Welcome to Gaia! ::

Her mind was foggy, the pain having temporarily knocked her unconscious. Ara was vaguely aware of the arms under her and then being lowered to the ground. Her browns pinched together at the sound of her name on his lips. "Nnnh..." Ara grunted as she forced her eyes open, a flush immediately creeping up into her cheeks at the muttered nick name he seemed to have given her.

"I'm...fine. I'll be alright." Ara forced a smile onto her face as she sat up. "Thank you for catching me." She reached down, rubbing her hands along her legs and frowning. "The diabi's magic grabbed hold of me the first time we fought one. That's all. Just some residual pain made worse by the shaking earth." She eyed the fallen orbs and then the two tunnels leading out of the current room. Pushing herself up, she managed to keep her face neutral, despite the pain, and moved to scoop up the orbs. She handed over Detra's half and headed for the tunnels. Upon reaching the entrances, she realized they really only had one choice. One of the two tunnels entrance was nothing but rubble. A cave in caused, no doubt, by the gaili dragon they had just killed.

Warm air greeted them yet again as they made their way through the tunnel. A different feeling filled this room, the complete opposite of the diabi's power. Did that mean...? When Ara glanced to Detra, her suspicions were proved right then and there. The look on his face and the posture he held said that there was light magic in this cave. When he didn't move forward, like usual, she knew without a mistake they would be facing an aedaun dragon. The other half of the strongest dragons, this one belonged to the orderites.

As she stepped into the cave the aedaun landed in front of her. It's size towered over Ara, making her feel miniscule. She froze as it leaned down to sniff her, the words hissing out of its mouth as it pulled back. "Why do you associate with an oblivionite? At her refusal to answer, the dragon roared, lighting the room up with its magic as it went into attack mode.

Ara jumped back, eyes narrowing as she aimed a wind tunnel at the dragon's head. The aedaun jerked back as it was hit but quickly recovered, snapping at Ara's head as she deftly avoided each lunge of it's snout. She moved to invade the dragon's lungs, intent on filling them to bursting. She was interrupted, however, as the dragon swung its tail at her. Ara jumped back, using her magic to give her a little boost to get out of the way in time. She grit her teeth as she pooled more of her energy into her magic, willing the winds to pick up as she moved in close. As she moved, she quickly formed a compact ball of wind in her hand.

When she came in close, she let her hand come forward, smashing into the dragon's chest. The compact, fast moving air dug into the dragon's skin, ripping flesh as it managed to push the beast back a few inches. As the dragon roared in pain,distracted by the wound in its chest, Ara shot back out of the way, giving herself a boost with her magic and shooting up into the air and around to the back of the dragon. She let go of her magic, bringing her dagger out as she dropped down onto the dragon's back. Gripping with her thighs, she buried the dagger deep into the base of the dragon's neck, twisting with as much force as she could.

As the dragon disappeared into dust, she let her magic carry her down to the ground, landing softly on her feet. She grimaced at the blood on her dagger, unused to such close combat and messiness. She glanced down, delightfully surprised that in its wake, the dragon had left four orbs.

Aedaun magic burned.

Dark magic hurt, no doubt, but as painful as it was, it was — on some level — part of him. His blood. His goddess’ magic. The spellwork of his people.

Aedaun magic was the work of Seren. The work of monsters, and the makeup of memories painful enough to make Detraeus’ limbs forget how to bend, his lungs forget how to breathe, his fingers forget how to draw an arrow. Not for terribly long, thankfully. His hatred for it, for orderites, and everything of their make, was his best-crafted weapon against the panic that they brought about in him.

But Araceli moved faster than his hate. She swept in faster than he could make his limbs bend. Faster than he could remind himself how to nock his bow, and she fought with the grace of a practiced hunter, bending and flitting like a bird, at ease in the air, and then striking like a predator. He watched in quiet awe, never having to fire once, and stepped into the room only when the glow of the aedaun’s magic faded, and died, leaving two orbs for each of them in its wake.

