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Character: Suluksati
Stage: Khehora
Luck: 30
Creature:
Darvithri apprentice x 2 (LVL 25, LUK 14)
Darvithri Bladespinner x 3 (LVL 40, LUK 2 cool
Success Rate:
Apprentices: 6-100 (20, 89)
Bladespinners: 70-100 (44, 13, 39)

Win x 2 (Apprentices), Loss x 3 (Bladespinners):
Total:

110 exp
+ 3 LUK exp

Loot:
Plain Cloth x 6

Ayr patrol for Suluksati had always bee touch or go for Suluksati. Every time she came here, it was like flipping a magescan coin. Her time was either extremely hazardous, exciting and tragic, or it was boring and uneventful.

Well... as boring as anything could be with winds and unpredictable storms of Ayr. The gusts filled her wings and soul and carried her aloft with very little effort. When she was here, she felt like she could fly forever, above the cares of the world, and never have to land.

It was because of this that she loved Ayr. Serenia was her homeland, and the lands of Eowyn were comfortable to any Khehora, but Ayr spoke to the Alikhora in her in a way that her wings and body understood and longed for.

Ayr was also special for, when she kept her distance, the dragons of this land kept to themselves in turn. Although she remembered - horribly vividly - the large group attacks on her person and the deaths of the great beasts that had instigated them, most of her trips to Ayr were actually fairly peaceful. Ayr itself, however, was not a peaceful place. She thought they made excellent counterpoints to each other - storm-wracked skies and peaceful patrols.

Today had not been peaceful, though it was not bad by her usual standards. She had managed to chase off two Orderite hunters from a group of Ayrala, and successfully escaped the retribution of both groups - dragon and magescan alike. The Orderites now bore the mark of her claws and magic, as did the dragons, but she had tried to be non-lethal.

For the dragons, anyway. She had become lax about not hurting magescans as of late, especially when they were clearly old enough to understand what they were doing. Her empathy towards the dragon hunters was running thin and, though she occasionally felt terrible about it, she had decided that it was their own fault if they got themselves hurt at her claws. Not that she was trying to kill them, but still... Accidents would happen.

In sum, it had been eventful but not bad. She had prevented the deaths of dragons, sustaining only minor injuries as she courted it herself, and thus the patrol was - so far - a success. She felt good. The wind - soft and wet with the birth of a storm, brushed her feathers and she powered higher into the roiling clouds. The storms of Ayr were brewing again, and she felt that she had earned some fun. She glided through a newly-formed storm cloud, feeling the electrical charge dance across her feathers. Moisture clung to them, beading her with shimmering crystal. The winds within jostled her, thrilling her with the instability of it all. With a flap of her wings, and a rain of dew, she was out again, glorying in her ability to fly.

She flapped backward, startled, as a large, pale shape suddenly loomed before her. She shot up into the air frantically and circled above it in the whirling winds, claws and magic ready to defend herself even before looking to see what it was. Life in the wild had entrained her to expect threat from all fronts.

She saw that it was a dragon. Its eyes were closed and its face was upturned to the newly forming and crackling storm. It stood on a spire, its wings closed, its posture relaxed. It hadn't noticed her yet and, soundlessly, it opened its mouth as the first rolls of thunder began to echo in the canyons.

Sulu circled behind it and landed gently on a nearby spire, awed at the sound that it added to the ominous wind. It was, she realized, singing to the storm. She watched the storm brew and listened to its song... or, rather, its hymn, for that was what it was. She knew, because it lifted her soul to the storm.

She had never heard a dragon's song before, but it felt right. It was primal and beautiful, like the dragon itself, something of a world that had been closer to the true nature of magic, a world that this world could be.

A sense of beautiful unity came over her and, for a brief moment, she was one with the dragon, with the air, with the storm, and with the world. But, she realized, that was ridiculous. She was not the clan of air, but of light. She could not be one with the storm. And, perhaps, not with anything else.

Something, perhaps shame at being of a different clan and thus - somehow- unworthy of this hymn, or some instinct built through long years of the wilderness and of tracking dragon hunters, made her look down. The spire on which the dragon sat was wind-chiseled and bulky, more than able to support the Dragon's weight and possibly many other things as well.

Two red shapes, like ants, were scurrying up the sides. With a flap of her wings, she took off from her roost, gliding silently towards them. Soon their shapes were unmistakable.

Darvithri.

She wondered, briefly, what they were doing, before noticing the blades on their backs, and the way the climbers glanced up at the dragon. It had never really occurred to her that non Magescans would want to hunt her favorite beasts. The thought filled her with a sickening rage. Magescans, she could understand, in a way. They had culture, and a need for power was built into their culture, brought to them by their gods themselves. But Darvithri had no culture. They were animals. How dare they hunt her dragons, these uncivilized beasts of the wilds?! How dare they not live in the harmony that they were meant to?!

Consumed with a sudden and brilliant rage, she growled and dove towards them, picking one of them up in her claws and carrying it away, screaming to its companion even as she dropped it into the chasm below.

The other one readied a javelin, clinging to the rock face as it threw. The crude weapon clattered upon the rock face, missing her completely and falling to join the red, wet stain on the rocks far below: the remains of the fallen darvithri. She swooped into the cliff face, clinging to the rocks around the remaining darvithri, looming over it like some sort of terrible beast-angel. She brought it death, crushing it in her jaws before tossing it and its filthy blood over her shoulder into the chasm.

It was done.

They were dead.

She felt no remorse for the Darvithri's deaths. They were not magescans. They were not Khehora. They were not people. She listened for the dragon's song, hoping to be elevated again by its tones, but it had stopped during the fight. She looked up to see a pale grey dragon face peering over the edge at her, both wary and curious. She opened her mouth to explain, when instinct told her to duck.

Something sharp and heavy arced over her head, clattering to the stone below - a rough sword. She crouched and searched for the new threat, and didn't have far to search.

They chattered in their unintelligable language as they clambered onto the rock, their blades at the ready, their twisted faces contorted further with wrath. These, she percieved, were older, and one screamed something at her, water dripping from its eyes and shaking loose from its fur.

Tears?

The sky opened up and, as they attacked swiftly and were blocked by her shining shield, she looked up to watch the dragon fly away into the rain and wind. It, at least, would be safe.

She turned her attention to the Darvithri. They were small - tiny, actually, compared to her - but fierce. The way the held their blades and the way they kept moving around the ledge spoke of experience fighting those bigger than they. She lashed out with a magical blast at one of them and they sidestepped with ease, catching her with a quick blade right as her shield was down. She hissed and struck at it with her claws, blood spraying from their red fur as they riposted, her claw shimmering as she healed herself from its swift strike.

That was when she noticed that there was only one in front of her. She spun around, roaring, as her side was stung by a deep cut, only to find her other side attacked. They shouted to each other, attacking from her flanks, dodging her lashing tail and crushing teeth. She flung out with her wings, hoping to knock them back, but found herself even more vulnerable.

Her magic healed her wounds as they were made, but she knew she would not be able to hold out forever against these creatures. They were too organized, too adept at pack techniques, too smart for her to defeat. If she wasn't careful, they would have her. These mere beasts, she realized, could kill her if she was not careful and lucky.

Luck was rarely on her side.

Without the dragon to protect, and wary of wasting all of her magic trying to kill the darvithri warriors, she crushed her rage and her pride and decided to get out of there.

With a blinding flash of her light and a mighty surge of her wings, she leapt away, flapping for altitude as she began to glide away. She looked back at the Darvithri who screeched, shaking their swords at her.

Then she flew away.