Naevyre Sylian | Duty Bound | EITE Collab

The training grounds for magic were, understandably, apart from the weapons training grounds. Drathmere offered not only a large training ground for those in the Order that could practice their magic safely, but mentorship to do so safely without over-stressing oneself and risking overuse. While Naevyre is over a century old, he is still shaping his magic; what he can do, what he can handle, and for how long.

Fendrick himself was in the training grounds today, where a few of his closer mentees were training under his guidance. Naevyre was not a direct student, but he was not outside Fendrick's guidance, nor would he scorn his advice. A man gifted with an innate ability to wield and understand magic, no matter the age, was worth the time to listen to.

A majority of minor magic Naevyre wielded was not to be used in the training grounds, as it included flora detection; identification, location, and healing talents. Major magic, familiar summoning, was indeed a talent he could flex and stretch on the training grounds. Doing so with others around was almost more of a risk, and this was known; he summons animals of dangerous nature, for both defensive and offensive purposes. Though it may be possible to summon far less threatening beings, it wasn't necessarily useful; a rabbit would hardly prove to be a threatening presence.

White, puffy clouds drifted lazily across the otherwise bright sky above, hardly a breeze passing over the land. They moved so slowly they seemed to sit still, but would be disrupted and reshaped if you looked away and back a few minutes later. It was a stable day, calm and controlled, all things that they needed to be too.

Lesser mages, wielders, moved aside when higher ranked wielders moved to practice, called to action for their time so their waiting would not be endless whilst watching the newer trainees. Some of these more talented, practiced displays were forced into theatrics. A show, instead of a test, and it was not entirely unnoticed or appreciated. While many of the trainees were in awe of what power they could one day wield, some of the mentors and other participants were not impressed. If one wanted to watch a display, Iskavelle's festivals would provide.

An "underground" location between Mistpass and Blackwynd would give you more reckless displays, too.

Naevyre's turn came. A gentle warm-up in the form of rapidly increasing the growth rate of a wildflower already pushing through the cracks in the ground already had many of the trainees watching in curiosity. It looked like a simple thing, a flower rising taller, blooming brighter and wider, but it was not a common occurrence. No one else present had a form of plant-based magic, which was what they assumed he would be using.

Instead, he summoned a snake. Large, thick, poisonous. The formation began at the head, down over the body, and sealed at the tail, which was when the creature began to take life and move. Each creature summoned had its own life, its own mind, but a level of control still remained in Naevyre's hands. He can guide it, command it if his control of his magic is great enough, and it will act according to his direction. As it wound itself into a coil, murmurs surrounded the back of the training field, behind Naevyre's back, as awe passed through them.

In terms of familiar roles, this large snake was a ward more than a pushing attack. The reptile would curl up near or upon whatever was being defended and strike at anything that tried to approach. A very sharp, positionable defense that can strike anything threatening the protected. Of it's own volition, the snake coiled, with its head atop the pile. Sharp yellow eyes stared back at Naevyre, but it lacked a striking position or tension. His own summon seemed to be watching him, waiting for him, uninterested in the crowd. The serpent seemed at ease, but alert; it looked much like a real snake, watching but not yet aggressive.

It was not forced to remain for an extended period; Naevyre was training, but he was not trying to drain himself, only to flex and practice his current abilities. When the snake was released from control, it vanished with the same yellow-tinted green curl of light that had created it.

To not monopolize time, only one more summon would be performed, one more dynamic and intensive to handle. A small pack, a group of three wolves, were a summon Naevyre had successfully learned and managed twice before. They're useful for defensive and offense techniques, protecting someone or something as well as driving back whatever it might be. Though he had more summons, more animals possible, he did not go through all of them, choosing one of the easiest and one of the most difficult. When the three animals formed, they were standing side-by-side in an arc, all facing Naevyre. They were so calm that their tails seemed to brush back and forth; without a breeze passing through, it seemed obvious that it was of their own will.

But these wolves did not sit as stationary as the snake had. Shortly after being fully summoned, fully formed, their conscious decisions took them all away from the center of the training ground. Everyone seemed to be watching them, many still awed and some with growing wariness or confusion. Yet their steps seemed light, almost with a sense of happiness or joyful anticipation, as all three seemed to move to one specific location. To one specific person. Not even Naevyre expected this, and he certainly hadn't intended for it. But as all three seemed to take rest around the feet of {{User}}, he could only stare in silence, much like many others, until the Court Mage himself approached him.

