This is just where I'll put the lengths of bio I write for my Dragons, as some of them can get quite lengthy. Feel free to comment or critique them if you want, but this is mostly just to free up space in their bios.
~~~~~~~~~
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=63130&tab=dragon&did=5749815]Lodon [/url]- Mortician, priest, exorcist.
Lodon has a lot of unintentional references to Johnny Cash. They are coincidences having to do with his songs like Ring of Fire, Cocaine Blues, and Man in Black. That is not all of them though.
~~~~~~
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=5749815]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/57499/5749815_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~~~~~~~
Lodon was born to the ever warm, ever blooming Gardens of the outer reaches of the Viridian Labyrinth. His clan was small and so were most of the neighboring groups. Some were just drifters that never left, while others were old, retired couples that were spending their last years together in peace and quiet. Lodon was like them. He, unlike them, was ridiculed for his pitch colored coat and his aloof nature.
Lodon was a quiet child and never did much more than think and watch the world around him. The fragrant winds dulled the senses after long exposure, and not even nature dragons were safe from the narcotic effects. The slowness dragged Lodon. He knew there was more, but he knew nothing else. He was young now and had only heard stories of the other lands. The stories have been about great mountains of ice, stone, magic, and fire, fields of rot rather than flowers, shimmering seas, and raging tempests. He thought the rest of the world harsh and unforgiving compared to the paradise that he lived in, but he craved something more than his sedentary life. He craved challenge, to feel something stronger than peace.
For years he spent his life contemplating it and what he wanted from it. One day, an old Wildclaw wandered up the winding path along the creeks near his home. "Another retired dragon." Lodon thought. This dragon was full of life. He told stories and spoke of his life fondly. He had a centaur with him. He was dark skinned and very muscular. He pulled the Wildclaw's cart. When asked, the centaur tells of his companionship with the Wildclaw, whose name is Andurs. The recent stresses between dragons and beastclans had made this a more uncommon occurrence. Many centauri that were allied with the dragons turned against them when all of the skirmishes started, but some stayed peaceful or even allied to dragon clans.
The cart was full of things ranging from pots and pans, to jars full of ash and vials of glowing water. He brought rune stones and tomes, which Lodon read from when he could. Andurs taught many of the younglings of the area that couldn't read how to. Most of them seemed to be studies or manuals. Lodon always thought that Andurs' favorite book was "Wagon Fixing”, but he didn't know that that was actually his most dreaded book. The wagon was possibly older than Andurs and so seemed the book as well.
Andurs came and went through the years, usually about once a year. It seemed to Lodon that he was some sort of priest, what kind was unknown to him. As Lodon was returning home one day with the day's bounties from the fields and forests he saw flickering in the distance. He payed it little mind. Some magic play or a duel perhaps. It could just be a lantern or campfire. As the day dimmed, he could see the light closer now. It had grown considerably and was moving in all directions. It looked to Lodon like fire, but violet in color. He dropped his baskets and rushed back towards his home to warn everybody. Once adrenaline kicks in, those flowery wafts on the wind seemed paltry. The fire closed in quickly and the many dragons had only mere minutes to collect their lives in what they could carry. A few dragons rushed towards the fire with their water and fire magic attempting to quell the inferno but to no avail. Most of those that left were never seen again.
Lodon guided scared hatchlings and dragons into the Gladeveins, where the water and steep climbs would slow or stop the strange fire. As he turned to see if anyone else was following, he saw Andurs struggling to keep ahead of the blaze. He was old and seemed to be injured. His centaur companion was helping him along, but it was not enough. Much to the despair of his parents, Lodon ran towards them. The violet flames were engulfing everything. With another body, the centaur and Lodon got Andurs moving. He was mortally wounded. With a stern look from Lodon and soft words from Andurs, the Centaur ran ahead after aiding the two into the center of a pond. After only a minute, the pond was surrounded in intense flames and was crimson with blood. Andurs gave Lodon a stone dagger. Its handle looked like dragon bone and the blade was polished to a shine. It looked sharp enough to cut the sky. It was inscribed with the symbols of the eleven flights along the blade. In those last minutes, Andurs explained who he was and what he does.
After sunrise, the flames disappeared and never returned, anywhere. The entirety of the region was left in smoldering ruin. The only things saved were submerged in water, except Lodon. The fire left wounds that never fully healed. The mental scars were there permanently and were cut far deeper than the physical burns. Andurs was a priest. He preformed burial rituals and exorcisms. He purified spirits and he fought against the demons. The dagger given to Lodon is ceremonially given to the priest's child, but Andurs had no children and no apprentice. Lodon was the closest he had. They had been friends for many years. Lodon talks even less than he had before, but he does talk occasionally. His voice is strong and thoughtful, and is capable of silencing a room full of raging dragons with a whisper. His voice seems loud no matter how he speaks.
Lodon, in honor of Andurs, became a priest himself. He performs the same duties as Andurs, but Lodon remains in the same place most of the time. Strangely, the cart Andurs brought wherever he went was spared. The water vials had all broken in the panic, leaving a circle around the cart that was completely unharmed. Lodon keeps that cart to this day.
For years, Lodon wandered the lands seeing all that he had heard about. This included the mountains, the seas, the plains of rot, and The Quarry. Most dragons saw him and turned him away as soon as his services were done. He was as black as soot, with perpetual wounds wrapped with bandages, and his black cloak seemed to whisper as he moved. The centaur that follows him also puts dragons on edge. One day, he came across a great scar in the ground, the Quarry. The dragons here were kind and were not as mistrusting of his Centaur companion. They were new to the area, but were already allies with several of the centauri tribes and clans. There was a lot of death that occurred on the Frontier and battlegrounds. Lodon was there for death after all.
Lodon primarily acts as a mortician and funeral rites performer. He has written, or memorized, somehow, all of the different burial ceremonies and such for the many breeds, cultures, religions, and races of Sornieth. He even knows the ceremonies for the centauri, Serthis, Maren, and many other species. His use of Dust (Magically imbued ash) has been very important throughout the years. It is less powerful than the water used by his predecessor, but it is more versatile. It can be used for seals, fuel, weapons, and spells. The water is only useful for seals and spells, but can be used against certain creatures as a weapon.
He lives in the fourth tier of the Quarry in the Hall of the Dead. It is a mausoleum like structure built into the Quarry wall and holds hundreds of urns, coffins, and such. He lives down here with the dead, but he doesn't seem to mind much. The dead don't complain, much. Sometimes he meets a dragon that has died but not entered the underworld or faded away. He performs a ceremony to get them there. It is tiring for spirits such as this to exist, but there are exceptions.
Most of the clan likes him, but few of them could be considered friends of his. Bacchus, Mecca, Minerva, Orion, Soteris, and Achaius can be considered friends of his. Soteris and Achaius write about and study his work and have developed a working relationship with him. Bacchus is friends with everybody and just likes talking with anyone who will listen. Lodon does like to listen. Orion, Minerva, and Mecca have known him for years and have talked more than most.
The only dragon who could be considered an enemy or at least not a friend would be Stein. Lodon does not like the way he feels and acts. Stein's view of life and death is different than Lodon's. Stein thinks of them as interchangeable and reversible, while Lodon holds reverence of life and respect for the dead as two different things. Lodon has a strong sense of spiritual pressure, and Stein's is scary. It is fearsome and terrifying like a dark pit with no bottom. It permeates everything and seems to make the dead restless. Every time Stein has entered the Hall of the Dead the dead became upset and the occurrence of stray spirits rise for a while. From what Lodon has gleaned from Stein, he is not doing this on purpose. Lodon likes Stein's personality and as a person. They are just opposites. Lodon puts the dead to rest, and Stein wakes them up.
[img]http://pre11.deviantart.net/2aff/th/pre/f/2017/134/8/9/man_in_black_by_banjoker-db98f5g.png[/img]
This is just where I'll put the lengths of bio I write for my Dragons, as some of them can get quite lengthy. Feel free to comment or critique them if you want, but this is mostly just to free up space in their bios.
~~~~~~~~~
Lodon - Mortician, priest, exorcist.
Lodon has a lot of unintentional references to Johnny Cash. They are coincidences having to do with his songs like Ring of Fire, Cocaine Blues, and Man in Black. That is not all of them though.
~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
Lodon was born to the ever warm, ever blooming Gardens of the outer reaches of the Viridian Labyrinth. His clan was small and so were most of the neighboring groups. Some were just drifters that never left, while others were old, retired couples that were spending their last years together in peace and quiet. Lodon was like them. He, unlike them, was ridiculed for his pitch colored coat and his aloof nature.
Lodon was a quiet child and never did much more than think and watch the world around him. The fragrant winds dulled the senses after long exposure, and not even nature dragons were safe from the narcotic effects. The slowness dragged Lodon. He knew there was more, but he knew nothing else. He was young now and had only heard stories of the other lands. The stories have been about great mountains of ice, stone, magic, and fire, fields of rot rather than flowers, shimmering seas, and raging tempests. He thought the rest of the world harsh and unforgiving compared to the paradise that he lived in, but he craved something more than his sedentary life. He craved challenge, to feel something stronger than peace.
For years he spent his life contemplating it and what he wanted from it. One day, an old Wildclaw wandered up the winding path along the creeks near his home. "Another retired dragon." Lodon thought. This dragon was full of life. He told stories and spoke of his life fondly. He had a centaur with him. He was dark skinned and very muscular. He pulled the Wildclaw's cart. When asked, the centaur tells of his companionship with the Wildclaw, whose name is Andurs. The recent stresses between dragons and beastclans had made this a more uncommon occurrence. Many centauri that were allied with the dragons turned against them when all of the skirmishes started, but some stayed peaceful or even allied to dragon clans.
The cart was full of things ranging from pots and pans, to jars full of ash and vials of glowing water. He brought rune stones and tomes, which Lodon read from when he could. Andurs taught many of the younglings of the area that couldn't read how to. Most of them seemed to be studies or manuals. Lodon always thought that Andurs' favorite book was "Wagon Fixing”, but he didn't know that that was actually his most dreaded book. The wagon was possibly older than Andurs and so seemed the book as well.
Andurs came and went through the years, usually about once a year. It seemed to Lodon that he was some sort of priest, what kind was unknown to him. As Lodon was returning home one day with the day's bounties from the fields and forests he saw flickering in the distance. He payed it little mind. Some magic play or a duel perhaps. It could just be a lantern or campfire. As the day dimmed, he could see the light closer now. It had grown considerably and was moving in all directions. It looked to Lodon like fire, but violet in color. He dropped his baskets and rushed back towards his home to warn everybody. Once adrenaline kicks in, those flowery wafts on the wind seemed paltry. The fire closed in quickly and the many dragons had only mere minutes to collect their lives in what they could carry. A few dragons rushed towards the fire with their water and fire magic attempting to quell the inferno but to no avail. Most of those that left were never seen again.
Lodon guided scared hatchlings and dragons into the Gladeveins, where the water and steep climbs would slow or stop the strange fire. As he turned to see if anyone else was following, he saw Andurs struggling to keep ahead of the blaze. He was old and seemed to be injured. His centaur companion was helping him along, but it was not enough. Much to the despair of his parents, Lodon ran towards them. The violet flames were engulfing everything. With another body, the centaur and Lodon got Andurs moving. He was mortally wounded. With a stern look from Lodon and soft words from Andurs, the Centaur ran ahead after aiding the two into the center of a pond. After only a minute, the pond was surrounded in intense flames and was crimson with blood. Andurs gave Lodon a stone dagger. Its handle looked like dragon bone and the blade was polished to a shine. It looked sharp enough to cut the sky. It was inscribed with the symbols of the eleven flights along the blade. In those last minutes, Andurs explained who he was and what he does.
After sunrise, the flames disappeared and never returned, anywhere. The entirety of the region was left in smoldering ruin. The only things saved were submerged in water, except Lodon. The fire left wounds that never fully healed. The mental scars were there permanently and were cut far deeper than the physical burns. Andurs was a priest. He preformed burial rituals and exorcisms. He purified spirits and he fought against the demons. The dagger given to Lodon is ceremonially given to the priest's child, but Andurs had no children and no apprentice. Lodon was the closest he had. They had been friends for many years. Lodon talks even less than he had before, but he does talk occasionally. His voice is strong and thoughtful, and is capable of silencing a room full of raging dragons with a whisper. His voice seems loud no matter how he speaks.
Lodon, in honor of Andurs, became a priest himself. He performs the same duties as Andurs, but Lodon remains in the same place most of the time. Strangely, the cart Andurs brought wherever he went was spared. The water vials had all broken in the panic, leaving a circle around the cart that was completely unharmed. Lodon keeps that cart to this day.
For years, Lodon wandered the lands seeing all that he had heard about. This included the mountains, the seas, the plains of rot, and The Quarry. Most dragons saw him and turned him away as soon as his services were done. He was as black as soot, with perpetual wounds wrapped with bandages, and his black cloak seemed to whisper as he moved. The centaur that follows him also puts dragons on edge. One day, he came across a great scar in the ground, the Quarry. The dragons here were kind and were not as mistrusting of his Centaur companion. They were new to the area, but were already allies with several of the centauri tribes and clans. There was a lot of death that occurred on the Frontier and battlegrounds. Lodon was there for death after all.
Lodon primarily acts as a mortician and funeral rites performer. He has written, or memorized, somehow, all of the different burial ceremonies and such for the many breeds, cultures, religions, and races of Sornieth. He even knows the ceremonies for the centauri, Serthis, Maren, and many other species. His use of Dust (Magically imbued ash) has been very important throughout the years. It is less powerful than the water used by his predecessor, but it is more versatile. It can be used for seals, fuel, weapons, and spells. The water is only useful for seals and spells, but can be used against certain creatures as a weapon.
He lives in the fourth tier of the Quarry in the Hall of the Dead. It is a mausoleum like structure built into the Quarry wall and holds hundreds of urns, coffins, and such. He lives down here with the dead, but he doesn't seem to mind much. The dead don't complain, much. Sometimes he meets a dragon that has died but not entered the underworld or faded away. He performs a ceremony to get them there. It is tiring for spirits such as this to exist, but there are exceptions.
Most of the clan likes him, but few of them could be considered friends of his. Bacchus, Mecca, Minerva, Orion, Soteris, and Achaius can be considered friends of his. Soteris and Achaius write about and study his work and have developed a working relationship with him. Bacchus is friends with everybody and just likes talking with anyone who will listen. Lodon does like to listen. Orion, Minerva, and Mecca have known him for years and have talked more than most.
The only dragon who could be considered an enemy or at least not a friend would be Stein. Lodon does not like the way he feels and acts. Stein's view of life and death is different than Lodon's. Stein thinks of them as interchangeable and reversible, while Lodon holds reverence of life and respect for the dead as two different things. Lodon has a strong sense of spiritual pressure, and Stein's is scary. It is fearsome and terrifying like a dark pit with no bottom. It permeates everything and seems to make the dead restless. Every time Stein has entered the Hall of the Dead the dead became upset and the occurrence of stray spirits rise for a while. From what Lodon has gleaned from Stein, he is not doing this on purpose. Lodon likes Stein's personality and as a person. They are just opposites. Lodon puts the dead to rest, and Stein wakes them up.
[LIST=1]
[*]
[/LIST][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=63130&tab=dragon&did=26020662]Arnskar[/url] - Forgemaster, Spirit Father, Iron Face of Logic.
I like Arnskar just I like all the other dragons I write bios for, but most of them are pretty messed up physically or mentally I've noticed. Lodon is addicted to pain killers, but not in his lore, just in my mind, Stein is morally grey and creepy, Cato is mad, and you'll see what is wrong with Arnskar soon enough.
~~~~~~
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26020662]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/260207/26020662_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~~~~
Arnskar was born to a group of shattered clan families. He lived there for much of his young life. When he was still young, he was sent abroad. He traveled the parched plains with a Caravan until they came across a group of smiths. They took in the young Arnskar, still full of bubbly optimism and emotion, when he showed such great interest in their work. The dragon that took him under his wing was a sandy pelted coatl by the name of Ram Izad (Rom - E - Sod). He was an old fellow and was probably in the latter half of his life. He was a genial old fellow that was kind to everybody, but stern and unwavering in his convictions and morals.
It was not long before Izad began teaching Arnskar his trade. It started with how to start a furnace and forge, than what each of the many tools were and how to use them. Arnskar was an apt student and learned quickly in Izad’s master workshop. It had every tool that one could imagine and a few more. Arnskar's training began at sun up and ended at sun down. He ate with the other dragons of the clan as an equal and he slept as they did, poorly. The clan's leader, Kon Rhihada (Con - Re - hod - a), believed in this. "Comfort breeds complacency. One must keep as sharp as the weapons that he makes and as strong as the hammers he forges it with."
Arnskar agreed, but only until it was time to sleep. The beds, if you could call them that, were basically old bushels of desert scrub stuffed into even older cotton sacks. The clan was small and had limited space, so there were ten "beds" to a room, except for the workshops and galley. The food was the bare minimum and tasted as such. Sometimes, the cook would find a few wild onions, but that was uncommon in the desert. It was porridge six days of the week and oatmeal the other day. The cook worked with what he had. He would put crunchy beetles in Arnskar's when he could catch them. Luckily, the scarcity of food in the plains attracts animals to what food there was, which make good food when they do show up. The cook was an ingenious little fae alright.
When Arnskar was finally allowed to touch the forge, he started with nails. They started as useless, but Arnskar quickly improved. Then Izad showed him hinges, which Arnskar mastered easily. It was only a year before Izad tasked Arnskar with his first weapon. Usually it took longer, but Arnskar was excited none the less. He was tasked with making a dagger usable by dragons without an ability to use their hands to wield one. Arnskar immediately started to design it. With some charcoal from the forge and some old crinkly paper, He drew up, poorly, several different designs. Due to this being a test of sorts, Izad did not aid him.
The next day, Arnskar went to his master's forge to work. He created the blade, made for a smaller breed such as a tundra or mirror. It was about twenty-six centimeters and was a single edge blade. He forged the guard with the blade rather than with the hilt and created threads in the center of the guard on the bottom. He then created two different hilts. One was made with straps and the other with rings. Each had a sturdy, threaded screw that made it compatible with the blade. The hilt was made interchangeable. He presented the blade to Izad who looked at it with fascination. The dagger was in two pieces, but his best student was the one who created it, so there must have been more to it. Arnskar installed the ringed hilt to the guard and blade and placed it the hilt in his mouth. The rings, which he also made adjustable, fit around his teeth to act as a hand would around a normal grip. When tested, the blade was sharp and strong, a good weapon. He removed the weapon from his mouth, uninstalled the hilt and installed the other. He strapped the blade to the end of his tail this time. It had a similar function to a scorpion stinger and could be swung like the tail it was attached to or used like a scorpion to stab at a target. He didn't use his thumbs to install, uninstall, and use the dagger.
His teacher was greatly impressed by Arnskar's ingenuity and skill. He commended Arnskar with high praise, but in a professional manner. He was given a nice, fried onion by the fae cook for his good work. Arnskar was sad to see it go, but the weapon he had made was sold, with his reluctant approval, to a traveling mirror. He paid handsomely for it and Arnskar was paid a commission. Arnskar took the mirror's measurements and adjusted the blade accordingly. The next day, Izad, Arnskar, and a few other clan members travelled to a nearby settlement to retrieve parts and used most of their earnings. Arnskar bought a pair of tinted, bronze goggles for when he forges. Izad nodded in approval of Arnskar's wise investment. He pocketed the last few coins he had and headed home.
Life went as normal into Arnskar's adulthood. He progressed considerable and was making the clan quite a bit of fortune, but they still only scraped by. The cook got a new set of secondhand pots and pans, the beds were upgraded with blankets, and a second well was built. All in all, the clan was still pretty rugged.
When Arnskar was old enough to leave Izad’s apprenticeship, his master ushered him to his workshop from the galley. The cook was serving oatmeal with jazbay grapes mixed in, so Arnskar was reluctant to leave his food to the others' mercy. When Arnskar arrived, Izad was smiling and on his tail hung a key. Arnskar cocked his head not knowing what the key was. Izad coughed harshly and then spoke in a raspy voice, "This here." He nodded to the key, "Is my most treasured tool." He walked over to a heavy looking door in the corner of his workshop. Arnskar never really paid much attention to it. He always just thought it was for storage of some sort. The locked creaked as the key was turned. The door was definitely old. Izad pulled the door, but it did not budge. "Sometimes, you gotta give something a kick to get it movin!" Izad actually turned and kicked the door. It popped open and Izad swung it inwards.
Arnskar followed his master into a large room. It had a boarded window that let in small beams of light. The room was dusty and made Arnskar sneeze, which only stirred up more dust. "This room has the accumulated knowledge of every blacksmith to ever live here, near here, or at some point be traveled past here." When Arnskar's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw hundreds of tomes. Most didn't look as if they had been touched since they were put here. A few were newer and a few even looked familiar. Arnskar could only look in awe. He had never seen so many books in one place. The knowledge in here about metals and how to work it must be enormous. Izad tapped a few books down one shelf of cleaner books and pulled on out after saying, "Ah, here we are." He paged through it and found a page with a long curved sword. He showed Arnskar and he gasped. The weapon had fittings that were interchangeable with each other. There were strapped hilts like Arnskar's Scorpion and one that fits around teeth. They were of different design to Arnskar's but they had the same function. They were created a hundred years prior by one of the greatest smiths of the Tangled Wood's history. His signature was faded beyond recognition, but scrawled beneath it in ink was the name, but Arnskar couldn't read.
Izad gave the full tour to Arnskar who was excited to hear about so much history. There were records of bows that fired rockets and of swords that sang when swung. Bolas, hammers, axes, spears, every weapon Arnskar had ever heard about and more in one room. After hours of looking at the different books, Izad showed Arnskar the Coup De grace.
