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: OOC: Russ gave me permission to find Zephyr's sword. ^^
Dazadi never came out here, and now she remembered why. The sun beat down on her like a lava shower, making her scalp crawl and drenching her in sweat. She could feel the heat rising from the sand, too, in engulfing waves that made her want to drench herself in ice-water, or take to the air to escape the wretched heat. Except the air itself was thick with it, suffocating her and making her wings leaden. She could feel the moisture being drawn out of her body as surely as if a vampire was sucking the blood from her veins. It was suffocating. And the sand, oh! The sand, it was everywhere. It had gotten into places she never even knew existed, scratching and scraping. But no, not like normal sand. She'd dealt with normal sand, the kind found on the training grounds where she'd spent most of her early life. She knew the ways of it, the disturbing awfulness of it, but this was different. Hot and invasive, like tiny pincers all over her skin.
She really didn't do well with "hot". Give her an ice bath any day - even plant her in the caves of a simmering volcano, if it was really necessary - but never this.
Crouched at the summit of one of the taller dunes where the portal had dumped her, Dazadi's fists clutched at her kneecaps in an effort not to scratch everywhere. She'd already nailed the skin around her waistband raw, and no matter that she could heal in quick-time. It was the principle of the thing, not to give in to something as miniscule as sand. Just because it had clumped together with a few zillion of its buddies and ganged up on her... She wouldn't give it the satisfaction of seeing her scratch.
Her gaze tracked the horizon with suspicion and boredom mixed with the frustration of ignoring her physical misery. For the first time since she'd become aware of her lone Aide status, she actively missed the others. Well, she missed being able to dump the crappy jobs on them, anyway. Kiril would have gloried in this heat, probably even set up house and home here. She wasn't sure about the others; she hadn't really spent enough time with Dora, beyond nappy-duty, to know how she'd react. Birdboy would have strained his voicebox complaining, most likely. As for Sy... Well, who knew how maniacal ancient vamps reacted to anything?
Made her wish Xanth would find some other poor sap to saddle, though. Not that Daz herself really had enough to do anymore, there wasn't much call for an Aide these days. Although there might be, if she actually listened.
"Argh, gods-dammit!" She erupted into a wretched, wriggling explosion of limbs, landing flat on her back with her wings half buried in the sand as her hands tried to scratch every part of her all at once. Almost before the attack had begun, she was back in her repressed crouch with her head held high and her dignity as intact as it had ever been, as if she hadn't just succumbed to a case of the itchies.
Gods, she had to get out of here, Purple Head's orders or not. "I want you to survey the desert for me," Daz muttered in a mock-Xanth voice, her head bobbing from side to side as she pulled a face. "I want it under control, wah wah wah." Yeah, sure. Ignore the fact that the desert had been completely lawless for centuries, that nobody in their right minds would want to live in the torturous hellhole. As far as Daz knew, Xanth had been happy to leave it a damned wasteland. The only law she'd ever enforced when the Scorpion Syndicate ruled the place was that they stick to the desert, a fate far worse than death as far as Dazadi was concerned. But they'd seemed happy with the arrangement, and in their own way kept the desert as trouble-free as it was ever going to get.
Until the scorpions erupted out of the sand en masse, and then the flood... Well, desert lore suggested the scorpions attacked pretty frequently, so that was no big thing, but the flood had surprised everyone - Xanth, too, if Dazadi wanted to guess. So now, with the floodwaters receded, Xanth apparently wanted to make a move, get the place back under her control. Though, why she'd left it this long, Daz had no idea. Other things to worry about, probably, and with only one Aide left to do her bidding - one Aide with her own tragedies to worry about - she'd probably had her hands full.
"Ugh. No way am I coming back here. Xanth can smite me, for all I care." Daz scowled and jerked to her feet, indulging in a brief moment of wriggling but keeping her hands balled into fists so she wouldn't scratch anything. "You hear that, Xanth? If you want this desert, you can come get it yourself! Blerrhhh."
Turning, her feet eager as she tensed for a burse of speed through the portal, Daz blinked sharply. Something was flashing at her from a few hundred yards away on the other side of the portal. Metal, she figured, glinting in the sunlight. Probably melting in all this horrid heat. "Yech."
