abstracts | hearthfire for dummies, a closed production

[He remembers the want, the admittance given in simple truth. He will recall this admittance as well, likely centuries after the flesh has stripped from this favored mortal's bones.

Nii los dur do joorre. The curse of mortality. Somewhere, Nehnahlmey thinks, he must have had an inkling.

But it does not matter, for the words mean more than the insinuations.

The dragon's thrums escalate in volume and frequency.]

[ His sister had entertained a cat until their mother found it, and, scandalized, got rid of it. He doesn't know what happened to the cat, but he's reminded of it now, in the way the dragon reacts and sounds.

It's idiotic to compare a dragon, a legendary dragon at that, to a cat, but it sticks in his mind nonetheless, gaining permanence. The deep, resounding sound has the same vibrations, albeit heavier, as a cat's purr, and Niall has given himself over unchecked.

It's happiness, that sound, but Alain would never speak that.

His hands carefully begin their movements again, slower, trailing further, curiously, where no mortal alive could say to have touched. ]

...It pleases you.

[It pleases you.

The dragon halts mid-sound, insult and shame mixing freely within. To be called on such things does not settle well in a prideful creature's mind, let alone that of a Dovah. A single eye opens long enough to lock onto the man, but eventually, Nehnahlmey relents.

He closes his eye and returns to quiet thrumming.]

As long as you do not stop.

[ The cut-off was partially expected, somewhere, and Alain resigns himself to the loss, even as Niall looks at him in silence. The dragon closing his eye and returning to before is less expected, and what is said not at all.

A hand slips with a lack of grace over flesh, the singular tell of reaction. ]

...Touching you or telling you that you hold meaning with me?

[The tell is more annoying than the question. A tail swishes unhappily in the air, despite the sounds the dragon is making.]

Yes. That. The other. Continue.

[ ...It is so like and unlike Niall that Alain is silent for a moment, singular in nature, before the Dragonborn bursts out laughing, not an unkindly sound. There's genuine pleasure in the sound, and the man runs fingertips along the center of the dragon's skull, even as--

Even as, in the air, a roar rings out like challenge.

The frost dragon drops from the air into viewing range, and hovers there, out of shouting distance--for war, yet not for dialogue. It calls out, but not to the Dragonborn, who has instantly moved his hands from the dragon to his weapons instead. ]

Hin paak, Nehnahlmey. Hin kah los? Nid daal nol daar bein.

[ Your shame, Nehnahlmey, the dragon spoke. Where is your pride? There is no return from this foulness.

It hovers there a moment more, then stretches its neck, moving as if to leave. ]

Alduin fent mindok se daar.

[ Alduin shall know of this. ]

[Laughter wounds and delights the dragon, who deals with his conflict in silence. Who desires the noise more than he would ever say.

Only, another has taken to speak in his stead, another who would breathe insults and threats while remaining woefully irritating. Nehnahlmey remembers this dragon, this tired concept of predictability. He stretches his neck toward the other in the sky, veiled displeasure written in his expression.

Sarcasm drenched in his tones.]

Ol zu dhaaman, Mindok Gein, mey lost niid paak.

[As I remember, Knowledable One, fools have no shame. No pride. The observation, therefore, is obsolete. Nehnahlmey rises, form stretching in preparation for flight, senses fixed on the Dragonborn and the dragon in equal measures.]

Bo wah Alduin med nivahriin joor kiir. Zu fen vaaz hio nol lok.

[Fly to Alduin like a cowardly mortal child. Like a crying babe. I will tear you from the sky.]

[ There is something to consider, in this situation. Something unknown, despite the circumstance.

For it is true: Alain has slain many dragons at this point, some who mocked beforehand, so what is the difference now?

For it is true: Alain has fought other dragons while Niall looks on, and at times they have called on him to help, a faulty notion. The difference, then?

The difference that resides in this place and time is both easy and not to describe. For Niall is reacting nearly aggressively, an abrupt change from the normally passive and watchful dragon. The last line spoken excites a bloodlust in him, and he wonders at that change. At the cause of that reaction.

But even more, Alain considers one solitary fact. The dragon will die, yes, because Alain has never hesitated in defeating any opponent put before him, but the aspect was-- This dragon was before Niall, and while Alain would reap the benefits, the question remained as... Should he?

If he moves now, to fight the dragon before them, it would change everything and nothing. Because this would be the first time that Alain would fight... On behalf of Niall. It remains. There is no need for the Dragonborn to get involved.

Other than the fact of dragons. And the increasing want to accept all battles before him. ]

...Alduin shall know....

[ He muses aloud, a seeming non sequitur. This is coupled with his right hand unsheathing his short sword, even as his left easily goes through the motions of conjuration. Light glows fluidly, and a flame atronach appears, twirling in midair. Alain focuses on his next spell, a barrier despite the lack of need.

