[center][b]LORE[/b][/center]
[quote=Myata, the Spirit]To many, the wandering spirit known as Myata is little more than ghost story told to keep restless hatchlings out of trouble, but there are those in the world that know the truth behind his smoky visage. They have seen it. Amidst the fading light of dusk, or the brimming rays of dawn, there are some who have found themselves alone and yet haunted by the pale glow of an unknown presence. He appears to them in the fog as a cardinal hooded figure swathed in plumes of smoke, wordless and silent.
No one has ever heard him speak, but when he parts his maw under the shade of his hood, all who would hear him disappear, lost to another world entirely. This Trick World, this mirror realm so familiar and yet unlike their prior world is a strange, wondrous place where history itself has been made and undone, turning ruins into glorious castles and kingdoms and vice versa, a place so thick with magic that hatchlings are crafted by the Flights alone with no need for parents or coupling. No one knows why Myata pulls them here, or where he came from, or even why this world exists, but one way or another they all discover for themselves that this is a world from which there is no return.[/quote]
~
[quote=Alita, the Scavenger]Alita knows very little of her birth amongst the bones in the Carrion Canyon for the days of her youth are almost entirely lost to her. She remembers a pink light that churned about her like smoke, guiding her past the bones and stripped carcasses of other creatures in a hazy shamble that felt like moving through a dream. Too young to fly, no one knows how a hatchling managed to claw her way from the canyon, how one so little survived such a desolate and dangerous place, but she did, and the mystery of it has haunted her ever since. She can’t remember anything but that light, glittering in hues of magenta and violet, so peaceful and enchanting that even now she’s desperate to find what it was that saved her all those years ago.
It is for this reason that she’s drawn to the Spelunker clan, for their wild adventures and treasure hunting is bound to lead her to tomes and knowledge of this strange and magical presence. Though she’s gifted in the arts of her Lightning Flight, she’s more passionate about Arcane magics, surrounding herself in relics and idols of the Arcanist in hopes that he will help her solve the riddle of her beginnings. A bit standoffish from her fell Spelunkers, she spends countless hours experimenting with fragments of the magically imbued crystals of the Starfall Isles whenever she has spare time infusing the strange stones with her own magic. It is from these experiments that her familiar was born, brought to life as an unusual construct made of crystal and electricity. It’ll be a distant day when it succeeds, but Alita is ambitious and she is hoping to one day try this experiment on a larger scale…A much larger scale…[/quote]
~
[quote=Shine, the Painter]Many dragons who meet Shine are surprised to learn that she was born amongst the fires of the Emberglow Hearth, for her colorful scales seem out of place for a zone so rich with ash and flame, but she will be the first to tell you that it is because of this that she is the bright woman she is. It is true that she took her first steps between pools of magma and her first flight through plumes of smoke, but from the moment she was born, Shine knew that her home would be elsewhere. She loved the heat of the Molten Scar, but she loved the way the sun glimmered off the ocean at sunset more. She felt her shimmering scales were a sign, pulling her away from soot and fire to the lush, colorful lands the world had to offer her. There were so many hues for her to experience, so many perfect shades that she simply had to capture them all.
When she found a salesman selling ink made from crushed beetle shells in the Everbloom Glades, she knew she’d found her calling. She painted everything she could get her hands on, decorating the boughs of trees and the walls of the lairs she visited with vibrant displays, always restless and eager to see more. She even painted her own wings, adorning them in golden flakes that shimmered as she flew.
