futurology | video, un: daria | gilligan's island crew;

[ The feed opens to show a young woman with salt-stained hair, tied into a braid. She looks slightly battered, in the same way that they were all tossed about by the storm's winds, but not undaunted. Her eyes are a strange shade of violet, gazing keenly into the feed. ]

For those I have yet to meet, my name is Daenerys. [ Her tone is not unkind, but it is authoritative. For now, she gives no titles, or even her surname. It scarce seems to matter at the moment. ] I carry no weaponry here, though I was brought to this island with my dragon. To anyone who might seek protection, I offer our defense.

[ She turns the ring so that it catches Drogon, once the size of a cat. To anyone who's seen him before, they might be shocked--he'd now rival a medium-sized dog. He's presently gorging on the charred remains of an especially ugly fish, with what looks like more than two eyestalks. Out of mercy for her audience, Dany swiftly turns the crystal back to her own face. ]

For now, Drogon and I are ensconced in the innermost part of the city, at the tip of the sea serpent's tail. Seek us there, if that is your desire. There are quarters here to shelter you, and many houses lining the streets, besides.

[ She pauses, scarce concealing a grimace as Drogon gulps down his gruesome supper. ]

To those who have no need of protection, or else no want of mine, I would ask for information. [ She sits up taller. ] Who has scouted? I cannot speak to how many threats we might have here, only that I have seen red beasts in plate armor, and little else. [ She'd seen them from a distance only; they hadn't troubled her. ] As to our resources, I have found nothing to eat here, save for the fish. [ Her tone goes slightly flat. ] Of that, it seems we have enough to feed ourselves for some days, though I cannot speak to how many were carried here.

[ There's a brief commotion, and the feed is bumped slightly. Scarlet horns tease the bottom of the image as Drogon, sated, moves to join her. The queen extends a pale hand, unseen, to pet his spinal ridges. ]

If there is someone with magic remaining who can help to preserve the meat, we shall have great need of your services. Somewhere might be designated to house it in the city, some identifiable place, that it may be easily found before it spoils. I would gladly offer my own quarters to host some portion, if Drogon would not claim the feast for himself.

[ He has always grown quickly, but now he grows so fast that she fears he would decimate any food left to their care. ]

Yet I will admit it is water that troubles me more. Of seawater, we have much and more, but nothing to drink. [ A small furrow appears in her brow. ] Has anyone found an alternative? Sunken wine, perhaps? Ale? That shall be of paramount importance.

[ Her mouth is already dry, and so she conserves the rest of her words. For now, khaleesi has said her piece. ]

[ OOC: This is mostly her attempt to gather information and learn ideas! Threadjacking is totally fine. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ From his armor and his sword, she marks him for a warrior immediately. Small wonder he thinks he can be of use--even his eyes glow a cold blue, as blue as the blade he carries.

He is handsome and well-mannered, for all that he puts her in mind of death. The Undying were blue, as well. Remember the Undying. She remembers Pyat Pree's blue lips, but otherwise cannot recall his face. ]

It was good of you to arrive so quickly. [ She offers him a smile in return for his head bow, remembering her manners; this man with his queerly pointed ears is not her subject. Her violet gaze flits to the blood upon his weapon, taking in the dark spatters. ] You must excuse me, I fear. The storm wearied me, enough that I did not ask your name.

[ Tossing her half-waterlogged cape over her shoulders, she begins walking them in the direction of a dreary, rectangular building in the center of the city square with few windows. It might have been a factory, once, but to her, it is only somewhere the air won't soon escape. ]

[ He follows after her, looking 'round him as he goes, though truthfully his attention is largely focused on her. A human woman, as far as he can discern, with hair like milk, eyes like crystals. Her coloring is unusual, even to him. ]

Koltira.

[ He returns to the bloodied sword to his back, and the shhhkk of metal scraping against metal echoes in the air. ]

Koltira Deathweaver. Knight of the Ebon Blade.

[ The full, formal introduction, because she seems like someone who warrants it. ]

[ Her steps falter for the barest of beats, then continue, more lightly. ]

A knight! [ She smiles, pleased, and feels a slight ache for a home she's never known. He has a title. A famed title, for his famed sword, she guesses. ] I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Queen of Meereen, and trueborn Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

[ She hasn't spoken more than two titles since her arrival here, but they pass her lips easily enough. She is who she is. ]

How many foes fell upon you? [ she asks, stepping over the remains of a broken bottle, half-buried. If there are too many, perhaps they might be subdued. ] They gave your Ebon Blade little trouble, it would seem.