He walked over to a nearby shelf and pushed two books off of what Arnskar thought was another book. As soon as the books were removed, the object began to rise from its perch. It was a shiny, black, metal cube with intricate carvings and complex components. It glowed softly from the seams and from between the parts comprising it. It seemed to be both mechanical and magical in nature. Arnskar stared at it with awe then looked to Izad for an explanation. Arnskar, if he listened closely, could hear something coming from the cube, but it wasn't loud enough to discern what it was.
Izad coughed sharply and then wiped his chin. "That's the Lexicon." He put emphasis on the name for dramatic effect. "It was forged before dragons walked the land. Supposedly, it works like a book and stores knowledge, but I don't really know. It doesn't seem to like to share, but whenever I can convince a master blacksmith to touch it, I'm hoping it record's their knowhow. Maybe someday we can get it to talk." He looked at Arnskar, who was barely containing his excitement. "You can touch it if you want."
Arnskar excitedly reached for the cube, but an uneasy feeling bit him in the gut. The sound had grown and he could now hear a tune of some sort, but it was still very quiet. He wasn't surprised that Izad couldn't hear it though, but the sound surprised him. It scared him. He drew his hand back and the sound quieted and the felling loosed its grip on him. "I'm good." Arnskar lied.
Izad covered the Lexicon again and left the room, followed by Arnskar. The rest of the day went as normal, but Arnskar was preoccupied. He was curious what the Lexicon held, but he was afraid of it. He pushed it from his mind but it returned every so often. For the next few days, Arnskar went about his business and visited with Izad who was sick. He was pretty old, sick comes with the territory. His mind kept drawing him to the cube though. He hummed to get the cube from his mind, but that seemed to make it worse, but he kept on humming. He didn't really even know the tune; just that he was doing it. It took a while, but it dawned on him. The cube made music. He shared his findings with Izad, but he had told Arnskar, "I know about that blasted music. I've tried everything trying to get the cube to talk, but nothing's worked." Arnskar was steadfast on trying and so he asked to be told what he had tried. "I've have tried bells, singing, humming, lutes, violins, drums, even the damned cube itself." He ended up in a coughing fit and Arnskar had to leave.
Arnskar mulled the problem over for the next few days, but could think of an answer. He went to the workshop and started forging. He did his best thinking when he was working. He stopped mid forge however because he was distracted. He began to tap the still red hot blade on the anvil and it made a strange noise. He stopped and did it again. The sound gave him an idea. He went and checked the door to the library; Izad had left it unlocked in case Arnskar wanted to go back inside. He did indeed go back inside. He un-buried the lexicon and grabbed it. He felt a small shock as he touched it, but then it didn't do it again. He brought it into his workshop and left it levitating over the Anvil. The blade was cooling and Arnskar reheated it. He placed the blade on the anvil and the Lexicon hummed. He took a small hammer from one of his shelves and tapped the blade. It resonated with the lexicon. He hummed the strange tune from before and began tapping the blade to it. At first, nothing happened, but then gears began to turn and the lexicon glowed brighter. Several dragons were standing just outside the doorway watching and listening. They had serious faces, but the young ones were fascinated. It was only a minute before the tune ended and a click sounded from the Lexicon. Then there were ten more.
After a series of clicks and turning gears, the outer sheath of the Cube expanded and revealed a glowing, soft edged cube of red something. It spun autonomously from the rest of the cube that was split into four pieces. The corners had separated, breaking the cube into equal fourths, mostly. Arnskar saw this and reached for it. The fear was gone and replaced with wonder. The moment he touched it, it snapped shut and fell to the ground. Arnskar fell to the ground with it and was shaking and convulsing. A bright light invaded his mind and it burned horribly. Voices screamed to one another and to Arnskar as he lay in a seizure on the hard floor. The dragons outside rushed to him, but they could do nothing but watch.
Arnskar swam in an ocean within his mind. It was fierce and angry. The waves cut at him like ravenous predators and hands gripped at him to drag him beneath the crashing waves. He resisted them, but he was growing weak. A wave reached above Arnskar and then a tail wrapped around his leg and pulled him under and out of the force of a thousand tons of water. He looked down to see a coatl with a sandy coat smiling at him. He woke up. He opened his eyes, but the meager lighting in the room was enough to kick Arnskar in the head. He was dizzy, but he slowly got a grip of his surrounding through the sounds and smells he could find through the nauseating headache he had. There were other dragons in the room, but they all smelled like soot and metal, so he couldn't tell one from the other. He found the familiar smell of Izad though and it made him feel a little better. He thought of somebody name Kira, but he didn't know anybody named that. Did he? He thought of the word peppermint as well. He knew that it was something that smells good, but he couldn't remember ever knowing it.
He slept again. He found himself on a beach now. The ocean sprawled in all direction, but the water was calm now. He looked around but the island was the only solid ground he could see. The waves crawled up to his feet, but then they receded. It smelled like salt here. He sat there looking at the sea, which he had never actually seen before dreaming about it. He didn't know that so much water could exist. He didn't feel pained, or hungry, or tired as he marveled at the waves.
He fell asleep on the beach and woke up in the world he knew. His head still throbbed, but he could at least open his eyes. He didn't feel much more than the uncomfortable hay and his headache, but he could see Izad sitting nearby. "Master!?" Arnskar asked happily. Izad slowly raised his head and he smiled at Arnskar. Arnskar, for probably the first time ever, didn't look at his pearl first upon waking.
The two talked for as long as Izad could. Arnskar had fallen down with shakes the moment he had touched the open Lexicon and had been asleep for nearly a week. The Lexicon began to levitate again after a day or two, but did not open again, even when Arnskar's technique was replicated. Arnskar sleep talked in strange languages and spoke of things that they had never heard of when they could understand him. He mentioned people that they didn't know or had been long dead as well. "The lexicon worked." Izad wheezed out. When Izad could no longer talk, Arnskar walked him back to his bed, which was in the same room. Izad had fallen into a restless sleep and Arnskar sat by him until daylight.
He had stopped breathing mere minutes after falling asleep, but Arnskar didn't feel sad. He was happy, he thought, to finally be able to rest after all these years. He cried for his master and friend. While the clan prepared for his death ceremony, which entailed being cremated with his own forge. Flowers, strongly smelling wood, and peppermint are used to mask the smell of the cremation. Peppermint? Arnskar had thought. After the cremation was complete, Arnskar went about making his own thanks for all the good Izad had done in his life. Izad was kept in an urn where Arnskar could see him as he worked.
He forged a blade of such quality, that its like had not been seen since the dawn of dragon-kind if not earlier. Arnskar used his master's personal tools in the blade's creation and poured all of his sadness and love into it. It was a month before the blade had been finished. It was made using the greatest materials Arnskar could find or devise, and it took the form of a katana with a leaf green wrap and a hexagonal tsuba. At the time, he knew not what its potential was. One day, it would be named Suigetsu, but that name is a long ways away, perhaps even an eternity.
The day Suigetsu was complete; Arnskar left his home of many years with Izad. He traveled north towards the Cairnstone Rest. He passed many travelers and traded what he could for what he needed, mostly water. It would be months of travel before he got there. He slowly became more and more stone-like. The many thousands of different personalities conflicted and canceled each other out, leaving little to work with emotionally. This alone was enough to scare away wood-be attackers. The serious threats were dealt with accordingly. He passed the World Pillar and caught a glimpse of the Earthshaker himself and the multitudes that had made pilgrimages here or those that in their god's shadow. This was probably the safest place in all of Dragonhome and the highest populated. Many thought that Arnskar was a pilgrim. He brought little with him and he carried a large urn with him. Some will collect rocks from the base of the Pillar.
Arnskar lodged for the night at a tavern built near a well trodden path. It served mostly small and mid-sized dragons, but there was an Imperial outside that had ordered a large meal. She wore bronze armor and a sash with the Earth element symbol embellished on it. She was an earth dragon, but she didn't talk like one. She spoke like a native of the Starfall Isle, if Arnskar's not-so-his memory was correct. Arnskar rested and then left the next morning. It traveled until dusk, but when he had stopped, he could still see the pillar behind him. You can see it for days in every direction in clear weather. He started a fire with a small spell. The scrub around here burns well. When he woke up the next morning he saw a familiar face, but he showed no surprise. There was a sand dune formed on his back because of the wind, and he was glad that he had worn his goggles. The Imperial was looking right at him through her own goggles. "Mornin." She greeted.
Arnskar shook his blanket free of dust and packed it. "Come along." He said. And so they began traveling together. Neither of them talked very much, but the Imperial, Mecca, talked more. She was far larger than Arnskar and was far older. She was older than Ram Izad had been, but she looked only a bit older than Arnskar. Imperials have erratic life spans. Some live for millennia, yet others may only live to be fifteen. She didn't have any business in the Cairnstone Rest, but she was interested in Arnskar. He carried an Urn, a sword that he didn't use, no Pearl, but it was just in the urn, and little else. He radiated strange aura, which Mecca could see slightly. It distorted the space around Arnskar in an unpredictable and colorful manner. Before the lexicon, Mecca would have seen a dull orange-yellow aura, now his aura is white usually, but has flashes of many different colors, like iridescence.
They travelled together all the way to the Rest. If it was cold at night, which it usually was, they would collect brush and start a fire. Mecca would scare off most of the more dangerous enemies, while Arnskar stared down the others. They shared very little to one another besides when professional conversation had to be engaged. They knew they were nearing the Rest when Henges began to be found. These included old tools, burial stones, cairns, and even just the occasional miner or grave robber.
The main barrow was marked by large pillars and runic markings. There were other entrances all over the area, dug thousands of years ago or within mere days. There were many tombs along the outside as well, but most had been dug up and then replaced by somebody else. There was cacophonous thunder heard over the crags and mountains. Arnskar knew this place to be a constant battleground. Mining also contributed to the noise. There were constant squabbles between the many groups vying for the treasures beneath their feet, as well as the combat between grave robbers, grave defenders, and creatures from beyond the graves themselves. Mecca and Arnskar were wary.
As long as they didn't disturb the graves, the dead would have no qualms and the more peaceful guardians would only keep vigil on them. The robbers and miners were too busy to care about two scantily prepared dragons. Arnskar lacked provisions and comfort on purpose. Mecca was just out of money. The two traveled between the barrows towards the far edge of the Rest. Most never got that far and those that did were dealt with by the numerous undead creatures.
By the time they had found their way there, it was dusk. The many spires and statues cast grim shadows along the ground and hid many secrets, and passages, and a few secret passages. Arnskar took the respite to put a few cairns back together. Most of them had just collapsed from age, but one or two had evidence of robbing. Nearby were long abandoned camps with the owners who never made it through the night. The statues seemed to watch as Arnskar fixed the broken graves. Mecca felt very uneasy here. She holds great respect for the dead and traveling here was like walking on thousands of graves at once. That and the Statues seemed to move sometimes.
When they awoke the next morning, it was warmer than the night before. They packed what they did have, but Arnskar's one blanket was barely threads at this point. Under Arnskar was a single gold coin. The two faces had symbols that Mecca could not read, but Arnskar recognized. He seemed to recognize a lot of old stuff nowadays. He took the coin with him as a blessing. He believed the Cairn had in some way thanked him. He would not keep it for long however. They came across a clear area surrounded on three sides with old, crumbling walls and the fourth had a cairn, undisturbed, probably for centuries. There were flowers growing from between the boulders. Mecca carved into the stony earth. Her claws made sparks on the tough ground. After a suitable depression had been made, and Mecca while nursed her paws, Arnskar placed the blade into the grave poured the Ash he had carried for so long on top of it to bury it. He then took the coin and placed it on top of that. The statues seemed to take notice of this.
They then proceeded to collect the loose slabs of rock from the digging and from the surrounding area. They were careful to leave already used stones where they lay. They entombed the ash and the blade, hopefully forever. The cairn was small, as it only contained ash, a sword, and a single coin. Mecca guessed that Arnskar was burying somebody important to him, but he never talked about who it was. This was the first time he actually showed any emotion towards the scarcely noted subject. He smiled. Not a joyful smile. It was more of a smile of contentment and resolution. It was a smile of relief. He had completed something very important to him. Mecca didn't know why he had come from across the Dragonhome to do this, but to Arnskar, this is what he was supposed to do. Many of his numerous conflicting thoughts agreed with his action though, and so he smiled.
Mecca was then taken aback by Arnskar's next comment. "Let's go home." They travelled across the Dragonhome again. This time, Mecca led the way. Arnskar was more talkative on the way back, but not by much. When they reached the coast, they sequestered a raft-like vessel to take them around the coast of the Scarred Wasteland. They didn't want to go the long way, or through the wastes, so they went on the water.
It was a while before they made land fall on the other side. They paid handsomely to the small mirror captain. He had to repair the bottom of his raft after sailing through the mildly corrosive waters of the Scarred Wasteland. He also need knew ropes and a few replacement logs. All in all, the captain wasn't as angry as they had expected. They paid him easily twice what it would take to fix the raft. When asked where Mecca had gotten the coin, she replied as such, "Some things are best if not known." She probably stole them, but how the massive dragon did it is a question nobody ever really figured out.
The Starfall Isle was far warmer than Dragonhome and was far wetter. Arnskar saw rain for one of the first times in his life. The weather was weird in the Starfall Isle, but the farther from its deity they got, the calmer the weather got. Mecca led Arnskar over a redwood forest, as she could not fit between the trees very well. Arnskar is not an apt flyer and prefers to stay land bound, but he had little option but to fly. It was fast once they got into the air. They soon came to the Quarry, Mecca's home. The accent she had made sense now. The Quarry reminded Arnskar of the Greatwyrm's Breach. The Quarry was a pit though and was relatively rounded and had many square edges. The Breach is a canyon, much bigger than the already huge Quarry, and was jagged in some places and eroded in others.
Mecca and Arnskar were welcomed with open arms and Arnskar was given a tour of the Quarry. The southern side of the Quarry was the most populated and the Quarry itself is separated into several tiers. He was given temporary boarding so that if he chose to stay, a new den could be carved out or prepared. The Quarry was like a small city and Arnskar was a little overwhelmed. He met Stark, the local handyman. He was the only dragon with skill great enough to keep the more sensitive equipment in the clan running, and the equipment was breaking down faster than he could fix or replace them. He beseeched Arnskar, a master smith to take over some of his metal working. Arnskar took it all though. He was an efficient and tireless worker. He was even better than Stark when it comes to smithing actually. Stark was much older though.
Arnskar quickly made a name for himself as the stone faced smith of the Quarry. His creations were legendary. He could forge tools that would last twice their owner's lifetime or weapons that could slice granite. By far his most impressive legends were his Swords. They were marvelous. They were alive. Each one developed their own personality, some formed parallel to their users, while others did not. Most were failures and faded away, rendering the sword only physically superior. A few lived however. Ryujin is Arnskar's personal Soul Blade and mirrors his own generally apathetic personality but has an explosive temper, quite literally. Shirayuki was formed independently of a host and has her own unique personality. Tenken has chosen a host, but he is currently weak.
Besides those three, Arnskar has few who could be considered friends. He doesn't really get attached to people very well. The three Soul Blades are the closest thing he has and could be considered his children. They think of him fondly and with great respect. He gave them life after all.
Arnskar now works as the blacksmith of the Quarry and provides needed tools, weapons, and armor to those in need. His soul blades are not for sale, but he does sell his tools and armor. He has alleviated Stark's duties. Stark now mainly focuses on the mechanical and electrical needs of the Quarry.
Arnskar - Forgemaster, Spirit Father, Iron Face of Logic.
I like Arnskar just I like all the other dragons I write bios for, but most of them are pretty messed up physically or mentally I've noticed. Lodon is addicted to pain killers, but not in his lore, just in my mind, Stein is morally grey and creepy, Cato is mad, and you'll see what is wrong with Arnskar soon enough.
~~~~~~
~~~~~~
Arnskar was born to a group of shattered clan families. He lived there for much of his young life. When he was still young, he was sent abroad. He traveled the parched plains with a Caravan until they came across a group of smiths. They took in the young Arnskar, still full of bubbly optimism and emotion, when he showed such great interest in their work. The dragon that took him under his wing was a sandy pelted coatl by the name of Ram Izad (Rom - E - Sod). He was an old fellow and was probably in the latter half of his life. He was a genial old fellow that was kind to everybody, but stern and unwavering in his convictions and morals.
It was not long before Izad began teaching Arnskar his trade. It started with how to start a furnace and forge, than what each of the many tools were and how to use them. Arnskar was an apt student and learned quickly in Izad’s master workshop. It had every tool that one could imagine and a few more. Arnskar's training began at sun up and ended at sun down. He ate with the other dragons of the clan as an equal and he slept as they did, poorly. The clan's leader, Kon Rhihada (Con - Re - hod - a), believed in this. "Comfort breeds complacency. One must keep as sharp as the weapons that he makes and as strong as the hammers he forges it with."
Arnskar agreed, but only until it was time to sleep. The beds, if you could call them that, were basically old bushels of desert scrub stuffed into even older cotton sacks. The clan was small and had limited space, so there were ten "beds" to a room, except for the workshops and galley. The food was the bare minimum and tasted as such. Sometimes, the cook would find a few wild onions, but that was uncommon in the desert. It was porridge six days of the week and oatmeal the other day. The cook worked with what he had. He would put crunchy beetles in Arnskar's when he could catch them. Luckily, the scarcity of food in the plains attracts animals to what food there was, which make good food when they do show up. The cook was an ingenious little fae alright.
When Arnskar was finally allowed to touch the forge, he started with nails. They started as useless, but Arnskar quickly improved. Then Izad showed him hinges, which Arnskar mastered easily. It was only a year before Izad tasked Arnskar with his first weapon. Usually it took longer, but Arnskar was excited none the less. He was tasked with making a dagger usable by dragons without an ability to use their hands to wield one. Arnskar immediately started to design it. With some charcoal from the forge and some old crinkly paper, He drew up, poorly, several different designs. Due to this being a test of sorts, Izad did not aid him.
The next day, Arnskar went to his master's forge to work. He created the blade, made for a smaller breed such as a tundra or mirror. It was about twenty-six centimeters and was a single edge blade. He forged the guard with the blade rather than with the hilt and created threads in the center of the guard on the bottom. He then created two different hilts. One was made with straps and the other with rings. Each had a sturdy, threaded screw that made it compatible with the blade. The hilt was made interchangeable. He presented the blade to Izad who looked at it with fascination. The dagger was in two pieces, but his best student was the one who created it, so there must have been more to it. Arnskar installed the ringed hilt to the guard and blade and placed it the hilt in his mouth. The rings, which he also made adjustable, fit around his teeth to act as a hand would around a normal grip. When tested, the blade was sharp and strong, a good weapon. He removed the weapon from his mouth, uninstalled the hilt and installed the other. He strapped the blade to the end of his tail this time. It had a similar function to a scorpion stinger and could be swung like the tail it was attached to or used like a scorpion to stab at a target. He didn't use his thumbs to install, uninstall, and use the dagger.
His teacher was greatly impressed by Arnskar's ingenuity and skill. He commended Arnskar with high praise, but in a professional manner. He was given a nice, fried onion by the fae cook for his good work. Arnskar was sad to see it go, but the weapon he had made was sold, with his reluctant approval, to a traveling mirror. He paid handsomely for it and Arnskar was paid a commission. Arnskar took the mirror's measurements and adjusted the blade accordingly. The next day, Izad, Arnskar, and a few other clan members travelled to a nearby settlement to retrieve parts and used most of their earnings. Arnskar bought a pair of tinted, bronze goggles for when he forges. Izad nodded in approval of Arnskar's wise investment. He pocketed the last few coins he had and headed home.
Life went as normal into Arnskar's adulthood. He progressed considerable and was making the clan quite a bit of fortune, but they still only scraped by. The cook got a new set of secondhand pots and pans, the beds were upgraded with blankets, and a second well was built. All in all, the clan was still pretty rugged.
When Arnskar was old enough to leave Izad’s apprenticeship, his master ushered him to his workshop from the galley. The cook was serving oatmeal with jazbay grapes mixed in, so Arnskar was reluctant to leave his food to the others' mercy. When Arnskar arrived, Izad was smiling and on his tail hung a key. Arnskar cocked his head not knowing what the key was. Izad coughed harshly and then spoke in a raspy voice, "This here." He nodded to the key, "Is my most treasured tool." He walked over to a heavy looking door in the corner of his workshop. Arnskar never really paid much attention to it. He always just thought it was for storage of some sort. The locked creaked as the key was turned. The door was definitely old. Izad pulled the door, but it did not budge. "Sometimes, you gotta give something a kick to get it movin!" Izad actually turned and kicked the door. It popped open and Izad swung it inwards.
Arnskar followed his master into a large room. It had a boarded window that let in small beams of light. The room was dusty and made Arnskar sneeze, which only stirred up more dust. "This room has the accumulated knowledge of every blacksmith to ever live here, near here, or at some point be traveled past here." When Arnskar's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw hundreds of tomes. Most didn't look as if they had been touched since they were put here. A few were newer and a few even looked familiar. Arnskar could only look in awe. He had never seen so many books in one place. The knowledge in here about metals and how to work it must be enormous. Izad tapped a few books down one shelf of cleaner books and pulled on out after saying, "Ah, here we are." He paged through it and found a page with a long curved sword. He showed Arnskar and he gasped. The weapon had fittings that were interchangeable with each other. There were strapped hilts like Arnskar's Scorpion and one that fits around teeth. They were of different design to Arnskar's but they had the same function. They were created a hundred years prior by one of the greatest smiths of the Tangled Wood's history. His signature was faded beyond recognition, but scrawled beneath it in ink was the name, but Arnskar couldn't read.
