Just Outside

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

Zarr looked up to see the spherical beauty of the pale winter moon. The stars flickered in and out through the cloudy fog that drifted across a mostly clear sky. Snow had fallen earlier, while the sun was high, and a thin sheet blanketted the surrounding surface of rock that was all about him. However, currently the skies were open and the few passing clouds dropped only a few flurries that appeared suddenly and rarely in the faded glow of the moon's nightshade. For now the snowfall was at a pause, but the cold nightly temperatures promised more in the morning.

The great black-skinned killer stared for a moment, letting his eyes linger in the the spectrum of light, before he sighed and finally closed them shut, listening to winter's chill silence the world. It was cold up upon the mountainside--the chilled rock surface beneath him and the frigid mountain air around him. Only the thick black hide of his cloak and jacket along with the warmth of his large feline friend against his back, provided him any comfort. Yet he was not asking for any. He was content to bask in the nightly silence, and shiver gently in the cold. It was a painfully numbing pleasure that he took as both enjoyment and pleasure. As cold as it was... he had never felt more alive.

This was his fourth journey to the surface, and he had progressed through two tendays without retreating back into the darkness--or twenty days in the minds of the surface dwellers. It was a feat he was both proud of and daunted by. It was difficult to explain, but his goal was coming more and more into focus--which pleased him--while it also faded away his past, and it was beginning to block doors that a part of him wanted to keep ajar.

He was a drow, forever and always. Bred from a malicious matron mother, fathered by a malignant male--only one of his mother's many mates. It was the drow way of life to be manipulative, deceitful, and disloyal... and if you failed to live in such a way you were usually killed--possibly by a member of your own family. There was no such thing as trust, and the drow way of life said it was ok to deceive and murder, pillage, and destroy. Life was not sacred to them, and those low in social ranking could be created and/or thrown away depending on their usefullness.

The drow way was a part of him, as were the morals that he was miraculously born with. It was an anomaly that he had then, and an even greater feat that he had managed to keep them through those hard cold years in the underdark, under the tutilage of his elders and matron. They would have crushed his morals if they could have, or atleast overwhelmed them, making him an unwilling or a willing slave... it would have been no different. But Zarr had perservered, and now he had taken matters into his own hands. He'd left the life he knew and belonged to in hopes of finding comfort in a surface world where his morals of right and wrong would be accepted. To be honest, he could have survived in Menzoberranzan. It would have been a life against most of what he believed, but it would have been life. He was strong enough to survive, but he had no will to survive as a slave to drow life, when a second option was available to him.

So here he was... on the doorstep of the great mountain halls of the Fire nation. He didn't really feel he belonged, but his gift of fire weilding put him on a "side"--and it was to Pyran he belonged. This is what they would say, and Zarr was willing to accept that. He probably would never believe it like the true puritan believers, but he would acknowledge the power of Pyran on this world, and how all fire was related to the god. Yet to Zarr, Pyran was the god of his gifts, not the god of himself--Zarr wanted to be free of influence.

Aven suddenly shifted, and dragged Zarr back in from his mind. His comfortable positon was marred, and the cold flooded the warm patch upon his back that Aven had now vacated.

Instinctively, his eyes shifted back into the infrared, and he saw once more a sight that had originally startled him. Blue. Everything. The trees hummed with only a touch of offwhite hue, and the only color at all could be see from the heated springs that speckled the land in the rocks. Other than that, the snow took the heat out of almost everything and the world was made calm and quiet, tranquil, and beautiful--blanketted by a deadly peace. Occasionally, a small animal stood out from the cold scene, but Zarr was not paying attention to them. He was watching the large black panther that was suddenly standing, and trying to scent the wind. Aven's fur was raised at the nape, and his ears were perked forward curiously yet cautiously. His tail stood out behind him, the end twitching in tune. He'd taken a scent, Zarr could tell. However, the black-skinned, silver haired drow could not tell by the cat's attitude whether it was a dangerous intruder, or some prey the predetor was contemplating.

Whatever it was, Zarr's keen eyesight and hearing could locate no one nearby, and so he settled once more into a comfortable crouch on the stone--nolonger comforted enough to sit unguarded. He was alert now, but not tense. Zarr believe it was probably some doe or plausible prey that had caught Aven's attention, but for his own peace of mind, he reclined in a casual way that would still allow him to enjoy the night while permitting him to react quickly to any danger which might appear.

[Nova Psycree]

The Fire nation. Cliffs and peaks of Feuer-Bohrung’s range share border with the winged lands of the Wind. The rocky crags suggest nothing warm and welcoming; the mount standing at the center of life--–the Feuer-Bohrung-- once bubbled with the rising heat Pyran was so greatly known for. This mount, however, has long since gone dormant, but the magma channels still flow freely within its heart. It is there in the deep lairs that the fire dragons dwell, unscathed by the scorching heat sure to crisp the skin of the woman climbing the rugged terrain that led from the Brennendes Odland to the home the woman once knew and forsook in a moment of , what she believed to be, sheer weakness.

Are you sure about this, Psycree? The woman ignored the comment echoing in her mind until she pulled herself up and over the outcropping currently barring her path. Once above, she closed her eyes and breathed, long and deep, savoring the memories the air whisked her way. Psycree! Won’t you get --I don’t know—eaten for coming here in that body?

“Shut up already,” Psycree’s amber eyes flashed open, glowing with a dragon’s ferocity, but her voice did not share the passion of her eyes. It sounded as though she had said the comment one too many times and while she knew it futile to argue the point, her audacity and pride brought the words to her lips.

Psycree turned to look out over the abrasive landscape and heaved a sigh to match her tepid comment. For a moment, it looked as though the girl --tall for a female, thin, but by no means fragile, and proud with the way she held herself-- ruled the world from her standpoint on the outcropping. Idle hand sung a shuttered lantern that dangled from a length coiled of ivory braided rope threaded between her fingers.
Wind pushed at her hair; long and fiery red, it curled at the tips at her waist. Bangs, just long enough to be tucked behind her ears, interrupted her view, but the sights were lost on someone such as Psycree. Nova, on the other hand, gasped quietly at what pictures she could see though Psycree’s eyes, her old eyes.
We traveled that? Amazing…

Psycree could not resist a smirk at the girl’s voice as she turned back to the ordeal ahead of her. She had forgotten in all their years together that Nova had never ventured outside of the Fire Nation controlled village she had her beginnings in. Every time the two consciousness came across a wonder of the open world, Psycree would barely glance its way, pained at seeing the sights not from her preferred vantage points. Nova would always prod, pester and plead until Psycree learned the girl wanted to learn, to see all she could of the world. Now, Psycree took the time to look at what they passed; it gave Nova something to do, to think about, since Psycree had charge of the body.

The pair had been venturing for a good long time to reach the domain of the fire dragons. Breath-taling scenery had come and gone, and without the lush green Nova was used to, the girl’s thoughts retreated back to the stories village elders told the children to keep them away from Feuer-Bohrung’s dragon lands.

You still haven’t answered me, Psycree. Irritation filled the pressing consciousness, now, but Psycree’s brow had been lined with thoughts and troubles since they stepped foot onto the foothills of the mountain range. Are you sure this is safe? You won’t get us both killed or worse… Psycree chuckled aloud as she scanned the rock ledges above, trying to decide which direction the entrance to the Pyran worshipping city lay. “Nothing could be worse than this kind of set-up darling…” For once, I agree with you.

Psycree could feel Nova’s chuckle rather than hear it in her mind, but even that sensation was quickly swept away with thoughts of confronting the large fire-laden beasts residing below. If they were lucky, Lord Kaji would grant them audience. While the thought of him still stiffened Psycree’s bones, she would feel better facing someone who could not sever neck from shoulder on whim. With Kaji, she had a chance. Albeit, a small one, but a chance for escape none-the-less. Nova was ignorant to the fact that a dragon soul in a human body was sacrilege and Psycree intended to keep it that way. She didn’t need the girl wailing and quaking in her mind.

Deciding on the clearest choice of path, Psycree cursed the human’s body --how many time’s she’d cursed the gangly limbs, both she and Nova had lost count-- and its fragility compared to the dragon’s. Moments later, Psycree’s brown leather boots padded down softly on the ledge to the side of the panther and black-skinned man. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Psycree’s feral nature was showing; her stance suggested challenge, her eyes, mischief, her voice intrigue. We don’t need a fight now, Psycree. We’re almost there --don’t screw this up for us. I’m not that stupid. I’m just looking for a little fun. Oh no youre not! Don’t even think it! And what’re you going to do about it?

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[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

Zarr's alert hearing heard her coming. The scuffle of leather soled boots could not be so easily hidden from the black skinned drow--a masterful creature bred for the darkness and thriving without the guide of light. As a fighter his skills were heightened and his perceptive hearing, eyesight, and intuition were honed to predict and escape death. Death's favorite host was the body of a mortal, in the soul of a killer. He could trust no one even now, and he knew this even though he wished it was not so. The surface would not take kindly to him... atleast that was what he had assumed.

Yet, though he could hear the approach of another, he did not stand. He remained sitting where he was, one knee upright, the other on its side, and a forearm perched comfortably upon the standing knee. His other arm lay across the hilt at its side, and with a flick of his thumb, the binding lash that held the place inside its sheeth was unhitched, and the glint of silver sparkled momentarily as he lifted the blade an inch with his thumb. He did not draw it, nor did he show any obvious intent to do so. For now it was a precaution, and though he did not look ready--sitting comfortably as he was--in an instant his innate agility and inherited grace could guide him into immediate attack or necessary defense.

