(123-01-03) Targaryen Trek: The Search for Syrax
Targaryen Trek: The Search for Syrax
Summary: Helmed by Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, knights and adventurers are gathered to seek out the dragon Syrax in the Uplands, keeping a close eye out for Veraxion (aka Whoremaster).
Date: 03/01/2016 and earlier
Related: The Wedding of Prince Dhraegon and Lady Marsei, Then, The Feast, Targaryen and Hightower Tourney; Plan for Flight

At least it seems like a good day for dragon-hunting — rain. The group gathers outside the gates at the Roseroad to await the Princess.

Peri is careful, standing, not with the horses, under an oiled cloak, fingers going through her bag and pouches along her hips taking a last minute inventory, an old luck prayer is laid in henna ink along her finger tips in Valyrian glyphs. She takes a moment while the group is assembling to pick a few flowers, eyes being picky about it. Likely something useful for a salve.

Once Bryn heard that a group was gathering to begin the search for the missing dragons, there was no way he was going to miss it. Trading off chore groups and lessons, he made sure he had free time. Dressed in his Citadel robes, so he has access to their abundance of pockets, he approaches the group, a smile on his face.

Desmond is dismounted alongside a big black charger, absently stroking its nose in the rain, reaching down periodically to scratch beneath the animal's saddle. He's fully armored in ugly brigadine, and cloaked to keep the metal from rusting.

Daevon sent a request to the citadel anyway for Bryn's presence, just in case they said no to Bryn's requests. He's also arranged for a horse for the boy if need be. His own horse isn't any of his fancy ones, just a solid chestnut creature. He's dressed for the weather, in an oiled cloak as well as lightweight armor.

Before long, Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm's Delight, Princess of Dragonstone, the rider of the wayward dragon Syrax, arrives at the gates upon a white steed, Rhaegor Targaryen flanking her. She is dressed in dragonrider's attire, a gleaming suit of vivid Targaryen red and the deepest black, the rain slipping off as soon as it strikes. Her long, silver-gold hair is braided in a warrior's style, homage to the old Queen Visenya. She has a look of utter determination on her infamous face. She immediately studies each and every person gathered for the trek, consulting Rhaegor, who's spent more time in Oldtown, about the faces she doesn't recognize.

Eonn is on his big white mare, patient at Daevon's side. The rain turns the road slowly to mud.

Desmond mounts, ready to ride quietly alongside the column.

Rhaegor sits the saddle of a jet black courser, and he pulls up alongside Rhaenyra just outside the gates. His eyes scan those assembled, and then he bows his head towards the Princess for a quiet conference. His form is exacting; straight-backed, shoulders broad. Only the second time he has been seen on horseback since his duel with Desmond Snow.

Bryn does indeed need the horse Daevon supplied, but he says to the knight, immediately, "Thank you." He brightened as he spots Eonn standing nearby, and then looks around, only to look a little disappointed as he sees no sign of Keli. That disappointment is momentary, however, and he stands a little straighter as the Princess arrives.

Peri is quiet, taking a shiny red apple out of her back, slowly approaching Eonn and his mare, taking a knife out to slice the apple into quarters before wiping her knife on her short skirt and returning her knife to its sheath, in a polite way she flats her palm and offers the treat to the horse "Eonn, would you perhaps mind doing me a wee favor so I don't make a fool of myself?" she asks, side eying around, and gesturing up at the horses' back with a slightly anxious smile. She eyes the princess, standing straight and curiously keeping her eyes on the horse as often as glancing at the woman.

Daevon's frowning slightly at something. "What are the plans?" he asks. He does offer Bryn a smile, and a nod.

Eonn smiles at Bryn, friendly. It's a flash of a smile; he's mostly wearing a cold blank I'm-somebody's-sword sort of expression. His white mare is happy to eat apple-slices from Peri's palm as her rider nods to the woman.

Rhaenyra nods from Rhaegor to a few faces in the gathered crowd during their quiet conference before prompting her steed ahead into the midst of the waiting group, one quick, powerful hoof through the mud after another. "We ride," she announces, voice raised in command. "If there are any among you who have only dreams of dragonslaying, leave yourself at the gate with your delusions. We ride to bring back Syrax. By coming, you swear to abide by me."

Rhaegor tilts his head to receive low instructions from Rhaenyra, just before she rides forward to address those assembled. While she speaks, he singles out a few individuals milling about on the Roseroad, employing one authoritative incline of his head after another to dismiss them. Trimming the fat from their riding party. A few others leave of their own volition after Rhaenyra lays down the law, whittling their numbers further still. At some point Rhaegor meets his cousin Daevon's eye; he offers the prince a nod of greeting.

Peri carefully cracks her shoulders, holding her hand up to Eonn, "Where shall you put me?" she asks, looking like she's contemplating where to throw her momentum. As soon as he answers she's likely to come up onto the horse, without making a huge fool of herself. She's already gained her coin, and is inclined to come along.

Daevon nods at Rhaegor. He listens to Rhaenyra. He's still frowning at something though, impatient perhaps with the formalities. There's a glance to Eonn as he looks for something there.

Eonn reaches down to offer Peri a hand up to ride pillion. As he does so he offers Daevon a gently questioning look.

Bryn looks a bit surprised that anybody would even consider killing the dragons, looking to those that leave for that reason with a bit of shock. He says nothing, however, soon climbing up onto the course that Daevon provided, as they prepare to go.

Jurian is a late entrant to the game, but he's finely dressed and armored, horse tacked with his custom saddle, a couple of servants in tow. He joins the pack late without apology.

Rhaenyra looks specifically to Daevon as well, a silent acknowledgment to Targaryen kin; a similar look turns back to Jurian upon his arrival — lingering, for his lateness — and a more curious one to Bryn, recognizing the young dragonseed from the wedding feast. She rides past the assembled band to take the lead. With the herd thinned, so to speak, she looks sharply back at them and starts to ride out through the rain and mud, the Uplands, and Syrax, so firmly in her mental sights.

Rhaegor follows the look thrown back to Jurian; another cousin, extended another nod of greeting. But then it is time to ride, and when Rhaenyra peels off on her mount to helm the party, he presses his courser to follow, flanking the Princess as vanguard.

"What is the plan?" Daevon asks again, projecting his voice so that it carries. He shakes his head every so slightly in response to Eonn's look.

Bryn keeps generally quiet, for the moment anyway, watching those around him as he rides along near Daevon, Eonn, and Peri.

Eonn hauls Peri up to sit behind him on the big gray mare, then guides the animal to keep pace with Daevon.

Peri wraps an arm around Eonn, gently leaning against his back, weight pushed up easy and pulled as easy. She rewards Eonn's kindness with a light squeeze "Thank you." she murmurs, watching the group and keeping quiet.

For a moment, it seems like Daevon's question is lost to the rain, the sounds of hooves in the mud, and the clanging of armour anyway — or perhaps to Princess Rhaenyra's single-minded focus ahead. "If there are signs of Syrax and Veraxion in the Uplands, we find them and follow them," she calls back sharply, then, while her eyes remain set on the road. "All the way to the den of Veraxion if it comes to it."

"What kind of signs do dragons leave?" asks Eonn of Daevon, softly.

Jurian gives quiet orders to each of the two men with him, but it's unclear whether he's saying something effective or just trying to look important and wise at strategy.

"Bryn would know better than I," Daevon says quietly to Eonn. "Charred remains. Terrified people." He shrugs. "Not that there's much catching fire in this weather. Smoke? It was Visenya that can find dragons, I just followed her. Still we know this way well enough now that likely we'll notice something off?" He nods at Rhaenyra's explanation of where they're going. "Veraxion's lair then, unless otherwise."

Leading a small rearguard of similar lowborn pieces of gristle and the odd highborn straggler, Nechtan eventually catches up with the others, slowed not least by the fact they've got but two horses among the halfdozen of them. Heavily armoured and bristling with blades, they resemble mostly bandits and, thankfully, do a decent job of repelling said.

Bryn overhears the question, and says, "Very large droppings, burnt remains of their meals, sometimes disturbed ground where they land. Lots of signs, just a lot farther between than most animals."

"Dragon droppings!" says Eonn, amused. There won't be any seeing them in the air today, likely, it's so overcast. Also, there's a muddy chicken in the road ahead, crouched there.

Great, a ride on the lookout for dragon poo. Jurian looks far from elated. He reaches up to pull his hood a bit farther forward against the weather. Even though he's possibly supposed to be watching the sky from time to time.

The quiet question and answer might have gone unheard by Rhaenyra, but she seems to notice Bryn's, for the Princess of Dragonstone glances back over her sleek shoulder to give him a look that could be said, vaguely, to be approving.

