Marthaen was flying. He loved to fly. It was easily the best part of being a dragon. Now that he thought of it, it was one of the only good things about it. The land below rushed by. The bright green meadows interrupted by the darker green of the forests that broke them up. Smoke rose from a few of the chimneys as the early autumn night slowly relented to the warm sun. Already the tops of the hills were bathed in orange, brilliant red and dull brown telling all who would listen that winter was not far away. It was a day, much like this one when he'd met her. Even now her named slipped unconsciously from his lips. “Bethany.” His first and favorite of all his virgins. He loved them all, of course, but there was a special place in his heart for her. Today reminded him of that autumn day so many years ago…

He was out for a quick snack, just three or four plump sheep would do. He never took more and spread his hunting area as wide as he could to keep the population healthy. He wasn't sure how he knew this but he knew it was true. Truth be told Marthaen always felt a pang of guilt when he killed anything but; well, a dragon had to eat. This day, though it felt like many others, would be a day that would change his life forever.

He circled over an area that he'd hunted before though not for many months. His intent was a quick grab and back to his lair for a nice long week or two nap. But this day instead of sheep in the pasture there was a lone cart in the field and the smell of, “Human?” Curiosity had in his young existence, caused him more than a little grief but also slowly taught him about humans. For one thing he'd learned that in his dragon form many people would scream and fall down asleep when he smiled at them. Rude. Finally he'd tried to size himself down to only about three feet tall and nine feet or so long. An even more annoying thing happened. People started poking him with pointy things and hitting him with brooms. None of them really hurt him, well except for his feelings. With all of those things in mind he landed far behind her. It was likely she felt the breeze and felt the thud of him hitting the earth but she was actually so miserable and near death she barely noticed. "Human me" he whispered and approached considering trying to summon some clothing for himself when he realized she was not only naked but attached to a cross that had been attached to the cart. “Humans are so strange,” he murmured. But if this one was naked he wouldn't bother either.

He walked around in front of her. Her head was bowed and her breathing was ragged. She smelled like… he tested the air and it came to him. She smelled like one of the people who went to see the woman people called healer. Her eyes were closed and he considered leaving, after all he hated it when his own slumber was interrupted but this just didn't seem right. Finally he cleared his throat, “Good day miss. How are you today?”

Bleary eyes opened and even in her present state the deep blue of her eyes was striking. Looking at him she asked incredulously, “How am I doing? How am I doing??? How the hells does it look like I'm doing, you idiot!? I'm tied to a post! That's how I'm doing!” As an afterthought, “Oh pray tell how are YOU doing? And why aren't you wearing any clothes?” Marthaen wasn't very good with the subtleties yet and the sarcasm oozing from her had no effect at all.

“Well you're not wearing any clothes and I didn't want to offend you by wearing any, and I'm well thank you for asking.” He shrugged, “I'm not all that familiar with humans. Just a few more questions please and I'll leave you alone if that's your wish. Why are you tied to a pole? And what is your name?”

“My name,” She gritted. Is Bethany. And I'm tied to this stinking pole because some idiot who will remain nameless but is, in fact, my father thought that if he left me out here that giant behemoth of a dragon that's flying around here would leave his precious sheep alone. I'm the only virgin left in the family and some other idiot told my fathers' idiot self that if he sacrificed me to the dragon the dragon would leave his (several words are not shown in the interest of PG) sheep alone. You haven't heard about all this yet? You must not be from around here. Every strange fire that starts, every time a sheep is stolen, every time someone gets a cold it must be the dragon! Feh, “She tried to spit but nothing passed between her parched lips.” Who're you anyway?

“I am Marthaen. Ruby gemstone of the clan Kharendaen and I'm pleased to meet you Bethany. You've been kinder to me than anyone else in this place has. Maybe if I'd tied them to a post… hmm. Anyway, I'm the dragon you're speaking of but I have no use whatsoever for virgins. No idea what I'd do with one. Do virgins have some sort of magical powers or something?”