Izad gave the full tour to Arnskar who was excited to hear about so much history. There were records of bows that fired rockets and of swords that sang when swung. Bolas, hammers, axes, spears, every weapon Arnskar had ever heard about and more in one room. After hours of looking at the different books, Izad showed Arnskar the Coup De grace.
He walked over to a nearby shelf and pushed two books off of what Arnskar thought was another book. As soon as the books were removed, the object began to rise from its perch. It was a shiny, black, metal cube with intricate carvings and complex components. It glowed softly from the seams and from between the parts comprising it. It seemed to be both mechanical and magical in nature. Arnskar stared at it with awe then looked to Izad for an explanation. Arnskar, if he listened closely, could hear something coming from the cube, but it wasn't loud enough to discern what it was.
Izad coughed sharply and then wiped his chin. "That's the Lexicon." He put emphasis on the name for dramatic effect. "It was forged before dragons walked the land. Supposedly, it works like a book and stores knowledge, but I don't really know. It doesn't seem to like to share, but whenever I can convince a master blacksmith to touch it, I'm hoping it record's their knowhow. Maybe someday we can get it to talk." He looked at Arnskar, who was barely containing his excitement. "You can touch it if you want."
Arnskar excitedly reached for the cube, but an uneasy feeling bit him in the gut. The sound had grown and he could now hear a tune of some sort, but it was still very quiet. He wasn't surprised that Izad couldn't hear it though, but the sound surprised him. It scared him. He drew his hand back and the sound quieted and the felling loosed its grip on him. "I'm good." Arnskar lied.
Izad covered the Lexicon again and left the room, followed by Arnskar. The rest of the day went as normal, but Arnskar was preoccupied. He was curious what the Lexicon held, but he was afraid of it. He pushed it from his mind but it returned every so often. For the next few days, Arnskar went about his business and visited with Izad who was sick. He was pretty old, sick comes with the territory. His mind kept drawing him to the cube though. He hummed to get the cube from his mind, but that seemed to make it worse, but he kept on humming. He didn't really even know the tune; just that he was doing it. It took a while, but it dawned on him. The cube made music. He shared his findings with Izad, but he had told Arnskar, "I know about that blasted music. I've tried everything trying to get the cube to talk, but nothing's worked." Arnskar was steadfast on trying and so he asked to be told what he had tried. "I've have tried bells, singing, humming, lutes, violins, drums, even the damned cube itself." He ended up in a coughing fit and Arnskar had to leave.
Arnskar mulled the problem over for the next few days, but could think of an answer. He went to the workshop and started forging. He did his best thinking when he was working. He stopped mid forge however because he was distracted. He began to tap the still red hot blade on the anvil and it made a strange noise. He stopped and did it again. The sound gave him an idea. He went and checked the door to the library; Izad had left it unlocked in case Arnskar wanted to go back inside. He did indeed go back inside. He un-buried the lexicon and grabbed it. He felt a small shock as he touched it, but then it didn't do it again. He brought it into his workshop and left it levitating over the Anvil. The blade was cooling and Arnskar reheated it. He placed the blade on the anvil and the Lexicon hummed. He took a small hammer from one of his shelves and tapped the blade. It resonated with the lexicon. He hummed the strange tune from before and began tapping the blade to it. At first, nothing happened, but then gears began to turn and the lexicon glowed brighter. Several dragons were standing just outside the doorway watching and listening. They had serious faces, but the young ones were fascinated. It was only a minute before the tune ended and a click sounded from the Lexicon. Then there were ten more.
After a series of clicks and turning gears, the outer sheath of the Cube expanded and revealed a glowing, soft edged cube of red something. It spun autonomously from the rest of the cube that was split into four pieces. The corners had separated, breaking the cube into equal fourths, mostly. Arnskar saw this and reached for it. The fear was gone and replaced with wonder. The moment he touched it, it snapped shut and fell to the ground. Arnskar fell to the ground with it and was shaking and convulsing. A bright light invaded his mind and it burned horribly. Voices screamed to one another and to Arnskar as he lay in a seizure on the hard floor. The dragons outside rushed to him, but they could do nothing but watch.
Arnskar swam in an ocean within his mind. It was fierce and angry. The waves cut at him like ravenous predators and hands gripped at him to drag him beneath the crashing waves. He resisted them, but he was growing weak. A wave reached above Arnskar and then a tail wrapped around his leg and pulled him under and out of the force of a thousand tons of water. He looked down to see a coatl with a sandy coat smiling at him. He woke up. He opened his eyes, but the meager lighting in the room was enough to kick Arnskar in the head. He was dizzy, but he slowly got a grip of his surrounding through the sounds and smells he could find through the nauseating headache he had. There were other dragons in the room, but they all smelled like soot and metal, so he couldn't tell one from the other. He found the familiar smell of Izad though and it made him feel a little better. He thought of somebody name Kira, but he didn't know anybody named that. Did he? He thought of the word peppermint as well. He knew that it was something that smells good, but he couldn't remember ever knowing it.
He slept again. He found himself on a beach now. The ocean sprawled in all direction, but the water was calm now. He looked around but the island was the only solid ground he could see. The waves crawled up to his feet, but then they receded. It smelled like salt here. He sat there looking at the sea, which he had never actually seen before dreaming about it. He didn't know that so much water could exist. He didn't feel pained, or hungry, or tired as he marveled at the waves.
He fell asleep on the beach and woke up in the world he knew. His head still throbbed, but he could at least open his eyes. He didn't feel much more than the uncomfortable hay and his headache, but he could see Izad sitting nearby. "Master!?" Arnskar asked happily. Izad slowly raised his head and he smiled at Arnskar. Arnskar, for probably the first time ever, didn't look at his pearl first upon waking.
The two talked for as long as Izad could. Arnskar had fallen down with shakes the moment he had touched the open Lexicon and had been asleep for nearly a week. The Lexicon began to levitate again after a day or two, but did not open again, even when Arnskar's technique was replicated. Arnskar sleep talked in strange languages and spoke of things that they had never heard of when they could understand him. He mentioned people that they didn't know or had been long dead as well. "The lexicon worked." Izad wheezed out. When Izad could no longer talk, Arnskar walked him back to his bed, which was in the same room. Izad had fallen into a restless sleep and Arnskar sat by him until daylight.
He had stopped breathing mere minutes after falling asleep, but Arnskar didn't feel sad. He was happy, he thought, to finally be able to rest after all these years. He cried for his master and friend. While the clan prepared for his death ceremony, which entailed being cremated with his own forge. Flowers, strongly smelling wood, and peppermint are used to mask the smell of the cremation. Peppermint? Arnskar had thought. After the cremation was complete, Arnskar went about making his own thanks for all the good Izad had done in his life. Izad was kept in an urn where Arnskar could see him as he worked.
He forged a blade of such quality, that its like had not been seen since the dawn of dragon-kind if not earlier. Arnskar used his master's personal tools in the blade's creation and poured all of his sadness and love into it. It was a month before the blade had been finished. It was made using the greatest materials Arnskar could find or devise, and it took the form of a katana with a leaf green wrap and a hexagonal tsuba. At the time, he knew not what its potential was. One day, it would be named Suigetsu, but that name is a long ways away, perhaps even an eternity.
The day Suigetsu was complete; Arnskar left his home of many years with Izad. He traveled north towards the Cairnstone Rest. He passed many travelers and traded what he could for what he needed, mostly water. It would be months of travel before he got there. He slowly became more and more stone-like. The many thousands of different personalities conflicted and canceled each other out, leaving little to work with emotionally. This alone was enough to scare away wood-be attackers. The serious threats were dealt with accordingly. He passed the World Pillar and caught a glimpse of the Earthshaker himself and the multitudes that had made pilgrimages here or those that in their god's shadow. This was probably the safest place in all of Dragonhome and the highest populated. Many thought that Arnskar was a pilgrim. He brought little with him and he carried a large urn with him. Some will collect rocks from the base of the Pillar.
Arnskar lodged for the night at a tavern built near a well trodden path. It served mostly small and mid-sized dragons, but there was an Imperial outside that had ordered a large meal. She wore bronze armor and a sash with the Earth element symbol embellished on it. She was an earth dragon, but she didn't talk like one. She spoke like a native of the Starfall Isle, if Arnskar's not-so-his memory was correct. Arnskar rested and then left the next morning. It traveled until dusk, but when he had stopped, he could still see the pillar behind him. You can see it for days in every direction in clear weather. He started a fire with a small spell. The scrub around here burns well. When he woke up the next morning he saw a familiar face, but he showed no surprise. There was a sand dune formed on his back because of the wind, and he was glad that he had worn his goggles. The Imperial was looking right at him through her own goggles. "Mornin." She greeted.
Arnskar shook his blanket free of dust and packed it. "Come along." He said. And so they began traveling together. Neither of them talked very much, but the Imperial, Mecca, talked more. She was far larger than Arnskar and was far older. She was older than Ram Izad had been, but she looked only a bit older than Arnskar. Imperials have erratic life spans. Some live for millennia, yet others may only live to be fifteen. She didn't have any business in the Cairnstone Rest, but she was interested in Arnskar. He carried an Urn, a sword that he didn't use, no Pearl, but it was just in the urn, and little else. He radiated strange aura, which Mecca could see slightly. It distorted the space around Arnskar in an unpredictable and colorful manner. Before the lexicon, Mecca would have seen a dull orange-yellow aura, now his aura is white usually, but has flashes of many different colors, like iridescence.
They travelled together all the way to the Rest. If it was cold at night, which it usually was, they would collect brush and start a fire. Mecca would scare off most of the more dangerous enemies, while Arnskar stared down the others. They shared very little to one another besides when professional conversation had to be engaged. They knew they were nearing the Rest when Henges began to be found. These included old tools, burial stones, cairns, and even just the occasional miner or grave robber.
The main barrow was marked by large pillars and runic markings. There were other entrances all over the area, dug thousands of years ago or within mere days. There were many tombs along the outside as well, but most had been dug up and then replaced by somebody else. There was cacophonous thunder heard over the crags and mountains. Arnskar knew this place to be a constant battleground. Mining also contributed to the noise. There were constant squabbles between the many groups vying for the treasures beneath their feet, as well as the combat between grave robbers, grave defenders, and creatures from beyond the graves themselves. Mecca and Arnskar were wary.
As long as they didn't disturb the graves, the dead would have no qualms and the more peaceful guardians would only keep vigil on them. The robbers and miners were too busy to care about two scantily prepared dragons. Arnskar lacked provisions and comfort on purpose. Mecca was just out of money. The two traveled between the barrows towards the far edge of the Rest. Most never got that far and those that did were dealt with by the numerous undead creatures.
By the time they had found their way there, it was dusk. The many spires and statues cast grim shadows along the ground and hid many secrets, and passages, and a few secret passages. Arnskar took the respite to put a few cairns back together. Most of them had just collapsed from age, but one or two had evidence of robbing. Nearby were long abandoned camps with the owners who never made it through the night. The statues seemed to watch as Arnskar fixed the broken graves. Mecca felt very uneasy here. She holds great respect for the dead and traveling here was like walking on thousands of graves at once. That and the Statues seemed to move sometimes.
When they awoke the next morning, it was warmer than the night before. They packed what they did have, but Arnskar's one blanket was barely threads at this point. Under Arnskar was a single gold coin. The two faces had symbols that Mecca could not read, but Arnskar recognized. He seemed to recognize a lot of old stuff nowadays. He took the coin with him as a blessing. He believed the Cairn had in some way thanked him. He would not keep it for long however. They came across a clear area surrounded on three sides with old, crumbling walls and the fourth had a cairn, undisturbed, probably for centuries. There were flowers growing from between the boulders. Mecca carved into the stony earth. Her claws made sparks on the tough ground. After a suitable depression had been made, and Mecca while nursed her paws, Arnskar placed the blade into the grave poured the Ash he had carried for so long on top of it to bury it. He then took the coin and placed it on top of that. The statues seemed to take notice of this.
They then proceeded to collect the loose slabs of rock from the digging and from the surrounding area. They were careful to leave already used stones where they lay. They entombed the ash and the blade, hopefully forever. The cairn was small, as it only contained ash, a sword, and a single coin. Mecca guessed that Arnskar was burying somebody important to him, but he never talked about who it was. This was the first time he actually showed any emotion towards the scarcely noted subject. He smiled. Not a joyful smile. It was more of a smile of contentment and resolution. It was a smile of relief. He had completed something very important to him. Mecca didn't know why he had come from across the Dragonhome to do this, but to Arnskar, this is what he was supposed to do. Many of his numerous conflicting thoughts agreed with his action though, and so he smiled.
Mecca was then taken aback by Arnskar's next comment. "Let's go home." They travelled across the Dragonhome again. This time, Mecca led the way. Arnskar was more talkative on the way back, but not by much. When they reached the coast, they sequestered a raft-like vessel to take them around the coast of the Scarred Wasteland. They didn't want to go the long way, or through the wastes, so they went on the water.
It was a while before they made land fall on the other side. They paid handsomely to the small mirror captain. He had to repair the bottom of his raft after sailing through the mildly corrosive waters of the Scarred Wasteland. He also need knew ropes and a few replacement logs. All in all, the captain wasn't as angry as they had expected. They paid him easily twice what it would take to fix the raft. When asked where Mecca had gotten the coin, she replied as such, "Some things are best if not known." She probably stole them, but how the massive dragon did it is a question nobody ever really figured out.
The Starfall Isle was far warmer than Dragonhome and was far wetter. Arnskar saw rain for one of the first times in his life. The weather was weird in the Starfall Isle, but the farther from its deity they got, the calmer the weather got. Mecca led Arnskar over a redwood forest, as she could not fit between the trees very well. Arnskar is not an apt flyer and prefers to stay land bound, but he had little option but to fly. It was fast once they got into the air. They soon came to the Quarry, Mecca's home. The accent she had made sense now. The Quarry reminded Arnskar of the Greatwyrm's Breach. The Quarry was a pit though and was relatively rounded and had many square edges. The Breach is a canyon, much bigger than the already huge Quarry, and was jagged in some places and eroded in others.
Mecca and Arnskar were welcomed with open arms and Arnskar was given a tour of the Quarry. The southern side of the Quarry was the most populated and the Quarry itself is separated into several tiers. He was given temporary boarding so that if he chose to stay, a new den could be carved out or prepared. The Quarry was like a small city and Arnskar was a little overwhelmed. He met Stark, the local handyman. He was the only dragon with skill great enough to keep the more sensitive equipment in the clan running, and the equipment was breaking down faster than he could fix or replace them. He beseeched Arnskar, a master smith to take over some of his metal working. Arnskar took it all though. He was an efficient and tireless worker. He was even better than Stark when it comes to smithing actually. Stark was much older though.
Arnskar quickly made a name for himself as the stone faced smith of the Quarry. His creations were legendary. He could forge tools that would last twice their owner's lifetime or weapons that could slice granite. By far his most impressive legends were his Swords. They were marvelous. They were alive. Each one developed their own personality, some formed parallel to their users, while others did not. Most were failures and faded away, rendering the sword only physically superior. A few lived however. Ryujin is Arnskar's personal Soul Blade and mirrors his own generally apathetic personality but has an explosive temper, quite literally. Shirayuki was formed independently of a host and has her own unique personality. Tenken has chosen a host, but he is currently weak.
Besides those three, Arnskar has few who could be considered friends. He doesn't really get attached to people very well. The three Soul Blades are the closest thing he has and could be considered his children. They think of him fondly and with great respect. He gave them life after all.
Arnskar now works as the blacksmith of the Quarry and provides needed tools, weapons, and armor to those in need. His soul blades are not for sale, but he does sell his tools and armor. He has alleviated Stark's duties. Stark now mainly focuses on the mechanical and electrical needs of the Quarry.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=63130&tab=dragon&did=25279987]Stein[/url] - Scientist, Necromancer, Magic Adviser.
I really like Stein because he is unconventional and doesn't conform to stereotypes of Wildclaws or necromancers. He has seen some of the worse the world has offered and came through it better off than most of my dragons. He's just weird... and undead.
~~~~~~~~~
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25279987]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/252800/25279987_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~~~~~~~
Stein was born on the Southwestern fringes of the Scarred Wasteland. Inside the sphere of the Plaguebringer, but it was near the ever-shifting borders. He was raised in a group of scavengers that traveled from one abandoned den to another. At one point, they settled for a short time. His parents managed to find the time and place to mate from time to time. He was one of only two that survived the wastes. When he was still an egg, his parents brought him along. They were careful to keep the egg from the festering ground as much as possible. Even a plague dragon is not immune to their own homeland’s terrors after all. It would be a long while before Stein finally hatched. It was a longer than average amount of time.
He was born on the run, as most new hatchlings were in the group, however few there were. He was taught the way of scavenging as everybody else was, but he was never very good at it. He was taught fighting, but his muscles were weak for a Wildclaw. He was seen as a failure for the group. He could not fight, he could not scavenge, and he could not keep up with the group. He was weak. This took its own toll. He grew up with little food, little love from others, and with few chances. Those who were not strong died, or so the group thought.
After months and years of being scorned and laughed at, they finally began to see. At first, the plants and animals that showed up were not unusual. The believed that the frontier had begun to push back, but they were only partially correct. The animals held fear for all of them, except Stein. The plants grew lusher and less rotten near Stein. He soon realized this for himself. His magic blossomed quickly and powerfully once he knew it was there. He was seen for the first time as something more than a nuisance or burden. They looked at him with fear.
There were no magic users in the group making Stein dangerous after how they had treated him. They turned on him one night, and he crushed them like bugs, all at once. He felt no remorse for wiping what he thought were pitiful creatures from the land. He ripped their souls asunder and cast them into the Veil, where they would wander just behind everybody they knew and with no ability to help or communicate with them, just as he had. His parents were spared and they returned from their scouting to find nobody at all. After a while, however, Stein came to realize what he had done. He wept for the fallen, no matter how deplorable they may have been. When he tried to undo what he had done, the only members of the group he could find in the veil were shattered and incomplete. They were basically dead, unable to even communicate with him. He ran away.
He wandered the borderlands for months, but barely scraped by. His internal conflict and uncertainty with his worth made his magic unpredictable and feeble. He had little physical prowess for a Wildclaw and he was growing. The lack of food and the barrenness of the Scarred Wasteland had lost its appeal. He turned south towards the mountains. Soon he began to see green, grass, leaves, bushes, and the works. The ground gradually turned from grey and red to brown and finally to black soil. The smell began to diminish noticeably. He had grown up with it, making the transition strange. The sores on his feet from the many pestilent organisms in the dirt had healed as did any other persistent wounds he had. He drank fresh, clean water for the first time. He saw flowers of all kinds and he saw trees. This all took his mind off of the things he had done but only temporarily. He would sleep at night, if he could sleep, but his dreams would be haunted by the woeful screams and horrible sounds of broken minds. He would sleep late and wake early.
One day, as he was crossing through a clearing in the trees, he came across a beautiful meadow. He had never seen its like before, even though he had been traveling through the Starfall Isles for some time. It was full of flowers of any color you could imagine. Stein bound around in the grass, taking in the smells and rolled around as if to keep them with him. He lay in the sun for as long as he could see the grass around him. The animals were beginning to reappear. They, having an unusual lack of fear towards Stein, would often wander right past him, or sometimes over him. For one of the few times in the years he had been wandering alone, he slept peacefully.
He awoke about midday the next morning. He was covered in pollen, and few dozen bees, plus a bird, and two squirrels, a mole, and what appeared to be a chicken. With a slight movement and a sneeze, thanks to the pollen, the animals dispersed. The bees, however, followed him for a ways. He could have spent the rest of his days here if it weren’t for what happened next. Stein had always been attuned to the woes around him. Whether it is a bad day, wounded leg, or a broken heart, Stein could see it. He could see the Aura of everybody and everything around him. The magic flowed in and out of everything, painting a sixth sense for Stein to perceive. Sometimes this would manifest in other forms however.
He wandered, found the chicken, and ate it. It didn’t protest much after he anesthetized it magically. He heard a whisper and he wheeled around looking for the source. He was used to things that shouldn’t be talking, talking. The dead were everywhere, but not usually out here. They make bad neighbors, usually. He ignored it this time. He continued on his way towards the mountains, which he could now see were pink, which amazed him. They were still a very long ways off however. Then the whisper sounded again. He looked around again, but he yet again saw nothing. He was getting just a little bit less happy with the day now. The dead instilled in him a bit of melancholy, but less than what they could give others.
The whisper came and went as he traveled. It gradually became stronger as he reached another clearing; he thought at the time that perhaps the spirit was here. He entered the clearing by saw nothing again. He could usually see the trail of magic spirits leave, but he didn’t see it. All the clearing held was a pile of stones. A cairn he thought. Yet, there was no power coming from the possible grave. He walked through the clearing, careful not to twist his ankles in the many crevices. As he neared the other side, he nearly tripped over the source of the whisper. A snapper lay crumpled in the grass, pink with purple wings and stomach. She used to be pink, right now; she was a pinkish grey hue. She was sick with something.
Stein checked her with magic from a respectable distance. Sick dragons tend to be dangerous. He knew that from the time he was in the Scarred wasteland. He had treated a few, but others were either incurable or had to be stricken down. He entered serious mode. She was in little position to fight anyway. She was larger than he was, so right now he just examined what he could see. He thought he could heal her there and then. He wanted to help her as he had helped others. He lowered himself to the ground and reached for her. The moment his claws made contact with her hide, healthy color spread from the contact points. The color spread across her side and across her body. Stein quickly grew tired and pained. The color washed from him now and his arms and legs trembled. His eyes glazed over and teeth ached. It was a grueling thirty seconds. When Stein was done, he fell backwards, wheezing and shaking. He slept. This process had never done this to him. He had restored missing limbs before, even a head once and it was nothing like this.