For throughout all of this, he has been moving forward, and the moment the barrier spell is ready, Alain is already opening his mouth, speaking outward from his core. ]

Yol-Toor-Shul!

[ Behold the Thu'um as inferno: The perfect disaster to a beast who relies on frost. ]

[There is a sustained moment, an instance when an enemy's reaction transitions between extremes. Nehnahlmey can see it in perfect clarity before Alain steps forward, before the Thu'um bursts upon the frost dragon in open flame.

What is seen could be fear. Anger. Disbelief. It could be any and all, but Nehnahlmey cares naught for its identity. He would rather cater to the demands of his own fury, slip under its comforting influence.

Thus, the dragon takes to the sky as his 'brother' crashes clumsily to the earth. Another might use this opportunity for an offensive maneuver, but Nehnahlmey remains hovering above, all eight eyes keen on the bodies below.

He prefers humiliation to destruction when enraged. And what could wound a dragon more than forcing them to choose their manner of death? To be consumed by the Dragonborn below or torn asunder by the legendary dragon above?]

[ He is aware of Niall as he always is-- Alain always hyper focuses on the legendary dragon's proximity to Alain when in battle. He has no want to harm him, or even upset him-- And holds a quiet fear that he might kill him on accident if he isn't careful. Alain knows the power that Niall wields. He is named, has lived for centuries, and is one of the highest classes of dragon. Still, it remains. Niall is not a fighter, and Alain is.

It's a fear, as stated: A secret one.

Niall rises as the frost dragon falls, wreathed in flame, watching downward with the gaze of a predator. It is something yet unseen in the legendary dragon, and if Alain was something less of himself, he might pause to fathom. As things are--

The flame atronach holds for no commands and flings itself forward, shooting flame from its wrist. The barrier spell completes itself and Alain quickly moves to cast again, his flesh taking on the consistency of iron itself. He moves forward and the dragon flings up its head, great wings striking the atronach away. It looks up at Niall warily, then flows a stream of words at Alain. ]

Dovahkiin, daar los ni hin frod!

[ Not his battle, possibly, but there is nothing stopping him from continuing. He is nearly to the dragon and it roars out slightly. ]

Drem! Peace. I have no krif-- No quarrel with you. Only the bein mey.

[ ...The foul fool the frost dragon is currently cringing from. Perhaps tearing from the sky has a deeper meaning with dragons. Alain does not know, or currently care. He continues, and the dragon seems to understand there is no talking.

What a loss of pride to speak instead of shout. Perhaps to rectify, the dragon breathes in, to exhale ice and snow, and Alain projects again. ]

Fos-Ro-Dah!

[ Unrelenting force to barrel into the breath of frost and smash it to pieces. The dragon reaches to snap at the man, and his sword comes up, newly enchanted, pressing flame and lightning into white hide. Alain recasts in the same moment, conjuring again the flame atronach. It sets itself to burning scales and skin, and Alain strikes again.

The dragon, bloodied and burnt, heaves itself into the air in a maddened struggle of wings, forgetting its other adversary in the process. ]

[It is a curious sight to behold: for a dragon to seemingly beseech their mortal enemy. Laughter comes easily, Nehnahlmey finds, in light of hatred, cold and crisp in the evening air.]

Ruz bo wah fin bein mey!

[Fly to the foul fool if he seeks peace.

Only the Dragonborn does not relent, and the frost dragon is caught in the fray, caught in force and fire. He breaks free somehow, struggling away from the man's reach through flight--

And Nehnahlmey dives, claws outstretched. He uses gravity and speed to do exactly as threatened: to tear into the other creature's form.]

Edited 2013-07-15 18:11 (UTC)

[ This is different--the thought retains itself in his mind. They, he and Niall, have created a flow of battle, natural and perfect, that the frost dragon cannot escape from. There is no circling above the Dragonborn for the frost dragon to catch its breath and strategize: Niall waited above, and tore into the dragon as it tried to rise, claws and weight doing more damage to the already heavily wounded beast.

Both bodies slam into the earth with a magnificent sound, dust and dirt rising to cloud the air. Niall is the one who raises his body upwards--the other dovah nearly cowers in the dirt.

Ah, but not cowering. The other dragon's wing hangs broken, and a wound in its thigh bleeds heavily, even now. It struggles to rise hopelessly, until hope is fled. Even if it could still fly, it is no longer strong enough to do so, and there is yet still one who would tear it down. ]

Daar los, Nehnahlmey? Mu kos dov! Mu kos zeymah!

[ What is this? the dragon would ask. We are dragonkind! We are brothers!

How ridiculous. It makes Alain angry for a reason he is not willing to speak.