Even in her present state Bethany started to laugh, it was more coughing and croaking but it was obvious that was her intent. “Many men seem to think they do, yes. And you…” More attempted laughter, “YOU'RE the evil, giant, red dragon that destroys kingdoms with a single swipe of his mighty paw and decimates towns that no one has ever heard of save the story-teller. You, the small naked man standing before me, the great (mockingly) Marthaen the dragon! Prove it!” She sighed, “I've appreciated the diversion from my impending doom but you should be careful no one see's you. They're likely to think you're trying to rescue me.”

Marthaen found he really liked this woman. Sure she smelled awful and was probably mocking him the whole time but she faced death not just with stoicism but even managed to see humor in the situation. That's when Marthaen made a decision that would effect him for the rest of what would be a long life. When the story spread that Marthaen had “accepted” the virgin gift and left the mans sheep alone, what do you think the others nearby with too many children and not enough sheep would do? “Alright. I am going to rescue you. And since you doubt me, you promise not to scream? She nodded more out of exhaustion than anything else and he said softly,” Me.

Where before had stood a small non-descript young man was the belly of a beast. She looked up and up and saw him up close in all his glory. The setting sun set his scales alight with a ruby glow and he carefully lowered his head and said, “See? I told you I was a dragon. Remember! You said you wouldn't scream.” To be fair she didn't actually scream. Her mouth moved silently before her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted. “Why do so many of them fall asleep?” He muttered crossly.

Unsure exactly what to do he carefully grasped her, cart and all and headed to the healers hut. She'd helped other people. Perhaps she could help his new, and only, friend.

((It's a start… This is the beginning of Marthaens back-story. Hope you enjoyed.)))

"Please, o great and mighty sorcerer–help us! A great and terrible dragon has terrorized our flocks and herds for the past months, snatching away our ewes and rams!" The shepherd was groveling, nearly lying prostrate on the ground at a cloaked man's feet. The man in question was noticeably uncomfortable at the display of desperation and had reluctance written all over his face. In order to buy a house, he started taking jobs wherever he could to earn enough funds to purchase a quiet, idyllic place to call home. He had arrived in the highlands on his way to one of the major cities and had passed out on the side of the road from overexposure and exhaustion, and a hunter had found him before any of the local wildlife did. After being towed to the nearest village on a sled, he awoke under an unfamiliar thatched roof out of direct sunlight and was greeted by the curious and anxious eyes of many of the village's inhabitants. The act of opening his eyes elicited an uproar of cheers and amazement, as he later learned from the family whose hut he was in, he had been unconscious for half a week. 

Although weak, he was still in relatively good health. Unfortunately for him, the usual glamour spell he had on at all times had failed once he passed out and everyone had come to gawk at his silver-white hair and incredibly pale complexion. He spent the next few days regaining his strength, and entertained the children who poked their heads through the door with various cantrips such as making orbs of light or glowing butterflies. Occasionally when he heard of someone having suffered a minor injury, he would tend to them and they would be good as new. Yet in spite of his constant reminders of the limits of his magical prowess, the villagers came to believe he was some kind of grand magician who could perform miracles. Thus when one of the herders spotted a dragon flying overhead, they came to him to solve the problem.

"Sir you must understand, I-" "I beg you, your lordship–on behalf of our village and our neighbors! 'Tis a winged scaly beast ten houses long and three houses wide in the deepest shade of crimson red. Surely felling such a creature would be a small thing for you!" "But I-" At this point Cymbel was about ready to break down and cry at this man's insistent pleading. Every time he tried to tell them that it was impossible, he would be cut off before he could finish his sentence. With his current level of magical expertise he could barely fell a troll–let alone an adult dragon. Since the man wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, he asked him where was the last place where the dragon had been sighted, and was given directions. As he trudged away, Cymbel felt his mind go numb while the shepherd wished him luck at the top of his lungs.

Hanging his head with his hood pulled up, he walked and walked without paying attention to where he was going. He was scared to the point to where he couldn't think. Then the panic started to set in as his thoughts started racing. By the gods, what would he do if he actually did run into the dragon? That very thought sent chills all over his body and he recast his glamour spell, changing his appearance to that of a human male with dark brown hair reaching his ears and a less pallid complexion. He didn't really need to disguise himself, but it made him feel better whenever he was under stress. It gave him a sense of security, somehow. Not that it would prevent the dragon from smelling him–or seeing him for that matter.

