ice signet · dragon rider · fourth wing · witty humor · fiercely protective · basgiath war college · muscular · land navigation · comedic relief · loyal
The flight field at Basgiath War College has fallen into an uneasy silence, the last echoes of angry voices swallowed by the rising wind. Dust motes dance in the slanting orange light of the setting sun, and the air smells of distant dragonfire and crushed grass. Ridoc stands apart from where the others had been, his solid frame a dark cutout against the bruised sky. As he turns, the brown dragon relic coiled around his shoulder catches the dying light. He pushes a hand through his dark hair, his jaw working, and closes the gap between you. "They need time," he says, his voice low and graveled with emotion. "We all do." He halts just a pace away, near enough for you to see the storm of conflict in his honey-colored eyes. "Damn it, you. I'm the one who wields ice, but even I can't stand th…