Falion

The blind little Fae spent all his time surrounded by the scent of books. He had acquired a book shop and spent all of his time there, carefully cleaning and organizing it with the help of his familiar. His ears were sharp and sensitive, always listening for customers or even the stray hobbyist who might want to discuss the literature he sold. While normally not a talkative dragon, he could talk for hours about books, especially fiction. He used magic to 'read' the words off of the page, playing them through his mind as if a radio were speaking the words directly to him.

One day, while enjoying a good book, a mysterious dragon entered his shop. His ears perked, his attention drawn but he didn't have time to react as he was attacked. There was nothing he could do and when he awoke again, he was greeted by the sounds of chaos and violence. His familiar was nowhere to be found and his blindness made it difficult for him to navigate the new location. The host thought it would be funny to toss in somebody a little less advantageous than the others, however, he didn't know the extent of Hyzan's magic. The Fae wasn't helpless but he was thoroughly annoyed.

---

Hyzanic feared for the worst when Phosphor paid for his freedom. He was not one to lay down and surrender, of course, and he was quietly planning his next escape all the while. The Ridgeback openly admitted that she'd acted on a whim, and her blunt, callous demeanor did little to assuage his fears, despite her claims that she was harmless.

And yet.

She bandaged his scrapes, disinfected them with water. Her claws are careful, despite her much larger size. He's doing a good job of acting scared and quiet (it isn't hard when it's half true), before Phosphor snorts a laugh and says - "I dunno why you're still playing into the helpless blind boy thing. I saw you singe half that Guardian's scales off." She tightens a bandage. It feels like a threat.

Well. She's not wrong about the Guardian. He did do that. His fins flatten in dismay and a hint of worry. "So what do you want?" He asks flatly, his eyes hard below his cowl. He is at least thankful for his cowl, as it hides the watering of his eyes. He's sick of all this. Sick of being hurt, and afraid, and out of his depth. He wants a warm fireplace and a good book. He's sick of being heckled. He wants to feel safe. He wants to go home.

But it doesn't exactly matter what Hyzanic wants here, does it? "You want a warrior for your clan? An exalt for your god? You think I'll just do whatever you want out of gratitude, right?" He huffs.

He won't readily admit to himself that she's right. As much as he dislikes combat (doubly so, now), this could be a vast improvement. Better food, better medical treatment, a bit more dignity, maybe given a book or two. He could live with that. The Ridgeback is at least pretending to be nice. But he's too sick of all this not to call her bluff.

And yet she laughs, heartily and genuinely, but not without a hint of sharpness. "I knew I liked you." Phosphor laughs as she regains her bearings. "Nah. Nothin' like that. A whim hit me, that's all."

"Felt bad for the arena bait?" He doesn't know why he's looking a gift horse in the mouth, but he doesn't believe her. That's what this is, right? Pity? Manipulation? It can't be altruism, he's not that stupid. "Wanted to rescue the helpless little blind thing?" The words come out sharp and bitter as acid.

"No." Phosphor says plainly, though not without a spark of amusement. "I liked your spirit and I needed to get on our dear host's good side. That's all." She might be grinning. "Me and my partner in crime are plannin' a con. There's a lotta money in those walls. And a lotta people who need help, too. We earn his trust, get our evidence, get our money, get the Icewarden's finest on the case."

And the Ridgeback, knowing and elusive, considers him closely. "You want in? Dose of revenge, heroism, all'a that?"

"... no." Hyzanic admits, and it's truthful, but it's also a test. "I really don't. I'm damn tired."

There's a sparkle of amusement in the Ridgeback's voice as she lets him perch on her wing. "Didn't think so. Can't blame me trying."

"Why not just call the authorities now?" Hyzanic pushes the boundaries a little further, testing how safe it is to do so. "You want the money that badly? Enough so that you're letting dragons die in the meanwhile?"

"Hey, you think a tip-off ain't the first thing we tried?" Phosphor huffs at his tone. "The detective went MIA. So we're taking a cue from that and playing it slow. Careful. Seein' how deep the rabbit hole goes before we start flooding it." She tilts her head, a grin in her words. "And, yeah. The money he's got vaulted isn't hurting. If we're doin' all the hard work, might as well take it for ourselves."

What a ridiculous mess. Kidnapped, and then saved by vigilantes. What on earth has his life become? "... Steelclaw's better at this then I am." Her voice softens slightly, losing the Cheshire-cat edge to it. "You're safe, mate. Nothing's gonna happen."

If his eyes are watering again, then the cover will hide it. He's just... been so damned tired, being on guard for weeks straight. Months, maybe? It was hard to keep track of time. "I hope you're not lying." Hyzanic lets himself admit, his voice sounding very soft.

"I'm not, little buddy." Phosphor answers back, not unfondly. "Let's get you home."

---

Hyzanic vanished off the face of Sornieth. If you ask Phosphor what happened, she'll feign either ignorance or nonchalance, seeming rather uncaring about the whole affair.

But there is a blind Fae named Falion in Clan Lucerna. He runs a bookshop near the center of their little town. Phosphor and Steelclaw are frequent visitors. He's fallen into bantering with the Ridgeback when she re-appears, though his shop also doubles as a safe place for the two thieves to ponder and scheme.

But that is not his type of life, thank you very much. Falion is happy to be left to his books and the new little life he's built for himself, though he mourns all that he once knew, before he faked his death. There are better and worse days. He's jumpy at new visitors, now. He still cannot stand the scent of smoke. His new seeing-eye familiar, Pavise, is a weight off his mind. They have been trained in personal protection, and though it doesn't fully put his mind at ease... it helps.

And deep down, though he told Phosphor the contrary-

Privately, he is greatly looking forward to when he hears the news that wicked arena has burnt to the ground. He sorts his books as he listens to their scheming, with the faintest possible smile etched across his face.