Username: TheGodOfStories
Dragon's Name: Hizen Serumtile
Dragon's Link:
Event: Greenskeeper Gathering 2018
Submission:
Dragon's Name: Hizen Serumtile
Dragon's Link:
Event: Greenskeeper Gathering 2018
Submission:
Even as a former Rattler it was still one of Hizen's jobs to partake in these rare gatherings. Droughtclaim's Departure it was called. An odd time of year of scavenging for greens and seeds it always seemed. The summer heatwaves started to worsen as the underground reserves of ice started to shrink, though that old druid's tale kept a small pinprick of hope in buzzard hearts.
In a cavern in the lower parts of the hive where the youngest digglings were kept away from the heat, a special occasion took place this time every year. Some of the more flamboyant buzzards would reiterate the tale of the Droughtclaimer--Even as an adult Hizen remembered his first telling. The tale of the Droughtclaim's embark to surround the world in dry rot and rust, only to feel pity for the other gods' selfless, hopeless ventures. Like Wavecrest of the Mighty Deep Blue who wanted to leave the world flush with the spiny, gilled creatures he was so proud of spinning all by himself, only to be slain by Droughtclaim himself. The dead god's creations dried up and diminished in turn. Or the threatening, unliving and unlearning Thundercrack who sought nothing more than to outlast us all. But no, this month was not filled with fear, but with gratitude for the hearty, earthy Greenkeeper who was the cleverest of them all. She merely wanted her little world to flourish. Though she knew she wasn't as powerful as Droughtclaim, she was sneakier. Leaving sprouts and seeds buried deep, just under his nose. That is why every year she lets her experiments flourish for us all, to help us, her creations, to survive and endure the harsh land that is the Wastes brought by the still unrelenting Droughtclaim.
---
A smooth, humid breeze brushed past the entrance to the ground hive. Sprouting trees and the patches of thick scrub shielded the sand-laden wind from the venturing party as they made their way into the desert.
"So, Hizen. Long time no skirmish. What's been keeping you from the smell of battle?"
Asked a guardian, small for his size. He was worn and tired looking, like any common rattler. Even the young ones. He gave a low friendly smile to the sunburnt pearlcatcher as he watched his old battle partner try to recognise him through the afternoon glare.
"Caggle?"
Hizen quickly noticed the dragon's ratty lapels decorated with old brass and gold gears, similar to the flecks of metal hung on his horns and pierced through his belly frills. This made Hizen grin nearly ear to ear as he removed his mask, letting it fall around his neck.
"What on Sorienth has happened to you? I've never seen a drake with so many piercings! I thought you were posted out on Fester Falls?"
The guardian nodded, smiling even wider.
"Indeed. Got drafted not long after training ended, you remember. Been out there for over a year. Got back just before Greenkeeper's. Been training the digglings ever since."
The guardian said as a few small hatchlings trod up to greet their trainer and jump in his tote bag.
---
Around them small hatchlings playing in the shaded patches of sand practiced their subterfuge as they poorly buried themselves in the sand and lept out at one another. One of which was an older diggling Hizen had met before, though this was not uncommon. The rattlers, lizards, and bucklers of a hive were often figures for the little digglings to look up to. The little ridgeback trotted alongside Hizen as the group went on. For once, the whiplash weakened by the shielding of the new foliage, and the sun covered by grazing clouds, the party was able to take down their goggles and let their bare eyes grace the sky as they trekked. In an effort to bring as much as possible back to the hive, each skirmisher pulled behind them a makeshift basket on planks of wood so their hauls could slide over the sand.
With the hustle of these green tidings, it was a marginally safe time in the Wastes, so the warriors allowed the hatchlings to tag along.
---
On the horizon, their destination was a shadowy gleam of leaves and life. A small island oasis in the parched desert land that was the Wastes. The digglings, having never seen so much green in one place before, sprinted ahead of the party and into the underbrush.
Surrounded by a small pond and stream, the desert oasis truly looked foreign to the land the buzzards were used to. The rest of the year the area was a desolate stretch of debris and rattlesnakes, if anything besides sand. However, during Droughtclaim's Departure, the nearby land funneled the past month's thick rainfalls into a pocket of fertile soil which quickly sprouted life and filled the patch of land with shade and fresh air. Fruitful bushes and trees sprung up, soon allowing the landmark to be pinpointed from miles away. Clans from all around would take turns salvaging what seeds, saps and any other material that could be preserved or used for food or crafting. Oases would dot the Wastes this time of year, filling enough buzzard bellies to keep the hives from each others' throats just long enough for the little slices of Valhalla to dry up until the next year.
The oasis itself stretched nearly a mile, a very large one even to some of the more seasoned buzzards. Even from one end of the oasis to the other, dark wings and blades could be seen scrounging through the distant vegetation. As such the digglings were told to keep close and always near one of their own. For hours the sun blazed down over the party, making them sweat enough to force them into the tiny pond to cool off and munch on the juicy experiments the Greenkeeper left for them. A varied diet wasn't necessary for a buzzard, but a break from the salty sour meat they were used to was better than nothing at all.