She thought she’d never tire of traveling, but then she met Nehrumik, so much like the setting sun of her homeland. He was as gentle as the ocean waves, as bright as a sunset off its shimmering surface, and as warm as the hearth she’d been born in. She fell in love almost instantly, and they’ve been together ever since. The two of them now make their home at the Focal Point of Starfall Isles, practicing their magic amidst the brightly glowing crystals. Through the use of her arcane abilities, she has no need of paintbrushes or quills anymore, telekinetically spilling the colors from paint jars strapped at her waist to do her bidding.?[/quote]
~
[quote=Merwhenya, the Mad]Merwhenya is an elderly dragon with the mind of an ambitious youngster. Voleta isn’t sure if it’s age or some other trauma that has regressed with elegant dragon to such a precarious state, but either way, for all of Merwhenya’s bark, she has no bite. She prattles on about being the reigning queen of the world and insists upon being addressed as such, even if she has no actual standing within the lair. Most of the other dragons in the lair, especially the younger ones, humor her, however, addressing her as “highness” and bringing her small trinkets to add to her hoard. Small gifts and treasures will earn the youngsters countless hours of riveting tall tales about Merwhenya’s glorious exploits of conquering and pillaging, but most of them are aware that these stories are likely little more than fairy tales the elderess has concocted. Whatever backstory Merwhenya actually has, she seems to believe strongly in her own stories. She acts regal and haughty, but is easily placated with a little effort. She can be quite cranky, however, making her somewhat of an irritation to the older dragons. That being said, anyone caught sassing or being rude to her will certainly get a snap from Voleta at the least.[/quote]
~
[quote=Dagarkin, Voleta's Defender]Anyone who has ever known Dagarkin knows that this star-touched guardian rarely does anything without careful consideration. Even before he hatched, curled up snug in the pale green shell of his egg, he took his time, emerging so many days after his siblings that by the time he crawled free, he’d been abandoned, mistaken as dead and rotten. Life is abundant in the Zephyr Steppes, though, and he was swiftly found and adopted by another clan of guardians who looked after him in his youth. Some of his new family called him distracted and distant, but the few who knew him well know that Dagarkin had no trouble keeping up, but simply hesitated to act.
Even when prompted to seek out his charge, the steel-colored beast seemed reluctant. He felt as if a part of him was missing, as if a piece of his being hadn’t fully formed within that shell of his and now he was left with a gap he was so sure couldn’t be filled by the world beyond. Still, the time came when he had to leave, and so he set to the skies in search of something he wasn’t sure could be found. For years he searched the lands, drifting from region to region until he was certain he’d seen it all. From every inch of the Southern Icefield to every leaf of the Viridian Labyrinth, no crevice or nook was glossed over in his thorough pursuit, but his charge, whatever it may be, simply wasn’t there.
Tired, heartsore, and alone, Dagarkin retreated back to his origins, making a home for himself in Reedcleft Ascent where he became something of a hermit. Nightfall is particularly beautiful in this area, the churning winds humming through the hollow shafts of the bamboo, pushing away the remnants of clouds until the starry sky is revealed in the dark. He became fascinated with the stars, wondering if perhaps whatever purpose he was meant to serve existed somewhere up there in the great abyss of space, and as the years continued to wander by, he began decorating his body with marks in honor of the peace their light brought him.
Then, on a windy and rainy afternoon, everything changed. A young girl came into his life with all the warmth and presence of a hearth, her immature wings not yet their full size and yet she flew as if the sun itself gave her strength. This was Voleta, a cousin from the clan that had taken him in, and unlike Dagarkin, she had no patience for waiting about. She turned his life upside down in her own pursuit of a charge to look after, and when she had grown from a determined adolescent into a bold and powerful woman, he found what he’d been missing.
Voleta is the guardian of youth and innocence, drawing the wayward hatchlings into her fold until they were plenty, scurrying about underfoot, and the old star-speckled dragon found more joy in helping her tend to them than he’d found in anything but the stars. He knew then what he was meant for, what his purpose was, and it had been this family all along. Voleta and her mission is his charge, and he guards her and her hatchlings with his life, serving as both a mentor and a defender to all those that find themselves under his protection.[/quote]
~
[quote=Scintillan, the Secret Keeper]As the son of a linguist and an absent mother, Scintillan’s life began in the Shrieking Wilds, nestled in the underbrush in the flittering shade of the evergreen trees towering overhead. It was here that he first came to know the darkness his breed is known for. The shadows of the boughs of the trees nurtured his nocturnal skills, honing his eyes until they were as keen in the dark as they were in the light, and when at last it came time for him to venture out beyond his father’s protective wing, he still found himself drawn to the darkness.
He spent some time with Clan Atel, lurking in their outer ranks, an outsider until the familial nature of the group drew him in. He was a quiet, isolated adolescent, but they took him into their fold, adopting him as part of their family. Scintillan’s mother’s disappearance had always left a gap in the young nocturne’s heart, but the various members of Clan Atel each took part in filling the hole until his resentment became nothing more than a figment of his past. He was sleek, strong, and happy in their cavernous lair, but eventually the shadows once again beckoned him. After much debate, Scintillan left the clan, promising to keep his family in his heart as he took to the night in search of his true purpose somewhere in the Tangled Wood.