"There's the thing about magic, Sylian," Fendrick gestured towards his apparently rogue wolves that have taken to surrounding {{User}}, seemingly ready to stay there; either to guard or simply in company. "Sometimes it reveals more about ourselves than we may understand. And those familiars, they know who you want to protect. Even if you're not prepared to admit it."

A familiar consciousness poured into Naevyre's mind. "A shame your knowledge of romance is as dry and barren as Nozul."

Strings hummed with life, vibrating under the delicate pressure of teasing fingertips, each touch putting together a stream of music as beautiful as the sunlight casting through the canopy. Naevyre swayed slowly, reclined in a hammock high above the ground. He lay closer to the leaves than he did the grass, rocking in the same breeze that ruffled the feathers of birds. Some had joined in on the song, and others had gone silent. A few had flown closer, perching on limbs with a prime proximity to witness his leisure performance.

Not far below, Zinralei was comfortably placed along a branch; deep in the forest where they were, the trees were far older than either of them, older than Naevyre's parents or theirs. The trees had survived far more than they could imagine, and some branches were thicker around than the dragon was. His tail was wrapped loosely around the branch, closer to the trunk, and the rest of his body was at ease, in complete trust of his position. Though his eyes were closed, the dragon was listening with just as much, if not more interest, than the birds. If Naevyre was not fully aware of the depth of the dragon's peace, he may even mistake him for being asleep instead of an avid listener.

Commander Evander had given him a Moonflight Patrol for tonight, where he would spend the darkest hours flying above the forest to potentially detect issues with the balance of the forest. Corruption anomalies, elemental lay-line clogging, or other issues that may need his attention or even the assistance of others, depending on the finding. This night patrol order was not new for Naevyre, but it did provide him the afternoon off. He could spend it how he pleased, but using it wisely was always recommended; getting rest for the long night of vigilance ahead, making sure to eat before then, etc. This was the best use of his time, at least in Naevyre's eyes. This was relaxing, comfortable, and he had a meal packed with him: everything requested of him was fully possible right where he was.

A soft breeze fluttered the canopy, rocking Naevyre's hammock like a crib. His eyes were closed, his body completely at ease, the only tension being in his arms to keep his lyre in place and his hand in place to dance along the strings. A small, blue-feathered bird fluttered closer, landing on the top of his hammock, perching on the lashings creating the top knot only a foot above his head.

His fingers stilled as the song came to a close, not rushing to jump into the next. Instead, he let the lyre rest against his chest fully, his arms relaxing, and let the natural world fill the silence. No bird immediately departed from boredom or lack of enchantment, but they did begin to make a melody of their own, chattering between them.

Their conversations were not interrupted by the low rumble of the dragon below; they did not fear Zinralei automatically, and his presence was recognized by much of the forest after so many appearances. He was there often, very often. The sound of his voice slid into Neavyre's mind: "Naevyre... Would you sing? The Ballad of Nortyr'ne?"

A smile slowly softened the previously expressionless face of Naevyre; the ballad of Nortyr'ne is a romantic tale. It had been months since he had last played it, but it had not been requested before, not even in the long periods between his performances. There was no question to Naevyre why he would suddenly want to hear such a tune. "Nortyr'ne?" He repeated mentally, the pair speaking through their Bond, not into the open air. "You're having romantic notions today, Zinralei?" A physical rumble bounded up from his chest, a laugh that was gentle and almost teasing. "Tell me you're not thinking of that-"

"No," Zinralei rumbled, cutting him off, which only caused the elf to grin wider. Laugh louder. There was no possibility of getting away with a lie between the two of them; especially not after one cut the other off before the thought had even been finished. The dragon became much too defensive too quickly; his thoughts were on one of the female dragons he had been eyeing lately. Zinralei huffed, his massive body shifting. His claws scraped over the bark of the limb when he adjusted his weight and position, but did not relent his request. "The ballad, Naevyre."