Her horse's path remains straight along the road, assuming the muddied fowl will skitter out of the way.

Peri is quiet, observing the area, absently, poor Eonn is getting gently petted as she holds on. She eyes Bryn and just gives him a nod.

Daevon smiles bright as Bryn provides signs of dragons. He seems more satisfied than he was.

The chicken squawks and jumps out of the way at the last minute, narrowly avoiding the hooves of Princess Rhaenyra's mount.

Miranda?s steed is quite fine, for a septa, and she rides with natural grace. Her saddlebags contain plenty of supplies, both healing and otherwise. There's even a bow and quiver- again quite fine for a woman of the Faith. She smiles over at Peri and asks, "How are you adjusting?"

Breaking away from the smallfolc contingent (who stay respectfully back, waiting to be set on something), Nechtan insinuates his way forward, making pretty good time on foot and not giving the slightest of whits about either the rain or proper station. Then again, few people would argue with the barbarian or his axe.

Peri glances to Miranda "I'm alright. Still not sure about this horse business. Eonnis quite kind to help me, yes?" she gestures at Eonn. "Eonn of the Rills, Septa Miranda, she cares for the orphans." she introduces politely.

Eonn looks over to Miranda. He smiles very faintly and nods.

Ahead on the muddy verge is the track that turns off the Roseroad and leads to the uplands.

Rhaenyra makes good time leading the mismatched party along the Rose Road toward the turn in the track, as well as can be done through the increasing amounts of slick mud without outright running the horses. The air of fierce determination around the princess seems to verge on impatience; it is clear that the absence of her dragon is a plight she takes personally.

Bryn smiles back to Daevon, then he's looking ahead as well, keeping an eye out for said signs. He does look back to the Septa is introduced, and comments, "You were at the duel. That was nice, bringing them to watch."

"Did we choose the best day for it?" Jurian wonders aloud, frowning at all this mud and low visibility.

Miranda nods to Eonn with a vague and mildly disturbed smile. She thankfully turns to Bryn and offers a shrug. "So often they miss things which they hear of later. It only makes them sad to get stories and not memories."

Daevon keeps wanting to push further ahead, but he resists the urge. He does ride, quietly, his eyes upon the path before them.

Falling into step a little behind one of the few people he recognises in the party, Nechtan ends up a little behind Peri, the big man grinning up into the rain. "Fine weather for a walk." he says, just a bit too loudly to be to himself.

Peri eyes Nechtan "A fine day indeed, friend." she offers, "Fine day to feel the sand beneath your bare feet and the waves on your back, if you ask me." she smiles largely at Nechtan "Planning on invading my kettle for soup again?" she asks, leaning with a little confidence to look at Nechtan. "How've you been? I've not seen you in ages." she offers chipperly, not at all discouraged by the rain.

Bryn nods quickly to Miranda, "Me too. So I started making sure I'd be there for things like that. And like this," he adds, smiling. "But Prince Daevon helped a lot too, in making sure I was here. Would have been a lot harder getting permission, I think."

It's not long before the track grows steep. The chicken is left behind.

The axeman nods, grinning away, "I'll be taking up residence there again, mark you this, lady," Nechtan chuckles, "There has been things to do and men to slay and it has left my purse full. Great gift-givers these southron lords." he adds, with a wave of his free hand towards the knights present. Thankfully hes still behind them and they might not see such brazen familiarity, but its not like the man seems to care. "How has my favourite southron been?"

"You're blood of the dragon," Daevon says to Bryn. "You know Veraxion, you know dragons, you've made the journey several times before. It'd be foolish to leave you behind." His horse plods on through the mud.

The septa, as one may expect, seems a bit off-put near the large armed men. She falls back to ride more closely by the boy. She nods as Daevon says the obvious of his heritage. "His Grace is generous but also practical."

Rhaenyra's horse was chosen for its adeptness, and it carries the straight-backed princess along the path without slipping, winding around the muddiest puddles of the road as it becomes steep, expecting the others to make their own way just as well. The princess herself is constantly taking a close stock of their surroundings. "You know Veraxion?" she says suddenly after Daevon speaks to Bryn, evidently having been listening in on bits and pieces of the conversations behind her amid her focus ahead. "Have you been to his den as well?"

Peri gestures at Miranda "Nechtan, be polite to her. She's a septa and a goodie. Treats the children without well and without thanks or pay." she gives Nechtan the 'mom look' of disapproval at the potential shenanigains. She smiles at Miranda "He's alright. I quite promise. Hard worker. Knows when to stop being so loud and rowdy." she assures, ruffling Eonn's side gently.

Bryn smiles, about to say something to Daevon, but then the Princess is speaking to him. He looks to her, and nods again, "Yes, your Grace, and I have."

Jurian squeezes the horse carefully with his knees. He's lucky to have the custom saddle so the configuration of his leg doesn't confuse the horse, though the animal is also increasingly learning its rider's ways.

The look Nechtan gives Miranda is almost predatory, and it comes with a wolfish smile, "I shant sing the song about the twelve men of Dunnag and the golden lady of the summer, then," he says, and then bursts into laughter.

"My twin sister knows her best," Daevon says. "It is a pity that she could not join us. But I did ensure that we'd a number of people who've taken this trip before to join you in your search."

Miranda flinches at Nechtan's smile. "T-that is considerate of you," she says, blanching. It's clear she is unsettled by his attentions. She presses her hand to her holy star and goes back to watching the hillsides.

"Why?" Rhaenyra asks Bryn, straight to the point. "Yes, a pity," she concurs with Daevon; any more favourable comments from the princess are cut short before they begin when she looks back to the laughing barbarian of a man. "Someone quiet him," she says to anyone who will obey. "And the men at the back. We do not want our approach to be rowdy. The dragons may still have the tournament riot fresh in their memories."

Unholy is a pretty fair word to use for Nechtan, though Pagan would probably be more accurate. He grins at Peri and, asks, guilelessly, "Would she want to hear the one about the Wildling and the Septa? Seems like it'd be appropriate." The big man can apparently make a decent stab at sounding innocent, as long as theres a joke to it.

Peri reaches, without any real warning to pet Nechtan "Shh." she half scolds. She gives a smile "I don't think so, don't be an arse or I'll tie your arms and feed you to it." she tsks at Nechtan warningly. She could be playing or serious. "If you must chat, talk as if we're in a stone hall and your voice will carry and wake my father who will geld you or something. I'm not good at these hypotheticals, but you get the idea." she offers to Nechtan. expression taking on a serious 'shut up before we get punished' look. Her own voice is kept soft and polite, carrying only to people around her and not too much further.

Up ahead, where the path begins to turn wholly rocky, there's a blackened spot in the hills, off the trail.

Bryn answers the Princess, "The first time I came with with Prince Daevon to help look for evidence of where the dragon came from. We found some relics of its original rider, suggesting it came from Old Valyria, before the Doom. The next time, I came the larger group, for the Festival of Chivalry."

Whilst he may be a bit slow on the uptake, Nechtan apparently resonds quickly to any talk of gelding and even gives the princess a somewhat sheepish look as he shuts his face.

Miranda is almost shivering as Nechtan makes more jokes. She does her best to tune him out and the Princess' admonishment coupled with Peri's seems to help her mood as well. She looks curiously at Bryn at the detail. "Fascinating. I love reading about the history, of the wonders beyond Westeros.."

Rhaegor is silent, for the most part, while they ride. He stays steadily at Rhaenyra's flank throughout, and as the muddied path begins to yield to rocky traction, his eyes catch on something while scanning the hills up ahead. "Highness," he says, lowly, to draw Rhaenyra's attention to the same.

Eonn looks at Miranda, curiously.

Daevon spots that blackened spot as well, around the same time Rhaegor does. "That's new."

Rhaenyra is listening with interest to the acolyte, her silver-gold head tipped just slightly toward him. Rhaegor need only utter half a syllable before her attention is directed up ahead, following exactingly to the scorched mark upon the rocks. "They were here." At least one of them was here. She diverts her horse off the trail.

Jurian isn't really taking the lead, either out of respect for Rhaenyra or because he doesn't want his face burnt off. So he's hardly the first to see the dark spot. He looks at it, then glances up at the sky.

It’s getting difficult for the horses. Steep and rocky terrain isn't courser and destrier territory. It's a pretty big smear of charred chaperal and stone over there, but with no trail at all it'll almost certainly require the investigators to dismount.

Nechtan falls into a quiet step beside Peri, going over his gear quietly and checking his weapons, the work of a diligent soldier. The fact he does this more urgently as he passes the blackened spot is a pure coincidence, obviously.

