Welcome to Gaia! ::

I like to roleplay solo too... but there's no way on earth I'm going to keep a journal for every NPC I control. So this is where all NPC solo roleplays will go, for those who are interested.

I'll be posting on this using the Kiddo account as I'm lazy about logging onto the Dragon-Bound one.

Flame Keeper


Siene paused for a moment to catch her breath, pushing hair damp with sweat off her forehead. Around her, the mountain winds hummed and made the squat wildflowers tremble at its passing. It was cold against her skin but did little to ease the heat. She had considered shedding her robe hours ago but it was only an idle thought, as dropping the ceremonial garment would be tantamount to sacrilege. She was a priestess. She had to act like one, despite her discomfort.

With a resolute sigh Siene continued walking up the mountainside path. The trail was small but well-worn, winding up the gentle slope of the mountain to the shrine that nestled just below where the slopes turned into cliffs that reached the heavens. It afforded her a view of the rest of the mountain range and the plains behind her. On clear days the other devotees of her temple swore they could see all the way to the forest that loomed on the eastern side of the Borderlands. Siene had seen it as well, once or twice, and thought it could just as easily be a river than the start of the forest. They weren’t that far east, after all.

There were three shrines in the region that surrounded the temple. One was at the base of the mountain path that led straight north into the Northern Mountains. It broke apart eventually when the last human settlement petered out and became merely a difficult and almost invisible footpath that struck east towards Genyiel Circle, the mountain stronghold of the dragons. Humans didn’t go there. The other two shrines were arranged east and west of the temple, up on the mountain sides, forming a triangle with the temple at the center, nestled in the valley between two mountains. They faced south, so that the villages below could look up and see that the fires of Lahmear always burned.

Not so today. Siene plodded wearily along, realizing it would be past nightfall when she finally reached the shrine and started her descent back towards the temple. Spending a night out on the mountainside did not concern her though. It was summer and the mountain was calm. It saved its anger and rage for the winter, when snows clogged the path upwards and sought to invade every crack and chimney in the temple. It was why their ceremonial robes were so wretchedly heavy. Siene had tucked the red and white garment up around her belt, rolling her pant legs up as well up to over the knees. Her sleeves hung loose, too voluminous to stay pulled up for long, and they flapped about her elbows and tangled with the thin silver staff she carried. The staff was about a foot taller than she was and the top was crowned with a brazier, the coals smoldering and keeping the flame of the Sun God alive. She could feel its heat and the heat of their deity smothering her. More sweat beaded and rolled down her cheek.

She had been tasked with lighting the western shrine that morning. She didn’t leave the temple until past noon. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. It was dull most of the time up in the northern temple and her duties as Flame Keeper were small. Attend the festivals, keep the fires in the shrines and the temple lit, stand vigil during temple ceremonies, and help in the daily upkeep chores of the temple itself. Today, however, had been quite a stir. An hour after the western shrine’s fire had gone out the temple had someone burst into their courtyard and collapse, as if the hounds of the night were chasing him. He had only managed to get out one word – ‘sanctuary’ – before collapsing. And the Flame Keepers of Lahmear had done their duty and tended to the man. Whether or not he actually gained sanctuary would be based on whether or not whoever he was running from showed.

Lahmear was a god of justice, after all, not one of mercy.

The sun was close to sunset by the time she arrived at the shrine. Siene was out of breath, having hurried the last mile, knowing she had to light the fire before the sun set. It would not do to allow the night to fall with one of the fires unlit. One day, the Prince of the Night would once again challenge the rule of her god and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing one of his rival’s fires unlit. Her short hair was plastered against the back of her neck, her robe was in disarray and trailed behind her, and her hat was tucked under one arm, leaving her face raw from the constant beating of the mountain wind. Still, she was here. The white marble stones were roughly hewn and led up to a natural platform where the brazier sat, a low bowl of more stone that burned with eternal fire. The original founders of the temple had constructed these as a beacon to the lands below and a comfort to the few travelers that had business with the northern settlements. Their magic ensured the fire never needed fuel… but it was still vulnerable to the elements. Siene knelt on the lip, looking in and brought her staff around to light the fire with the flame she had carried from the temple herself.

The keening of the wind stopped her. It had taken on an odd quality, as if some animal’s cry was mixed into it, and it chilled her blood. She instinctively grasped for the pendant around her neck and prayed. The noise hummed for a bit longer and then stopped. The priestess did not move. There, in the middle of the basin, was the remains of a nest. It was not that of a bird, for it had no straw or twigs, and the eggshells were far too large. They littered the bowl in shades of off-white, cracked and crushed, still shining with the slick membrane that had coated what they had once held.

