A Figure in Black

Early one afternoon, a small hooded figure drifts into town, her tattered black clothing flapping lightly with each tentative step. Behind her, small dark wings extrude from her back, twitching nervously, and curved horns jut out through worn holes in the top of her hood.  

Her arrival in Volaire is peculiar: she steps backwards through the gate, then spins in a fluid motion to face forward again, carrying on as if nothing unusual happened at all. 

On the main street, she pauses, her tiny frame dwarfed by the townsfolk around her. She shuffles off to the side, tilting her head as she studies the unfamiliar scene. Every passerby seems to startle her at first. If someone glances her way, she quickly darts into an alley, only to peek out again moments later, curiosity overriding caution.

Her hands fidget constantly with something tucked beneath the layers of fabric around her neck, the gesture almost obsessive. She reaches out to poke at the world around her, tracing the rough texture of the walls, the uneven cobblestones, and the carved wooden signs and doors of the town. 

Eventually, the tavern draws her attention. With a flutter of her wings, she lifts herself just enough to perch at the edge of a window, peering inside curiously.

As the pixie walks through town, every Draconian she passes looks in her direction with a twitching nose, but they do no more than look before returning to whatever was occupying them. The other people of the town also give her quick glances and they too go about their business once they've taken in the sight of the pixie. No one approaches her as she makes her way to the tavern.

Inside, the tavern is bustling with afternoon energy. There is music playing and people are eating and talking at their tables. There are only a couple of empty tables this time of day. Most people are eating lunch, a small bowl of some sort of stew and a chunk of bread with an ale. A waitress, a young woman with blonde hair, is busily moving around the tavern with a tray of ales. Another waitress, a young woman with brown hair, is setting down plates at a table. And at the bar there is a barkeep, a large bearded man, wiping down the counters.

At the end of the bar, the Pixie would catch a glimpse of shimmering, multi-colored, four-panel wings. If she examines any further, she would see a tail resembling that of a lions swishing behind her as she sits on the stool. She has black hair spiling over her shoulders, and from her angle at the window, the pixie would see the tips of purple horns.

Upon spotting the wings and horns, the Pixie drops lightly back to the ground and hurriedly shuffles towards the tavern door. She slips inside and makes her way across the room to the other winged figure, climbing onto the stool beside her. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and even, her expression perfectly neutral. 

“Please be excusing me, I have the confusion-” She pauses mid-sentence, her gaze lingering on the Draconian’s scales. Her face doesn’t change, but she tilts her head slightly, considering. “You… you are not being of the Unchosen…?”

Storm looks over as the pixie climbs onto the barstool beside her. The pixie would see her eyes are purple and lightning crackles around them. She spots the wings and tenses. Her head snaps back towards her glass where she looks down and closes her eyes immediately. She takes a deep breath and when the pixie addresses her, Storm opens her eyes and turns a polite smile towards the pixie.

"Um. Unchosen? The fuck is that?" Storm sighs and shakes her head. "Sorry. It's been a long-" She chuckles. "Life. It's been a long life. So, I don't think I'm an Unchosen but I'm not familiar with the term. What does it mean?"

“It is meaning of the Chaos Fae… you are being of the Draconian?” She studies Storm intently. “I have not had the seeing of a Draconian before. I was not knowing they had wings.”

Her fingers fidget uncomfortably with something beneath the fabric around her neck.

“I have the confusion of this place. This is not being the Sidhe?"

Storm quirks an eyebrow. "Uh. Yeah. I'm a Draconian. Normally they don't have wings though. Or lion tails." She reaches behind her and strokes her tail then sighs. "I'm... Not normal. But the other scaley people you see, they are Draconians. Normal Draconians."

"No. This isn't the Sidhe. This is town called Volaire on the Material plane in the kingdom of Ariad." Storm sniffs once. "So uh... You okay? Need help or something?"