As dusk set in, the warriors stiffened their shoulders in preparation for the trek back. With their bellies and baskets full, the buzzards headed back over the dunes to their hive, only to return the next day, and every day to partake in the scourge that the great Greenkeeper allows them--that is, until Droughtclaim returned.
In a cavern in the lower parts of the hive where the youngest digglings were kept away from the heat, a special occasion took place this time every year. Some of the more flamboyant buzzards would reiterate the tale of the Droughtclaimer--Even as an adult Hizen remembered his first telling. The tale of the Droughtclaim's embark to surround the world in dry rot and rust, only to feel pity for the other gods' selfless, hopeless ventures. Like Wavecrest of the Mighty Deep Blue who wanted to leave the world flush with the spiny, gilled creatures he was so proud of spinning all by himself, only to be slain by Droughtclaim himself. The dead god's creations dried up and diminished in turn. Or the threatening, unliving and unlearning Thundercrack who sought nothing more than to outlast us all. But no, this month was not filled with fear, but with gratitude for the hearty, earthy Greenkeeper who was the cleverest of them all. She merely wanted her little world to flourish. Though she knew she wasn't as powerful as Droughtclaim, she was sneakier. Leaving sprouts and seeds buried deep, just under his nose. That is why every year she lets her experiments flourish for us all, to help us, her creations, to survive and endure the harsh land that is the Wastes brought by the still unrelenting Droughtclaim.
---
A smooth, humid breeze brushed past the entrance to the ground hive. Sprouting trees and the patches of thick scrub shielded the sand-laden wind from the venturing party as they made their way into the desert.
"So, Hizen. Long time no skirmish. What's been keeping you from the smell of battle?"
Asked a guardian, small for his size. He was worn and tired looking, like any common rattler. Even the young ones. He gave a low friendly smile to the sunburnt pearlcatcher as he watched his old battle partner try to recognise him through the afternoon glare.
"Caggle?"
Hizen quickly noticed the dragon's ratty lapels decorated with old brass and gold gears, similar to the flecks of metal hung on his horns and pierced through his belly frills. This made Hizen grin nearly ear to ear as he removed his mask, letting it fall around his neck.
"What on Sorienth has happened to you? I've never seen a drake with so many piercings! I thought you were posted out on Fester Falls?"
The guardian nodded, smiling even wider.
"Indeed. Got drafted not long after training ended, you remember. Been out there for over a year. Got back just before Greenkeeper's. Been training the digglings ever since."
The guardian said as a few small hatchlings trod up to greet their trainer and jump in his tote bag.
---
Around them small hatchlings playing in the shaded patches of sand practiced their subterfuge as they poorly buried themselves in the sand and lept out at one another. One of which was an older diggling Hizen had met before, though this was not uncommon. The rattlers, lizards, and bucklers of a hive were often figures for the little digglings to look up to. The little ridgeback trotted alongside Hizen as the group went on. For once, the whiplash weakened by the shielding of the new foliage, and the sun covered by grazing clouds, the party was able to take down their goggles and let their bare eyes grace the sky as they trekked. In an effort to bring as much as possible back to the hive, each skirmisher pulled behind them a makeshift basket on planks of wood so their hauls could slide over the sand.
With the hustle of these green tidings, it was a marginally safe time in the Wastes, so the warriors allowed the hatchlings to tag along.
---
On the horizon, their destination was a shadowy gleam of leaves and life. A small island oasis in the parched desert land that was the Wastes. The digglings, having never seen so much green in one place before, sprinted ahead of the party and into the underbrush.
Surrounded by a small pond and stream, the desert oasis truly looked foreign to the land the buzzards were used to. The rest of the year the area was a desolate stretch of debris and rattlesnakes, if anything besides sand. However, during Droughtclaim's Departure, the nearby land funneled the past month's thick rainfalls into a pocket of fertile soil which quickly sprouted life and filled the patch of land with shade and fresh air. Fruitful bushes and trees sprung up, soon allowing the landmark to be pinpointed from miles away. Clans from all around would take turns salvaging what seeds, saps and any other material that could be preserved or used for food or crafting. Oases would dot the Wastes this time of year, filling enough buzzard bellies to keep the hives from each others' throats just long enough for the little slices of Valhalla to dry up until the next year.
The oasis itself stretched nearly a mile, a very large one even to some of the more seasoned buzzards. Even from one end of the oasis to the other, dark wings and blades could be seen scrounging through the distant vegetation. As such the digglings were told to keep close and always near one of their own. For hours the sun blazed down over the party, making them sweat enough to force them into the tiny pond to cool off and munch on the juicy experiments the Greenkeeper left for them. A varied diet wasn't necessary for a buzzard, but a break from the salty sour meat they were used to was better than nothing at all.
As dusk set in, the warriors stiffened their shoulders in preparation for the trek back. With their bellies and baskets full, the buzzards headed back over the dunes to their hive, only to return the next day, and every day to partake in the scourge that the great Greenkeeper allows them--that is, until Droughtclaim returned.
