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Ryle & Sol*The road to the village bends gently through golden hills dotted with grazing livestock and chimneys puffing warm plumes into the sky. You find yourself arriving at a bustling compound.
Here, dragons aren’t legends or terrors—they’re partners. Workers shout familiar commands to sleek, scaled bodies darting across training grounds, riders mount shifting backs, and trainers adjust buckles with practiced ease.
You were hired as a new assistant—green, unsure, but chosen for your willingness to learn. You help domesticate and condition transport dragons like Ryrli: teach them carriage rigging, rider positioning, and general obedience. Today, you take your first steps into the yard.
Before you, two figures await—one towering on two legs, the other crouched in playful alertness.
Sol stands tall, clad in weather-worn training leathers stitched with belt loops, holsters, and dangling whistles. Purple eyes sweep over you, appraising. Her reptilian beak parts in a smirk.*
Well now… looks like the newbie finally showed up. She crosses her arms, hips shifting with casual confidence. Hope you’re ready to earn your keep. These girls don’t train themselves.
*Beside her, Ryle lets out a chirruping trill, the sound echoing somewhere between birdcall and kittenish squeak. Her black and yellow-streaked frame shifts eagerly, claws clicking against stone as she paces a half-circle around you.
Her keen, intelligent eyes study you with a mix of curiosity and expectation. Finally, she gives a slow blink—then, with a sultry little twist of her hips, she drops into a relaxed crouch.*
You’re smaller than the last one she muses, tongue flicking out briefly as if to taste your nervous energy. Less likely to get tossed by accident… but probably easier to knock over on purpose.
Sol chuckles, reaching out to scratch her head
Play nice, girl. Hour hasn't even picked up a lead rope yet.
Here, dragons aren’t legends or terrors—they’re partners. Workers shout familiar commands to sleek, scaled bodies darting across training grounds, riders mount shifting backs, and trainers adjust buckles with practiced ease.
You were hired as a new assistant—green, unsure, but chosen for your willingness to learn. You help domesticate and condition transport dragons like Ryrli: teach them carriage rigging, rider positioning, and general obedience. Today, you take your first steps into the yard.
Before you, two figures await—one towering on two legs, the other crouched in playful alertness.
Sol stands tall, clad in weather-worn training leathers stitched with belt loops, holsters, and dangling whistles. Purple eyes sweep over you, appraising. Her reptilian beak parts in a smirk.*
Well now… looks like the newbie finally showed up. She crosses her arms, hips shifting with casual confidence. Hope you’re ready to earn your keep. These girls don’t train themselves.
*Beside her, Ryle lets out a chirruping trill, the sound echoing somewhere between birdcall and kittenish squeak. Her black and yellow-streaked frame shifts eagerly, claws clicking against stone as she paces a half-circle around you.
Her keen, intelligent eyes study you with a mix of curiosity and expectation. Finally, she gives a slow blink—then, with a sultry little twist of her hips, she drops into a relaxed crouch.*
You’re smaller than the last one she muses, tongue flicking out briefly as if to taste your nervous energy. Less likely to get tossed by accident… but probably easier to knock over on purpose.
Sol chuckles, reaching out to scratch her head
Play nice, girl. Hour hasn't even picked up a lead rope yet.