"Yes, yes," Naevyre yielded outloud, bringing his lyre back up to press between his chest and his arm. His fingers began their smooth dance over the strings, beginning the chords leading into the tale. The conversations of the forest fell into silence; no bird chimed in to his song this time. It was not a wordless melody, but a generational tale of love.

Aethelgardia had always drawn a sense of wonder in Naevyre's mind, beyond his natural curiosity to visit and witness other lands. His first visit had opened the opportunity for him to meet the vibrancy of the dragon world, and had opened the moment for Zinralei to meet him and for the pair to bond. That trip, undoubtedly, changed both of their lives. In the time since, Rider and dragon have traveled deep into the heart of Aethelgardia many times. Zinralei takes his opportunities to get a stomach filled with too much Marlaphon, and Naevyre has a thick leather journal already packed with drawings of the land and things he has witnessed.

Draekkorûn sat across a wide valley from the location of their approach. As Zinralei rotated his wings and cut left, the full valley came into view; the crystalline waters, the massive towers bordering the divot, cascading waterfalls shining in the sunlight, the highest of which caused wisping clouds water as it blew into a million droplets: it was always a stunning sight. Though none but the dragons could possibly know the full extent, the depth of color that the location displayed.

After circling once, gliding through the air while aloft on a steady breeze, the pair descended into the valley. The rippling surface of the water was simultaneously clear enough to look down into and sparkling enough to see their own reflection descending closer.

This trip had been planned for the pair. Neither one had ever been underwhelmed; Zinralei was pleased to return home, and to share it with his Rider. Naevyre was a peaceful presence that had never alerted the residents, especially following the bond that tied a Wood Elf to a Dragon. His dedication to nature, not simply his own homeland's longevity, made it easy for dragons to trust. With a rucksack to carry supplies for the majority of this day as well as a potential overnight stay away from Drathmere, enough food and supplies for the trip were at hand.

Naevyre was interested in diving into the pools here at the bottom of the valley, exploring beneath the pristine locations easily viewed. A rock shelf submerged beneath shallow water offered enough space for Zinralei to comfortably land; the above-water rocky locations made for harder landing, but would give a perfect place for Naevyre to leave his rucksack- it was highly unlikely to be stolen. Not only would the dragons have no interest in stealing his bag, but anyone else who might happen upon that exact area (which he figured highly unlikely) would probably be deterred from theft by said dragons and their very presence.

"Are you prepared for diving?" Zinralei bumped mentally, though the dragon was gazing towards the sky. He was clearly enjoying his view of home; and clearly waiting for the moment he could go and fly through the skies of his homeland to communicate with his kin. And, he would undoubtedly be looking to find a source in which to find Marlaphon.

"I am," Naevyre responded, verbally, placing the heft rucksack onto a dry location, pressed into a rock pillar to prevent the weight of it tumbling into the water. "I would like to find something new to document beneath the surface. Flora, fauna, relics-"

"Do not displace a relic." The dragon rumbled, his head turning halfway toward his Rider. "These waters are-"

"I am aware, Zinralei. This is not our first time here together, and I would never remove relics. You and I have protected our share of relics in the forests, have we not?"

The question was met with a long silence, before a soft rumble and an exhaling snort of hot air became the only answer. While he was right, the need for reminder was strong in the dragon's veins. But the trust was just as strong.

"Then I will be back before the night. I will not venture far without you."

Large leathery wings spread open, and three heavy bursts had the creature lifted completely into the air, while further beats took him higher. Below, Naevyre watched as his size grew smaller, though his sharp eyes marked him easily, far easier than a human may. The true break of sight was when Zinralei flew beyond the ridge, disappearing from view.

Reducing water-logging weight and resistance became the next focus, with his companion gone. Leather armor would prove to be a stupid attire to wear underwater on purpose, and they were removed. A lighter plant-fiber tunic remained, and matching pants. No need for shoes. His braid certainly remained; with how much hair the elf had, having it free beneath the water could create too much risk of getting it caught, stuck, or blinding him and preventing easy navigation.

Looking up, Naevyre studied the landscape one more time as he drew a full breath, a breath that would last him a considerable amount of time beneath the surface, before diving in with enough grace to only ripple the water.