Past the Driftwood Drag and the Wispillow Grove and through the heart of the twined and gnarled Foxfie Bramble, knowing this night as though he’d been there before, as though he could navigate every root and tree blind. He spent days lost in thought gliding aimlessly through the thickets until a sliver of bluish light carved through the murk of the Shadowbinder. Moonlight danced across a silvery crescent pool, the bulk of the water muddled with scattered stones and broken pillars, but still it had a resonance, a presence as bright as a mirror in sunlight. He peered into that pool then, green eyes searching the water’s depths… He’s never told anyone what he saw that day adrift in the water’s prying eyes, but he sealed it away underneath a battered log coated in softly glowing mushrooms, darkening that pool in hopes that it would never be seen again.
Shadowbinder came to him that night, and ever since he’s been an agent of darkness and secrets. Prowling the night, he serves a higher purpose, hearing the god of shadow’s voice in his head urging him to dark but necessary deeds. Secrets better left kept secret are kept by the way of his blade. It is his job to silence those that would speak such terrible darkness, and to still those whose words or magics that threaten the world’s balance. There are rumors that he is the keeper of these forbidden things, that those secrets haunt him when he dreams, but he will never tell. The shadows are safe with him.[/quote]
~
[quote=Cedrela's Fall]Cedrela had been warned of the dangers of the Abiding Boneyard, that the vast expanse of lifeless terrain was more unforgiving than anything she’d ever experienced and that countless travelers had long since been lost to such a wasteland, but she hadn’t listened. Though after days and days of fluttering past dusty or rotting corpses of other dragons and creatures, she was starting to wish that she had. Surely nothing could live out here? The air was thick, putrid even through the thick fabric of the shawl she kept ever draped around her snout, and it was only by the worsening of this scent that she felt she was even going in the right direction. It was certainly growing stronger with each day, stinging at her eyes and making her dizzy.
[img]http://36.media.tumblr.com/a445e6db129a219e8eba2cc5318efe42/tumblr_inline_o0rj08jG611qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
Eventually she had to land, and the dirt and soil of the earth underneath her paws felt strangely damp between her toes. She tried desperately not to look down and kept moving, tucking her inky wings against her hide. A week later, sheltered by the bones of a fallen guardian, she was out of rations and seemingly no closer to her destination than when she’d left. To go back would mean certain death, but she doubted the Scarred Wasteland would provide anything but decay and finality further inward. She thought of her sister that night, buried her snout under her wings, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke, parched and hungry, her tired feet carried her onward and onward until suddenly she could see it. The rim broke across the horizon, swathed in thickets of red-leafed trees and gnarled roots, and though the smell was unbearable by now, Cedrela nearly wept with joy. This brush and foliage, foul as it was, meant she’d made it.
All that was left now was to find the witch that lurked here, and her and Isavar would be together again.
[img]http://40.media.tumblr.com/f7207bb729ee8889e5c66605b45a9a05/tumblr_inline_o0rj0gti9I1qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
Perhaps in the true world there might have been other clans that settled along Rotrock Rim, but in this strange mirror realm, the rim belonged to a single entity. Every gnarled root, every jagged tree, every creature of flesh and bone; it was all the territory of the Wyrm Witch, Safadel, and there was no disturbance of her land that went unfelt. So when a young, exhausted fae entered the shadowy woods, the witch saw her presence through the eyes of her many spies. “Seems we have an unexpected guest, Ashwren…” she mused to herself, running her fingers through the thick fur of her winter wolf companion. He was darker than the others of his pack and as large as a winter wolf, with piercing red eyes. Of all her wolves, he her favorite, the one she called familiar, and thus she’d blessed him with an intelligence far beyond that of his brethren, so that when he looked upon her, his gaze matched her own.