Peri pets Eonn. She eyes the blackened spot "Nesting maybe?" she asks, voice soft as she rests her chin on Eonn's side. She eyes Eonn "When we get closer to the site, I'll be hopping off. I need to gather some herbs that grow near Dragons' roosts if we get a chance." She seems to be getting a bit anxious about being on a horse She gives Eonn a hearty pat on the chest.

As Rhaenyra's sure-footed mount begins to pick its way off the trail, what ground it is able to cover before the Princess is made to dismount, Rhaegor brings his own courser alongside to block the way. Before he leaves the saddle, he lifts a hand toward those following behind him. "Hold," he says, glancing after Rhaenyra as she makes her retreat. He nods at Daevon and Bryn, singling them out from the rest. "Attend her. The rest will wait here for further instruction."

Jurian stays on his horse, but he sends one of his men over to go and get a look at this charred bit. He watches. Rhaenyra can stray from the path if she likes.

Eonn raises his eyebrows a bit, but he stays on his big white mare and brings her to a stop, to wait.

Miranda slips lightly off her mount once the trail gets too rough for her palfrey. "As you wish," she replies obediently to Rhaegor, bobbing a curtsey out of automatic habit.

Peri shifts a bit on the horse, rubbing her left hip. She digs in her bag to take an apple out. She takes a bite of it, eatting it, she cracks her back, offering Eonn a bite of her apple, politely and friendly like. "I brought snacks. I have honeyed dates and candied almonds in my pack." she offers, calmly to Eonn, whispering.

Bryn nods quickly to Rhaegor, glancing to Daevon, and then dismounts to follow after the Princess. He's not a bad rider, but he's much better on his feet that I'm a horse in any case. He may no longer be the under city urchin he once was, but he still has the agility that life gave him.

The charred spot is some fifty feet long. There are bones, and claw-scrapes on the rocks.

Daevon pulls out a long leather pouch and removes a far-eye from within and he's about to use it to start looking when, he bristles as Rhaegor attempts to give him orders. He's inclined to disagree just for the sake of it. But seems to change his mind, hopping off his horse and heading over to get a closer look at those bones.

Desmond reins in his horse as the Targaryens move off into the brush. He has his hand on his sword, head on a swivel, and begins to ride a slow patrol along the road like some oversized sheepdog, keeping watch over the other riders. He idly draws Giantsblade and lays it across his saddle as he rides, humming to himself. Leaving the Targaryens to tend to the dragonsign, he is watching for any mundane trouble that might appear.

Her horse standing back obediently enough, Princess Rhaenyra makes her way over the rocks to get a closer look at the scorch mark and its telltale scattering of bones, as if drawn to it. A moth to a flame, a Targaryen to even the ghost of dragon fire. Even so, she's not oblivious to Daevon and Bryn. "Can you see beyond this hill?" she asks of the agile boy and the prince with the far-eye.

The young septa offers, "I have the herb jars, and gathering gloves should we need them." She goes to check her packs and pulls a wine skin, making offering to the party.

"Well?" Jurian asks his man. "Is it fresh? Is it warm? Hm?"

Nechtan takes his axe into both hands, the motion causing the half dozen goons he brought with him to follow suit. Scum they may be, but well trained also.

It's not warm, but it's still there in spite of the rain, and it's sort of oily. Some of the bones are large, some small. One of them is the burnt skull of a horse, with the bit still in its teeth.

Rhaegor lingers behind on horseback with the rest of the party while Daevon and Bryn go ahead to Rhaenyra. He catches Desmond Snow's eye, canting his head in an invitation for the Northroner to pull up alongside him.

The man yells back that there's a tacked horse among the remains. "We could be close!" Jurian warns. "Hopefully this means it won't be hungry…"

Desmond circles Mammoth, riding up alongside Rhaegor and half-leaning out of his saddle to speak to the Targaryen knight. "Aye, Your Grace?" His voice is respectful, but his attention remains on the horizon.

Rhaegor effects a half lean as well, uttering some low question to Snow while glancing back to the rearguard.

Bryn frowns just a little as he sees a human bone, though he also doesn't look surprised, but the Princess's question gets him moving quickly. He climbs up the hill as high as he can, trying to get a glimpse beyond.

Daevon's picking through the pile of ash, examining, looking for any search of clues. He frowns as Jurian's man starts yelling. "Quiet please." His words a command. He looks for any signs of how long ago this may have happened. To Rhaenyra's question he offers Bryn his far-eye, since he's busy with this.

The bones are scattered about, strewn through the charred area. A horse. Or part of one. A man, or part of one. The skull is broken. There's part of a brigandine, or some other light armour. The rings that would be sewn to leather, some melted into a sheet over the crushed ribcage. There's a sword, charred and brittle now, and the iron rim of a shield, and what might have been the point of a war-lance. THese things are scattered about, partially eaten and throughly burned.

Desmond 's gaze flickers over to Nechtan and his men, hesitates for a moment, then returns to its sweep of the area before he leans back to answer Rhaegor.

Peri carefully eyes at Rhaegor, she is quiet but pets Eonn "Grace, would it be alright to dismount?" she asks, non specifically towards a milk haired prince. She rubs Eonn.

Desmond idly adjusts his grip on the black leather hilt of Giantsblade, smiling pleasantly as he glances aside at Rhaegor, just for a moment. He seems a bit bored, as he answers.

"A recent enough kill," the princess remarks, her hand flat upon the oily black. But dragons fly. She examines the debris as Daevon does, although not as precisely, her features hardening somewhat. Rhaenyra's determination amplifies; she's eager to be on the move. She watches Bryn's climb. "What do you see?"

The big wildling pauses, mid-way through checking the balance on one of his spears to look at the equally huge northen knight, "Can't be.." Nechtan murmurs, shaking his head and shrugging, "That man was not a southron knight." he says to himself, going back to his gearcheck.

Bryn takes the far eye, climbing is high on the hill as he can. If you can reach the top, he uses a far eye to look around in all directions.

Miranda makes offer of the wine again, first to the nobility before Peri and Desmond. And then the sellswords. She seems very reluctant to even go near the large rough men but does all the same.

Rhaegor offers a fraction of a nod to Desmond in turn, holding his gaze a second longer. And then he, too, scans their surrounds, catching the question put to him from down the line by Peri. "Stay with the horses," he tells her, permissively.

"Septa," Daevon calls out. Because who else do you call for when you find a body. He does also look over at Eonn, but doesn't call out to him.

Humming the Bear and the Maiden Fair, Desmond rides another circuit of the stopped crowd. He reins in idly alongside Nechtan and smiles over at him. "You ride with the Flints against the Hornfoots? Oh, seven, eight years back?" His gaze is out, but he's clearly listening for an answer.

Peri is careful to dismount, giving Eonn's mare a patting "..Thank you for the ride." she offers. She shifts away to offer her hands to Miranda, politely offering the septa help down.

Bryn stops, looking to the East. He calls back, "Your Grace, I see a peak with yellow… maybe rocks. The same colour as Syrax, though."

Eonn accepts the wineskin with a gentle, quiet, "Thank you," to Miranda, and has a swallow before he hands it back. He stays on his big mare, his attention on those exploring the charred place.

Miranda hands the skin to Peri and dismounts easily. As she hurries over, the hem of her robes lift enough in her hands to show her boots as she moves though the rough terrain. "Yes your grace?"

On foot, Nechtan is really very much dwarfed by the knight that rides beside him, thats probably what causes the wildling's slightly slack-jawed expression or else its the answer, "Naw, I was on the other side, spear-schiltrom you bastards rode over," he says, but hes smiling regardless, "Thought you looked familiar."

Bryn's assessment is enough for Rhaenyra to call for action. She picks her way through the rocks, straight past Septa Miranda, striding back the way she came, leading her horse on foot toward the halted party. "We travel east," she announces next to Rhaegor.

Desmond smiles down at the huge man, chuckling. "Yeah. That was an ugly one. You dumb fucks should'a broke and run." But there's no heat in his words — indeed, a certain admiration. "Better yet, never stood. You brave bastards were a pain up m'arse." Here, speaking with the Wildling, Desmond sounds like a sellsword again. Any polish he tries to put on his words in more esteemed company vanishes. He seems rather more comfortable, too.

"We don't have time. We'll have to return for him," Daevon says with a sigh. "Can you offer a prayer for now though?" . He seems uncertain. He shoots another look Eonn's way, but then it's Miranda he looks at again.

It's going to be a rough trek. The trail does go further east, but by the look of it it gets increasingly impassible not much further from here, and it's not a direct route to where Bryn was looking.

Eonn gets off his mare, dismounting smoothly and suddenly. He walks over the rocks towards the blackened area.

"Aye, thats true, but I've never liked horsemen," Nechtan agrees, still grinning broadly, his accent becoming very Northern and borderline incomprehensible to the southrons as he speaks to his 'cousin', "They ever decide who actually won that?" the axe-man asks, as if battles where hundreds of men died were little more than sport.