A part of him hoped for a fight--the part that was still attached to the drow way of life. That inescapable nature, so dark and condemning. It was a part of him he hoped to escape in his journey here to the upper world. Stories from the Underdark cursed the surface dwellers as mongrels and monsters, but in his experiences he found them completely different. Some were merciful and mirrored his own inner beliefs, while some others acted in the same way as the Drow and no better. He didn't know which world was truly the grander, but he'd found no peace in the dark corridors of the cold Menzoberranzan... and... at least here there was warmth, there was the sun, the stars, the moon and the grass. Such things he had never before enjoyed until now. The winter? Even the frigid cold and numbing snow were beautiful in his eyes. He could find nothing wrong with the surface world's environment--it was magnificant.
The people? He was still deciding. Some reacted to him with anger and avengence for wrongs that his kin had commited against them. It was unfair in his mind, but he could not blame those few. To them the drow brought death, pain, massacre, and loss. To see a drow was to see death, and to see death was both infuriating and frightening--especially when fueled by previous losses brought by the hands of a dark elf.

He tried in vain to determine the intruder's intent... but her decent was plotted... she had not stumbled upon them, nor was it apparant that she was trying to avoid them. In fact, she addressed them quite openly and dominantly. Aven did not approve, and his stance grew tense, his muscles coiled, his tail stood out straight, and his ears laid back; teeth made their appearance as his lips curled back in a warning snarl, a low feline grumble rolling across his throat.
Zarr on the other hand did not react. His side was to her, his eyes stared straight ahead, still seeing what he'd been seeing before. However, his attention and focus was no longer there, but on her. The dominance and pride in her voice did not amuse him, and his eyes narrowed grouchingly. Yet he did not stand, nor acknowledge her presence openly. Why satisfy her incompetance. The hilt he fingered gently was on the opposite side--away from her. He could draw it, yes... but what would that bring. For now, she had not asked a fight, but her words seemed dominant and challanging. He didn't like the attitude and he didn't like the rude and sudden intrusion.

However, though he credited her with negative respects, he did not show it in his face--a face that still remained vacant and reasonably empty upon her arrival. It might even seem that he had not heard her.

Oh but he did, and to ensure her that he had... his mouth opened and words flowed out. They were deep, ominous, but remarkably void of emotion. They were slick, and not to be trusted--carried in a tone that warned him as a man of many words. If it was a game she wanted, he'd perhaps play along.
"Is that how you people introduce yourselves...?" the rhetorical question was dry and layered with harsh sarcasm and a certain seriousness.

Only after he spoke did he turn to look at her. His sharp blood-colored eyes, void of a pupil except for a thin sliver of black that sliced the red orb into halves. They observed her sharply, analyzing her face, hair, body, and clothes. Her stance indeed was arrogant and challanging... but he was not sure enough to make an accurate assumption as to her intent. It was strange for a stranger to suddenly arrive as she had, and Aven seemed to agree with his constant low hum of discontent. He saw the mischevious glint in her eye and was even more befuddled than before. Was she really just playing a game? Was she so rash as to risk such a bold engagement? She did not know him, or his capabilties... yet she spoke to him in such a way that he got the impression she thought herself better.
Though unapreciative of the thought, he'd let it pass till he learned of her intent. Thus he did not stand or make confronting guestures. However, the reason he remained sitting was not just to appear unconfrontational... it was also meant to tease. He was not afraid of her, and he felt like he might as well display that confidence. Even now, he could feel a dark addiction swirling within the deepest abyss of his soul--wishing for an excuse to surface and fight for life itself.

[Nova Psycree]

"Is that how you people introduce yourselves...?" Nova cocked an amused eyebrow at this. Other than that she remained as she was, with one hand on her hip and length of coil, that served as a makeshift belt, leading from its tie about her waist to the fingers of her other hand draped idly at her side, caressing the rope as though it were a live snake. At one of the rope, the end closest to the digits strokes, hung tassels; at the other was a shuttered lantern, hitched close to her hip. Inside a small flame was kept burning, but nothing of the flame, its light or heat, could be noticed during the daytime hours. The sun --even the closest of campfires or candle light-- overpowered Nova's artillery.

"You people?" Psycree's lips twitched in delight. A winter mountain wind pushed at the sparse, burnt-orange curling tendrils from her face. Flakes of snow pulled up from the shelf danced over the trio. Their clothes rustled loudly in the silence, but the delighted smirk and amber eyes remained fixed on the man and his cat.

Psycree, pleeaase. Begged the voice very few knew about, Please please please, don’t start something. The words hit a solid wall of mischief and the voice groaned. If Nova hadn't been disembodied, she might have smacked herself on the forehead in exasperation. Nothing could stop Psycree when she was going in one direction and she was in one of those moods where very little could alter her chosen path. You are way to confrontational... Nova moaned, but withdrew before Psycree could backlash at the comment; Nova knew defeat after so many years sharing a mind, but the dragon soul’s response didn’t fly from a forked tongue. What’s another moment? Psycree spread the words thick like cream in an attempt to placate her other half. We’ve been stuck like this for nigh ten years, Nova. Another five minutes won’t kill you, will it? No, but you might...

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She had had a choice, both knew, between continuing this chance meeting or continuing with her ascent. To stay meant meeting the challenge in those red eyes. The conversation was sure to go awry, a battle of wit and wills that may transfer to that of fist and fire–or may not, depending this man’s desire for Psycree was not one to pass up testing her strengths. To leave, on the other hand, would have meant Psycree’s priorities were in line, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Thoughts twinkled in her eyes as though she debated her next move, attempted to figure what array of reactions she could merit from this succinct stranger. Truth be told, Psycree’s eyes simply drank the view during the pause. She didn’t think twice about man before. Nothing about his slitted, red eyes or dark-as-night complexion seemed to bother the woman. He would make a formidable opponent, she was sure of that, but her pride as a fire dragon kept him from the same echelon as her own. He would forever be a Drow, a curtailed darkling from the caves beneath, living in the places shunned by the rest of Algaesia’s population. [/color]

“What about you, Drow?” Yes, Psycree knew his people. She had lived long enough in her dragon skin to see those bold enough to venture toward sunlight --the one before her made a total of three for few traveled to the surface, but Nova watched, bewildered, from behind the amber eyes. Psycree continued speaking before the man could find words to respond.

“You talk about us, but aren’t you people the ones that live exiled for your immoral ways? I hadn’t expected to see one of you lounging about the Fire Nation’s mountain as if you were a welcomed part of this world.” Psycree glanced devilishly at the cat as if talking to it, “I wonder if they still name the things that live beneath our feet. Does it have a name, Mr. Kitty?”
You're SO dead. WE'RE so dead... WHY did you have to go get us KILLED?! We were SO close!
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[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

He listened to her words without a twitch of his silent face. His infrared eyes, reading nothing but an inferno about her. This intrigued him and confused him. He could only blink, switching back to a realm of faint light--as the moon thankfully provided in gentle waves.

She was a simple woman, beautiful but not overbearingly. Her stature still as confident as before. He released a wry smile at her mocking words, and though his pride burned with wounded offenses, he made no open hints to the turmoil her words unleashed inside of him. The beast that was his race still dwelled within the abandoned pits of his soul and spirit, and its pride was riled like the cage of a wild dog. It desperately sought to release itself--release the hunter. Surely it would serve her well... for it seemed she wished for a fight. Were her words not meant to spur and taunt? It was too bad for her, that Zarr did not wish to become the Hunter again. That was a past he was putting behind him, and thus he would not welcome it... not even to challange her mockery.

What she said was true, and it was all a part of what he expected to hear. His smile became a touch wicked, and gleamed with a dangerous edge.

Let the games begin...

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The dark-skinned elf stood, retreating back into the infrared before turning to face her. He was aware that Aven was uncomfortable and expressed his dislike openly by the pale jaws that reflected coldly in the wintry air. Zarr looked to the panther and brushed the black feline away with a suttle wave of his hand, cause Aven to fall back and seek height a little ways up upon an outcropping several yards above them. Aven did not approve of leaving Zarr's side, but the big cat's disgruntled jectures were distracting. Besides, if the cat was needed he would be back in mere seconds.

Turning the devilish smile back upon the young woman before him, his eyes sparked with something hidden, uncomprehensible but existed. He wanted a fight in some degrees, and though he would not openly insist, something inside of him wanted an excuse... and already he was searching for it. AS much as he hated to admit it, her words touched him harder and cut him deeper than he had first realized, and his face suddenly shifted. The smile dissapeared with strange and frightening velocity as a more serious expression filled his visage.

"What you say is true," his voice rang out with a hard edge, precise and searching, "but do not make the mistake of assuming that which you do not understand."

One lonely scimitar slid slowly from its sheeth as he smoothely drew the small, thin blade. However, he took no offensive or defensive stance, and the movement was slow, acurate, and precise. It was no offensive draw, but neither was it meaningless.
Taking the blade free from its containment, he placed its tip upon the stony ground, feeling it's true tone ring come up through the blade, he slid it gently across the stone, positioning just slightly to the left of center--and there it remained. He now held it there, as if resting it. And it was not meant to intimidate as she might beleive. Whatever tricks and hidden advantages she had... he had his own.