The calm, controlled demeanor of Elves often provided them with a reasonless reason to be wherever they were; official business was more suspected without needing to be voiced, simply because of their posture and often lack of outward nerves. This was just as true for Naevyre as it was for most High Elves that got this glance-over; while he walked the halls of the Court, he was hardly examined by sight, and he had not once been questioned verbally. He wore his Rider gear, recognized as a Draethir in the halls.

The parcel he carried was not even a sight that caused wariness in the halls. He had an order note, an order of shipment: the parcel was a delivery for the Court Mage, Fendrick. That order note had been checked once, at the front gate, but the package remained sealed. While it had been unusual to see a Rider carrying a delivery instead of a courier, which would oftentimes pass the package off to a guard when it was for such a direct shipment for someone as important as Fendrick, it had only caused a brief blink.

Naevyre's footsteps were so soft and steady they hardly gave alert of his passage. Light-footed walking was normal for him, and it had always been a part of his life and nature. His steps were even softer than that of a High Elf; light walking for Wood Elves provided a quiet movement and a level of stealth necessary for levels of hunting and protecting the forests that High Elves had no need for. The heavy plant of guards moving with metal armor was practically jarring in comparison.

The door was closed when Naevyre arrived. He knocked, twice, and waited. The same soft, normally undetectable sound of breathing and faint whisper of quill to paper continued. Naevyre knocked again, a little harder, but far from pounding. This time, the whisper of the quill stopped; the sound of fabric rustling came next. The package was held ready for being accepted when the door was opened.

"Oh, Sylian. Greetings," Fendrick welcomed, a greeting not abnormal for anyone who knows Naevyre, before gesturing lightly to the parcel. He looked as warm and calm as he had Naevyre had always seen him; though a faint black smudge on the end of his nose noted his depth of concentration into his studies.

"Sir Fendrick," he greeted in return. "Fresh, from Alathaea; I flew them with me this morning after my visit home."

This simple statement seemed to be enough to spark knowledge of the unseen contents into the Court Mages eyes, and an even warmer smile formed. There was little else Naevyre needed to say, and not necessarily everyone needed to know about. Far from contraband: the contents were fresh honey cakes from Luthëanora, a not-so-secret habit and favored treat of Fendrick's. While the two were simply acquainted, as many were to him that ever frequented Drathmere.

Delivering these treats was far from a social call, formal meeting, or a bribe for a favor. It was far more simple: Fendrick was kind, and Naevyre had personally experienced his guidance before. This was simply a gift to a man that had previously (briefly) given him a moment of mentorship.

When the task was done, Naevyre was on his way. As silently as he came, he left; though his departure was not as complete as the delivery, not after spotting a captivating moment through an open window. Something about the angle of the landscape, the lighting and what it revealed with such bright and direct light, it had caught his eye. He'd not seen the details like this before. The hills, the reflections, the peaks of spires that had deep blue peaks against a bright sky.

No one witnessed him doing it, no one saw when it happened, but the elf ended up on the other side of the window; on the sill, and then on the ledge beyond. It was wide enough for the average person to sit upon, and his thin frame and excellent balance kept him steady. It was almost cat-like, the way he seemed to be so comfortable in a place that offered little traffic and not a lot of space for movement. Where most people would have feared the height and potential to lose their spot just by shifting weight, he seemed to be at remarkable ease- as much as someone unaware of their danger would be.

Against his bent knee, a journal was flipped open to a page near the center, on which an increasingly detailed image of the landscape was being drawn. The glint of a twisted silver stylus gave away the delicate tool with which he worked, making every drawing formed of silver that's left behind. Each flick of his hand, every twitch, created more detail; textures, breaths of depth, items that mattered less to the time of drawing than the unchanging pieces. Shadows could be replicated, added on top of the detail, but the details themselves were always the most interesting to Naevyre.

Moonlight shimmered off the canopy, each leaf streaked with silver down below. The bow of Zinralei's wings flutter the leaves with each flex, creating an oceanic movement over the treetops, leaves forming into waves and ripples. They were gliding as far as they could, and each new flex of the dragon's wings allowed them to stay aloft twenty feet from the treetops. Low enough for a close connection to the energy of the forest, close enough to feel any shift or corruption; that was why they were on patrol over this forest tonight. It was not their only regular patrol, but it was the designated region for this assignment.

