Stryke

STRYKE
Scout and Ranger

---

---

Unlike his significantly smaller partner, he is far more serious (and intimidating), though highly superstitious. Hailing from the Shifting Expanse, him and his Longneck familiar, Drram, have worked together as hired guards and escorts for travelers for a good few years now. Wary by nature, he sleeps very lightly, and is known to frequently jump up in the middle of the night with a snarl, only to find a guilty hatchling with their claws in the cookie jar. Despite his intimidating exterior, he's surprisingly friendly and good-humored.

---

Drram and him joined the Outpost for business reasons only- a place to operate out of, and in a good place to bring in jobs, no less. He figured the Windswept Plateau was calm and lazy, full of low, comforting breezes and birdsong, a place for joy and music and messengers.
He remembers grinning at the green-painted fae, as if traversing the open, grassy plains would be a joy- a metaphorical breeze, if you will. He had only stared at him blankly in return. "Stay safe, if you must wander. You do not know this land. It is more dangerous than it seems."

He remembers seeing the waves of grass and light flowers, and being surprised at the dark, rocky towers jutting from the rolling hills. It was pretty, but something about their bleak peaks was oddly disturbing.

He remembers the appeal of the vastness of the plains, packing his bags for a quick wander, just to get an understanding of the terrain. The steppes were full of settlements, surprisingly so. Tall windmills he didn't dare climb, and taut kite lines reaching into the sky, which was grey and drizzling. The dragons he met were almost too friendly, offering him food or a place to stay for the night. Despite their requests, he politely declined. It would be nice to spend a night out in the open again.

The night was quiet enough to hear the screaming of wind lashing against the plains in the distance. The steppes felt too empty, and unnerving, and he gave up on sleeping, travelling through the night to distract himself from the darting shadows in the grass.

The most peaceful place in all the world.

He wandered further the next day, out into the empty plains, towards the rocky ascent in the distance. Away from the shelter of bamboo groves and rocky hills, the ground was torn virtually bare, dark trails marking where twisters had crossed the land, and whatever remained was whipped and ravaged by sharp winds that tore across the earth, unimpeded by anything taller than blades of grass. The few antelope and goats he found scattered away from his talons, and he scavenged for food in the cold, winding streams. The few dragons he saw did not speak to him- laughing as the vicious tornados flung them through the sky, twisting and turning with the angry breeze.

Many days later, he clung to the edges of a cliff, staring down for what seemed like miles. The earth here was shattered into pillars of dark, ragged stone, and wind screamed below him, thrashing violently against its borders. He could not see the raging, angry rapids, but he could hear their crash below. The wing tugged at his wings, and he knew that his body, adapted to the sharp, electric air of the expanse, would not be able to take it. He was too large, and heavy, and unrefined to resist their pull.

He did not go further. He did not want to meet the water below.

On his way back, he tried to fly, and did not do so again. The wind here ripped at his wings, taking away his control, and he knew that if he ventured further up, he would be broken and flung back to earth. He recognized the shape of the clouds pulled ever closer to the eye of the crescendo, and shivered. Only a god could create something like this.

The most peaceful place in all the world.

Making it back to the outpost, he found himself resting next to the Matriarch, watching the storm clouds on the horizon. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked suddenly, her voice echoing in the beams of the windmill. Her grey birds fluttered at the sound, their caws quieting respectfully.

He paused, suddenly filled with new respect for the dragons who lived their lives among the screaming wind, breathing the very air that sought to rip and tear your body apart, twisting along its violence with a sort of careless glee. Worshiping and loving the god that bestowed their land with such movement and grace, their god that made the land alive.

"Yes."

---

HOARDS

Azure Yuccarope

Dragonmade

This strong rope can hold an impressive amount of weight before breaking.

41

Dusty Canvas Scrap

Dragonmade

It is difficult to discern if the color is the dye in the cloth or the dirt in the cloth...

80

---

---