[img]http://41.media.tumblr.com/045532fa640403bad2e91a2b324a2a6f/tumblr_inline_o0rj0uJvdg1qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
“Shall we greet her?” The witch asked, quirking a slender brow at her favored beast, and for a moment, the wolf was silent, calculative. No one ventured into this woods without purpose, this they both knew, and so he rose to his feet and tossed his head to the skies for a long, low howl. The other wolves mobilized immediately, scattering into the shadows with alpha and witch close upon their heels. Safadel arrived at the clearing seconds after her pets did, but she lingered in the darkness, watching the youngling from the shadows as the fae fluttered into the air to avoid teeth and claws from the circling wolves. They did not attack though, waiting for a signal from their masters, but Safadel would hear this girl out, as she did all her victims.
[img]http://40.media.tumblr.com/3a4ded6139c0e77a5a712bf0369212fb/tumblr_inline_o0rj17wOFr1qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
“I’ve come too far to be anyone’s lunch!” The little fae chirped, and the wyrm witch chuckled softly before she emerged into the moonlight, her dress and cloak emitting plumes of spoke and ash as they furled about her movement. “Now, now, let us not be too hasty, little one,” she purred. Her voice was soft, but there was a resonance in it that made the forest quiet out of respect or fear. It didn’t matter to her which. The fae was transfixed by her, slowly drifting back to the toxic soil, for even though she wore this form of fragile flesh, it was hard not to sense the power of the beast she was. Her spines and claws betrayed her true form, enormous and deadly and to whom the fae would be but a mouthful. The youngling said nothing, her pale green gaze lost in Safadel’s crimson one, and the witch laughed, startling the fae from her trance. The fae couldn’t know that with just such a stare, the witch knew everything there was to know about her.
[img]http://41.media.tumblr.com/2388eb35608acb10b6d0cd198b5dfac7/tumblr_inline_o0rj20QagG1qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
“I assume you’ve come here seeking a witch, hm?” She said, and the fae nodded. “I have!” She said at once, wringing her paws together. She kept glancing to the brush where the wolves circled, their low growls making her ears and fins twitch anxiously. Safadel admired her, the inky black scales and wings suitable to an environment as deadly as this one. “I…I was told you could grant wishes,” the fae continued, and Safadel’s black lips curved into a subtle smile before she gave a small nod. “And of what do you have wish for, Cedrela?” she asked, her smile broadening at the fae’s surprise at knowing her name. “I want to see my sister, Isavar, again. She is everything to me, and ever since I came to this horrible place I have feared that her and I are never to be together again,” she said, and her voice weakened as her eyes withered to the floor. She was obviously thinking of this Isavar, her gaze and thoughts faraway with her beloved sibling, and Safadel was not so heartless as to not feel a pang of sympathy for this poor, unfortunate creature. She moved forward, reaching out to caress the fae’s scaled cheek, careful not to scrape them with her sharp claws as she brushed away a single tear.
[img]http://41.media.tumblr.com/21b5412bc1ba8960e0e34227b1849f50/tumblr_inline_o0rj27y9VY1qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
“…And what would you give to see her again?” The witch asked, turning the fae’s head up till their eyes met again. Cedrela stared long into those deep red eyes, once again captivated by their glimmer as they shone like rubies in the night, and before she could think the words, they were spilling out of her mouth. “Anything, I’d give anything,” she said distantly, and the witch smiled again, baring her fangs at last. “Then see her again you shall.” She stepped back, breathing in the toxic air deeply before her magic rushed her. Scales prickled across her human form, turning ivory skin to iridescent black in seconds as her wings surged forth in a plume of smoke. Blood red runes glittered over the webbing of her wings, dripping out onto her arms, staining her hands red before, with a sudden flare of eerie red light, her magic speared forward, lancing through both realms to snare hold of her prey. Isavar was yanked from the real world into this one, cast into it more violently than her sister had and thrown to the Shifting Expanse like a bolt of lightning.
[img]http://40.media.tumblr.com/26efe38cf0375ff79fa53639116b4f39/tumblr_inline_o0rj2g4OYu1qke4q0_1280.png[/img]
Cedrela felt the world shudder around her, recoiling from this powerful display, but the dark magic wasn’t finished. The wolves from the brush howled as their master’s influence clawed forward, snaring hold of the fae in its path. “Wait! What’s happening?! Where’s Isavar?!” Cedrela cried as she felt the magic sinking into her skin, and the witch chuckled. “I said you’d see her again, but I never said when,” she cooed, and Cedrela’s eyes widened before the magic seized hold of her core. She felt a horrible pain spread out through her veins, bleaching her wings and body, blinding her as runes matching Safadel’s seared into her flesh. She felt as if her entire being was being stripped away, rendered bare under the witch’s magic, but even as her body screamed, whatever was left of her mind was being caged up, locked away somewhere deep inside her so that when at least she settled, she had no control over the flesh she’d previously inhabited. She could still hear, could still feel, but her eyesight was gone, and her limbs moved against her will as the witch beckoned her body.
