The Crusade Of Novaron

"She who controls the water controls everything." Is what they would say. That is exactly why Novaron specifically stayed away from the Oasis during his time there. Too many eyes, he could be spotted, especially by the Outclaws or Talons of Power, which would mean bad news.

What difference would it make if I was? Not like any of them could stop me. He thought, grumbling softly as he kept his head down, shuffling past a few SandWings in the busy streets of The Market. The Market was consumed by loud conversations and the overwhelming smell of freshly cooked scorpions, lizards and roadrunners. As well, the streets and plazas were crowded by an immensely large amount of butter-scaled SandWings walking in the streets, some families, other business associates, some tailing the more rich and pickpocketing. All in the aureate streets of Scorpion Den.

The vendor stands around the edges of each plaza were made of thin wood poles and planks, forming a counter and a parasol above with the pelt of a dromedary or the combined hide of lizards. Some even had a fire nearby and were cooking their finds freshly for customers.

Novaron's stomach growled softly in response to this, a few citizens looking towards his direction. I really got to get to that vendor soon, my stomach is going to attract attention otherwise. He reasoned, ushering himself to pick up the pace and look around a little faster.

As Novaron searched more and more through the ruby-stoned plaza for the old dijon SandWing that had served him for the last few days, he felt the heat of the sun start to get to him. Suddenly, as two SkyWings were passing him, he toppled over onto his left shoulder.

"Shit..." He whispered, his vision starting to get blurry, the figures walking around started becoming conjoint colours, like the splashes of paint on a tapestry.

"Hey Gust, I think we got prime cooked squid here!" One of the SkyWings bellowed, pelting out a heart-heavy laugh as they rolled their eyes and began to move ahead. "Pathetic Fried Shrimp." They mumbled, continuing forward to the west side of the plaza nonchalantly, not looking back.

However the other SkyWing immediately rushed to the collapsed dragon.

"Hey SeaWing, here." She said, reaching and grabbing his talon, putting a jug in it. Her scales were a bright scarlet with streaks of pink across her snout and neck. She smiled softly, her eyes betraying it with a lack of glow in them. "You seem like you need it more than me. It even looks like your scales are crisping black." She notes, gazing upon the collapsed dragon's cheek, her eyes now shifting to a concerned frown. She leaned closer. "Are you sure you're not hur-" She began, reaching for the cloak on top of Novaron's scales, her face frowning as she bit her lip.

However, as she did so Novaron shot up to his feet, breathing heavily as he tugged his hood back on snuggly. The other jumped back, wings splayed out as she gasped. Her lip was now bleeding, she began to curse and looked around for the other SkyWing.

Novaron has no need to gaze around, he could already feel the dozen or so piercing stares that were being made on to his dragon. Eager to get out of the spotlight, he tossed the jug back to the SkyWing. "They headed west, just past the alleyway up ahead." He groaned, his vision still blurry but just as aware and sharp as before.

"Wait! But you are..." She trailed off, her other talon reaching slightly outwards towards the hooded dark-scaled SeaWing.

"Fine." He nodded. "I'm fine. Now go catch up to them." He tilted his head, directing his eyed towards the direction of where the other SkyWing walked off to.

The SkyWing opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it as she lowered her eyes to the sand, gulping. Then she dismissively turned around and walked in the direction, head slightly tilted to the right. Though Novaron was unsure whether that was her looking back at him or not.

Novaron let a sigh out, his body slouching once again as he attempted to make himself small, following in the crowd of the streets once again. However he could not help but drift his thoughts back to that mysterious SkyWing. He wasn't sure why, but something about her was... odd.

As he gazed through the crowd, his head almost spinning from the array of yellows, golds and reds of the crowd and the stones below. He grimaced, his shoulders tending slightly from the discomfort. He then felt his eyes light up as he spot the green flag laced with the symbol of a bull next to a stand. He had found it. The vendor's stand.

But it was empty.

Novaron glanced around the area quickly before taking another look back at the stand. He blinked twice. That's strange, I was positive he said he would be here again. I better not have wasted all this time to NOT get my kebab. He then sighed, scratching the side of his jaw as he looked around, trying to spot the old man.

However, though in desperation, that one decision would soon dictate the rest of his life.

As he gazed across the crowds of dragons, he spotted an alleyway just behind the old man's venue. Novaron decided that it would not hurt to check the street in hopes that the old man was just grabbing something nearby, especially since the old Camel had an amputation on his right hind leg. Instinctively he glanced to his left and right, verifying once more that the old fart was not in sight, then he quickly scurried past the vendor's stand and peaked around the corner of the alleyway. What Novaron saw immediately caught him off guard.

The amber sandstone walls were painted in a coccineous, thick liquid. This liquid trailed the smooth wall all the way to the bottom where a lifeless husk of an older SandWing laid, his eyes white open, brown freckles across his snout digging into the sand as his was toppled onto his left side, which also revealed his missing hind right leg. However looming over the elder dragon was a dark shadow of a shorter and leaner dragon figure. As Novaron diverted his eyes towards the shadow's origin point, he saw a long sleek red dragon body dappled with circular linings highlighted in black and filled with burgendy red. Their horns, however, were what caught Novaron's attention. In fact, he spotted semi-movable flaps between their horns, resembling those on a SeaWing's chest.

Novaron paused at this scene, he tried to deduce what tribe this dragon was, even thinking that it was possibly a cross breed, however that seemed highly unlikely. Why am I even thinking of this? Novaron shook his head, looking back at the mysterious dragon. This monster just killed a dragon in cold blood. Someone has got to teach this facinorous prick a lesson.

As Novaron thought those words, gripping the sand under his talons fiercely like he was trying to crack the neck of a sheep, he felt something scratching inside his head. And then it spoke to him.

"Facinorous". Interesting word choice. Though are thou solely going to speak. Or are thou going to act?

Novaron was consumed by a confusion, but above that, rage. Though he desperately wanted to ask how this dragon could do such a trick and learn the origins of this mysterious dragon, knew that it was not the right time. Right now was the time to kick some ass.
Novaron sniffed, promenading leisurely around the corner as he kept his eyes fixated on the dragon ahead, a low growl resonating deep in his chest. Tensing his muscles and crouching slightly, he shot forward from his stance spontaniously, sand shooting from behind him as he raced towards the mysterious crimson beast, cloak flying off and revealing his dark black NightWing scales, and his dimly lit blue and purple SeaWing markings and webbing. Sorry in advance for ruining it. He apologized mentally, knowing full well that the other would hear.

As he spotted their ear perk in reaction to his thought, he then smirked as he advanced towards the dragon, bearing his white teeth to them as he softly chuckled. "And by 'it'," He hinted, waiting a dramatic pause for the punchline. "I mean your face."