As for her lantern... no, he had no yet noticed its burning flame, even though the infrared spectrum would undoubtably pick it out among the cold atmosphere about it. Unfortunately her own livid color array was bright enough to overshadow any small flicker that might be near her. So for now... he actually had an advantage he was unaware of--atleast for now.

Suddenly he started again, as he stood comfortably leaning gently upon his unsheethed weapon.
"... and yes it has a name," a wry smirk dissolved through the serious and morose expression, "but it is one you do not deserve to know."

Let's see how much she enjoyed the voice of mockery.

[ooc]
sorry it took so long. I really am, my muse took a serious blow... and I was kindof holed up by school. I should be good now. I think my muse is starting to crawl back to me.

[Nova Psycree]

The life Nova had lived before their joint occupation must have been so boring. At least, that's what Psycree figured. The second mind always cowered at the sight of anyone remotely interesting, but Psycree's idea of interesting usually meant barbed-tongue powerful. This Drow, for example, was interesting to Psycree and not because it was the first Drow she'd seen in years, but because of the way he held himself, his choice of words, and that silly little cat slinking up the cliff-side.

Psycree barely blinked at any of his return challenge. It was, after all, what she'd hoped for. The rasping of stone on metal ached in her ears, but Psycree welcomed it. The rasping of a challenge. Nova, on the other hand...Oh! I hate that noise so much...whined in the back of Psycree's head. The scimitar held no threat to her as he used it more like a rich man's cane than the hooked weapon it was. Psycree actually found the gesture disrespectful --what kind of warrior would demean his weapon in such a way?-- but he was the one dulling his edge by dragging it, albeit purposefully, across the stone under their feet.

"Now now, Mr. Drow," Psycree began as she placed her hands on her hips, the lantern jingling with the movement, "was I even speaking to you?" The expression turned into false though. "No, I dont believe I was.

"Besides," Psycree looked rather charming when she smiled, if her smile was all you looked at. She had stepped forward at the word and no one could deny her curves as she walked. Psycree was not one to care about looks, but training to the extent she did created a rather slim, athletic body for anyone to gaze upon.
Psycree's eyes, however, are what capture victims and gave her away her desires to those with wills strong enough to evade capture. Today she made no attempt at the sly, quiet means of seduction. Today, Psycree just wanted to... test her skills. The Lucifer flame lit her amber spheres even when her smile sparkled so innocently. She paced so close to her dark-skinned company, he could almost feel the fire's warmth.

Psycree... That hesitant voice chimed in as the body showed no signs of stopped in the empty space between them. ...Psycree... what are you doing? The Drow's charcoal complexion and frightening eyes continued to get closer; Nova attempted to pull as far away as she could, but Psycree had control of the body, not her. I really dont like this idea now. Can we just go and get us back to normal? Please?!

Psycree stopped, barely a foot of space left between their two very different bodies. Nova sighed. Maybe Psycree had come to her senses. "Besides," Nova's hopes crumbled with the repeat utterance of the word. "your name isn't worth knowing. You are after all" --Psycree surveyed the man before her and scoffed, eyebrows raised asking if he really needed it spelled out for him-- "you're just a Drow. Who would waste their time finding out name for someone like you?"

Nova's jaw would have dropped so far, it would have by-passed cartoon law. Psycree had been so remarkably rude she could not believe it in the slightest. Im convinced! The emotion of surrender flooded Psycree's consciousness from the in-mate. You're actually trying to get us murdered! What other reason could you possibly have for saying such a thing?!-- Come on, Psy. Let's go. Im sure if we start running now-- we're fast. All we'd really have to worry about is the panther...

The dragon soul kept her distance and quirked an eyebrow at the unnamed Zarr. She would probably never have the consolation of his name --a bit of secrecy she didn't mind as long as she got to keep her own name hidden as well.
All she really wanted was a reason, an excuse, to test herself. The desire walled out any and all of Nova's incessant buzzings inside her head. It had been far too long since she had been pitted against an enemy that could think in the same fashion she could and pull some tricks out of a sleeve. Even though he was also of fire --what other pledge could sit so comfortably upon Feuer-Bohrung-- she wanted the challenge his drawn sword promised.



[-ooc- Ahhh, I guess I can forgive you, Zarr. ;D I kinda like RPing with ya too much to just abandon ya. Glad to have ya back!! ]

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[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

ooc: lol, you know, I can only let you tease him for so long, lol ^_^

Her condescension of his title and mockery of his race, left him in a slight confused blur. His natural, bestial impulses of the drow demanded retribution of her insolence, but the demeanor that was human begged for peace, and for her to stop teasing so.
She played her words so preciously, poking at the crevices of his self control, as if looking for some rabid beast to unleash. Indeed, he was wise enough to perhaps assume that this was maybe her tactic, but the reason why she would provoke such an unknown and possibly dangerous stranger was beyond the drow called Zarr.

His eyes narrowed as he noticed a seductive glare that seemed to lure about her as she stalked purposefully towards and around him--as a cat would toy with a mouse. It was a position he highly dissaproved of, and his distaste and respect for her seemed to lessen in the moment. Whatever game she was playing... he was done with it. Funny how quick, he was willing to assume a place upon the board, and now finding the game to appalling to intervene. He was an odd one, full of contradicting aspects that were constantly at war. And yet, she seemed insistant upon her attempt to rile and upset him. It almost made him what to show her something for her efforts.

She suddenly came to pause, not a mere foot away from him. He could feel the heat from her body--the unnatural warmth of it--and gathered in his mind that she was a fire bringer of some kind. This brought a strange smile to his face, as there was little humor going on within his mind. He laughed at the irony. It half dared her to create a blaze to smite him--he dared her with the insane impulses of his predetory being. He was growing restless within, and her tauntings were slowly pulling out the hunter that he truly was--the man from the black. If that was what she wanted, she would soon have it.

A wry uneffected smile upon his lips and an unoffensive stance, suddenly turned and rebelled against itself with quite a different perspective. Without losing the smile, he gripped the hilt of his sword--thumb up, point down and pulled the blade tight against his arm, the point facing out behind his back. The hard knob of the smooth silver hilt was suddenly thrust towards her--the length of his arm surely capable of crossing the short expanse between woman and drow. It searched for her smiling face, her teasing smile, and her vibrant eyes. It longed to hurt her, to spill blood from the tenderness of her pores. The impulse behind the hunter desired it, yearned for it. And it was because of this yearning that all his innate instincts, his speed, agility, poise, elegance, and pure knack for fighting and bloodshed. All surfaced in one stunning blaze of mere seconds--an attack that was commence within a timely period so smooth, quick, and agile that it could match if not surpass the speed of many--if not most. Fighting was his skill above all the things. It was something he did to live, and it was an art he had made his own. True he'd come to escape such thrills and primordial desires, but one can only tease a beast so much, before it retaliates. And it is often enough that the Hunter and Zarr become fused into one another--where Zarr can even be lost in the picture.

The initial attack would be well backed if she wished to assume her defense and either block or retaliate. The curve of his wrist left a second motion open to him, as it could be flicked out, bringing the blade along with it in a sweeping arc--a back-up to the hard punch he threw. Yet, he did not intend to use it, lest he must to defend.

He knew not her abilities or her magics, and thus his mental awareness was also ready for whatever she would give. To him, she seemed nothing more than the human woman--a human with which frailness is attributed. Dare say she had a powerful build, but even power can be overthrown if the body is incapable of sustaining it.
Perhaps he was underestimating her... we will all soon see...


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Above, Aven watched, shoulder erect as he sat poised upon the edge. He saw Zarr strike, and tensed in preperation ready to fly down to their level at the first sign of need. He had an advantage being up upon the height, therefore he dared not loose that advantage till the time was opportune. For Aven was no mere hunter's pet. Aven was as grand a killer, as grand a predetor as Zarr could ever hope to be.

[Nova Psycree]

Come, my pet. Indulge me.
Psycree waited silently. Nova prattled on in the back of her mind, noise as useless as the clashing of steel during war. In the same way that a warrior heard and saw nothing more than the opponent standing before him, did Psycree only see and hear the challengar she so vehemently provoked.
He had begun to smile while she spoke her insults; she reflected the genture acutely aware of the insane notion building in his red eyes. He too, it seemed, enjoyed the fight she sought to elicit from him. True, he had been reluctant to adhere to her wishes at first, but now he sparkled with the same mental disease that called for the ruin of smiles and the screams of agony.
The drow nature's true face.

Alert to "enemy"-Zarr, Psycree anticipated movement rather than word. Sne had pushed her limits last time and had been rewarded with the sigh tof his blade. This time, she crossed a boundary; word would not suffice as a punishment for passing into his domain. The smirk glittered in her eye-contact. A movement of lip or movement of hand--which would it be?

Yes...
A movement of hand. Wrist twisted and fingers gripped the hilt of the forboding scimitar. Nova quailed as malevolent mirth echoed from Psycree's consciousness. He pulled the blade back to follow the curve of his arm--This is what she waited for--and threw the blunt portion of his weapon at her joker-smile.
A warning strike.
Nova screamed-- the child.
Psycree did not move.
...yes...