When he woke up, it was dusk and Stein hurt all over from the Strain. He stood up shakily and looked down at the Snapper. She was breathing deeply now, which was better than before. Stein spotted something worrisome. Her back leg had black veins across it. He achieved nothing but give her time. He reached down again. There wasn’t much left he thought. He repeated the previous steps. The magic flowed from his claws, but the veins did not reduce as much as they should have. Before he collapsed again, he stopped. This was incurable. He no longer had the magic to end this. His eyes of strength melted to eyes of despair. He turned to leave, but the word, “Please?” met his ears. He turned back to see the snapper’s eyes peering back.
He sat down next to her and stayed silent. All he did was extend her pain for a longer time. She may have only a few hours at that point. They began to talk. She spoke of her family and life, what made her happy and sad, and what got her in this position. She had cut her back leg on the rocks, but it got infected. She stopped to rest and when she tried to move, she found herself unable. Stein listened but was disconnected. This recent event brought to his mind all the pain he had run from. You can never run enough to escape your past. The Snapper’s eyes and coaxing words loosened his maw. He spilled his past and his pain to the stranger. He feared her fear and distrust of him. He didn’t want her to die alone. Instead, she looked at him with understanding and calmness. She had more understanding than everyone else he had ever known, probably combined. He told her of his abilities, but she didn’t so much as flinch.
It had been several hours of talking before they fell asleep. Stein awoke first to find the sepsis having spread from her lower leg to her hip. She was grey again, but better than when he had first found her. He made up his mind then there. He would save her. He thought for a short time. The many choices were difficult. Most ended in her death, or his own, or both. Then something came to him. He had been so busy giving life from himself, but hadn’t thought of taking life for himself. He walked to a separate portion of the rocky field. He focused on his feet. He looked down and the flora that surrounded his feet began to wilt. He focused on the grass and the grass turned to dust. The plague spread outwards into every blade of grass, every flower, and creature, and into every crevice. Stein felt powerful immediately. The flow of life into himself restored his body and then his magic. Soon it began to supplement his magical reserves. He almost didn’t stop, but he had something to do.
He felt sick immediately after he stopped ripping the life from the land. His head pounded and his eyes hurt. He walked through the dust back to the snapper who was now awake and staring at him. He was resonating with the environment and his eyes glowed brightly. She had a look of awe. With little effort, he lifted her to her feet, her foot was numb, but not because of Stein. Magic would not cure her, but it could get her to somebody who could. She couldn’t move herself, so Stein moved for her. He got her consent immediately. He entered her mind and tied their souls together. Hers was weak, but was chained to its body by Stein. Then they began to move.
They moved without stopping all day. Stein kept both of them from tiring or growing hungry. The animals, even the aggressive ones gave them a wide berth, even the plants seemed to try and move out of the way. They kept each other busy. They could not hide anything from each other. She knew the way to the nearest settlement that could help, but it was still a week away. They shared, rather unwillingly, things that had never been told to anybody else. Their fears were told, as well as their favorite things, their pain, and their more uncomfortable topics. They became more than they were separate. Her name was Mina. She was born in the Starfall Isles. Together, they became Sinna, which was Stein’s idea. Mina didn’t mind. Eventually, they became less individual themselves and became collective. They forgot what it was like to have ever been alone. They grew a closeness almost nobody else would ever achieve.
They were so enthralled, they barely noticed the changing landscape from small trees to bigger ones and then to redwoods. Stein managed to slow the infection considerably, but did not manage to stop it. It gradually took more and more to control it, but he had basically swallowed a nuclear reactor in that field. Mina had heard that those are really uncommon and very dangerous. She knew a lot about sciences and about books, but Stein knew practical knowledge and how to use it. They were still a ways away from their destination, but they never spoke, so to speak, about what they would do when they got there. Those that saw them said that they walked in Unison, but that one looked like she shouldn’t even be alive, let alone manage a slow stride. They talked in unison, not understandably, and about several things at once. They spoke differently at different times. Sometimes they spoke with a drawl, and sometimes elegantly. Sinna grew more and more prominent as the time went on. She spoke with a smooth, but unusual accent. She began to speak slowly and to herself rather than to another person as well.
Soon, they found another clearing. At one end was a tree that was tall even by redwood standards. They turned northward to finish the final leg of their trek. Mina’s leg was blackened and useless, but she still moved as fast as Stein with no apparent pain. Before they could re-enter the tree line, two dragons appeared from around the tree. They saw the two and stopped. One was a Wildclaw in heavy-duty iron armor. The other was a guardian in brown robes. The Wildclaw readied a fighting Stance, but the Guardian stopped her. They walked towards Sinna, but they stopped at a safe distance. The Wildclaw was oblivious to the magical turbulence, but the Guardian could sense it. Sinna remembered her purpose for being there and spoke up excitedly, “I-I…” She paused and shook their heads. The two other dragons looked oddly at them. “We-we…” She paused again. They continued looking at her. “Mina, Mina needs your help!” The Stein half beseeched.
They led the two through the woods and into a field full of stumps. The field was massive and wider on the opposite side. There was a wooden barricade being demolished by a Snapper with a golden jaw. Sinna was lead past the half gone barricade and behind that a ways were blocks of stone, each as big as the previously encountered Snapper, but probably five times heavier. After a further walk towards the blocks, the ground turned to gravel and stone. The guardian and Wildclaw stopped. When Sinna stopped next to them, she could see why the clearing was so large. There was a massive pit into the stone. It went down hundreds of feet and could be miles across. There were dozens of dragons walking around on the terraces. There were barrels, crates, and entire buildings built in the pit. They were led down an incline onto the first terrace that was the most crowded, mostly by smaller dragons. Sinna was led to a tunnel carved into the wall and ornately decorated around it to look like a tall doorway.
Inside was a brightly lit room. Along the walls were mats and bedding. There were dragons in aprons and masks walking around. There were a few dragons sitting around with bandages or casts. One pearlcatcher walked up. He was wearing armor like clothes with gold inlay. He was also a plague dragon and was mainly red with an orange crackly skin texture. He took one look at Mina and his eyes widened. “By the Bringer.” He exclaimed. She was defying the Plaguebringers very purpose right now. She was led to a separate room and a tray of some of the sharpest objects Stein had ever seen was brought with her. Stein followed but was stopped. “Just her.” The pearlcatcher said.
After a moment’s hesitation both Mina and Stein replied simultaneously, to the Pearlcatcher’s surprise, “Okay.” Stein and Mina separated for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Stein immediately felt alone in this crowded clinic. He went and waited in a corner. The Wildclaw in Iron kept a close eye on him, but he did nothing but watch through the wall and stay silent. The magic bridge began to fray. The panic that Stein endured only quickened its collapse. When it did, Mina disappeared from Stein’s perception. Her soul blew away. Stein’s eyes widened and he yelled until his vocal chords sheered and the only noise he made was a rasp. He ran towards the operating room, but Nyura, the iron Wildclaw, stepped in front of him confident that she could stop the scrawny Stein, but she got thrown aside like she was made of cotton. Eventually, the magic from the Guardian, Minerva, tied his feet and he tripped. He whined as his maw was tied, Minerva didn’t know that he could cast without words, but Stein couldn’t concentrate enough to do so.
He thrashed against Minerva’s magic, shattering binding after binding, but draining his remaining magic greatly. The nurses injected sedatives into Stein, but they had a minimal effect. Eventually, Stein exhausted himself and he fell unconscious. For yet another time, sleep was forced upon him, but Stein did not dream. He awoke chained to a mat with seals placed all along them. There were ruins painted on the floor as well. There was great care taken to keep him from moving. The most he could do was look around, but he couldn’t speak. It was more like the fact that his vocal chords were torn rather than a magical binding. He could already feel the emptiness. He was terrified. Nyura was lying nearby along with two other dragons, a mirror and a coatl, nearby. Nyura had a sling over her arm and there was a dent in the armor on that side. It was probably where Stein had hit her. She didn’t look too pleased, but she looked at Stein with a strange type of respect.
The other two dragons were lounging and seemed to be the backup. The coatl was a mage, probably. Stein couldn’t sense anything past the runes. Nyura spoke, “Good hit.” That was all she said to him in her gruff voice. Stein Stewed in his terror, pain, silence, and loneliness for almost an hour before a Guardian, Minerva, and a fae, who sat on her head, Orion, came in. Minerva had trouble getting into the room because of her size. The Pearlcatcher came in after them. He looked cautiously at Stein, who had overwhelmed the strongest warrior in the Quarry and had almost beaten one of the strongest mages, after being weakened significantly. He chalks it up to adrenaline.
When Stein and Mina had gotten to the Quarry, the only thing keeping her alive was Stein. Her body was beyond repair and her soul had been crushed by Stein's. When they were separated, Mina's soul basically evaporated. There was no way to help. If Stein had tried to put it back, there would be consequences. She would not have been Mina anymore. It would have like been trying to find the exact droplet of water from the ocean that you had gotten before.
Stein buried the memories the best he could. He didn’t want to embrace or talk about them. It took five days for Minerva to be confident that Stein could be released from his bonds. He was silent for a long time after he was released. He was given his own lair space, but he spent most of his time standing at the edge of the Quarry looking down. He rarely ate and his physical condition got even worse. It would not be for several months before his pain was buried enough for him to recuperate, even slightly. Soon, he started making friends and enemies as well.
Bones, the doctor, never really liked him and took every opportunity to berate him. Stein didn’t like him either. The rest of the clan was fascinated with the stranger who overpowered two of the most powerful dragons in the Quarry. They were until they learned what magic he specialized in. Most then had distrust, hostility, or rarely, tolerance. He made one true friend throughout this. Weir didn’t care that he was a necromancer, but he never told her about his past that he had buried. He spoke often of magic to her, and she often spoke about training. They liked each other’s company. Stein is a magic adviser for many, including Minerva. He is adept in many forms of magic and can often think of solutions that are simpler than what Minerva could have thought of. He helps with creating complex spells for other mages like Bacchus. Lodon, the mortician, likes Stein as a person but doesn’t like his magic. It disrupts his work when the dead don’t cooperate with him. Stein runs a lab in tier three in his home. His home is his lab. It is not very orderly and is seen as a mess to most. He has strange experiments all over the place, some move around on their own.
~~~
Here we have the summary of an RP I went through with @Salathielly.
~~~
When Stein was older, and his friendship with Weir had grown, it was put to the test. A stranger came to the Quarry, a small Coatl hatchling who told Weir of a way to get home. It spoke as an adult but acted as a child. It lured them into the Quarry's depths with supernatural charm and with a false sense of safety. Once there, the hatchling found the Core, the Quarry's power source. At this point, another stranger had followed them in and was watching from the shadows. The hatchling had then revealed his card. With his magic, or possibly the Core's, the hatchling caused the Core to overload. In response, Stein, who recognized the magic being used, attempted to excise the spirit impostor. The banishment spell, combined with the Core's collapse punched a hole through the Veil, what holds the different realms separate, and into a realm of the Underworld.
When they awoke, they found themselves in a desert devoid of life. The Strange hatchling was gone, but the second stranger was revealed, Ez, another coatl. This coatl didn't seem to be involved with the other, but they couldn't be too careful. Stein had almost immediately sensed the change. They were chased from their position from beings that lay beyond the ability to describe. They had no shape or mass, just presence. To avoid being consumed or driven insane, they had to move. Stein knew that if they found a suitable powerful spirit, they could get home. Ez went right along with them. They discussed as they moved, on the Horizon was a pyramid that covered half of the sky. Above that was what appeared to be the sun. They headed for that.
When they had reached the pyramid, which hadn't seemed to get any bigger as they were heading towards it, they found themselves in a city. It was full of spirits of all shapes and sizes. Some had been dragons at one point, while others had never been dragons but took their form. Others looked like a strange beastclan. They were bipedal, but had few other traits in common with the others. They looked similar to Serthis or Maren though. They were all cautious of the group, that is until somebody ushered them from the Pyramid. They walked towards a massive set of steps that led up the equally massive pyramid. They went up, as if pulled by something, but none of them noticed. They were in awe of the city that looked so very different from any in Sornieth, except maybe the Hewn City.
At the top was A Serthis. He was well built and very pleasing to the eye, even to a dragon. He had been waiting for them, but he seemed slightly worried. They talked for a time, and then the Serthis had food brought out. Food in the Underworld is usually inedible to dragons or very dangerous. There were many foods that they had never seen before. The Serthis had grown all this specially for this occasion. Stein couldn't eat most of it though. When food had been served, the last food brought out were terrible cookies, Serthis began to talk. He spoke of the reason they were there, who had organized this, and what their plan was. The hatchling coatl from before, now adult, arrived and was now clad in silver armor. They talked for a bit, but then the Serthis and Coatl proposed a bath.
They went reluctantly. They found themselves in a hot spring. There were spirits lounging about, but they kept to themselves. When they had touched the water, something miraculous happened. Their old aches began to melt, their scars began to fade, the skin rejuvenated, and Stein's plague magic was burned away. His eyes were left a blank slate of grey. This surprised the group, who then shambled from the water not knowing what other effects it may have. It was truly because the spring was the opposite of Stein's element that caused the effect. Then came a great wind which was bitter cold and harsh. It froze the magic spring, which had resisted Ez's magic, and chased away the spirits. A blizzard surrounded the group with howling wind and ice.
Out came a figure, humanoid but bulky and strange. It was vaguely like the spirits from before, but it had a different depth to it. The other spirits were blurry unless you focused on one at a time, but this one seemed to fill your vision even if you were looking away. He was huge, maybe twice as tall as Stein. He was decorated in bones and leathers and he had a matted and frost covered beard and hair. His skin was scarred and dark. His eyes were like looking into the sun. None of them could keep contact with them. The giant silenced the blizzard and spoke in a hard to understand accent. Without much warning, conversation, or effort, the stranger wrung Stein's neck, strong armed Weir and turned to Ez who was quickly trying to set up a spell.
Something unexpected happened. Stein's soul, a blank slate, began to devour the stranger's magic. Weir went to Stein's body and was quickly possessed by his spirit, what was left of it. What was created from the three was horrific. Weir stood up against her injuries, which mended themselves right then and there. A wicked grin spread across her face and a terrible laugh welled up from her. The stranger returned his attention to her and her manic smile and laughter. He was surprised. With as much effort as one may swat a fly, he swatted Weir. The broken bones set back in place in mere moments. He kicked Weir, but the same happened. He grew frustrated, but soon found his army inside the blizzard under siege. Shadows crept through the snow and the horrible sounds of battle ensued. Blackened and greasy forms seeped from the ground, grabbing at his legs and dragged him to the ground. Another shade, with a sword with a hand guard in the shape of a serpent promptly impaled him. He exploded and probably for the first time, felt terror.
In the aftermath, after the enemy was gone and the blizzards and shades had vanished, the three, or two now, looked around. The once vibrant city was in ruins and the pyramid was no more than a pile of gravel. A few spirits, bright ones led them to the pyramid. Their patron was severely weakened and all he could now do is watch. He was the group's ticket out of the Underworld, but he did leave them express passes. The terrible cookies were imbued with the spell needed to transport them. He had to choose the terrible ones. Once eaten, they appeared to explode as the Stranger had, but they had in fact been thrown through the Veil and onto the Island of Weir's birth. There, the group was met by the island's denizens. Soon after their arrival, exorcists arrived and removed the curse that befouled Stein's body. When Stein returned to his vessel however, he was greeted with something new.
He was no longer himself. He had accidentally gone through a process which turned his body and soul into that of a Lich. An undead creature with abilities that generally far supersede those that he had before. He was rendered immortal, but the power comes with great consequences. In Stein's case, he cannot touch silver or enter sunlight. Those were only his own problems. The Stranger had left his mark on Stein, even if his curse had been lifted. The creature that had been pulled from Stein was not killed or defeated. It is still out there, somewhere. Stein is glad that he can cross water, unlike some undead, or he may have never been able to leave.
Stein and Weir have a silent agreement of sorts. They sometimes fuse their minds just for the heck of it. Now that things are generally less stressful, Weiss isn't homicidaly insane and creepy. When Stein and Weir had to eventually leave, they had spent a night in the springs of the Island an took a stroll as Weiss, then they and Ez exchanged cards so to speak. Ez gave them a ring and Stein gave him an already prepared card. He had made it a while back, but he didn't have the opportunity/memory to give it to Ez until they finally left. They may meet again someday, whether it is because Weir figures out the ring, or if Ez uses the card.
Stein - Scientist, Necromancer, Magic Adviser.
I really like Stein because he is unconventional and doesn't conform to stereotypes of Wildclaws or necromancers. He has seen some of the worse the world has offered and came through it better off than most of my dragons. He's just weird... and undead.
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
Stein was born on the Southwestern fringes of the Scarred Wasteland. Inside the sphere of the Plaguebringer, but it was near the ever-shifting borders. He was raised in a group of scavengers that traveled from one abandoned den to another. At one point, they settled for a short time. His parents managed to find the time and place to mate from time to time. He was one of only two that survived the wastes. When he was still an egg, his parents brought him along. They were careful to keep the egg from the festering ground as much as possible. Even a plague dragon is not immune to their own homeland’s terrors after all. It would be a long while before Stein finally hatched. It was a longer than average amount of time.
He was born on the run, as most new hatchlings were in the group, however few there were. He was taught the way of scavenging as everybody else was, but he was never very good at it. He was taught fighting, but his muscles were weak for a Wildclaw. He was seen as a failure for the group. He could not fight, he could not scavenge, and he could not keep up with the group. He was weak. This took its own toll. He grew up with little food, little love from others, and with few chances. Those who were not strong died, or so the group thought.
After months and years of being scorned and laughed at, they finally began to see. At first, the plants and animals that showed up were not unusual. The believed that the frontier had begun to push back, but they were only partially correct. The animals held fear for all of them, except Stein. The plants grew lusher and less rotten near Stein. He soon realized this for himself. His magic blossomed quickly and powerfully once he knew it was there. He was seen for the first time as something more than a nuisance or burden. They looked at him with fear.
There were no magic users in the group making Stein dangerous after how they had treated him. They turned on him one night, and he crushed them like bugs, all at once. He felt no remorse for wiping what he thought were pitiful creatures from the land. He ripped their souls asunder and cast them into the Veil, where they would wander just behind everybody they knew and with no ability to help or communicate with them, just as he had. His parents were spared and they returned from their scouting to find nobody at all. After a while, however, Stein came to realize what he had done. He wept for the fallen, no matter how deplorable they may have been. When he tried to undo what he had done, the only members of the group he could find in the veil were shattered and incomplete. They were basically dead, unable to even communicate with him. He ran away.
He wandered the borderlands for months, but barely scraped by. His internal conflict and uncertainty with his worth made his magic unpredictable and feeble. He had little physical prowess for a Wildclaw and he was growing. The lack of food and the barrenness of the Scarred Wasteland had lost its appeal. He turned south towards the mountains. Soon he began to see green, grass, leaves, bushes, and the works. The ground gradually turned from grey and red to brown and finally to black soil. The smell began to diminish noticeably. He had grown up with it, making the transition strange. The sores on his feet from the many pestilent organisms in the dirt had healed as did any other persistent wounds he had. He drank fresh, clean water for the first time. He saw flowers of all kinds and he saw trees. This all took his mind off of the things he had done but only temporarily. He would sleep at night, if he could sleep, but his dreams would be haunted by the woeful screams and horrible sounds of broken minds. He would sleep late and wake early.
One day, as he was crossing through a clearing in the trees, he came across a beautiful meadow. He had never seen its like before, even though he had been traveling through the Starfall Isles for some time. It was full of flowers of any color you could imagine. Stein bound around in the grass, taking in the smells and rolled around as if to keep them with him. He lay in the sun for as long as he could see the grass around him. The animals were beginning to reappear. They, having an unusual lack of fear towards Stein, would often wander right past him, or sometimes over him. For one of the few times in the years he had been wandering alone, he slept peacefully.
He awoke about midday the next morning. He was covered in pollen, and few dozen bees, plus a bird, and two squirrels, a mole, and what appeared to be a chicken. With a slight movement and a sneeze, thanks to the pollen, the animals dispersed. The bees, however, followed him for a ways. He could have spent the rest of his days here if it weren’t for what happened next. Stein had always been attuned to the woes around him. Whether it is a bad day, wounded leg, or a broken heart, Stein could see it. He could see the Aura of everybody and everything around him. The magic flowed in and out of everything, painting a sixth sense for Stein to perceive. Sometimes this would manifest in other forms however.
He wandered, found the chicken, and ate it. It didn’t protest much after he anesthetized it magically. He heard a whisper and he wheeled around looking for the source. He was used to things that shouldn’t be talking, talking. The dead were everywhere, but not usually out here. They make bad neighbors, usually. He ignored it this time. He continued on his way towards the mountains, which he could now see were pink, which amazed him. They were still a very long ways off however. Then the whisper sounded again. He looked around again, but he yet again saw nothing. He was getting just a little bit less happy with the day now. The dead instilled in him a bit of melancholy, but less than what they could give others.
The whisper came and went as he traveled. It gradually became stronger as he reached another clearing; he thought at the time that perhaps the spirit was here. He entered the clearing by saw nothing again. He could usually see the trail of magic spirits leave, but he didn’t see it. All the clearing held was a pile of stones. A cairn he thought. Yet, there was no power coming from the possible grave. He walked through the clearing, careful not to twist his ankles in the many crevices. As he neared the other side, he nearly tripped over the source of the whisper. A snapper lay crumpled in the grass, pink with purple wings and stomach. She used to be pink, right now; she was a pinkish grey hue. She was sick with something.
