Dragonheart: Tethered [PRIVATE]

[Moonlight]

Dragonheart: Tethered

Players:

• Moonlight
  
• Zorayda

Characters:

• Sauda Tameri
  
• Seymour Amets
  
• Solomon Tamina

Basic Plot:
A storm is rising. There is discontent, unrest. And yet, the light that graces the continents bring only false peace. Stained peace. Forming a weave of deceit and manipulation. As the nations thrive, however, the last of the Trueblood dragons die out. One by one. Bit by bit. It has been centuries in the making, yet only few remain. But it is naught to say their prowess is unrivaled. Coveted. Though their existence turns to lore, folktales of days long passed, some believe they are still alive. Some in particular being in tune with their essence.

But how long can peace, on false grounds, truly last? Especially when tempted by fate.

The tiniest pebble can tip a scale, and can set it swinging in indecision. Creating the ripple affect, touching all it can reach. And sometimes, that pebble is the most unassuming person. One you usually wouldn't see ... Would you?

Rating
M15/Teen

• Violence (Battle, bruises, blood, etc)
  
• Sexual Content (Kissing, etc, perhaps more.)
  
• ^ Quite possibly unwillingly.
  
• Slavery.
  
• Murder / Attempted Murder.
  
• Alcohol.
  
• Partial Nudity / Clothing Damage.
  

[Moonlight]

Yay for prewritten scenes~. Next up is one of the most pivotal scenes in the entire story, but for now you can chew on this one:


The steady scratching of his quill still reached the thief’s ears, irritance and boredom clearly apparent in Sauda’s eyes. How ‘fortunate’ that they were in the same area once more. As if she had not gotten enough of his presence through the Tempero. One hand rubbed at some of the intricate glyphs tattooed into her arm, as if entertaining some forlorn hope they’d wipe off while her eyes wandered the room.

Soon settling on a thin piece of iron, decorative ivy tracings in the metal suggesting use as a seal breaker. But the sharp tip held her gaze, breath barely audible. Emptying her mind, as if dozing. The soft leather of her shoes silent against the flagstone as her fingers curled around freedom. Watching the Marquee for any signs, yet receiving none as she closed the remaining distance behind him. Driving the shiv at his jugular.

A steel grip slamming against her wrist, Seymour’s icy gaze snapping to her. The tip less than a hand away from his throat as his all but crushed her wrist, his gaze flicking towards it, then the thief. One who had stepped far out of line. The taller Marquee standing as she jerked against his grip – all too willing to oblige, sharply slamming her against the wall. Dust puffing from the stones as a sharp crack echoed throughout the room. His brow slowly arched at her shuddering breaths, as if he had been unaware of his own strength. The nobleman proceeding to wrest the weapon from her grip in one twist, holding her gaze. “I believe I once said I am never surprised …” Seymour said softly, his voice barely audible. “You would do well to remember that, Sauda.”