Roleplay

@Gomiworm

The rumors had been little more than whispered concerns among tents. The notion that Exadin had a rider in their midst was a ludicrous assumption, even if preparations had been odd as of late. Things were pushed around, plans altered. There was a suspicious gap in their archers as if something was going to accommodate it. Most had assumed a new round of cavalry - knights were always a good substitute for long-distance, sat atop giant beasts you couldn't stab at them from - but inklings of a dragon-rider had slipped in regardless.

And then the day came.

The army had marched, camped, and marched again for the past two weeks. Turrets had been poised, soldiers had been shoved into formation. Just as the fields of men had been preparing to charge to certain death, a loud, horrific screech had cut across the open land. A shadow darting above caused hundreds to glance up and confirm that yes, the rumors had had a basis in truth. But instead of a seasoned warrior stored away until they were needed most, it was... a boy?

Wolfgang couldn't have been older than twenty-five. With a shock of platinum blonde hair cut haphazardly around the neck-line, a horridly pale complexion and brown eyes so dark they bordered on black, he didn't fit the stereotype of legend. Riders were usually written as tall, foreboding men atop great beasts that could level entire armies. Not short, wiry and sporting a dragon the size of three Clydesdale horses.

The dragon had to be young. A few years at most, with Prussian-blue scales and thin, auburn eyes with even thinner pupils. Wolfgang was sat on its back, feet hooked into the stirrups of a saddle that most certainly wouldn't keep him on in the case of a fall. Still, he seemed to cling on well enough, hand coiled around one of the spines jutting up from the dragonic's neck. The dragon was making a wide swoop above the assembled army as if to gauge the conflict to come.

I don't think we're going to have any issues with rival riders, Wolfgang attempted to reassure himself, trying and failing to keep his thoughts to himself. The resulting, deep rumble from below him was a clear disagreement. I- okay, but we weren't revealed until about five minutes ago. There's no chance they assembled their own rider for a conflict this unnecessary. Another snarl of objection. With a soft frown, Wolfgang stopped attempting to argue, forced to concede that, until the battle was in full-swing, neither party could be sure. ...Here's to hoping I'm right.

He wasn't, of course. Wolfgang never was. As the lines of men below gave cries of war and charged forward, Wolfgang and his dragon rose out of the range of archers, determined to sit and hover until they were needed. It wasn't wise to jump into a conflict unless there was a clear opening. Only when the dragon gave a sharp hissing noise did Wolfgang tear his eyes from the clattering swords and armor to look forward.

What? What is it, Vrith? What do you smell? Wolfgang asked, dismayed that neither could share senses quite yet.

...Another. Was the only short reply Wolfgang received.


(HERE WE GO!!! I can make a picrew of Wolfgang, if you'd like! And for context, I'm thinking since they share mental links as well, Wolfgang's thoughts would be in italics and Vrith's (his dragon) would be in italics bold.)

This war was becoming grueling regardless of Vildheim maintaining an upper hand in the conflict. Victorious as they were, the men had long grown restless. And the nip in the air only served to make them weary. But they couldn't go against the king's order to fight, to stamp out Exadin's forces. Not even the young, crown Prince Inge.

Inge stared out over the developing battle with a tired sort of vacancy in his icy blue eyes. He truly had no interest in watching his men recklessly throw themselves at the enemy. It was always the same - savage and sanguineous.

He let out a sigh and watched as his breath rose up before him. He watched it dissipate before letting his gaze wander up to the heavy clouds above. That's when he noticed it. An ominous shadow rising above the battlefield and darting across the sky. He could hear the men around him exclaim as they made the same observation.

The rumors were true... Exadin did indeed have a dragon-rider amongst their ranks.

Grimhilde shifted beneath him and he leaned over her broad back to soothe her. She was scenting the air, forked tongue flicking out and curling to catch the bitter wind. Then she growled lowly, a deep rumble that Inge could feel in his bones. She was usually so composed, unperturbed by battle and the gruesome scenes it produced.