[img]http://40.media.tumblr.com/42f9e09837ba138519ab26da2ea8054d/tumblr_inline_o0rj2obCCF1qke4q0_1280.png[/img][/quote]
LORE
Myata, the Spirit wrote:
To many, the wandering spirit known as Myata is little more than ghost story told to keep restless hatchlings out of trouble, but there are those in the world that know the truth behind his smoky visage. They have seen it. Amidst the fading light of dusk, or the brimming rays of dawn, there are some who have found themselves alone and yet haunted by the pale glow of an unknown presence. He appears to them in the fog as a cardinal hooded figure swathed in plumes of smoke, wordless and silent.
No one has ever heard him speak, but when he parts his maw under the shade of his hood, all who would hear him disappear, lost to another world entirely. This Trick World, this mirror realm so familiar and yet unlike their prior world is a strange, wondrous place where history itself has been made and undone, turning ruins into glorious castles and kingdoms and vice versa, a place so thick with magic that hatchlings are crafted by the Flights alone with no need for parents or coupling. No one knows why Myata pulls them here, or where he came from, or even why this world exists, but one way or another they all discover for themselves that this is a world from which there is no return.
~
Alita, the Scavenger wrote:
Alita knows very little of her birth amongst the bones in the Carrion Canyon for the days of her youth are almost entirely lost to her. She remembers a pink light that churned about her like smoke, guiding her past the bones and stripped carcasses of other creatures in a hazy shamble that felt like moving through a dream. Too young to fly, no one knows how a hatchling managed to claw her way from the canyon, how one so little survived such a desolate and dangerous place, but she did, and the mystery of it has haunted her ever since. She can’t remember anything but that light, glittering in hues of magenta and violet, so peaceful and enchanting that even now she’s desperate to find what it was that saved her all those years ago.
It is for this reason that she’s drawn to the Spelunker clan, for their wild adventures and treasure hunting is bound to lead her to tomes and knowledge of this strange and magical presence. Though she’s gifted in the arts of her Lightning Flight, she’s more passionate about Arcane magics, surrounding herself in relics and idols of the Arcanist in hopes that he will help her solve the riddle of her beginnings. A bit standoffish from her fell Spelunkers, she spends countless hours experimenting with fragments of the magically imbued crystals of the Starfall Isles whenever she has spare time infusing the strange stones with her own magic. It is from these experiments that her familiar was born, brought to life as an unusual construct made of crystal and electricity. It’ll be a distant day when it succeeds, but Alita is ambitious and she is hoping to one day try this experiment on a larger scale…A much larger scale…
~
Shine, the Painter wrote:
Many dragons who meet Shine are surprised to learn that she was born amongst the fires of the Emberglow Hearth, for her colorful scales seem out of place for a zone so rich with ash and flame, but she will be the first to tell you that it is because of this that she is the bright woman she is. It is true that she took her first steps between pools of magma and her first flight through plumes of smoke, but from the moment she was born, Shine knew that her home would be elsewhere. She loved the heat of the Molten Scar, but she loved the way the sun glimmered off the ocean at sunset more. She felt her shimmering scales were a sign, pulling her away from soot and fire to the lush, colorful lands the world had to offer her. There were so many hues for her to experience, so many perfect shades that she simply had to capture them all.
When she found a salesman selling ink made from crushed beetle shells in the Everbloom Glades, she knew she’d found her calling. She painted everything she could get her hands on, decorating the boughs of trees and the walls of the lairs she visited with vibrant displays, always restless and eager to see more. She even painted her own wings, adorning them in golden flakes that shimmered as she flew.