Stein checked her with magic from a respectable distance. Sick dragons tend to be dangerous. He knew that from the time he was in the Scarred wasteland. He had treated a few, but others were either incurable or had to be stricken down. He entered serious mode. She was in little position to fight anyway. She was larger than he was, so right now he just examined what he could see. He thought he could heal her there and then. He wanted to help her as he had helped others. He lowered himself to the ground and reached for her. The moment his claws made contact with her hide, healthy color spread from the contact points. The color spread across her side and across her body. Stein quickly grew tired and pained. The color washed from him now and his arms and legs trembled. His eyes glazed over and teeth ached. It was a grueling thirty seconds. When Stein was done, he fell backwards, wheezing and shaking. He slept. This process had never done this to him. He had restored missing limbs before, even a head once and it was nothing like this.
When he woke up, it was dusk and Stein hurt all over from the Strain. He stood up shakily and looked down at the Snapper. She was breathing deeply now, which was better than before. Stein spotted something worrisome. Her back leg had black veins across it. He achieved nothing but give her time. He reached down again. There wasn’t much left he thought. He repeated the previous steps. The magic flowed from his claws, but the veins did not reduce as much as they should have. Before he collapsed again, he stopped. This was incurable. He no longer had the magic to end this. His eyes of strength melted to eyes of despair. He turned to leave, but the word, “Please?” met his ears. He turned back to see the snapper’s eyes peering back.
He sat down next to her and stayed silent. All he did was extend her pain for a longer time. She may have only a few hours at that point. They began to talk. She spoke of her family and life, what made her happy and sad, and what got her in this position. She had cut her back leg on the rocks, but it got infected. She stopped to rest and when she tried to move, she found herself unable. Stein listened but was disconnected. This recent event brought to his mind all the pain he had run from. You can never run enough to escape your past. The Snapper’s eyes and coaxing words loosened his maw. He spilled his past and his pain to the stranger. He feared her fear and distrust of him. He didn’t want her to die alone. Instead, she looked at him with understanding and calmness. She had more understanding than everyone else he had ever known, probably combined. He told her of his abilities, but she didn’t so much as flinch.
It had been several hours of talking before they fell asleep. Stein awoke first to find the sepsis having spread from her lower leg to her hip. She was grey again, but better than when he had first found her. He made up his mind then there. He would save her. He thought for a short time. The many choices were difficult. Most ended in her death, or his own, or both. Then something came to him. He had been so busy giving life from himself, but hadn’t thought of taking life for himself. He walked to a separate portion of the rocky field. He focused on his feet. He looked down and the flora that surrounded his feet began to wilt. He focused on the grass and the grass turned to dust. The plague spread outwards into every blade of grass, every flower, and creature, and into every crevice. Stein felt powerful immediately. The flow of life into himself restored his body and then his magic. Soon it began to supplement his magical reserves. He almost didn’t stop, but he had something to do.
He felt sick immediately after he stopped ripping the life from the land. His head pounded and his eyes hurt. He walked through the dust back to the snapper who was now awake and staring at him. He was resonating with the environment and his eyes glowed brightly. She had a look of awe. With little effort, he lifted her to her feet, her foot was numb, but not because of Stein. Magic would not cure her, but it could get her to somebody who could. She couldn’t move herself, so Stein moved for her. He got her consent immediately. He entered her mind and tied their souls together. Hers was weak, but was chained to its body by Stein. Then they began to move.
They moved without stopping all day. Stein kept both of them from tiring or growing hungry. The animals, even the aggressive ones gave them a wide berth, even the plants seemed to try and move out of the way. They kept each other busy. They could not hide anything from each other. She knew the way to the nearest settlement that could help, but it was still a week away. They shared, rather unwillingly, things that had never been told to anybody else. Their fears were told, as well as their favorite things, their pain, and their more uncomfortable topics. They became more than they were separate. Her name was Mina. She was born in the Starfall Isles. Together, they became Sinna, which was Stein’s idea. Mina didn’t mind. Eventually, they became less individual themselves and became collective. They forgot what it was like to have ever been alone. They grew a closeness almost nobody else would ever achieve.
They were so enthralled, they barely noticed the changing landscape from small trees to bigger ones and then to redwoods. Stein managed to slow the infection considerably, but did not manage to stop it. It gradually took more and more to control it, but he had basically swallowed a nuclear reactor in that field. Mina had heard that those are really uncommon and very dangerous. She knew a lot about sciences and about books, but Stein knew practical knowledge and how to use it. They were still a ways away from their destination, but they never spoke, so to speak, about what they would do when they got there. Those that saw them said that they walked in Unison, but that one looked like she shouldn’t even be alive, let alone manage a slow stride. They talked in unison, not understandably, and about several things at once. They spoke differently at different times. Sometimes they spoke with a drawl, and sometimes elegantly. Sinna grew more and more prominent as the time went on. She spoke with a smooth, but unusual accent. She began to speak slowly and to herself rather than to another person as well.
Soon, they found another clearing. At one end was a tree that was tall even by redwood standards. They turned northward to finish the final leg of their trek. Mina’s leg was blackened and useless, but she still moved as fast as Stein with no apparent pain. Before they could re-enter the tree line, two dragons appeared from around the tree. They saw the two and stopped. One was a Wildclaw in heavy-duty iron armor. The other was a guardian in brown robes. The Wildclaw readied a fighting Stance, but the Guardian stopped her. They walked towards Sinna, but they stopped at a safe distance. The Wildclaw was oblivious to the magical turbulence, but the Guardian could sense it. Sinna remembered her purpose for being there and spoke up excitedly, “I-I…” She paused and shook their heads. The two other dragons looked oddly at them. “We-we…” She paused again. They continued looking at her. “Mina, Mina needs your help!” The Stein half beseeched.
They led the two through the woods and into a field full of stumps. The field was massive and wider on the opposite side. There was a wooden barricade being demolished by a Snapper with a golden jaw. Sinna was lead past the half gone barricade and behind that a ways were blocks of stone, each as big as the previously encountered Snapper, but probably five times heavier. After a further walk towards the blocks, the ground turned to gravel and stone. The guardian and Wildclaw stopped. When Sinna stopped next to them, she could see why the clearing was so large. There was a massive pit into the stone. It went down hundreds of feet and could be miles across. There were dozens of dragons walking around on the terraces. There were barrels, crates, and entire buildings built in the pit. They were led down an incline onto the first terrace that was the most crowded, mostly by smaller dragons. Sinna was led to a tunnel carved into the wall and ornately decorated around it to look like a tall doorway.
Inside was a brightly lit room. Along the walls were mats and bedding. There were dragons in aprons and masks walking around. There were a few dragons sitting around with bandages or casts. One pearlcatcher walked up. He was wearing armor like clothes with gold inlay. He was also a plague dragon and was mainly red with an orange crackly skin texture. He took one look at Mina and his eyes widened. “By the Bringer.” He exclaimed. She was defying the Plaguebringers very purpose right now. She was led to a separate room and a tray of some of the sharpest objects Stein had ever seen was brought with her. Stein followed but was stopped. “Just her.” The pearlcatcher said.
After a moment’s hesitation both Mina and Stein replied simultaneously, to the Pearlcatcher’s surprise, “Okay.” Stein and Mina separated for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Stein immediately felt alone in this crowded clinic. He went and waited in a corner. The Wildclaw in Iron kept a close eye on him, but he did nothing but watch through the wall and stay silent. The magic bridge began to fray. The panic that Stein endured only quickened its collapse. When it did, Mina disappeared from Stein’s perception. Her soul blew away. Stein’s eyes widened and he yelled until his vocal chords sheered and the only noise he made was a rasp. He ran towards the operating room, but Nyura, the iron Wildclaw, stepped in front of him confident that she could stop the scrawny Stein, but she got thrown aside like she was made of cotton. Eventually, the magic from the Guardian, Minerva, tied his feet and he tripped. He whined as his maw was tied, Minerva didn’t know that he could cast without words, but Stein couldn’t concentrate enough to do so.
He thrashed against Minerva’s magic, shattering binding after binding, but draining his remaining magic greatly. The nurses injected sedatives into Stein, but they had a minimal effect. Eventually, Stein exhausted himself and he fell unconscious. For yet another time, sleep was forced upon him, but Stein did not dream. He awoke chained to a mat with seals placed all along them. There were ruins painted on the floor as well. There was great care taken to keep him from moving. The most he could do was look around, but he couldn’t speak. It was more like the fact that his vocal chords were torn rather than a magical binding. He could already feel the emptiness. He was terrified. Nyura was lying nearby along with two other dragons, a mirror and a coatl, nearby. Nyura had a sling over her arm and there was a dent in the armor on that side. It was probably where Stein had hit her. She didn’t look too pleased, but she looked at Stein with a strange type of respect.
The other two dragons were lounging and seemed to be the backup. The coatl was a mage, probably. Stein couldn’t sense anything past the runes. Nyura spoke, “Good hit.” That was all she said to him in her gruff voice. Stein Stewed in his terror, pain, silence, and loneliness for almost an hour before a Guardian, Minerva, and a fae, who sat on her head, Orion, came in. Minerva had trouble getting into the room because of her size. The Pearlcatcher came in after them. He looked cautiously at Stein, who had overwhelmed the strongest warrior in the Quarry and had almost beaten one of the strongest mages, after being weakened significantly. He chalks it up to adrenaline.
When Stein and Mina had gotten to the Quarry, the only thing keeping her alive was Stein. Her body was beyond repair and her soul had been crushed by Stein's. When they were separated, Mina's soul basically evaporated. There was no way to help. If Stein had tried to put it back, there would be consequences. She would not have been Mina anymore. It would have like been trying to find the exact droplet of water from the ocean that you had gotten before.
Stein buried the memories the best he could. He didn’t want to embrace or talk about them. It took five days for Minerva to be confident that Stein could be released from his bonds. He was silent for a long time after he was released. He was given his own lair space, but he spent most of his time standing at the edge of the Quarry looking down. He rarely ate and his physical condition got even worse. It would not be for several months before his pain was buried enough for him to recuperate, even slightly. Soon, he started making friends and enemies as well.
Bones, the doctor, never really liked him and took every opportunity to berate him. Stein didn’t like him either. The rest of the clan was fascinated with the stranger who overpowered two of the most powerful dragons in the Quarry. They were until they learned what magic he specialized in. Most then had distrust, hostility, or rarely, tolerance. He made one true friend throughout this. Weir didn’t care that he was a necromancer, but he never told her about his past that he had buried. He spoke often of magic to her, and she often spoke about training. They liked each other’s company. Stein is a magic adviser for many, including Minerva. He is adept in many forms of magic and can often think of solutions that are simpler than what Minerva could have thought of. He helps with creating complex spells for other mages like Bacchus. Lodon, the mortician, likes Stein as a person but doesn’t like his magic. It disrupts his work when the dead don’t cooperate with him. Stein runs a lab in tier three in his home. His home is his lab. It is not very orderly and is seen as a mess to most. He has strange experiments all over the place, some move around on their own.
~~~
Here we have the summary of an RP I went through with @
Salathielly.
~~~
When Stein was older, and his friendship with Weir had grown, it was put to the test. A stranger came to the Quarry, a small Coatl hatchling who told Weir of a way to get home. It spoke as an adult but acted as a child. It lured them into the Quarry's depths with supernatural charm and with a false sense of safety. Once there, the hatchling found the Core, the Quarry's power source. At this point, another stranger had followed them in and was watching from the shadows. The hatchling had then revealed his card. With his magic, or possibly the Core's, the hatchling caused the Core to overload. In response, Stein, who recognized the magic being used, attempted to excise the spirit impostor. The banishment spell, combined with the Core's collapse punched a hole through the Veil, what holds the different realms separate, and into a realm of the Underworld.
When they awoke, they found themselves in a desert devoid of life. The Strange hatchling was gone, but the second stranger was revealed, Ez, another coatl. This coatl didn't seem to be involved with the other, but they couldn't be too careful. Stein had almost immediately sensed the change. They were chased from their position from beings that lay beyond the ability to describe. They had no shape or mass, just presence. To avoid being consumed or driven insane, they had to move. Stein knew that if they found a suitable powerful spirit, they could get home. Ez went right along with them. They discussed as they moved, on the Horizon was a pyramid that covered half of the sky. Above that was what appeared to be the sun. They headed for that.
When they had reached the pyramid, which hadn't seemed to get any bigger as they were heading towards it, they found themselves in a city. It was full of spirits of all shapes and sizes. Some had been dragons at one point, while others had never been dragons but took their form. Others looked like a strange beastclan. They were bipedal, but had few other traits in common with the others. They looked similar to Serthis or Maren though. They were all cautious of the group, that is until somebody ushered them from the Pyramid. They walked towards a massive set of steps that led up the equally massive pyramid. They went up, as if pulled by something, but none of them noticed. They were in awe of the city that looked so very different from any in Sornieth, except maybe the Hewn City.
At the top was A Serthis. He was well built and very pleasing to the eye, even to a dragon. He had been waiting for them, but he seemed slightly worried. They talked for a time, and then the Serthis had food brought out. Food in the Underworld is usually inedible to dragons or very dangerous. There were many foods that they had never seen before. The Serthis had grown all this specially for this occasion. Stein couldn't eat most of it though. When food had been served, the last food brought out were terrible cookies, Serthis began to talk. He spoke of the reason they were there, who had organized this, and what their plan was. The hatchling coatl from before, now adult, arrived and was now clad in silver armor. They talked for a bit, but then the Serthis and Coatl proposed a bath.
They went reluctantly. They found themselves in a hot spring. There were spirits lounging about, but they kept to themselves. When they had touched the water, something miraculous happened. Their old aches began to melt, their scars began to fade, the skin rejuvenated, and Stein's plague magic was burned away. His eyes were left a blank slate of grey. This surprised the group, who then shambled from the water not knowing what other effects it may have. It was truly because the spring was the opposite of Stein's element that caused the effect. Then came a great wind which was bitter cold and harsh. It froze the magic spring, which had resisted Ez's magic, and chased away the spirits. A blizzard surrounded the group with howling wind and ice.
Out came a figure, humanoid but bulky and strange. It was vaguely like the spirits from before, but it had a different depth to it. The other spirits were blurry unless you focused on one at a time, but this one seemed to fill your vision even if you were looking away. He was huge, maybe twice as tall as Stein. He was decorated in bones and leathers and he had a matted and frost covered beard and hair. His skin was scarred and dark. His eyes were like looking into the sun. None of them could keep contact with them. The giant silenced the blizzard and spoke in a hard to understand accent. Without much warning, conversation, or effort, the stranger wrung Stein's neck, strong armed Weir and turned to Ez who was quickly trying to set up a spell.
Something unexpected happened. Stein's soul, a blank slate, began to devour the stranger's magic. Weir went to Stein's body and was quickly possessed by his spirit, what was left of it. What was created from the three was horrific. Weir stood up against her injuries, which mended themselves right then and there. A wicked grin spread across her face and a terrible laugh welled up from her. The stranger returned his attention to her and her manic smile and laughter. He was surprised. With as much effort as one may swat a fly, he swatted Weir. The broken bones set back in place in mere moments. He kicked Weir, but the same happened. He grew frustrated, but soon found his army inside the blizzard under siege. Shadows crept through the snow and the horrible sounds of battle ensued. Blackened and greasy forms seeped from the ground, grabbing at his legs and dragged him to the ground. Another shade, with a sword with a hand guard in the shape of a serpent promptly impaled him. He exploded and probably for the first time, felt terror.
In the aftermath, after the enemy was gone and the blizzards and shades had vanished, the three, or two now, looked around. The once vibrant city was in ruins and the pyramid was no more than a pile of gravel. A few spirits, bright ones led them to the pyramid. Their patron was severely weakened and all he could now do is watch. He was the group's ticket out of the Underworld, but he did leave them express passes. The terrible cookies were imbued with the spell needed to transport them. He had to choose the terrible ones. Once eaten, they appeared to explode as the Stranger had, but they had in fact been thrown through the Veil and onto the Island of Weir's birth. There, the group was met by the island's denizens. Soon after their arrival, exorcists arrived and removed the curse that befouled Stein's body. When Stein returned to his vessel however, he was greeted with something new.
He was no longer himself. He had accidentally gone through a process which turned his body and soul into that of a Lich. An undead creature with abilities that generally far supersede those that he had before. He was rendered immortal, but the power comes with great consequences. In Stein's case, he cannot touch silver or enter sunlight. Those were only his own problems. The Stranger had left his mark on Stein, even if his curse had been lifted. The creature that had been pulled from Stein was not killed or defeated. It is still out there, somewhere. Stein is glad that he can cross water, unlike some undead, or he may have never been able to leave.
Stein and Weir have a silent agreement of sorts. They sometimes fuse their minds just for the heck of it. Now that things are generally less stressful, Weiss isn't homicidaly insane and creepy. When Stein and Weir had to eventually leave, they had spent a night in the springs of the Island an took a stroll as Weiss, then they and Ez exchanged cards so to speak. Ez gave them a ring and Stein gave him an already prepared card. He had made it a while back, but he didn't have the opportunity/memory to give it to Ez until they finally left. They may meet again someday, whether it is because Weir figures out the ring, or if Ez uses the card.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=63130&tab=dragon&did=26970812]Shirayuki[/url] - Sword Spirit, Living heat sink, local philanderer/coquette.
Shira is an artificial construct created by Arnskar and is the youngest of the spirits so far. She is a free spirit who enjoys conversation and friends, but she is troubled in a way. She struggles sometimes with the fact that she was created by Arnskar and is often the victim of prejudice by other dragons. She has a sense of insecurity, but not one that is too visible. She very much likes clothing and shiny objects and these could be coping mechanisms.
~~~~~~~~~
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26970812]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/269709/26970812_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~~~~~~~
Shirayuki was born to a hot day. In the Quarry, her birthplace, but she does not follow the same laws as dragons whereas she can be any element anywhere, it is always cool beneath ground level. Because the day was so hot, all the dragons were cramped in the lower regions of the Quarry, except for the nature, fire, and earth dragons which went on mostly unhindered. The Earth dragons tended to be hardy, while the fire dragons were highly resistant to heat. The weather was humid and hot which was ideal for those of the Viridian Labyrinth.
Arnskar, her creator, had been busy that day. He was forging the blade that would be her in a few hours. The metal it was made of plus the magic he radiated while smithing both made the blade stronger. If the sword did not draw in the magic of the land while it was being forged, thus becoming one of the artificial spirits, they could later as they were easily powerfully enchanted. Shira was the rare exception. She absorbed the magic from Arnskar and from the stone around her. While dragons absorb only the most prominent magic, the Artificial Souls could absorb magic and convert it or only absorb a certain type of magic. It depends on several known and unknown factors.
The moment of Shirayuki's birth was different from any other. She was unbonded, that is she had no user and thus little power, but she began to develop on her own. Her power grew without a symbiotic host to facilitate it. She would not exhibit abilities for some time however.
For the next few weeks, the area was assaulted by further blistering heat. The hotter it got, the more her abilities grew, which was odd. All signs pointed to her being an ice type spirit, but she grew faster in heat. It was unclear if she was more powerful however. The first signs of her power were the plummeting temperatures in the Quarry. Frost was forming in the Quarry while the ground burned above. The stark contrast caused wind to form in the Quarry, but not high winds.
Soon enough, the weather outside the Quarry began to change. Arnskar, as a test, brought Shira from the Armory and placed her outside. The nauseating heat soon began to abate and a cold breeze flowed from the blade. Wind began to twirl around the blade and ice began to form. The temperature dropped considerably in only one night and by the next, the heat wave had ended. The problem came when they attempted to move Shira. The sword had been encased in ever-increasing lairs of ice. No amount of ice or fire magic could reduce the ice. It was only ice however and the other dragons managed to break through. A blast of freezing air struck them away as the blade was exposed to the air.
A blizzard whipped up around the sword and it grew in a vortex in all directions. It chewed the bark off of nearby trees and injured several dragons. The chipped ice and tools were all caught in the wind and were turned into projectiles. Arnskar alone, him feeling responsible after all, came forward. He put on his goggles and faced the storm. He went inside the vortex. He stayed on the ground with the help of his sturdy nature and heavy apparel. Arnskar headed for the center. Stepping into the eye of the vortex, which was incredibly cold, far below zero, very far below. He stepped forward and the blade seemed to tremble. He reached out and grabbed the handle. The Wind slowed, but did not stop. "Stop." He ordered in his steely voice.
The Blizzard itself seemed to obey him and the winds flew apart and the snow and tools fell away. The blade trembled once more before Arnskar replaced it into its sheath. There were no further serious incidents, but the blade did continue to grow in strength. Soon it began to produce images along its blade of a face, but not one anyone recognized. The face soon formed in the clouds of ice that the blade created. Eventually, the blade took on the name Shirayuki. It chose its name when it was in contact with Arnskar.
When Shirayuki first manifested itself, it took the form of a coatl. She had no clothes at this time, as she didn't really like any of the clothes she had seen. Shira was shown numerous different clothes, but she liked so many of them. After a while, she had found a nearly full set of beautiful, white, sylvan apparel. It lacked a dress however. She looked frantically for the last piece, but she could not find it. She could not however bring the clothes with her when she returned to her blade. When she returned the next time, she took on the form plus the sylvan clothes she had previously seen. The dragons of the Quarry could still not find the dress, but Achaius, a fae, gave her an idea. Why not make up your own dress?
Shira hadn't thought of that, but she did not know how to change her form unless she returned to her blade, so she did so immediately. Shira did not return for several days, and the life in the Quarry went on, still cooler than it had been. When she had finally returned, she wore a fluffy, flowing coat of white and blue. It was beautiful. She gave an idea to some traveling tailors who began to make them for sale. They were called Snowfall Robes in honor of Shira's little blizzard trick.