Control yourself, he warned her as he felt over her iridescent black scales. We don't know what they're capable of.

Trouble... Grimhilde huffed out through her nose. She crouched down low and began to skulk towards the cavalry, leveling her long body with the horses. Strike first.

Inge understood her reasoning. Of course he did. A single dragon and it's rider could demolish an army. He knew because he had done so before himself with Grimhilde. It was a last resort - unnecessarily cruel and a waste of life. There was no hope for mercy at the claws of a war-driven dragon.

Wait.. He advised, glancing at the nervous cavalrymen. Wait for the right moment. They're searching for us. Look. Grimhilde snarled in protest but obeyed, keeping her horned head low as she watched the skies. The enemy dragon and it's rider were circling, clearly surveying the bloody field below.

As they turned from their direction, Grimhilde used her powerful legs to leap up. Inge pulled himself in close to her lithe body as she unfurled her ominous, black wings and took to the sky. His long, wavy dark hair whipped through the wind, and he tightened his grip on his halberd. Pressed flush against her back, black hair blending with black scales in a dark blur.. It was hard to tell where the dragon ended and the rider began.

(I'M SO EXCITED!! I think I'll be okay - you're description of him was pretty clear. Let me know if you need to know more about Inge's appearance. Cheers!)

Wolfgang heard them before he saw them. The sound was hard to miss, as distant as it was - he'd heard the same noise whenever Vrith would take to the air. The woosh, the whistle of scales and a great beating of dust and debris. There was no call, though. Not a screech reached his ears.

Vrith! Up higher! He urged, gripping tighter to the dragon's scales as they rose. Vrith, who was far calmer about the entire ordeal, ascended in a steady rhythm of wingbeats. Their small frame was easy to maneuver around the currents this high up.

The rider began to fidget nervously. Only when his grip on Vrith's scales became tighter than he needed did the dragon attempt to soothe him, emanating a low rumble from deep in their chest. Not kill. Not maim.

You don't know that. We've never seen another rider before.

Do know. Faith...

'Faith' was the one thing Wolfgang was sorely lacking in. Vrith seemed to pick up on that, snarling softly under their breath. A large plume of smoke swept up from their nostrils and coiled in the frigid air. Not met another either. it was true - countries rarely had more than a rider at a time, let alone on the same battlefields. The opposing party had to be as much out of their element as Wolfgang and Vrith were. Wolf could spot the sharp blot of black on the air as it moved closer and attempted to suck a breath in through his teeth.

I don't know how you can be calm about this.

There was no response. Figuring he wouldn't get one even if he pressed, Wolfgang dug his heels slightly into Vrith's sides, urging the dragon to move forward. At the same time, the rider's hand moved to the handle of his blade. Even if Vrith was sure about their (currently) non-violent intentions, Wolfgang wasn't sparing his own nerves. Better to keep them sharp than have them flay him.

In one smooth motion, Vrith had angled their wings inward and swooped toward Inge and his mount. Extending their wings, Vrith managed to pause just shy of a dragon's length from the opposing pair, intent to stare and circle.

She's big, Wolfgang mused almost out of habit. Had to be at least a few years Vrith's senior, with much harder scales. The glint off their surfaces was enough of an indication. Sharp-witted, too... I can see the look. Calm and calculating with pupils that hadn't shrunk into sharp pinpricks. Wolfgang had to tear his eyes off Grimhilde long enough to stare at Inge with the same sort of wary gaze.

"...Wasn't expecting aerial company!" Wolfgang announced, attempting to infuse his voice with far more confidence than he actually had. It worked until the final, strained syllable. Vrith had the audacity to snort out more smoke through their nostrils.

(All good!! I adore your descriptions, honestly- especially how different Inge and Wolfgang are handling their dragon counter-parts LMAO)

(Hello! Just checking in to see if you're alright, as it's been awhile. Hope you're doing well! :) )