the names the tides took

[Talon]

T A L O N

14 Searing 125

Talon watched as a thunderstorm rolled through the heavens. Lightning leapt between charcoal black clouds, splitting them apart, sending a torrential downpour onto the barren lands thirsty for sustenance. The storm walked across the horizon. Literally.

“That's unsettling.” Aoren stood beside him, infernal eyes following the path of the living thunderstorm. A bolt of prismatic lightning shattered a nearby pillar of rock, sending stones scattering across the landscape.

“It is a storm elemental, albeit a warped one.” Talon was carefully shielding them from the acid rain that was carving the earth around it into a pock-marked hellscape.

A barren place lay ahead of them. The stubborn testament to the fallout from the Sundering of the World. Centuries after that horrifying event and still this land had never recovered. He doubted that it ever would. How many lives, resources, spirits, mages, and humble farmers had spent generations sacrificing their blood, sweat and tears to restore the world from the devastation of Kaitos immeasurable folly? Thousands? Tens of thousands? The number was perhaps more than he would ever know.

Scattered about the lands were monumental edifices that were all that remained of the once mighty Clockwork Empire. The glorious Kingdom of Lys that had reached for places far beyond what any had seen since the Age of Dreams and failed to grasp it.

“Tell me again why we are here.” Aoren's brow was furrowed. Talon could feel the unease coiling inside his husband. Gently, he reached across the Bond to join their mental presence together. Physically, he entwined their hands, stroking a thumb across the back of Aoren's hand. Aoren had lived through the Sundering or rather, he had survived it. It was the Sundering that had stolen his memories, stolen his strength, stolen his past. It was the Sundering that had left him broken enough to be enslaved by the Imperium when the Inquisition had found him.

Kaitos folly had robbed the world of so many things.

“Bones, beloved.” He gave his husband's hand a gentle squeeze. His partner huffed.

“And mine still won't do?” Aoren narrowed his eyes, watching as the living thunderstorm marched further and further away from them.

“No.” Firm. Unyielding. Resolute. Aoren let out a long sigh. Talon had it in his heart to obtain dragon bones. He would never hunt a dragon, save for those that were willfully malicious and intentionally inflicting pain and suffering upon the world. Even then, the slaying of a dragon was not something he would go out of his way to do. Nor would he ever subject his husband to a necromantic surgery to extract a bone merely for experimentation. The very thought made Talon's stomach turn.

So, they had settled on visiting the only place they could think of where might be found a treasure trove of dragon bones buried from the world.

The Clockwork Wastes.

Specifically, the far eastern reaches of the wastes. To the east lay the Nametaker's Tides. The cursed waters that were still scorched with the fallout of the Sundering, where ships sailed among waves laced with superstition, if they sailed there at all.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Aoren shook his head.

“So do I.” Talon affirmed the feeling that he knew was threading itself within his husband from a sense that went beyond merely instincts. It was easy to forget that Aoren was a dragon tied to destiny and the fate of heroes. They both knew that even with those bad feelings, neither of them was going to turn away from what was in front of them. Talon, because he knew there was nowhere else they would be able to find what he was seeking. Aoren, because he absolutely refused to let Talon set foot in such a desolate place unguarded.

“Good thing I called in backup.” Talon blinked at his husband.

“Who?”

[Dhruv]

Lightning walked across the white crests in pillaring starbursts, leaving eruptions of steam behind like dissipating footprints. As though invoked by Talon's question, a thunderbolt bent it's knee too close to the wasteland just as a familiar stranger emerged from the clutch of shadow behind the bonded pair. It was a face well known by this land, all too easily mistook for a ghost, but the ceaseless beating of the Nametaker's Tides knew better. Maybe it even knew best.

Golden eyes shone in the dramatic display, lighting upon Talon and Aoren with the sharpening of an unintended smile. They were offered an abbreviated yet still elegant bow, the eternal grace of his old hytori lineage somehow still a surprise. He slouched too often, served too well. Tattered and beggared too long. Less so, fortunately, now than when he had appeared at the gates of the citadel too far back for him to clock the actual time. It was (in fact) a curse.

That unearthly smile went up like steam in the quake of thunder and long lingered hands brushed at the folds of his cloak, adjusted the slant of the weapons belt that housed the same matched pistols from Dawnhold as if in search of something or perhaps just trying to shake all of the shadows off of him.

"I heard you were in need of reinforcements," he told Talon in echo of himself and batted at a hardened leather vambrace as if trying scrape off some of the shadow. A long finger was stabbed at the red dragon. "You didn't tell me I'd get void scraps all over me. Better than bloody traversing, I suppose. The hell is the demigod of light doing with shadow-marked giant..."

And he descended into grumbled oaths while swinging around to level a warning look at the Cursed Waters. After a yawning moment, he spat in the sand as the storm snapped its teeth back at him and about-faced to consider his companions again.

At length, his eyes ticked past them and into the Clockwork Wastes. Whether grief or longing, the time-tossed traveler rubbed the heel of his palm over his heart all the same and finally delivered them the smile they remembered -- half a fierce smirk, half a broken heart.

