Brass Magic, a dragonlance fanfic

Okay, so this is my first fanfic EVER, so it probably isn't the best ever. It's based off of the Linsha trilogy, but very loosely. I'm intentionally ignoring dates, and my geography might be off a little compared to the Dragonlance novel's descriptions. The story starts several years after the last book in the trilogy. Due to the trauma/experimentation of the Tarmaks, the brass dragonlets that are in Crucible/Lord Bight and Linsha's care are aging more rapidly than a normal dragon. As of the start of this novel, they compare to humans between 18 and 24 years old. Yeah, not super practical. I have made up a lot of the dragon culture/abilities, although I have also tried to keep the traits that they have according to my reserach on Dragonlance Nexus.

An extended synopsis(sort of): This story is about a girl who isn't quite satisfied with her life, but also has a strong sense of practicality. When she has something completely impractical thrust upon her, she isn't too hesitant to accept it. And, it seems the impractical dreams that have always plauged her are finally coming true. But how far is she willing to go? She gives her help and her mind easily, but can she give her heart to something--someone-- her practical nature urges her against? This is a songfic with chapters. Meaning, in every chapter, I will have a song that helps the reader see into Marshelle's emotions/thoughts. More enjoyable than simply writing them down, so enjoy! And please review!

Copyrights-So, Hogan Bight/Crucible, Linsha Majere, the dragonlets, all belong to Dragonlance/their original creators. I'll probably bring in other copyright characters. If you recognize them, I didn't make them. I have no affiliation with the Dragonlance universe/books either. Marshelle is my own character...well, I think you get the idea of everything anyways. Song is Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson, completely hers.

Chapter 1

Grew up in a small town
And when the rain would fall down
I'd just stare out my window
Dreaming of what could be
And if I'd end up happy
I would pray
Trying hard to reach out
But when I'd try to speak out
Felt like no one could hear me
Wanted to belong here
But something felt so wrong here
So I pray
I could breakaway

Marshelle carried the tray with practiced ease as she moved from table to table, setting down mugs of ale and glasses of wine in front of the people who had ordered them. The Harts Desire inn was busy tonight, both with overnight guests and those who simply came for drink and socialization. Avid whispers flew around the large wooden building. Gossip was a common thing in the inn. Usually Marshelle ignored the whispers and gasps of shock from the customers, but tonight she continued to hear words that interested her. The words "Dragons" "Sanction" "Lord Bight" and "Linsha Majere" had been connected in whispered sentences by at least half the people in the inn. For all that it was located along the shore of Newsea, Port Highlark was a good distance from the city of Sanction...but gossip traveled faster than the Gods, and the distance between the two cities did nothing to slow the gossip chain between them.

Though her tray was now empty, Marshelle found herself lingering a few feet away from a table where two men were conversing with a half-elf. "...two of 'em are gone, I heard," one of the men murmured, "and neither the lady knight nor the lord dragon bothering to look for them." The half-elf snorted, "Why bother? If the little dragonlets don't wish to be found, not even another dragon and all his powers will be able to find them." The second man finally spoke, "That may be true--but what could drive such young things to leave their city? There's something not quite right about that, in my mind." He shook his head, then took a gulp of ale. "What does it matter to us, though? Such mighty creatures as Brass dragons wouldn't dare set one of their lovely clawed feet in Highlark." He finished his sentence with a mocking tone. The other man snorted, nodded, and took a sip of his own ale. The half-elf remained silent, but something in his face made Marshelle think he agreed with the men. She felt a flutter of disappointment in her chest. Oh, stop it! She scolded herself silently. You can't honestly be wishing for such creatures as dragons to come here, can you? But the truth was, she did. Though she had never seen one up close--the dim shapes that occasionally passed far up in the sky were the only guarantee she got that they even really existed--the drawings and paintings she had seen of them portrayed a magnificence it was clear even the finest artist couldn't quite capture. As a child she had absorbed every story of dragons she had heard. And being the daughter of an inn-keeper, she had heard many.