The former contents of the eggs were in the basin as well. Siene grew very aware of her own breathing as she stared at the crumpled forms, the twisted bodies that stared at the sky with eyes not yet open and fingers still fused together. The bodies were not yet dry and a few insects had perished in their slime coating. That would not last for long. Siene slowly stood. They were only the size of tomcats, not ready to hatch. Someone or something had deliberately destroyed the dragon’s nest.

She rose to face the dragon. It unfolded from the cliffs above her and slid down, dislodging rock and scree as she did, navigating the cliff face with claw and wing until it perched on a ledge just out of reach. She was a beautiful beast, the size of a house with scales that seemed to glow silver where the sun touched them. On her belly was a black marking, a circle that twined with itself and had no beginning or end. A Bond mark. This dragon could fly then. Her wings were furrowed tight against her body and she stared at Siene with inhuman intelligence.

Her elders in the temple taught that the dragons were not like animals and should not be treated as such. They were not human, either, and although they shared some gods with the humans, they did not recognize the divinity of Sun King Lahmear, nor that of the Prince. They played a role in this world that only the gods could understand.

The dragon turned her head to regard the sun. The first taint of orange was spreading across the lip of the world. Trembling, Siene stepped over the lip of the basin and into the bowl itself. She moved closer, shaking badly, and swallowed hard. The dragon merely watched and did not speak. Did not move. Merely feet away the first of the unborn hatchlings gaped at her with a mouth that had not yet developed teeth and blind eyes. She lowered her staff, the flame at the point fluttered in the wind, and leapt to the offering in the middle.

It burned quickly, a fire far hotter and larger than usual, and then burned itself out in a rush, not even leaving guttering coals behind. When the wind picked up the ash that remained it was cold as it clung to her eyelashes and garments. The dragon turned away, climbing sideways on the mountain face, and then leapt into the air and circled up, higher and higher until Siene could no longer see her.

Then the sun was set and the rule of the night began.


Siene was met by other Flame Keepers when she returned to the temple, their lanterns betraying fearful faces. They questioned her. Why had the shrine’s fire gone out again? Was it the doing of the night? She walked across the courtyard and into the inner sanctum. They followed her and as she looked around, weary and cold at heart, she realized that both the Matron of the Fire Keepers was there, along with the High Priest and all their disciples. The entirety of the temple had turned out to see her return and the older the devotee looked, the more concerned their faces were.

“I found dragon eggs,” she said. There was no use trying to put this nicely. Everyone needed to know what kind of a situation they were in. “Crushed. The dragons inside were dead.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd and her own lantern flickered in response.

“The mother… had put them there,” Siene continued, unsure of her words now, “She watched as I revived the fire and left when it was done and her children were given to the Sun God.”

The Matron bowed her head, a look of unhappy resignation on her face.

“The fire went out immediately after the ashes were scattered. I could not bring it to light again.” One last thing. Siene took a breath. “The dragon. She had a bond mark. On her stomach.”

And the Matron raised her head and in a clear voice, gave orders that the stranger that had sought sanctuary be brought before them. Siene retreated back into the ranks, weary and conscious of her disheveled state, of the ash that clung to her face and robes. It didn’t matter though. The Sun God would not let that shrine’s fire burn until justice was seen to, whatever it might be.

The man was tall and skinny, his skin dark from being out in the sun. His appearance was ordinary and he could easily be mistaken as just another villager that visited the temple. There was naked fear in his eyes though, like a cornered animal. He stood in the center of the sanctum, twisting a bit here and there to escape the hold the two Flame Keepers had on his arm. His efforts were useless though and the Flame Keepers did not budge. They were servants of a God of Justice, after all, and sometimes justice was violent.

The Matron pulled his shirt up without a word. There, on his stomach, was a black circle that seemed to have neither beginning nor end. Siene nodded her head slightly when the Matron gave her a glance. It was the Bond mark she had seen. This man belonged to the dragon.

“The fires will not light until justice is seen to,” the High Priest said. His gnarled hands were tight on his own silver staff, the fire at the top burning steadily. All around him, the younger Flame Keepers held their own staffs with flickering flames. “In the morning,” he continued, “We leave his fate to Lahmear.”

“Wait!” the main cried as the Priest turned to leave, “Please! I seek sanctuary – I’m human! I’m one of you!”