Life went on normally after that. The temperature in the Quarry was permanently colder than it had been before though. Shira was the first and only of the artificial souls to become whole without a host. The others seemed to need them to function.
Shira had plenty of friends and no enemies really. Those that did not like the idea of artificial souls often criticized her, but she ignored them. She was one of only two artificial souls that could be in public, the other, Ryujin, preferred being in his sword form. They got along like rivaling siblings, but Ryujin was usually silent and didn't argue back. Shira was fond of him nonetheless. The other's name is Tenken. He is bonded to Xian. They are making progress. He was too weak at that point to manifest however.
Other than those two, Shira has had a friendly conversation with most of the permanent denizens of the Quarry. She is fond of Achaius, Soteris, Lodon, and Bacchus in particular.
Shira enjoys dancing and will do so to entertain others. Her combat strategies and styles are also called dances, and she will sometimes dance while using them. That is when she is manifested, but she rarely fights, even when in her sword form. Ryujin and Tenken both have more combat experience. She also likes warm days even though she is always very cold physically. It is believed that she absorbs the heat to power herself, allowing her to maintain her manifestation for long periods of time. This also powers her ice magic. She absorbs heat which induces cold which she can move around.
She is having a joyous time in the Quarry and someday hopes to see the rest of the world. The colder it is however, it is thought that she will be less able to maintain her manifestation. This has not been proven however. Until then, she'll stay put.
Shirayuki - Sword Spirit, Living heat sink, local philanderer/coquette.
Shira is an artificial construct created by Arnskar and is the youngest of the spirits so far. She is a free spirit who enjoys conversation and friends, but she is troubled in a way. She struggles sometimes with the fact that she was created by Arnskar and is often the victim of prejudice by other dragons. She has a sense of insecurity, but not one that is too visible. She very much likes clothing and shiny objects and these could be coping mechanisms.
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
Shirayuki was born to a hot day. In the Quarry, her birthplace, but she does not follow the same laws as dragons whereas she can be any element anywhere, it is always cool beneath ground level. Because the day was so hot, all the dragons were cramped in the lower regions of the Quarry, except for the nature, fire, and earth dragons which went on mostly unhindered. The Earth dragons tended to be hardy, while the fire dragons were highly resistant to heat. The weather was humid and hot which was ideal for those of the Viridian Labyrinth.
Arnskar, her creator, had been busy that day. He was forging the blade that would be her in a few hours. The metal it was made of plus the magic he radiated while smithing both made the blade stronger. If the sword did not draw in the magic of the land while it was being forged, thus becoming one of the artificial spirits, they could later as they were easily powerfully enchanted. Shira was the rare exception. She absorbed the magic from Arnskar and from the stone around her. While dragons absorb only the most prominent magic, the Artificial Souls could absorb magic and convert it or only absorb a certain type of magic. It depends on several known and unknown factors.
The moment of Shirayuki's birth was different from any other. She was unbonded, that is she had no user and thus little power, but she began to develop on her own. Her power grew without a symbiotic host to facilitate it. She would not exhibit abilities for some time however.
For the next few weeks, the area was assaulted by further blistering heat. The hotter it got, the more her abilities grew, which was odd. All signs pointed to her being an ice type spirit, but she grew faster in heat. It was unclear if she was more powerful however. The first signs of her power were the plummeting temperatures in the Quarry. Frost was forming in the Quarry while the ground burned above. The stark contrast caused wind to form in the Quarry, but not high winds.
Soon enough, the weather outside the Quarry began to change. Arnskar, as a test, brought Shira from the Armory and placed her outside. The nauseating heat soon began to abate and a cold breeze flowed from the blade. Wind began to twirl around the blade and ice began to form. The temperature dropped considerably in only one night and by the next, the heat wave had ended. The problem came when they attempted to move Shira. The sword had been encased in ever-increasing lairs of ice. No amount of ice or fire magic could reduce the ice. It was only ice however and the other dragons managed to break through. A blast of freezing air struck them away as the blade was exposed to the air.
A blizzard whipped up around the sword and it grew in a vortex in all directions. It chewed the bark off of nearby trees and injured several dragons. The chipped ice and tools were all caught in the wind and were turned into projectiles. Arnskar alone, him feeling responsible after all, came forward. He put on his goggles and faced the storm. He went inside the vortex. He stayed on the ground with the help of his sturdy nature and heavy apparel. Arnskar headed for the center. Stepping into the eye of the vortex, which was incredibly cold, far below zero, very far below. He stepped forward and the blade seemed to tremble. He reached out and grabbed the handle. The Wind slowed, but did not stop. "Stop." He ordered in his steely voice.
The Blizzard itself seemed to obey him and the winds flew apart and the snow and tools fell away. The blade trembled once more before Arnskar replaced it into its sheath. There were no further serious incidents, but the blade did continue to grow in strength. Soon it began to produce images along its blade of a face, but not one anyone recognized. The face soon formed in the clouds of ice that the blade created. Eventually, the blade took on the name Shirayuki. It chose its name when it was in contact with Arnskar.
When Shirayuki first manifested itself, it took the form of a coatl. She had no clothes at this time, as she didn't really like any of the clothes she had seen. Shira was shown numerous different clothes, but she liked so many of them. After a while, she had found a nearly full set of beautiful, white, sylvan apparel. It lacked a dress however. She looked frantically for the last piece, but she could not find it. She could not however bring the clothes with her when she returned to her blade. When she returned the next time, she took on the form plus the sylvan clothes she had previously seen. The dragons of the Quarry could still not find the dress, but Achaius, a fae, gave her an idea. Why not make up your own dress?
Shira hadn't thought of that, but she did not know how to change her form unless she returned to her blade, so she did so immediately. Shira did not return for several days, and the life in the Quarry went on, still cooler than it had been. When she had finally returned, she wore a fluffy, flowing coat of white and blue. It was beautiful. She gave an idea to some traveling tailors who began to make them for sale. They were called Snowfall Robes in honor of Shira's little blizzard trick.
Life went on normally after that. The temperature in the Quarry was permanently colder than it had been before though. Shira was the first and only of the artificial souls to become whole without a host. The others seemed to need them to function.
Shira had plenty of friends and no enemies really. Those that did not like the idea of artificial souls often criticized her, but she ignored them. She was one of only two artificial souls that could be in public, the other, Ryujin, preferred being in his sword form. They got along like rivaling siblings, but Ryujin was usually silent and didn't argue back. Shira was fond of him nonetheless. The other's name is Tenken. He is bonded to Xian. They are making progress. He was too weak at that point to manifest however.
Other than those two, Shira has had a friendly conversation with most of the permanent denizens of the Quarry. She is fond of Achaius, Soteris, Lodon, and Bacchus in particular.
Shira enjoys dancing and will do so to entertain others. Her combat strategies and styles are also called dances, and she will sometimes dance while using them. That is when she is manifested, but she rarely fights, even when in her sword form. Ryujin and Tenken both have more combat experience. She also likes warm days even though she is always very cold physically. It is believed that she absorbs the heat to power herself, allowing her to maintain her manifestation for long periods of time. This also powers her ice magic. She absorbs heat which induces cold which she can move around.
She is having a joyous time in the Quarry and someday hopes to see the rest of the world. The colder it is however, it is thought that she will be less able to maintain her manifestation. This has not been proven however. Until then, she'll stay put.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=63130&tab=dragon&did=19838227]Cato[/url] - War criminal, psychic, Arch-mage.
Cato is the mentally scarred war criminal being rehabilitated by the clan's Militia. He is a master illusionist and mage due to his assimilation of the knowledge owned by his enemies. He knows many types of magic and knows the things the users of that magic know. He is probably the most dangerous dragon in the entire clan. That and he can crush most dragons' minds like blood pumpkins.
~~~~~~~~
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=19838227]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/198383/19838227_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~~~~~~
Cato was born to the Starfall Isle in a decrepit little lair of magic users. It was more of a coven that specialized in Illusion magic. Cato, the first of his parent’s offspring, was the kindest and passive of them. All of his kin and parents were far from his peaceful disposition. They trained him in out how to manipulate minds and to control people, but he didn’t want to hurt anybody.
This did not bode well with his aggressive coven. Cato did not learn like the others. He did not practice his magic on living targets, or at all usually. Soon, all of his younger siblings had surpassed his skills. They being far more sadistic turned their torment on him. He did not fight them, not that he could anyway. His parents ignored his crying and suffering. They left their son to the wolves. One of the more compassionate, but not less cruel members of the coven, an elder, came to his aid. She easily disabled Cato’s unruly brothers and sisters and helped him to his feet. She was a tundra, like both of his grandfathers.
She brought him, limping and bloodied, through the tight passages, for her at least, and into her lab. The dragons that they passed bowed to her in respect but looked at Cato with disgust. Cato thought himself saved by a kind and gracious elder, but he soon found himself bound magically. The magical chains squeezed the air out of him and his vision began to fade. The elder cast a spell, one that Cato had never learned, but one his siblings would recognize as a bestowal spell. She gave him a gift, the gift of telepathy, telepathy he could not control.
When Cato awoke and for days afterward, was the same. He was beaten and bludgeoned often, but something was happening. He began to fight back. The first sign was his defiance of their attacks by not showing the pain, which only made them more furious. Then he began to dodge them before they attacked. Then eventually, he began using his magic. At first, it was to deflect spells, then to reflect them back at his attackers, and then eventually and to his parents’ pleasure, he began using his own magic. Rather, he used his kin’s’ own spells against them. He cast them before they even opened their mouths but they could not continue through their surprise. He was using spells he was never taught and he never practiced.
The pain and suffering at his kin’s hands, and the suffering they endured from each other, and the suffering they gained from their teachers all flowed into Cato. His spirit was quickly darkened, just as the elder had wanted. That was her gift, to be included. The magic he needed was in the minds of his enemies. Soon, however, his ways scared even the coven. He began to use his telepathy for more than exploration; he began to use it as a weapon. He crushed the mind of one coven member just by looking at him. Another time, he cast a spell that only an elder could, killing a small caravan of traders. He learned every trick to extend and to pace his magic so that it would last longer. The elders could no longer control him because he was always a step ahead. Only the strongest of the Elders could guard themselves from Cato’s mind.
Years had passed before he became a prominent member of the Coven and was allowed to venture out on his own, though he could have done that mere months after his abilities matured. When he did leave, he left a path of destruction in his wake. It was not difficult for the elders to find him. He was waiting for them. A bloody battle ensued. Cato had strengthened his abilities substantially and he knew all of their skills. He could not simply break them however. He had to duel them all at once. He had killed three of the four, including the tundra that had bestowed upon him the power he now had. The last elder, with great effort and injury, managed to subdue and incapacitate Cato. The old fool that managed to stop Cato could not kill him. He had no magic left and his body was dying from the strain. He fell there and died before Cato could be destroyed forever.
When he awoke, he was in that same field. The elders were dead and rotting. He had lost his recollection of the event and fled for fear of his life should whoever had done this return. He stumbled across a Ridgeback and a Nocturne lounging in the sun. Cato, covered in blood and dirt, was an unwelcome sight of course. He bared the insignia of his coven which was placed at the top of every bounty hunter’s list. He was taken easily because his peaceful nature had been returned to him. Unbeknownst to Cato, the death of the Tundra elder had severed the bestowal. His telepathy was sealed for now.
He was brought before the two Dragon’s clan leaders. He pled what case he had and the elders passed their judgment. He would live, but only under supervision of the clan. They had no idea what he was or what he had done, but the Coven he had come from was never seen again. It probably destroyed itself when each member vied for power. The Quarry had taken in a war criminal. He was watched closely, but his magic was not very good. He only ever learned passive and non-harmful spells during his watch. His memory was broken into pieces. He remembered the events before his bestowal first. They cut into his soul like sharp glass. He didn’t understand what his parents had done.
During this time, he found his mate, Trinity. The Ridgeback, Cassimir, and the Nocturne, Phynaster, set this up for him. They had become friends once they got to know each other. Cato was a kind and willful fellow with a good humor. He was wise beyond his years and often helped Cassimir and Phynaster with their problems if he could.
There was a connection the moment they laid eyes on each other. Their frills soared and they wiggled to one another and communicated happily. Trinity moved to the Quarry to be with him. However, the happy times would only last a short while. He was beginning to unlock his telepathy again, and with it came the memories forged by its use. It started as the occasional nightmare. Then they occurred weekly and then nightly. Trinity was a seer, but she could not see his future. It was obscured. He began to become hostile and struck out at Trinity. Whenever he would shout or almost strike her or others, he would suddenly become disheartened and distressed. He would breakdown and cry. He kept seeing her death as Trinity had seen it so many years ago. He was seeing what Trinity foresaw. Trinity loved him dearly and it was clear that Cato did not mean his harsh words. He was terrified of himself.
The issues only got worse and eventually the council had to step in. Their ruling still stood. He would be supervised, and if it were deemed necessary, Cato would be removed, permanently. Trinity and Minerva, an elder, proposed an idea. The Quarry managed to sequester a Stardust Scholar. Theomestros he was named, by the familiar himself. Being telepathic himself, he was able to see Cato’s mind. It was a raging maelstrom of madness. Over the course of recent years, Theomestros and Trinity have been making progress towards rehabilitating Cato. His mind has been getting better, but his soul could very well be permanently scarred. Trinity is strong. She will hold Cato's hand until her arm turns to dust, then she would switch hands.
Cato, when he is not bedridden or chained down is a clan defender. His magic from when he was nearly a coven Archmage has returned, and his sanity is more reliable. He occasionally uses non-violent means to end conflict, but more than often, he slaughters enemies, sometimes with his enemy’s own allies. Cato is extremely adept at magic that focuses on hypnosis and illusion. Most of the time, he twists reality in on itself to a point where the target’s mind basically explodes. Other times, he just creates a canyon between them with as much depth and danger to the target as if it were real. He uses that illusion often because it is simple and effective. His comrades are tasked with making sure he stays a comrade. Should he show signs of obvious breakdown, they are to activate special seals attached to Cato that seal his ability to use magic. With the sudden plug on Cato's magic, he would be turned to ash from the inside out by his own magic.
As well as the psychological counseling performed by Trinity and Theomestros, Cato is being taught how to control his telepathy to a degree. The uproar of thousands has now been dulled to whispers which he can manipulate. This is just as helpful as the counseling in some cases, if not more so. His telepathy is the reason he has so many issues. Though now, something has changed.
With little hope left, Cato went to a dragon that he had been warned of since he had arrived. She was the madwoman of the woods. She is said to live where nothing else would and that she could only do bad for Cato. He did not heed their warnings and went to her. She gave him nothing but indecipherable nonsense about the light and his future. He fled from her with a sense of doubt in himself. Though he feared the pearlcatcher's motive, she did nothing to force him to do anything. For several months, Cato would return to Winter periodically. She was the only one that could understand what he had to endure. The voices were magnitudinous.
Cato and Winter developed something between them. A sort of unspoken Pact. A connection between two of the Afflicted. As Cato talked to her, Winter began to see his desperation and his pain. Cato gradually became more open to Winter and would eventually go into great, macabre detail of his mind's inner failures. Cato is the only one that ever Treated Winter with trust and Kindness. She couldn't let him suffer if he would not have it.
One day, Cato woke to find a small parcel in his home. He had not heard or seen or felt anybody who could have left it and he feared what it may be. Trinity, who slept next to him could see his anxiety and questioned him. After a short time, he unwrapped the dirty cloth bag and found a pristinely white, porcelain mask. It reeked of pepper and charcoal and it made his nose itch. A card was under it and read, "To keep them out," and it was signed with the monogram "[b]WH[/b]."
Cato knew immediately who had sent the mask but how Winter had managed was anyone's guess. He trusted what mask would do too and took the risk of putting it on against Trinity's advice. At once, his mind that once contained multitudes of thoughts was silent and Cato wept. He cried in relief and in surprise and in joy. Trinity could not help but feel relief with him. Theomestros could also hear the change. For he could not read Cato's thoughts either. When Cato removed the mask, the voices returned and sent a wave of nausea through him and he replaced the mask on his face. He had to find a way to thank Winter somehow. He could go to her and thank her himself. He did not know the price that Winter had paid for this gift however. If he had, who knows if he would have accepted.
Winter signed away her dreams...
While the mask Winter gave to Cato might block the thoughts of others, his own mind has begun to splinter. Cato now shows many signs of Dissociative Identity Disorder and has exhibited several Alters. Cato himself, Cairo, Ka, Catarina, and Kronos to name a few. They take on personalities of their own but make up Cato's mind as a whole. They all have their own dreams and aspirations as well as personalities and actions.
Cato - War criminal, psychic, Arch-mage.
Cato is the mentally scarred war criminal being rehabilitated by the clan's Militia. He is a master illusionist and mage due to his assimilation of the knowledge owned by his enemies. He knows many types of magic and knows the things the users of that magic know. He is probably the most dangerous dragon in the entire clan. That and he can crush most dragons' minds like blood pumpkins.
~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~
Cato was born to the Starfall Isle in a decrepit little lair of magic users. It was more of a coven that specialized in Illusion magic. Cato, the first of his parent’s offspring, was the kindest and passive of them. All of his kin and parents were far from his peaceful disposition. They trained him in out how to manipulate minds and to control people, but he didn’t want to hurt anybody.
This did not bode well with his aggressive coven. Cato did not learn like the others. He did not practice his magic on living targets, or at all usually. Soon, all of his younger siblings had surpassed his skills. They being far more sadistic turned their torment on him. He did not fight them, not that he could anyway. His parents ignored his crying and suffering. They left their son to the wolves. One of the more compassionate, but not less cruel members of the coven, an elder, came to his aid. She easily disabled Cato’s unruly brothers and sisters and helped him to his feet. She was a tundra, like both of his grandfathers.
She brought him, limping and bloodied, through the tight passages, for her at least, and into her lab. The dragons that they passed bowed to her in respect but looked at Cato with disgust. Cato thought himself saved by a kind and gracious elder, but he soon found himself bound magically. The magical chains squeezed the air out of him and his vision began to fade. The elder cast a spell, one that Cato had never learned, but one his siblings would recognize as a bestowal spell. She gave him a gift, the gift of telepathy, telepathy he could not control.
When Cato awoke and for days afterward, was the same. He was beaten and bludgeoned often, but something was happening. He began to fight back. The first sign was his defiance of their attacks by not showing the pain, which only made them more furious. Then he began to dodge them before they attacked. Then eventually, he began using his magic. At first, it was to deflect spells, then to reflect them back at his attackers, and then eventually and to his parents’ pleasure, he began using his own magic. Rather, he used his kin’s’ own spells against them. He cast them before they even opened their mouths but they could not continue through their surprise. He was using spells he was never taught and he never practiced.
The pain and suffering at his kin’s hands, and the suffering they endured from each other, and the suffering they gained from their teachers all flowed into Cato. His spirit was quickly darkened, just as the elder had wanted. That was her gift, to be included. The magic he needed was in the minds of his enemies. Soon, however, his ways scared even the coven. He began to use his telepathy for more than exploration; he began to use it as a weapon. He crushed the mind of one coven member just by looking at him. Another time, he cast a spell that only an elder could, killing a small caravan of traders. He learned every trick to extend and to pace his magic so that it would last longer. The elders could no longer control him because he was always a step ahead. Only the strongest of the Elders could guard themselves from Cato’s mind.
Years had passed before he became a prominent member of the Coven and was allowed to venture out on his own, though he could have done that mere months after his abilities matured. When he did leave, he left a path of destruction in his wake. It was not difficult for the elders to find him. He was waiting for them. A bloody battle ensued. Cato had strengthened his abilities substantially and he knew all of their skills. He could not simply break them however. He had to duel them all at once. He had killed three of the four, including the tundra that had bestowed upon him the power he now had. The last elder, with great effort and injury, managed to subdue and incapacitate Cato. The old fool that managed to stop Cato could not kill him. He had no magic left and his body was dying from the strain. He fell there and died before Cato could be destroyed forever.
When he awoke, he was in that same field. The elders were dead and rotting. He had lost his recollection of the event and fled for fear of his life should whoever had done this return. He stumbled across a Ridgeback and a Nocturne lounging in the sun. Cato, covered in blood and dirt, was an unwelcome sight of course. He bared the insignia of his coven which was placed at the top of every bounty hunter’s list. He was taken easily because his peaceful nature had been returned to him. Unbeknownst to Cato, the death of the Tundra elder had severed the bestowal. His telepathy was sealed for now.
He was brought before the two Dragon’s clan leaders. He pled what case he had and the elders passed their judgment. He would live, but only under supervision of the clan. They had no idea what he was or what he had done, but the Coven he had come from was never seen again. It probably destroyed itself when each member vied for power. The Quarry had taken in a war criminal. He was watched closely, but his magic was not very good. He only ever learned passive and non-harmful spells during his watch. His memory was broken into pieces. He remembered the events before his bestowal first. They cut into his soul like sharp glass. He didn’t understand what his parents had done.
During this time, he found his mate, Trinity. The Ridgeback, Cassimir, and the Nocturne, Phynaster, set this up for him. They had become friends once they got to know each other. Cato was a kind and willful fellow with a good humor. He was wise beyond his years and often helped Cassimir and Phynaster with their problems if he could.