The cold pomel connected maliciously with Psycree's smirk. A well placed foot kept her from stumbling, but her head and upperbody bowed with the immense force the drow had placed behind his assault. Orange hair trailed behind her receeding form, a regal, beautiful flag to match her raised chin. Closed eyes, braced to the pressure of the punch agaonst her jaw, reopened, energized, bright and full of the dragon's fire as they instantly found his.
In a moment like this, when two gazes meet in a world of rushed, accelerating lives and situations they are a part of, that a profound connection between two peoples sparks. Some gazes find love in chaos; others are suddenly aware of another's greif. In the case of Zarr and Psycree, an understanding resembling that of a warrior testing her limits excitedly danced from Psycree to Zarr. The question of the matter was if Psycree had jumped in further than she had expected by awakening the violence within her drow sparring partner.

Just when one might have expected Psycree's being to cease in motion the girl continued forward. Using the force of her anonymous foe's punch, Psycree turned the energy around on him, adding her own to the mis. Her far leg rose, the front of her foot speeding for a counter attack to the now exposed midsection beneath his sword hand. Hands spread wide on the stone floor braced her for the force of the upper arch of her foot contacting with his fleshy abdomen.

Psycree was acutely aware of the fact that she fought in the body of a human, let alone a female's. She had been especially aware of this fact since the day compassion had over-ridden commonsense and she first found herself prisioner in the body Zarr the drow fought. Humans, Psycree quickly learned were much weaker than she had expected, granted they had weapons to make them stronger, but she still held no power resembling that of her old form. And then, Psycree found her female shape could barely stand up to that of a man's. A single strike from her form did little if anything to the muscular mass of a man.
And so developed Psycree's form of battle.
Now to see if Zarr can outmatch her...

[/size][/color]

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

Contact was made, and a dull thud from the impact of his hilt rang loudly in his sensitive ears, and caused a wicked smile to stretch across his face. The blade hummed breifly against his side as the reaction from the blow reverberated up the smooth, sharp edge of the steel. It awakened in him, something for deeper, something that was instinctual to him... something he knew, and wished only to forget or at least mute. Yet here it was...

...and it was ready to "play".

Did she truly realize what she was doing? He could see within her eyes a strange twist of bravery, skill, and recklessness. He did not know her motives or her reasons or, for that matter, anything about her. Yet, she taunted as if teasing, and provoked as if to test. And the look that crossed between them in a suspended moment of life and motion seemed more to test and simply fight, rather than kill and destroy? Besides, he'd struck first. Still she seemed too pleased, as if she wanted a reason. Either way, he could only guess at why she did as she did, and what her plans were... but nonetheless, Zarr nolonger wished to hold back his own innate abilities, his kills as a fighter and swordsman. She'd taunted, and now he truly wanted to show her...

Yet it wasn't until her retaliation--a reaction he fully expected--that his venom and visciousness truly took a stand. He was now engaged in a fight, whatever degree it was. She'd teased him, and riled his emotions, his own attack had been harsh, but comparitevly mild to what he could have done if he'd truly desired to harm her. To him, his initial attack was his warning to her. Her expression--the will to continue--and her rebuttle were the triggers. If she was testing only her limits, and merely that--she'd chosen the wrong target. Zarr, the drow, took war deathly serious.

He could only play mild for so long...

_________________


He watched her steadily throughout his strike, and thus his keen and attentive eyes captured her collection as she fell back, with graceful practice, from his impact.
He waited a second behind her, to view her course of descision and dropped with her as her foot came about. It was well aimed, but Zarr was not unpreparted.

He'd lost his forward advantage and arching offensive when she lowered herself to brace her attack. Nolonger viewing a target before him, he flicked his wrist in two degrees--swiftly bring the blade out, perpendicular to his arm, and tilting the cutting edge to face down.
His smile faded--a serious and dangerously focused visage fast replacing it--and he collapsed his knees in rhythm to her, curling down and bring the blade with him--to inflict its bite upon her fast approaching leg. He had bad leverage, so that counter could not damage much, but the sharp blade could still do its fair part.
But he was not invincible, and though his defense was his aggression, he could not always evade at the same time, thus his body braced itself for impact.

Legs securely planted, knees bent, body collected--he was now lowered to her level and his midsection nolonger in the line of attack. Having no other option, and no chance to jump out, he turned his head sideways--presenting the brunt of his right shoulder as vivid red eyes burned with a dark ravanous fire and cast themselves to watch her out of the corner of his eye, from behind silver tassles that fell before his eyes in wild strands.

Her aim hit him squarely in a sweeping motion, that pushed him back several inches but did not fall him. Pain screamed in his jointed shoulder, but his mind ignored it as if it did not exist. To him... it did not exist.
Some would call him reckless and foolish for offering injury to his sword-wielding right hand, but many forgot. He had not one scimitar, but two. And the left was just as capable of murder as the right.

Absorbing the impact of her kick, he did not linger. Moving with the force of the strike he moved away with it, keeping his arm extended and blade out. It swiped between them in a sweeping arc as he whirled away and out, to gain new footing for a new set of steps and motions. The sweeping blade was not meant to hit any mark--though he would feel no regret if it did. The ranged motion was meant as a deterent, a retreated defense, designed to throw her back, and keep her away as he swiftly regained a new posture for attack. If she dared to come at such a moment, the blade would surely deal her a fine kiss.

If the fight continued on... Zarr would restrain less and less, as he assumed she would do the same. She'd teased a predetor, and now its anger was focused and direct.
He came about, and faced her with such an expression. He was compelled to fall in again, but he restrained. How gentlemanly of him. A wry smirk came upon his face with the thought--willing to continue if she so desired.
To him, she wanted a fight... and he nolonger cared why.

[Nova Psycree]

Even as the heel of her foot came around, seeking a resting place in the man's side, she saw him flick his sword to a vicious angle. She clenched her jaw anticipating the knick it would make upon her frail human flesh and committed herself to pushing the kick. Indeed, she felt tapered end of his bare scimitar cleave a bit of skin for her legs were, for the most part, bare, free from the hindering confines of pants. His counter had knicked her below the flowing hem of the shorts that ended above her knees.
While his move held offense, it could not also provide a solid defense. It greatly deminished his chances of avoiding the contact and her heel solidly found a substantial few inches of shoulder to drive back. Psycree felt him slide rather than saw.

While the sweep of his scimitar had created the momentary bubble he desired, Psycree had yet to stop the fluid motion of her own moves. She had followed the motion of the kick and quickly brought her leg away from the hiss his blade made as it arced around him. Psycree found herself with two hands to the ground, shoulders apart, much as if she were doing a push up, and her abdomen and knees curled, poised to explode like a spring once released.

Psycree's firey amber eyes glimpsed the Drow over her shoulder. He had set himself up, regained his posture, and much to her amusement, actually refrained from attacking. She caught sight of the ironic smirk and smirked herself. Even as Nova fell mute, hiding in the back of her mind from the violence that had erupted between the two, Psycree had no intention of pausing in this game. Did he truly expect her to back down now after she had poked and prodded to get him to move?

He had recieved the space he desired, but at a cost. With his arm swept so wide of Psycree's low placed coiled form, she sprang. Her whole body followed the unwinding as her legs extended and her arms pushed up and back. Again her heels sought the Drow's soft middle section.
It was true that from the angle at which Psycree struck, she had little means by which to alter her pedes assault, but she hoped by striking just after his weapon passed her over her back, she could catch him in a moment so small he would have trouble turning his arm back to bring the blade down.

The steel he weilded was her greatest priority. In a contest of merely fist and feet, Psycree doubted not she could hold her own for a decent length of time, but the moment he bared the edged arm the seed of doubt found resting ground in Nova's quivering consciousness. His last counter had cut her flesh easier than she'd expected --she had barely felt the crisp chill of metal on her before she felt the soothing warmth of blood welling up in the slit. She could feel it now, rolling in red waves down her leg as her foundations sought to drive the air from him.
She would have to be careful in her movements.
Avoid the scimitars --he did have two-- or she would lose before she ever returned to the dragons...

[/size][/color]

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

As zarr finished his retreat, he came about to find his smirking face near parallel to her own. The sight of her impending attack only deepened the hunter's iniative and all signs of control seemed to flee across the skies--abandoning the drow to his powerful gift. Zarr could not hope to evade what he'd not predicted, but nor could he allow himself to be taken aback by it so uncerimoniously. Skilled mind quickly relayed the message, and his powerful build quickly hardened, tensing in anticipation of contact.
The muscles of his abdomin shut tightly upon themselves, clsoing about--creating a firm ridgeline system of rolling abbs. He would feel the effects upon a later date--tomorrow or at least the day after--but in his few seconds of preperation, atleast... for now... he could avoid damage to his interior complexions and take the battering with a stiff unfazed and unreleting expression.

The moment was over.

Her quick momentum slammed into him with the projective strength of her body and its velocity. His tight stomach clenched painfully and the muscles seemed to bruise almost instantly behind his flesh--though no dark mark could be seen beyond the ebony of his skin. He clenched his teeth and held his breath as it fought visciously to escape him--her momentum flying into him all the while. His body folded slightly upon itself as he felt himself fall back, his spine fast approaching the cold, hard stone.

She was quick, he offered her that respect, but her actions were still reckless and rash. Her continued assault had affirmed Zarr's mind, and his new perogative was set firmly in place. He was done retreating... he was done giving chances. She'd caught him off guard this time... she'd managed a direct attack parallel to what she intended, but now it cannot be safetly assumed that she would get another such chance.