She thought she’d never tire of traveling, but then she met Nehrumik, so much like the setting sun of her homeland. He was as gentle as the ocean waves, as bright as a sunset off its shimmering surface, and as warm as the hearth she’d been born in. She fell in love almost instantly, and they’ve been together ever since. The two of them now make their home at the Focal Point of Starfall Isles, practicing their magic amidst the brightly glowing crystals. Through the use of her arcane abilities, she has no need of paintbrushes or quills anymore, telekinetically spilling the colors from paint jars strapped at her waist to do her bidding.?
~
Merwhenya, the Mad wrote:
Merwhenya is an elderly dragon with the mind of an ambitious youngster. Voleta isn’t sure if it’s age or some other trauma that has regressed with elegant dragon to such a precarious state, but either way, for all of Merwhenya’s bark, she has no bite. She prattles on about being the reigning queen of the world and insists upon being addressed as such, even if she has no actual standing within the lair. Most of the other dragons in the lair, especially the younger ones, humor her, however, addressing her as “highness” and bringing her small trinkets to add to her hoard. Small gifts and treasures will earn the youngsters countless hours of riveting tall tales about Merwhenya’s glorious exploits of conquering and pillaging, but most of them are aware that these stories are likely little more than fairy tales the elderess has concocted. Whatever backstory Merwhenya actually has, she seems to believe strongly in her own stories. She acts regal and haughty, but is easily placated with a little effort. She can be quite cranky, however, making her somewhat of an irritation to the older dragons. That being said, anyone caught sassing or being rude to her will certainly get a snap from Voleta at the least.
~
Dagarkin, Voleta's Defender wrote:
Anyone who has ever known Dagarkin knows that this star-touched guardian rarely does anything without careful consideration. Even before he hatched, curled up snug in the pale green shell of his egg, he took his time, emerging so many days after his siblings that by the time he crawled free, he’d been abandoned, mistaken as dead and rotten. Life is abundant in the Zephyr Steppes, though, and he was swiftly found and adopted by another clan of guardians who looked after him in his youth. Some of his new family called him distracted and distant, but the few who knew him well know that Dagarkin had no trouble keeping up, but simply hesitated to act.
Even when prompted to seek out his charge, the steel-colored beast seemed reluctant. He felt as if a part of him was missing, as if a piece of his being hadn’t fully formed within that shell of his and now he was left with a gap he was so sure couldn’t be filled by the world beyond. Still, the time came when he had to leave, and so he set to the skies in search of something he wasn’t sure could be found. For years he searched the lands, drifting from region to region until he was certain he’d seen it all. From every inch of the Southern Icefield to every leaf of the Viridian Labyrinth, no crevice or nook was glossed over in his thorough pursuit, but his charge, whatever it may be, simply wasn’t there.
Tired, heartsore, and alone, Dagarkin retreated back to his origins, making a home for himself in Reedcleft Ascent where he became something of a hermit. Nightfall is particularly beautiful in this area, the churning winds humming through the hollow shafts of the bamboo, pushing away the remnants of clouds until the starry sky is revealed in the dark. He became fascinated with the stars, wondering if perhaps whatever purpose he was meant to serve existed somewhere up there in the great abyss of space, and as the years continued to wander by, he began decorating his body with marks in honor of the peace their light brought him.
Then, on a windy and rainy afternoon, everything changed. A young girl came into his life with all the warmth and presence of a hearth, her immature wings not yet their full size and yet she flew as if the sun itself gave her strength. This was Voleta, a cousin from the clan that had taken him in, and unlike Dagarkin, she had no patience for waiting about. She turned his life upside down in her own pursuit of a charge to look after, and when she had grown from a determined adolescent into a bold and powerful woman, he found what he’d been missing.
Voleta is the guardian of youth and innocence, drawing the wayward hatchlings into her fold until they were plenty, scurrying about underfoot, and the old star-speckled dragon found more joy in helping her tend to them than he’d found in anything but the stars. He knew then what he was meant for, what his purpose was, and it had been this family all along. Voleta and her mission is his charge, and he guards her and her hatchlings with his life, serving as both a mentor and a defender to all those that find themselves under his protection.
~
Scintillan, the Secret Keeper wrote:
As the son of a linguist and an absent mother, Scintillan’s life began in the Shrieking Wilds, nestled in the underbrush in the flittering shade of the evergreen trees towering overhead. It was here that he first came to know the darkness his breed is known for. The shadows of the boughs of the trees nurtured his nocturnal skills, honing his eyes until they were as keen in the dark as they were in the light, and when at last it came time for him to venture out beyond his father’s protective wing, he still found himself drawn to the darkness.
