Child's Play (Open)

[Aran Kha'Serith]

1st Brightening of Immanis, Era I of the Celestine Mandate, Era XV Post Fractum

Aran Rakaalsson Kha'Serith always found winter to be a most depressing time of the year for him. His ninth birthbrightening was coming up soon, and he wasn't looking forward to it. His poor mother had died bringing him into the world, and as a result, he always felt a great sense of guilt. His only birthbrightening present would be visiting his mother's shallow grave under the willow tree on what remained of his family's desolate property. The boy sighed as he wandered down the street, his pale face expressionless and red with the chill of the bitter winds.

He pulled his wolfskin cloak close to his bony body in an attempt to keep warm; too bad it didn't do much for his wings or tail. With one hand clasped on the cloak, Aran pulled some hair out of his face as the winds began to grow stronger with every waking moment. He'd decided to go visit his mother, and he wondered what he'd say to her. He often dreamed of what his mother must've been like, and sighed as he tried to picture her in his mind. The last time he'd visited his mother's grave, Kour had purchased a lovely boquet of flowers to lay on it. That, and Dalit had conjured some sort of spell to cause flowers to appear on the dirt mound.

As the Half-Dracon rounded a street corner and pushed open the charred gate that hung loose, he saw the dead tree in the distance. Aran walked slowly to the tree and noticed that the flowers had died as well. He fell on his knees and looked at the mound, his mouth turning downwards into a frown. The tears began to flow down his face, stinging because of the cold weather...

[Z'kron]

Standing to the side of the fence, an unusual and completely immobile figure quietly watched the proceedings. Covered in a hooded robe the colored of deep woodland, beneath its cowl only two stoney-blue eyes could be seen. Little else could be discrned about his appearance; being tall but not unusually so, slim but within normal limits and with a bearing of age that seemed quite indefinite. A smoothly gloved hand grasped a long staff that was the color of a deep blend of purples and orange. The hand tightened, as he took two steps towards the younger one; an elvish-accented voice emerging from the cowl that was smooth and well controlled, but with just a hint of tension.
"What- and who- are you child?"

[Aran Kha'Serith]

Aran had been too lost in his thoughts to have first noticed Z'kron's presence, but it was only when he spoke to the boy that the child quickly turned his head to see a hooded figure standing near the dilapidated stone wall that surrounded the family property. The figure's blue eyes were fixed on the small Half-Dracon, sending chills down Aran's spine. He stood up slowly and turned around, the fear evident in his trembling form. He was certainly a most timid child, and being alone for so long had caused him to retreat back into the shell his cousins had tried so hard to break him out of.

Sweat began to trickle down the boy's soft features as he tried to speak; he stammered and choked all the while. "I...I...I don't know what I am..." Aran replied. It was obvious though, judging from the wings, patches of scales, and tail that he was the bastard offspring of an unnatural passion. "And...and I'm Aran Kha'Serith." he finished. A bony hand rose and took hold of the gold locket that hung about Aran's neck. It was the only thing his mother had left him, and it made the boy feel safe at times like this.