In the center of the human lands things would be different. Dragons didn’t travel there, save for a few that were on good terms with the inhabitants. Some cities might harbor a fugitive Bond without question. But this was the Borderlands and everyone knew that crushing a dragon’s nest was one of the highest sins a person could commit against the dragons. It destroyed their children. Their future. Even Lahmear demanded justice for those unborn. The man was still protesting as the Flame Keepers took him away to await the morning. The Matron instructed the Flame Keepers to build up the pyre in the courtyard.

“Not you,” she said, as Siene turned to obey, “Get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

“Thank you,” she whispered in reply, bowing and turning to the woman’s wing of the temple.

She shared a room with another Flame Keeper. She secured her staff against the wall where it would bring feeble light to the room throughout the night. Her ceremonial robes were carefully hung up. They would have to be washed later. She paused at the bowl by her bed and stared at the water. The pinpoint of light reflected in the basin made it almost impossible to see her own reflection, but she could feel the soot still on her face. She turned away and rolled into her bed. The ash from the burning dragons stained her pillow.

The cities had courts and judges. They had a civilized way of resolving disputes. Here, out in the wilderness, the High Priest arbitrated the important matters of the villages – which usually amounted to someone’s goats eating someone else’s vegetables. Those higher problems had no court to go to and the High Priest did not know enough of law or politics to mediate something like the murder of unborn dragons. It was up to their god, who saw all, to decide. The Bond was brought out and he fought like a trapped animal, babbling as they drug him to the pile of wood.

“She knows!” he cried desperately, “She knows!”

Siene felt sick. She turned her head away while they bound the man and placed him atop the tinder. The bond mark was like a scar on his stomach. He seemed to give up once he was laying amidst the timber, his breath fast and eyes closed. The wind died down and the assembled devotees waiting. The rituals were done. The invocation to Lahmear was made. All they needed now was to wait and believe.

At noon, when the sun and Lahmear’s power was at its highest, the fire came. It flickered for only a moment before exploding into a blaze that completely consumed the pyre, leaping higher than even the flame in the sanctum. The Bond screamed, a high and painful cry and Siene flinched despite herself. The cry was quickly gone and in its absence another cry of mournful agony drifted from the mountains. A dragon’s scream. The fire of the pyre died down slowly, then with a final wisp of smoke vanished, not even leaving coals. Just a pile of ash that was picked up by the wind.

Siene was breathing hard and wavered, leaning on her staff. In the distance she could see the pinpoint of light that was the western shrine. All three fires were lit and the valley remained silent until nightfall, the only sound the murmur of the wind.

Seist and Shadine

The mage shuddered and died, coughing blood as he did so. A few droplets of it landed on Seist's purple tunic and instantly soaked into the fabric. The priest frowned in irritation and immediately chided himself for it. A man had just died by his hand. This was no time to worry about vanity. He slid the sword free and knelt by the mage's side, gently closing the eyes that were frozen in shock.

“Dues and Frain take you,” he murmured, “I am sorry. It was necessary.”

And with the tip of a dagger, Seist drew three marks under each eye, the still-hot blood beading up and spilling down the dead man's cheeks. They were simple lines, clean cuts that started at the base of the eye and traveled down about an inch onto the cheek. There were three under each eye on Seist, long ago healed and scarred into vivid white lines that stood out in sharp contrast to his dark skin. That done, the priest stood and stepped back. He looked around the room. The mage was wealthy – almost all mages were – and he had a manor with servants. Seist had spelled those into sleep. They wouldn't wake until he was gone. But what else had he left behind that could be used against him? Shavelle didn't condemn what this mage was doing and so Seist was technically guilty of murder.

It didn't bother him. This was not the first man he had murdered, not by far, and would certainly not be the last. Not as long as mages were content to violate the codes laid down by the sibling god and goddess, the patron deities of magic. It angered him. There was no official priesthood for Dues and Frain. He was only marked as a devotee by the scars under his eyes, intended to mimic the blind eyes of the goddess, who was called Frain, goddess of wisdom, and had taken her eyes and given them to her brother – Dues, god of knowledge – so that he could see with both sets and use his power well.

The first mage Seist had ever killed had been his own master. It had gotten considerably easier after that.

The money and title certainly helped, Seist mused as he deemed the room acceptable. Save for the Frain mark, he hadn't left behind any visible signs of who had committed the murder. He was a long way from home and no one would recognize him as mage. They knew him as a noble just from the sword he carried and the way he dressed, but they didn't know where his lands were or even what his name was. They didn't ask. Nobility was not to be bothered by the common class. The priest turned on heel and stalked from the room, his crimson cloak billowing behind him.