Miranda blinks as Rhaenyra strides past. She frowns at the body. "I'm not a Silent Sister but I can offer a prayer," she replies to Daevon. Quickly, but with sincerity, she prays, "Stranger who comes to us all, man and woman, Noble and smallfolk alike- grant your peace to this man and grant he be escorted to the Seven Heavens or Hells as his deeds in life warrant. And turn your gaze away from those who yet live."

"You think they tell me? Shit. I collected my gold and rode south, mate. Spent a bit of time down amidst them Crownlanders, then went over the sea for a stretch. As for who won? All I knows, I buried the last of my lance of men in that one." He, too, seems unbothered by the fact. The gargantuan Northman nods out into the wilderness. "Y'ever see a dragon pissed off?"

Once Rhaenyra has regained her saddle and pulled ahead in the appointed direction, Rhaegor gives his horse its leave and follows suit. There may not be much path left ahead of them, but he travels what path there is behind the Princess.

Daevon nods at Miranda, dipping his head down as she offers her prayer. "Thank you." His eyes then fall upon Jurian's servants. "This man is likely noble. His bones should be returned to the city. The likelihood of him being Dornish should be kept quiet."

Laughing openly and honestly, Nechtan stops himself when he realises hes meant to be being quiet, "Actually, aye, there was one sailed itself over the town an' tried to eat one of them ladies up front," he says, falling into step as everyone dismounts and gets ready, "Nightmarish things, all flames and teeth and.. Aye, I was wanting one of the claws for a spearhead." he adds.

Peri eyes Nechtan "Yes. It threw a Braavosi sea dog and a stupid whore in the air and fried them both. Missed the captain, ate the whore." she offers, absently "The next time the Princess Visenya was on its back with its eggs, It quite pissedly threw her into the harbor." she offers. In both instances she yanked someone out of the salt water. She moves back to offer her hand up to Eonn, pushing up and assuming he'll yank her part way.

Eonn leaves his mare to go stand beside Daevon, looking down at the bones. He's silent.

Bryn climbs back down the hill, returning the far eye to Daevon before hurrying to try to catch up. He doesn't want to be left behind, it seems.

Jurian doesn't seem happy about dismounting, but he does if that seems to be the thing to do.

Desmond swings out of his saddle, resting Giantsblade on his shoulder and taking Mammoth's reins. He kisses the animal's nose lightly, smiling as the huge charger whickers. "Keep your lads in tight control," he advises Nechtan softly. "It ain't the dragon as the most dangerous bit. It's men with swords, getting scared or getting brave. I got closer than I liked last time." He ambles along, keeping an eye on the others. Particularly Bryn, like an overprotective sheepdog.

Peri instead of getting up, she moves towards the group, she has Eonn's horses' reigns, but looks the most uncomfortable with this.

Nechtan does as he’s told, for once.

Miranda brings a small bag of supplies with her, throwing it over her shoulder. She follows in relative silence, but she sings a song of prayer the dead under her breath.

Onward then. Daevon moves away and heads back to the horses. "We have to leave them." He states. "We risk one of them breaking a leg in this terrain. Unless we want to call the dragons to us. There's a place just ahead where we can leave them."

Eonn crouches to touch the broken skull of the man. Then he turns and walks back to his horse, faster than he left. He doesn't mount, though. He crouches again to give Peri a leg-up.

Miranda has no trouble mounting the palfrey, riding her as far as they may. Then she lights easily- her septa's gown hardly hindering her movement. Girl knows her way around a horse at least. She packs a few things into the travel bag- bandages, salve, and the jars and gloves for Peri's gathering.

Desmond picks his way along the trail after Rhaegor and Rhaenyra, still humming his ridiculous tavern songs, looking remarkably at peace. He's on foot, so certainly moving slower. And slower still, because he keeps drifting off the trail whenever he sees high points in the terrain to take a look. If he's tense at all, it only shows in the way he hefts Giantsblade, fingers rock-hard on the hilt, knuckles white.

Once Rhaenyra reaches the point where even her sure-footed mount begins to flounder, Rhaegor slows behind her, his dismount signaling to the others who follow behind that the time has come for them to do the same. He approaches the Princess, offering her his hand as she quits her own saddle, though it's merely ceremonial; Rhaenyra requires no man's help.

Peri is quick to hop off the damn hoof beast. She moves to stand tall. She seems relieved to be off the horse.

Eonn doesn't hurry. His big mare takes long strides, and so does he, so they can get there at decent speed while still looking lazy about it. He stops to stroke the white horse's nose as Peri hops off.

Bryn hasn't even bothered remounting, which is perhaps why he was in a hurry before. He just leads the horse after the princess, until they get to a point they can leave the animals behind to go on further.

Daevon dismounts, grabs a bag from his horse and sets about joining everyone.

Desmond drops back to walk Mammoth alongside Daevon, smiling over at him. But he's not speaking, just humming. Up close, there's a tick in his jaw muscles as they climb deeper into the hills.

It's a brisk and trying climb, but when the group reaches the top of the next ridge, that yellow 'rock' that Bryn saw is visible in the distance.

Jurian stays mounted since a couple of his kinsmen are doing so, but keeps the horse to a careful walk so it won't slide and lame itself.

Daevon checks out that rock with his far-eye.

Peri moves to close her bags as carefully as possible, examining the area, walking with careful strides. She squints at the rock curiously. She moves, carefully towards Jurian gesturing subtly at him in a polite way.

Jurian stays on foot since everyone's off their bleeding horses by now, but he doesn't have to be happy about it. He has to watch his step as he limps over the stones.

Nechtan steps up behind Jurian and clears his throat, "You want one of the lads spears to walk with?" he asks, having perhaps been briefed for just this eventuality

Miranda has little trouble with the journey. Moving cautiously behind the rest, she glances back at the horses now and again in concern. She admires the view of the yellowish rock from their distant point.

Eonn offers Miranda his hand to help her over the rocks and up the slope.

Jurian turns when Nechtan addresses him. "What?" he asks. "Are you speaking to me?" He seems offended.

Daevon offers the far-eye to Miranda, or anyone else, if they want to have a closer look.

Desmond doesn't seem too eager to get a closer look at that rock. He stops humming and relaxes just long enough to ask Daevon, "Is it him?"

Rock or dragon, it's a beacon to Princess Rhaenyra, who moves deliberately up the slope to get a clearer view. It's the princess's hand that moves to swipe Daevon's far-eye. If it's Syrax, she'll find her. "Be on guard," she says to those near as she lifts the device. "It was likely Veraxion's kills we saw. Syrax has not hunted in years." Of course, now she's on the loose…

Nechtan clears his throat again, "Yes, your highness," he says, having apparently learned this by rote, "I am to offer you the support of one of the little men's spears because of your 'gammy leg'" the oversized wildling says, "Or else I'm to stop you "doing yourself a mischief", whatever that is." he adds, taking a boar spear from one of the other smallfolc and holding it out to the princeling.

Miranda declines the hand. She seems to be a bit apprehensive of the offer from Eonn. But a chance to better see the beast? The offer of the far-eye is appreciated - at least until it's taken away. She is too wise to protest and simply folds her hands into her sleeves to wait for their next move.

Daevon nods in response to Desmond. He then says, at Rhaenyra's words. "Veraxion once brought a cow to Visenya, for her to eat. If Syrax does not hunt, then likely it was done for her. Which might explain the transportation."

Jurian narrows his eyes at Nechtan. "/What/?" he asks in a low tone. "How dare you speak to me this way? Who gave you those instructions?" Sure, there might be dragons around, but pride is of tantamount importance.

Desmond swallows, then goes back to humming, his eyes up on the sky now. But they're brought down again with a wry smile as he glances over toward Jurian and Nechtan. He tries to catch the sellsword's eye and wink, perhaps without the Targaryen Prince seeing. Employers.

Eonn goes still, then turns his head and takes a backward step to look at the conflict between Jurian and Nechtan.

Rhaenyra has the glass to her eye for hardly a second before she lowers it. "It's her," she says, and her tone holds no room for contest; she knows it, feels it. "It's Syrax." She hands the far-eye off at random without a glance (to Miranda). "I must get closer."

Nechtan, either too slow on the uptake to be as terrified as he should be or else not as impressed as he should be, nods, "The man who hired me, your highness," he says, managing to not much bile into the title, "One of yon southron scholars with the chains and the robes." he explains.

Jurian looks deeply put-out. He can guess, perhaps. "Well, get away from me and don't speak to me," he snaps, one hand going to his sword as he lifts his chin to look ahead. The other is out for, well, balance.