--And yet he does, for the first time wasting words on a nameless dragon. ]

Hin sos los ni ok.

[ It is spat, those words, with no true focus on wording. Your blood is not his, Alain deigns to reply. For Niall is--

Alain's sword swings down at the neck of the creature, even as fire blooms in his hand to burn the creature's life away. ]

...He is not yours to call that.

[ Brother. Bonded. What had Durnehviir said in the Soul Cairn? Even now, Alain speaks to a corpse. ]

...He is my Grah-Zeymahzin.

[ My ally. My brother. ]

[Two dragons fall to the earth, the crash brutal and unforgiving, and it would be Nehnahlmey who rises. It would be the useless, foolish dragon who recovers without a hint of hurt, eyes blazing in uncharacteristic aggression at the one whose life is slipping away. At the dragon who made a mockery of something held precious and dear.

He would ask now. He would question why Nehnahlmey refuses his own, and Nehnahlmey snaps his jaws together in frustration. Does his zeymah not understand? That centuries of rejection do not fall away at similarities in blood?

They do not fall away when another would give him what his kin would not.

Except Alain would answer for him. The man would speak in the dragon's tongue, denying blood bonds and forging others. He is my Grah-Zeymahzin.

Nehnahlmey finds himself frozen, fixed as destruction unfolds before his eyes. As the frost dragon dies in sword and flame. It is not until the Dragonborn forces distance between himself and the dead that Nehnahlmey chances words.]

You will not eat him?

Edited 2013-07-16 04:06 (UTC)

[ Silence held until Alain backed away, and then Niall speaks.

...Speaks uncharacteristically informal, and Alain glances back at him in question. ]

It was your battle, was it not?

[ The frost dragon had even stated it. ]

[It is in hindsight that Nehnahlmey recognizes his own simplicity, and he pauses in deliberation of his next words.

Finally, he shakes a head at the man.]

What use would I have to devour this one? He has nothing I do not already have.

[ It is all that is needed, for the Dragonborn desires the heightened power and ability that comes from each Dovah. Alain steps back into range, and as if in waiting, the corpse begins to burn in an unknown power, scales and flesh burning bright and ember before turning to smoke and ash, power and force; a flow centered on Alain.

The Dragonborn absorbs the frost dragon without regard, and when the dragon is nothing but bones Alain lifts his sword to wipe off the blood and ichor, frowning at it in thought. The enchantments had held wonderfully, but the weapon is not one he's truly comfortable with. He would sell it in the next market.

He unstraps the belt the sheath is on and begins to wrap it tight.

All of this, a distraction, a focus, for there is too much else to consider. ]

[Consumption of a dragon's soul maintains a duality, a conflict within a dragon's mindset. It is the ultimate form of victory, a complete conquest in battle to take the defeated into one's self, but it strikes as barbaric to those who hold an ounce of preservation. Nehnahlmey, despite lacking (much) wants and ambitions, has enough to find the process uncomfortable.

Perhaps this is why his sight finds Alain's weapon, a shiny thing he hasn't seen thus far. It is pretty enough for the dragon to be distracted, to stare openly as if nothing else held in his mind.]

Zahkrii? [A sword?] How unlike you.

Edited 2013-07-16 07:35 (UTC)

[ As if in habit, Alain raises the blade unsheathed for Niall to look at--elven design with a gem hilt and pulsing with enchantments.

This, he holds to. ]

One of my newer works. I'm not going to keep it.

[The dragon peers down, discerning eyes taking in the design.]

A pity.

[It is well-made.]

Few will appreciate its value.

[ He sheathes the blade and continues to finish wrapping it, giving a sound of dismissal. ]

It doesn't matter. I'll sell it anyway.

[A tail sways in mild agitation.]

You should sell it to me.

[ Alain looks up at Niall in surprise-- Then, for the first time since the frost dragon appeared, his expression softens, and he smiles, if but slightly. The bound sword is held out again. ]

If you want it, it is yours.

[...Nehnahlmey expected a price. To be offered a gift instead is beyond his comprehension.

The dragon stares at the sword for a long minute.]

You are certain?

[Alain gives his assent in a nod and a smile, and Nehnahlmey slowly extends out a clawed foot to take the bound sword. Before murmuring a breath of thanks.]

Kogaan, fahdon.

Edited 2013-07-17 01:08 (UTC)

[ The dragon takes the sword, and the man puts a hand on the claw the retrieves it, fingertips tracing scales. ]

...Other than my artifacts, if you want something, just tell me. And it's yours.

[If the creature was warm-blooded, Nehnahlmey might have flushed. As he is selfish and lacking a kind of complexity in attentions, he swallows the touch with near shameless joy.

Somehow, he catches himself from thrumming.]

You would grant favors to a Dovah? Is that wise?

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