He was falling back as his eyes suddenly became alight with a new glow--a burning tempest that devoured his hesitation and corrupted his merciful judgement. He could not, and would not, stand idly by as a stranger insisted upon this "game" of sorts. She attacked him with force, she rebuked him with words, in his mind... she wanted nothing more than a fight--and with the continuation... Zarr could not contain himself. Never before had he entered a fight without the realization that someone would not survive. Never before had he "play fought" as some considered it. If he battled, he battled for life--and would not restrain himself on most occasions. That was the beast she taunted, that was the beast she wanted. Even now, only portions of it were visible within his eyes, and within his motions. Even now, Zarr still did not want to cause her terrible damage or vice-versa. He wished he understood why she didn't relent, why she wished to continue? But he could only guess, and that left him more vulnerable to his reckless instincts as a killer of the underdark--a forsaken elf.

Dragged suddenly from his thoughts, the spark within his eyes surged with power as his back collided solidly with the frozen ground. Snow clung to his clothes as the hard rock dug painfully into his back through the folds of his tunic. Only the jacket that he wore, protected him from the burn, from the carnage that small sharp pebbles could inflict. It was now that instinct fell into place to correct what was wrong, and re-establish a set of advantage. Within seconds of impact, while the velocity of movement was still fresh, he pulled his knees to him, throwing his weight into them as he tucked his head to his chest. His left hand moved independently--guided by experience and skill--finding the hilt of his remaining scimitar, even as his weight came over his head. The collective somersault, was painful in its own, jarring his neck and grinding his shoulder blades together, but it was well worth-it and his only choice.

Righted once more, his feet braced against the rest of his sliding, as his hands hung out momentarily to gain and lend him balance. When the movement stopped, he was face-forward, hands to the ground, body low, and feet poised behind ready to attack with a violent rebuttle. He paused but a minute portion of a second to gather a whisper of breath--lost in her attack--before he did just as he was prepared to do.

Launching the potential energy from his back legs he propelled his body forward, in a similiar fashion as she had done. However, he kept his shoulders first oncomming, his legs moving swiftly behind him, adding speed, accuracy and a strong foundation for his agility. Pushing his right arm out, he pointed the blade out in front of him, acting as a running and bayonet as he left cocked itself for its own lethal strength. Should the right fail, the left was ready. His left sword, was pushed out behind him on the right side, facing where he'd been, while the arm which bore the blade was bared in front of him across his body. The power in his biceps were poised to bring that blade around, just as his right was ready bring the blade down or run it through.

He stayed low, as she did, as it was much easier to rise up to her than to come down. Plus the attack he now laid upon the field was not designed for defense, it had counter's intermitantly riddled within it, but retreat was not an advantage to this new style. He was bound for close contact now, defenses and offenses would be swift and in one proximity.
she'd provoked the beast, now it was time to face it.

__________________________________________________


Aven still waited atop the ridge, watching the scene with anxious and excited eyes.

[Nova Psycree]

Leather coated heels met the cloaked mid-section of the man they sought and for a moment Psycree's heels knew resistance as his bunched muscles strained to provide a barrier, to save the cage of bones from snapping into his precious viscera. The mechanics of Psycree's snipe refused to be stopped by such a frail wall and without permanent grounding, the drow fell, prey to her momentum and close range power. Backward he went, as knees and elbows unbent and abdomen uncurled, to meet the frosty ground of the Fire Nation.
Eventually Psycree's body could stretch no further and her feet came away from their target. She could hear gravel hidden in the snow grind against his clothing when his body made contact and bounced.

Arching her body, Psycree focused first on finding a base; without one no counter could be accomplished. Her body came around, following the arch and her fingerstips brushed along the cold gritty stone. Pulling her legs and feet forward, Psycree landed with one foot forward and one back, knees bending to cousion her descent until she almost sat on her heels. The only problem: her back faced her opponent.

Finding him became her next concern. Keeping the angle in her leg joints and she pivoted on the balls of her feet to find Zarr poised for a launch of his own. Low and ready, snow and clothes settled about him as his skid finished. He had only just righted himself and was ready to come again using her own form in immediate adapted recoil.
Two baldes--not one-- threatened to find her flesh. One pointing straight for the turning female as if to skewer her in the most violent of ways. the other lay in wait, a fang bared in case the claws could not accomplish the task. It remained off to the side in a similiar poise Psycree remembered from his initial blow to her chin.

But Psycree's attention as she came to face her opponent only skimmed over his balance and steel and diverted to pair of eyes watching her. Red, a flaming red quite different from the scales of the dragons or the flames they proffered from their throats. Quite different from the fire that burned within Psycree and as she faltered mentally at the feral knowledge within that gaze Nova picked up on the ever so slight recoil and squealed within Psycree's mind. The noise for only Psycree to hear became so piercing so quickly, faltered in her movement and had to place a hand to the ground to keep herself straight. The banshee cry had shattered any hopes Psycree had of creating a plan...

SHUT-UP!
Psycree hollered back, jaw set as she relaxed a wincing expression to see the drow unfurling his bladed attack. The drow came directly forward with his roasting skewer ready to take her in the throat should she stay as she was. Psycree's mind raced, calculated, waited --Nova cried, prayed, pleaded-- until his impending contact forced her to move, to dive to the side, feet and legs trailing behind. She moved then because she had to, hoping something would open itself up to her as she did.

Nothing...
No move to recoil at such an awkward angle. Her left arm could not provide a strong enough brace for an attack to the back she now twisted to face. She would skid, as he had, on her back, but with much less to save her from numerous streaking, dirt-filled cuts and scrapes. In an attempt to save her shoulder flesh, she curled her arms inward, pulling hunching her shoulders and feeling the brush of cold snow behind her.

Her fingers, however, brushed something not so cold.

If Zarr turned, altered his oncoming stance as if to follow her, a wave of flame would meet him directly. If he did not choose to follow, the wave would char the shirt on his back or the breeches to his legs.
The third option, if he had anticipated... Psycree did not think he knew about the small candle wick continuiously burning in her lantern, but if he did, or if he could firewalk, Psycree could only hope the sudden burst of heated fury could push him back long enough for her to roll out of the way, else startled him into a blunder.

Yowl like that again and I can't promise an escape. I'm sor-- Just keep quiet in youre little corner.
I wont let us die.

[/color]

Clutching the lantern in a hand to her side, Psycree ground her teeth against imapct with the stone ledge. Finally she had a sound base. It came at a price as all things did and granted it was a bad one, but it was more than what she had a moment ago. Only then when she stopped --by friction, blade, or otherwise-- did she call the flame back into the lantern.[/size][/center][/color]

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

The elf became an impending doom--thrust upon the winds of time by a fate beyond ones control. He planned to kill her, here and now. He couldn't understand why, he didn't even question the impulse. It was there, and there was no averting his decsision.
In fact, so far gone was he, that as he began to near the point of no return, a twisted, sadistic, and malignant smile curled the corners of his dark lips as a fiery spark flitted excitedly across his eyes. Like any predetor, ready for a kill--he was all too prepared.

Perhaps a little too prepared.

She waited in a state of hesitation, Zarr could see it flit across her face. He couldn't begin to understand exactly why she did not seem to have herself in that second of a minute's breath, but he half assumed it was her own sudden realization and regret. The hunter was an egotistical being, and found the assumption a clue of valor and pride. It fueled him and added to his strength.

But, she was not too fargone. At the last possible second she moved herself with astonishing reaction--missing the scorch of his steel by a hair's width. Instictively, his left shot out, arching to clip her retreat--if lucky he could lacerate something vital across her back or side.
Yet, the only sound that appealed him was the lethal whistle of cold metal against the friction of the air, nothing more. Zarr was dissapointed, but not beaten, not even hesitant. This was not a set-back for him, true... it was a difficult manuever, but one that could be done...

Snapping his arms out, spread wide, he braced his left leg and moved his centerline across that same side. Using his own momentum, he smoothely leaned left, his velocity accurately bringing the right around in a skewer of loose pebbles and disturbed snow. He found himself on a knew trajectory, ready to continue--to move in again. However, he had only begun to set his blades to the ready, when something caught his attention.

Something wild flared within his mind's scent and tweaked at his perceptiveness, teasing him and taunting him, but not revealing itself. An electricity raged through him suddenly, as he looked towards her--his eyes seeing a ravanous fire, rampant and wild as if it were starving for a victim flesh. Yet, like any loyal dog, it also seemed only to protect and did not linger long; still it was long enough to do both of them a bit of good.

With no options other than, Zarr threw his weight back--an awkward motion--and kept the steel behind his centerline, using them as a counterweight to keep him from falling off frame. Meanwhile, a new devilry came to his eyes as he met the magic with his own. Talents, raw and energized fled from him to her counter, and struck up a forceful compromise. It did not burn him, though it had stopped his attack, and when it returned to her candle, some remained with him.

He sheethed one of his scimitars to offer the lone flame a hand to rest upon as he fed it minute portions of his own energy to keep it's breath alive. It curled around his fingers and palm, struggling against his boundaries as it sought to return to the one who had distributed it. But Zarr did not release it, and held it in an iron grip that refused to relent. Soon, the sparks quieted, and licked the air gentle in disgruntled opinions.
The drow stared admiringly into its yellow abyss before turning a wry smile towards the warrioress. So she was not as simple a human as she posed to be.
"Interesting." He chided with a teasing, devilish tone, "Let me try."