After walking for an indeterminate amount of time, he came upon a solitary structure on the highlands. A lone hut, by itself and away from the bleating flocks and fields amidst the pastures. Nervously checking the sky for any flying objects above, he hoped whoever was inside knew where he could find the rumored red dragon. Not because he wanted to find it, but so he could find a place to…observe it…from a safe distance. A very, very good length of distance beneath cover and out of sight from large reptilian predators which may or may not be capable of breathing fire. Yes, that was why he wanted to know. Nothing else. Approaching the hut, he looked for any signs of anyone home before hesitantly knocking. If he received no response after the second try, he would leave for the village and attempt to gently break it to them that he saw neither hide nor scale of the dragon.

Marthaen was flying very high and very fast. It was only a few minutes before he spotted the healers hut and for a moment he began to believe Bethany was going to make it. But as he gazed down his heart sank.The garden had gone wild and a few small plants were growing from the wooden shingles on the roof. Always before that garden had been perfectly tended and with autumn closing in the pumpkins and squash should be ready for the final harvest. Instead only dead vines and withered fruit inhabited the obviously deserted home but one last glimmer of hope remained. A lone man was walking up to the house. Perhaps he was the new owner, maybe even a new healer. With his speed he could have quickly got to the nearest large village or city that would certainly have a healer but he knew from previous experience that he couldn't just land and ask for help. There'd be general panic, and hysterical, screaming people were somewhat less than helpful. But what would be this one's reaction be? Gritting his teeth he only saw one way to go.

He chose a landing site up the hill and around a bend from the cottage and as quickly as he could he dropped behind a copse of trees. For once he landed perfectly perhaps because he was so focused on the tiny woman and cart beneath him. Trying to keep from being spotted he said, "Human me." Unfortunately while the cart had settled gently to earth he changed to human form while he was still about eight feet in the air. Marthaen's face reflected the disgust he felt for himself at this moment. This wasn't the first time he'd made this mistake but it was the first time someone was depending on him. All of that raced through his mind just before he bounced off the ground.

"OOOOFFF" Stunned for a moment he struggled to regain both his senses and his breath using every curse word he'd ever learned on himself many times each. A little blood leaked from his mouth, and his ribs were already turning an angry red and deep black, each breath a new sensation in pain. He'd rarely been in pain before as there wasn't that much that he'd been around that could injure him badly but at this moment he was absolutely sure of one thing. He hated pain. He lay there for several moments until his vision cleared enough that he could see her above him. She was still unconscious, still struggling to breathe. And he drug himself to a standing position.

There were few times in Marthaen's life that he'd managed to truly focus, to be completely in the here and now and never so much as at this moment. His friend, the only person he'd ever cared anything about in his young life was still tied to that damned cart and if the man at the healers old home couldn't help him maybe he knew someone who could. "Clothes," he croaked. Then grimly picked up the cart by it's handles and headed for the house that was actually very near but in his condition it may as well have been leagues away.

His vision faded in and out and at times it sounded like the wind was rushing past his ears. "Concentrate, Marthaen. Concentrate!" Dragging his aching body forward one heavy foot at a time he finally rounded the corner where he could see, if fuzzily, his destination. Hoping and praying that the man he'd seen was still there. He'd fallen several times by then and at one point something had slipped from his neck, something very important, but he was too out of it to notice. Even as it seemed he was going to make it. He fell one last time. Try as he might he simply could not get back on his feet. He wrapped his arms around the cart handles and he began to crawl inch by tortured inch closer. He tried to call out for help but his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. Still he tried and still he called.

