Darkness, Light, and Plague
In the beginning, there was…darkness
He didn’t know where he was.
Everything was darkness, nothing but pitch before the eyes he wasn’t sure he had. It was an odd feeling, floating in nothing, surrounded by nothing.
Is this what being dead is like?
He tried to move, but if he had a body, it wasn’t responding to his commands. Did he have a body? He didn’t think so, for one should be able to feel tooth and claw and wing and tail if the body was there. Even in the darkest of caves, a dragon would still know their own body, right?
Who do you serve? What flight are you, dragon?
The question seemed to caress his mind, settle into his very soul, and he thought about it long and hard. He knew that there were eleven flights, each with a different deity, and that dragons were born into the flights that best embodied their talents, though they frequently moved around until they found a flight that embodied their ideals as well. He knew the ideals behind each one intimately, though he could not say how he knew. The knowledge was there if he just reached out, like the inky darkness was a library and he could read any book instantly. However, only one entry stood out for him.
The plague dragons of the Scarred Wasteland are survivors. They prefer to be as strong and adaptable as the plague they spread. Of all the dragons, plague dragons are the most savage, and celebrate the cycle of life and death by constantly pitting themselves against the other elements. The bones and armor of their enemies are their favored treasures.
He knew what he was, even if he didn’t know who he was or what he looked like. Once the answer presented itself, he almost felt foolish that he didn’t know it from the first.
I am Plague.
There seemed to be a murmur in the silence, like many voices discussing, yet too far away to hear what any one voice said. He waited patiently, not that he had anywhere else to be or anything else to do. For some reason, the dragon thought that these questions were important, and he needed to pay attention and give true answers, or he would be returned to whence he came, wherever that might be.
What is your driving force?
The voice was a quiet whisper, like the sound one heard when listening to a seashell, but he still heard it. This question was easier for him, or maybe he was just becoming more aware of himself. Either way, he knew the answer.
I must protect.
Protect, young blood? What do you have to protect? What would you die to protect?
The asker seemed amused at his driving force, but he was not deterred. He knew what drove him, what helped him make decisions, what made him, well, him, at his very core. Even if he knew nothing else, he knew this without question.
I must protect those weaker than I. I must become strong so I can protect others. Clan, hatchlings, those in need, I must protect those that are not yet strong enough to protect themselves. I will be their strength. I will protect them, even from themselves if needed.
The murmurs were stronger this time, and he thought he could pick up parts of the conversation, even if they did not make sense. Guardian was the first word he heard, but that seemed to be discouraged. The second voice that had spoken to him mentioned something about charge, and the first voice seemed to agree and discourage Wildclaw as well. He wasn’t sure what was being decided, or why they were speaking of types of dragons, so again he waited patiently. It took longer for the murmurs to stop this time.
What is your weakness?
This voice seemed to resonate within him, like his very soul was being shaken. It may have been that the question itself was strong enough to shake him out of his passive attention, but it seemed more likely that the one who spoke had a deeper power than the others, one that could touch the core. It was easy to say which deity one followed, or what someone was willing to die for. It was harder to know one’s self enough to be able to admit a weakness that was not superficial or fake. This voice seemed to demand a true answer, and he made sure to deliberate and think about it before giving his response.
I am not strong enough.
Instead of murmuring, there was silence after his answer, so thick and hot and heavy it could have been cut with a dull blade. He did not panic, however. He knew his answer was true, even if it was not expected. He knew his weakness, he knew his strength, and he knew his own soul, if nothing else.
The Plaguebringer has approved your request and selected a suitable site for your first lair. May your clan be as strong as you make it, Shade. Know that should you need it, change will come.
The last voice to speak to him could only be that of the Plaguebringer herself, and for a moment he was awestruck. She had spoken directly to him, had accepted his request and granted it.
Wait, what had he requested?
Without warning, he felt like he was falling. The knowledge that had been so readily available to him was stripped away painlessly, leaving him only with memories of the bizarre interview. As he fell through the endless darkness, he became aware of his four paws, his legs made for running, his whip-like tail and quick jaws and wings that would give him speed running or flying. When all four of his eyes opened, he was greeted by the sight of the Scarred Wasteland, and he knew.
He was home.
In the beginning, there was…light
Why was it so bright?
She was floating in a warm light, almost like a pool of radiance, engulfed in brightness and warmth and contentment, though she was not content. Sure, it felt good, but it was too much good, though that didn’t seem right either. Could you have too much good? She wasn’t sure. Either way, there was just too much something here to make her happy, even if she wanted to melt away into it.
It wasn’t that the light hurt her eyes; she didn’t have eyes to hurt. Rather, she thought she was just a spirit, not a ghost but a soul waiting for a decision to be made. She hung in the balance, and could see the eleven deities in a circle around her, watching her. It was an odd experience, being the sole focus of those that ran the world and the flights and had created existence. It kind of made one feel self-conscious.
What flight do you belong to?
What an odd question to be asked, she thought. They were the deities, so shouldn’t they know her flight? Then again, she knew that sometimes those who took the title of Exalt were sent back to the lands to start a new clan for the deity of their choosing. Had she been an Exalt? She thought so, could remember a time when she had four legs and a tail and fluffy fur that felt like hugs to wear. Had she put in an application, or requested to be sent back? She didn’t remember, the memories of her time before seeming to fade as she floated in the warmth. So then where did she belong? Well that, at least, was easy.