Without warning, Zarr shoved a portion of his energy into the fire. The amount he fed it at such an alarming rate, left him dizzied and disoriented as his gaze became momentarily grainy. Bubt he did not falter, and keeping the sardonic smile, he offered her back her donated gift. The fire itself was nolonger quite as humbled. Feeding off the viscious amounts of energy that Zarr had fed it, it whirled monstrously between the pair, before leaping excitedly back to the lantern. It's horrific mass threatened to consume the surroundings, as it's bulk stormed the air and sky, releasing clouds of black smoke in its fury. Zarr released it quickly, letting it fade back into the meager flame that she allowed in the metal carapace. For it had nothing to devour, no fuel to burn--it had no choice but to degrade itself to fit the accomodations offered to it.

So the scene quieted, and Zarr stood, scimitar poised, ready to continue the plot if it needed to go on. But consciously he wondered, if perhaps either one had proven their worth. He certain had enough respect for her as a humanoid species, though the dark drow within him would speak otherwise and label her insuperior. He could only hope that she could show the same respect for him. It was a balance that nature so desperately desired, else surely the conflict would not end.

[Nova Psycree]

Vibrant, amber eyes hunted for the drow through the withdrawing rush of fire. Psycree hoped to find an off balanced enemy, open for attack. Hope is one thing, she told herself, fact is another. And fact stood to suggest that the drow would not be so easily put off by a wall of fire. He had sufficiently proven his skill with the flawlessness at which he could change his movements to better suit the on-coming attack. Psycree hoped, but only very little, that such a haphazard release could surprise him. Her hopes would prove to be in vain...

In the clear, she could finally see him. He stood, as balanced and steady as ever, with one hand proffering a rebellious flame. He must have gathered it from my release... Damnit. Psycree cursed herself for giving him ammunition and a noise, not of disbelief, but of broken hopes, issued from Psycree's stern jaw. While her diversion had worked --her skin was yet spared another taste of his unnatural extensions-- the tone and twinkle of his eye told that he was not done just yet. She would waste no more than a grunt on her own false hopes. Again he had something planned, a flawless counter for her movements.

The fire dancing along his digits settled to calmly cast an orange glow on the night scene.Her fingers brushed the cold stone lightly as she rose to a half-stance --knees bent, one foot slightly before the other, eyes flicking between the hand casting the light and the face dancing with shadow. The lantern hung loosely from her left hand; the chord wound around her wrist for security while the lantern cage itself dangled at the end, inches beneath her fisted hand. The open lantern window moved slightly, in rythem to the swaying of the entity encasing the wick and small flame. Only the soft sway could remotely suggest an inferno had blazed from the relic.
Muscles coiled along Psycree's skeleton as she watched him. Waiting.
What did he have planned?
She hated waiting.

"Interesting. Let me try."
The masculine echo of his voice signaled the end of the face-off. Psycree's attention sharpened, ready to spring should he move to attack her with the single unsheathed blade, as she unknowingly watched the drow pour his energy into the caputred flame. A moment of pause confused her and then...

The benign flame swelled at a rate greater than Psycree's moment's past attack. It lept into the air, filling the space between the two within seconds and pouring black clouds into the already dark sky and soon the two could see only by the orange light the voracious flames emitted. Instantly, all of the snow within fifty paces of the firey vortex melted. To Psycree the heat felt like a hot summer's day might to a normal human, but for her to feel even that much warmth... Her nerves prickled at the power exuding from her opponent.

The display, however flashy, demanded that Psycree not simply stand to watch. She could not run from this, nor could she hope to withstand it's heat without the smell of burnt flesh filling her senses so she looped the rope around her hand once more, to firmly grip the loop at the top of the device, and pulled it before the center of her being. With the bottom supported by her free hand, she tilted the lantern to catch the flame coaxing and directing it back into its resting place.
Just as quickly as the show began, it ended and Psycree once again found herself facing the drow, scimitar poised.

Seconds grew longer as she fixed her gaze upon the anonymous man's face. His pose suggested continuation and she could not blame him. The last time he showed hesistation, she had continued forward. Again, however, he waited... this time with his guard ready.
Psycree toyed with the idea of pursuing him. A dragon's pride kept the will to battle pounding within her heart; it riled against submission to him, to a drow, to a male. She wanted to push him--push herself until she lay where every breath brought pain. Battles were far and few between regarding Fire Dragons, but those that came to pass required there be a victor. And a corpse. To this tradition, Psycree felt compelled to adhere to.
Dont.
The voice of... reason.
Our leg... is still bleeding. You forgot didn't you?
Whether Psycree admit it or not, Nova's softly crying consciousness rang with kernels of the truth.
If you do, someone will die and then... then I can't find my brother... and you can't return home.
A hand slowly shut the frame, encasing the happily burning wick into a case of bronze and copper.
I will not concede defeat to the likes of him.
But we'll die and you know it! He's far stronger than us!
...Did I say I was going to keep fighting?

Psycree stood to her full height, raised her chin in defiance, and lowered her arms in some sort of respect for his skill. Nova remained quiet as Psycree stood tall and regarded her company with a stern, almost heartless expression. A nightly wind pushed at her bright hair and one fist propped aginst her hip before she parted pink lips to exchange words instead of blows with the drow.
"You may call me Psycree."
The next move was his. While she lowered her guard, she did not allow her body to relax. He may still use Psycree's capricious initiation of combat as an excuse to continue forth. For all Psycree knew, she had picked a fight with someone who wasn't satisfied until someone tasted blood. As the thought passed through her head, she remembered she stood before a Drow, an underling, a creature of darkness and violent squalor. Psycree kept ready should her company decide his blade must drain her life.

[/center][/color]

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

Zarr stood, satisfied with his effective rebuttled, but unfortunately he was beginning to feel the draining effects of the magic he'd spent. He'd not used that amount of magical force in such a long time--not since he abandoned the dark below. It stole away his magical influence and hacked at his reserves, and though he did not show it or falter to the world, he would need some rest to revitalizes his hunter's recklessness.

The dark energy left his eyes as she quieted his ambush, and stood complacently before him. Respecting, but far from defeated. The smirk faded, the drow dissapating on cold nightly winds--made blustery by sharp mountain air. His face returned to a more serious visage, a complexion that knew and understood the gravity of the situation and the unstable throws the two had found themselves lost within. This battle could have gone terribly wrong on so many different levels, with either one of them surely winding up dead or near it. Perhaps, the battle favored the drow, who bore blade, magic, and skill... but again, his reserves were now pleated. Thinking about the fact, he quietly reached out to her fire, feeling it's own quiet fury as it burned upon the wick.

He stole away a small portion, miniciple in its appearance as the candle flickered only a touch, as if affected by a breif wind. Yet, it was enough to add a calm support in his magical reserve. He would not make the same mistake again. He needed to get used to the feel and power of his magic which made up his soul and nature. To use so much in impulse and raw strength was foolish in itself, but adrenaline was as grand a killer as anything else--just more indirect. The hunter had no regrets, and would fight to the end with a wild and passionate relentlessness. How close was he to that brink? Too close.

He stood silent, fearing the silence between them--sensing the tense standstill that they now shared. Sane and comprehensible, he was once again Zarr, willing to talk, fighting to avoid the bloodshed that was his heritage and nature. He needed only a little excuse to revert to old habits and he hated the weakness. But his mind was strong, and he forced away the bestial instinct to strike as she lowered her open defenses. It would seem they were done.
He sighed, glad but still suddenly curious. She'd started it... well, technically, he'd throw first bought, but she'd insinuated it with her sharp, provoking words. Why would she tease him so? He would perhaps inquire later if their destined correspondance was to last any longer than this minute's war.

"You may call me Psycree."

He relaxed his poised posture and let his sword fall smoothely back into its leather holster. He sighed, his eyes equally hard, judging her again for a second time. Indeed, she was far from defeated. Still she stood defiant and stern, as if the world were hers to command. She would fall to none, and Zarr could not only understand such fire, he too lived with such a passion. He'd rather die than submit.
Nonetheless, he was glad the fight seemed over or at least suspended. It's usefullness was still in question and he had experienced so much bloodshed where he came from--he was done with it. A vain hope probably, as it would seem it followed him everywhere he went--as it had with this situation.

"I am Zarr'inik, but I much prefer Zarr."

The words were stale, but sincere. The scene was still tense enough that it would seem neither was comfortable enough to relax the stone faces, and Zarr had questions he would like to understand before he offered any kind of kindness or sincerity to her--a woman who worked so hard and seemed to take pleasure in her successful provocation.

Remembering Aven atop the ridge, Zarr allowed his cautious eye to waver from Psycree up to his black feline friend. The cat was all to eager to see a ragged peace, and even more so to be free of any influence. The large cat was often Zarr's last defense and eternal ally. Though his part did not seem very large in this present scenerio, it is not always so.
Nodding towards the panther, Zarr watched as Aven descended with a stealthy agility that made little noise in the powder that still remained. He came calmly to to sit upon the outer rim of the wet circle--the ring melted by Zarr's recklessness. He was close, but did not want to tilt the scene unevenly, being as everything still seemed to stand on a teetering edge. Nothing was safe at this point, though gladly it would appear that an amends of some kind was beginning to filter. Though, he did admit a part of him was dissapointed.

[Nova Psycree]

A sigh, heavy and full of relief, filled every inch of Psycree; Nova, glad to be through with fighting, slumped into a corner of the mind she eternally occupied but never controlled. She wanted to pulled up her knees and cover her face in her hands and just sit with her eyes closed for a good minute before doing much more.
Nova couldn't take much more of this; her mind threatened to fragment-- how much more helpless could she be? She'd hated being useless before, when actually had the capability to do something, but this kind of prison slowly destroyed her.