Desmond looks up at the sky again, frowning faintly at Nechtan's answer and leaves his reins behind, making a few idle steps to stand near Eonn. Mammoth just grazes, waiting, apparently in a placid mood. The kerfuffle seems to be a pleasant distraction to the huge knight, what with a dragon a few hundred yards away.

Bryn pauses to look back to the conflict as well, but just for a moment. As Rhaenyra confirms that is her Dragon, he looks around for any sign of Veraxion nearby.

Peri is startled by Nechtan "Grace, would.. you mind terribly helping me on the terrain?" she asks, looking to Jurian, sort of quietly moving to offer him assistance under the guise of pretending to need it herself. "Your sword skills are so impressive and it would be greatly appreciated." she offers, bowing her head to Jurian politely.

The wildling looks from the boar-spear to the princeling and shrugs, "Yes.. /Sir/." Nechtan says, wandering back to the smallfolk, who murmur to each other as to if they're still getting paid.

Miranda does look through as the chance presents itself. "She seems to want to meld with the rock," the septa comments curiously. She offers the glass back to Daevon with a bowed head.

It's probably near half a mile to the base of the little peak where the yellow dragon sits, an awkward rocky scramble. A breeze stirs the misty air.

Jurian reaches back for Peri's hand, but he looks angry enough to spit and doesn't say anything.

Daevon takes the far-eye back if no one else wants a look at the dragon, and he sets about following. He's keeping an eye on the sky, any signs of Veraxion's immense presence, ears open, as opposed to paying too much heed to Syrax.

Desmond drifts closer to Nechtan and leans down, quietly speaking into the man's ear, before turning back for his mount.

Peri takes Jurian's hand, gently "My deepest appreciation, grace." she rubs his hand with her free hand, likely using her cloak to hide if Jurian does need her arm for support.

There's a smell on that breeze. Burning cinnamon.

Nechtan smiles at whatever Desmond just said to him and flares his nostrils at a most unusual smell.

Jurian is probably lucky to have Peri's hand in his, since of course the next thing to happen is a loose rock rolling out from under his bad foot. Thankfully (with Peri's help), he stays on his feet.

"Veraxion," Daevon says, as he catches that scent, inhaling deeply.

Miranda looks skyward and turns towards the wind, her robes catching lightly.

Desmond frowns and looks up at the misty sky. He licks his fingers, licking and testing the breeze that has suddenly come up. His humming has ceased, but a muscle twitches in his jaw as he tries to peer through the shadows.

The mist stirs and swirls a little. There's a scraping sound — either soft and close, or loud and some distance away, hidden behind the outcroppings of rocks.

Peri is cautious to help Jurian down in a way that makes it look like he's helping her. Which means she's likely towards the back making sure he stays safe and off of his royal ass. "Third time is supposed to be lucky." she mumbles mostly to herself. She's surprisingly untense looking. She tilts to gesture at the outcroppings.

The dragon-rider princess wastes no time, her determination rising even stronger. "I must draw her attention," she says, coming up alongside Rhaegor; she halts only to give a sharp look around upon unique scent in the air and the sound behind the outcropping. Glancing to the others — specifically the armed men — she lifts a hand, denoting caution, but nods in the perceived direction of the noise. She means to find out what it is.

Bryn freezes as he catches that smell. Then he turns to look toward the outcroppings. He opens his mouth to say something, but then it's obvious that Rhaenyra has noticed the smell and sound, so he shuts it again and watches.

Desmond looks from the Princess to Daevon, measuring his distance to both. He lowers Giantsblade from his shoulder, absently rolling his wrists. If close, that noise could spell an ambush. Or, worse, a Whoremaster. He nods back to the Princess, a touch more curtly than would be right in a Palace, and begins to move forward, into the mists.

Miranda's bow and quiver was left with her horse, which she glances back to anxiously. The septa steps back away from the sound so their group of sellswords and knights can do their duty more readily.

"Whose attention?" says Eonn, looking off towards the misty outcroppings and the source of that breeze, then back towards the yellow crouched form of Syrax in the distance, blurring in the rain.

Daevon's going to run for the outcropping to get a better view, of whatever's coming, utterly fearless. "That's Veraxion. Let's hope she's in a good mood. Do not do anything to provoke her, or get her angry."

Peri stays back, "Do you need assistance?" she asks, towards Daevon curiously and a bit cautiously. She adjusts her bag, checking the weight of it and the pouches along her hips, standing up, comfortably straight. She glances at Eonn curiously.

The breeze stills.

Rhaegor has stayed rather close to Rhaenyra, and as they near the outcropping, and as that pervasive scent of cinnamon wafts toward them, his attention shifts from Syrax to the sky. Veraxion. Scanning the clouds for a mere glimpse of the creature.

"My dragon," Rhaenyra answers Eonn, although he might as well have been a faceless voice in the mist; she doesn't look at the man, only out into the haze of rain and to the knights making their way toward the rocks. Anticipation hangs in the damp air as it comes to a standstill. "Be prepared to move," she directs, again without looking, to those who remain gathered.

Desmond continues to move forward at a steady pace, sword readied. He's headed to where he thinks the sound might have come from, but glances back occasionally to check the status of the group. His armor clanks as he walks, making any attempt at stealth a ludicrous affair. The muscle continues to twitch in his jaw. He glances toward Daevon as the Maiden's Knight goes running, and picks up his own pace — not a run, but perhaps fast enough to back up the other man if it is not Veraxion that awaits.

Miranda's hand clutches at her robes, ready to run as the princess commands. The other holds her satchel close and steadied. She looks wide-eyed into the mist.

Eonn watches Daevon take off and says something softly, in some low Valyrian tongue. A muttered curse, perhaps.

"No," Daevon says to Peri. "Follow the Princesses instructions." From his better vantage point, he's staring into the rain and mist, trying to find something.

Eonn calls quietly to Daevon, "Come down."

Peri moves to Miranda, likely leaving Jurian to do as he pleases. She reaches to offer Miranda her hand "Do not worry." if permitted the hand, Miranda is likely to get reassuring pats on the hand. Nothing unbecoming or inappropriate, just a soothing gesture. "If you can not shake it, perhaps your prayers will soothe you?" she suggests, keeping her voice light and as quiet as possible.

Desmond skirts the rock outcropping, nodding up to Daevon at Eonn's muted call. "Come down," he echoes the other man's words. But he's still plodding forward, deeper into the mists, crouching slightly, leaning forward as if he is bracing himself against a headwind.

Daevon does as Eonn and Desmond asks of him, although he's frowning as he does so, going back to join them.
Rhaegor has partially disconnected.

Bryn relaxes a little as Daevon comes back, but he still watches the outcropping. He doesn't seem all that nervous for his own sake, though he makes no move to the outcropping himself. Just curious of what's there, and concerned for the people investigating.

Miranda smiles weakly at Peri. "This will be quite the tale to tell the children, won't it?" Her lips move wordlessly in a litany of prayers unfamiliar to all but the most religious, invoking the courage of the Warrior into a woman's form. She moves slowly closer to the edge although nowhere near close enough to look farther.

Eonn pushes a hand through his wet hair and looks at the Princess. "Do we climb?" he asks, looking now towards the taller outcropping with the yellow beast's form atop it.

Peri smiles and nods to Miranda, there for Miranda - should Miranda in any way need her. Despite her lack of faith in the seven. She is gentle, and actually rather calm for now as she waits for commands.

Desmond can barely see the cluster of figures behind him now, as the mists float around him. He stops moving forward and crouches lower, breathing low and slow. He hardly dares move as he steels every sense he possesses, listening. Watching. His nostrils flare as he takes in the scent of the air around him.

Princess Rhaenyra draws her strong gaze from the mists long enough to eye Rhaegor. "Keep your focus, Rhaegor," she tells her fellow Targaryen. Although caution is spoken of elsewhere - and was expressed by her as well - she is among those who take steps forward, wanting— needing for something to happen. For the elusive dragon to reveal itself, perhaps, or for the rocks to reveal themselves as empty: anything to bring her closer to Syrax. "We climb," she confirms, her pout-prone mouth now a firm line, as if it almost pains her to say, "but not until we know if Veraxion is watching us."

"Climbing in this weather?" Daevon asks. "With a dragon flying about that could knock people from the face? I'd think the less people climbing the better." But as Rhaenyra says they climb he shuts his mouth. "I do have equipment though." Perhaps in that large bag he's been carrying ever since they left the horses behind. "Can everyone actually climb?" He looks to Miranda and Peri in particular.

Keep your focus, Rhaegor. And so he forces his eyes from the mist and the clouds and the thrilling unknown of what is beyond, or within, them. He grapples with restlessness. Wanting to climb. But waiting. Wanting, wanting, wanting. Despite his earlier showing on the path, he hazards to give no instructions now, yielding to Rhaenyra's whim. Anticipating what they stand, virtually, on the precipice of. He offers her a quiet, subservient remark.