He was an attractive man, thirty-two years old with a sly and impish look. His face was round and his nose somewhat flat. Olive skin, hair a shade between brown and black that swept upwards in an unruly mess, small tails bound with gold beads hanging on either side of his face. He was not much of a ruler and left the governance of his lands to his steward, preferring to travel and refine his own magical craft. It was lonely, he had to admit. Sometimes he wished he could unburden himself to someone, anyone, but there was too much influential blood on his hands. Perhaps someday he'd find another priest to unburden himself to, another one of Dues and Frain or even a priest of Marckius. They were rare though. Too rare. Shavelle was getting bolder in what it permitted its mages to do and Seist felt like he was fighting a losing battle.

No one stopped him as he left the manor. No one even looked. He longed to burn the wretched place to the ground but the servants were still inside. Besides. They'd look through the grounds to set the dead mage's affairs in order and find what he had found. They'd know then. They'd understand.


Seist left the next morning. The servants at the inn saddled his horse and ensured his saddlebags were stocked for the next leg of his journey. He would go south, he decided, cutting close to the Borderlands and see if he could pick up news from the eastern forest. The dragons kept that area in constant turmoil and many of the mages Seist would see dead made their home there where they could practice their arts with impunity. They feared neither him nor the dragons.

That would have to change. Seist's frown hardened on his face and his gloved hands tightened around the horse's reins. Perhaps he would have to leave Shavelle alone for a time and venture into the Borderlands. The Baroness Yvette in particular concerned him. He had heard some rumors of bad things happening there. A priest of Lahmear was in her sway now and Seist might be able to find information from him. They were a just sort and even if the priest was a polite hostage, he could be trusted to help.

Lost in his thoughts, Seist didn't hear the approaching riders until it was too late to run. He allowed them to catch up with him, confident that he would be safe. If it were bandits, they'd find him both an accomplished swordsman and an accomplished mage. If it were travelers, they'd have no need to stop and bother with him. And if it were the city guards... well. He was a priest and murderer only by mortal laws. What he did was not wrong and he would not spill blood that had not earned the wrath of the sibling deities. He'd go peacefully.

But he cursed under his breath when the five spread out and surrounded his horse. Two had bows and hung back, pointing them at him. Seist had always expected to be caught someday, but not this soon. And not this far from his homeland of Kas Kain, where his noble title wouldn't amount to much.

“Is something wrong?” he asked politely. He was not guilty of anything but breaking mortal laws. The laws he upheld were divine. He had done no evil here.

“Margrave Seist Loringar of Kas Kain,” the commander said, “You are hereby under arrest for the murder of the mage Vainele Shae. Will you surrender your sword?”

They couldn't do a thing to counter his magic. This was a formality and he could see in the eyes of the guards that they were praying to Lahmear that he would cooperate.

“Of course,” he murmured, “I am a man of honor and a priest. I will do no violence. May I ask how I have come to be accused?”

“One of the servants saw you leaving just before she found her dead master.” The commander took his sword. Seist would not be bound in any way. Nobles were treated well, even under arrest.

“So I am merely under suspicion.” He had calculated that spell correctly – hadn’t he? He cursed his luck. Sleep spells didn't always hold for their full duration and he'd gotten unlucky.

“Pretty strong suspicion.” The commander narrowed his eyes at Seist. “Interesting scars.”

And Seist said nothing. They knew his rank. He still had wealth. And if that failed... well, so be it. He had done his duty well and had nothing to fear.

They turned around and started back towards the city. Seist was surprised at his own calm. Silently, he prayed to his gods that they would rescue him so that he could continue his work. There was still so much yet to be done.

“Did you search the mage's house?” Seist asked quietly to the commander as they rode. The priest saw the man's jaw tighten.

“What do you know of that?” he replied.

“I'm just curious. Vainele was very evasive when I asked about his research.” And that was true. It was incredible how much could be hidden through simple omission. Seist had questioned Vainele about his research and when met with dismissal, had returned and broke into the laboratory the mage kept. After seeing what he had been doing (and dispatched the experiments, wretched things. They, and not the mage's death, would haunt his nightmares), Seist resolved that Vainele needed to die. That he had perverted Dues's gift. And so he had asked his goddess to bless his sword and she had.