"So do I get to know why we're hunting up those gods-be-damned zombie dragon bones?" He had the audacity to sound excited. This was not a man anyone who used to know him would have ever imagined to be content cooling his heels tending bar in the Commons of Kalsalzi. He had been made for adventure, once. Maybe parts of him still were.

"We should move," he added after a beat, listening to the gurgle of seawater behind him and refusing to look back. It wasn't wise to let his boots loiter too long in such liminal space. It doubtless sounded superstitious, and he was probably a bit of that as well. But he kept being reborn by thresholds, didn't he? His wariness of them was understandable or would be if he ever bothered to explain himself.

"I don't suppose anyone brought a shovel?"

[Talon]

T A L O N

“Dhruv?” Talon sounded pleased to see the time-tossed traveler. He watched as the curious wanderer did the equivalent of complaining at them while also turning a suspicious eye on the tides. He did not blame him. The Nametaker’s Tides was said to have a mind of its own or countless minds depending on the story being told.

“Well, how else was I supposed to get you here?” Aoren rubbed the back of his head with a shrug of his broad shoulders. His ensuing smirk was shameless and unapologetic. As Dhruv cast a look to the lands just behind them, Talon was not sure what to make of it. He only had the faintest idea of the struggle that Dhruv faced. Partly due to memories that danced on the edges of his immortal consciousness and partly because he had experienced a taste of the wanderer’s phenomenon in this life.

“I seek the bones in the hopes that they will prove to be an integral reagent in the creation of orichalcum. I am drawing up plans to fashion an artifact that can harness the power of archmagic.” He did not dismiss the possibility that they would, in fact, come face-to-face with an undead dragon. That was a very strong possibility given the nature of the Clockwork Wastes themselves. He was not seeking an undead dragon specifically, but he did not seem bothered by the idea that it could happen.

“We should. Now that the living storm cloud has waded into the sea.” Aoren canted his head in the direction of the storm elemental that was now walking into the tides.

“Shovel? Oh. We will not need one of those where we are going.” More than that, Talon did not elaborate.

On that note, Aoren took a step closer to Talon. The two of them touched brows for a moment before the raven winged man jumped backwards. Fire and shadow wrapped around Aoren’s form. A form that grew in size. Heated winds billowed out from the ball of flame and shadow. The fires were extinguished and the shadows settled with a sweep of vast draconic wings followed by the shake of a powerful form. A great dragon shook his head, body covered in scales that were a dark wine red they looked nearly black. Several places on the dragon’s body looked almost like sleeping lava rock, with molten magma simmering beneath the surface. A molten eye stared down at both Talon and Dhruv before Auravacis the Hellbreaker swung his head earthward to gently nudge Talon in the chest.

Talon lightly pressed his face to the warmth of the scales upon Aoren’s snout. He then looked to Dhruv.

“Come. Aoren says he will allow you to travel skyward upon his back alongside me.” One of those molten eyes pinned Dhruv in place before narrowing slightly as if to say:

Don’t get any ideas.

[Dhruv]

"I've heard that one before." It was muttered with a smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth.Harnessing the power of archmagic was a phrase fit to conjure an unsettling mix of dread and hope in the intrepid elf. "Why? What do you intend to do, Talon?"

Questions still buzzed about him like bees, a constant thrum from the engine of his curiosity. It was true that he had been many things in his life -- and he had endured quite a long one -- yet the throughline was a spirit of inquiry. A wildness that could be glimpsed with the white flash of his teeth as he automatically backed up a few feet when a whirlpool of shadow and fire erupted around Aoren, a soft spray of sand slipping from the folds of his cloak to mingle with the flurrying cinders.

He watched intently, burnished gold eyes brightening as the shadow of those massive, scaled wings cut across the shoreline to cast him into darkness. It had been quite a long time, he imagined, since he'd seen a dragon up close and personal. The sheer size alone was enough to make a wise man careful. While not immune to the weight of presence Talon brought his own self, let alone with Aoren looming often within reach, Dhruv had never been cowed. Awed? Yes. Intimidated? They could only be so lucky. If he was, maybe it would shut him up.

Dhruv could not help the chuckle that crept out of him when Talon translated. "Ah-ah. There you are then. Géant bâtard rouge, in full flesh. Eh?"

One of these days, Aoren was going to eat him and nobody would be surprised.

A final, long look was tossed the vicious crashing of the Nametaker's Tides and he quirked an eyebrow at Talon when the invitation was delivered. He tilted his head to the side, golden brown hair flopping with it, so as to squint right back at the giant red bastard's giant molten eye. He cleared his throat a little, rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, and ultimately offered Talon an eloquent gesture for the Avialae to go first.

"You may depend upon me," he sighed in the face of the dragon's look and followed Talon, taking back those steps he'd taken to approach Auravacis.