The outcropping that Syrax is on will take ropes to climb, but to get up to its base is more a hike-scramble.

Miranda says, "I was climbing trees as a girl when my own septa wasn't around to chide me for ruining my dresses." She offers a faint smile. "I am in fairly good shape. And I wore good boots. Ropes, however, I've not used before."

"I think it is watching us now," says Eonn softly. "How would we find out for certain?" He looks off towards where that scraping sound might have come from, if the rocky hills haven't distorted and echoed the sound to make such a determination impossible.

Out in the mists, Desmond straightens. He is far from relaxed, but seems to be more nearly convinced that a hail of arrows will not come streaming out of the mists. There is no sign of watchers. He turns back toward the group, his foot catching on a loose rock and sending it tumbling with a clatter.

Peri eyes Daevon "Its been.. a few years, prince Daevon." she offers, honestly, squinting a bit. She's likely not climbed in years.. She can hike scramble well enough due to the years on pebbly beaches. She cracks her back "I also wore good boots." She eyes Eonn "I have bacon." she offers.

Bryn considers, looking into the mist. Then he comments, "This probably won't work, but we could try ordering it to show itself. It does understand High Valyrian."

Daevon laughs at Miranda's words. "Likely you'll be better than me then." To Eonn's question. "Close your eyes and think of dragons. If they're watching, you'll feel it." At Peri's words he says. "Let's hope Veraxion doesn't like bacon. I don't think she does, so much. We'd a pig up here once and she ignored it. It was a very small pig though."

"Maybe it just wasn't hungry when that pig came along," says Eonn, touching his sword hilt.

Desmond rejoins the party, shaking his head in Rhaenyra's direction. "Could see nothing, Your Grace," he says quietly. "Never heard another sound out there, either." He wipes moisture - possibly mist, possibly sweat - off his forehead.

After inclining her braided head to listen to Rhaegor for a moment, Rhaenyra closes her eyes. Her shoulders stiffen. "Dragons have better eyes," she says upon the opening of her eyes, an ominous answer to Desmond. "Rhaegor, acolyte. Speak to Veraxion, and pray," she says with grave urgency, looking to the right before giving Daevon a curt nod of acknowledgment. "No one climbs but me except for those who wish for their death. And you, Ser Daevon. You are quick. With me." She strikes off straight ahead for the hike that would take them to the base of the taller outcropping.

"I do not think we should stay here," says Eonn, looking off into the mist and rain.

Rhaegor receives his marching orders, some preternatural sixth sense drawing his gaze off into the mist in the same direction that Rhaenyra's goes. But before he moves to obey, he looks to the Dragonseed child in their midst, beckoning him over and leaning over to tell him, "Best, perhaps, if you climb down with the septa."

Desmond grunts softly in agreement with Eonn, studying the mists suspiciously. "Ambush country," he murmurs.

Miranda bows her head as prayer is called for. She folds her hands into the sleeves of her grey robes where they vanish. Her head bows, the wimple folding against her shoulders. She looks at Rhaegor in alarm and asks, "You wish me to go? But her Grace said…" She has no desire to meet the Stranger early, clearly.

Peri is quiet, for a long moment, an uncertain expression on her face, hands infront of her. She eyes Eonn "We should not stay in one place, lest we make a quick snack for her. I don't think my shrill nagging voice will stop a dragon as well as it does charging men or children." she offers. "Her grace said not to climb up." she points out. "I'd like to see, but I've no use here until someone begins bleeding or catches fire."

Bryn nods to Rhaenyra, though still doesn't look as frightened as he should be. Believing he's following her instructions, he speaks up, speaking in High Valyrian, "<Present yourself, now!>" He does this before

"Find shelter," Daevon says. "And wait for us." He nods at Rhaenyra's words and follows her as he's ordered. To Rhaegor he says. "Bryn's seen Veraxion before. Several times. Have you? He knows the dragon and her whims better than most. There should be almost no one you'd rather have by your side just now." But he keeps on after Rhaenyra.

Eonn looks at Bryn, worriedly, then back over the misty rocks. He blinks rain from his eyes and then starts off, moving away from the area where he thinks the Whoremaster might be crouched, but not backwards along their path nor forward closer to Syrax's perch. He walks very slowly, glancing back as he passes out of the cluster of the group.

Peri looks up at Bryn and assembled, turning to take Miranda's arm carefully "If it sweeps down, hit the dirt." she mumbles, starting off the way they came into the treeline if possible, without fussing. "Eonn, be careful, they likely have a clutch." she calls, sliding a little in the pebbly soil as she moves.

It's a fair bit of a hike to where they've left the horses, much less the treeline.

Desmond watches Eonn go, his expression hard to read. There is a glimmer of something in his gaze — perhaps approval, perhaps not. He stays near Bryn's side now, as Daevon moves after Rhaenyra. With the other sellsword gone, the huge northman seems rather lonely in the mists, standing alongside the boy.

Miranda shakes her head slowly. "We should stay close in the event someone is hurt. The scent of blood cannot be good," she says cautiously, making a guess. She glances at Bryn and the old tongue and smiles in appreciation before looking to see if his words had any effect.

Present yourself, now! The words ring out in High Valyrian, and Rhaegor is intent on watching the mist. As Rhaenyra begins her further ascent, he takes a final stock of those remaining behind on the path. Desmond comes to stand alongside Bryn. And maybe that's what spurs the Dragon prince into action. He strikes off into the mists too, only he goes in the direction that Rhaenyra had looked when she told them, ominously, to pray.

Eonn stops and looks back at the group. He simply stands there as Rhaegor takes off into the mists.

Syrax's outcropping looms higher and higher above the princess and the Maiden Knight, a mightier climb yet ahead. Rhaenyra stares up at the crouched form, the shock of yellow in the midst, and bids Daevon slow while she tests the distance and the invisible thread between her and her dragon. She shouts powerful word in High Valyrian, a call for her dragon's attention.

Peri smiles to Miranda "Then at least, lets get somewhere low and out of the wind." she offers, gesturing at the nearest outcropping. She gently shoves at the septa gently, urgingly.

There's no sound from beyond where Rhaegor moves into the mist. Above, readily visibly if blurred by the rain, yellow Syrax lifts her great head in response to Rhaenyra's call.

Daevon's staying back, and behind Rhaenyra. He keeps glancing back towards where they left the others behind, worried.

Miranda is torn between wanting to see the dragons and wise self preservation. She lets Peri move her near the low rocks as she clutches her satchel tightly. She does start to pray quietly, her words kept close and calm.

Bryn seems a little disappointed as his order isn't answered. He almost takes a step to follow after Rhaegor, but hesitates. Is he supposed to stay here? He looks up to Desmond, then to Miranda, and by the time he looks back Rhaegor is lost in the mist. "Together we make a big target. But we shouldn't go so far apart we can't help each other. And /do not/ run." He does step forward again, and tries shouting a different word, "<Come!>"

Desmond smiles down at Bryn, as if to reassure the young Dragonseed, but it is beginning to look as though Desmond himself needs reassurance. Despite his smile, the huge man is sweating. He is constantly adjusting his grip on Giantsblade, slowly circling in place as he stares into the mists. Bryn's orders make sense to the knight, and so he moves about ten paces away and crouches down.

The same ancient word is echoed by Princess Rhaenyra herself. Come. She remains locked on the perched dragon as if, from her spot below, she could look straight into her eyes, trying to bid the great dragon come down.

Syrax opens her massive jaws, revealing long black teeth. She yawns, arching her neck and stretching out one yellow wing.

"I doubt adding Please would help," the septa says, echoing the High tongue with a tiny smile to Bryn. She keeps low with her robes gathered in one hand to assist with running should it come to pass. Desmond and Peri are given faint nods - she'll keep herself a scarce target. Syrax moves and she strains to see through the mist towards the yellow beast.

Something makes a snorting sound. Perhaps it was Syrax? It certainly sounds like a dragon. But it also sounds closer to the group that Rhaenyra left behind.

Peri looks at the dragon. "Do you dragons have a special grass they like like cats?" she asks in high Valyrian to Miranda, she keeps low, she tenses at the snort sound, turning on her heel, eyes a little wide "Come and be calm." she offers in her firmest mom voice in High Valyrian. She does not yell, nor does she puff, but she does stay still and keep herself low, as if dealing with a very large, angry cat.

Desmond tenses, staying very still, though his eyes are wide and locked on Bryn. Something in his rigid posture implies that he is considering how quickly he can make a dash toward the boy. He glances aside toward Miranda.

