at the rock, digging shallow, jagged marks into the otherwise unmarred surface.

At the rumble, the direction of Janatheil’s gaze jerked forward. He extended a hand on instinct, palm to his company’s back to steady him even as his spare hand lowered, touching to the hilt of one of his maces. “Whatever it is,” he murmured, “don’t think it liked you insulting its age. Question now is…” He glanced back over his shoulder in the direction they’d come, his light making a white blossom of light on the cave rock and sending dark shadows skittering to hide in the dips and grooves. “Is the cave worth fighting over?”

He didn’t particularly want to leave. All of him still felt stiff with chill and the prospect of venturing back out into the storm purely because they had company — or competition — in the cave was not appealing. At the same time, however, being eaten never bode well, and the largest thing he’d ever fought was a kiandri — and those with company, at that. Huffing, his breath coiled up from between his lips, frosted white, and he moved his hand, touching it lightly to Asi’wi’s chest.

“Wait here…”

Without elaborating — or bothering to see if his younger companion looked to have any intention of following his instruction — Janatheil started forward, looping his lightstick to hang from his belt and drawing one of his maces loose from its holster as he edged further up the cavern. He did not have to travel far. Fifteen paces and one bend in the tunnel later, he stalled abruptly, wings bursting out to beat and catch himself as his boot half-slipped over the lip of—

—a massive drop.

Tap…

…tap…

…tap…

A scattering of small pebbles, stirred by his sudden halt, clipped their way down the rock. And toward the four large peisio dragons waiting at the base of the cavern crater. The ‘rumble’ from earlier was more akin to a low, building roar this time as one — then two, then three — lifted their heads, stirring and stretching their wings. Janatheil swallowed and took a step back.

“Out…out, out—out! Asi’wi, we’re leaving!”

Janatheil froze mid-step.

At Asi’wi’s outcry, he swore, pivoted in the span of a second, and darted back in the opposite direction. Stupid. Foolish little—

He leapt. Without even looking to see what precisely had happened to Asi’wi — or to see what awaited him at the bottom — Janatheil jumped from the lip of the crater, wings fanning wide to billow and catch the air as he left solid ground. He drew and clacked his weapons together, forming a full staff midair. The first thing his boots hit was snout.

The dragon snarled, snapping, and Janatheil swept, tucking his wings in to speed his descent and half-run, half-tumble his way down the dragon’s back. It veered midair, twisting sharply to bite back at him, but by then he was dropping, crouching to the ground and then darting an instant later when another came crashing in towards him. He jerked, lifted his weapon, and smashed. His attention, though, was seeking out Asi’wi. Where, where, where—

—there.

He beat with his wings, skidding back close enough to his company to speak. “Asi, are you—?” Leg. His leg did not look natural. ‘Please, Seren, tell me it’s not broken.’

Broken.

It was broken.

Of course it was broken. <********> Janatheil swore beneath his breath, frustration — anger, guilt — building up like stacking blocks, one, two, three, how many before the tower toppled? He was supposed to protect the smaller boy. And he had failed. Snarling, he swung at the first thing in range. His mace smashed, bludgeoning into the frozen ‘sculpture’ of a peisio dragon, shattering its head and snapping part of its neck. He bashed again — again, again — how dare they—

And then, another live dragon was incoming. “Come at me, then!” he challenged it, and dove. It charged him, smashing his small body back with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, but the twins — ever-enthused by the prospect of battle and ever more so when Janatheil’s pulse began to race — rippled their energy through him, helping to right him before he had even managed to draw a full breath, and then he was back on the dragon. Back and forth, he smashed at it. It dodged, dipped, and swept for him again. He beat his wings, leapt, and attacked.

It felt like a dance for far too long until finally it moved in too soon and too swift, colliding with one wall of the crater as Janatheil dipped out of the way. Then, he brought his mace down — on its wing, on its body, on its head when it managed to turn. Bashing, and then turning and bashing again. When the beast disintegrated, dissipating into nothing but a soul orb, Jana shuddered, breath still heaving as he twisted, hefted his weapon, and brought it crashing down into several nearby rocks before shutting his eyes, and panting.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

When his hands, at least, were not shaking so much and his body did not feel quite as ready to break any and everything in sight, he forced himself to split his weapons and attach them back to his holsters before stalking over to his dovaa company.

“And that,” he accused, panting on arrival, “is why you should have listened to me. You—you…” He shuddered, energy still rippling through him in spasms that forced him to bunch and release his fists, counting silently — one, two, three, four — when he could feel his breathing again, he released a shuddered exhale and frowned, abandoning his previous train of thought to move over and crouch beside Asi’wi. “Is it just your leg…? Or did they hurt anything else…”