He stepped forward, lifting his two and tucking them away before eying her, expression curious. “You fight…” ‘…better than I gave you credit for…’ ‘…like a bird…’ ‘…fast as an arrow…’ ‘…beautifully…’ Detraeus frowned, and flushed, clearing his throat with a pinched look as he adjusted his bow. “Well. You fight well.”

Detraeus studied Araceli’s smile, trying to discern the ‘why’ behind it. She smiled almost as often as Casseth, but in an entirely different way. When she grimaced before wiping off her blade, he blinked. Was she not used to blood? He never asked, only watched, and followed with puzzlement as they started towards the next cave.

The heat of it hit him like a wall, and Detraeus curled his lip back in distaste, shifting the weight of his cloak — which he’d been so grateful for not but a few caverns back — and willing the heat not to seep down to his skin. He preferred cold weather to the desert’s relentless burn, and missed the cooler rooms already. Fortunately, it was ‘only’ another diabi, and Detraeus slipped in on quiet footsteps behind Araceli as she drew the brunt of the dragon’s attention. He braced himself, studying the dragon’s movement, waiting, and watching for an opening, all the while keeping well out of the way.

When Araceli cried out, however, Detraeus tensed, spitting a curse beneath his breath, and loosed the first arrow, sending three to chase it in quick succession. Of the four, two hit home, each managing to wedge beneath the diabi’s plate-like, finger-thick armor. If nothing else, Detraeus managed to draw the beast’s attention, a roar shaking through the cavern, and he readied another arrow as it spun towards him and stalked in, dark magic clawing up the walls and across the floor.

He decided, in that moment, that he was in grave need of learning some proper deflective magic. Granted, he would never be a spell caster, but fighting magic with nothing but a naked blade or unenchanted arrow was verging on suicide, and stupidly limiting besides. He never would have made it this far without Araceli’s back up, and pleased as he was to be alive, he didn’t want to need a partner with magic tendencies simply to get through a dragon fight. This in mind, he snorted, and spat at the dragons talons.

“You want to die?” he taunted.

The dragon snarled, leaping forward, wings spread and pulsing hard enough to unsettle Detraeus’ balance. It snapped at him, and Detraeus dropped to a crouch, gritting his teeth but not breathing a word when the beast yanked him forward by the boot, directly beneath its underbelly.

“Come die,” he said, and jerked Cas’ dagger from his hip, burying the blade in the dragon’s gut. Again, and again. The dragon roared, attempting to crush down on him, but Detraeus rolled, slipping one of the thin, piercing blades from off of the straps on his wrists and slitting again, splitting tendons at the root of the diabi’s hind leg.

Dark magic coiled around him, making breathing difficult, but its potency was already fading out as Detraeus scrambled, fighting the beast’s beating wings to climb atop it. Once saddled, ignoring its cavern-shaking wails and lashing attempts to throw him off, Detraeus strung two arrows, a mere arm’s breadth from their target, drew back far as Avarice would permit, and released, sinking them at the base of the dragon’s skull.

The diabi shuddered. Its scales under him quaked, and the magic clinging to his ankles melted back, like snow ushered aside by the dawn, and Detraeus fell to the earth with a soft thud as the creature dissipated, leaving nothing but souls in its wake. After drawing a deep, forced breath to remind his body what it meant to be calm, he released it, rolled his shoulders, and stood with a wince. Then, remembering Araceli in a rush, he swore and darted over to her.

Blood.

Not a fatal wound, but a lot of blood. Enough that between her burn, and her leg, she shouldn’t be fighting any more dragons until she had the attention of a healer. Detraeus frowned, and crouched at her side, studying the gash, and the looking up to her face.

“We should bind it, but you’ll need trained medical attention,” he said, already reaching for her pack of supplies. “You should be able to put some weight on it, but not enough to fight effectively without making it worse…”

Glancing sidelong, towards the next tunnel in their path, his brow pinched further. How many more dragons were there? They couldn’t make it through another aedaun or diabi. Not like this. And, little as he wanted to admit it, he didn’t personally feel up to much more himself. He had a match in two days, and wanted to be well-trained, yes, but preferably uninjured as well, and their path so far hadn’t been precisely smooth after the first few.

