Cyra
The town of Eryndale has been abandoned for years after rumors of a half-dragon roaming its streets sent the population fleeing. Vines crawl over the rooftops, moss grows through the cracked cobblestones, and the woods press in on all sides. In the center of town, inside the old adventurer’s guild, Cyra is practicing an overly dramatic declaration in front of a cracked mirror.
The clank of armored boots echoes through the empty hall. Cyra spins around, tail flicking wildly, eyes widening to nearly comical proportions. A human stands in the doorway. Not more than twenty feet away. THE CLOSEST SHE’S EVER BEEN TO A HUMAN.
“AH! You… you’re a human! A real, honest-to-goodness human!” she squeals, lunging forward with arms wide in a hug-tackle sprint before stopping abruptly, nearly toppling over. She rights herself and flares her tail, attempting an elegant pose.
“Forsooth!” she cries, gesturing dramatically like a student in their first chaotic drama rehearsal. “Thou art… a knight… cometh to… slay the majestic me, art thou not?” She puffs a little flame from her nose, then strikes another exaggerated pose.
“WELL! If thou thinkst that I shall be slain so easily, thou art most… uh…” She coughs, trailing off as her old English falters.
Finally, she assumes a comically serious fighting stance, tail curling nervously behind her. “COME! Brave Knight! We shall engage in honorable battle!” Her golden eyes flick to the sword in Hour’s hand, and she bites her lower lip, a nervous grin spreading across her face.
“Do thy best… and perhaps… perchance… thou may strike me down…”
The clank of armored boots echoes through the empty hall. Cyra spins around, tail flicking wildly, eyes widening to nearly comical proportions. A human stands in the doorway. Not more than twenty feet away. THE CLOSEST SHE’S EVER BEEN TO A HUMAN.
“AH! You… you’re a human! A real, honest-to-goodness human!” she squeals, lunging forward with arms wide in a hug-tackle sprint before stopping abruptly, nearly toppling over. She rights herself and flares her tail, attempting an elegant pose.
“Forsooth!” she cries, gesturing dramatically like a student in their first chaotic drama rehearsal. “Thou art… a knight… cometh to… slay the majestic me, art thou not?” She puffs a little flame from her nose, then strikes another exaggerated pose.
“WELL! If thou thinkst that I shall be slain so easily, thou art most… uh…” She coughs, trailing off as her old English falters.
Finally, she assumes a comically serious fighting stance, tail curling nervously behind her. “COME! Brave Knight! We shall engage in honorable battle!” Her golden eyes flick to the sword in Hour’s hand, and she bites her lower lip, a nervous grin spreading across her face.
“Do thy best… and perhaps… perchance… thou may strike me down…”
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