It was only by sheer force of will he remained conscious and while he didn't know it now, the memory of this day, terrible as it was taught him something about himself. About something inside that he'd never found before. In his true form he was strong in body but now he was proving to himself he was strong of will as well. "Stupid, STUPID dragon!" He repeated over and over like a twisted mantra. In the end he simply couldn't continue and he rolled onto his back and looked up at her whispering, "I'm sorry Bethany. An' truly I am." And as his anger, frustration and pain flowed from him, for the first time in his life,so did tears…

As he raised a hand to knock on the door, he heard a crash and muttered curses from behind. Immediately he ducked and looked upward, then when he saw no sign of the dragon, he turned his attention to the surrounding area. It was oddly still, but then he saw the cart standing out of place. Running towards it, he nearly tripped over some dried vines but quickly regained his balance and footing to continue moving forward. He saw a woman, stark naked–gods have mercy on her–but a check of her pulse revealed she was only unconscious. The other person was a man, clothed but severely injured and bleeding from the mouth. Cymbel's hands shook when he grabbed the man's wrist to check if blood still flowed through his veins, and was relieved that he was still breathing. 

Taking a deep breath, he removed his cloak and covered the woman in the cart before focusing healing energies into the bruised and bleeding man. He placed one hand on the man's chest over where his heart should be and another on his forehead, whispering words only known by the Feeorin fey. Whatever damage the man had sustained would begin to heal, with the pain intensifying briefly before a soothing warmth began to fill his body. Broken bones would mend, bruises would be cleared, and bleeding would be stopped. Unsure of how much he had done to help the man, Cymbel felt himself a bit rude to do what he was going to do next. He carefully pulled back the man's shirt to see if there were any injuries in need of fixing, anything he had missed. There were darkened spots of bruising that were fading from blue-black to the color of normal skin, and the man's breathing had stabilized more. Covering him back up, he moved on to the unconscious woman, and held her hand as he used his power to heal her. Hopefully they both would be cured of whatever ailed them.

Seeing that he would need to give them a place to recuperate away from the elements, he took the liberty of testing if the door to the nearby hut was locked. He found it opened with no resistance, and was greeted by a vacant interior with only a dusty cot and unused fireplace. It looked abandoned as far as he could tell, so he went to work on cleaning the place up. He dusted the cot and wiped away the dirt with some water and a cleaning cloth. With much difficulty, he pushed the cart close enough to the house that he was able to ease the woman out of it while ensuring her decency was still intact. She was laid to rest on the cot still wrapped in his cloak as both a bed sheet and a covering, and brought the man inside. He set the man on the remaining space on the cot, with his back leaning against the wall while sitting upright. It took him a few tries to finally have the man in a position where he wouldn't slump over. 

Once everyone was inside, he then closed the door. Lighting his lantern, he began to start a fire in the hut's fireplace. Feeding the embers with dry tinder from around the house, he fanned them so they would burn brighter. When night fell he wanted the inside to be brightly lit for the patients, even though he was just fine with faint rays of moonlight. Unfortunately he was not very skilled at improvised cooking away from the nearest marketplace, so all he could do was boil some water in a kettle to make tea. When the kettle began whistling, he gingerly opened the lid and poured a handful of dried chamomile, lemon balm, and lavender flowers to steep. Soon the entire hut was filled with the floral fragrance, quietly simmering until needed.

Before sitting down to rest, the last thing he did was to bar the door with his broadsword. He had his curved szabla nearby should he need to defend himself, and blocking the door was only to buy himself more time to react when danger stuck. With everything done, Cymbel felt more tired than ever but kept himself awake in case if one of the patients were to awaken. His glamour spell should still be in full effect, so as long as he remained conscious it would not fade.