After a minute, he stopped trying to suppress the grin that kept threatening. "I don't know if I've ever ridden a dragon," he admitted, charmingly upbeat and resolved to keep hold of it despite or perhaps because of the personal poltergeists all around them here in the Clockwork Wastes. "You'd think I'd remember something so momentous, eh? Most likely the best I've ever ridden is a donkey, but a man can dream."

He should have asked where they were going. He probably should have asked a lot of things before signing up to play bodyguard to this pair. Of course, it wasn't bared steel and vicious beasts Dhruv worried about for them. No, they could handle such things better than he.

[Talon]

T A L O N

“Travel. Across the sea. Specifically to the lands that lay beyond the Maelstrom.” There was very little in the way of records regarding what lay beyond the perpetual storm that sundered the world and broke apart the continents. He had only come across a sparse few writings about them and mostly in Sol'Valen during his research of the Gem of Order that hung around his neck. He felt disquiet ripple through his beloved dragon. Talon brushed a hand over the scales along Aoren's nearest leg. He looked up at his bondmate, eyes softening. Aoren had history with the Maelstrom, the Godspire and even the far lands across the sea.

At Dhruv's comment, there came a snort from Aoren. His large eyes narrowed, a plume of smoke puffing out of his nostrils and drifting in the wanderer's direction as he approached. Despite the annoyed display, there was amusement dancing in the molten pools of the great dragon's eyes. Dhruv's company, fraught with teasing though it might have been, was clearly welcomed.

Talon chuckled with a shake of his head. He moved. As he did so, Aoren gently extended a clawed foreleg that Talon used to hoist himself up. The motion was met with a flex of Aoren's nearest wing that Talon hopped onto. Talon nimbly walked along the solid bone of the wing's arm until he was safely on his dragon lover's back. There was no saddle but this was clearly a familiar set-up between the two. The idea of placing a saddle upon Aoren was one that Talon found to be repugnant. Certainly it would have made being seated upon his lover's back easier but he was repulsed by the notion that anyone would perceive his bondmate and husband as anything close to a mere mount.

Extending his kinetic seeming, Talon interwove the flow of his own aethereal flux to that of Aoren's, a technique that would keep him comfortably in place. Once he was situated, he looked over to see how Dhruv was managing. As soon as Dhruv was situated, Talon motioned for the man to join him. He then enacted the same technique to ensure the troubadour wouldn't fall.

Once the both of them were seated, Aoren's great wings spread. There was a stillness to the air as he took his first steps. Powerful legs set themselves into motion as Auravacis got a running start before flapping his wings and leaping into the air. In practically no time, they were high above the earth with an aerial view of the lands below.

The Clockwork Wastes were a blasted wasteland in most places and a deceptively inviting place in others. The lands had been saturated with the corrosive power of the Godspire with too many of the Clockwork Empire's ruinous creations wandering it to truly name them all. At a moment's notice, the clouds above could become a wrathful storm elemental. The earth could suddenly be crawling with mutated worms the size of a warhorse with mouths lined with teeth. It was always safe to assume that any vegetation encountered was poisonous or worse, was simply laying in wait, ready to devour any that were unfortunate enough to become ensnared by it.

Things walked the wasteland. Talon did not pay them too much attention. Some of those things might have been bounty hunters or treasure seekers. The gods knew, there were many secrets both wondrous and terrible lost to the Wastes. Talon kept his eyes on the horizon, scanning as they flew. There were not many things that were foolish enough to attack a dragon and even fewer would attempt to go after a dragon of Aoren's size and strength.

Finally, Talon spotted it. He pointed to the location along the coastline.

Jutting out from the earth was an enormous structure. A monumental hand that reached toward the skies. While outwardly it was fashioned from stone, mechanical clockwork could be seen in parts where the rock and stone had fallen away. The forearm was buried in the earth and around it were the ruinous remnants of what might have once been a coastal city.

It did not take long to reach the outskirts of the site. As soon as they landed, Talon turned and helped Dhruv to the ground. As soon as they both were safely on the solid earth, fire and shadow enveloped Aoren once more as he adopted his mortal form once more. The man flapped his raven wings before running a hand through his hair. Wordlessly, Talon took out a vial of what looked to be liquid aether and handed it to his husband. Aoren took it with a thankful nod before popping the cork and downing the vial in one gulp. Aoren shivered and shook himself before rolling his shoulders, returning the vial to Talon.

“A Colossus. They were the Grand Artificer's greatest clockwork achievement. His attempt to beat the world fully into submission…or so the stories go.” He looked to the giant hand jutting out from the broken earth. At this vantage, it was truly staggering in scope.

“The resources required to build one and the fact that there were dragons willing to fight them meant that not many were made. When the colossi proved ineffective and too costly, some say that is when Kaitos Diraegon turned his mind toward building the Godspire.” Talon looked to Dhruv.

“Stories are told about them among the Dragon Riders of Antiris. It is said that it took several dragons to fell one and not without cost. I am hoping that buried among the rubble and ruin, we will find the bones of those dragons that perished.”