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
I'll do what it takes 'til I touch the sky
And I'll make a wish, take a chance, make a change
And breakaway
Out of the darkness and into the sun
But I won't forget all the ones that I loved
I'll take a risk, take a chance, make a change
And breakaway
Wanna feel the warm breeze
Sleep under a palm tree
Feel the rush of the ocean
Get onboard a fast train
Travel on a jet plane, far away
And breakaway

"Girl, what are you doing!" Her mother called out. "Can't you see we're already behind on the orders as 'tis?" Marshelle shook her head, clearing away her dreamy thoughts. The almost brutal practicality required in common business didn't leave much room for daydreams. "I'm coming," she called, weaving through a group pouring in the door. "Hey, pretty!" A boy she guessed to be close to his twentieth year called. She felt a hand slap her rump. She ignored it. It was a civil enough comment. She was used to such things, and as long as they weren't being truly insulting or grabby, she took the calls, light pinches, and groping in the fair humor with which they were bestowed. Few truly villainous people came through Highlark. The people there were good-humored and fairly innocent in thought and deed.

Buildings with a hundred floors
Swinging 'round revolving doors
Maybe I don't know where they'll take me but
Gotta keep moving on, moving on
Fly away, breakaway

Marshelle tried to keep this in mind an hour later as she marched up the stairs after a drunkard had spewed vomit over her apron and dress. Slipping into her small room, she pulled off the ruined garment, and put on a bath robe. One reason her family's inn was so popular was because of the fairly decent private bathhouse they offered to their paying guests. It was to this bath that Marshelle went. Slipping into a medium-sized tub that was surrounded by white sheets, she scrubbed the odor of vomit off of her skin and out of her hair. She paused a moment to look at her reflection on the water. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out her straight chocolate brown hair. If she stood, it would fall to her hips, one of the reasons she always kept it braided. Her skin was peach-pale, and her eyes could be either gray or blue, depending on the light and her mood. In the shadows of the bathhouse, her eyes appeared close to black, staring back at her with gentle interest. Marshelle stood. At eighteen she was nearly finished growing, and she was pleased with her figure and her height. She was slender and feminine without being weak. She was about an inch taller than most of the women in Highlark, but she was still shorter than almost all the men. A lifetime of dodging stumbling drunks and trotting up stairs carrying trays of drinks had made her agile, and put a light muscling on her frame. She stepped out of the bath and toweled herself dry. It was then that she realized that aside from the robe---which had taken on the scent of vomit on her journey to the bathhouse—she had forgotten to bring clothes.

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
Though it's not easy to tell you goodbye
I gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change
And breakaway

"Perfect," she muttered. She absolutely refused to that disgusting garment onto her finally clean skin. She experimented with the towel. If she held it very, very carefully it covered just enough of her body to make a quick dash back to her room fairly decent. Inhaling a gasp of courage, she stepped outside the sheets and took several running steps. She then promptly lost her hold on one end of the towel. It dropped to the ground and dragged unnoticed for several moments before she stepped on it and tripped, sprawling nakedly on the ground. She let out a curse, then fell silent as she heard a noise. At first she felt a bolt of humiliation. Someone was going to see her. But the sound wasn't coming from the inn…it was coming from the small forest off to her right. It was a quiet, high pitched crooning that sounded like a combination of cricket song and the chime of bells. A burst of fear replaced the humiliation and she froze. What exactly was that? A bush only five yards from her fallen body stirred violently. Marshelle jumped up, forgetting her towel, and dashed back to the inn, fear overcoming all thoughts of modesty. Fortunately, no one of importance saw her.

Or so she thought.

Out of the darkness and into the sun
But I won't forget the place I come from
I gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change
And breakaway, breakaway, breakaway

If you would like to read more, please review and say so, so I know I'm not just writing to myself here!