Rhaenyra's Valyrian shouts become more commanding as the dragon proves too comfortable upon her rocks. "Syrax, to me!" the dragon-rider shouts, confident, a hand reaching for her dragon-whip."Fly."

Miranda freezes. Slowly, moving as tensely as possible, she turns towards the sound. She keeps silent but her lips - drained pale of any color - move wordlessly in prayer. She does her best to keep calm, face serene if turning white.

The big yellow dragon spreads her other wing and drops off the outcropping, gliding downward, stirring the misty air as she comes towards the Princess.

Bryn seems confident, as he hears the snort. Or, perhaps just dying by dragon fire is less scary than other things. "Come," he shouts again in High Valyrian, more insistent. He's probably praying too, in his head, but he gives no visible sign of it.

Rhaegor's progress is slow through the mist, relying upon some internal compass that bids him ever on, even when can barely track the fall of one foot in front of the other. The others cannot see him by now, but eventually he comes upon a sort of shifting in the mists, a swirling undercurrent that stirs it. He reaches a blind, groping hand to his shoulder; slung across his back is a slender whip with leather barbs of Dornish make. He holds it in his palm, as a soldier might his swordhilt when taking the battle field. One quiet flick of his wrist after another, causing the tongues to snap ever so faintly through the heavy air that engulfs him. Lowly, steadily, he recites the words of an ancient poem about Mother Valyria itself. Old words, in an old tongue. As if courting the magnificent creature that lurks somewhere in the mists.

The big yellow beast lands on the rocky ground beside the Princess Rhaenyra, stirring the cold mist and spattering the drizzle off her wings onto the Princess and Daevon.

Out in the mist, past Rhaegor, there's a hissing sound. Somebody doesn't like whips, perhaps. Or possibly somebody hates poetry.

Daevon keeps well back, this is a dragon he doesn't know. He watches Rhaenyra and Syrax.

Princess Rhaenyra stands tensed and ready, unflinching and fierce as the yellow dragon swoops ever-downward; one hand, her own whip coiled within it, stretches toward Syrax as she touches the ground. "There you are, there now," the princess speaks to the creature — a fondness lies within the words, the bond between rider and dragon, but a firmness remains. Keeping her attention focused only on the dragon, she steps slowly toward Syrax, looking her over for injury, meaning to touch the powerful neck of the creature. Meaning to ride.

Syrax seems content. She blinks her great fiery eye at Rhaenyra, slowly, and crouches low over the rocky ground.

Desmond begins to edge toward Bryn's side again as he hears the hiss, chewing at his lower lip. Somewhere out there is Rhaegor, and somewhere out there is Veraxion, and Desmond is useless.

The hiss cuts through the mist, and it silences Rhaegor's recitation. His arm still hands at his side, whip hilt to hand, but by now his movement slows even beyond his already deliberate pace. When he speaks again, it's a single word. Veraxion.

Miranda holds her hand over her holy star and continues to quietly pray. Her wide blue eyes continue to search the mists for the other beast. "

Another sound follows Rhaegor's words, abruptly. It's the shrieking roar of a dragon, a huge sound, and it seems alarmingly close to where most of the group is waiting. There's visible movement, and for an instant one can see Rhaegor silhouetted against an orange glow.

Desmond raises Giantsblade instinctively at the roar. "Fuck me with a goat's cock," he mutters to himself. Sweat is pouring off his frame now, and he smells of fear, but the huge Northman holds his ground. He stares at the place where Rhaegor had been silhouetted, his expression torn.

What Rhaegor himself sees is the sudden motion of the dragon Veraxion lifting its head from where it's crouched between two large rocks. It screams in his face. Actually, it's well over fifty yards away from him, but when something that big screams in your face it seems a lot closer.

Miranda is brave enough to not faint or to run. But she does gasp and shudder at the beast's defiant roar. Her hand closes in an even tighter grip over her holy star as she watches the light bathe Rhaegor. "Gods be with us," she says breathlessly.

Bryn's eyes open wide as a roar, and the glow of flame. Desperate now, he shouts a few commands, "Listen! Obey! Peace!" All in High Valyrian, still.

Reunited with her wayward dragon, Rhaenyra presses slowly against the flame-eyed creature, holding on; just as the ferocious sound of the other dragon's roar reaches the outcropping, the princess climbs onto Syrax's back. Immediately, she stares off the way she and Daevon came. A quelling hand goes swiftly to her dragon's scales.

Eonn blinks, and makes a brief dash, to crouch where there's a clutter of boulders between himself and the roaring.

Rhaegor's vision is all kinds of struggling to adjust, from mist to flash to mist again. But the glimpse is enough to orient him, and the incredible roar inspires him now to silence. He holds his ground, and there's no one to see the reflexive way his hand tightens on the whip hilt, his knuckles popping against the sudden shock of the wyrm's scream. Maybe it's dragon poetry. Veraxion had tracked them up the mountainside, but now Rhaegor stands alone before the creature, and he allows it to take his measure in the mist.

Daevon stills as he hears the noise, and looks down towards the roaring.

"That thing comes closer," calls Desmond toward Miranda, "Just stay still. If the boy can't calm it, I'll try to distract it." Needless to say, the Northman would pay for that. He licks his lips, hearing the desperation in Bryn's voice. He seems to assume that Rhaegor, out in the mists, is now a crispy pile of Targaryen.

Peri looks at the noise and Miranda. She takes a breath, "All will be okay. Miranda, the things in my bag are labeled. If I set it down, grab it." she offers, nodding to Desmond, her right hand resting on the ground as she crouches defensively, left hand behind her, near her knife, expression anxious.

Syrax rumbles a bit, and turns her head to look over her shoulder at her rider. She spreads her wings again.

Miranda nods to Peri swiftly. Her face is still pale with terror but she has a level enough head to keep her wits about her. Bryn is spared a glance as he calls out again but she looks past him towards Desmond. Another slight nod in understanding.

Daevon starts picking his way back down to where everyone is, careful of his footing and wary of any sudden gusts of wind as caused by flying dragons.

Eonn says quietly, "It is distracted now. Go." He's addressing Peri and Miranda from behind his rocks.

Once Daevon is in a safer range, Rhaenyra leans low over Syrax and once again gives the command that set her wings to the air the first time. Fly.

Desmond glances toward where Eonn shelters and nods once. "He's right," he calls quietly. "Now may be the time to go."

The wind of Syrax's great wings pushes at Daevon's back as the dragon launches herself into the air, obedient to Rhaenyra's command.

Peri gestures at Miranda "We've been told to go." she gestures, intending to take the septa to safer distance, frustrated a little bit. She's quickish.

It takes Miranda a moment to move. Staying put somehow seems the wiser choice. But as Syrax lauches herself and Eonn and Desmond urge it, she moves as swift as she can. The hand clutching the star drops to keep her robes up and away from her legs so she can move more readily.

There's another glow down where Rhaegor is, and another screaming roar, this one louder, and directed at the sky.

As it becomes clear that his shouting is doing no good, Bryn nods to Desmond. "Be quick but don't run. Running makes you look like prey." He looks up to Syrax as the Dragon launches, and then looks back towards the glow, biting his lip.

Desmond looks down at Bryn, smiling faintly. "I'll leave when you leave, mate." Afraid he is, certainly, but he doesn't back down. Whatever's happening out there in that mist, whatever fate has befallen Rhaegor, he cannot leave Bryn to face the same. But there's a yearning in his gaze as he watches the two women depart.

When Veraxion turns its attention to the sky and issues another roar, ending their standoff, Rhaegor's own rapt transfixion is broken. He moves deftly backward, one step after another, fifty yards not being nearly enough to countenance putting his back to the wyrm. Not yet.

Peri is quick footed, rushing Miranda, snagging her hand gently to guide her back "Yeah I remember. I was there when it ate that stupid whore and toasted the Braavosi sea captain." she mumbles, she leads Miranda in that walk you do when you are avoiding a fight and don't want to draw attention to yourself. rush rush. It also is the walk Peri does when she hears toddler silence,

Eonn stands up from behind the boulders and says quietly, intensely, "Bryn."

Princess Rhaenyra strikes through the mist upon dragonwing. She makes a powerful figure, her silver-golden braids and dragonrider's armor and an air of confidence as she comes into sight in the sky above the others and beyond, urging Syrax higher in the air and away from Veraxion - in theory.

The mist rolls. Drizzle comes spattering out on the wind from where Rhaegor went, driven by mighty wings, now visible through the weather — mustard yellow. There's yet another angry scream from Veraxion.

Miranda glances over her shoulder at Bryn. "I think she's distracted him." She being Syrax and the princess astride. She motions for the young boy to follow. "Come on," she urges.

