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Location
Ras
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ILENE
.military historian | ambassador of fire.
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*****
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ABOUT.
The edge of the Windswept Plateau, comfortably nestled in the Zephyr Steppes, was easily the friendliest environment for an academic gathering. Ilene lounged beside a spiral historian expounding his theories on the role of message-kites in the dominance of the old warlords. These dragons, he maintained, had established their domains by roaming between flights and absorbing or transforming cultural practices from the many border regions they strove to control.
She found the argument compelling as a way of explaining the diversity of artifacts they'd found in the old war camps and battlefields. Even when the histories had the conflict ostensibly between dragons of two competing flights, the sheer diversity of broken weapons and other unexpected finds had been one of the most popular mysteries she could recall. Few dragons outside the Light and Earth flights were as equipped to preserve and catalog their excavations, but most scholars and field researchers took opportunities to train in their methods before returning to their home flights and clans.
Her own lecture on the lost Runewarden histories recently discovered in Ras, themselves records and observations on the use of the inscribed weapons and armor once wildly sold by the city's Runesmiths, had been well-received by the gathering. The city had long been famous among other scholars for its specialized forging methods and the exceptional durability of its metals. She had made her name and scholarly reputation with several comprehensive studies of the internal records and documents private to the great library of Ras, in addition to her work as an expert in the provenance of ancient armaments produced by the city's Runesmiths.
She still had one such appraisal workshop to attend before the end of the conference, not far from the now empty central speaking platform. If she was being honest with herself, she could admit that she enjoyed appraisal just as much if not more than her usual research. Each battered weapon or mismatched piece of armor was an opportunity to learn about her home city's history, or to rediscover an artifact thought lost to time. Even if only one out of every hundred finds was authentic to Ras, she still found that small chance worth all the time it took to wade through the clever forgeries.
Ilene took her leave of her companions and went to secure her place in the crowd of other experts who were beginning to gather to examine the artifacts presented to them by their fellow scholars and the hopeful public. Each historical specialty was written out in spelled glyphs that glowed above the grass, so that passersby could more easily identify who to approach. She settled once again between a spiral, an expert on blowguns, and an eager wildclaw who specialized in the armaments of the Mesacliff harpy clans.
Perhaps an hour later she had only seen three forged swords and one ring almost but not quite good enough to be authentic. She noted a disturbance at the edge of the gathering, a somewhat smaller imperial flanked by a mirror and wildclaw. All three wore armor and weapons with the air of dragons who knew how to use them. The mirror and the wildclaw, both vivid in the markings of one of the Plague flight's storied legions, were taking turns pointing out interesting objects or else making observations on the crowd while the imperial glanced over the guiding runes.
A small, polite rustling of wings turned her attention back to the fae offering a fan for her examination. While this was authentic to Ras, she found herself explaining that only the metal ribs were properly spelled by Runesmiths, while the folding plates between had been replaced at some time in the past. Still, she was happy to share that the frame was indeed as valuable as the trader had expected, and even made him an offer on it for the city collection. He promised to consider her price and left with a happy lift to his frills.
Ilene turned her head to regard her next questioner only to find that the Plague delegation had made themselves comfortable while its leader watched her with no small amusement. He had been listening to her conversation with the trader. "I wouldn't have thought the Runesmiths would bother with something as trivial as an ornament," he said.
And he didn't know it yet, but this stranger had stumbled into one of her personal causes. Older and larger than her, he might be, but she'd be muzzled before she let this misconception stand.
"Fans constructed by the Runesmiths are prized weapons among many close combat fighters," she said sweetly. "Though they were all disguised to look like -- how did you put it? Trinkets. The best among them have the original latticed interlocking plates intact. Most could be used to break weapons made of inferior metals."
She watched with some satisfaction as his condescension was replaced with grudging respect.
"Very well, Ilene of Ras. I accept that even a trinket constructed by the Runesmiths might be useful. I've come to ask you to look at a sword." So saying, he unbuckled the ancient but well-maintained swordbelt that rested on his hip. He presented the weapon to her in its sheath in a mark of unusual courtesy. Most fighters assumed she was clumsy with a blade rather than passably trained in her own right.