There was a connection the moment they laid eyes on each other. Their frills soared and they wiggled to one another and communicated happily. Trinity moved to the Quarry to be with him. However, the happy times would only last a short while. He was beginning to unlock his telepathy again, and with it came the memories forged by its use. It started as the occasional nightmare. Then they occurred weekly and then nightly. Trinity was a seer, but she could not see his future. It was obscured. He began to become hostile and struck out at Trinity. Whenever he would shout or almost strike her or others, he would suddenly become disheartened and distressed. He would breakdown and cry. He kept seeing her death as Trinity had seen it so many years ago. He was seeing what Trinity foresaw. Trinity loved him dearly and it was clear that Cato did not mean his harsh words. He was terrified of himself.
The issues only got worse and eventually the council had to step in. Their ruling still stood. He would be supervised, and if it were deemed necessary, Cato would be removed, permanently. Trinity and Minerva, an elder, proposed an idea. The Quarry managed to sequester a Stardust Scholar. Theomestros he was named, by the familiar himself. Being telepathic himself, he was able to see Cato’s mind. It was a raging maelstrom of madness. Over the course of recent years, Theomestros and Trinity have been making progress towards rehabilitating Cato. His mind has been getting better, but his soul could very well be permanently scarred. Trinity is strong. She will hold Cato's hand until her arm turns to dust, then she would switch hands.
Cato, when he is not bedridden or chained down is a clan defender. His magic from when he was nearly a coven Archmage has returned, and his sanity is more reliable. He occasionally uses non-violent means to end conflict, but more than often, he slaughters enemies, sometimes with his enemy’s own allies. Cato is extremely adept at magic that focuses on hypnosis and illusion. Most of the time, he twists reality in on itself to a point where the target’s mind basically explodes. Other times, he just creates a canyon between them with as much depth and danger to the target as if it were real. He uses that illusion often because it is simple and effective. His comrades are tasked with making sure he stays a comrade. Should he show signs of obvious breakdown, they are to activate special seals attached to Cato that seal his ability to use magic. With the sudden plug on Cato's magic, he would be turned to ash from the inside out by his own magic.
As well as the psychological counseling performed by Trinity and Theomestros, Cato is being taught how to control his telepathy to a degree. The uproar of thousands has now been dulled to whispers which he can manipulate. This is just as helpful as the counseling in some cases, if not more so. His telepathy is the reason he has so many issues. Though now, something has changed.
With little hope left, Cato went to a dragon that he had been warned of since he had arrived. She was the madwoman of the woods. She is said to live where nothing else would and that she could only do bad for Cato. He did not heed their warnings and went to her. She gave him nothing but indecipherable nonsense about the light and his future. He fled from her with a sense of doubt in himself. Though he feared the pearlcatcher's motive, she did nothing to force him to do anything. For several months, Cato would return to Winter periodically. She was the only one that could understand what he had to endure. The voices were magnitudinous.
Cato and Winter developed something between them. A sort of unspoken Pact. A connection between two of the Afflicted. As Cato talked to her, Winter began to see his desperation and his pain. Cato gradually became more open to Winter and would eventually go into great, macabre detail of his mind's inner failures. Cato is the only one that ever Treated Winter with trust and Kindness. She couldn't let him suffer if he would not have it.
One day, Cato woke to find a small parcel in his home. He had not heard or seen or felt anybody who could have left it and he feared what it may be. Trinity, who slept next to him could see his anxiety and questioned him. After a short time, he unwrapped the dirty cloth bag and found a pristinely white, porcelain mask. It reeked of pepper and charcoal and it made his nose itch. A card was under it and read, "To keep them out," and it was signed with the monogram "
WH."
Cato knew immediately who had sent the mask but how Winter had managed was anyone's guess. He trusted what mask would do too and took the risk of putting it on against Trinity's advice. At once, his mind that once contained multitudes of thoughts was silent and Cato wept. He cried in relief and in surprise and in joy. Trinity could not help but feel relief with him. Theomestros could also hear the change. For he could not read Cato's thoughts either. When Cato removed the mask, the voices returned and sent a wave of nausea through him and he replaced the mask on his face. He had to find a way to thank Winter somehow. He could go to her and thank her himself. He did not know the price that Winter had paid for this gift however. If he had, who knows if he would have accepted.
Winter signed away her dreams...
While the mask Winter gave to Cato might block the thoughts of others, his own mind has begun to splinter. Cato now shows many signs of Dissociative Identity Disorder and has exhibited several Alters. Cato himself, Cairo, Ka, Catarina, and Kronos to name a few. They take on personalities of their own but make up Cato's mind as a whole. They all have their own dreams and aspirations as well as personalities and actions.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=63130&did=7569940]Bones[/url] - Cynic, Surgeon, Doctor
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=7569940]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/75700/7569940_350.png[/img]
[/url]
-Bones is my attempt at a Leanord Mccoy fan dragon and contains many of his mannerisms and personality traits. He is petty, impatient, and condescending, but he truly cares about his work and doesn't care about people's grievances as long as they're alive to voice them. He is a doctor and surgeon by trade and is very good at what he does. This one was not written by me but I will be writing one for him eventually.
[center]Bio by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/1477440]Sirrush[/url][/center]
~~~
Generally speaking, one expects a service provider to be both courteous and good at their job. For some jobs, one component may be more essential than the other, but surely both are required, no?
Bones would disagree. It isn’t a creed of pettiness (though ‘petty’ he certainly can be), but a creed of practicality. He is a physician, and a marvelous one at that. He is studious, well-learned, well-rounded, and overall well suited to the job. He sports a wide variety of aptitudes, from technical and academic knowledges in a variety of fields to specialized magic fit to his task. He is a master of anatomy, an accomplished chemist, a skillful surgeon, and a master of precision and practical knowledge.
And on top of it all? He’s also an arrogant, impatient, condescending, passive aggressive, thoroughly unbearable person. Turns out that in some professions, sufficient skill can outweigh any and all deficiencies in personality. There are few who want to spend any recreational time with this pompous and pretentious pearlcatcher, but many who would flock to him for his knowledge and skill alone, at least if they can stomach the bite of his words and the roughness of his demeanor.
This unwelcoming creature is a product of his own misery, at least that’s what they say; ‘They’, of course, being the trail of irritated patients, intimidated nurses, and frustrated superiors he leaves in his wake. He’s a grumpy creature, with a brusque, sometimes bitter bedside manner. Not exactly a doting doctor, but sincere in all of his efforts, Bones seeks to do his job to the best of his ability. Who cares what anyone else thinks?
After all, this is a matter of practicality. He’s among the best, and he knows it. What are his patients complaining about if they are alive? Even Theodosia, Bones’ protege, seems to understand that. She’s the one who has to put up with him all day - if she can take it, what right does anyone else have to complain?
The facts are simple. Bones gets the job done. He’s incredible dedicated and efficient. He works long hours, often for less than he ought to, because he’s called to the work. Though, it's hard to say what exactly he’s called by. It might be recognition, or perhaps the challenge presented by the demanding nature of medicine. It might be satisfaction, because he knows he’s so good. It could even be that he’s a good man inside, beneath the callous and combative exterior. Could there be a kind soul in there, or is he in it for the sport? Could it be a bit of both? The truth is, Bones isn’t saying...but isn’t unreasonable to think all of these factors are at play, at least to some degree or another.
This doctor is dedicated to his work, toiling for long hours and in spite of every frustration which seems to vex him. He’ll swear and he’ll hiss. He’ll shout and rave, he’ll grind his teeth, and he’ll terrorize his staff, but he is single-minded in his pursuit of his profession. He even wields special magic. Bones is adept in sterilization magic, which protects his patients from infections and other unfortunate maladies. This puts him yet another step above the rest, and he knows it.
One thing’s sure, though. Bones will get you better. He won’t be nice, but he’ll work hard.
Both in and out of work, Bones has a particular presence and way of speaking about him. He rarely seems to acknowledge others’ names, though it’s not because he’s not listening or doesn’t retain them. He’d just rather not bother. He’ll call others, males and females alike, any breed or species, ‘Jim’. He’ll use that generalized nickname just as often as anyone’s real name, with little rhyme or reason to the pattern.
“Hand me that scalpel, Jim.”
“Hey Jim, bring me a new roll of bandages.”
“Jim, what’re you staring at? There’s work to be done here!”
This is an interesting enough quirk on it’s own, but is also implies a certain sort of disinterest which seems to permeate the dragon. He has only a superficial social life, as maintaining close or meaningful friendships is difficult for him. He has respect for certain colleagues and favors certain students and nurses, most notably Theodosia, but he rarely connects with them outside of work. This leaves him little respite from himself.
He has few places to turn, aside from the taverns. Drink cools his nerves, but it’s rarely a social affair. Away from the prying eyes of others, he might indulge in his secret love of animals. He’s openly affectionate to whatever friendly creature might stray close. He feels like they understand him, and he enjoys how animals don’t take his grumpy, temperamental ways to heart.
Among other sentient creatures, his own personality is his worst enemy. He despises traveling and is hardly a warrior, limiting him largely to his work as a physician. He’s allowed it to consume his identity, as many married to their careers ultimately do, to a point that it’s almost a weapon. If a dragon decides to extend him a kind invitation to a party, they might be met with “I’m a doctor, not a dancer!”. If a colleague invites him to go hunting, he’ll say “I’m a doctor, not a fighter!”. It even makes it's way into more abstract realms. One day, a student asked him his attitude towards the deities, only to be met with: "I'm a doctor, not a philosopher!"
It’s more calculated than Bones makes it out to be. He rather likes cultivating this image of a devoted doctor who can’t be bothered to move away from his work, and it’s largely true. But it also shields him from the expectations of others. If he doesn’t want to take that risk, to move away from what he knows best and is best at….there’s always a reason not to, and it’s a reason that nobody will argue with. At best, it's taken as a statement of dedication. At worst, it's taken as a heavily-reused joke. Either way, it excuses him from risk.
Bones continues his harsh, hot-blooded ways without impediment. One day, they say, someone will come along to tame his temper, or he'll learn some sort of fitting lesson. That day hasn't arrived, and Bones isn't so sure it will. Until then, he'll keep working. That's all he knows.
Bones - Cynic, Surgeon, Doctor
-Bones is my attempt at a Leanord Mccoy fan dragon and contains many of his mannerisms and personality traits. He is petty, impatient, and condescending, but he truly cares about his work and doesn't care about people's grievances as long as they're alive to voice them. He is a doctor and surgeon by trade and is very good at what he does. This one was not written by me but I will be writing one for him eventually.
~~~
Generally speaking, one expects a service provider to be both courteous and good at their job. For some jobs, one component may be more essential than the other, but surely both are required, no?
Bones would disagree. It isn’t a creed of pettiness (though ‘petty’ he certainly can be), but a creed of practicality. He is a physician, and a marvelous one at that. He is studious, well-learned, well-rounded, and overall well suited to the job. He sports a wide variety of aptitudes, from technical and academic knowledges in a variety of fields to specialized magic fit to his task. He is a master of anatomy, an accomplished chemist, a skillful surgeon, and a master of precision and practical knowledge.
And on top of it all? He’s also an arrogant, impatient, condescending, passive aggressive, thoroughly unbearable person. Turns out that in some professions, sufficient skill can outweigh any and all deficiencies in personality. There are few who want to spend any recreational time with this pompous and pretentious pearlcatcher, but many who would flock to him for his knowledge and skill alone, at least if they can stomach the bite of his words and the roughness of his demeanor.
This unwelcoming creature is a product of his own misery, at least that’s what they say; ‘They’, of course, being the trail of irritated patients, intimidated nurses, and frustrated superiors he leaves in his wake. He’s a grumpy creature, with a brusque, sometimes bitter bedside manner. Not exactly a doting doctor, but sincere in all of his efforts, Bones seeks to do his job to the best of his ability. Who cares what anyone else thinks?
After all, this is a matter of practicality. He’s among the best, and he knows it. What are his patients complaining about if they are alive? Even Theodosia, Bones’ protege, seems to understand that. She’s the one who has to put up with him all day - if she can take it, what right does anyone else have to complain?
The facts are simple. Bones gets the job done. He’s incredible dedicated and efficient. He works long hours, often for less than he ought to, because he’s called to the work. Though, it's hard to say what exactly he’s called by. It might be recognition, or perhaps the challenge presented by the demanding nature of medicine. It might be satisfaction, because he knows he’s so good. It could even be that he’s a good man inside, beneath the callous and combative exterior. Could there be a kind soul in there, or is he in it for the sport? Could it be a bit of both? The truth is, Bones isn’t saying...but isn’t unreasonable to think all of these factors are at play, at least to some degree or another.
This doctor is dedicated to his work, toiling for long hours and in spite of every frustration which seems to vex him. He’ll swear and he’ll hiss. He’ll shout and rave, he’ll grind his teeth, and he’ll terrorize his staff, but he is single-minded in his pursuit of his profession. He even wields special magic. Bones is adept in sterilization magic, which protects his patients from infections and other unfortunate maladies. This puts him yet another step above the rest, and he knows it.
One thing’s sure, though. Bones will get you better. He won’t be nice, but he’ll work hard.
Both in and out of work, Bones has a particular presence and way of speaking about him. He rarely seems to acknowledge others’ names, though it’s not because he’s not listening or doesn’t retain them. He’d just rather not bother. He’ll call others, males and females alike, any breed or species, ‘Jim’. He’ll use that generalized nickname just as often as anyone’s real name, with little rhyme or reason to the pattern.
“Hand me that scalpel, Jim.”
“Hey Jim, bring me a new roll of bandages.”
“Jim, what’re you staring at? There’s work to be done here!”
This is an interesting enough quirk on it’s own, but is also implies a certain sort of disinterest which seems to permeate the dragon. He has only a superficial social life, as maintaining close or meaningful friendships is difficult for him. He has respect for certain colleagues and favors certain students and nurses, most notably Theodosia, but he rarely connects with them outside of work. This leaves him little respite from himself.
He has few places to turn, aside from the taverns. Drink cools his nerves, but it’s rarely a social affair. Away from the prying eyes of others, he might indulge in his secret love of animals. He’s openly affectionate to whatever friendly creature might stray close. He feels like they understand him, and he enjoys how animals don’t take his grumpy, temperamental ways to heart.
Among other sentient creatures, his own personality is his worst enemy. He despises traveling and is hardly a warrior, limiting him largely to his work as a physician. He’s allowed it to consume his identity, as many married to their careers ultimately do, to a point that it’s almost a weapon. If a dragon decides to extend him a kind invitation to a party, they might be met with “I’m a doctor, not a dancer!”. If a colleague invites him to go hunting, he’ll say “I’m a doctor, not a fighter!”. It even makes it's way into more abstract realms. One day, a student asked him his attitude towards the deities, only to be met with: "I'm a doctor, not a philosopher!"
It’s more calculated than Bones makes it out to be. He rather likes cultivating this image of a devoted doctor who can’t be bothered to move away from his work, and it’s largely true. But it also shields him from the expectations of others. If he doesn’t want to take that risk, to move away from what he knows best and is best at….there’s always a reason not to, and it’s a reason that nobody will argue with. At best, it's taken as a statement of dedication. At worst, it's taken as a heavily-reused joke. Either way, it excuses him from risk.
Bones continues his harsh, hot-blooded ways without impediment. One day, they say, someone will come along to tame his temper, or he'll learn some sort of fitting lesson. That day hasn't arrived, and Bones isn't so sure it will. Until then, he'll keep working. That's all he knows.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=63130&tab=dragon&did=34554404]Theodosia[/url] - Nurse, Student, Philosopher.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34554404]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/345545/34554404_350.png[/img]
[/url]
Theodosia is the faithful and troubled assistant of Bones, the doctor. She is very much like him except for one fact. Bones is certain about everything he is. He doesn't question himself because he knows it will only limit him. Theodosia isn't blessed with such things. And for those wondering, yes, I named her after Aaron Burr's kid. Though, I just like the name really.
[center]Bio by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/1477440]Sirrush[/url][/center]
~~~~~~
Theodosia doesn’t recall a time without disease. She was born in another clan, somewhere far away, where a dreadful epidemic swept through the population. Her parents were vigilant, watching as the contagious swelled and swept through Dragonhome. As the chaos spread and fears escalated, they made the wise choice to ferry their family away to safety. Theodosia’s father was a doctor, and he knew the dangers better than any others. He and his mate used their influence to send Theodosia away early in the outbreak. They remained behind, to try and help as best they could.
In her new home, Theodosia faced quarantine and suspicion upon arrival. It instilled an interest in medicine in the young dragon, but it also fostered a sense of isolation. Being quarantined after a long flight from her home, being picked over and inspected, studied, and doubted...it made her feel detached. The doctors and guards in her new clan didn’t want her to feel unwelcome, only to protect their own from any infection. But even so, they handled her like an unrealized threat, and those feelings have dwelled within her ever since. She’d lost her home, and now she wondered if she truly belonged anywhere else.
She was young when she watched so many others die. Now, in her new home, she was feared as an object of that same destruction. Even in good health, Theodosia will always be marked by disease.
She recovered well enough. She grew into dignity, intellect, and studious devotion. She is a quiet and thoughtful dragon, and she possesses a kind heart, though she’s not always friendly. She’s stern, calm, and never flinching from unpleasant or unwanted truth. She speaks with honesty and clinical focus. She is confident, willful, and self-assured. Others look at her like a fine statue, regarding the both her beautiful poise as well as her distant but approachable personality. Theodosia is open to conversation and often visits interesting topics, but she keeps a wall between her outer thoughts and her inner life. She is regarded well, though many see her as something of a mystery.
She has a stubborn side, and is slow to open up. Some speculate that she’s insecure, but they can’t imagine why. She’s educated and polished, with an air of fascination which clings to her wherever she goes. Most members of the clan want to learn more about what. What does she have to be so shy and withdrawn about?
The past is it’s own form of disease. Theodosia silently muses about her own identity, always thinking about the home she barely knew, the lives that were cut short, and the role she assumed in her new life. She wonders if she is defined too heavily by the epidemic - having moved homes, endured quarantine, and now pursued a life in medicine. How might her life be different if none of that had happened? It’s a difficult question, for the epidemic truly and fundamentally changed the course of her life.
Now, she lives as a mysterious nurse, studying surgery beneath the skillful physician Bones, discussing philosophy late at night while watching over sick dragons. Her own past has made her thorough and observant in her task. She’s a skillful and gentle nurse, but her work is underlined by fear. The epidemic lives in her heart and mind. She is a gatekeeper, standing between her new home and the misery which befell the old.
Has her own past really gripped her so tightly? Is it something she can ever escape? Who would she be if things were different?
These questions trouble her, but there are others she views with the same uncertainty, but with more comfort and joy. If her past is so burdensome on her identity, then what undiscovered possibilities might there be? She questions even more fundamental things about herself, questions about her body and her soul. She ponders issues like sexuality and gender. The place of an individual in society. The meaning of ambition, education, and altruism. Those questions are less troubling, but her penchant for philosophy makes those soul-searching questions broad and boundless. There is a freedom there, a freedom which she cherishes.
There are few who will indulge her in these conversations. Bones is among them. The temperamental doctor is her superior and teacher in the clan’s surgical wing, and they spend much time together while working. Like Theodosia, Bones is an impersonal creature who would rather talk about broad, philosophical topics than anything directly close to his heart. He wants to talk about theories and ideas. Theodosia concurs. However, she suspects that he does much the same as she - that he chooses those grandiose topics because they speak to him, but presents them as a clinician, because he both explore them while pretending that they’re less meaningful than they are. A safe way to discuss the soul.
Theodosia is not purely a dreamer. She enjoys reading and poetry, but she also enjoys some other, more practical passions. She’s interested in food and cooking, though her skills need work. It’s a hobby that she cultivates quiety, with whatever time is left over after her bouts of reading and her late night conversations with Bones.
She respects him and might even consider him a friend, and has even started to subtly mimic some of his more infectious mannerisms, but she doesn’t want to be like him. She doesn’t want to be lonely and miserable, with no identity aside from a trade. She wants to be her own person, filled with inner life, and not defined by a single thing. That is why those questions weigh so heavily on her heart. If she wants the richness of life which she has envisioned for herself, she must escape the shadow of the epidemic.
What she doesn’t seem to realize is that, in many ways, she has.
Theodosia - Nurse, Student, Philosopher.
Theodosia is the faithful and troubled assistant of Bones, the doctor. She is very much like him except for one fact. Bones is certain about everything he is. He doesn't question himself because he knows it will only limit him. Theodosia isn't blessed with such things. And for those wondering, yes, I named her after Aaron Burr's kid. Though, I just like the name really.
~~~~~~
Theodosia doesn’t recall a time without disease. She was born in another clan, somewhere far away, where a dreadful epidemic swept through the population. Her parents were vigilant, watching as the contagious swelled and swept through Dragonhome. As the chaos spread and fears escalated, they made the wise choice to ferry their family away to safety. Theodosia’s father was a doctor, and he knew the dangers better than any others. He and his mate used their influence to send Theodosia away early in the outbreak. They remained behind, to try and help as best they could.
In her new home, Theodosia faced quarantine and suspicion upon arrival. It instilled an interest in medicine in the young dragon, but it also fostered a sense of isolation. Being quarantined after a long flight from her home, being picked over and inspected, studied, and doubted...it made her feel detached. The doctors and guards in her new clan didn’t want her to feel unwelcome, only to protect their own from any infection. But even so, they handled her like an unrealized threat, and those feelings have dwelled within her ever since. She’d lost her home, and now she wondered if she truly belonged anywhere else.
She was young when she watched so many others die. Now, in her new home, she was feared as an object of that same destruction. Even in good health, Theodosia will always be marked by disease.
She recovered well enough. She grew into dignity, intellect, and studious devotion. She is a quiet and thoughtful dragon, and she possesses a kind heart, though she’s not always friendly. She’s stern, calm, and never flinching from unpleasant or unwanted truth. She speaks with honesty and clinical focus. She is confident, willful, and self-assured. Others look at her like a fine statue, regarding the both her beautiful poise as well as her distant but approachable personality. Theodosia is open to conversation and often visits interesting topics, but she keeps a wall between her outer thoughts and her inner life. She is regarded well, though many see her as something of a mystery.