Daevon's climbing back down to join the others. He stops though as Veraxion takes off, and looks that way.

Bryn finally turns, starting after the others. As he suggested, he doesn't run. He walks, though with far more energy than a casual walk in town.

Desmond takes rain-splatter full in the face as he gazes at the dragonwing, frowning. Most of the others have left, but for some reason, he still can't seem to move, just stares into that fog.

Eonn starts to follow after Bryn, but stops to look further up the slope, to where Daevon is a shape in the mist to him.

"Rhaenyra?" The voice comes out of the abating fog, not far past where Desmond stands, staring, into it. Perhaps Rhaegor sees the Northroner before the Northroner sees him. His question is urgent, and he's come out onto the path by the time he asks the next one. "Does she fly?" His eyes take quick inventory of who's left, and then they flick up to the sky.

And abruptly the misty air is filled with brightness, as Veraxion launches itself completely into the air and spits fire. The roar of flame passes overhead, close enough to kiss Desmond. It sets the falling rain alight with reflections, turning the drops to molten gold and the mist to sparks even as the incredibly heat of it sears them away.

Daevon heads back down again once Veraxion is fully in the air. "Rhaenyra flies. Everyone okay?"

"She flies," confirms Desmond. Rhaegor's appearance seems an unexpected relief to the Northern knight. He even manages a smile in the man's direction before, like Eonn, turning to look toward Daevon. "No one's even been eat— Oh, bugger!" This as Veraxion's flame soars right over him. The huge man, when he can see again, finds himself flat on the ground with his hands covering the back of his head. The intervening movement - from standing to prone - seems like it was just skipped. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Bryn looks up, stopping in his tracks and staring at the flame above in total awe. Rationally, he probably should be ducking as well, but to him there seemed to be nothing more beautiful than the fire and the way it lights up the mist and rain. Of course, as soon as the fire is out, he's moving again.

Miranda lets out a shriek of surprise and ducks - instinct kicking in as she presses her hands against her wimple to make sure it's -not- on fire. She peers out cautiously once the beast soars overhead and looks to see if anyone -else- is on fire. Seeing noone is burning, she nods a weak answer to Daevon.

Peri takes a breath, "Aye, fine." she eyes Miranda "On your feet. we need better shelter." She looks to Daevon, expression a weeeee bit nervous as she moves.

She flies. The most important thing of all, by Rhaegor's reckoning. It flashes in his expression, in that brief moment when he is lit by the glow of Veraxion's fiery roar. Even the prince crouches, for now near to them its licking tendrils seem to burn, and before rising to his full height again (after marveling at the splendor of the crisping rain, as Bryn does further down the path) he offers Desmond his hand, to aid the knight in regaining his feet.

Eonn looks up as the wild dragon gains altitude, pursuing Syrax. He takes a shallow, alarmed breath, but there's an expression of wonder on his face.

Above, Syrax replies, a sound that's more grumble and hiss than roar. It's an irate sort of noise

As Syrax seems to complain, Rhaenyra swoop her down and dips in and out of sight until swerving back the way she came — toward the pursuant Veraxion — before cutting away. It seems she might be trying to lure the other dragon further afar, away from the people below.

As Desmond reluctantly climbs to his feet, with Rhaegor's help, he is trembling. And for good reason. On closer inspection, the man's bushy eyebrows are — well, gone. And the top of his bald head is as red and scorched as the stones of a kiln. "That.. that fuckin' thin'.." he seems to be unable to speak in complete thoughts, just gaping like a fish. Finally, he says "..That was really close."

Veraxion, higher up, throws some sort of dragon tantrum. The mist makes it hard to see exactly what the beast is doing — all that shows clearly are the jets of flame that accompany the roars. But they are moving away, in pursuit of Syrax.

Peri snorts at Eonn "That is one horny old dragon." she offers, she seems unphased by the dragons in flight. She moves to offer Miranda both of her hands. She breathes out, closing her eyes for a moment. She takes a deep breath.

Miranda holds her hand over her mouth as she giggles. It's a high pitched nervous sound. "Oh Gods help us, we stole his mate away, didn't we?" She sobers as she grabs Peri's hands just for solidarity. Desmond's lack of hair is now noticed and she turns to her satchel. "Aloe salve… I think I brought some, did you?"

Rhaegor slaps Desmond's back, an unspoken gesture that translates roughly to man up, taking quick account of the absence of eyebrows but saying nothing of it, lest he further alarm the Northman. "Incredible, aren't they?" is all he says of the dragons, the fury of Veraxion flaming across the sky as it moves in pursuit of Syrax. He watches, reverent.

Bryn stops again, watching the tantrum. "Grumpy and used to getting its own way, I think. I mean, who's been around to challenge?" He nods quickly in agreement with Rhaegor, though he smiles at seeing the man alive.

Desmond glares aside at Rhaegor, then grabs up Giantsblade and jams it into his scabbard. "Magnificent," he grumbles. He rubs at his scalp repeatedly, taking away soot, and looks around for Daevon.

"We should hurry, while we can," says Eonn. "Run." He doesn't, though.

Peri grins at Miranda "Veraxion is a mother. She wants her dalliance. She wants it now." she snorts in an inappropriate way. She takes out the salve out of her bag to hold out absently, seemingly calm "lovely, though." she offers calmly, absently checking herself for flamed bits, but seemingly fine. She takes out a chunk of well wrapped bread, tearing a piece and shoving it in her mouth, she rather idly offers the rest of the bread chunk to Bryn "I understand that dragon. I'd be that fussy if my babe was taken from me and want another." she blinks "We likely should." she offers to Eonn.

"If we run, we'll trip and fall," Daevon says. "Better to go steadily. Running serves little purpose anyway. Dragons can move much faster than we can." He frowns at what Peri's saying. "Veraxion let Visenya take the eggs. She was meant to have them."

Miranda takes the jar and offers it to Desmond. She's too short to be able to apply the cool salve to the tall Northron knight's face. "They are lovely," she admits, looking up at the sky now that the immediate danger has passed them up.

"I just don't want to be here when it comes back, if it does," say Eonn, starting for the path now with long strides.

Desmond nods to Daevon, still looking rather unsteady, and manages a wan smile. "Right," he says quietly, beginning to plod down the path. "Take our time. Go steadily." He looks up at the fading bursts of fire and swallows. Taking the jar, Desmond begins to swab aloe all over his scalp, even as he keeps walking. "Thank you," he murmurs softly to Miranda.

Rhaegor, for his part, does not linger behind now that the dragon business is done. He begins his descent, following after Eonn, perhaps, beelining steadily downward, intent on picking his way back to his horse.

Away in the sky, Syrax moves quick, further and further away from Veraxion and the tamtrum of flames. Rhaenyra is an adept rider. But neither of them are practiced in battle. One can only hope she can out-fly the wild dragon for long enough.

Bryn accepts the bread, smiling, "Thank you." He takes a bite, but nods in agreement with Daevon. Swallowing, he says, "Princess Visenya wouldn't have been able to take them if Veraxion hadn't wanted her to." He takes another bite, as he starts to walk after Eonn. Between mouthfuls, he says, "put it on lightly, not too thick. The skin still needs to breathe." This is said to Desmond, of course.

The glow-spots of Veraxion's flaming go further away.

Desmond scrapes some of the aloe off and smears it on his breastplate, like a child wiping greasy hands on the tablecloth.

"Veraxion's going to be mad," Daevon sighs. "Should have brought her a cow or something." His smile to Desmond is bright, trying to be reassuring. He nods at Bryn's words, grimacing a bit.

Miranda seals the jar and hands it back to Peri as they quickly begin their way back to the horses. She continues to watch the bright points in the sky cautiously in the hopes they don't both come wheeling back their way. "Just as long as our horses don't suffice," she says, trying to return the bright mood.

Eonn grimaces at that thought. It's known that the man is oddly fond of his white mare.

Desmond rubs at his missing eyebrows, nodding lugubriously to Daevon. "She was a bit mad," he agrees miserably. But then Miranda speaks, and he quickly looks at the sky, trying to predict where Veraxion is. Surely Mammoth is safe.

Peri eyes at Daevon "Yes. my prince." There is a dull look to her face. "Yes Eonn, shall we away?" she asks, anxiously looking away.

Eonn doesn't answer. Obviously he means to — he continues down the path and towards where the horses are hopefully waiting.

Daevon keeps going, with the others, back to the horses.

Miranda glances at the distant sky. "Will the princess be all right? Was there somewhere we should meet with her or will she return to the city?" And she adds to Peri, "Did you want to seek those herbs now that the pair are gone?"

Peri shakes her head "No, other herbs will work as well, it isn't worth our lives." she offers to Miranda honestly, sighing softly.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License