Dustfoot
Dustfoot - Derogatory term, implies lack of morals, bad life choices, a person of low character.
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Jasta the dryad Mage, who discovered her Gift only two days ago, hovered in the air behind a small hill in Sslanis. Her body was quiescent aside from the ceaseless motion of her butterfly-like blue and brown wings.
The first thing she was aware of as she began to awaken was the humidity. On one hand she found that atmospheric trait burdensome, but on the other hand, she appreciated it as symptomatic of a healthy jungle. This verdant area at the south end of Lesser Aradoth, with its lianas and ferns and trees, appealed to a typical dryad's nature.
Jasta was not a typical dryad, but at least she had not lost her sense of kinship with nature. In fact, she thought herself quite in tune with it. It just happened to be the aspects of nature which civilised beings tended to consider unsavory which she had the strongest relationship with. That is what she told herself every day.
The second thing she noticed was that the air pressure in her vicinity betrayed the presence of an object that had not been there last night. She could tell that the object was approximately the size of a sitting Sslik, so when she opened her eyes she wasn't surprised to find that it was in fact a crouching being with a bodily shape similar to a Sslik. But it wasn't a Sslik; it was a dragon in Khutit form.
Her eyes narrowing warily, Jasta regarded the dragon, who was doing the same in turn but with - as near as the dryad could discern - an open, patient expression. Out of the corner of her eye, Jasta saw an eclectic pile of objects and animal remains in the grass a few feet away. With a brief intensification of her wingbeats she brought herself nearer to the pile and peered down at it. Large insect eyes, gruok tusks still stained with blood at their bases, garnet and sandstone pieces that probably came from golems...
"What is the meaning of this?" Jasta asked the dragon, who bore silver scales highlighted here and there with a tinge of gold, and white plating on its chest and belly - perhaps all the way down the underside of its tail, which rested behind it out of Jasta's sight.
It dawned on her only a second after she spoke that these items might have some worth as trophies, and regretted the somewhat accusatory tone she'd taken. Fortunately the dragon didn't seem to mind.
"Those are trophies, for you. Give them to a trophy hunter, like that one back there," it gestured over its shoulder toward the main entrance of the city's central building, "and they'll give you some coin and combat tips."
"Why?"
The Khutit shrugged. "Why not. I can see that you've recently begun your training. I like to be helpful." The voice, though lighter and less gravelly than that of a dragon in its normal form, did not give Jasta much hint as to this being's gender. Maybe if she had encountered a lot of real live dragons instead of just reading about them in childhood she would've been able to detect some telltale timbre.
"I don't believe that," she replied simply and still warily. It was an unreasonable stance to take and she knew it. She was just projecting her own cynicism and selfishness onto others, she supposed. What she didn't realise, or just didn't want to acknowledge, was that she wanted to repay this kindness.
Androgynous Silver Khutit, as Jasta suddenly decided to think of her interlocutor, sighed. For a moment the dryad rose higher by a fraction, as the warm draconic breath mingled with the air that buoyed her.
"Normally I would argue, but in honesty there is something you could do for me and I'm loathe to pass up the opportunity," it said.
Jasta awaited the naming of the price, folding her arms across her white flaxen vest. Yesterday she'd picked up a whole set of cloth gear from the consigner in New Trismus, as well as a number of useful spells. She had no idea who'd crafted the clothes, but if memory served, the spells had been placed on sale by someone named Ochre. She was thankful for it.
Androgynous Silver Khutit continued after a moment's wait to see if there would be any further protestations from the dryad.
"As a biped Mage, you will have access to things I cannot get my claws on. Missives, artifacts, tomes, scrolls, runes, miscellaneous morsels of knowledge. I want those things. In return I'll keep gathering trophies for you, and with them you'll advance much more quickly than you could otherwise."
Jasta tilted her head forward, eyeing Androgynous Silver Khutit past the strands of her relatively short, partially updone brunette hair that hung at the sides of her face. The deal did seem acceptable to her, but she recognised it for what it was and felt, after a fashion, amused.
"So you want me to do thievery for you?"
"In a manner of speaking. It will be overlooked, I'm sure. Things go missing all the time as Gifted couriers fall into a long sleep in the middle of a delivery, or put off the task until later, or - as in our case - decide to keep the package for some personal collection."
"Fair enough. We have a deal."
The corners of Androgynous Silver Khutit's maw turned upward in an approximation of a smile.
"Good. Deposit your findings in the northernmost lair in Outreach, on the east side of this island-continent. That's also where I'll leave future batches of trophies." With that it nodded once and stood, turning to go away.
"Wait," Jasta requested. The miniaturised dragon looked over its shoulder, its eye on that side blinking at its new...partner, assistant, whatever.
"What is your name?"
The dragon smiled again. "Vhazshyn. And yours?"
"Jasta." She wondered how this 'Vhazshyn' had expected to get back into contact with her without knowing her name. It was still a valid question, more or less, so she asked.
"This way." Vhazshyn's voice was inside Jasta's mind, which drew a quiet gasp from the dryad. It had been a long time since anyone had deigned to communicate with her like that.
"One's name has little to do with how one's mind is found," Vhazshyn explained. Then she disappeared by way of that Gifted 'recalling' ability that was still a little alien and unnerving to Jasta even after she'd used it a few times herself. They each let the contact between their minds fade, ostensibly having nothing more to say at this time.
Usually, Jasta preferred solitude. Gathering the trophies into her satchel and reflecting on what had just transpired, the sensation of her mind being touched stood out to her even though it was only on the superficial level required for speech. She now remembered something of what loneliness felt like before...before...
What she couldn't remember was exactly when her heart had finished dying.
Perhaps the time had come to crawl out of the grave she'd dug for her social life. After all, the Ritual of Everlasting Life had seen fit to keep her out of the literal grave. But, then again, maybe it merely agreed with her people that living on would be the best punishment for her crimes. The wisdom of the dryads had perceived that the guilt within her would be more than sufficient requital for the five whose souls had been torn from this world by her hand.
Originally Posted by Hraefn