I am Plague!
She thought it with such joy and happiness that the light seemed to glow red for a moment, reflecting her devotion to the Plague flight. Plague was the flight of life, the flight of thriving despite the wills or wants of others, of being strong enough to do more than exist. That’s what she was. She was strong enough to live and thrive.
What is your driving force?
She could almost feel the wind ruffling her fur as the question was asked, and it made her spirit soar in the light. This was also an easy question, something that every dragon should know about themselves.
I must be the best that I can be, so I can be a pillar of strength to those around me!
The answer was true to her spirit, true to her self, and the ones watching her seemed to nod as she said it like it was the truth everyone knew. She wanted to show others how to live, how to survive and thrive, and wanted to be their support when they needed it. She was the strong-spirited one who would hold others up and help them weather the storm when their mind or soul had carried too much burden to bear and needed help. She was the friend of friends, an unbiased ear and a level response in a time when tensions could run high and acceptance was desperately needed. That was just who she was.
What is your weakness?
Of all she had been asked, this question gave her pause. She was happy, knew her purpose, knew her beliefs, and felt good in the light, loved and safe and warm. But a weakness, that was something that was kept hidden from others, in the dark part of everyone’s heart. The key to life was balance, enough darkness to balance the light, and though she was mostly light, she had to be able to understand her inner darkness or she would never grow. So what was her weakness? What was her darkness?
She couldn’t remember a time before the fluffy hug fur, couldn’t recall if she ever had friends or family or anyone to support or protect. If she didn’t have memories, could she know what her weakness was? Well, the gods would not have asked if she did not have the tools to know, and really, she was the only she there was, so she was the only one that could know herself. That thought almost made her giggle, but it redirected her thoughts where they needed to go.
I don’t want to make hard decisions if it means hurting those I am trying to protect.
The Plaguebringer has approved your request and selected a suitable site for your first lair. May you fortify those around you against the darkness that could be, Illuminata. Go as you are, but know change is coming.
She could see the light funnel away from the gods and towards the world below, allowing her to drop from what must have been the testing grounds and fall towards her destination. Along the way her body formed, paws and wings and fur that felt too warm now that she had just been a spirit. But the Plaguebringer had stated that change was coming, and Illuminata thought that the Tundra that she was would not be her final form. She would have to trust in the Plaguemama.
The light became too bright to look at, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the Scarred Wasteland was under her feet, the night sky twinkling with stars above them.
Wait, them??
In the beginning, there was…Plague
Spacer
For a moment, there was silence as four red eyes studied two red eyes. The mirror was compact, strong, made for quick movement and quicker kills. The tundra looked a size and a half larger than she was just from fur alone, made to live in the cold of the Southern Icefield. He was pitch black, she was the color of corpsemaker ivy. They were opposites, that much was obvious. And they had been placed in the same lair site.
The two of you have been tasked with starting a clan. How you run it, what you do with it, and what legacy you leave behind is yours to decide. The tools have been provided, now it is up to you.
The hissing voice of the Plaguebringer seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and both of the dragons could tell that the other heard it as well. The lair site they had was small, just large enough for a few dragons to live comfortably if they were careful, and small stores of food had already been placed on the shelves. It wouldn’t be much, but it was enough to allow the two dragons to not worry about gathering right away, and instead focus on each other. The silence was heavy.
”I am Illuminata. I have training in spiritual arts and exalting practices. The Plaguebringer sent me here.”
Well, it wasn’t the best introduction ever, but it was a start. The mirror gave a soft grunt, at least acknowledging what she said as he studied her. Finally he nodded, tail flicking behind him.
“I am Shade. I was tasked with leading a clan, and it seems you were as well. Maybe we can work something out.”
Illuminata let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t realized she had been holding. They were communicating, and seemed to be on the same page at least. He wasn’t a gruff angry type like she thought, but sounded more like one who would only speak if there was something worth saying. She could work with that, could understand that, could even respect it if it were true. First impressions were not everything, but her instincts felt right about this one.
”I would like that. I don’t want to run a clan, but I can be your support. I want to help others find their inner strength. I’ll be the pillar you can lean on.”
The mirror studied her for a long moment before nodding again. There was something off about the Tundra, something that seemed less Tundra and more…something else, but he couldn’t quite see what it was. Something about how she spoke, how she presented herself, she just seemed, well, not Tundraish. Not that it mattered what breed she was, but he found it interesting none the less.
“My support, hm? How about separate but equal? You can be the light to my darkness. Together, maybe we can find a fair choice to any issue.”
He could see her perk up at the concept, her fur fluffing out as her head raised and her tail seemed to wag. She looked like a barking jester just back from playing, all excited at being paid attention to and ready for more. Shade chuckled inwardly and shook his head, looking around the lair again. “The first thing we should do is probably figure out where we are, what territory is available, expand the lair a bit, and find the necessities like food, water, and materials.”
The tundra didn’t complain, and both dragons got to work clearing out more of the site and looking around. Food was scarce, but available in the area, and there was water not too far away. Illuminata also found the pathway to the Arches that would lead to the Trading Post, and filed that information away for use later. She wasn’t ready to leave quite yet, but Shade agreed that they needed to know where they were, where the arches were, and get a feel for the territory of other clans before they expanded too far. Therefore, the first day was spent exploring, discovering, gathering, and learning about what was to be their new home.