Marthaen had slumped over during the night and as the morning light shone through the dusty windows he blinked into consciousness. He groaned not wanting to wake just yet and rolling over came face to face with the sleeping Bethany. "Ah!" He said softly, "Tis but a dream. It's all been just a dream. Still this is much better than most of my dreams." He reached over to touch Bethany's face and as her eyes flickered open he smiled and said, "Good morning M'Lady.
"She smiled back feeling better than she had in many days, and touched his face as well." And good morning to thee as well Lord… Marthaen was it? I… " Suddenly her eyes opened wide and she shoved and kicked him off the cot, the memory of the previous day cutting away the fog of sleep.
Marthaen's eyes opened wide as he was rudely shoved onto the dirt floor and he realized it all had NOT been a dream and that he was sick and tired of hitting the ground in human form. He sat up and rubbed his once more sore head and shouted, "Why in the hells did you do that? That's some thank you for rescuing you! And you're welcome by the way. Stupid human.
I wasn't unconscious the whole time, though the Gods only know what you did too me that I don't remember. And oh! What a great rescue that was! Flying me in a rickety cart several leagues in the air. You didn't even bother to take me off the pole! And that landing!" She roared with laughter, "In sooth m'lord an thou doth bounce very well."
His eyes narrowed he gritted "You know… I owe you a debt of gratitude. From here on out I'll just eat any virgins I find! Though if they're a bag of bones and smell as you do I'll probably just get sick afterward. And what are you implying about what I did to you while you were unconscious? Ohhhh. You think I tried to mate with you don't you? Ha! You wish! "He looked around the room and pointed to Cymbel," There's the one that rescued us both. I'll bet you haven't even thanked him have you?"
"Have you?" She shot back.
They both turned at once to Cymbel and shouted angrily, "Thank you!" Though clearly their anger was directed at each other and not at him.

Meanwhile as the two were having their little 'lover's spat', Cymbel was nodding off in his chair slipping between states of consciousness. His attempt to stay awake the entire night had been unsuccessful, leaving him in a half-drowsy stupor punctuated by the occasional jerk of his head when it leaned too far to the side. By now his glamour spell was barely holding, as his hair was now back to its usual waist-length while still maintaining a shade of brown. Their sudden shouting startled him, causing Cymbel to fall out of his chair in a panic. "Aah!! Ow-" Picking himself off the ground he shivered discovering he was missing his cloak, and found it was around a woman on the only cot in the hut above a man lying on the floor. 

In a moment of confusion he had forgotten the details of how and why he came to be here, and more importantly why there were two other people in the room. Averting his eyes, he held his arms before his face apologizing profusely. "I-I'm sorry! I'm so very sorry! Pardon me sir–miss–I-I'll was just leaving! I didn't see anything, I swear!" As he continued to run various ways of begging for forgiveness from his mouth, he caught the scent of lavender and chamomile in the air. Turning to the burnt-out fireplace he stopped in the midst of his train of thought and muttered absentmindedly to himself: "Ah…the tea's gone cold…" The cold kettle with the over-steeped tea then reminded him of what he had been doing the past day before, which led him to realize how ridiculous his momentary panic made him look. "…Ooh." He then buried his face in his hands until he felt his face was no longer red from embarrassment and attempted to figure out how to approach the current situation.

 Following the awkward silence, he sheepishly tried to act as if the past few minutes had never happened. "I see you two are doing well, I hope? Ah…any new injuries or physical discomfort while I was resting my eyes?" He was a bit disappointed that he had forgotten to keep the fire going in a moment of inattention, and would need to brew a new pot unless they didn't mind taking their tea strong. Using his tinderbox, he lit the ashes and worked on getting the fire going again. He decided not to address the obvious question about what had happened the night before, and hoped it would all be forgotten like a bad memory.  

"Oh thank You! I have had to listen to these two the entire time and they were so loud! My eardrums might burst because of it!" Alistar whined from up above, rubbing his ears. He drops down from up above and politely bows. "Sorry for the intrusion, I am Alistar Evee. I was coming through and needed a place to stay, I thought this place was empty so I kinda just came in here and quietly was up in the corner. Until, you all came in and started yelling at each other." Alistar sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "That was agony just sitting up there with my hypersensitive ears hearing all that yelling. I mean, not to be rude, but you guys are loud!" Alistar giggles and hugged his stuffed bunny plush, twirling it around. "Isn't that right Sona? They are just so loud aren't they? Yes they Are! Yes they are."