While Naevyre had never encountered anything on his patrols, he never underestimated the importance of them. He had encountered a rot, once, during his own time. It nearly destroyed a small grove; without his presence, it would have died before anyone had found out. Regular patrols much like this one can help detect potential problems and provide time for healing before it's too late.

The low thwum of Zinralei's wings were smooth, rhythmic, a steady sound that made the night feel ever more calm. More still. The wind they were cutting through felt like the only sign they weren't indeed hovering. Even staring at the canopy of trees going by could feel repetitive, patternless lengths of leaves and glimpses of branches, even the forest floor in the gaps. Repetitive, but far from boring for Naevyre; he was chosen in part for his depth of connection with forests (and nature in general), for his attentiveness to his tasks, and his keen senses. Perhaps his nature-focused magic also contributed to his selection; he did not always require reinforcements to handle all situations he may come across.

"There are ruins ahead," Zinralei relayed through the bond, his rhythm never changing. "Are we exploring closer?"

The voice in his head did not cause even a startled blink from Naevyre, who remained cocked comfortably in the saddle to look down at the world below. He was keenly scanning, with more than just his eyes. "Yes. Let us land soon, we will approach on foot, the canopy gets dense ahead."

When the dragon shifted his wings, Naevyre instinctively adjusted in his saddle, sliding into place to remain balanced and steady. The leather strap keeping him secured to his saddle tugged as a reminder that he was connected, regardless if he were to slip free, but that had yet to happen before. Instinctively, the elf leaned forward, tucking his body toward the dragon's back while mindful of the nearest pointed spine; while they get gently shaved and trimmed where the saddle rests to allow room for it to wrap around the dragon, the rest remain untouched. They're a part of Zinralei, and while the removal is done carefully so no nerves at the base of each get hurt, he would not have anything more removed than necessary for the pair to complete their duties as a Rider and dragon.

A smooth, controlled dive swept the pair beneath the canopy, where Zinralei once more had space to open his wings and parachute the pair and slow their sharp descent. From there to the ground was filled with heavier, sharper beats of dragon wings, controlling the speed until landing.

"You landed heavy. We are supposed to be patrolling, relatively unnoticed; are you trying to wake the forest?" Naevyre's thoughts were expressed neutrally, as he would have actually spoken it, but the humor in it was not lost to Zinralei. There was a teasing in it that came through easily to someone who'd been by his side for nearly twenty years.

Zinralei huffed, purposefully rocking his body as Naevyre started to unclip himself from the saddle, tossing him off his back. Though he landed upright and lightly, it was a tumble on the way off of the dragon's back, causing him to roll instead of slide or graceful leap into a dismount. Somehow, it still looked graceful.

"You are lucky I can even maneuver into the canopy; how many Riders have a companion as familiar with flying the forest as yours?"

Naevyre trailed a hand along the scales of Zinralei's neck, which turned to a brush of fingertips of the spikes along his jaw, before settling under his chin to scratch firmly. Firmly enough to stimulate the nerves hiding beneath the scales, though they were more sensitive in that location. A low vibration responded to the touch.

"You are right, I am lucky to have such a large, scaley, winged feline on my side." Though Zinralei's eyes opened to look at him, he did not stop the purring sound or pull away from the gesture. In the dim light at the forest floor, the golden eyes seemed to glow rather than reflect. It was entirely possible Naevyre's own eyes were reflecting much like an animal.

Together, the pair walked through the forest, approaching an ancient ruin after weaving through a denser section of forest. Zinralei lifted his wings higher up his back, folding each in half and drawing the center up higher, but he had enough clearance through it all to make it unnecessary- though just barely once. Ahead, old stone pieces with long-faded and time-destroyed etchings started to scatter the ground. Some were buried after so many years, others were partially submerged in the ground, and some remained in a pile of rubble. Barely any of the walls stood anymore, but what remained intact was a vague foundation.

Venturing deep into the ruins was ill-advised for anyone, though an underground existed. By now, many tunnels have collapsed, if not all since it was last scouted. Zinralei began a patrol, moving toward the left from their current location, and Naevyre moved to his knees. Using flora scouting, he can get a vague detection of the condition of the underground, based on plant life down below and the area surrounding them.