Even though Nova wanted to see only the darkness of her mind's eye, Psycree forced her to watch the black-skinned elf-type man before her. Psycree had called him a Drow and Nova soaked in his appearance having never even heard of the specie in fairy tales. He was something of a spectacle with his red eyes and white hair, but then much of what Nova saw through Psycree's eyes proved new to her.

"I am Zarr'inik, but I much prefer Zarr."

At least, he wasn't as violent in personality as the twin blades of his suggested. Nova appreciated the sight of the metal disappearing within its sheath although she could detect a wave of... not quite disappointment from Psycree, more like a frustrated dashing of hopes. Nova never could understand why Psycree liked fighting so much and she didn't really want to either. The woman was a maniac, a completely brash individual with no respect for another's things or wishes --even when they shared a body!

Still nothing was said by Psycree as the cat followed Zarr's cue; the silky black length moved from outcropping to snow to damp earth as though it were shadow rather than creature. Nova marveled at the animal's grace, never before had she the chance to come across a feline quite so large and powerful, and for a moment Nova wondered what Psycree thought of the cat. Surely she could respect such well-built feral strength, if anything, so she slowly wandered out of her corner in hopes to catch one of Psycree's thoughts, a fleeting wash of rare emotion, or better yet to provoke the controlling mind to actually do something. After all, Psycree was just standing there, staring like some idiot.

I am not an idiot.
A hot iron striking through snow, Psycree's mind-voice penetrated Nova's curiosity and she winced, forgetting Psycree could catch her thoughts just as easily as she could catch Psycree's. Nova couldn't, however, just keep her silence and just take the verbal beating. It was getting too frequent for her to just let every comment slide by.
Then what are you doing?
Thinking.
Even though the words were simple and to the point, the fact that Psycree took the time to think could make one believe she actually had a vast, complex set of emotions --Nova wanted to laugh at the thought. All Psycree ever resolvedher thoughts upon here single-minded in their goal and self-centered in their aim; her words boasted thorns; her intent, often malicious, was coated with pride. This... harred truce was the closest bit of compassion Nova had yet to witness from the former Fire Dragon.

The thinking and waiting didn't last nearly as long as Nova felt it to be. Sitting within a mind with little to do but watch warped time to an extent few could comprehend. All Nova could do was watch as the panther slid to the ground to take his place at Zarr's side and listen as her own voice echoe din her ears, speaking words she did not order them to.

"Does Mr. Kitty have a name? Or will Mr. Kitty suffice?"

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

Zarr felt the presence of his feline friend with a heavy wave of content. The panther's smooth, unflawed, ebony felt was firm beneath the drow's touch as Zarr let black fingers gently pull through the thick hair. Aven rumbled with gentle delight, but unable to purr the sound was more of an incessent growl--low, barely recognizible as anything but a hum.

Zarr turned back to Nove, feeling slightly moronic as both parties stood there aimlessly--neither one offered the situation any levity, and Zarr was fighting the impulse to leave. He would if it would not appear insulting or cowardice. His face remained rooted in its dark, stony persona... but perked attentively as he heard her voice once again.

Her words, though not particurly taunting, seemed to ignite a breif and gentle spark within the dark elf's eyes--the comment, bringing up past thorns that had so unceremoniously scratched at his course exterior. But it past without event, and Zarr glanced towards Aven, quickly replying to rescue his companion's pride. "Mr. Kitty, indeed..." he scoffed within the securities of his own mind.

Looking to Psycree, "Avenhywar."

He announced the name with a slightly proud ring. "Mr. Kitty" was such a condescending term, derived for children and immature adolescents. Aven was far from any sweet Kitty--a more adapted hunter than Zarr could ever hope to be.

Wisely, Zarr let the indignity drop as he considered his new company for but another time. She had a curious manner. Occasionally, he had almost witnesses a sense of distraction in the female's eyes, but it was such a fleeting moment, that Zarr could not understand its reason--if he could even prove it existed at all. Truly, it was a curiousity, but nothing he truly cared about enough to hold on to.

If only he knew. Her understood what it was like to live with conflicting rationals, but his were not as definate, not as distinct as the woman's who stood before him. Her personalities were black and white--Nova and Psycree--while his were blended into a translucent grey that would fade in and out subtly, but noticably. If only he knew.

Meanwhile, he began to sense the descending silence. Now that introductions had been firmly addressed, there was little left to speak of... and Zarr was finding it harder and harder to avert his curiousities.

Pondering her reaction to his question, he tenaciously began to break the silence. The tenacity of the voice was not timid, but more or less cautious, unwilling to invoke another one of her devilish desires for adrenaline.
"Do you cause troubles among everyone you meet?" a shy smile made its way towards his face--once again wry and sarcastic, he continued, "Or am I just special?"

He teased, feeling he knew her well enough at this point to expect a similiar rebuttle of venomous spite. She seemed the bitter one. Zarr would pick his words carefully, but couldn't help himself at times. He had a naturally sarcastic personality.

[Nova Psycree]

Avenhywar...
Psycree eyed the feline, her amber eyes meeting the unyielding slitted orbs that gazed back at her. A contentedness filled those cat eyes as he pressed his side to his master's side, but Nova knew better than to mistake the placid expression for passive one. The panther's tail and ears flicked every so often, evidence his acute senses never ceased sampling his surroundings.
Again Psycree found herself envying the beastial nature of the panther. Oh so many years ago she had been as masterfully crafted as the felid; she would even go so far as to say she had been forged by more brilliant hands, but that was her pride as a dragon --her pride in Pyran-- shining through. In truth, Psycree acknowledged that all creatures were fashioned for a specific nich, a specific bit of perfection. Begrudgingly, she could say Avenhywar was... a potent beast, one she would rather not tangle with in her current state. But she would not. Psycree had too much pride for that. Far too much pride.

Psycree seemed to fall into the beastial nature of the cat and, as she envied Avenhywar's honed assemblage of claw, fang, and sinew, a wakeless silence began to fall. She had little reason to speak with him for he could not solve the dilema of spliced souls and now that her hunger for battle had been satiated, Psycree had settled into a state of simply being.
Nova as well had little to add to the meeting. She had not wanted to stop in the first place so she settled into her quiet corner of their jointed mind to await for their resumed trek up the side of Feuer-Bohrung.

Zarr'innik, however, had a different take on the situation. He proffered words that quickly brought Psycree back to the present. Her eyes snapped to the Drow's black visage, a challenge flashing in their amber depths. Zarr's words also dragged Nova from her comfortable, familiar silence, fear roiling at what retalitation Psycree would offer.

"Do not kid yourself Drow," A sickly, thin smiled curled at the corner's of Psycree's mouth, the smile of someone addicted to adrenaline, to pain, to conflict. "You are in no way special. Just a trivial underling of the dark." The words did not carry the usual force Psycree's haughty demeanor unconsciously accented her voice with. Blistering poison, however, was undeniable in her tone.
"Souls like your's attract trouble and I," Her tone abruptly changed to that of casual conversation. Her smile, as well, turned to one of unnerving softness, as if she were speaking to a child who did not understand the world about him. "I am trouble."

...No arguments here...
A contemptuous laugh and Nova retreated in a way that could be seen as someone folding their arms and sitting back, waiting for the show to start.

[/size]

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

Aven, content at Zarr's side did not waver in his stare as Psycree's eyes met his in one long tedious moment. The big cat was neither amused, nor annoyed, but held the glare as long as she--feeling no need to break contact, nor feeling and desire to do so if it were even necessary. Aven was passive no doubt, and did not bear judgement readily unless given reason to do so... however the large feline held a pride of his own, and his own bestial personality would bend to no one save Zarr--the drow who was the panther's only friend.

Likewise, could be said about Zarr. In truth, Zarrinik, the drow of the underdark, was a hunter and would always be that way--battling within himself the primal instincts of survival in a murderous world. The personality that wanted to learn of peace, seemed but a foot note at times, but it was always there... ready to take beauty over blood. Yet, peace did not compensate for inner pride, and Zarr was by far as proud as any dangerous predetor. Like Aven, he had his passive moments such as now... but leave no doubt, he was fully capable of fighting and he needn't much provocation.

Zarr's wry smile lingered in the moment, awaiting a responce from the otherwise still Psycree. It only broadened as Psycree's words filtered bitterly in his direction. Even now, she still held on to her viscious fire. Had she no boundaries? She spoke as if she had nothing to lose, and Zarr knew there were far worse adversaries abroad even in the sun of Algaësia that would strike at her every venomous syllable--retaliating against her spiteful words.
She was proud, maybe more so than himself. She seemed to bite with anger and spite, whilst his words were sarcastic and mocking.

He chuckled slightly, earlier her words would have angered him, but he had heard them before--they held more amusement to him know. Keeping his smile, a twisted thing... wry and confident, he retorted.
"Indeed..." his words paused a moment, falsely accepting her point, "...trivial."

He raised his eyes and looked deeply into her own. The moonlight was fading, leaving a dark night, but a lightening sky. Her face had a softer look to it, and her words were said as if to the ignorant, and Zarr felt a little indignant pulse rise within his throat. The hunter within him felt strength once again, but Zarr was still too amused to let his emotions filtered through this time. Let her poke at his life and his nature more and more... she'd seen his fire once. Perhaps she would see it again before the night fully played out. His amusement returned as he continued, "Though, I will dare to say that a continuation of our little plight would have surely not resulted pleasantly," noting her wound, "I am no less adept than you..."
A sadistic edge grew within his visage as an irony descended upon his voice, "...as trivial as I may be."