He spent some time with Clan Atel, lurking in their outer ranks, an outsider until the familial nature of the group drew him in. He was a quiet, isolated adolescent, but they took him into their fold, adopting him as part of their family. Scintillan’s mother’s disappearance had always left a gap in the young nocturne’s heart, but the various members of Clan Atel each took part in filling the hole until his resentment became nothing more than a figment of his past. He was sleek, strong, and happy in their cavernous lair, but eventually the shadows once again beckoned him. After much debate, Scintillan left the clan, promising to keep his family in his heart as he took to the night in search of his true purpose somewhere in the Tangled Wood.
Past the Driftwood Drag and the Wispillow Grove and through the heart of the twined and gnarled Foxfie Bramble, knowing this night as though he’d been there before, as though he could navigate every root and tree blind. He spent days lost in thought gliding aimlessly through the thickets until a sliver of bluish light carved through the murk of the Shadowbinder. Moonlight danced across a silvery crescent pool, the bulk of the water muddled with scattered stones and broken pillars, but still it had a resonance, a presence as bright as a mirror in sunlight. He peered into that pool then, green eyes searching the water’s depths… He’s never told anyone what he saw that day adrift in the water’s prying eyes, but he sealed it away underneath a battered log coated in softly glowing mushrooms, darkening that pool in hopes that it would never be seen again.
Shadowbinder came to him that night, and ever since he’s been an agent of darkness and secrets. Prowling the night, he serves a higher purpose, hearing the god of shadow’s voice in his head urging him to dark but necessary deeds. Secrets better left kept secret are kept by the way of his blade. It is his job to silence those that would speak such terrible darkness, and to still those whose words or magics that threaten the world’s balance. There are rumors that he is the keeper of these forbidden things, that those secrets haunt him when he dreams, but he will never tell. The shadows are safe with him.
~
Cedrela's Fall wrote:
Cedrela had been warned of the dangers of the Abiding Boneyard, that the vast expanse of lifeless terrain was more unforgiving than anything she’d ever experienced and that countless travelers had long since been lost to such a wasteland, but she hadn’t listened. Though after days and days of fluttering past dusty or rotting corpses of other dragons and creatures, she was starting to wish that she had. Surely nothing could live out here? The air was thick, putrid even through the thick fabric of the shawl she kept ever draped around her snout, and it was only by the worsening of this scent that she felt she was even going in the right direction. It was certainly growing stronger with each day, stinging at her eyes and making her dizzy.
Eventually she had to land, and the dirt and soil of the earth underneath her paws felt strangely damp between her toes. She tried desperately not to look down and kept moving, tucking her inky wings against her hide. A week later, sheltered by the bones of a fallen guardian, she was out of rations and seemingly no closer to her destination than when she’d left. To go back would mean certain death, but she doubted the Scarred Wasteland would provide anything but decay and finality further inward. She thought of her sister that night, buried her snout under her wings, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke, parched and hungry, her tired feet carried her onward and onward until suddenly she could see it. The rim broke across the horizon, swathed in thickets of red-leafed trees and gnarled roots, and though the smell was unbearable by now, Cedrela nearly wept with joy. This brush and foliage, foul as it was, meant she’d made it.
All that was left now was to find the witch that lurked here, and her and Isavar would be together again.
Perhaps in the true world there might have been other clans that settled along Rotrock Rim, but in this strange mirror realm, the rim belonged to a single entity. Every gnarled root, every jagged tree, every creature of flesh and bone; it was all the territory of the Wyrm Witch, Safadel, and there was no disturbance of her land that went unfelt. So when a young, exhausted fae entered the shadowy woods, the witch saw her presence through the eyes of her many spies. “Seems we have an unexpected guest, Ashwren…” she mused to herself, running her fingers through the thick fur of her winter wolf companion. He was darker than the others of his pack and as large as a winter wolf, with piercing red eyes. Of all her wolves, he her favorite, the one she called familiar, and thus she’d blessed him with an intelligence far beyond that of his brethren, so that when he looked upon her, his gaze matched her own.
