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Sylvia: HP = 95, PP = 56, EP = 59, Status = Fine
Stuff
Mark on Cloak: A great white tree, its leaves colored a bright icy blue, against a red background the formed the rest of the cloak
Ellhorei: Home village
Stuff
Mark on Cloak: A great white tree, its leaves colored a bright icy blue, against a red background the formed the rest of the cloak
Ellhorei: Home village
Unstoppable reptilian juggernauts sweeping upon the unwary, breathing death and borne upon wings that can summon a hurricane. Such was the reputation for the legendary dragons, the progenitors of the portion of Sylvia's blood that had given her her tail and horns. Matriarch Evelyn had never made any effort to conceal that she was different from most in her home village of Ellhorei, and while her heritage had differentiated her from the primarily elven inhabitants of the small town her adoptive mother had always tried to make her feel welcome. It had been restlessness that had ultimately driven Sylvia from the isolated village in which she had grown most of the way to adulthood, and a thirst for knowledge about her true origins. No one had ever known her true parentage, and the only clue she had had been given to her; a shredded cloak she'd been found wrapped in when the elves had discovered her in the woods.
The cloak bore a single marking, a symbol that none in Ellhorei recognized the meaning of; A great white tree, its leaves colored a bright icy blue, against a red background the formed the rest of the cloak. It had barely aged since Evelyn had retrieved and kept it, and was the only hint she had besides her draconic heritage as to whom her parents might be.
And so she left her home and traveled to the West, like the heroes in the stories she'd grown up hearing about.
The roads were ill kept and rarely traveled by anyone these days, the war against the orcish invaders having driven trade to a near standstill as city after city and stronghold after stronghold were taken by the greenskinned invaders, but Sylvia's path took her that way anyway, so on she went. In the tales she'd been told growing up, the hero would always brave great peril and have many adventures before finding what they sought... And as she wound a bend in the roughly carved dirt path it seemed that she, too, would suffer her share of troubles.
The road itself could barely be called such, little more than a dirt trail that the locals sometimes bothered to protect from the spread of the undergrowth in autumn. It was already early winter, and the light powdery layer of snow covering the ground on which she walked was growing with heavier flakes even now. The trees were already bare, the leaf-litter coated by snow but still visible in places, and the only standing patches of green came from the coniferous trees that popped up here and there among the brown and grey trunks and now bare boughs that made up most of the forest. She had seen no one since leaving home, but this morning she had passed another road going back East that intersected with the one she walked and joined in on which she'd found herself following the trail of what seemed to be a convoy of wagons, two or three by her estimation. She had spent the day gradually catching up with them, and now it seemed she had finally caught up... Just as they were under some sort of attack.
Three wagons appeared up ahead, the scene slightly concealed by the snow. They had stopped, and Sylvia could see splashes of red on the ground around the front of the lead wagon, turning to pink as they were covered in what was still falling from the sky. She could hear horses neighing and clopping in place nervously, but only in front of the other two, and people were shouting from either side. She could hear weapons clashing together and screams of pain, and through the haze of falling snow Sylvia could see someone with shield and sword engaging someone with two short swords on the right side of the caravan, and on the left someone with a crossbow and another with sword and board were facing three other people of greater disparity, one with a long staff, one with a greataxe, and one wielding only a single handaxe. The two with sword and shield and the one with a crossbow all wore blue cloaks and full helms while having their backs to Sylvia, while the group they were fighting wore black masks and mostly seemed to favor leather armor and seemed to have come from up ahead. The small skirmish was about thirty yards away, leaving the dragonblooded warrior with some distance to travel if she wished to join it, but she could just as easily watch and wait to see what was going to happen.