[ It's the dragons part that sticks, more so than the royal ranks. Was she not human, after all? His sense of magic is dulled due to the weakening of his powers, but, he thinks, not that dull. No--it must refer to something other than the literal.

His expression turns doleful when she asks her question, and he shakes his head, his reply toneless. ]

Countless, your Majesty. More than I can count or recall.

[ It is not a boast; if anything, he seems less than pleased to admit it. He glances to the hilt of the sword on his back. ]

The Ebon Blade is an association of knights. My own sword is Byfrost. A vampiric runeblade.

[ He taps his chin as he walks, shrugging. ]

Though it is ebon enough, too.

Enough to be a threat. [ She sighs, resigned to the fact that they may well have to quell the numbers. ] And widespread, I have no doubt. If need be, I shall take Drogon ranging with me.

[ She needn't explain what dragonfire does to armored beasts. ]

Byfrost--is that a queer sort of frost, in your world? [ She steps over a dead fish, too small to warrant anything but a bite. They are steps away from the door to the former factory now. It's shuttered by a large, pull-down door, much like to a garage. She'd only managed to force it upward and slip inside with great effort. ] Or does it give a name to your power?

[ He shakes his head. ]

Neither, my lady. I know not how the sword came by its name. It was pressed upon me after I was raised from death.

[ He goes on, casually, as he continues to follow her through the factory. ]

Drogon--your draconic child, I presume. He is an impressive specimen. Unlike any dragon I've yet seen.

[ Raised from death. Unbidden, a chill comes over her, enough to leave her arms with gooseflesh. She recalls how the blue lips had nibbled at her, weakened her, as she lay dying. Thankfully, her sleeves cover her skin, and she keeps her face a neutral mask. ]

He will grow. [ She sounds certain of that, a touch of pride settling onto her face. ] If he should return to our home, he may come to rival even famed Balerion, who was the mount of my forebear Aegon the Conqueror. It is said entire towns were swallowed up in his shadow when he passed overhead.

[ Her cape trailing in her wake, she leads them briskly past queer machinery and even stranger tools, all rusted over with seawater and crusted with barnacles. In the back, beyond a metal door, lies what was once a storeroom, with shelves and long steel tables. ]

Are there many dragons, in your world? [ A touch of suspicion plagues her: Have you battled them? She looks at him curiously, placing a hand upon the doorknob. It clicks as the latch slides open, the box with metal symbols guarding it having long been damaged. ]

[ If she is discomfited, he does not seem to notice. Truthfully, he wouldn't be bothered either way; it's not uncommon for people to react strongly (negatively) to a death knight. He's used to calls for his head, and worse. Far worse than simple concern or distaste. ]

Five distinct flights, and more besides. Some are hostile, but nearly all of them possess great intelligence--and the capacity to speak. Many take them as mounts, also, if the dragon agrees to bear a rider.

[ His ears perk forward as she opens the door, and he unconsciously leans a little forward too, his keen eyesight trying to see beyond. ]

[ The room is dark, smelling faintly of sea salt--but if Koltira's smell is as good as his sight, he may detect a hint of wood, as well. When she pushes the door open, the reason becomes clear: wooden crates, now waterlogged, line both of the walls. At the center of the room are a series of metal tables, some upended by the force of the sinking long ago, but upon one of them lies a pile of five grotesque-looking fish, salvaged from the street. Metal shelves are nailed or else soldered to the walls, oddly untouched by any of the sealife that had flooded much of the building's exterior. ]

Distinct flights! [ She has to smile. ] If the gods had given my children a voice, they might have quarreled over salt pork every hour. Another year, perhaps two, and they would have insulted the envoys seeking my pavilion.

[ However much she might wonder what Drogon is thinking, she decides they understand one another well enough. Her hand roves over a metal plate on the wall, curious. A lightswitch, long plunged into nonfunctionality with the rest of the electricity. ]

Will the room serve to hold your frost magic?

[ Undeath has blunted Koltira's tactile senses somewhat. Blood and other, less savory scents resonate most vividly to him now, though even his curse can't fully dampen the pungent odor of the fish. ]

Dragons are the protectors of our world, infused by the ancients with magic and wisdom beyond reckoning. All who live in Azeroth respect -- if not fear -- their prowess.

[ He approaches the fish, his hands already bright with icy power. ]

But they are carnivorous, too, of course.

[ Koltira draws Byfrost from his back as his hands continue to shimmer. He drives the sword into the ground, and uses it as a channel -- something he only needs now, in the face of his dampened magic. The ice spreads slow and sure, coating the ground, snaking up around the walls and the crates, encrusting the meat. As this process goes on, he looks back at Dany. ]

It will do.

video, un: daria | gilligan's island crew;

action!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject