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TOPIC | Once upon a happy beginning
[i]
[ ... ]
and so they lived, miserably ever after.
@glacevoleur @shadowdawn199
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[url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drt/1101610/1][img]http://i.imgur.com/7wv9OeJ.png[/img][/url]
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=21146735]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/211468/21146735_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[item=copper cuffs of transmutation]
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[i]Uh-oh, looks like this trophy girl wandered away from her lair [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776]55776, glacevoleur[/url]), and now she's got to fend for herself. If ever you feel the urge to exalt, she'd really appreciate it if you could escort her back instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, [url=http://tinyurl.com/kjyytnl]here.[/url][/i]
When she was still a hatchling, Sunset's father imbued her with a certain set of values-- beauty, grace, elegance, and charm. It was never seen fit to trouble her with occupation; she spent her days in passing leisure, reading books of light poetry and tailing her mother about her work. Frivolous, some would say; poetry, gardening, interior design and fine art-- all frivolous. And if she'd never especially [i]applied[/i] herself to anything, then... Well! Surely it just wasn't in her nature.
She set out from her clan as a young dragoness, with all her father's goodwill and a gentle kiss on the cheek from her mother. She didn't know where she was going, didn't know much about adventure (didn't know much of anything, really), but she was sure she would puzzle it out just fine.
She hadn't figured it out by the time she arrived in the Tangled Wood, not quite, but she was hungry, and fortunate enough to find a clan-- if it could be called that-- willing to take her in. The lair was very empty, and [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15160835]her host[/url] seemed possessed by a certain exquisite loneliness. Sunset could never quite put her finger on the emotion, though, as if she'd never encountered anything as intense, as if the process of mourning had been something too hideous for her to be exposed to.
"I think I'll send you on to[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776] Nightshade[/url]," the Nocturne says after a day, still without introduction. There is something in her tone that Sunset cannot place, not sad, not guilty, but...
She sets out the next morning, follows the Nocturne's directions to a clearing ringed by quartz-flecked granite walls. There are no dragons there, just a long stretch of ash marring the pale grass. Abruptly, she is stricken by a certain watery coldness in her chest, up and down the length of her neck. She has never been afraid before.
She calls out in question, and then again in slight desperation, and is met with a rather [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3833978]grim-looking Skydancer[/url] before her cries can escalate to full-fledged panic. She cannot read his expression, either due to his hood or the lack of an emotion in the first place. His eyes are perfectly white. She has never seen eyes like his before.
"You're late," he tells her in a hoarse voice, with a sort of dry, biting humor that goes over her head. She is not sure what to say, so he continues before she has a chance to. "The others all left days ago. There's nothing left to carry anymore." Perhaps he reads some lack of comprehension in her face, because he pauses, and asks, "Where exactly are you from?" She does not have any name to give him, just a vague gesture in the direction from which she believes she came. He stares at her for a long moment, perhaps disgusted, and turns away. "I suppose it doesn't matter," he says after a while. "I'm going to meet up with them tomorrow, anyway."
In the end, there is something to carry; he entrusts her with a small stack of books and together, they take off for the Sunbeam Ruins. She is not used to long flights like this, but does not realize the flaws of her physique when her only point of reference is his slender and ill-used frame. They stop often, and only arrive as night falls.
She sleeps without trouble, and is ushered to a meeting early the next morning. The tent is crowded with draconian bodies; a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=2996849]massive blue Imperial with downcast eyes[/url] hovers near a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3002909]Spiral swathed in black cloth[/url]. Further back, a[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3032200] purple Guardian[/url] and[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=5695525] blue-winged Imperial[/url] converse in low tones, and she can see the familiar hooded Skydancer dozing lightly in the far corner. She answers a series of questions from the Spiral, mostly about her host, as a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3167702]quiet Coatl[/url] takes notes. Seemingly satisfied with her answers, they release her back into the rather slapdash camp not long after.
Throughout the day there is a consistent buzz of activity, which she does not partake in; she cannot make heads or tails of the dragons rushing about with stone and steel and lumber. Late in the afternoon, the Coatl whom she'd seen taking notes during the earlier meeting approaches her apologetically with a set of copper bracelets. He helps her put them on without quite explaining why, only expressing the hope that they aren't too uncomfortable. She remarks that she thinks they suit her quite well, thank you, and he gives her a strange look, some part awe and some part concern, before moving off.
Things settle down considerably in the weeks that follow. She and many others go from sleeping outside on the cobbled ground to housing themselves within newly-repaired barracks, which make up for their drabness by the mere nature of having a roof. She shares a pile of blankets with an older [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=10047696]female Mirror[/url], who spends her days straining her muscles at construction work with many of the others.
"So what do you do?" Fleshrend asks her one evening.
"I'm sorry?" she asks, tilting her head less in confusion than in lack of comprehension.
"What do you do all day," Fleshrend clarifies, stretching one wing. "You aren't helping with the building; I would've seen you. I don't think you're one of their new council members--"
"I'm not."
"Right. And you don't hunt with the warriors, you don't pick plants with the gatherers, you don't seem to have any sort of healing powers..."
"I don't think so, no. I just walk around, mostly. I like to be outside in the sun, and to watch things happen. It's fascinating, watching the rest of you work."
Fleshrend gives her a look of disbelief.
A few days later, she again encounters the imposing Imperial with the pale blue wings. He is wearing some pieces of battered steel armor now, though he looks no worse for the wear. "I don't think you can stay here any longer," he tells her rather severely. "It's a delicate time for us, you know. We're rebuilding." His voice is very deep, she notes. "We need every dragon to be pulling their weight." Like a pipe organ. "We don't have the resources to spare on the dragons who don't know any trade."
She moves as if to take the bracelets off, and he lurches back almost violently. "Don't... don't you want them back?" she asks, faltering.
"Gods, no," he says, sounding almost horrified at the notion. "Keep them on, for the Warden's sake." He does not say, [i]How else are we supposed to find you?[/i], and she does not notice it on the tip of his tongue.
The cuffs are rather comfortable, anyway.
[center][item=copper cuffs of transmutation][/center]
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@BookLungs //coughs at
Uh-oh, looks like this trophy girl wandered away from her lair 55776, glacevoleur), and now she's got to fend for herself. If ever you feel the urge to exalt, she'd really appreciate it if you could escort her back instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, here.
When she was still a hatchling, Sunset's father imbued her with a certain set of values-- beauty, grace, elegance, and charm. It was never seen fit to trouble her with occupation; she spent her days in passing leisure, reading books of light poetry and tailing her mother about her work. Frivolous, some would say; poetry, gardening, interior design and fine art-- all frivolous. And if she'd never especially applied herself to anything, then... Well! Surely it just wasn't in her nature.
She set out from her clan as a young dragoness, with all her father's goodwill and a gentle kiss on the cheek from her mother. She didn't know where she was going, didn't know much about adventure (didn't know much of anything, really), but she was sure she would puzzle it out just fine.
She hadn't figured it out by the time she arrived in the Tangled Wood, not quite, but she was hungry, and fortunate enough to find a clan-- if it could be called that-- willing to take her in. The lair was very empty, and her host seemed possessed by a certain exquisite loneliness. Sunset could never quite put her finger on the emotion, though, as if she'd never encountered anything as intense, as if the process of mourning had been something too hideous for her to be exposed to.
"I think I'll send you on to Nightshade," the Nocturne says after a day, still without introduction. There is something in her tone that Sunset cannot place, not sad, not guilty, but...
She sets out the next morning, follows the Nocturne's directions to a clearing ringed by quartz-flecked granite walls. There are no dragons there, just a long stretch of ash marring the pale grass. Abruptly, she is stricken by a certain watery coldness in her chest, up and down the length of her neck. She has never been afraid before.
She calls out in question, and then again in slight desperation, and is met with a rather grim-looking Skydancer before her cries can escalate to full-fledged panic. She cannot read his expression, either due to his hood or the lack of an emotion in the first place. His eyes are perfectly white. She has never seen eyes like his before.
"You're late," he tells her in a hoarse voice, with a sort of dry, biting humor that goes over her head. She is not sure what to say, so he continues before she has a chance to. "The others all left days ago. There's nothing left to carry anymore." Perhaps he reads some lack of comprehension in her face, because he pauses, and asks, "Where exactly are you from?" She does not have any name to give him, just a vague gesture in the direction from which she believes she came. He stares at her for a long moment, perhaps disgusted, and turns away. "I suppose it doesn't matter," he says after a while. "I'm going to meet up with them tomorrow, anyway."
In the end, there is something to carry; he entrusts her with a small stack of books and together, they take off for the Sunbeam Ruins. She is not used to long flights like this, but does not realize the flaws of her physique when her only point of reference is his slender and ill-used frame. They stop often, and only arrive as night falls.
She sleeps without trouble, and is ushered to a meeting early the next morning. The tent is crowded with draconian bodies; a massive blue Imperial with downcast eyes hovers near a Spiral swathed in black cloth. Further back, a purple Guardian and blue-winged Imperial converse in low tones, and she can see the familiar hooded Skydancer dozing lightly in the far corner. She answers a series of questions from the Spiral, mostly about her host, as a quiet Coatl takes notes. Seemingly satisfied with her answers, they release her back into the rather slapdash camp not long after.
Throughout the day there is a consistent buzz of activity, which she does not partake in; she cannot make heads or tails of the dragons rushing about with stone and steel and lumber. Late in the afternoon, the Coatl whom she'd seen taking notes during the earlier meeting approaches her apologetically with a set of copper bracelets. He helps her put them on without quite explaining why, only expressing the hope that they aren't too uncomfortable. She remarks that she thinks they suit her quite well, thank you, and he gives her a strange look, some part awe and some part concern, before moving off.
Things settle down considerably in the weeks that follow. She and many others go from sleeping outside on the cobbled ground to housing themselves within newly-repaired barracks, which make up for their drabness by the mere nature of having a roof. She shares a pile of blankets with an older female Mirror, who spends her days straining her muscles at construction work with many of the others.
"So what do you do?" Fleshrend asks her one evening.
"I'm sorry?" she asks, tilting her head less in confusion than in lack of comprehension.
"What do you do all day," Fleshrend clarifies, stretching one wing. "You aren't helping with the building; I would've seen you. I don't think you're one of their new council members--"
"I'm not."
"Right. And you don't hunt with the warriors, you don't pick plants with the gatherers, you don't seem to have any sort of healing powers..."
"I don't think so, no. I just walk around, mostly. I like to be outside in the sun, and to watch things happen. It's fascinating, watching the rest of you work."
Fleshrend gives her a look of disbelief.
A few days later, she again encounters the imposing Imperial with the pale blue wings. He is wearing some pieces of battered steel armor now, though he looks no worse for the wear. "I don't think you can stay here any longer," he tells her rather severely. "It's a delicate time for us, you know. We're rebuilding." His voice is very deep, she notes. "We need every dragon to be pulling their weight." Like a pipe organ. "We don't have the resources to spare on the dragons who don't know any trade."
She moves as if to take the bracelets off, and he lurches back almost violently. "Don't... don't you want them back?" she asks, faltering.
"Gods, no," he says, sounding almost horrified at the notion. "Keep them on, for the Warden's sake." He does not say, How else are we supposed to find you?, and she does not notice it on the tip of his tongue.
The cuffs are rather comfortable, anyway.
@BookLungs //coughs at
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| D E C E A S E D |
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12590152]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/125902/12590152_350.png[/img]
[/url][/center]
[item=battered book of fables]
[i] [size=2] Uh-oh, looks like this dalmatian noodle wandered a little too far from his lair ([url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199, 148774[/url]), and now he's off to see the world! If ever you feel the urge to exalt, he'd really appreciate it if you could just return him home instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, [url=http://tinyurl.com/kjyytnl]here.[/url][/i]
[size=2]Owners I've had:
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199 (148774)[/url]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison (11290)[/url]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199 (148774)[/url]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison (11290)[/url]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776]glacevoleur (55776)[/url]
---------------------------------------------
[size=2]Pinto was never quite happy in the hustle and bustle of the Charming Rogue. When a mysterious patron swept in, pawed their coins onto the counter and seated themselves, brooding in a corner, others might find themselves curious enough to approach and wheedle a story from out of shut jaws. Should a group of warriors march in, trained, toughened and ready to send themselves to the glory of Shadowbinder, a dragon could find themselves easily in awe of shining armour and gleaming claws, and perhaps barter for battle tales with mugs of mead. Or, if a brawl should happen to break out, started by so much as an idle glance or misplaced word, some would be excited by the action (and some might even join in!).
But Pinto was not. He’d seen priests and generals, thieves and mages, nobles, alchemists, and merchants. But he could never work up the courage to approach them, and so these fantastic sights saddened him. He was shy, he was quiet, and he wanted to be anything but. He dreamed of being a famous hero, whose name was as gilded as his armour and deeds as legendary as the deities themselves. Every attempt to change himself into this dream resulted in failure, however. How could he change when any interest he might garner was stolen by another of his clan? Be charming and confident? [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=148774&tab=dragon&did=12148845]Capricious[/url] had that down to a fine art ([url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=148774&did=12148846]Fox[/url] had named the inn in honour of his two greatest qualities, after all). Be fierce and enigmatic? [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=148774&did=13199141]Passion[/url], with her scars, sarcastic nature and inky tattoos was a riddle none but her mate dared to solve, and far better suited. Be noble and stately? [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=148774&did=12058539]Queen[/url] would elegantly snort and toss her crystalline head, and mock his intent with a derisive 'darling' should he even try.
He was nothing in a sea of interesting, and he loathed his own boring, dull, insipid grayness.
[i]“I can be something if I’m somewhere else. I just know it."[/i]
He slipped away one night, provisions clasped in talon, explanation hanging on a nail to be found long after he was gone, mantra echoing in his head.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199 #148774[/url]
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[size=2]The dark is a stranger to Pinto. The trees are like a nightmare, familiar, but twisted into hostile illusions. Their roots seem to lift up to trip him, and when he takes to the branches, he is stabbed wherever he steps. His hands and feet become riddled with hundreds of needle wounds.
The morning brings no light, only sounds of creaatures. He hears their tender growling and wicked snickers, but their forms are beyond his vision. He tells himself they are curious. His stomach coils, and insists that they are malevolent, sharp-toothed, and ravenous for a bite of dragon flesh. When he feels a set of teeth clamp down on the end of his tail, he erupts into a wild panic, throwing himself against a wall of brambles, and then downwards into a deep puddle of murk where subterranean hands grab onto his legs and wings and threaten to swallow him.
He is out of the puddle, but the hands do not sto?p. Th?e? m?ud ?i s alive. He w ipes it ?off, but it ? go es all over h?is hands and mingles with the ?red that s ?eeps ou?t of the p?inprick holes? o ??n his palms and he wipes a n?d w?i?pes and ???sm? ????ea?rs a?n?d ?scrat c? hes ?hims elf and oh god i?? t???s? e???ve r ?y?ywhe?r?e and? h?i?s? g? e? m?b?o?n? d? i?t?c? h?e?s? a?n?d? h?i?s? s?k?i?n? i?s? o?n? f? f?i?r?e? a?n? d? h?i?s? w?i?n?g?s? f?e? e?l? b?r?o?k?e? n? a? n?d? t?h? e?y? '? r?e? s?t? i? l?l? f? o? l? l? o? w? i? n? g? h? i? m?
[i]
[color=#F665AB]"He's from the inn, isn't he? The Charming Rogue. I've seen him around there."
[color=red]"Oh. Ok... Should we take him back, or...?
[color=#1589FF]"Let him sleep, but we must not leave him alone."
[color= #CCB854]"He was a fool. I'll watch him tonight. You three rest."
[color=#1589FF]"Thank you, Auriel. Call me if he begins to scream again.
[color=black]"HO?M?E? -? D?O?N?T?'? T?O?U?C?H? M?E? D?O?N?'? T? N?O? ?.? H?O?M?E?.? L??E?T? M?E? G??? O??? H???O??? M???E???.??? C???A???P???.??? Q???????U???????????????E???????E???????N?????? H???????E???????L???????P??????? M??????? E???????.??????? H??????? E??????? L??????? P??????? M??????? E???????.??????? [/i]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison #11290[/url]
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[size=2]He is left outside the inn's doors at midday. He is a quiet, shivering wreck, and so he does not hear the whispered words of [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=148774&tab=dragon&did=12148845]the tundra[/url] and the [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=view&tab=dragon&id=0&did=1889506]white skydancer[/url]. He does not see Capricious leave, fetch [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=148774&tab=dragon&did=12148846]Fox[/url], and he scarcely remembers being bundled up to bed, being fussed over, the bandages on his hands and feet being changed.
He does remember the wounds burning like fire.
For months he spends his time in the inn, a shattered shell of his former self. Once, before, he'd been the kind to be careful before speaking; now he never speaks at all. Once he'd gazed at the inn's visitors with shining eyes; now his eyes rove restless, glinting with fear. He used to be a little shy, nervous, tentative; but now he is terrified, the slightest unexpected movement making him flinch, jitter away. He can barely acknowledge his old clan mates, and the new ones he keeps his distance from, frightened by these strangers who've made their home in his.
The festival rolls around, the great circus of the Shadow flight, yet he does not notice at all. Not a stir at the banners being hung, not at the waft of all manners of delicious scents from the kitchen, not at the pinecones being hidden hither and yon; nothing. All he sees is the crush of bodies in the common rooms below, and so he hides in his sanctuary (the library) and does not emerge.
Until Capricious knocks on his door at the dead of night.
[i]”Pinto, luv, can you come with me for a second?" [/i]
While Pinto doesn't trust many of his clan mates anymore, he trusts the dark-furred patriarch unfailingly.
He is wrong to.
He is led into a group of warriors, told to stay with them. Stay. Even as he begins to shake, he is told to stay.
He must follow them as they go, marching, marching. To the battlegrounds. Blood-slicked, dark grass, dark shapes, shouting, roaring: dying.
[i]“No. No. No this is wrong this is wrong I shouldn’t be here no no no let me go I shouldn’t be here why am I here no no please I don’t want to die why did you do this I trusted you no please no please please I don’t want to go no please!"[/i]
Pinto flees, his body twisting in panicked knots as he runs to the only other place he knows, his wings showing him the way even if his head does not remember.
He sees the light above, and trembling, limbs exhausted, he collapses at the door, and prays to be found.
[i]“Pinto?”[/i]
The [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=11290&tab=dragon&did=15160835]songbird[/url] has music sweeter than Pinto has ever heard before.
It sounds safe.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199 #148774[/url]
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[size=2]She picks Pinto's head off the ground. He leans against her chest, trembling. "It's alright, it's alright," she murmurs. "What happened? I thought you went home."
At the word 'home,' his trembling turns into sobbing. The nocturne leads him inside, murmuring apologies and stroking his back. It's darker than he remembers in here. The hallways are not basked in gold light. It's colder. It smells a little bit dusty. The clicking of their claws against the stone ground echoes off the walls. It's a graveyard, but he doesn't know what's buried in the air here.
She sets him by a cold hearth and wraps him in something thick and heavy. He closes his eyes. He hears the soft rustling of tinder, the crack of a matchstick, and the popping of fire. Without opening his eyes, he leans towards the flame and lets himself bake in the heat. He doesn't mean to fall asleep.
[i]He's back? No matter. He won't stay long...[/i]
When he opens his eyes again, he's in a different world. The murky greyness has returned to bright gold. It's warmer. It smells like lavender. He half expects to be wrapped in a whispered chorus of voices, but they're not here. Only the nocturne, who is sitting next to him. She looks away when he glances up at her. He sees a pot and a kettle hanging by the hearth.
"I never learned any of your names," Pinto says. He doesn't mean for it to be a whisper, but she somehow hears him over the crackling flames.
"[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=11290&tab=dragon&did=15160835]Lark[/url]," she says. "They used to call me the songbird, but I don't sing much anymore."
"Why not?"
"Nothing," she says.
[i]It doesn't matter.[/i]
They spend the murky morning catching crickets and moths amongst the brambles. Even when she's out of sight, he can sense that he isn't alone. It feels safe. When unknown noises pounce on him, he doesn't startle nearly as violently as before.
At night, she lays down next to him. He pretends to be asleep. After a while, she begins a slow hum. The melody is mournful, and her voice is soft. Pinto presses closer to her, because she is a beacon against silence. He doesn't care that the notes fly crooked, and fall flat against the cold, stone floor. In the morning, she coaxes him onto a nest, and he decides to stay.
[i]You think you love her. She knows you don't. [/i]
The time rolls gently into a lull. Young dragons come through the door in small, polite, batches, and leave after only a few days.
Slowly, the gold melts away. One night, Lark falls asleep without even lighting a fire. He finds the matches first, in the second drawer he checked. Then he finds the candles - huge drawers filled with piles and piles of fresh candles that Lark has stopped lighting. He remembers.
Diligently, he takes the candles out and puts them in the sconces that line the walls, and the silver candlesticks on the tables. When he tries to strike the match, all he does is burn his hand, and drop the rest of the box.
For an hour, all he does is stand there in the cold, grey room. The air becomes heavy and thick and dusty. He shivers, then rememberes that he needs to go to the nest. Lark doesn't like the nests anymore. It's their third, but she only cared for the first. Now she sleeps alone, outside, in the trees. And it's cold. The eggs will be cold. He has to go to the nest.
With a blink, he pulls himself out of the trance. To go to the nest. Halfway across the room, he stops, and comes back to pick up the matches. Then he looks around, and decides to collect the candles too. They come off the walls, back to the musky drawers. He feels suddenly like something has died in his presence, but he shakes off the feeling. He's been getting all sorts of 'feelings' lately. They're probably Irrelevant.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison #11290[/url]
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[size=2]He leaves one morning, without a word, but he thinks she knows. He thinks he hears a mournful aubade following him through the still dawn air. He thinks it guides him into a land of brightness-- but he can't be sure.
He knows there is a clan in the citadel because there is a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3140307]Mirror[/url] at the gates, scarred and far older than him, but still lean, and with a certain hunger in his four pale eyes. "Where're you from?" the Mirror asks, flicking a fin in disinterest.
"The Tangled Wood," Pinto replies. "Or thereabouts."
The Mirror lets him past, and gives him a quick set of directions. "Follow the path all the way down, to the courtyard with a fountain in it. The barracks are the building on your right."
For lack of anywhere else to go, he follows the Mirror's instructions. It is a long walk, but he doesn't mind. The sun seems to soften some strange weariness in his bones.
The barracks are a massive building, unlit and dark on the inside, with only the light from small windows and gaps in the stone walls. He is stopped by a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=13324849]female Skydancer[/url]; she holds herself tall, regal like some Queen he must've known, once upon a time. "Name?" she asks him, and when he answers, "Rank?"
"Rank?" he echoes, not knowing what she means.
"Are you not a warrior?" she asks. He shakes his head, ducking it slightly under the weight of her cold, imperious stare. "You're not here for training?"
"No," he says, and when she still stares at him uncomprehendingly, "I'm just...here."
There is a slither of movement up in the rafters. A dragon drops down, lightly, behind the Skydancer, and Pinto's eyes go wide. He has seen a ghost.
"I'll take care of it," says [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=14668144]Auriel[/url].
[center]* * *[/center]
[size=2]"I remember you," Pinto says, later, when they are outside. They had flown like twin rivers, meandering and indecisive, until they came to a landing on top of one of the buildings by the amphitheater. "Someone said your name, once."
"Yes," says Auriel. There is silence.
"How is she?" he asks after a moment. He does not have to say the songbird's name.
"She's...fine, I guess," Pinto replies, and when the other looks skeptical, "No, she's not. I don't know." He pauses. "Did you hate her?"
Auriel shakes his head. "No. You can't hate her."
"I think I might've loved her," Pinto says. "I think I might've been in love with her."
"You weren't," Auriel says, without hesitating.
"How do you know?" Pinto asks. "How do I know when it's real?"
Auriel smiles at him, wryly, and promises, "I'll tell you."
[center]* * *[/center]
[size=2]It is the beginning of summer when he meets [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20930388]Euthalia[/url], and Auriel tells him.
"How do I tell her?" Pinto asks, puppy dog eyes and anxiety, tying himself in knots.
"Buy her something," Auriel says, textbook.
"I don't have any money," Pinto replies in an almost-whine.
"Write her something," Auriel suggests.
So he tries that, churns out a paper stream of prose purpler than his wings. Nothing turns out right. He tries to burn it, and when he can't get the hang of flint and steel, Auriel buys him a small packet of matches.
"What does she like?" Auriel asks, later. They are lying in the gardens and Pinto is tearing grass into small pieces and throwing it to the ground, frustrated.
"Flowers, I guess."
And flowers it is.
[center]* * *[/center]
[size=2]They lay their first nest during the festival of light, and Pinto thinks his pride must be brighter and warmer than Sornieth's sun. He resolves, firmly, to name every one of his hatchlings after something beautiful.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776]glacevoleur #55776[/url]
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[center][img]http://i1288.photobucket.com/albums/b497/krissy_tims/Shadowdawn199%202_zpsvkzyyf2k.png[/img]
by @Krissybuttbutt[/center]
| D E C E A S E D |
Uh-oh, looks like this dalmatian noodle wandered a little too far from his lair (Shadowdawn199, 148774), and now he's off to see the world! If ever you feel the urge to exalt, he'd really appreciate it if you could just return him home instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, here.
Owners I've had:
Shadowdawn199 (148774)
Dalison (11290)
Shadowdawn199 (148774)
Dalison (11290)
glacevoleur (55776)
Pinto was never quite happy in the hustle and bustle of the Charming Rogue. When a mysterious patron swept in, pawed their coins onto the counter and seated themselves, brooding in a corner, others might find themselves curious enough to approach and wheedle a story from out of shut jaws. Should a group of warriors march in, trained, toughened and ready to send themselves to the glory of Shadowbinder, a dragon could find themselves easily in awe of shining armour and gleaming claws, and perhaps barter for battle tales with mugs of mead. Or, if a brawl should happen to break out, started by so much as an idle glance or misplaced word, some would be excited by the action (and some might even join in!).
But Pinto was not. He’d seen priests and generals, thieves and mages, nobles, alchemists, and merchants. But he could never work up the courage to approach them, and so these fantastic sights saddened him. He was shy, he was quiet, and he wanted to be anything but. He dreamed of being a famous hero, whose name was as gilded as his armour and deeds as legendary as the deities themselves. Every attempt to change himself into this dream resulted in failure, however. How could he change when any interest he might garner was stolen by another of his clan? Be charming and confident? Capricious had that down to a fine art (Fox had named the inn in honour of his two greatest qualities, after all). Be fierce and enigmatic? Passion, with her scars, sarcastic nature and inky tattoos was a riddle none but her mate dared to solve, and far better suited. Be noble and stately? Queen would elegantly snort and toss her crystalline head, and mock his intent with a derisive 'darling' should he even try.
He was nothing in a sea of interesting, and he loathed his own boring, dull, insipid grayness.
“I can be something if I’m somewhere else. I just know it."
He slipped away one night, provisions clasped in talon, explanation hanging on a nail to be found long after he was gone, mantra echoing in his head.
Shadowdawn199 #148774
The dark is a stranger to Pinto. The trees are like a nightmare, familiar, but twisted into hostile illusions. Their roots seem to lift up to trip him, and when he takes to the branches, he is stabbed wherever he steps. His hands and feet become riddled with hundreds of needle wounds.
The morning brings no light, only sounds of creaatures. He hears their tender growling and wicked snickers, but their forms are beyond his vision. He tells himself they are curious. His stomach coils, and insists that they are malevolent, sharp-toothed, and ravenous for a bite of dragon flesh. When he feels a set of teeth clamp down on the end of his tail, he erupts into a wild panic, throwing himself against a wall of brambles, and then downwards into a deep puddle of murk where subterranean hands grab onto his legs and wings and threaten to swallow him.
He is out of the puddle, but the hands do not sto?p. Th?e? m?ud ?i s alive. He w ipes it ?off, but it ? go es all over h?is hands and mingles with the ?red that s ?eeps ou?t of the p?inprick holes? o ??n his palms and he wipes a n?d w?i?pes and ???sm? ????ea?rs a?n?d ?scrat c? hes ?hims elf and oh god i?? t???s? e???ve r ?y?ywhe?r?e and? h?i?s? g? e? m?b?o?n? d? i?t?c? h?e?s? a?n?d? h?i?s? s?k?i?n? i?s? o?n? f? f?i?r?e? a?n? d? h?i?s? w?i?n?g?s? f?e? e?l? b?r?o?k?e? n? a? n?d? t?h? e?y? '? r?e? s?t? i? l?l? f? o? l? l? o? w? i? n? g? h? i? m?
"He's from the inn, isn't he? The Charming Rogue. I've seen him around there."
"Oh. Ok... Should we take him back, or...?
"Let him sleep, but we must not leave him alone."
"He was a fool. I'll watch him tonight. You three rest."
"Thank you, Auriel. Call me if he begins to scream again.
"HO?M?E? -? D?O?N?T?'? T?O?U?C?H? M?E? D?O?N?'? T? N?O? ?.? H?O?M?E?.? L??E?T? M?E? G??? O??? H???O??? M???E???.??? C???A???P???.??? Q???????U???????????????E???????E???????N?????? H???????E???????L???????P??????? M??????? E???????.??????? H??????? E??????? L??????? P??????? M??????? E???????.???????
Dalison #11290
He is left outside the inn's doors at midday. He is a quiet, shivering wreck, and so he does not hear the whispered words of the tundra and the white skydancer. He does not see Capricious leave, fetch Fox, and he scarcely remembers being bundled up to bed, being fussed over, the bandages on his hands and feet being changed.
He does remember the wounds burning like fire.
For months he spends his time in the inn, a shattered shell of his former self. Once, before, he'd been the kind to be careful before speaking; now he never speaks at all. Once he'd gazed at the inn's visitors with shining eyes; now his eyes rove restless, glinting with fear. He used to be a little shy, nervous, tentative; but now he is terrified, the slightest unexpected movement making him flinch, jitter away. He can barely acknowledge his old clan mates, and the new ones he keeps his distance from, frightened by these strangers who've made their home in his.
The festival rolls around, the great circus of the Shadow flight, yet he does not notice at all. Not a stir at the banners being hung, not at the waft of all manners of delicious scents from the kitchen, not at the pinecones being hidden hither and yon; nothing. All he sees is the crush of bodies in the common rooms below, and so he hides in his sanctuary (the library) and does not emerge.
Until Capricious knocks on his door at the dead of night.
”Pinto, luv, can you come with me for a second?"
While Pinto doesn't trust many of his clan mates anymore, he trusts the dark-furred patriarch unfailingly.
He is wrong to.
He is led into a group of warriors, told to stay with them. Stay. Even as he begins to shake, he is told to stay.
He must follow them as they go, marching, marching. To the battlegrounds. Blood-slicked, dark grass, dark shapes, shouting, roaring: dying.
“No. No. No this is wrong this is wrong I shouldn’t be here no no no let me go I shouldn’t be here why am I here no no please I don’t want to die why did you do this I trusted you no please no please please I don’t want to go no please!"
Pinto flees, his body twisting in panicked knots as he runs to the only other place he knows, his wings showing him the way even if his head does not remember.
He sees the light above, and trembling, limbs exhausted, he collapses at the door, and prays to be found.
“Pinto?”
The songbird has music sweeter than Pinto has ever heard before.
It sounds safe.
Shadowdawn199 #148774
She picks Pinto's head off the ground. He leans against her chest, trembling. "It's alright, it's alright," she murmurs. "What happened? I thought you went home."
At the word 'home,' his trembling turns into sobbing. The nocturne leads him inside, murmuring apologies and stroking his back. It's darker than he remembers in here. The hallways are not basked in gold light. It's colder. It smells a little bit dusty. The clicking of their claws against the stone ground echoes off the walls. It's a graveyard, but he doesn't know what's buried in the air here.
She sets him by a cold hearth and wraps him in something thick and heavy. He closes his eyes. He hears the soft rustling of tinder, the crack of a matchstick, and the popping of fire. Without opening his eyes, he leans towards the flame and lets himself bake in the heat. He doesn't mean to fall asleep.
He's back? No matter. He won't stay long...
When he opens his eyes again, he's in a different world. The murky greyness has returned to bright gold. It's warmer. It smells like lavender. He half expects to be wrapped in a whispered chorus of voices, but they're not here. Only the nocturne, who is sitting next to him. She looks away when he glances up at her. He sees a pot and a kettle hanging by the hearth.
"I never learned any of your names," Pinto says. He doesn't mean for it to be a whisper, but she somehow hears him over the crackling flames.
"Lark," she says. "They used to call me the songbird, but I don't sing much anymore."
"Why not?"
"Nothing," she says.
It doesn't matter.
They spend the murky morning catching crickets and moths amongst the brambles. Even when she's out of sight, he can sense that he isn't alone. It feels safe. When unknown noises pounce on him, he doesn't startle nearly as violently as before.
At night, she lays down next to him. He pretends to be asleep. After a while, she begins a slow hum. The melody is mournful, and her voice is soft. Pinto presses closer to her, because she is a beacon against silence. He doesn't care that the notes fly crooked, and fall flat against the cold, stone floor. In the morning, she coaxes him onto a nest, and he decides to stay.
You think you love her. She knows you don't.
The time rolls gently into a lull. Young dragons come through the door in small, polite, batches, and leave after only a few days.
Slowly, the gold melts away. One night, Lark falls asleep without even lighting a fire. He finds the matches first, in the second drawer he checked. Then he finds the candles - huge drawers filled with piles and piles of fresh candles that Lark has stopped lighting. He remembers.
Diligently, he takes the candles out and puts them in the sconces that line the walls, and the silver candlesticks on the tables. When he tries to strike the match, all he does is burn his hand, and drop the rest of the box.
For an hour, all he does is stand there in the cold, grey room. The air becomes heavy and thick and dusty. He shivers, then rememberes that he needs to go to the nest. Lark doesn't like the nests anymore. It's their third, but she only cared for the first. Now she sleeps alone, outside, in the trees. And it's cold. The eggs will be cold. He has to go to the nest.
With a blink, he pulls himself out of the trance. To go to the nest. Halfway across the room, he stops, and comes back to pick up the matches. Then he looks around, and decides to collect the candles too. They come off the walls, back to the musky drawers. He feels suddenly like something has died in his presence, but he shakes off the feeling. He's been getting all sorts of 'feelings' lately. They're probably Irrelevant.
Dalison #11290
He leaves one morning, without a word, but he thinks she knows. He thinks he hears a mournful aubade following him through the still dawn air. He thinks it guides him into a land of brightness-- but he can't be sure.
He knows there is a clan in the citadel because there is a Mirror at the gates, scarred and far older than him, but still lean, and with a certain hunger in his four pale eyes. "Where're you from?" the Mirror asks, flicking a fin in disinterest.
"The Tangled Wood," Pinto replies. "Or thereabouts."
The Mirror lets him past, and gives him a quick set of directions. "Follow the path all the way down, to the courtyard with a fountain in it. The barracks are the building on your right."
For lack of anywhere else to go, he follows the Mirror's instructions. It is a long walk, but he doesn't mind. The sun seems to soften some strange weariness in his bones.
The barracks are a massive building, unlit and dark on the inside, with only the light from small windows and gaps in the stone walls. He is stopped by a female Skydancer; she holds herself tall, regal like some Queen he must've known, once upon a time. "Name?" she asks him, and when he answers, "Rank?"
"Rank?" he echoes, not knowing what she means.
"Are you not a warrior?" she asks. He shakes his head, ducking it slightly under the weight of her cold, imperious stare. "You're not here for training?"
"No," he says, and when she still stares at him uncomprehendingly, "I'm just...here."
There is a slither of movement up in the rafters. A dragon drops down, lightly, behind the Skydancer, and Pinto's eyes go wide. He has seen a ghost.
"I'll take care of it," says Auriel.
* * *
"I remember you," Pinto says, later, when they are outside. They had flown like twin rivers, meandering and indecisive, until they came to a landing on top of one of the buildings by the amphitheater. "Someone said your name, once."
"Yes," says Auriel. There is silence.
"How is she?" he asks after a moment. He does not have to say the songbird's name.
"She's...fine, I guess," Pinto replies, and when the other looks skeptical, "No, she's not. I don't know." He pauses. "Did you hate her?"
Auriel shakes his head. "No. You can't hate her."
"I think I might've loved her," Pinto says. "I think I might've been in love with her."
"You weren't," Auriel says, without hesitating.
"How do you know?" Pinto asks. "How do I know when it's real?"
Auriel smiles at him, wryly, and promises, "I'll tell you."
* * *
It is the beginning of summer when he meets Euthalia, and Auriel tells him.
"How do I tell her?" Pinto asks, puppy dog eyes and anxiety, tying himself in knots.
"Buy her something," Auriel says, textbook.
"I don't have any money," Pinto replies in an almost-whine.
"Write her something," Auriel suggests.
So he tries that, churns out a paper stream of prose purpler than his wings. Nothing turns out right. He tries to burn it, and when he can't get the hang of flint and steel, Auriel buys him a small packet of matches.
"What does she like?" Auriel asks, later. They are lying in the gardens and Pinto is tearing grass into small pieces and throwing it to the ground, frustrated.
"Flowers, I guess."
And flowers it is.
* * *
They lay their first nest during the festival of light, and Pinto thinks his pride must be brighter and warmer than Sornieth's sun. He resolves, firmly, to name every one of his hatchlings after something beautiful.
glacevoleur #55776
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=10047696]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/100477/10047696_350.png[/img]
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[center][img]https://40.media.tumblr.com/e3343b768c8e8225f5210029ae80bd3a/tumblr_inline_o0idkcgvMJ1qg2i5p_540.png[/img] [img]https://36.media.tumblr.com/1dee22f24f669ec40f882249fde8c7f8/tumblr_inline_o0idisBHRw1qg2i5p_540.png[/img][img]https://41.media.tumblr.com/9374d32770d092535770f8318202134d/tumblr_inline_o0idjiOn5w1qg2i5p_540.png[/img]
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[i]Uh-oh, looks like this accidental advernturer wandered a little too far from her lair ([url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]148774, Shadowdawn199[/url]), and now she's off to see the world! If ever you feel the urge to exalt, she'd really appreciate it if you could just return her home instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, [url=http://tinyurl.com/kjyytnl]here.[/url][/i]
Owners I've had:
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199 (148774)[/url]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison (11290)[/url]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776]glacevoleur (55776)[/url]
---------------------------------------------
She is an accidental traveller, but not one without many miles of experience under her belt already.
Born to the Scarred Wastelands as her glittering red eyes and her rather… fierce name proves, she didn’t stay for long. She left her home in her youth, and though she is willing to share many parts of her tale, the exact reason behind her migration is one of few details she will not share.
Whatever it was, she found solace in the lightning-lashed plains of her [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=39847]second clan[/url], where she scaled rods and spires of the farm to earn her keep. It was incredibly dangerous work, for if her protective spell slipped she’d be roasted by the abundant current crackling through the air. And yet she was happy weaving her way through the live-wire web, repairing on the fly and engineering solutions with the best of the native-born. Perhaps one day she might have gone to serve the Stormcatcher in his great tower, but no. The singing in her blood was persistent, and sometimes she could be found gazing out of the clan walls, staring at the stars, or perhaps some far thing on the horizon. It meant that one day she slipped quietly away, leaving the storms to rage behind her, feet carrying her westwards once again.
And though she’d meant to return to her birthplace, instead she’d stopped in the eternal twilight of the Tangled Woods. Just in time, as it turns out, because the Shade descended that night. She was drafted to fight for the cause, and so, marked with glowing warpaint, she took to the skies as the Shade blotted out the moon. That night, many died with only the unnatural eclipse to see them, but she was not one of them. The other warriors told her to thank the blessing of her mottled scales for her life, for her luck was Shadowbinder’s own. To thank the goddess, she decided to stay in the woods a while.
Not with the clan who’d originally taken her in, however; it wasn’t that they weren’t pleasant and accommodating… but her months in the Shifting Expanse had taught her how to sense a brewing storm.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=148774]Shadowdawn199 (148774)[/url]
---------------------------------------------
In the dark of the Foxfire Bramble, Fleshrend sees with only two eyes. There are no mushroom lanterns sprinkled on the muddy ground here. She grows used to walking into large thorns and brittle vines. Her shoulders and forehead harden to form callus armour. When she stops to rest, she longs for the Highland Scrub, where there was room to run and leap in great, tireless, bounds.
She spots her next refuge by the sight of a flame buried deep underneath a tree. The source is a wooden door hidden by old granite and gnarled pine root, and when it opens to her knocking, she can see light again.
"Hello," she begins, "I'm a traveler, and-"
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15160835]The nocturne[/url] inside doesn't even let her finish. "A traveller! Come in. Sit by the fire. Would you like a drink? Sorry about the mess. Let me get you some pillows. Oh, my name is Lark. And you? Ooh, how fearsome. Make yourself at home. Oh, right, excuse me. The pillows."
Fleshrend doesn't lack for anything here. The nocturne offers her liberal quantities of food, drink, comfort, and company. Despite her garrulous introduction, she discovers that the nocturne prefers to listen. "So tell me about your adventures!" she says the first night, and when Fleshrend speaks, Lark looks at her with smile bordering on manic. The next morning, Lark asks her about The Scarred Wasteland, and then The Tempest Spire, and then The Foxfire Bramble. When she begins to lack for stories, Lark asks her what seeing heat is like, and why she wasn't travelling with a pack, and whether she prefers to eat mice or squirrels or birds.
It doesn't take long for Fleshrend to decide to go. In place of her feet and her shoulders, her throat is sore. She hasn't spoken this much in months. Lark's incessant company, which was never particularly pleasant to begin with, has become tiresome. It is not difficult to deduce that what the nocturne longs for are voices to fill the silence of the deserted underground hallways.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay," Lark says to her, when they are outside.
"There is room for plenty of dragons here," Fleshrend tells her. "Why are you alone?"
"I'm waiting for a sign," Lark tells her. "Thanks for the company though. Even if it was just a few days."
"It was a pleasure," Fleshrend lies.
"Here, take this," Lark says, handing her a little glowing light. "I know it looks silly but it might be helpful in this dark."
"Oh. Thank you... Well. Take care."
"You too. Happy travels!"
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison (11290)[/url]
[center][item=golden deepsea bulb][/center]
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She arrives at the next clan to a buzz of activity, and immediately is certain that there is no risk here of her being paid more notice than any of the other dragons hurrying about. She watches with a half-formed interest as dragons of various sizes move from place to place-- a swarm of small, gaudily colored Fae string banners under the inscrutable eye of a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3199135]masked Coatl[/url]; a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3140307]cerulean Mirror[/url] and [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3164124]dusky Guardian[/url] drill two squadrons of trainees in the crowded center of the clearing, and she is almost run over by two massive Imperials on their way out of camp.
"Oh, hello," rumbles [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=2996849]the male[/url]. "You must be here for the festivities, yes?"
"I'm afraid the Circus hasn't started quite yet," [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=4958803]the female[/url] adds apologetically. "We're still quite busy setting up. You're welcome to stay, though! [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3000511]Alondra[/url] will be more than happy to host you."
Alondra's cave is more crowded by half than the vibrant open-air space of the clearing, and Fleshrend hardly sleeps a wink for all the coming-and-going leading up to the festival. The opening night's banquet is far too loud for her, forehead already aching with sleep deprivation, but everything seems to quiet down after that.
She is almost relaxed by the time the tragedy strikes. She never quite knows what it is, is not quite close enough to ask, only sharp enough to notice that there is no funeral, and that nothing is quite the same after it. She spends most of the time in flight next to [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=8371446]another Mirror[/url], whose name she neither asks nor receives.
The Sunbeam Ruins are bright, but the place where they settle is not. The Hewn City is reassuringly dim to the clan used to the shadows, but few seem to pay much mind to the old, old folk stories that even Fleshrend has heard. She spends her days in tense, watchful wakefulness, and her nights in uneasy, fragmented sleep. Many times she awakens to see a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3833978]pale Skydancer[/url] patrolling the borders in the sickly moonlight. His name does not stick in her mind, though she asks it every time, and he tells her, and tells her to go back to sleep.
It takes a few days before any progress seems to be made. The pale Skydancer and a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3032200]female Guardian[/url] spend hours on an unusually bright afternoon, etching protective runes around the perimeter in the baking sun. Fleshrend thinks she sees his thin legs trembling from fatigue as he returns, but his face bears no expression.
She spends the next few weeks under the management of a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=9033410]speckled Nocturne[/url], repairing a number of crumbling buildings with a host of other workers. It reminds her of her time in the Shifting Expanse, and when she idly mentions it to her overseer, he becomes ecstatic, and quite fond of talking with her. "Majestic," he tells her, some days later. "These buildings must've been [i]majestic[/i] back when they were first erected. Ah, well. We'll get them there again, eh?" She is not quite as enthused.
It is the night that they first begin putting the roofs on when [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=14668144]the spiral[/url] arrives. She feels as if she is the only one who does not recognize him, and does not participate in the haranguing of the newcomer by the campfire. She meets him later, when he is alone at dusk, away from where the others are eating dinner. "You don't help with the building," she comments, and when he doesn't answer, "Afraid of getting your vest dusty or something?"
They lay a nest together the next night. He tends it when she goes back to work the next morning. She asks him why a few nights later. He smiles at her sadly and tells her the universe is senseless. She shrugs her folded wings, says it's a better answer than "why not", and asks him if he knows any constellations. He spends the rest of the night connecting them for her, and she notes that his eyes are far more luminous. In the morning, she remembers he is from the Lightweaver's domain, and wonders why he does not seem very at home here.
By the time the buildings are inhabitable, none of those working by her side are the same as those who she began with, save the male Nocturne. He praises them all, grinning and clapping backs and clamoring about a job well done. She does not feel like she has accomplished much of anything, but she smiles at him and does not say so.
When she returns to Auriel that evening, he has named the hatchlings. They are three days old and all called the same thing, which means nothing to her. She asks him why. He does not answer, just smiles at her quizzically, as if she is speaking a foreign language.
She stays long enough to watch her children leave for the service of the Lightweaver, and then moves on.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776]glacevoleur (55776)[/url]
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Fleshrend’s travels bring her through familiar paths in the Tangled Woods again, guided by all four of her eyes, thanks to the light once given to her by that talkative nocturne. The woods are different now that there is no Circus to prepare for: less friendly and more primitive; more akin to the place where she fought a battle, once. She makes no attempt to revisit Lark, but instead heads north.
The parched earth of the Dragonhome reminds her of the Shifting Expanse, or what the Shifting Expanse would be without the ingenuity of the dragons who lived there. Plague dragons are nothing if not hardy and Fleshrend is no exception: though she is ill-prepared for the journey, she makes her way through the summery heat of the plains, from outcropping to outcropping until her limbs tremble and her tongue turns to cotton in her mouth.
“Oh, [i]hello[/i]!” someone calls out in basic Draconic from above, swooping down and leaving her in blessed shade. When Fleshrend looks up, there are large, red eyes are peering back at her curiously. “I haven’t seen [i]you[/i] around before,” [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3129787]the imperial[/url] speaks up, “Don’t tell me you walked all this way in the heat? Well, we can’t have you collapsing!” With that the newcomer takes Fleshrend under her wing – quite literally – and guides her through the southern plains to a lair in the Greatwyrm’s Breach.
“This is the Cliff Lion Clan,” her guide explains when asked. “I’m Roseate, because I exude the roseate glow of health, you see,” she quotes with a smirk. There’s an inside joke there, but Fleshrend doesn’t ask and instead spends her days sleeping in the shade, recovering from the heat sickness. When the worst is over she offers some comment on the structure of the lairs in the Breach – nestled on top of each other and side by side like cells in a honeycomb – and once she is well enough to walk she is pegged down as an architect and spirited away by a tag team of an [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=16970174]easy-going tundra[/url] and a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12321345]jumpy skydancer[/url] who both want her to look over their plans for expansion.
The planning takes weeks of debating back and forth between the three of them. The memorial caves for the exalted dragons need to be shifted for better effect, but repainting the murals on the walls would take weeks, Iliastes argues. There is a cave deep in the Breach hat she feels could be used to better effect, but Samhain flatly rejects her suggestion and says that the earth is unsound. Some battles she gives up for lost, but, in the end, they reach a compromise that all of them are happy with. Fleshrend insists that she is well enough to begin scouting out areas for expansion. This is as much for her own benefit as for that of her hosts: one fifth of their clan consists entirely of hatchlings, and their playful shrieking is enough to give her a headache. There are two in particular, a fae and a ridgeback, who take a liking to her and follow her around all day. She tries to lose them as she goes spelunking, but they view it as a game and only try harder.
She has just finished chalking out areas for blasting a new midsize dormitory when everything changes. When the fae is taken sick with a cold, no one thinks anything of it: hatchlings often get sick. The real trouble begins weeks later when the fae recovers, perfectly healthy and in high spirits, apart from the green boils on her face and limbs, and the oily membrane coating the edges of her wings.
“Infected by our travelling plague flight friend, most like,” a guardian finally speaks out, derisive.
“We can’t know that,” Roseate argues, “Locksley goes exploring all the time – she might’ve picked up something from the Breach. I hope you don’t take what Zapha says to heart, she can be a little overprotective at times,” Roseate adds to Fleshrend later, and Fleshrend assures her that she isn’t insulted.
She still slips out without ceremony early the very next morning, leaving her work unfinished and no note to explain her absence. She won’t stay in a clan where she isn’t welcome.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=44182]Temerity (44182)[/url][/size]
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Without much trying on her part, she ended up back in the Tangled Woods. Her stay with the Black Flames Clan took longer, than she expected but, it was an enjoyable experience. She learned about the clan's namesake; the knowledge about the 'Black Flames' was an interesting curiosity. The dragons there were pleasant – though there were a few that were more distasteful. She was warned about the dragon [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=87727&tab=dragon&did=6868957]Morwenor's[/url] tricks, and, while she privately felt she would have been more than capable of dealing with him, she thanked her 'saviour' anyway.
Still, she had no intentions of settling down here, and so she said goodbye to the dragons, and set off once again.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=87727]Ashmore (87727)[/url]
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She arrived at a strange citadel, masked by shifting mist and fog, at a very bad time. Evidently, the clan leader had recently lost two of her children, and had only recently been seen around again. While it was a nice enough place, there were too many strange things going on, and soon enough she felt as though it was time to leave. On her way out, she met a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23000459]storyteller[/url] who was originally from the clan, and they decided to set off together for a short time.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=151841]Ezmara(151841)[/url][/size]
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Fleshrend and [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23000459]Shalkett[/url] found themselves in a lush forest. Prey was plentiful and they hunted until they couldn't eat anymore. Tired and full, the two made camp for the night.
In the middle of the night, Fleshrend was awoken by the sound of leaves crunching. She lifted her head and scanned the area around the camp. Her red eyes saw movement and she jumped to her feet. Quietly she tip-toed over and tackled the beast. "O-OW!" Fleshrend stopped her attack. It was another mirror. She was purple and pink with light yellow eyes. She had a pair of purple goggles, ribbons on her legs, and a Shadowscale chestplate. "H-hey!" She half growled. Fleshrend glared at her. "Who are you and what are you doing?" The other dragon frowned. "I am [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=27204828]Haimona[/url], and [i]I[/i] should be asking [i]you[/i] what you are doing!" Fleshrend had forgotten that this wasn't her land. Her face grew hot. "S-sorry! Uh...me and my friend [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23000459]Shalkett[/url] were just passing through.." Haimona smiled. "Its okay. My clan loves guests! We've been getting quite a few lately." Haimona then frowned. "Some dragons are getting annoyed by this though..B-but hey! If its just for the night, its fine!" Fleshrend smiled and thanked Haimona for letting them stay for the night and went back to camp to sleep. In the morning, she told Shalkett what had happened last night. Both glad they didn't get kicked out, they set out to continue their adventure.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=142118]Lpshoper (142118)[/url] [/size]
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Dragonhome isn't directly inhospitable - there's no diseases running rampant, no lightning storms or blazing daylight heat, no blizzards freezing dragons to death. No, Dragonhome is just flat and most importantly, [i]dry[/i]. There's no water to be found anywhere, only cracked and windblown plains filled with skittering stones. They daren't go too close to Cairnstone Rest, knowing the tales told about the ancient burial ground.
It's near Greatwyrm's Breach they're found by an scout for one of the clans. Several days have passed with no sign of a single drop of water; they've managed to survive for now, but they're near enough death that it's scary. The scout - a nature coatl who introduces himself as Tito - calls over another, a wind coatl called Reyes. Reyes flies off again at once, but Tito stays, giving what water he can.
Reyes returns a few hours later with help and more water, and Fleshrend and Shalkett get brought back to their lair. It's down in one of the canyons of Greatwyrm's Breach, a network of caves and tunnels. Down here the air is cool, and there's an underground river running through it.
They stay there a few days and regain their strength. The clan has plenty of food for them, and a cave to spare.
As soon as their strength is back, they travel on. The dragons here are nice, but it's not a place Fleshrend would want to live permanently. A dust storm starts up while they travel from Dragonhome, and suddenly Shalkett is nowhere to be found. When it dies down, Fleshrend is alone again.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=1076]Wodahn[/url]
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Fleshrend found herself in the Sunbeam Ruins - a beautiful, sun-specked land. She spent her first few days with her eyes wide open, soaking in every sight. But her eyes grew weary, for it never seemed to get dark enough for her to get a good night's sleep. How did the dragons here ever rest? Weary with exhaustion, she finally curled up in a bush and pulled the leaves over her eyes to take a nap. Only to be shaken awake by a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=100601&tab=dragon&did=11797397]bright golden snapper[/url], tugging at the bus. "Hey, you! I'm foraging here! How am I s'posed to eat if you've squashed it all?" she snapped. Fleshrend reluctantly rolled off the leaves and forced herself to stay awake. It'd be nice to say that the snapper took pity on her and invited her back to the clan. But the snapper was of a singular mind and had no interest in Fleshrend. And Fleshrend was desperate for somewhere less bright, so she forced herself to keep moving.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=100601]Abu[/url][/size]
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(Feel free to continue documenting her travels!)
Uh-oh, looks like this accidental advernturer wandered a little too far from her lair (148774, Shadowdawn199), and now she's off to see the world! If ever you feel the urge to exalt, she'd really appreciate it if you could just return her home instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, here.
Owners I've had:
Shadowdawn199 (148774)
Dalison (11290)
glacevoleur (55776)
She is an accidental traveller, but not one without many miles of experience under her belt already.
Born to the Scarred Wastelands as her glittering red eyes and her rather… fierce name proves, she didn’t stay for long. She left her home in her youth, and though she is willing to share many parts of her tale, the exact reason behind her migration is one of few details she will not share.
Whatever it was, she found solace in the lightning-lashed plains of her second clan, where she scaled rods and spires of the farm to earn her keep. It was incredibly dangerous work, for if her protective spell slipped she’d be roasted by the abundant current crackling through the air. And yet she was happy weaving her way through the live-wire web, repairing on the fly and engineering solutions with the best of the native-born. Perhaps one day she might have gone to serve the Stormcatcher in his great tower, but no. The singing in her blood was persistent, and sometimes she could be found gazing out of the clan walls, staring at the stars, or perhaps some far thing on the horizon. It meant that one day she slipped quietly away, leaving the storms to rage behind her, feet carrying her westwards once again.
And though she’d meant to return to her birthplace, instead she’d stopped in the eternal twilight of the Tangled Woods. Just in time, as it turns out, because the Shade descended that night. She was drafted to fight for the cause, and so, marked with glowing warpaint, she took to the skies as the Shade blotted out the moon. That night, many died with only the unnatural eclipse to see them, but she was not one of them. The other warriors told her to thank the blessing of her mottled scales for her life, for her luck was Shadowbinder’s own. To thank the goddess, she decided to stay in the woods a while.
Not with the clan who’d originally taken her in, however; it wasn’t that they weren’t pleasant and accommodating… but her months in the Shifting Expanse had taught her how to sense a brewing storm.
Shadowdawn199 (148774)
In the dark of the Foxfire Bramble, Fleshrend sees with only two eyes. There are no mushroom lanterns sprinkled on the muddy ground here. She grows used to walking into large thorns and brittle vines. Her shoulders and forehead harden to form callus armour. When she stops to rest, she longs for the Highland Scrub, where there was room to run and leap in great, tireless, bounds.
She spots her next refuge by the sight of a flame buried deep underneath a tree. The source is a wooden door hidden by old granite and gnarled pine root, and when it opens to her knocking, she can see light again.
"Hello," she begins, "I'm a traveler, and-"
The nocturne inside doesn't even let her finish. "A traveller! Come in. Sit by the fire. Would you like a drink? Sorry about the mess. Let me get you some pillows. Oh, my name is Lark. And you? Ooh, how fearsome. Make yourself at home. Oh, right, excuse me. The pillows."
Fleshrend doesn't lack for anything here. The nocturne offers her liberal quantities of food, drink, comfort, and company. Despite her garrulous introduction, she discovers that the nocturne prefers to listen. "So tell me about your adventures!" she says the first night, and when Fleshrend speaks, Lark looks at her with smile bordering on manic. The next morning, Lark asks her about The Scarred Wasteland, and then The Tempest Spire, and then The Foxfire Bramble. When she begins to lack for stories, Lark asks her what seeing heat is like, and why she wasn't travelling with a pack, and whether she prefers to eat mice or squirrels or birds.
It doesn't take long for Fleshrend to decide to go. In place of her feet and her shoulders, her throat is sore. She hasn't spoken this much in months. Lark's incessant company, which was never particularly pleasant to begin with, has become tiresome. It is not difficult to deduce that what the nocturne longs for are voices to fill the silence of the deserted underground hallways.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay," Lark says to her, when they are outside.
"There is room for plenty of dragons here," Fleshrend tells her. "Why are you alone?"
"I'm waiting for a sign," Lark tells her. "Thanks for the company though. Even if it was just a few days."
"It was a pleasure," Fleshrend lies.
"Here, take this," Lark says, handing her a little glowing light. "I know it looks silly but it might be helpful in this dark."
"Oh. Thank you... Well. Take care."
"You too. Happy travels!"
Dalison (11290)
She arrives at the next clan to a buzz of activity, and immediately is certain that there is no risk here of her being paid more notice than any of the other dragons hurrying about. She watches with a half-formed interest as dragons of various sizes move from place to place-- a swarm of small, gaudily colored Fae string banners under the inscrutable eye of a masked Coatl; a cerulean Mirror and dusky Guardian drill two squadrons of trainees in the crowded center of the clearing, and she is almost run over by two massive Imperials on their way out of camp.
"Oh, hello," rumbles the male. "You must be here for the festivities, yes?"
"I'm afraid the Circus hasn't started quite yet," the female adds apologetically. "We're still quite busy setting up. You're welcome to stay, though! Alondra will be more than happy to host you."
Alondra's cave is more crowded by half than the vibrant open-air space of the clearing, and Fleshrend hardly sleeps a wink for all the coming-and-going leading up to the festival. The opening night's banquet is far too loud for her, forehead already aching with sleep deprivation, but everything seems to quiet down after that.
She is almost relaxed by the time the tragedy strikes. She never quite knows what it is, is not quite close enough to ask, only sharp enough to notice that there is no funeral, and that nothing is quite the same after it. She spends most of the time in flight next to another Mirror, whose name she neither asks nor receives.
The Sunbeam Ruins are bright, but the place where they settle is not. The Hewn City is reassuringly dim to the clan used to the shadows, but few seem to pay much mind to the old, old folk stories that even Fleshrend has heard. She spends her days in tense, watchful wakefulness, and her nights in uneasy, fragmented sleep. Many times she awakens to see a pale Skydancer patrolling the borders in the sickly moonlight. His name does not stick in her mind, though she asks it every time, and he tells her, and tells her to go back to sleep.
It takes a few days before any progress seems to be made. The pale Skydancer and a female Guardian spend hours on an unusually bright afternoon, etching protective runes around the perimeter in the baking sun. Fleshrend thinks she sees his thin legs trembling from fatigue as he returns, but his face bears no expression.
She spends the next few weeks under the management of a speckled Nocturne, repairing a number of crumbling buildings with a host of other workers. It reminds her of her time in the Shifting Expanse, and when she idly mentions it to her overseer, he becomes ecstatic, and quite fond of talking with her. "Majestic," he tells her, some days later. "These buildings must've been majestic back when they were first erected. Ah, well. We'll get them there again, eh?" She is not quite as enthused.
It is the night that they first begin putting the roofs on when the spiral arrives. She feels as if she is the only one who does not recognize him, and does not participate in the haranguing of the newcomer by the campfire. She meets him later, when he is alone at dusk, away from where the others are eating dinner. "You don't help with the building," she comments, and when he doesn't answer, "Afraid of getting your vest dusty or something?"
They lay a nest together the next night. He tends it when she goes back to work the next morning. She asks him why a few nights later. He smiles at her sadly and tells her the universe is senseless. She shrugs her folded wings, says it's a better answer than "why not", and asks him if he knows any constellations. He spends the rest of the night connecting them for her, and she notes that his eyes are far more luminous. In the morning, she remembers he is from the Lightweaver's domain, and wonders why he does not seem very at home here.
By the time the buildings are inhabitable, none of those working by her side are the same as those who she began with, save the male Nocturne. He praises them all, grinning and clapping backs and clamoring about a job well done. She does not feel like she has accomplished much of anything, but she smiles at him and does not say so.
When she returns to Auriel that evening, he has named the hatchlings. They are three days old and all called the same thing, which means nothing to her. She asks him why. He does not answer, just smiles at her quizzically, as if she is speaking a foreign language.
She stays long enough to watch her children leave for the service of the Lightweaver, and then moves on.
glacevoleur (55776)
Fleshrend’s travels bring her through familiar paths in the Tangled Woods again, guided by all four of her eyes, thanks to the light once given to her by that talkative nocturne. The woods are different now that there is no Circus to prepare for: less friendly and more primitive; more akin to the place where she fought a battle, once. She makes no attempt to revisit Lark, but instead heads north.
The parched earth of the Dragonhome reminds her of the Shifting Expanse, or what the Shifting Expanse would be without the ingenuity of the dragons who lived there. Plague dragons are nothing if not hardy and Fleshrend is no exception: though she is ill-prepared for the journey, she makes her way through the summery heat of the plains, from outcropping to outcropping until her limbs tremble and her tongue turns to cotton in her mouth.
“Oh, hello!” someone calls out in basic Draconic from above, swooping down and leaving her in blessed shade. When Fleshrend looks up, there are large, red eyes are peering back at her curiously. “I haven’t seen you around before,” the imperial speaks up, “Don’t tell me you walked all this way in the heat? Well, we can’t have you collapsing!” With that the newcomer takes Fleshrend under her wing – quite literally – and guides her through the southern plains to a lair in the Greatwyrm’s Breach.
“This is the Cliff Lion Clan,” her guide explains when asked. “I’m Roseate, because I exude the roseate glow of health, you see,” she quotes with a smirk. There’s an inside joke there, but Fleshrend doesn’t ask and instead spends her days sleeping in the shade, recovering from the heat sickness. When the worst is over she offers some comment on the structure of the lairs in the Breach – nestled on top of each other and side by side like cells in a honeycomb – and once she is well enough to walk she is pegged down as an architect and spirited away by a tag team of an easy-going tundra and a jumpy skydancer who both want her to look over their plans for expansion.
The planning takes weeks of debating back and forth between the three of them. The memorial caves for the exalted dragons need to be shifted for better effect, but repainting the murals on the walls would take weeks, Iliastes argues. There is a cave deep in the Breach hat she feels could be used to better effect, but Samhain flatly rejects her suggestion and says that the earth is unsound. Some battles she gives up for lost, but, in the end, they reach a compromise that all of them are happy with. Fleshrend insists that she is well enough to begin scouting out areas for expansion. This is as much for her own benefit as for that of her hosts: one fifth of their clan consists entirely of hatchlings, and their playful shrieking is enough to give her a headache. There are two in particular, a fae and a ridgeback, who take a liking to her and follow her around all day. She tries to lose them as she goes spelunking, but they view it as a game and only try harder.
She has just finished chalking out areas for blasting a new midsize dormitory when everything changes. When the fae is taken sick with a cold, no one thinks anything of it: hatchlings often get sick. The real trouble begins weeks later when the fae recovers, perfectly healthy and in high spirits, apart from the green boils on her face and limbs, and the oily membrane coating the edges of her wings.
“Infected by our travelling plague flight friend, most like,” a guardian finally speaks out, derisive.
“We can’t know that,” Roseate argues, “Locksley goes exploring all the time – she might’ve picked up something from the Breach. I hope you don’t take what Zapha says to heart, she can be a little overprotective at times,” Roseate adds to Fleshrend later, and Fleshrend assures her that she isn’t insulted.
She still slips out without ceremony early the very next morning, leaving her work unfinished and no note to explain her absence. She won’t stay in a clan where she isn’t welcome.
Temerity (44182)[/size]
Without much trying on her part, she ended up back in the Tangled Woods. Her stay with the Black Flames Clan took longer, than she expected but, it was an enjoyable experience. She learned about the clan's namesake; the knowledge about the 'Black Flames' was an interesting curiosity. The dragons there were pleasant – though there were a few that were more distasteful. She was warned about the dragon Morwenor's tricks, and, while she privately felt she would have been more than capable of dealing with him, she thanked her 'saviour' anyway.
Still, she had no intentions of settling down here, and so she said goodbye to the dragons, and set off once again.
Ashmore (87727)
She arrived at a strange citadel, masked by shifting mist and fog, at a very bad time. Evidently, the clan leader had recently lost two of her children, and had only recently been seen around again. While it was a nice enough place, there were too many strange things going on, and soon enough she felt as though it was time to leave. On her way out, she met a storyteller who was originally from the clan, and they decided to set off together for a short time.
Ezmara(151841)[/size]
Fleshrend and Shalkett found themselves in a lush forest. Prey was plentiful and they hunted until they couldn't eat anymore. Tired and full, the two made camp for the night.
In the middle of the night, Fleshrend was awoken by the sound of leaves crunching. She lifted her head and scanned the area around the camp. Her red eyes saw movement and she jumped to her feet. Quietly she tip-toed over and tackled the beast. "O-OW!" Fleshrend stopped her attack. It was another mirror. She was purple and pink with light yellow eyes. She had a pair of purple goggles, ribbons on her legs, and a Shadowscale chestplate. "H-hey!" She half growled. Fleshrend glared at her. "Who are you and what are you doing?" The other dragon frowned. "I am Haimona, and I should be asking you what you are doing!" Fleshrend had forgotten that this wasn't her land. Her face grew hot. "S-sorry! Uh...me and my friend Shalkett were just passing through.." Haimona smiled. "Its okay. My clan loves guests! We've been getting quite a few lately." Haimona then frowned. "Some dragons are getting annoyed by this though..B-but hey! If its just for the night, its fine!" Fleshrend smiled and thanked Haimona for letting them stay for the night and went back to camp to sleep. In the morning, she told Shalkett what had happened last night. Both glad they didn't get kicked out, they set out to continue their adventure.
Lpshoper (142118) [/size]
Dragonhome isn't directly inhospitable - there's no diseases running rampant, no lightning storms or blazing daylight heat, no blizzards freezing dragons to death. No, Dragonhome is just flat and most importantly, dry. There's no water to be found anywhere, only cracked and windblown plains filled with skittering stones. They daren't go too close to Cairnstone Rest, knowing the tales told about the ancient burial ground.
It's near Greatwyrm's Breach they're found by an scout for one of the clans. Several days have passed with no sign of a single drop of water; they've managed to survive for now, but they're near enough death that it's scary. The scout - a nature coatl who introduces himself as Tito - calls over another, a wind coatl called Reyes. Reyes flies off again at once, but Tito stays, giving what water he can.
Reyes returns a few hours later with help and more water, and Fleshrend and Shalkett get brought back to their lair. It's down in one of the canyons of Greatwyrm's Breach, a network of caves and tunnels. Down here the air is cool, and there's an underground river running through it.
They stay there a few days and regain their strength. The clan has plenty of food for them, and a cave to spare.
As soon as their strength is back, they travel on. The dragons here are nice, but it's not a place Fleshrend would want to live permanently. A dust storm starts up while they travel from Dragonhome, and suddenly Shalkett is nowhere to be found. When it dies down, Fleshrend is alone again.
Wodahn
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Fleshrend found herself in the Sunbeam Ruins - a beautiful, sun-specked land. She spent her first few days with her eyes wide open, soaking in every sight. But her eyes grew weary, for it never seemed to get dark enough for her to get a good night's sleep. How did the dragons here ever rest? Weary with exhaustion, she finally curled up in a bush and pulled the leaves over her eyes to take a nap. Only to be shaken awake by a bright golden snapper, tugging at the bus. "Hey, you! I'm foraging here! How am I s'posed to eat if you've squashed it all?" she snapped. Fleshrend reluctantly rolled off the leaves and forced herself to stay awake. It'd be nice to say that the snapper took pity on her and invited her back to the clan. But the snapper was of a singular mind and had no interest in Fleshrend. And Fleshrend was desperate for somewhere less bright, so she forced herself to keep moving.
Abu[/size]
(Feel free to continue documenting her travels!)
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[b][size=5][s]ByProduct[/s] Caramelle [/size][/b] ----- [size=2][i]Uh-oh, looks like this clumsy little noodle wandered a little too far from her lair ([url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]#11290[/url], Dalison), and now she's off to see the world! If ever you feel the urge to exalt, she'd really appreciate it if you could just return her home instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drt/1101610/1]here.[/url][/i][/size]
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[b]#11290, Dalison[/b]
She didn't understand. She didn't understand why she and [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15576499]one of her brothers[/url] shared the same name. She didn't understand this place full of dark thorns, where she spent two nights huddled with her brothers. Sometimes she'd dream of a place where the ground was warm and damp and red and achingly familiar.
Her parents were long gone. She didn't know where they went, or what their faces looked like. She recognized[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=10804767] the body that she curled up next to at night[/url], and [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=14668144]the melodic voice that sang to them in the muggy afternoons.[/url]
And then she was alone in the dark room. She could hear one of her brothers' voices still. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15576501]He[/url] sounded happy.
[i]"Time to go, little one."
"[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=1889506]Heart[/url], are you sure? She's a double, isn't that worth something?"
"Hardly. There are too many dragons. Individual lives have little worth, Dawn."
"But Heart, we don't need treasure. She might still be worth something to some family out there."
"...Alright, fine. Let her travel, then."[/i]
--------------------------------------------------
[b]#9849, Steel[/b]
And when she finds herself deep in the woods, in a world unknown, she is terrified. She huddles close to the ground for hours, waiting for something, anything. But as time passes and trees creak around her, a gnawing hunger fills her. It drives her to take uncertain steps forward in search of food. Her wings are still small and incapable of flight, as a few attempts in the windless air prove, so she walks for now.
She finds a few small animals she manages to hunt and a couple of bitter berries. And still she walks.
Days later, she sees a break in the horrible, twisted forest. The landscape opens up to a wide expanse of water. It is such a contrast to the slimy pools of the Tangled Wood, and she wearily adds it to her mental list of things she doesn't understand. But she is broken from her thoughts as the breeze ruffles her wings, encouraging her to try to fly once again. She's more grown now, and the updraft under her wings sends her gliding slowly over this strange body of water. She tries not to use too much energy, because who knows how large this sea is? A day's travel? A week's?
She never receives an accurate answer, as a large storm's winds take her by surprise. She is thrown about in the sky, over strange lands. She's moving faster now, too fast, and the swift currents of air that buffet her about are her only direction. She tries to slow down or land, but she is pulled upward again, and her shoulders ache with effort.
The air sharpens as the wild winds slow, and the frozen air burns her lungs. She manages to alight on a cliff edge, and the sound of unknown draconic voices echoing in tunnels on the mountain can be heard. She follows the whispers until she finds a small clan nestled deep in the caverns. She does not reveal herself to them, but stays hidden. Her desire for interaction and affection is overshadowed by suspicion.
So she stays a ghost, slipping through the tunnels, taking what she needs from the food stores. She uses the skills she subconsciously learned in the Tangled Wood to sneak about, but it still surprises her that no one notices.
One day, she is perched near what seems to be an alchemist's lab, avoiding a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=9849&tab=dragon&did=5056604]dragon who seems in charge of the lab,[/url] and a smaller [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=9849&tab=dragon&did=11229367]apprentice.[/url]
[i]"Where should I put this?"[/i] the apprentice asks. She can't see what the object is from her vantage point.
[i]"Eh, it's just a byproduct. Just throw it out,"[/i] the spiral responses in a detached manner.
A byproduct? Hadn't that been what she had been referred to when her brothers were still around? She didn't know quite what a [i]byproduct[/i] was, but the last words send a shiver down her spine.
[i]"Just throw it out."[/i]
That night, she dreams of monsters and beasts, each whispering her own worthlessness. But she also dreams of a land that is beautiful in its desolation, where the air is warm in her lungs, and each image burns with familiarity. She is gone by morning.
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[b]#128541, Cascaedian:[/b]
She meets a strange little creature here, in the heat of the [b][color=orange]Ashfall Waste[/color][/b]; it's yellow, translucent and has a funny face. Also, it appears to be sentient. From what she can tell from the indistinct chatter that abounds in this clan, warm both in terms of temperature and love, some dragon has had a little too much fun as Baldwin's apprentice and has inadvertently created a... Sentient Alloy, and it's gone missing? Strange. This must be the strange little familiar that Byproduct has met.
She stays for a few days, kept company by this jelly-like creature. At first merely tolerant of her, it seemed to become quite relaxed around her after a while. But Byproduct knows that she cannot stay here; though she has been taking up space in this clan's lair, none of the members know she is here or even exists. And, of course, they're still wondering about where in the [i]world[/i] that Sentient Alloy is....
Byproduct leaves her temporary friend behind, because of course, it belongs where it came from. She won't be taking it along on her travels.
-------------------------
[b]#135710, Filbert[/b]
It was so strange to go from the oppressive heat of the Fire flight to the balmy paradise of a water clan. Dark waters flowed in at the border of Shadow, a grim reminder of something in her past... The clan leader here was a volatile one, constantly muttering and screaming about pure blood. She befriended a coatl, [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12058322]Rook[/url] who told her not to worry. Despite his misgivings and temperamental nature he had always come through for the clan. 'Just make yourself useful...' he said with a smile and a nudge. Doing what? Her body certainly was not made for swimming, so she was no use gathering most food. Most seemed to shove her out of the way as they went about their daily duties. The weather her was beautiful, but few stopped to enjoy it. She was never able to feel at place here. She enjoyed the water for a while, but ultimately moved on, taking a small token of Rook's friendship with her.
----------------------------------
[b]#11290, Dalison[/b]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=14668144]The familiar dragon that opens the door[/url] looks at her, then hugs her. It is a light, quick, hug, with no more feeling than a handshake. Without so much as a hello, he says, "It's your brother you want to see, isn't it?"
[i]Yes. Your brother. You still have unexalted family. You have your brother.[/i]
They regard each other nervously. They are nearly identical, but he shines a little brighter, and he's gotten new markings since she's last seen him. They're still strangers. They've always been strangers. After a long silence, she asks him, "What's your name?"
"[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15576501]Flicker[/url]," he says - then he laughs nervously, "I can't believe we never even exchanged names. What's yours?"
"I don't have one," she lies.
"I'm pretty sure you had a name," he says, "You couldn't have forgotten it. Dragons never forget their names, unless they change to a new one."
[i]You're a stranger. You're no sister of his. You're nothing.[/i]
"Byproduct," she says. "They called me Byproduct. It's you they wanted, wasn't it? Me and our brother are just byproducts." She gets to her feet. "I'm sorry. I have to go."
He doesn't stop her.
It hasn't even been an hour, but she's off again, dashing through the dark branches of the Tangled Wood as fast as her legs and her wings can carry her. Coming was a mistake. She couldn't stay there, amongst everything that reminds her of how she is nothing. She will go away, wherever garbage goes. Wherever Byproducts are disposed of.
"Wait."
She knows the voice. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=1889506]She remembers that voice[/url]. It sends a shudder down her spine. It's [i]her[/i]. That cold voice is one that threw her out; the one that didn't want her.
She takes bigger strides through the branches and flutters her wings furiously, but the skydancer is faster. She knows how to maneuver through the tangle.
"Heart," she whimpers, when the dragon blocks her path. "Let me go. I'm sorry for coming back I know you think I'm worthless I'm leaving let me leave please I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."
The dragon sits with her until she manages to reel back the flood of tears. Then she says, "Your brother wanted you to have something. He knew he had no hope of catching you, though." The spiral doesn't look at her, but she feels her take her hand, surprisingly gently, and put something into it. It feels like a roll of paper.
"I'm sorry," Heart says. "You're not a worthless dragon." She doesn't know how to reply, so she says nothing, and keeps her gaze fixed on the rough bark in front her. Heart stays a moment, then wordlessly leaves her.
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[b]#14877, Shadowdawn199[/b]
She finds herself at an inn, built snugly into the fungus-studded wood of a large dam, one of many that criss-cross the delta. As she tips her head skywards and stares at the gaudily painted sign creaking above, the door swings open. Warmth spills out into the frosted air, and she shivers.
A pair of armoured warriors brush past her, paying her no regard as they trudge away into the perpetual twilight. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=148774&tab=dragon&did=12148845]A kindly-looking tundra[/url] waves them off, and as he turns to close the door, his bright eyes spot her. Surprise doesn't even register on his features when he takes in the stray waif huddled on his doorstep. Perhaps he's used to this, because instead he extends a dark-furred paw, an easy smile crooking his muzzle.
"Come in, luv, you'll catch a chill standing out there."
She blinks, surprised to hear such care in words addressing her. Dazed, she enters the noisy tavern, where she is seated at a table with another tundra. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=148774&did=12148846]The female[/url] is coloured like the flickering fire behind her, and gives her a brisk, but friendly, smile. The ivory spiral is asked her name, and she responds with the word that breaks something inside her each time she uses it. The female tundra winces, though she takes pains not to show it.
After a few more questions she is left alone at the table. She thinks she will be told to leave soon, but to her surprise she finds a loaded plate plonked down in front of her. She blinks, and gazes in surprise at the first tundra, who winks. He places another plate beside her.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asks, and she is so bewildered she can't help but agree. The steaming meal in front of her seems far better than than the morsels and scraps she's been living off for weeks.
Her belly grumbles hungrily, and her companion chuckles, "Eat up, sweetheart," he encourages, tucking in himself. She acquiesces.
Her eating partner respects her silence, but he does tell her a little about the inn she has found herself in. It does not occur to her that this speech is sounds awfully similar to ones she has heard before. It is very like the introduction speeches the clans she had officially traveled to gave her on her first day.
She does not remember falling asleep, but when she wakes she finds herself in a room, curled in a proper nest. A glowing mouse is snuggled under her pillow, and it rests on the very scroll that had been given to her by Heart. She prises it out from under the mouse, curious. Upon it is written: 'Caramelle.' A note attached states that this is her new name.
"Thank you," she whispers. Tears run down her cheeks, dripping past her smile, and her heart glows.
----------------------------------
[b]#55776, glacevoleur[/b]
She stays at the inn for another week or so, sometimes making idle conversation with those passing through, or watching the fire in contemplative silence. When she awakens and comes into the main room on her eighth (or perhaps ninth) day there, she notices her hosts conversing with a coatl-- a female whose appearance she can only really describe as “traveled”. She moves off to the side of the room to give them some privacy, but Fox quickly spots her and beckons her over. “Caramelle, come say hello to[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=4532535] Echidna.[/url]”
Still a touch wary, she approaches, greets the stranger quietly, and turns her interest to the rolled papers-- upon closer inspection, they appear to be maps-- on the table. Echidna follows her gaze and smiles softly. “I'm a cartographer,” she explains. “And there's a member of my clan who'd like to meet you.”
The journey through the Wood is long, but Echidna is an excellent guide, keeping Caramelle well away from brambly thickets and dangerous areas. At the spiral's (quiet) behest, they make a few detours, pausing to explore glowing groves of mushrooms, and lakes with small, glimmering bugs darting along the surface. It is only once the sun has gone down and they've reached Clan Nightshade that Caramelle realizes that not once did Echidna consult her maps.
The leader who greets her is a [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3002909]fellow spiral[/url], polite but reserved, and the pair who hosts her consists of an [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3032200]elegant lavender female[/url] and [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3935400]her mate[/url]. She does not notice her other den-mate until morning.
On the first day, Nigate leads her on a tour of the lair complex, introducing her to a variety of characters, all different shades of eccentric and enthusiastic, and only half of whose names she's able to remember.
On the second day, she goes gathering with [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=7515345]Pelagia[/url]; they converse a little about Echidna, a lot about the plants, and leave off the topic of where she's from entirely.
On the third day, she meets [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3421848]Aurora[/url].
She recognizes the pearlcatcher immediately, less from her physical appearance and more from the way she carries herself, sneaking, like the figure she saw creeping out of the den on her first morning here. Something about the movement had stuck with her-- it was too familiar, too personal, too close to home. Heza introduces them to each other, and retrieves some sort of a board from the back of her lair. Aurora spends the rest of the day teaching Caramelle different games that can be played on it. Watching her speak, the spiral notices the faint aftermarks of scars on her neck, as if from a fire.
They spend the fourth day together, playing checkers. In between moves, Caramelle watches her opponent, wonders what lies under the leather wrapped tightly around her wings and arms. The next evening, she compliments the bracelet on her wrist, and Aurora looks away, gaze flickering back and forth like the flames of the candles that illuminate the board.
On the sixth day, she stops counting, and lets the time melt into a long string of wins and losses and pleasant conversation. She does not learn much about Aurora-- not who she is, not where she is from, only that she trusts Heza, and she smiles more with her eyes than with her mouth, that she prefers maple seeds to sunflower, that she will always offer to share her insects, and that when Caramelle reaches across the board and says, “King me”, her laughter is as beautiful as the songs she recalls from her hatchlinghood.
Fall comes, and the wind changes, and Caramelle finds herself restless again; it is something Aurora does not understand, but she gives the spiral a pair of earrings before she leaves, so small and delicate that Caramelle understands why the pearlcatcher would have thought no one would miss them.
When she says her goodbyes to the clan and gives a farewell wave to her denmates, the word “unwanted” does not cross her mind.
----------------------------
[b]#123473, Serndipal[/b]
Satiating her returned wanderlust, she strikes out for the west, carefully navigating the lands over which the Plaguebringer holds domain. After a long and grueling period of travel, the landscape begins to change, and odd trees soon surround her. Against what is perhaps her own good judgement, she wanders farther and farther into these new and strange woods. Soon, however, night begins to fall. The meandering branches that hang over her head suddenly light up with the brilliance of a second night sky. She then realizes that she has heard of this place before - the wood of the stars, where many dragons wander for years upon years, searching for inspiration among the trees. With the path in front of her illuminated by the light of the trees, she presses onwards, even further into the labyrinthine grove. After an indeterminable period of time, she rounds a corner and suddenly lets out a shriek - not one of fear, but one of surprise.
In front of her stands a massive Guardian, seemingly immobile, her head inclined towards the stars. Her gaze shifts, until her eyes are firmly locked with Caramelle's. However, her eyes are not filled with anger or anything of that sort. Rather, they are warm and beckoning.
"Have you come to gaze upon the stars, child?" the Guardian asks.
Caramelle shakes her head. "No, I was just... passing through."
The Guardian regards her with curiosity. "Odd. I do not encounter many who are in a hurry to leave this place. What is your name?"
"Caramelle," she replies. "What is yours? What are you doing out here?"
"Velaena. My clan resides in the old Starwood Cloisters nearby."
Caramelle cocked her head to the side slightly. "The Starwood Cloisters? What's that?"
Velaena sighed. "An old fortress full of dragons who would rather sit in the middle of the woods and read tomes than go out and live their lives normally. So, others like me, essentially."
Her curiosity was piqued. "What is it like there?"
The matronly Guardian chuckled. "I could just show you, you know."
Caramelle nodded vigorously.
The following period of time was mostly a blur to her. Flashes of different faces, snapshots of dimly lit halls, silhouettes of soaring towers behind thick walls. She met and greeted so many times that all the names formed into a meaningless blob. But there was one thing that stood out to her, in all of that.
In the midst of the place, there was another tree like the others in the Starwood Strand. But, unlike those others, this one was utterly massive, stretching skywards, its branches splayed out in scintillating constellations. As she hovered there, enraptured, a familiar voice called out to her.
"I see you've taken to our heart tree," Velaena said as she approached. "It's been here for as long as any can remember, and as long as it is under my care, I will ensure it stays that way."
But there was something else that the tree triggered within Caramelle. The sense of wonder that it radiated was not only enrapturing, but also provoked her wanderlust. [i]I wonder,[/i] she thought,[i]what other magnificent things like this are hidden in the world?[/i]She had to leave. [b]Had[/b] to. She articulated this to Velaena, who nodded in response.
"I understand completely. But please," she said, holding out her paw. "take this with you, to serve as a reminder of your time here." In her grip she held a beautiful red and gold scarf, matching the colors of Caramelle's scales and wings.
She took it. "Thank you." Draping it around her neck, she said her final farewell and took wing, eager to see what adventures awaited her next.
------------------
Uh-oh, looks like this clumsy little noodle wandered a little too far from her lair (#11290, Dalison), and now she's off to see the world! If ever you feel the urge to exalt, she'd really appreciate it if you could just return her home instead, or to the 'Dragons Off To See The World' thread, here.
#11290, Dalison
She didn't understand. She didn't understand why she and one of her brothers shared the same name. She didn't understand this place full of dark thorns, where she spent two nights huddled with her brothers. Sometimes she'd dream of a place where the ground was warm and damp and red and achingly familiar.
Her parents were long gone. She didn't know where they went, or what their faces looked like. She recognized the body that she curled up next to at night, and the melodic voice that sang to them in the muggy afternoons.
And then she was alone in the dark room. She could hear one of her brothers' voices still. He sounded happy.
"Time to go, little one."
"Heart, are you sure? She's a double, isn't that worth something?"
"Hardly. There are too many dragons. Individual lives have little worth, Dawn."
"But Heart, we don't need treasure. She might still be worth something to some family out there."
"...Alright, fine. Let her travel, then."
#9849, Steel
And when she finds herself deep in the woods, in a world unknown, she is terrified. She huddles close to the ground for hours, waiting for something, anything. But as time passes and trees creak around her, a gnawing hunger fills her. It drives her to take uncertain steps forward in search of food. Her wings are still small and incapable of flight, as a few attempts in the windless air prove, so she walks for now.
She finds a few small animals she manages to hunt and a couple of bitter berries. And still she walks.
Days later, she sees a break in the horrible, twisted forest. The landscape opens up to a wide expanse of water. It is such a contrast to the slimy pools of the Tangled Wood, and she wearily adds it to her mental list of things she doesn't understand. But she is broken from her thoughts as the breeze ruffles her wings, encouraging her to try to fly once again. She's more grown now, and the updraft under her wings sends her gliding slowly over this strange body of water. She tries not to use too much energy, because who knows how large this sea is? A day's travel? A week's?
She never receives an accurate answer, as a large storm's winds take her by surprise. She is thrown about in the sky, over strange lands. She's moving faster now, too fast, and the swift currents of air that buffet her about are her only direction. She tries to slow down or land, but she is pulled upward again, and her shoulders ache with effort.
The air sharpens as the wild winds slow, and the frozen air burns her lungs. She manages to alight on a cliff edge, and the sound of unknown draconic voices echoing in tunnels on the mountain can be heard. She follows the whispers until she finds a small clan nestled deep in the caverns. She does not reveal herself to them, but stays hidden. Her desire for interaction and affection is overshadowed by suspicion.
So she stays a ghost, slipping through the tunnels, taking what she needs from the food stores. She uses the skills she subconsciously learned in the Tangled Wood to sneak about, but it still surprises her that no one notices.
One day, she is perched near what seems to be an alchemist's lab, avoiding a dragon who seems in charge of the lab, and a smaller apprentice.
"Where should I put this?" the apprentice asks. She can't see what the object is from her vantage point.
"Eh, it's just a byproduct. Just throw it out," the spiral responses in a detached manner.
A byproduct? Hadn't that been what she had been referred to when her brothers were still around? She didn't know quite what a byproduct was, but the last words send a shiver down her spine.
"Just throw it out."
That night, she dreams of monsters and beasts, each whispering her own worthlessness. But she also dreams of a land that is beautiful in its desolation, where the air is warm in her lungs, and each image burns with familiarity. She is gone by morning.
#128541, Cascaedian:
She meets a strange little creature here, in the heat of the Ashfall Waste; it's yellow, translucent and has a funny face. Also, it appears to be sentient. From what she can tell from the indistinct chatter that abounds in this clan, warm both in terms of temperature and love, some dragon has had a little too much fun as Baldwin's apprentice and has inadvertently created a... Sentient Alloy, and it's gone missing? Strange. This must be the strange little familiar that Byproduct has met.
She stays for a few days, kept company by this jelly-like creature. At first merely tolerant of her, it seemed to become quite relaxed around her after a while. But Byproduct knows that she cannot stay here; though she has been taking up space in this clan's lair, none of the members know she is here or even exists. And, of course, they're still wondering about where in the world that Sentient Alloy is....
Byproduct leaves her temporary friend behind, because of course, it belongs where it came from. She won't be taking it along on her travels.
#135710, Filbert
It was so strange to go from the oppressive heat of the Fire flight to the balmy paradise of a water clan. Dark waters flowed in at the border of Shadow, a grim reminder of something in her past... The clan leader here was a volatile one, constantly muttering and screaming about pure blood. She befriended a coatl, Rook who told her not to worry. Despite his misgivings and temperamental nature he had always come through for the clan. 'Just make yourself useful...' he said with a smile and a nudge. Doing what? Her body certainly was not made for swimming, so she was no use gathering most food. Most seemed to shove her out of the way as they went about their daily duties. The weather her was beautiful, but few stopped to enjoy it. She was never able to feel at place here. She enjoyed the water for a while, but ultimately moved on, taking a small token of Rook's friendship with her.
#11290, Dalison
The familiar dragon that opens the door looks at her, then hugs her. It is a light, quick, hug, with no more feeling than a handshake. Without so much as a hello, he says, "It's your brother you want to see, isn't it?"
Yes. Your brother. You still have unexalted family. You have your brother.
They regard each other nervously. They are nearly identical, but he shines a little brighter, and he's gotten new markings since she's last seen him. They're still strangers. They've always been strangers. After a long silence, she asks him, "What's your name?"
"Flicker," he says - then he laughs nervously, "I can't believe we never even exchanged names. What's yours?"
"I don't have one," she lies.
"I'm pretty sure you had a name," he says, "You couldn't have forgotten it. Dragons never forget their names, unless they change to a new one."
You're a stranger. You're no sister of his. You're nothing.
"Byproduct," she says. "They called me Byproduct. It's you they wanted, wasn't it? Me and our brother are just byproducts." She gets to her feet. "I'm sorry. I have to go."
He doesn't stop her.
It hasn't even been an hour, but she's off again, dashing through the dark branches of the Tangled Wood as fast as her legs and her wings can carry her. Coming was a mistake. She couldn't stay there, amongst everything that reminds her of how she is nothing. She will go away, wherever garbage goes. Wherever Byproducts are disposed of.
"Wait."
She knows the voice. She remembers that voice. It sends a shudder down her spine. It's her. That cold voice is one that threw her out; the one that didn't want her.
She takes bigger strides through the branches and flutters her wings furiously, but the skydancer is faster. She knows how to maneuver through the tangle.
"Heart," she whimpers, when the dragon blocks her path. "Let me go. I'm sorry for coming back I know you think I'm worthless I'm leaving let me leave please I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."
The dragon sits with her until she manages to reel back the flood of tears. Then she says, "Your brother wanted you to have something. He knew he had no hope of catching you, though." The spiral doesn't look at her, but she feels her take her hand, surprisingly gently, and put something into it. It feels like a roll of paper.
"I'm sorry," Heart says. "You're not a worthless dragon." She doesn't know how to reply, so she says nothing, and keeps her gaze fixed on the rough bark in front her. Heart stays a moment, then wordlessly leaves her.
#14877, Shadowdawn199
She finds herself at an inn, built snugly into the fungus-studded wood of a large dam, one of many that criss-cross the delta. As she tips her head skywards and stares at the gaudily painted sign creaking above, the door swings open. Warmth spills out into the frosted air, and she shivers.
A pair of armoured warriors brush past her, paying her no regard as they trudge away into the perpetual twilight. A kindly-looking tundra waves them off, and as he turns to close the door, his bright eyes spot her. Surprise doesn't even register on his features when he takes in the stray waif huddled on his doorstep. Perhaps he's used to this, because instead he extends a dark-furred paw, an easy smile crooking his muzzle.
"Come in, luv, you'll catch a chill standing out there."
She blinks, surprised to hear such care in words addressing her. Dazed, she enters the noisy tavern, where she is seated at a table with another tundra. The female is coloured like the flickering fire behind her, and gives her a brisk, but friendly, smile. The ivory spiral is asked her name, and she responds with the word that breaks something inside her each time she uses it. The female tundra winces, though she takes pains not to show it.
After a few more questions she is left alone at the table. She thinks she will be told to leave soon, but to her surprise she finds a loaded plate plonked down in front of her. She blinks, and gazes in surprise at the first tundra, who winks. He places another plate beside her.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asks, and she is so bewildered she can't help but agree. The steaming meal in front of her seems far better than than the morsels and scraps she's been living off for weeks.
Her belly grumbles hungrily, and her companion chuckles, "Eat up, sweetheart," he encourages, tucking in himself. She acquiesces.
Her eating partner respects her silence, but he does tell her a little about the inn she has found herself in. It does not occur to her that this speech is sounds awfully similar to ones she has heard before. It is very like the introduction speeches the clans she had officially traveled to gave her on her first day.
She does not remember falling asleep, but when she wakes she finds herself in a room, curled in a proper nest. A glowing mouse is snuggled under her pillow, and it rests on the very scroll that had been given to her by Heart. She prises it out from under the mouse, curious. Upon it is written: 'Caramelle.' A note attached states that this is her new name.
"Thank you," she whispers. Tears run down her cheeks, dripping past her smile, and her heart glows.
#55776, glacevoleur
She stays at the inn for another week or so, sometimes making idle conversation with those passing through, or watching the fire in contemplative silence. When she awakens and comes into the main room on her eighth (or perhaps ninth) day there, she notices her hosts conversing with a coatl-- a female whose appearance she can only really describe as “traveled”. She moves off to the side of the room to give them some privacy, but Fox quickly spots her and beckons her over. “Caramelle, come say hello to Echidna.”
Still a touch wary, she approaches, greets the stranger quietly, and turns her interest to the rolled papers-- upon closer inspection, they appear to be maps-- on the table. Echidna follows her gaze and smiles softly. “I'm a cartographer,” she explains. “And there's a member of my clan who'd like to meet you.”
The journey through the Wood is long, but Echidna is an excellent guide, keeping Caramelle well away from brambly thickets and dangerous areas. At the spiral's (quiet) behest, they make a few detours, pausing to explore glowing groves of mushrooms, and lakes with small, glimmering bugs darting along the surface. It is only once the sun has gone down and they've reached Clan Nightshade that Caramelle realizes that not once did Echidna consult her maps.
The leader who greets her is a fellow spiral, polite but reserved, and the pair who hosts her consists of an elegant lavender female and her mate. She does not notice her other den-mate until morning.
On the first day, Nigate leads her on a tour of the lair complex, introducing her to a variety of characters, all different shades of eccentric and enthusiastic, and only half of whose names she's able to remember.
On the second day, she goes gathering with Pelagia; they converse a little about Echidna, a lot about the plants, and leave off the topic of where she's from entirely.
On the third day, she meets Aurora.
She recognizes the pearlcatcher immediately, less from her physical appearance and more from the way she carries herself, sneaking, like the figure she saw creeping out of the den on her first morning here. Something about the movement had stuck with her-- it was too familiar, too personal, too close to home. Heza introduces them to each other, and retrieves some sort of a board from the back of her lair. Aurora spends the rest of the day teaching Caramelle different games that can be played on it. Watching her speak, the spiral notices the faint aftermarks of scars on her neck, as if from a fire.
They spend the fourth day together, playing checkers. In between moves, Caramelle watches her opponent, wonders what lies under the leather wrapped tightly around her wings and arms. The next evening, she compliments the bracelet on her wrist, and Aurora looks away, gaze flickering back and forth like the flames of the candles that illuminate the board.
On the sixth day, she stops counting, and lets the time melt into a long string of wins and losses and pleasant conversation. She does not learn much about Aurora-- not who she is, not where she is from, only that she trusts Heza, and she smiles more with her eyes than with her mouth, that she prefers maple seeds to sunflower, that she will always offer to share her insects, and that when Caramelle reaches across the board and says, “King me”, her laughter is as beautiful as the songs she recalls from her hatchlinghood.
Fall comes, and the wind changes, and Caramelle finds herself restless again; it is something Aurora does not understand, but she gives the spiral a pair of earrings before she leaves, so small and delicate that Caramelle understands why the pearlcatcher would have thought no one would miss them.
When she says her goodbyes to the clan and gives a farewell wave to her denmates, the word “unwanted” does not cross her mind.
#123473, Serndipal
Satiating her returned wanderlust, she strikes out for the west, carefully navigating the lands over which the Plaguebringer holds domain. After a long and grueling period of travel, the landscape begins to change, and odd trees soon surround her. Against what is perhaps her own good judgement, she wanders farther and farther into these new and strange woods. Soon, however, night begins to fall. The meandering branches that hang over her head suddenly light up with the brilliance of a second night sky. She then realizes that she has heard of this place before - the wood of the stars, where many dragons wander for years upon years, searching for inspiration among the trees. With the path in front of her illuminated by the light of the trees, she presses onwards, even further into the labyrinthine grove. After an indeterminable period of time, she rounds a corner and suddenly lets out a shriek - not one of fear, but one of surprise.
In front of her stands a massive Guardian, seemingly immobile, her head inclined towards the stars. Her gaze shifts, until her eyes are firmly locked with Caramelle's. However, her eyes are not filled with anger or anything of that sort. Rather, they are warm and beckoning.
"Have you come to gaze upon the stars, child?" the Guardian asks.
Caramelle shakes her head. "No, I was just... passing through."
The Guardian regards her with curiosity. "Odd. I do not encounter many who are in a hurry to leave this place. What is your name?"
"Caramelle," she replies. "What is yours? What are you doing out here?"
"Velaena. My clan resides in the old Starwood Cloisters nearby."
Caramelle cocked her head to the side slightly. "The Starwood Cloisters? What's that?"
Velaena sighed. "An old fortress full of dragons who would rather sit in the middle of the woods and read tomes than go out and live their lives normally. So, others like me, essentially."
Her curiosity was piqued. "What is it like there?"
The matronly Guardian chuckled. "I could just show you, you know."
Caramelle nodded vigorously.
The following period of time was mostly a blur to her. Flashes of different faces, snapshots of dimly lit halls, silhouettes of soaring towers behind thick walls. She met and greeted so many times that all the names formed into a meaningless blob. But there was one thing that stood out to her, in all of that.
In the midst of the place, there was another tree like the others in the Starwood Strand. But, unlike those others, this one was utterly massive, stretching skywards, its branches splayed out in scintillating constellations. As she hovered there, enraptured, a familiar voice called out to her.
"I see you've taken to our heart tree," Velaena said as she approached. "It's been here for as long as any can remember, and as long as it is under my care, I will ensure it stays that way."
But there was something else that the tree triggered within Caramelle. The sense of wonder that it radiated was not only enrapturing, but also provoked her wanderlust. I wonder, she thought,what other magnificent things like this are hidden in the world?She had to leave. Had to. She articulated this to Velaena, who nodded in response.
"I understand completely. But please," she said, holding out her paw. "take this with you, to serve as a reminder of your time here." In her grip she held a beautiful red and gold scarf, matching the colors of Caramelle's scales and wings.
She took it. "Thank you." Draping it around her neck, she said her final farewell and took wing, eager to see what adventures awaited her next.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20930388]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/209304/20930388_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[size=5][font=georgia][color=#bbea2d ][b]EUTHALIA[/b][/color][/font][/size]
[color=black]
[size=2][i]f Ancient Greek[/size]
[i]Means "flower, bloom" from the Greek word ευθαλεια (euthaleia), itself derived from ευ (eu) "good" and θαλλω (thallo) "to blossom".
[center]
[img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/8950d28969496da417b0ad3b19ba3a86/tumblr_inline_njviwmxG231qg2i5p.png[/img][/center][size=5][font=georgia][color=#bbea2d ][b]luggage:[/b][/color][/font][/size][item=Daisy Flower Crown][item=Amaranth]
-----
She tends to the flowers, but this does not make her fragile. She does not know the names of the flowers, the names that other dragons give them, but this does not make her foolish. Instead of dandelion, poppy, forget-me-not, she hears them humming in her bones, can feel them, knows them in her very core, the vibrations, the whispers others fail to hear. They lend her strength when she needs it, and hide her from eyes that are unwelcome. She is their guardian, and they are hers, a thousand little knights to defend her honour, waving banners with their colours in the breeze. She goes where she likes, because there are always more flowers, and so long as the are flowers, she is strong.
She is a wildflower, and she will not be cowed.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=1148774]#148774, Shadowdawn199[/url]
-----------------------------
Her home is in the Sunbeam Ruins.
Euthalia is going back, to chase the memories of blooming petal choruses beneath the yellow sunshine. After flying through the reddened skies above the Wymwound, she stops to rest in thorny, lilac treetops, looks around, and sees the golden silhouette above a shadowbound horizon.
She did not expect to cut her wing on thorns, did not expect her claws to slip, for gravity to pull her down into the sunless void below.
She is found by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15160835 ]Lark[/url].
When Euthalia explains her story, the songbird's eyes ignite with manic curiosity. She whispers fervent promises, and takes her hand to lead her through the maze that is the Foxfire Bramble.
Euthalia hears a whisper first. And then a foggy melody. And then the chorus; harmonies; an orchestra. She'd thought that every flower sang beneath the sun, and rested under starlight. She is proven wrong.
There is Shadow Lily; Evening Primrose; Dragon Flower.
Nocturnal Blossoms.
A flower doesn't need to fear the dark.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=11290]#11290, Dalison [/url]
-----------------------------------------------------
She arrives at Clan Nightshade with the last breezes of spring, and she is beautiful. She feels at home once more, back in the Sunbeam Ruins, and this clan that does not know her does not mind her at all.
She spends her days in the garden, as one would expect. She tends to the shrubs and flowers and helps to ensure that there will be plenty of food for months to come. Sometimes, she feels eyes on her, warm and longing and watching. She doesn't mind. She understands that some things take a long time to grow.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12590152]He[/url] introduces himself as the Light-borns are stringing up banners for the Jubilee. "You must be their queen," he says, twitching an anxious tail tip towards the plants around him.
She laughs like wind chimes. "You could say that."
"A queen deserves a crown," he says, and lays one gently upon her head.
[center]* * *[/center]
She asks him later, in the nighttime, when they are curled up in their nest together. "Does it make you nervous?"
"What?" he asks, and he is shaking.
"To be in love with someone," she says. "To be really, truly in love with someone."
"Yes," he says. "But it's still good."
And she knows it is. It's good like the smell of mint or the full-palate bite of sour fruit. It's good like an apple, perfectly ripe, or like cracking open a pomegranate just for the color of the seeds. It's good like picking sweet wild blackberries despite the bramble scratches.
[center]* * *[/center]
When he leaves her in the fall, she does not cry. She presses her crown between the pages of a book, dries it out, preserves it so she can keep the memory forever.
"Will you miss him?" [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=14668144]his mentor[/url] asks her, seeking her out like a pale mealworm as dusk falls.
"Of course," she says.
"You can cry, if you want to," Auriel adds. "It isn't weak."
"I know," she says, and her eyes stay dry.
She does not tell him, but she knows something about plants than he does not. He has never seen a [i]selenicereus grandiflorus[/i], never held a Queen of the Night. He has no knowledge that there could even be a thing so beautiful that it blooms just once a year--
or even, just once in a lifetime.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=55776]#55776, glacevoleur[/url]
-----------------------------------------------
She wanders, aimless. The wind beneath her wings carries her as it will. She has no destination until a gentle call sounds in her head and she follows it, trusts it.
That trust would turn out to be misplaced.
She does not realize it, lost in her thoughts, until she is there. Whatever land she has found, it is not one that welcomes her. The earth is sharp stones and burning lava, signs of draconic progress evident on every inch of the ground below. No vegetation lives here. She sneers.
But still, the call that had drawn her here persists, leads her to some immense city on the northern face of the tallest mountain. To [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=50395]Anville.[/url]
Or, not quite to the city. No, the voice leads her to its outskirts, to a large dome structure made of glass. Within it Euthalia sees bursting flora, flowers that call to her with a voice that grows ever louder, more urgent. 'Danger?' she muses. She cannot ignore their pull if she tries.
She reaches the dome's threshold, enters through an unlocked door. She walks among the vegetation. the plants now are loud, they shout at her, tell her to travel to the center of their forest. She can do nothing but obey their instructions.
At the core of this place she finds what had called the loudest. It is something great, something with a sweet, tempting scent, with long stems of beautiful [i]Amaranthus[/i], with stretching, soft tendrils that hold false promises. Something with teeth that gnash at her as it calls.
As she nears this great hulking thing, hypnotized, a hand grasps her, stops her from climbing into its maw. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24241496]Eyes[/url] the same golden shade as hers pierce through the haze that had settled over her mind. A shake of her head clears the last of the fog as she realizes what had nearly transpired. She moves to speak, cannot find words.
The once shouting plants all hushed around them. The skydancer's face turns to a silent snarl as a brief spark passes between them. Euthalia hears her voice as she hears that of the plants. One word passes through her mind, swift and forceful. Dangerous.
"[i][b]Leave.[/b][/i]"
Euthalia does not need to be told twice. She flees back the way she'd came, the voice of the plants calls her again, digging in their tendrils to make her stay, but the fear in her heart keeps her feet moving. She bursts from the doors, her breath harsh and fast. Turning back she can only see thick vegetation, no evidence of the path she'd been on. The voices wail for her, but so long as she can help it, she will never enter that place again. She takes to the sky, to anywhere that isn't here.
It is only now, somehow, that she realizes there is something clutched in her claw.
A sprig of amaranth.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=50395]#50395, korozo[/url]
----------------------------------------
EUTHALIA
f Ancient Greek
Means "flower, bloom" from the Greek word ευθαλεια (euthaleia), itself derived from ευ (eu) "good" and θαλλω (thallo) "to blossom".
She tends to the flowers, but this does not make her fragile. She does not know the names of the flowers, the names that other dragons give them, but this does not make her foolish. Instead of dandelion, poppy, forget-me-not, she hears them humming in her bones, can feel them, knows them in her very core, the vibrations, the whispers others fail to hear. They lend her strength when she needs it, and hide her from eyes that are unwelcome. She is their guardian, and they are hers, a thousand little knights to defend her honour, waving banners with their colours in the breeze. She goes where she likes, because there are always more flowers, and so long as the are flowers, she is strong.
She is a wildflower, and she will not be cowed.
#148774, Shadowdawn199
Her home is in the Sunbeam Ruins.
Euthalia is going back, to chase the memories of blooming petal choruses beneath the yellow sunshine. After flying through the reddened skies above the Wymwound, she stops to rest in thorny, lilac treetops, looks around, and sees the golden silhouette above a shadowbound horizon.
She did not expect to cut her wing on thorns, did not expect her claws to slip, for gravity to pull her down into the sunless void below.
She is found by Lark.
When Euthalia explains her story, the songbird's eyes ignite with manic curiosity. She whispers fervent promises, and takes her hand to lead her through the maze that is the Foxfire Bramble.
Euthalia hears a whisper first. And then a foggy melody. And then the chorus; harmonies; an orchestra. She'd thought that every flower sang beneath the sun, and rested under starlight. She is proven wrong.
There is Shadow Lily; Evening Primrose; Dragon Flower.
Nocturnal Blossoms.
A flower doesn't need to fear the dark.
#11290, Dalison
She arrives at Clan Nightshade with the last breezes of spring, and she is beautiful. She feels at home once more, back in the Sunbeam Ruins, and this clan that does not know her does not mind her at all.
She spends her days in the garden, as one would expect. She tends to the shrubs and flowers and helps to ensure that there will be plenty of food for months to come. Sometimes, she feels eyes on her, warm and longing and watching. She doesn't mind. She understands that some things take a long time to grow.
He introduces himself as the Light-borns are stringing up banners for the Jubilee. "You must be their queen," he says, twitching an anxious tail tip towards the plants around him.
She laughs like wind chimes. "You could say that."
"A queen deserves a crown," he says, and lays one gently upon her head.
* * *
She asks him later, in the nighttime, when they are curled up in their nest together. "Does it make you nervous?"
"What?" he asks, and he is shaking.
"To be in love with someone," she says. "To be really, truly in love with someone."
"Yes," he says. "But it's still good."
And she knows it is. It's good like the smell of mint or the full-palate bite of sour fruit. It's good like an apple, perfectly ripe, or like cracking open a pomegranate just for the color of the seeds. It's good like picking sweet wild blackberries despite the bramble scratches.
* * *
When he leaves her in the fall, she does not cry. She presses her crown between the pages of a book, dries it out, preserves it so she can keep the memory forever.
"Will you miss him?" his mentor asks her, seeking her out like a pale mealworm as dusk falls.
"Of course," she says.
"You can cry, if you want to," Auriel adds. "It isn't weak."
"I know," she says, and her eyes stay dry.
She does not tell him, but she knows something about plants than he does not. He has never seen a selenicereus grandiflorus, never held a Queen of the Night. He has no knowledge that there could even be a thing so beautiful that it blooms just once a year--
or even, just once in a lifetime.
#55776, glacevoleur
She wanders, aimless. The wind beneath her wings carries her as it will. She has no destination until a gentle call sounds in her head and she follows it, trusts it.
That trust would turn out to be misplaced.
She does not realize it, lost in her thoughts, until she is there. Whatever land she has found, it is not one that welcomes her. The earth is sharp stones and burning lava, signs of draconic progress evident on every inch of the ground below. No vegetation lives here. She sneers.
But still, the call that had drawn her here persists, leads her to some immense city on the northern face of the tallest mountain. To Anville.
Or, not quite to the city. No, the voice leads her to its outskirts, to a large dome structure made of glass. Within it Euthalia sees bursting flora, flowers that call to her with a voice that grows ever louder, more urgent. 'Danger?' she muses. She cannot ignore their pull if she tries.
She reaches the dome's threshold, enters through an unlocked door. She walks among the vegetation. the plants now are loud, they shout at her, tell her to travel to the center of their forest. She can do nothing but obey their instructions.
At the core of this place she finds what had called the loudest. It is something great, something with a sweet, tempting scent, with long stems of beautiful Amaranthus, with stretching, soft tendrils that hold false promises. Something with teeth that gnash at her as it calls.
As she nears this great hulking thing, hypnotized, a hand grasps her, stops her from climbing into its maw. Eyes the same golden shade as hers pierce through the haze that had settled over her mind. A shake of her head clears the last of the fog as she realizes what had nearly transpired. She moves to speak, cannot find words.
The once shouting plants all hushed around them. The skydancer's face turns to a silent snarl as a brief spark passes between them. Euthalia hears her voice as she hears that of the plants. One word passes through her mind, swift and forceful. Dangerous.
"Leave."
Euthalia does not need to be told twice. She flees back the way she'd came, the voice of the plants calls her again, digging in their tendrils to make her stay, but the fear in her heart keeps her feet moving. She bursts from the doors, her breath harsh and fast. Turning back she can only see thick vegetation, no evidence of the path she'd been on. The voices wail for her, but so long as she can help it, she will never enter that place again. She takes to the sky, to anywhere that isn't here.
It is only now, somehow, that she realizes there is something clutched in her claw.
A sprig of amaranth.
#50395, korozo
[center]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25554956]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/255550/25554956_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[font=garamond][size=6]CHIMERA[/size][/font][/center]
[font=arial][size=4]Chimera was only a young dragon when she heard Hay's tales about the world. She has since always wanted to see the 'magnificent wonders of the world' as Hay calls them, and collect some trinkets to come back home with as little souvenirs. One day, she ventured off (with her clanmates' permission), and started her journey to the wonders beyond....
((Just an afternote, please DON'T change any traits of hers, but you can give her lil' skins and accents if you want. Apparel is fine too. ))
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=239260]Koifins (239260)[/url]
-----------
[font=arial][size=4]When she approaches the gates of the massive citadel in the Hewn City, she has no idea that she'll only be there for two days.
The [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3140307]Mirror at the gates[/url] glances at the duo with a sort of routine disinterest. "Name?"
"I'm Chimera," she says. "And this is [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24387389]Peter[/url]. We're travellers."
He nods. "Last destination? Flight of origin?"
"Elsewhere in Light," Peter answers. "I'm from Water, and she's from Ice."
The Mirror pauses, eyeing them warily. "Follow the walk all the way down to the courtyard with the fountain," he says eventually. "Go into the first building on the right and ask for [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=5695525]Orion[/url]."
They know no better than to follow his instructions, and Orion is the only dragon in the building-- a massive Imperial, easily larger than either of them. "Travelers," he says, eyeing them coldly. "Where from?"
"Another clan in the Hewn City," Peter says confidently.
Orion nods slightly. "Of course. How long did you stay there?"
The two younger Imperials exchange nervous glances, and are silent.
"What did you do?" Orion asks.
"I... I don't know," Peter says, visibly shaken.
"What is the last thing you remember?" their inquisitor tries instead, with a tone of quiet severity.
"I remember Hay!" Chimera says, in a tone of obvious relief. "I remember Hay telling me about how wonderful it is to travel."
"And this Hay," Orion says, "is this your... hatchmate?"
"No," she stays unsteadily.
"Mate?"
"...No, I've never had a..."
"Do you remember what this dragon looks like?"
She's shivering now, eyes almost watering. "No. I don't remember... I can't... remember... any..."
She's cut off by a knock at the doorway. A [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=13324849]female Skydancer[/url] stands there, blocking out most of the light. "Hello, Orion. I heard there were new arrivals?"
"Yes," he says, and there's a hint of dark laughter in his tone. "They can't seem to remember anything."
She gives a little huff of surprised indignation. "Is that so."
"That's not true!" Chimera's companion exclaims. "I remember that my name is Peter."
"Very nice to meet you, Peter," the Skydancer purrs. "My name is Namiiru. What do you do?"
"I travel."
"What made you want to start travelling?" He pauses, silent for a moment, and shrugs his wings a little. "What sort of a dragon [i]are[/i] you, Peter?" Namiiru asks.
He hesitates, mouth open ever so slightly. "I'm... mysterious?"
Namiiru and Orion exchange glances. "Well, mysterious Peter," she says, in a different, more businesslike tone, "I think I may have a place for you to sleep in the barracks."
"What about me?" Chimera asks, a bit timidly.
"Well, what about you?" Namiiru replies, turning to face her. "What do [i]you[/i] remember?"
"I remember Hay, telling me stories about travelling," she says with as much confidence as she can muster. "I remember someone telling me I mustn't change the way I look--"
Namiiru cuts her off with a harsh laugh. "Mustn't change the way you look? Isn't that rather presumptuous?" The Skydancer moves forward, her pale eyes so cold and piercing that the Imperial girl feels a shiver run down her back. "You're so [i]plain[/i]," Namiiru adds in a half whisper, "but I could do so [i]much[/i] with you..."
"That won't be necessary," Orion cuts in. "She's a traveler, after all." He glances over at her. "I'm very sorry for the less than warm welcome," he adds, "but security's been rather tight as of late."
"No, it's fine, I understand," she says, and though she almost sags with relief she's not quite sure she really means it.
"I'd offer you a bunk in the barracks," Namiiru adds, "but I'm afraid there's only room for one more. Orion, would you be a dear and show her the way to the inn?"
Chimera waves a quick goodnight to Peter as they part ways in the courtyard. Thought the walk to the inn isn't long, she's nonetheless exhausted when she gets there, and falls asleep quickly, hoping that the rest will soothe her shot nerves.
[center]* * *[/center]
[font=arial][size=4]The barracks are empty when she arrives the next morning.
She calls Peter's name, and then Namiiru's, and then Peter's again, and again, and again, in increasingly higher pitches until she's curled up on the hard stone floor, weeping softly and letting silent sobs shake her body.
She doesn't even know she's being watched by two bright eyes from the rafters until [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=14668144]he[/url] drops down to stand beside her, a silent and comforting presence. He's so pale, and for so long he doesn't say anything; she wonders if he might be a ghost. She can't recall a time when any of the living were this kind to her.
"I saw him leave this morning with the rest of the recruits," he explains to her, when she's regained her breath enough to ask. "There's some battle going on this week-- you know how it is, there's always some battle. He's long gone by now."
She cries again, and he doesn't move, even when pelted with tears half the size of his body. He offers her a handkerchief; it's too small to do any real good, but she takes it anyway.
"It's not the worst thing that could happen to a dragon," he says a while later. He's taken his vest off to let it dry. "Many of my old clan members went off to serve the deities."
"Why?" she asks.
"It was inexplicable."
"But... that's horrible!"
"I like to think of all horrible things as inexplicable." He looks at her for a long moment, and there's sympathy in his eyes, sympathy at just the right concentration, sympathy soft enough not to be condescending, not to be pity. "Some grow by trying to explain them. Some just want to remember that they happened, and that's enough."
"I can't remember much of anything," she says dejectedly. "I've been travelling for as long as I can remember, but I don't have anything to show for it."
"You have a story," he tells her. "It might be just beginning, but you have a story." He pauses, then launches himself up into the rafters and begins rummaging around in his blankets, out of her sight. "It's important to have a story, I think," he tells her, and his voice carries perfectly. "It's important to tell a story, especially if no one else is going to tell it for you." The rustling sound of him pawing through the blankets stops. "Especially if it helps you to remember."
"Do you think it will help me to remember?" she asks.
He glances at her. "I can't say. For some people, it helps them more to forget." He coasts down from the rafters again, and extends a small leather notebook to her. "But if you want to remember something, if you want it to feel real... It just might help you to write it down."
CHIMERA
Chimera was only a young dragon when she heard Hay's tales about the world. She has since always wanted to see the 'magnificent wonders of the world' as Hay calls them, and collect some trinkets to come back home with as little souvenirs. One day, she ventured off (with her clanmates' permission), and started her journey to the wonders beyond....
((Just an afternote, please DON'T change any traits of hers, but you can give her lil' skins and accents if you want. Apparel is fine too. ))
Koifins (239260)
When she approaches the gates of the massive citadel in the Hewn City, she has no idea that she'll only be there for two days.
The Mirror at the gates glances at the duo with a sort of routine disinterest. "Name?"
"I'm Chimera," she says. "And this is Peter. We're travellers."
He nods. "Last destination? Flight of origin?"
"Elsewhere in Light," Peter answers. "I'm from Water, and she's from Ice."
The Mirror pauses, eyeing them warily. "Follow the walk all the way down to the courtyard with the fountain," he says eventually. "Go into the first building on the right and ask for Orion."
They know no better than to follow his instructions, and Orion is the only dragon in the building-- a massive Imperial, easily larger than either of them. "Travelers," he says, eyeing them coldly. "Where from?"
"Another clan in the Hewn City," Peter says confidently.
Orion nods slightly. "Of course. How long did you stay there?"
The two younger Imperials exchange nervous glances, and are silent.
"What did you do?" Orion asks.
"I... I don't know," Peter says, visibly shaken.
"What is the last thing you remember?" their inquisitor tries instead, with a tone of quiet severity.
"I remember Hay!" Chimera says, in a tone of obvious relief. "I remember Hay telling me about how wonderful it is to travel."
"And this Hay," Orion says, "is this your... hatchmate?"
"No," she stays unsteadily.
"Mate?"
"...No, I've never had a..."
"Do you remember what this dragon looks like?"
She's shivering now, eyes almost watering. "No. I don't remember... I can't... remember... any..."
She's cut off by a knock at the doorway. A female Skydancer stands there, blocking out most of the light. "Hello, Orion. I heard there were new arrivals?"
"Yes," he says, and there's a hint of dark laughter in his tone. "They can't seem to remember anything."
She gives a little huff of surprised indignation. "Is that so."
"That's not true!" Chimera's companion exclaims. "I remember that my name is Peter."
"Very nice to meet you, Peter," the Skydancer purrs. "My name is Namiiru. What do you do?"
"I travel."
"What made you want to start travelling?" He pauses, silent for a moment, and shrugs his wings a little. "What sort of a dragon are you, Peter?" Namiiru asks.
He hesitates, mouth open ever so slightly. "I'm... mysterious?"
Namiiru and Orion exchange glances. "Well, mysterious Peter," she says, in a different, more businesslike tone, "I think I may have a place for you to sleep in the barracks."
"What about me?" Chimera asks, a bit timidly.
"Well, what about you?" Namiiru replies, turning to face her. "What do you remember?"
"I remember Hay, telling me stories about travelling," she says with as much confidence as she can muster. "I remember someone telling me I mustn't change the way I look--"
Namiiru cuts her off with a harsh laugh. "Mustn't change the way you look? Isn't that rather presumptuous?" The Skydancer moves forward, her pale eyes so cold and piercing that the Imperial girl feels a shiver run down her back. "You're so plain," Namiiru adds in a half whisper, "but I could do so much with you..."
"That won't be necessary," Orion cuts in. "She's a traveler, after all." He glances over at her. "I'm very sorry for the less than warm welcome," he adds, "but security's been rather tight as of late."
"No, it's fine, I understand," she says, and though she almost sags with relief she's not quite sure she really means it.
"I'd offer you a bunk in the barracks," Namiiru adds, "but I'm afraid there's only room for one more. Orion, would you be a dear and show her the way to the inn?"
Chimera waves a quick goodnight to Peter as they part ways in the courtyard. Thought the walk to the inn isn't long, she's nonetheless exhausted when she gets there, and falls asleep quickly, hoping that the rest will soothe her shot nerves.
* * *
The barracks are empty when she arrives the next morning.
She calls Peter's name, and then Namiiru's, and then Peter's again, and again, and again, in increasingly higher pitches until she's curled up on the hard stone floor, weeping softly and letting silent sobs shake her body.
She doesn't even know she's being watched by two bright eyes from the rafters until he drops down to stand beside her, a silent and comforting presence. He's so pale, and for so long he doesn't say anything; she wonders if he might be a ghost. She can't recall a time when any of the living were this kind to her.
"I saw him leave this morning with the rest of the recruits," he explains to her, when she's regained her breath enough to ask. "There's some battle going on this week-- you know how it is, there's always some battle. He's long gone by now."
She cries again, and he doesn't move, even when pelted with tears half the size of his body. He offers her a handkerchief; it's too small to do any real good, but she takes it anyway.
"It's not the worst thing that could happen to a dragon," he says a while later. He's taken his vest off to let it dry. "Many of my old clan members went off to serve the deities."
"Why?" she asks.
"It was inexplicable."
"But... that's horrible!"
"I like to think of all horrible things as inexplicable." He looks at her for a long moment, and there's sympathy in his eyes, sympathy at just the right concentration, sympathy soft enough not to be condescending, not to be pity. "Some grow by trying to explain them. Some just want to remember that they happened, and that's enough."
"I can't remember much of anything," she says dejectedly. "I've been travelling for as long as I can remember, but I don't have anything to show for it."
"You have a story," he tells her. "It might be just beginning, but you have a story." He pauses, then launches himself up into the rafters and begins rummaging around in his blankets, out of her sight. "It's important to have a story, I think," he tells her, and his voice carries perfectly. "It's important to tell a story, especially if no one else is going to tell it for you." The rustling sound of him pawing through the blankets stops. "Especially if it helps you to remember."
"Do you think it will help me to remember?" she asks.
He glances at her. "I can't say. For some people, it helps them more to forget." He coasts down from the rafters again, and extends a small leather notebook to her. "But if you want to remember something, if you want it to feel real... It just might help you to write it down."
[center]
[size=1][font=calibri][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jKr6GXF8wo][color=#ae6b6b]T H E M E[/url][/size]
[/font][font=cambria][color=#bca13e][size=6]SAVANT[/size], the false witness.[size=2]
[i]oh brother, won't you lay me down?[/i][/font][/size]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30589016]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/305891/30589016_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[color=#ae6b6b][s]- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s] [font=calibri][color=#ae6b6b][b][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=view&tab=userpage&id=11290]Dalison, #11290[/url][/b][/color][/font] [s]--- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s][columns][color=transparent]..[nextcol]
"Where were you from, before you came here?" Rixan asks him.
"Here and there and everywhere," Savant replies. He flaps his wings playfully, "I think I've been to every element in Sornieth."
"That's impressive," she says. She's a glowing nocturne that flits around the clan like a firefly. Her smile makes his wings flutter a little quicker. "Tell me about your favourite," she says.
"My favourite?" he says, "Well, each flight has its merits. The Wind dragons were very welcoming, but there were all sorts of adventures to be had in the Tangled Wood." He looks at Rixan's eyes. They're golden, like his own, so he adds, "But there's no place like home, is there? I love the Sunbeam the best."
Rixan giggles. Her voice sounds like bells, and she is gazing up at him from where she is sitting. "I left the Sunbeam when I was just a hatchling," she says. "What do you do when you go visit?"
"Well, it's full of scholars and mages. They're not very dreamy. Once, I asked a dragon there if they ever did anything besides read and practice magic, and they just looked at me blankly and said, 'Well we have to eat and sleep, of course'."
Rixan laughs again. "That's not how I remember my parents," she says.
"Well, they're all different, definitely!" he stammers. "My parents weren't like that either, of course. They used to spend a lot of time just lying around in the sun, but they did like a good history book now and again. My dad liked to carve wood sculptures, actually. I loved his wood sculptures."
"Oh?" Rixan says. "Show me some of them. I'd love to see."
"I'd love to show you!" he says, "But I lost them when I got caught in a storm, flying over The Sea of a Thousand Currents. I know, I should have stayed with a party or a ferry, but I just thought flying myself over would be more fun. More adventurous, you understand?"
"You're doing it again," Rixan laughs. Savant can feel heat rising into his cheeks. His wings flutter a little faster.
"Did what? I'm not. I mean, I haven't been-"
"You start to ramble when you've lied yourself into a hole," Rixan tells him. She gets up and stretches her wings. "Don't get me wrong, you're still a wonderful storyteller," she says, with a playful smile, "That's why I like you. You should write some of your 'adventures' down sometime. I could read them to the hatchlings."
Savant stares at her as she's fluttering away. He notices that he's been clenching his fists, so he takes a breath and relaxes. "Right, right," he mumbles to himself. "Write down my adventures. Of course."
[center][color=#ae6b6b]
[color=#ae6b6b][b]MISC[/b][/color][left][font=calibri][color=#ae6b6b][/center]
[color=#bca13e][b]NAMESAKE[/b] — a scholar with distinguished learnings.[/color]
[color=#bca13e][b]ALLIES[/b] —[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=11406930][color=#bca13e][b]rixan[/b][/url]
[color=#bca13e][b]SKILL SET(S)[/b] — intellect, storytelling, compulsive lying.[/color]
[/font][/color][/center]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/588Prt8.png[/img]
#144376
[color=#ae6b6b][s]- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s][/color]
[font=calibri][size=2][color=#ae6b6b]Biography layout by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=10439][color=#ae6b6b]Zarane[/size][/url][/font]
[/center]
T H E M E
SAVANT, the false witness.
oh brother, won't you lay me down?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Dalison, #11290 --- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAVANT, the false witness.
oh brother, won't you lay me down?
| .. |
"Where were you from, before you came here?" Rixan asks him. "Here and there and everywhere," Savant replies. He flaps his wings playfully, "I think I've been to every element in Sornieth." "That's impressive," she says. She's a glowing nocturne that flits around the clan like a firefly. Her smile makes his wings flutter a little quicker. "Tell me about your favourite," she says. "My favourite?" he says, "Well, each flight has its merits. The Wind dragons were very welcoming, but there were all sorts of adventures to be had in the Tangled Wood." He looks at Rixan's eyes. They're golden, like his own, so he adds, "But there's no place like home, is there? I love the Sunbeam the best." Rixan giggles. Her voice sounds like bells, and she is gazing up at him from where she is sitting. "I left the Sunbeam when I was just a hatchling," she says. "What do you do when you go visit?" "Well, it's full of scholars and mages. They're not very dreamy. Once, I asked a dragon there if they ever did anything besides read and practice magic, and they just looked at me blankly and said, 'Well we have to eat and sleep, of course'." Rixan laughs again. "That's not how I remember my parents," she says. "Well, they're all different, definitely!" he stammers. "My parents weren't like that either, of course. They used to spend a lot of time just lying around in the sun, but they did like a good history book now and again. My dad liked to carve wood sculptures, actually. I loved his wood sculptures." "Oh?" Rixan says. "Show me some of them. I'd love to see." "I'd love to show you!" he says, "But I lost them when I got caught in a storm, flying over The Sea of a Thousand Currents. I know, I should have stayed with a party or a ferry, but I just thought flying myself over would be more fun. More adventurous, you understand?" "You're doing it again," Rixan laughs. Savant can feel heat rising into his cheeks. His wings flutter a little faster. "Did what? I'm not. I mean, I haven't been-" "You start to ramble when you've lied yourself into a hole," Rixan tells him. She gets up and stretches her wings. "Don't get me wrong, you're still a wonderful storyteller," she says, with a playful smile, "That's why I like you. You should write some of your 'adventures' down sometime. I could read them to the hatchlings." Savant stares at her as she's fluttering away. He notices that he's been clenching his fists, so he takes a breath and relaxes. "Right, right," he mumbles to himself. "Write down my adventures. Of course." MISC ALLIES — rixan SKILL SET(S) — intellect, storytelling, compulsive lying. |
#144376
Biography layout by Zarane
[center]
[size=1][font=calibri][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVLOa592jgk][color=#ae6b6b]T H E M E[/url][/size]
[/font][font=cambria][color=#bca13e][size=6]RIXAN[/size], the denmother.[size=2]
[i]we're all too tired to light the fire and watch it burn.[/i][/font][/size]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=11406930]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/114070/11406930_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[color=#ae6b6b][s]- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s] [font=calibri][color=#ae6b6b][b][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/lair/8057]chimeratic, #8057[/url][/b][/color][/font] [s]--- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s][columns][color=transparent]..[nextcol]
Rixan mends the broken.
She stitches with delicate claws and binds with ribbons of rawhide. She does what she can to ease their minds, too, murmuring promises and comfort to those willing to hear.
Rixan has earned her place here, as everyone else has.
She wouldn't be here if she wasn't useful.
The others don't know where she came from, and there are those who study Rixan with looks of distaste. To them, her gentle nature is not familiar. Her gentle nature should not exist.
Sometimes, she hides away with scrolls and herbs and a soothing [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30589016]spiral[/url], burying herself with whispers that she belongs. He insists that she is one of them, and she tries to believe.
At night she lies with the young blood, breathing tales and legends of heroes underneath the moon. She keeps her voice low, so those with savage hearts can't stop her, and she paints their minds with virtue. She does what she can to keep them from becoming their demons.
Rixan protects the innocent. Rixan mends the broken.
[center][color=#ae6b6b]
[color=#ae6b6b][b]MISC[/b][/color][left][font=calibri][color=#ae6b6b][/center]
[color=#bca13e][b]NAMESAKE[/b] — unknown.[/color]
[color=#bca13e][b]ALLIES[/b] —[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30589016][color=#bca13e][b]savant[/b][/url]
[color=#bca13e][b]SKILL SET(S)[/b] — peacekeeping, wound tending, mothering.[/color]
[/font][/color][/center]
[center][img]http://orig05.deviantart.net/aa4d/f/2015/235/a/c/rixan_by_secretrealm-d96u9xt.png[/img]
#20704
[color=#ae6b6b][s]- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s][/color]
[font=calibri][size=2][color=#ae6b6b]Biography layout by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=10439][color=#ae6b6b]Zarane[/size][/url][/font]
[/center]
T H E M E
RIXAN, the denmother.
we're all too tired to light the fire and watch it burn.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - chimeratic, #8057 --- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
RIXAN, the denmother.
we're all too tired to light the fire and watch it burn.
| .. |
Rixan mends the broken. She stitches with delicate claws and binds with ribbons of rawhide. She does what she can to ease their minds, too, murmuring promises and comfort to those willing to hear. Rixan has earned her place here, as everyone else has. She wouldn't be here if she wasn't useful. The others don't know where she came from, and there are those who study Rixan with looks of distaste. To them, her gentle nature is not familiar. Her gentle nature should not exist. Sometimes, she hides away with scrolls and herbs and a soothing spiral, burying herself with whispers that she belongs. He insists that she is one of them, and she tries to believe. At night she lies with the young blood, breathing tales and legends of heroes underneath the moon. She keeps her voice low, so those with savage hearts can't stop her, and she paints their minds with virtue. She does what she can to keep them from becoming their demons. Rixan protects the innocent. Rixan mends the broken. MISC ALLIES — savant SKILL SET(S) — peacekeeping, wound tending, mothering. |
#20704
Biography layout by Zarane
[center]| D E C E A S E D |[/center]
[center][columns][color=transparent]................[/color][nextcol][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/310545/31054468_350.png[/img]
[size=1][font=calibri][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f523ZQkYDaQ][color=#511919]T H E M E[/url][/size]
[/font][font=cambria][color=#a02020][size=6]FORSAKEN[/size], the executioner.[size=3]
[i]the slew of trails in reverie, bite my crooked shape.[/i][/font][/size]
[s]- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ---- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s] [/center][/columns]
[font=calibri][color=#a02020]Forsaken lives in denial.
She denies that [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=8057&tab=dragon&did=34934212]Dreamscar[/url] holds half of the valley, denies that Dreamscar holds half of the dragons [i]in[/i] the valley, and denies that Dreamscar even exists, sometimes. Denial, denial, denial. Hatred and denial.
It's okay, though, she tells herself. She gets herself through. That's all she needs. She doesn't go out of her way to find loyalty, like the robotic rat. Forsaken makes her brutality known, but she waits for her prey to come to her. The stupid or the brave. Then she decides what will become of it.
Her temper is short, but those with[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=92546&tab=dragon&did=33669494] tact[/url] have been known to earn her favor.
"How's the bloody band of pests?" comes the skydancer's snide remark, and Forsaken cracks a crooked grin.
"Better by the day, Circe. It's getting better by the day."
They know the tides are turning in her favor. Forsaken knows- they all know. Brandishing a cleaver and her own gnashing teeth, she waits under a canopy of torn hide.
"Soon, my loves. Soon."
[/font]
[img]https://78.media.tumblr.com/c4c115275a2c828a1a4466b156f624d3/tumblr_oxfvx2uzBO1w24d3vo7_500.png[/img]
[center]#30938[/center]
[center]| D E C E A S E D |[/center]
[center][columns][color=transparent]................[/color][nextcol][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/349343/34934212_350.png[/img]
[size=1][font=calibri][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1t8-_pI1-9Q][color=#482b60]T H E M E[/url][/size]
[/font][font=cambria][color=#9973ba][size=6] DREAMSCAR[/size], the diplomat.[size=2]
[i]careful of what you may speak.[/i][/font][/size]
[s]- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ---- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/s] [/center][/columns]
[font=calibri][color=#9973ba][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=8057&did=31054468]Forsaken[/url] is an idiot.
This is the thought that Dreamscar lives by.
Forsaken fights so that she can never [i]be[/i] forsaken. [i]Forsaken, our war-torn leader[/i], they said. [i]Forsaken, our strong leader.[/i] [i]Forsaken, our undisputed leader. Forsaken, the idiot, [/i]Dreamscar thinks to herself.
She has no scars on her crystalline body. Instead, she is adorned with amethyst and intricately crafted steel. No one asks what happened to her wholly flesh and blood body- it doesn't seem to matter.
She spends her time wandering by the valley cliffs and striding next to her [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=8057&tab=dragon&did=28275836]apprentice[/url], thinking as she mentors.
"I used to be a Pearlcatcher," she tells Tovitaan, one day. The young one seems surprised.
"What happened to that?"
Dreamscar casts her a glance and a small, deliberate smile. "Change is necessary to become who you need to be. I'm sure you know that better than I do." Tovitaan seems downcast, but she nods. Dreamscar smiles again, wider, to herself.
She acts to make that change happen. She teaches those lesser than her, and she befriends those different from her. When she isn't charming her dragons with knowledge and grace, she meditates.
She thinks- she plans. One day, she will announce what her dragons already know.
This clan is hers.
| D E C E A S E D |
| ................ |
 T H E M E FORSAKEN, the executioner. the slew of trails in reverie, bite my crooked shape. |
Forsaken lives in denial.
She denies that Dreamscar holds half of the valley, denies that Dreamscar holds half of the dragons in the valley, and denies that Dreamscar even exists, sometimes. Denial, denial, denial. Hatred and denial.
It's okay, though, she tells herself. She gets herself through. That's all she needs. She doesn't go out of her way to find loyalty, like the robotic rat. Forsaken makes her brutality known, but she waits for her prey to come to her. The stupid or the brave. Then she decides what will become of it.
Her temper is short, but those with tact have been known to earn her favor.
"How's the bloody band of pests?" comes the skydancer's snide remark, and Forsaken cracks a crooked grin.
"Better by the day, Circe. It's getting better by the day."
They know the tides are turning in her favor. Forsaken knows- they all know. Brandishing a cleaver and her own gnashing teeth, she waits under a canopy of torn hide.
"Soon, my loves. Soon."
#30938
| D E C E A S E D |
| ................ |
 T H E M E DREAMSCAR, the diplomat. careful of what you may speak. |
Forsaken is an idiot.
This is the thought that Dreamscar lives by.
Forsaken fights so that she can never be forsaken. Forsaken, our war-torn leader, they said. Forsaken, our strong leader. Forsaken, our undisputed leader. Forsaken, the idiot, Dreamscar thinks to herself.
She has no scars on her crystalline body. Instead, she is adorned with amethyst and intricately crafted steel. No one asks what happened to her wholly flesh and blood body- it doesn't seem to matter.
She spends her time wandering by the valley cliffs and striding next to her apprentice, thinking as she mentors.
"I used to be a Pearlcatcher," she tells Tovitaan, one day. The young one seems surprised.
"What happened to that?"
Dreamscar casts her a glance and a small, deliberate smile. "Change is necessary to become who you need to be. I'm sure you know that better than I do." Tovitaan seems downcast, but she nods. Dreamscar smiles again, wider, to herself.
She acts to make that change happen. She teaches those lesser than her, and she befriends those different from her. When she isn't charming her dragons with knowledge and grace, she meditates.
She thinks- she plans. One day, she will announce what her dragons already know.
This clan is hers.