"And you are?" She asked absently.
"Cassius, Commander General of the Pandemic Legions," he answered.
She knew at once which sword she held and struggled to breathe past her excitement. If she were right, and the sheath matched the weapon, then she was about to confirm the existence of a blade thought lost for more than four hundred years. Ilene unsheathed it with a practiced movement and couldn't help a little sigh at the runes set into the gleaming metal.
A pack of mirror dragons in full cry raced from the hilt to the fuller, their leader wearing a golden etched mask reminiscent of bone. Spelled against breakage, corrosion in the Wyrmwound's harsh environment, and with complementary blood-shedding and sharpening charms that kept the blade from going dull or thinning with use, it was one of the finest examples of the period she'd ever seen.
"This is Temerlin's Fang," she breathed. "Commissioned from the great smith by Quintus, founder of the Legions. Where did you get it?"
Cassius made no move to take the sword from her. He seemed content instead to watch her fawn over it.
"I have a special interest in rare weapons," he said. "I first learned about the Weapons of the Legion from Linnea's history, but that discussion was incomplete in its description. Your paper on the Fang and the Horn lead me to think about where it might have been misplaced in the Legion's armories. When I assumed command, I took the opportunity to look for it in the private stocks I'd once sorted with our quartermaster as a much younger recruit."
Ilene beamed up at him. "Oh, I'm so glad you did! This is only the second surviving work of Temerlin's that I've seen in person. The rest are either lost or buried so deep in the Runevaults that it'll take at least another hundred years before the Wardens let me in far enough to examine them properly."
She made to hand the sword back and he snorted.
"I'm in no hurry to return to the Wasteland. My command is well-governed in my absence," he said. Then, with a knowing glance. "You would perhaps wish to make some drawings and other notes?"
"Yes," she smiled. "Though if I'm to do this right, the documentation might take me a few days."
"I can arrange that," he said.
His words were unremarkable, but Ilene ducked her head beneath the tone and the warmth in his red eyes.
NOW.
Ilene is the foremost historian of the Runesmiths of Ras and their weapons, as well as an enthusiastic armchair tactician and analyst of past battles. She first encountered Cassius when he came to have a sword appraised. This meeting lead to him traveling from the Scarred Wasteland to the Ashfall Wastes to visit on multiple occasions, his responsibilities permitting. They enjoyed arguing points of both hypothetical and real tactics, entertained each other with games of strategy, and generally courted as often as they could. Cassius pledged himself to Ilene within a year, despite the distance between their homes and the unusual divide in their occupations and flight allegiances.
They determined not to start a family until after he'd resigned his commission. He had already served many years in his position before they met and was committed to make it at least until his successor was properly trained. Neither begrudged the career of the other. On one visit, Cassius discussed his own reservations about his duty with her, noting that his patrols had found Shade wraiths infesting the Wasteland in alarming numbers.
Indeed, the situation became so dire that for a stretch of six months he was unable to travel to Ras at all. When Ilene suggested that she might come to visit him, he urged her to remain where she was for her own safety.
The next letter she received had the seal of the Legion, claiming that Cassius had fallen with his troops. Ilene mourned him for dead for a full month before a second letter arrived by way of a disreputable trader, who said he'd had it from a ship's captain. This missive was from a dragon who claimed to be the physician treating her mate, now supposedly recovering from grievous wounds in a port city called Zohran.
Ilene made haste to get to Cassius' side as fast as her wings could carry her. Though he was now blind in one eye and still struggling to walk, she found him in good spirits and with as little patience for fools as ever. They remained in Zohran for more than a year while the city's physicians tended his injuries, at last returning to Ras and the place both of them had begun to consider as a more permanent home.
Cassius continued to maintain his physical condition and train fighters even after his general retirement from active military service, while Ilene continued her researches. The care of their large family falls equally between them, with Cassius taking markedly more of the mundane responsibilities while their children are young and Ilene providing supplements to their education and overall social development.
She knows that if she left it up to Cassius, all their hatchlings would inherit their father's sarcasm without any of her tempering common sense.
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light vs plague 2016 tribute - fire flight's assistance - friisics *heart*
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