“Shall we greet her?” The witch asked, quirking a slender brow at her favored beast, and for a moment, the wolf was silent, calculative. No one ventured into this woods without purpose, this they both knew, and so he rose to his feet and tossed his head to the skies for a long, low howl. The other wolves mobilized immediately, scattering into the shadows with alpha and witch close upon their heels. Safadel arrived at the clearing seconds after her pets did, but she lingered in the darkness, watching the youngling from the shadows as the fae fluttered into the air to avoid teeth and claws from the circling wolves. They did not attack though, waiting for a signal from their masters, but Safadel would hear this girl out, as she did all her victims.
“I’ve come too far to be anyone’s lunch!” The little fae chirped, and the wyrm witch chuckled softly before she emerged into the moonlight, her dress and cloak emitting plumes of spoke and ash as they furled about her movement. “Now, now, let us not be too hasty, little one,” she purred. Her voice was soft, but there was a resonance in it that made the forest quiet out of respect or fear. It didn’t matter to her which. The fae was transfixed by her, slowly drifting back to the toxic soil, for even though she wore this form of fragile flesh, it was hard not to sense the power of the beast she was. Her spines and claws betrayed her true form, enormous and deadly and to whom the fae would be but a mouthful. The youngling said nothing, her pale green gaze lost in Safadel’s crimson one, and the witch laughed, startling the fae from her trance. The fae couldn’t know that with just such a stare, the witch knew everything there was to know about her.
“I assume you’ve come here seeking a witch, hm?” She said, and the fae nodded. “I have!” She said at once, wringing her paws together. She kept glancing to the brush where the wolves circled, their low growls making her ears and fins twitch anxiously. Safadel admired her, the inky black scales and wings suitable to an environment as deadly as this one. “I…I was told you could grant wishes,” the fae continued, and Safadel’s black lips curved into a subtle smile before she gave a small nod. “And of what do you have wish for, Cedrela?” she asked, her smile broadening at the fae’s surprise at knowing her name. “I want to see my sister, Isavar, again. She is everything to me, and ever since I came to this horrible place I have feared that her and I are never to be together again,” she said, and her voice weakened as her eyes withered to the floor. She was obviously thinking of this Isavar, her gaze and thoughts faraway with her beloved sibling, and Safadel was not so heartless as to not feel a pang of sympathy for this poor, unfortunate creature. She moved forward, reaching out to caress the fae’s scaled cheek, careful not to scrape them with her sharp claws as she brushed away a single tear.
“…And what would you give to see her again?” The witch asked, turning the fae’s head up till their eyes met again. Cedrela stared long into those deep red eyes, once again captivated by their glimmer as they shone like rubies in the night, and before she could think the words, they were spilling out of her mouth. “Anything, I’d give anything,” she said distantly, and the witch smiled again, baring her fangs at last. “Then see her again you shall.” She stepped back, breathing in the toxic air deeply before her magic rushed her. Scales prickled across her human form, turning ivory skin to iridescent black in seconds as her wings surged forth in a plume of smoke. Blood red runes glittered over the webbing of her wings, dripping out onto her arms, staining her hands red before, with a sudden flare of eerie red light, her magic speared forward, lancing through both realms to snare hold of her prey. Isavar was yanked from the real world into this one, cast into it more violently than her sister had and thrown to the Shifting Expanse like a bolt of lightning.
Cedrela felt the world shudder around her, recoiling from this powerful display, but the dark magic wasn’t finished. The wolves from the brush howled as their master’s influence clawed forward, snaring hold of the fae in its path. “Wait! What’s happening?! Where’s Isavar?!” Cedrela cried as she felt the magic sinking into her skin, and the witch chuckled. “I said you’d see her again, but I never said when,” she cooed, and Cedrela’s eyes widened before the magic seized hold of her core. She felt a horrible pain spread out through her veins, bleaching her wings and body, blinding her as runes matching Safadel’s seared into her flesh. She felt as if her entire being was being stripped away, rendered bare under the witch’s magic, but even as her body screamed, whatever was left of her mind was being caged up, locked away somewhere deep inside her so that when at least she settled, she had no control over the flesh she’d previously inhabited. She could still hear, could still feel, but her eyesight was gone, and her limbs moved against her will as the witch beckoned her body.