She blessed him still. Something dropped from the clouds, a twining shape of pale blue and brown, and the men started in shock when they realized it was a creature and it was diving towards them. The horses were quick to panic. Seist had already kicked himself free of the stirrups and when his horse bolted he rolled off, hitting the ground hard and landing on his shoulder in the ditch. The dragon passed over him, utterly silent save for the roar of wind that filled its wings, and landed on top one of the guards. There was a ominous crunch and a man screamed. The dragon hissed and Seist rolled onto his belly and watched. It was an ascended. The dragon's feet were cloven hooves and fine hair drifted out from the scales to cloud around them. The tail was tufted with a thick shock of hair and there were no horns, only fins on either side of the oval-shaped head. The wings were like that of a bird, banded with black. The eyes were like opals. It snapped its jaws around the second guard and threw him aside. The remaining three didn’t have a hope. They were not used to dealing with dragons this far into Shavelle and this one had dropped on them too quickly to muster a response. It dispatched the three in rapid succession, finally snapping out a word at the last retreating guard and he convulsed as the spell ripped him apart on the inside. Seist hissed in anger at that. Death needn't be unpleasant, but this was a dragon, and they followed different rules of magic.

He stood. He was shaking and unsteadily he climbed back onto the road. His shoulder twinged with pain at every movement. The dragon was a gray-blue with dark hair the color of soot. There were gold markings on its hide and as he approached he realized with a sort of numb shock that they were runes. Human runes.

“Shadine,” he gasped and fell to his knees, bowing his head before her, “Rune-weaver.”

“You're very lucky, priest of the sibling gods,” she said, turning and standing above him. Her shadow engulfed him. “I had intended to visit this area, seeking knowledge of your magic as I always do, when I cast my runes and saw you being arrested. What is it you did?”

“You saved me without knowing if I were guilty or not?” He dared raise his head. There was no way to read her thoughts or her emotions. Ascended dragons gained their wings by being creatures of great good to the sentient races, but the result and the means did not always fall along the same lines. Shadine had advanced the knowledge of magic and bridged that gap between dragon and human magic and for this she was rewarded with her feathered wings. But her methods... those Seist feared. He did not know what they were.

“Of course. You are a mage and marked with the scars of the goddess. I will always put the life and freedom of your kind over that of your human kin. Now come, I don't know if my dive was witnessed or not. We should go.”

She crouched low to the ground and extended a wing to bare her back. Seist stood, somewhat numb with surprise. She was going to let him ride on her back. Him, an unbound human, riding a dragon. It was unbelievable. The gods had protected him. He climbed on and settled himself as best as he could. Her shoulders were far wider than a horse and he tucked his legs up under him instead, leaning low and holding on to the end of her mane. Then she leapt into the air and Seist could feel the currents of magic that enabled her to fly despite her size. It was a sort of magic he had never felt before and for a moment he could only marvel. Thought failed him. He had dreamed of flying and even done a bit himself – but never anything more daring than gliding off the top of his castle's walls. His magic wasn't enough. Flight belonged to the dragons. And as the world fell away beneath him he was paralyzed on the dragon's back, unable to process the sensation of it all. Tears welled up in his eyes from the cold and the wind and spilled out over his scarred cheeks.

“Where do you wish to go, priest?” Shadine asked. The words were more in his head, as without magic speech would be carried away by the wind.

“The border of Kas Kain,” he replied in the same manner, “I can get to my home from there.”

“What do you plan to do?”

He thought. He decided to take a risk and gamble on Shadine being willing to advise him.

“I have been working in Shavelle, but I fear I should lie low after this latest incident. They have been doing terrible things, some of the mages there, and I seek them out in the name of the sibling gods.”

“I know the things they are rumored to have done.” She neither approved nor condemned, only observed.

“There are rumors from the Borderlands as well now. I am concerned.”

“As am I.”

“I may go there next.”

Shadine was silent for a moment.

“I will send word to my kin,” she finally said, “Should you seek the Borderlands. They will know you by your scars and let you pass through in peace. I will demand you inform me of anything you find. Harm not my kind.”

“I swear to Dues of Knowledge and Frain of Wisdom that I shall not harm a dragon save to defend my own life while in the Borderlands,” he said solemnly and felt his scars tingle, reminding him that he would be held to his oath, “And I swear to tell you that which I learn.”

“What is your name priest?”

Seist was a bit surprised at this. He thought she knew from the way she was aiding him.

“Seist Loringar.” He didn't think she'd care for his title. Dragons didn't care much for such things.

“You will draw me a rune when we land,” she said, “So that I may contact you at my whim.”

“I agree to this also.”

“There is no agreement.” Her thoughts were cold. “It is what I demand for helping you. Find the disturbance in the Borderlands, priest, and I will consider our debt settled.”

He shivered and tried to pull his cloak closer to him. What had he just gotten himself into? He continued shaking for the rest of his time on Shadine's back and it was only partly because of the cold.