Muttering under her breath for every step she took away from that glorious portal, Dazadi paced towards the glinting metal. She wouldn't bother ordinarily, but Xanth had demanded news of the desert and Daz was looking forward to making her report. "What did I find in the desert? Oh, you know, sand. Sand, sand, a scorpion or three. Sand. Enough heat to melt your prissy hair. A shiny metal thing you can give to your pet dragon. Oh yeah, and more sand!"
Her grumbling only came to a halt when her feet stopped almost right on top of the shiny metal thing. A sword. A sword that made her suspicious nature kick up a few notches and her eyes scan the horizon again, this time more intently. A sword that... "Huh," she mused as she bent to pluck it out of the burning sand. "Pretty." Its size and weight meant nothing to her as she hefted it easily, very nearly blinding herself as she turned it hastily into the sun. It was five feet of magnificence, clearly well-crafted. The gemstones in the hilt blazed brilliantly under the same sun she'd ranted at, but it was the pattern etched into the blade that really drew her attention - and made her think instantly of Kade.
Dragon blades were usually custom orders. Not just anyone could walk into a smithy and buy a sword with a dragon etched into it. Daz doubted even she could get hold of one legally, because the 'Varians were pretty territorial about their ancestors. The pattern coupled with the craftsmanship and the style made her think this belonged to a Red Dragon, and - outside of the usual pangs as she thought of her lifemate - that brought on all kinds of questions. The desert had been pretty, well, deserted since the floodwaters receded, and no warrior in his right mind - even an ill-experienced one - would leave their weapon behind.
So they were either dead, or seriously missing this sword.
Scanning the horizon once more, Dazadi turned and trudged back to the portal with the hilt of the sword clutched in her sweaty palm. Testing the weight of it, the feel of it in her grip, she wondered how best to find its owner. Part of her was tempted to keep it; she'd been thinking about getting some fancy new weapons to treat herself anyway. But she was a warrior to her core, proud and honourable - about this, at least. And she knew damn well, if she'd lost her own sword, she'd be furious with anyone who found it and didn't bother looking to return it.
Dazadi never came out here, and now she remembered why. The sun beat down on her like a lava shower, making her scalp crawl and drenching her in sweat. She could feel the heat rising from the sand, too, in engulfing waves that made her want to drench herself in ice-water, or take to the air to escape the wretched heat. Except the air itself was thick with it, suffocating her and making her wings leaden. She could feel the moisture being drawn out of her body as surely as if a vampire was sucking the blood from her veins. It was suffocating. And the sand, oh! The sand, it was everywhere. It had gotten into places she never even knew existed, scratching and scraping. But no, not like normal sand. She'd dealt with normal sand, the kind found on the training grounds where she'd spent most of her early life. She knew the ways of it, the disturbing awfulness of it, but this was different. Hot and invasive, like tiny pincers all over her skin.
She really didn't do well with "hot". Give her an ice bath any day - even plant her in the caves of a simmering volcano, if it was really necessary - but never this.
Crouched at the summit of one of the taller dunes where the portal had dumped her, Dazadi's fists clutched at her kneecaps in an effort not to scratch everywhere. She'd already nailed the skin around her waistband raw, and no matter that she could heal in quick-time. It was the principle of the thing, not to give in to something as miniscule as sand. Just because it had clumped together with a few zillion of its buddies and ganged up on her... She wouldn't give it the satisfaction of seeing her scratch.
Her gaze tracked the horizon with suspicion and boredom mixed with the frustration of ignoring her physical misery. For the first time since she'd become aware of her lone Aide status, she actively missed the others. Well, she missed being able to dump the crappy jobs on them, anyway. Kiril would have gloried in this heat, probably even set up house and home here. She wasn't sure about the others; she hadn't really spent enough time with Dora, beyond nappy-duty, to know how she'd react. Birdboy would have strained his voicebox complaining, most likely. As for Sy... Well, who knew how maniacal ancient vamps reacted to anything?
Made her wish Xanth would find some other poor sap to saddle, though. Not that Daz herself really had enough to do anymore, there wasn't much call for an Aide these days. Although there might be, if she actually listened.