Lithian. Detraeus huffed at the memory of the fanatical dovaa from Casseth’s first pit fight. Panicked. Irrational. Babble-mouthed. And tall. He healed Casseth, and for that Detraeus supposed he was grateful, but it did nothing to repair his opinions on the man’s sanity. Flighty, high-bred, and unused to anything outside of his little box of ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ — that’s what he struck Detraeus as. Wealthy, spoilt, and finicky.

When Araceli attempted to move, only to tense and fall back with a gasp, Detraeus jerked forward, his own muscles bunching and expression pinched. After a moment’s thought and another glance towards the next tunnel, Detraeus frowned, and stood. Without a word, he moved towards it, inspecting the walls for dangers, slowing his pace, and listening each step of the way as he neared the next opening. Nothing greeted his ears though, and when he stepped through, he found the place blessedly empty. There was even a small spill of light from one of the connecting tunnels which, on further inspection, did look to be a way out.

Satisfied, Detraeus started back, retracing his steps to Ara’s side and then crouching. “Here.” He leaned in, frowning as he reached out, bracing himself to help lift her. “Hold on, and lean. There’s a way out ahead. And another chest.”

Detraeus frowned at the quiver to her breath, pausing as she caught her balance and studying the details of her face as best he could before her face dipped out of sight. He opened his mouth once, but eventually shut it, a soft grunt escaping him instead. ‘No problem.’

He watched Ara’s posture carefully as they moved, alert and hyper-aware of each bunch of muscle, wince, or gasp. Beyond lucky, he thought privately, that she managed to injure herself severely only on the last dragon. They’d have had to turn back, otherwise, he supposed. Or, she’d have had to turn back. At the thought of leaving her entirely, he frowned. It oughtn’t have bothered him. What was she to him, after all, but a limited-time comrade in arms during the cave? She hadn’t even wanted to share the space with him.

And yet, on some level the thought still unsettled him. After helping her through the first tunnel and making it to the final chest, he paused, frowning. “Do you…need…?” He eyed her, and then moved, helping to set her down before turning his attention to the chest. Having his space to himself relaxed him some and the chest, fortunately, was not difficult to open. In it, twenty sealed potions waited, along with two large shields marked with spread dragon’s wings along the edges and a gold, gilt triangle at the base. He hefted them, testing their weight and balance before glancing back to her.

A decent prize, considering the near-twenty dragons they’d faced, among other things. It didn’t look, though, that Ara was in any shape to carry her shield, so he strapped them both to his back, stashed ten of the potions amongst his own things and ten in her bag before shutting the chest, standing, and offering her another hand up.

Detraeus blinked, surprised by words, after so much silence. After glancing to her, though, he turned his attention back to the hastar, shrugging. “In two days I will.” ‘And then again, and again, as often as I need to. We’ll see what the goddess has in store for me when it happens.’ Aloud, though, he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself and said only, “Can you ride?”

Detraeus’ gaze flicked to her leg, and then the hastar. With a curt grunt, he stepped up, helping Ara onto the steed as requested. ‘Not a long ride to Eowyn.’ Tch. It would be a long walk to Eowyn, as it had been on the way over, but he said nothing aloud. He would be grateful to have his space to himself again, if nothing else. Araceli had made comparatively good company, but company of any sort wore on his energy after long enough, opening a need for quiet and relaxation that only true privacy to satisfy.

After helping her up, handing over her shield, and watching her ride off, Detraeus rolled his shoulders. Frowning towards the setting sun, already close to dipping beneath the horizon, he readied himself for a long walk. It would be past nightfall before he made it ‘home,’ but such was the way of things. Good with the bad, he was stronger today and more practiced than he had been at the cave’s entrance.