She has a stubborn side, and is slow to open up. Some speculate that she’s insecure, but they can’t imagine why. She’s educated and polished, with an air of fascination which clings to her wherever she goes. Most members of the clan want to learn more about what. What does she have to be so shy and withdrawn about?
The past is it’s own form of disease. Theodosia silently muses about her own identity, always thinking about the home she barely knew, the lives that were cut short, and the role she assumed in her new life. She wonders if she is defined too heavily by the epidemic - having moved homes, endured quarantine, and now pursued a life in medicine. How might her life be different if none of that had happened? It’s a difficult question, for the epidemic truly and fundamentally changed the course of her life.
Now, she lives as a mysterious nurse, studying surgery beneath the skillful physician Bones, discussing philosophy late at night while watching over sick dragons. Her own past has made her thorough and observant in her task. She’s a skillful and gentle nurse, but her work is underlined by fear. The epidemic lives in her heart and mind. She is a gatekeeper, standing between her new home and the misery which befell the old.
Has her own past really gripped her so tightly? Is it something she can ever escape? Who would she be if things were different?
These questions trouble her, but there are others she views with the same uncertainty, but with more comfort and joy. If her past is so burdensome on her identity, then what undiscovered possibilities might there be? She questions even more fundamental things about herself, questions about her body and her soul. She ponders issues like sexuality and gender. The place of an individual in society. The meaning of ambition, education, and altruism. Those questions are less troubling, but her penchant for philosophy makes those soul-searching questions broad and boundless. There is a freedom there, a freedom which she cherishes.
There are few who will indulge her in these conversations. Bones is among them. The temperamental doctor is her superior and teacher in the clan’s surgical wing, and they spend much time together while working. Like Theodosia, Bones is an impersonal creature who would rather talk about broad, philosophical topics than anything directly close to his heart. He wants to talk about theories and ideas. Theodosia concurs. However, she suspects that he does much the same as she - that he chooses those grandiose topics because they speak to him, but presents them as a clinician, because he both explore them while pretending that they’re less meaningful than they are. A safe way to discuss the soul.
Theodosia is not purely a dreamer. She enjoys reading and poetry, but she also enjoys some other, more practical passions. She’s interested in food and cooking, though her skills need work. It’s a hobby that she cultivates quiety, with whatever time is left over after her bouts of reading and her late night conversations with Bones.
She respects him and might even consider him a friend, and has even started to subtly mimic some of his more infectious mannerisms, but she doesn’t want to be like him. She doesn’t want to be lonely and miserable, with no identity aside from a trade. She wants to be her own person, filled with inner life, and not defined by a single thing. That is why those questions weigh so heavily on her heart. If she wants the richness of life which she has envisioned for herself, she must escape the shadow of the epidemic.
What she doesn’t seem to realize is that, in many ways, she has.
Achaius - Poet, Scholar, and Collector.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=28557414]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/285575/28557414_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~
Achaius is so far, in my opinion, the blandest dragon to have written a history for. I feel like his lore is a little lack luster honestly but I am not sure I want to redo it. It is done now in any case. Achaius is, as one may expect, a dragon I like. I feel a connection to him as I do with all my dragons. He struggles with his work and in his life and fights and survives as best he can. He watched everything he owned is destroyed and was faced with fixing it. I feel like a could put more detail to this, I'll need more than five hours of sleep to do that.
~~~
Achaius was born to the Granite Faces of the Quarry in Tier three to the Resident War Criminal and Daycare Provider and beast tamer. He was the only one of his siblings to remain in the Quarry until adulthood as the other Ventured away or made their pilgrimage to the Observatory. Achaius was a lot like one of his elder sisters, who also remained within the Quarry. Soteris, His older sister took Achaius under her wing much to his parent’s delight.
Achaius had a similar disposition to his sister. A strange, Emotional numbness which seemed to be common among Cato’s children. Soteris expresses almost no emotion at all in fact. Achaius does, in fact, have emotions as does Soteris, but Soteris’s are hidden while Achaius’s are not. As Achaius grew, he learned the same trades as his sister and became her partner in her work.
Achaius became a scholar and an enchanter. While his sister focused heavily on the history of Sornieth, specifically the Precursors, Achaius pondered the world from a philosophical standpoint and decided to learn of the history of Dragons as it relates. Soteris was glad to see, though she did not show it, that Achaius was diverse and chose his own path. It would allow her to learn from him as much as he may learn from her. Achaius studied many prominent figures of draconic History in his studies.
By the time Achaius was an adult, Soteris and He had begun working for Bacchus out of the Annex. Here, they could inspect and note any important information in the historical texts or otherwise so as to discover more of the past. With their close contact with Bacchus and his workload eased, Bacchus and Soteris began teaching Achaius more advanced magic than he had already discovered himself. Together, the two taught him about Enchanting and warding. Soteris was an accomplished Enchanter which she prided herself on.
For Years, Achaius and Soteris worked in the Annex from dawn to Dusk laboring away with books, manuscripts, and scrolls. They made a fine profit from Bacchus as well as from their proof reading services and for their enchanting services. With the Siblings’ wealth, they were capable of expanding their Annex and to purchase more advanced tools and lighting.
About two years ago, Soteris and Achaius were completing their day’s work fileing and notarizing their recent acquisitions when everything changed for the Quarry. First, a deep, menacing rumble shook the Quarry. Soteris and Achaius looked at each other from across the Annex as the books were shaken from the shelves onto the ground. Next came waves of distorted reality as the Core Breach proceeded. Achaius and Soteris entered the Open Quarry to see the Chaos below. Plumes of White mist crawled up the cliff faces as pulses of nauseating color and distortion shook the Quarry.
Achaius was unharmed by the Breach save for migraines for the next couple of days as was his sister. He and his sister were called upon with their magical power to join the other mages in stabilizing the Breach. Achaius and Soteris proceeded to fight back the Mist and whatever sprang from it for hours. Their combat ability lacked, however, and so they could only work on the sideline feeding magic and enchantments to the other mages.
After the Breach had been stabilized a few days later and at a great loss of Life for the Quarry, Achaius and Soteris Returned to the Annex to find it in ruins. Almost none of their materials had survived. The books that had been shaken to the ground were trampled, burned, or turned to pulp from water. A few seemed to have been painted on and a few others had been glued together.
Achaius and Soteris were unable to retrieve the wealth that had been destroyed in the Annex. The Quarry was falling apart at the seams and anarchy was in charge for the time being. Achaius resolved to save what he could and evacuate to the Library. The Library was a tier down and the level of destruction increased to further one descends. He wasn’t even sure the Library had survived. The Core had destabilized and shredded the Veil. The Library was in its own spacial pocket and would be susceptible to such an incident.
Soteris believed that Logic lay with remaining in the Annex until the Emergency was resolved by the Guard and Council. Achaius disagreed of course. If not for the surviving materials, Bacchus was also in the Library and could have been in trouble. Soteris was seemingly indifferent which infuriated Achaius visibly. Achaius stormed from What remained of the Annex and made his way downwards. He found the Library easy enough considering his history with it. Bacchus awaited inside with most of the Tier Three Residents.
Achaius aided in the Library for a few days and eventually Cato, his father, and a guard, arrived. He and the other mages had fought back the danger and brought order back to the Quarry. After a few weeks, the Quarry returned to partial capacity. Many fatalities had occurred and those that had not perished had fled the Quarry. Most had not returned. Even now, the Quarry still struggles to hold itself together.
Achaius returned to find Soteris safe and waiting for him. The Guards and Mages had reached the Annex mere hours after he had left for the Library and found Soteris safe. Achaius and Soteris silently agreed to forget their disagreement and began to rebuild. Much of what they had was lost and what wasn’t was damaged. It would be some time before the Annex would be used for books again. It was all but ignored for several months as the rest of the Quarry rebuilt.
Achaius continued his studies during this time. About a year and a half after the Breach, Business began to flow through the Annex again, albeit slowly. Achaius has had to advance his Enchanting to keep up with the lost revenue from Bacchus. Soteris reluctantly did so as well. Most of her references had also been damaged or ruined. Achaius aided in creating the Tags utilized by Lodon and the mages in detecting rogue spirits but they would eventually be rendered useless as the magic released by the breach began to coalesce into strange eddies.
To this day, Achaius still lives and works out of the Annex on Tier Two. He has had to diversify his work and his studies to make up for the many missing pieces but has made some progress and repairing the damage done. The Breach left him partially blind in one eye as well as with a newfound fear of loss he did not have before. He has had to work closely with a few new dragons during the events of the Breach and the rebuilding afterward though he is reserved around new folks. Those that could be considered his Friends are Bacchus and Khyber. He has known Bacchus for a long time. Khyber also likes Philosophy and history though he is much older than Khyber who was little more than a child when the Breach occurred. Achaius continues his studies as best he can now.
Achaius - Poet, Scholar, and Collector.
~~~
Achaius is so far, in my opinion, the blandest dragon to have written a history for. I feel like his lore is a little lack luster honestly but I am not sure I want to redo it. It is done now in any case. Achaius is, as one may expect, a dragon I like. I feel a connection to him as I do with all my dragons. He struggles with his work and in his life and fights and survives as best he can. He watched everything he owned is destroyed and was faced with fixing it. I feel like a could put more detail to this, I'll need more than five hours of sleep to do that.
~~~
Achaius was born to the Granite Faces of the Quarry in Tier three to the Resident War Criminal and Daycare Provider and beast tamer. He was the only one of his siblings to remain in the Quarry until adulthood as the other Ventured away or made their pilgrimage to the Observatory. Achaius was a lot like one of his elder sisters, who also remained within the Quarry. Soteris, His older sister took Achaius under her wing much to his parent’s delight.
Achaius had a similar disposition to his sister. A strange, Emotional numbness which seemed to be common among Cato’s children. Soteris expresses almost no emotion at all in fact. Achaius does, in fact, have emotions as does Soteris, but Soteris’s are hidden while Achaius’s are not. As Achaius grew, he learned the same trades as his sister and became her partner in her work.
Achaius became a scholar and an enchanter. While his sister focused heavily on the history of Sornieth, specifically the Precursors, Achaius pondered the world from a philosophical standpoint and decided to learn of the history of Dragons as it relates. Soteris was glad to see, though she did not show it, that Achaius was diverse and chose his own path. It would allow her to learn from him as much as he may learn from her. Achaius studied many prominent figures of draconic History in his studies.
By the time Achaius was an adult, Soteris and He had begun working for Bacchus out of the Annex. Here, they could inspect and note any important information in the historical texts or otherwise so as to discover more of the past. With their close contact with Bacchus and his workload eased, Bacchus and Soteris began teaching Achaius more advanced magic than he had already discovered himself. Together, the two taught him about Enchanting and warding. Soteris was an accomplished Enchanter which she prided herself on.
For Years, Achaius and Soteris worked in the Annex from dawn to Dusk laboring away with books, manuscripts, and scrolls. They made a fine profit from Bacchus as well as from their proof reading services and for their enchanting services. With the Siblings’ wealth, they were capable of expanding their Annex and to purchase more advanced tools and lighting.
About two years ago, Soteris and Achaius were completing their day’s work fileing and notarizing their recent acquisitions when everything changed for the Quarry. First, a deep, menacing rumble shook the Quarry. Soteris and Achaius looked at each other from across the Annex as the books were shaken from the shelves onto the ground. Next came waves of distorted reality as the Core Breach proceeded. Achaius and Soteris entered the Open Quarry to see the Chaos below. Plumes of White mist crawled up the cliff faces as pulses of nauseating color and distortion shook the Quarry.
Achaius was unharmed by the Breach save for migraines for the next couple of days as was his sister. He and his sister were called upon with their magical power to join the other mages in stabilizing the Breach. Achaius and Soteris proceeded to fight back the Mist and whatever sprang from it for hours. Their combat ability lacked, however, and so they could only work on the sideline feeding magic and enchantments to the other mages.
After the Breach had been stabilized a few days later and at a great loss of Life for the Quarry, Achaius and Soteris Returned to the Annex to find it in ruins. Almost none of their materials had survived. The books that had been shaken to the ground were trampled, burned, or turned to pulp from water. A few seemed to have been painted on and a few others had been glued together.
Achaius and Soteris were unable to retrieve the wealth that had been destroyed in the Annex. The Quarry was falling apart at the seams and anarchy was in charge for the time being. Achaius resolved to save what he could and evacuate to the Library. The Library was a tier down and the level of destruction increased to further one descends. He wasn’t even sure the Library had survived. The Core had destabilized and shredded the Veil. The Library was in its own spacial pocket and would be susceptible to such an incident.
Soteris believed that Logic lay with remaining in the Annex until the Emergency was resolved by the Guard and Council. Achaius disagreed of course. If not for the surviving materials, Bacchus was also in the Library and could have been in trouble. Soteris was seemingly indifferent which infuriated Achaius visibly. Achaius stormed from What remained of the Annex and made his way downwards. He found the Library easy enough considering his history with it. Bacchus awaited inside with most of the Tier Three Residents.
Achaius aided in the Library for a few days and eventually Cato, his father, and a guard, arrived. He and the other mages had fought back the danger and brought order back to the Quarry. After a few weeks, the Quarry returned to partial capacity. Many fatalities had occurred and those that had not perished had fled the Quarry. Most had not returned. Even now, the Quarry still struggles to hold itself together.
Achaius returned to find Soteris safe and waiting for him. The Guards and Mages had reached the Annex mere hours after he had left for the Library and found Soteris safe. Achaius and Soteris silently agreed to forget their disagreement and began to rebuild. Much of what they had was lost and what wasn’t was damaged. It would be some time before the Annex would be used for books again. It was all but ignored for several months as the rest of the Quarry rebuilt.
Achaius continued his studies during this time. About a year and a half after the Breach, Business began to flow through the Annex again, albeit slowly. Achaius has had to advance his Enchanting to keep up with the lost revenue from Bacchus. Soteris reluctantly did so as well. Most of her references had also been damaged or ruined. Achaius aided in creating the Tags utilized by Lodon and the mages in detecting rogue spirits but they would eventually be rendered useless as the magic released by the breach began to coalesce into strange eddies.
To this day, Achaius still lives and works out of the Annex on Tier Two. He has had to diversify his work and his studies to make up for the many missing pieces but has made some progress and repairing the damage done. The Breach left him partially blind in one eye as well as with a newfound fear of loss he did not have before. He has had to work closely with a few new dragons during the events of the Breach and the rebuilding afterward though he is reserved around new folks. Those that could be considered his Friends are Bacchus and Khyber. He has known Bacchus for a long time. Khyber also likes Philosophy and history though he is much older than Khyber who was little more than a child when the Breach occurred. Achaius continues his studies as best he can now.
[center][b]Nightfall[/b]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24650317]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/246504/24650317_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~[/center]
[columns][center][color=magenta]***********[/color]
[i]"Such brief lives here, yet such rhythm."[/i][/center]
Long ago, two spirits from different realms met by chance, fell in love, and ran away to Sornieth to live as dragons, knowing that neither partner would be welcome in each's respective home. One was the royal vizier and intended consort of Mahdis, the queen of the moon; the other was the second in command to Lazarus, a lord of the underworld. Both were distraught by the loss of their most loyal companion and blamed the other party for this perceived casualty, and there has been an increase in enmity between the two realms ever since - a feud that has been damaging all of the relations in the spirit realm due to the immense power of the spirits involved.
Taozhi, a peach tree spirit who had loose alliances with the moon spirits, and Adrik, a sea spirit whose people were supporters of the underworld, had both witnessed their respective domains suffer the effects of this conflict and desired to bring the two parties together to air their grievances. The trick was finding neutral ground unaligned with either realm. After both groups of spirits developed a relationship with the dragons on the island of Prufrock, they decided that this isle in the mortal realm would make an ideal place for negotiations. Clan founder Emrys was wary of his island being overrun by powerful spirits and was hesitant to accept, but Eztli, the clan's leader, disliked the thought of such a conflict perpetuating through the ages and thought that if their clan could play any part in the resolving of it, they should host the spirits while they worked out their issues.
Nightfall and his mate Stargazer are ambassadors of the star spirits to the court of Queen Mahdis, and they elected to accompany her when she journeyed to the island of Prufrock, curious to see the mortal realm for themselves. Though dismayed at the brevity of mortal life and depressed by the never-ending conflicts, he still sees much that is beautiful in his surroundings and has enjoyed walking around the island, discovering new landscapes and vistas.
[right]-----------------------------
[i]Original lore by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=245141]Salathielly[/url][/i][/right][/columns]
Nightfall
~~~
***********
"Such brief lives here, yet such rhythm."
Long ago, two spirits from different realms met by chance, fell in love, and ran away to Sornieth to live as dragons, knowing that neither partner would be welcome in each's respective home. One was the royal vizier and intended consort of Mahdis, the queen of the moon; the other was the second in command to Lazarus, a lord of the underworld. Both were distraught by the loss of their most loyal companion and blamed the other party for this perceived casualty, and there has been an increase in enmity between the two realms ever since - a feud that has been damaging all of the relations in the spirit realm due to the immense power of the spirits involved.
Taozhi, a peach tree spirit who had loose alliances with the moon spirits, and Adrik, a sea spirit whose people were supporters of the underworld, had both witnessed their respective domains suffer the effects of this conflict and desired to bring the two parties together to air their grievances. The trick was finding neutral ground unaligned with either realm. After both groups of spirits developed a relationship with the dragons on the island of Prufrock, they decided that this isle in the mortal realm would make an ideal place for negotiations. Clan founder Emrys was wary of his island being overrun by powerful spirits and was hesitant to accept, but Eztli, the clan's leader, disliked the thought of such a conflict perpetuating through the ages and thought that if their clan could play any part in the resolving of it, they should host the spirits while they worked out their issues.
Nightfall and his mate Stargazer are ambassadors of the star spirits to the court of Queen Mahdis, and they elected to accompany her when she journeyed to the island of Prufrock, curious to see the mortal realm for themselves. Though dismayed at the brevity of mortal life and depressed by the never-ending conflicts, he still sees much that is beautiful in his surroundings and has enjoyed walking around the island, discovering new landscapes and vistas.
|
[center][b]Stargazer[/b]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24504365]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/245044/24504365_350.png[/img]
[/url]
~~~[/center]
[columns][center][color=Magenta]***********[/color]
[i]"I have never seen such patterns."[/i][/center]
Long ago, two spirits from different realms met by chance, fell in love, and ran away to Sornieth to live as dragons, knowing that neither partner would be welcome in each's respective home. One was the royal vizier and intended consort of Mahdis, the queen of the moon; the other was the second in command to Lazarus, a lord of the underworld. Both were distraught by the loss of their most loyal companion and blamed the other party for this perceived casualty, and there has been an increase in enmity between the two realms ever since - a feud that has been damaging all of the relations in the spirit realm due to the immense power of the spirits involved.
Taozhi, a peach tree spirit who had loose alliances with the moon spirits, and Adrik, a sea spirit whose people were supporters of the underworld, had both witnessed their respective domains suffer the effects of this conflict and desired to bring the two parties together to air their grievances. The trick was finding neutral ground unaligned with either realm. After both groups of spirits developed a relationship with the dragons on the island of Prufrock, they decided that this isle in the mortal realm would make an ideal place for negotiations. Clan founder Emrys was wary of his island being overrun by powerful spirits and was hesitant to accept, but Eztli, the clan's leader, disliked the thought of such a conflict perpetuating through the ages and thought that if their clan could play any part in the resolving of it, they should host the spirits while they worked out their issues.
Stargazer and her mate Nightfall are ambassadors of the star spirits to the court of Queen Mahdis, and they elected to accompany her when she journeyed to the island of Prufrock, curious to see the mortal realm for themselves. The textures here are quite unfamiliar to her, and the shapes, and the colors, so she has delighted in watching the clan's artisans at work since coming to the isle.
[right]-----------------------------
[i]Original lore by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=245141]Salathielly[/url][/i][/right][/columns]
Stargazer
~~~
***********
"I have never seen such patterns."
Long ago, two spirits from different realms met by chance, fell in love, and ran away to Sornieth to live as dragons, knowing that neither partner would be welcome in each's respective home. One was the royal vizier and intended consort of Mahdis, the queen of the moon; the other was the second in command to Lazarus, a lord of the underworld. Both were distraught by the loss of their most loyal companion and blamed the other party for this perceived casualty, and there has been an increase in enmity between the two realms ever since - a feud that has been damaging all of the relations in the spirit realm due to the immense power of the spirits involved.
Taozhi, a peach tree spirit who had loose alliances with the moon spirits, and Adrik, a sea spirit whose people were supporters of the underworld, had both witnessed their respective domains suffer the effects of this conflict and desired to bring the two parties together to air their grievances. The trick was finding neutral ground unaligned with either realm. After both groups of spirits developed a relationship with the dragons on the island of Prufrock, they decided that this isle in the mortal realm would make an ideal place for negotiations. Clan founder Emrys was wary of his island being overrun by powerful spirits and was hesitant to accept, but Eztli, the clan's leader, disliked the thought of such a conflict perpetuating through the ages and thought that if their clan could play any part in the resolving of it, they should host the spirits while they worked out their issues.
Stargazer and her mate Nightfall are ambassadors of the star spirits to the court of Queen Mahdis, and they elected to accompany her when she journeyed to the island of Prufrock, curious to see the mortal realm for themselves. The textures here are quite unfamiliar to her, and the shapes, and the colors, so she has delighted in watching the clan's artisans at work since coming to the isle.
|