[Nova Psycree]

As each in their respective pairs took the time to speak, the sun had come to reclaim the sky from the moon and its starlit minions. The sky grew light, a soft grey of bird down, while Zarr spoke his words in retort to Psycree’s... trivial insult. Fingers of sunlight crept over the edge of the world, sign of the oncoming day. Their nightly meeting seemed to be coming to a close...

But this allowed for something both Nova and Psycree appreciated: vision. Truth be told, climbing the Feurer-Bohrung had been no simple task of its own accord, a battle in the dark proved itself no easier. The Drow’s dark skin and attire had made it hard to keep track of his movements, lucky for Psycree his stark-white hair and red eyes remained distinguishable even in the moonlight. The swords had been trickier... but he kept his metal extensions well polished so that even the smallest thread of moonlight flashed off their carving lengths in warning. And still the world knew she bled red.

Now that the sun awoke from its daily rest, Psycree could see more than white teeth and a pink tongue as he spoke. Even with such low lighting shadows played off the lines each expression so fluidly carved into his dark complexion. Seams, individual hairs, angles to his ears, subtle designs, and the wears of the underdark became distinguishable with the addition of light. Even Aven became clearer, his black no longer blending to the night. To have fought the beast as night would undoubtedly have resulted in more than the simple bleeding line along her leg, a note Zarr did not allow to slide by either.

As if just remembering the cut, Psycree raised her brows and tilted a look at her leg, pulling the rope to her lantern out of the way. Sure enough the bleeding had nearly stopped. Small beads of fresh blood still appeared along the dark line of scabbing the fissure of flesh. Dried blood trailed down to her sandaled foot.
"Adept as you are," Psycree shrugged at the wound, twisting herself back to a normal position, "I think the playinng field has changed. You're a bit easier to see now that the sun's come back."

Other than sheer words, not much else could be descerned from Psycree's continuation of conversation. Vehemance seemed to have turned to respect, recklessness to something resembling sapience, but her eyes, amber and roiling with the essence of fire... they did not relay such placated themes. She could feel it in him too; the smallest incentive would send them both back to trading blows. A bit of Psycree would always want to throw herself into a fray, but that does not mean she lacked common sense. Her leg already required tending if she didnt want it infected.

Feeling Nova's relief at the decision against another fight, Psycree scoffed in her mind; her pride refused to allow the admittance. Psycree almost wanted to restart the brawl to prove to Nova she didnt do it for her. But with restraint she did not. Her eyes tagged past Zarr and Aven, up the snowy mountainside, distant --only for a moment-- with the silent battle of wills, before returning to their common blaze. Somehow the shadowed duo had come to stand between Psycree and her destination.
"Unless you would like a second taste, I have no further use of you."
A dismissal coupled with a threat, but as condescending as the words were, they held no... immedate threat. That is not to say, however, that she did not mean them or the violence behind them. Psycree simply had no further reason for being in this man's presence, as intriguing as he was, and her real intent pressed up on her. Kaji's Fire Nation was not far.
Soon... so very soon...

[/size]

[.:Z.a.r.r.'.i.n.i.k:.]

With her advantage came his weakness. The darkness was his refuge, and what she could not see, he clearly could. During their brief battle, her movements had been ever clear to him, though the blissful mystery was ever present in any fight. True intentions of a skilled fighter were hard to predict, even for one so experienced as he. Yet now, as he glanced towards the growing light, he felt his heart sink dreadfully—as he was acutely aware of the time, and his growing weakness.
Drow eyes were not so accustomed to the light, and though he could venture feebly into its rays, bearing some of its painful effect on his sensitive eyes, he dared not linger when a second brawl was still possible—unlikely, but possible.
He turned his face towards Aven, watching Psycree with a sideways view that was not particularly attentive, but seemed to focus more on the earth between them. The pale light of the sun had begun to drift across his face, and he felt its warmth, as sure as he saw its brightness. He could feel the sting of it even from the corners of his sensitive eyes, but he dared not show his discomfort.
It would seem that she knew of his breed, and thus he assumed she would also know of the sun’s effects on the drow senses. But damned if he’d let it show… what discomfort there was, he ignored it. Noting the fire subconsciously, but hiding it from the features of his face.

He listened to her words and retorts, only half caring. He dared not linger when the sun had reached the peek of the morning sky—and already the sunrise was moving fast. If he was not careful, the light would blind him—if only temporarily, it is enough to humble any hunter. Luckily—perhaps more fortunate for him than her—she did not seem interested in any more company. He found it ironic that she should so abruptly end their course together when it was she, in fact, that provoked the whole scenario. She was strange to him, reminding him more of the brisk fire drakes of the underground—a race he was used to seeing occasionally within the deep of the underground. They were like her in many ways—proud, arrogant, blunt… some were even quite hostile. But the mere notion that she could have possibly been related to their species in any way did not cross his mind, and the entire subject of the great fire dragons did not resurface within his head.

Instead, he focused on the more coming matter.
His pride was provoked by her words, but he could sense that they were merely said as a part of a personality, not as any true wish for trouble. It would appear that Nova was just that temperamental sort. He disliked her for it, finding some of her traits very similar to the dark women of the underdark. The condescending manner was hard for him to ignore. A second taste…? If she did not have the light against her back, he would surely have indulged it, but he could not linger here. He considered her lucky.

Growling within his mind, he cast a scowl in her direction as he reached behind his head, drawing the large hood of his cloak over his face, tilting it away from the sun. Pitted red eyes disappeared beneath the darkness of the shadow, but their ferocity still lingered within the air. The irony, mockery, and smirk-ish gleam that had once lingered in them had now faded with her tossing words.
He turned from her without a word, without a response. Her constant pride and hubris frustrated him so, and he would offer no more words for her to twist around and toy with. He silently obliged himself, that if ever they should meet again and lock blows, he would not try to restrain the instincts that made him a killer. Perhaps that would quiet her bitter, confident tongue.
He scowled at himself now, angry at his cruel thoughts. He’d come forth to remove the hunter had he not. Damn her for bringing it out in him again. So, he trudged away from her silently, instincts aware of her presence behind him. Aven followed at his side, unaffected and quite at ease within the growing light of the morning.
Zarr was left to his thoughts, and Nova continued to rise to mind—she was an intriguing woman, but Zarr half hated her. They certainly were not parting on particularly good terms… They certainly were not friends, hardly even acquaintances, and neither one seemed particularly friendly. Yet, at the same time… they did not part as enemies…

What a strange morning this had turned out to be.

[Nova Psycree]

And it seemed that, with the brushed raise of Zarr's hood, the two would part ways. Possibly for the remains of their days. One never knew, though, if fate would bring you face to face with a ghost of the past in your years to come.
Since the transition, neither Psycree nor Nova had allowed themselves to venture where memories rested their heads at night. Nova simply kept those memories away from Psycree, so the woman would not think it "funny" or "humorous" to attempt assimilation into her small family.
Psycree, on the other hand, had walked these crags before. She walked clear into her past. A past where no one would recognzie her.

With the image of red eyes burning through the shadow of a hood burned into her mind, Psycree turned at once toward the remaining side of the Feuer-Bohrung. Zarr's classic Drow weakness toward sunlight had deterred him, pushed him back to the shadows this Drow seemed to revolt against.

Psycree had smirked at the uncerimonious parting; smirked at part out of satisfaction that he left from a fight where he had the disatvantage --hadn't she just attempted a nightly quarrel where he had the advantage?-- and she smirked at part in knowing she had the last word. But most of all, Psycree smirked because she had found an equal --someone worth her respect-- among the malluable two legged beings she loathed so ...how ironic.

She wondered, as hand reached high over hand, what would come of their existances should they... coincidentally cross paths once again. Maybe she would find him further up the slope of Fire. Psycree laughed to herself at the brilliance of the fight that would follow --the test of strength, the battle of wills, the rush, the determination, the sheer need to survive! That man would surely excite every inch of her fighting spirit should she barely glimpse the flickering tail of Avenhywar in a crowd. She would find him again, once her soul matched her body, and then, then they would--

Psy--!
Pain rendered through both minds. She blinked the sparkles from behind her eyes and settled down to the original shelf, still bare of winter's mark from the scuffle. Beads of red bubbled along her leg.
...you didn't wrap our leg...
Psycree growled Nova to silence and lowered herself to a seat. How could she let herself get so lost in something so... trivial? Drawing her knee to her chest, she untied the length of tie weaving up her leg. Although it normally held her shoe in a more secure place, the inch-wide fabric had other, more practical uses. Without motion to clean the wound, capable hands reworked the weave to bind her calf tight enough to make the muscle bulge.
Its tight enough already! You're going to cut off circulation to our foot!
"Once we begin moving the bangade will loosen and we need it to stay tight to keep it from bleeding again. Do not suggest I do not know what I am doing."

Silence from Nova and Psycree pushed herself up from the rock. Mind set, she did not think of Zarr when she returned her gaze to the path before her. If she had, she might have realized his travels hadn't taken him too far and there was the possibility he'd over heard her vocal response to the person in her head.
Regardless, Psycree stood, tested her leg, and began her ascent.
To the Fire Nation capitol. To Feuergeist. To Kaji.
To her past. To her future.
To her life.