"Argh, gods-dammit!" She erupted into a wretched, wriggling explosion of limbs, landing flat on her back with her wings half buried in the sand as her hands tried to scratch every part of her all at once. Almost before the attack had begun, she was back in her repressed crouch with her head held high and her dignity as intact as it had ever been, as if she hadn't just succumbed to a case of the itchies.
Gods, she had to get out of here, Purple Head's orders or not. "I want you to survey the desert for me," Daz muttered in a mock-Xanth voice, her head bobbing from side to side as she pulled a face. "I want it under control, wah wah wah." Yeah, sure. Ignore the fact that the desert had been completely lawless for centuries, that nobody in their right minds would want to live in the torturous hellhole. As far as Daz knew, Xanth had been happy to leave it a damned wasteland. The only law she'd ever enforced when the Scorpion Syndicate ruled the place was that they stick to the desert, a fate far worse than death as far as Dazadi was concerned. But they'd seemed happy with the arrangement, and in their own way kept the desert as trouble-free as it was ever going to get.
Until the scorpions erupted out of the sand en masse, and then the flood... Well, desert lore suggested the scorpions attacked pretty frequently, so that was no big thing, but the flood had surprised everyone - Xanth, too, if Dazadi wanted to guess. So now, with the floodwaters receded, Xanth apparently wanted to make a move, get the place back under her control. Though, why she'd left it this long, Daz had no idea. Other things to worry about, probably, and with only one Aide left to do her bidding - one Aide with her own tragedies to worry about - she'd probably had her hands full.
"Ugh. No way am I coming back here. Xanth can smite me, for all I care." Daz scowled and jerked to her feet, indulging in a brief moment of wriggling but keeping her hands balled into fists so she wouldn't scratch anything. "You hear that, Xanth? If you want this desert, you can come get it yourself! Blerrhhh."
Turning, her feet eager as she tensed for a burse of speed through the portal, Daz blinked sharply. Something was flashing at her from a few hundred yards away on the other side of the portal. Metal, she figured, glinting in the sunlight. Probably melting in all this horrid heat. "Yech."
Muttering under her breath for every step she took away from that glorious portal, Dazadi paced towards the glinting metal. She wouldn't bother ordinarily, but Xanth had demanded news of the desert and Daz was looking forward to making her report. "What did I find in the desert? Oh, you know, sand. Sand, sand, a scorpion or three. Sand. Enough heat to melt your prissy hair. A shiny metal thing you can give to your pet dragon. Oh yeah, and more sand!"
Her grumbling only came to a halt when her feet stopped almost right on top of the shiny metal thing. A sword. A sword that made her suspicious nature kick up a few notches and her eyes scan the horizon again, this time more intently. A sword that... "Huh," she mused as she bent to pluck it out of the burning sand. "Pretty." Its size and weight meant nothing to her as she hefted it easily, very nearly blinding herself as she turned it hastily into the sun. It was five feet of magnificence, clearly well-crafted. The gemstones in the hilt blazed brilliantly under the same sun she'd ranted at, but it was the pattern etched into the blade that really drew her attention - and made her think instantly of Kade.
Dragon blades were usually custom orders. Not just anyone could walk into a smithy and buy a sword with a dragon etched into it. Daz doubted even she could get hold of one legally, because the 'Varians were pretty territorial about their ancestors. The pattern coupled with the craftsmanship and the style made her think this belonged to a Red Dragon, and - outside of the usual pangs as she thought of her lifemate - that brought on all kinds of questions. The desert had been pretty, well, deserted since the floodwaters receded, and no warrior in his right mind - even an ill-experienced one - would leave their weapon behind.
So they were either dead, or seriously missing this sword.
Scanning the horizon once more, Dazadi turned and trudged back to the portal with the hilt of the sword clutched in her sweaty palm. Testing the weight of it, the feel of it in her grip, she wondered how best to find its owner. Part of her was tempted to keep it; she'd been thinking about getting some fancy new weapons to treat herself anyway. But she was a warrior to her core, proud and honourable - about this, at least. And she knew damn well, if she'd lost her own sword, she'd be furious with anyone who found it and didn't bother looking to return it.
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