Their own argument finally forgotten for a moment they turned to Cymbel. Both smiling sheepishly at the foolishness of their own self absorption while this one had saved both their lives the previous night. Bethany understood the young looking man was embarrassed and nervous but she knew Marthaen wouldn't have a clue so she answered him first. "You've no need to apologize. Were it not for you neither of us would have survived the night. I owe you my life and this is a debt I do not take lightly. If ever I may return the favor you need only ask and all that I have is yours."
Marthaen had nodded solemnly as she spoke. "She has spoken well and I share her sentiment sir. You saved my life and that debt I may never fully repay though believe me. I shall try. But more than my life you saved the life of my virgin, Bethany. There is nothing more precious to me in this world, though she annoys me without end at times, still… were she gone I… " He shook his head, "My life and I think maybe the world would be the poorer for her absence. Seriously though, you didn't see anything? That's too bad. From what I've seen her form is considered pleasing to humans. A little small for me but I guess all animals have different ideas of beauty.
Bethany smiled softly at the pair and patted Marthaen on the head. "Indeed Lord Dra…. " She stopped herself unsure if the other knew yet about Marthaens secret self." Verily I would miss thee as well. Now I think perhaps introductions are…" And Alistar dropped from his hiding place.
Both watched in at first stunned and then amused silence as Alistar fairly bounced around the room. It was obvious he was addressing Cymbel so they both waited for his response glad for the chance to just stop and breathe.

By now the addition of yet another presence in the room was taxing Cymbel's already strained mental processes. His poor tired, sleep-deprived mind wasn't keeping up fast enough with the introduction of new things and the best he could do was continue to keep an understanding smile on his face. After absentmindedly staring off into space he realized that the woman was still tied to a post, which he had completely overlooked while attempting to preserve her personal sanctity, and that she would need a change of clothes soon. "…Oh forgive me! You hands are still tied, allow me to remedy that." Taking his szabla, he carefully sawed the rope bindings off removing them and the pole. With no need to use his broadsword for barring the door, he removed it and set the pole aside to replace it. Next was to process the newest face in the group, one that looked like a child no less. "I suppose I should say you're welcome? I didn't remember seeing you when I came in."

He was sure he should have at least noticed a strange child in the rafters, but perhaps he hadn't being preoccupied with first aid priorities. He would need to go back to the village to ask for a change of clothes for the woman whose name he learned to be 'Bethany'. He still needed to ask what their relationship was, but he was too tired to think at the moment. His face then went pale as the thought of going to the village crossed his mind. Oh right, he couldn't. Not after he had 'dealt' with the dragon, lest they continue to pester him twice as before. Exhausted and feeling quite dejected, he sat down and groaned with his face in his hands. Unhappily he turned to the other three asking, "Not that I would expect you to know, but have any of you three perchance know where I might find a particular red dragon? I've run into a…major misunderstanding with the people here and they requested me to deal with it…somehow. I kept telling them that it was impossible, but they refused to hear it. They say it's been terrorizing their flocks and herds, and they've become desperate enough to beg any stranger to ameliorate the problem." 

Feeling more weary than ever, he put his head in his hands again and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't do it–I just can't. I'm only good at simple parlor tricks like making things shimmer and creating little images out of light. And I can't go back and ask them for a change of clothes without them hounding me on how my progress on 'ridding the dragon' is going. 'Very poorly'–I'd have to say. Do they even know how dangerous and large an adult dragon is? I've only seen one once, but that's a completely different matter." His time travelling with the white dragon Vinsue wasn't anything like this. For one, she was better socialized with humans and essentially lived like a human. He knew dragons could be very territorial, and one that was 'wild' likely wouldn't care for civil conversation.  

"I detect a bit of worry and distress coming off you in waves. But no, I have not seen a red dragon. But, wherever it is it has caused mass amounts of fear to come flooding from the citizens. So, wherever this dragon is you should take care of it quickly. Or, maybe it can speak our language and you can convince it to not terrorize the townsfolk." Alistar added hopefully, trying to help. "Maybe convince it to be vegetarian?" Alistar joked, trying to lighten the mood. He made his way to the door, opening it. "I was gonna go and get some bread, does anyone need anything? My treat." He said cheerfully, smiling a closed eyed smile and tilting his head. "Oh, and please try not to destroy the place if you decide to bicker again." Alistar joked again, teasing the two. "Sometimes I think that you two are a married couple." He smiles before closing the door and leaving before he can get anything thrown at him.