Post by Gwendolyn on Aug 23, 2014 11:19:53 GMT -5
Gwendolyn let out a deep breath, letting a tiny shiver wrack her little body. The wind in the Cliffs of Heaven was sharper than that of the rest of Litharia, and it cut through her fitted breeches like a knife.
Her companions seemed unbothered - Toryn looked smugly comfortable, curled around her neck and dozing with his coat of thick fur, and Ezer's boiling dragon's blood appeared to keep him warmer than any articles of clothing ever could. Gwendolyn gritted her teeth; soon enough, she hoped, she too would have the body temperature and blood of a dragon.
That was, after all, why she was here.
After an incident just outside of the Spirit of Litharia, the young (and unfortunately attractive) half-dragon Ezer had promised to help Gwendolyn find a dragon, for the purpose of killing it and obtaining dragon's blood herself, in order to heal anything and everything. Gwendolyn wasn't sure she would be able to do this - in fact, she was downright certain there was a ninety percent chance of her dying, because she wasn't a warrior and neither was Ezer. Still, she figured she had to try, because what was there to lose? A long history of unrequited love? Daemonic urges that went against the morals that had been ingrained into her being? A constant state of self-loathing and inferiority?
She did suppose, though, that Rosalind might miss her if she perished.
She looked a complete mess. Her mane of blonde hair, loose as usual, was a tangled mass of ringlets and waves, snarled in some places and providing a home to plenty of twigs in others. Her black breeches looked to be the cleanest part of her, but a large hole gaped in the left leg mid-thigh - a reminder of her run-in with a man who had been less-than-happy to find out about her Daemonic heritage after their night together. Dried blood (both hers and Ezer's) was caked onto her shirt, her skin, her leg, though she was, quite miraculously, not sporting a single wound on her body. Dirt crusted her fingernails, and she found herself longing more than anything for a bath.
Baths, she thought dreamily. Soapy water and being clean. I love baths.
It would be a while before she had an opportunity to get really truly clean, though, because comfort was not a thing to be found in the Cliffs of Heaven. Hopefully, though, a dragon was.
"So... how do we find a dragon, exactly?" Gwendolyn asked Ezer hesitantly.
Her companions seemed unbothered - Toryn looked smugly comfortable, curled around her neck and dozing with his coat of thick fur, and Ezer's boiling dragon's blood appeared to keep him warmer than any articles of clothing ever could. Gwendolyn gritted her teeth; soon enough, she hoped, she too would have the body temperature and blood of a dragon.
That was, after all, why she was here.
After an incident just outside of the Spirit of Litharia, the young (and unfortunately attractive) half-dragon Ezer had promised to help Gwendolyn find a dragon, for the purpose of killing it and obtaining dragon's blood herself, in order to heal anything and everything. Gwendolyn wasn't sure she would be able to do this - in fact, she was downright certain there was a ninety percent chance of her dying, because she wasn't a warrior and neither was Ezer. Still, she figured she had to try, because what was there to lose? A long history of unrequited love? Daemonic urges that went against the morals that had been ingrained into her being? A constant state of self-loathing and inferiority?
She did suppose, though, that Rosalind might miss her if she perished.
She looked a complete mess. Her mane of blonde hair, loose as usual, was a tangled mass of ringlets and waves, snarled in some places and providing a home to plenty of twigs in others. Her black breeches looked to be the cleanest part of her, but a large hole gaped in the left leg mid-thigh - a reminder of her run-in with a man who had been less-than-happy to find out about her Daemonic heritage after their night together. Dried blood (both hers and Ezer's) was caked onto her shirt, her skin, her leg, though she was, quite miraculously, not sporting a single wound on her body. Dirt crusted her fingernails, and she found herself longing more than anything for a bath.
Baths, she thought dreamily. Soapy water and being clean. I love baths.
It would be a while before she had an opportunity to get really truly clean, though, because comfort was not a thing to be found in the Cliffs of Heaven. Hopefully, though, a dragon was.
"So... how do we find a dragon, exactly?" Gwendolyn asked Ezer hesitantly.