Please check the spelling of my name when pinging me: @Disillusionist. Thanks!
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[columns][center][item=kunzite][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#6E235D][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]abode of love[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]2,520 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#6E235D]It was through Clan Elysia that the Disillusionists met the dragons of the Midnight Gambler's Den. They soon concluded an alliance with the Shadow clan. The Disillusionists had befriended other clans in the domain of the Shadowbinder, and by then they had an inkling (though not really an [i]understanding[/i]) of the trickster dragons' ways. Still, a few eyeridges were raised in surprise when the Midnight Gamblers proffered neither treasure nor the service of a clan member, as was typical.
"It's a statue," said [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25521457]Veritas[/url] [color=#4C2A4F]dubiously, as it was placed into her claws. The clan leader of the Gambler's Den smiled, his violet eyes twinkling.
"Yes, it is," he said, "but a very special statue."
Veritas cradled the statue gently as she took it home. Her mate,[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25521458]Nachtstreiter[/url][color=#4C2A4F], walked alongside her, and he frequently raised his head to peer at their precious cargo. The statue was made of polished stone so black it shone with an indigo hue. It was the size and shape of a newly-hatched Imperial, its paws tucked daintily underneath it. Its eyes had been fashioned from polished kunzite. They sparkled brightly, but there was no life in them.
The clan leaders arrived home. Their clanmates clustered around them, eager to see what they had brought. When the statue was unveiled, reactions were...mixed.
"Why, it's a statue," said[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26683071]Makeda[/url][color=#4C2A4F], the Snapper lady. Her flock of birds swirled around her and aimed many beady eyes at the sculpture. She shooed them away, scolding quietly, saying they should not nick it with their beaks or claws.
"It is quite adorable."[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25503114]Vanessa[/url][color=#4C2A4F] was the next notable to speak. She patted the statue's head gently, for she was the clan's matron, or head childcarer, and was frequently surrounded by a creche of hatchlings. Three little dragons all clustered by her:[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=29805295]Cimarron[/url][color=#4C2A4F],[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=29804902]Ozymandias[/url][color=#4C2A4F], and[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=29734293]Briar[/url][color=#4C2A4F]. They had all come from different clans and looked at the world with large, curious eyes.[/color]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26439393]Tantris[/url] [color=#4C2A4F]the headmaster declared, "It is a work of consummate artistry!" This prompted an excited stir from[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26635401]Jubilant[/url] [color=#4C2A4F]and[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15438539]Crystaline[/url][color=#4C2A4F]. The Wildclaw engineer reached out a claw and promptly got smacked on the wrist, while Jubilant focused his bright pink eyes on the statue. "There is a strange magic in it," he burbled, "but I cannot quite figure it out...."
"Bah, it's just a [i]statue[/i]," blustered[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25504398]Metalicana[/url][color=#4C2A4F]. Immediately, the clan's reactions stopped being mixed.
"It's a gift."
"It's a [i]treasure[/i]!"
"It's flippin' [i]gorgeous[/i]!" bellowed Veritas, and her word was [i]law[/i]. Metalicana ground his teeth and lumbered away. The hatchlings cheered.
Veritas looked around for Jubilant. She'd heard the Arcane mage's mutterings, but in the way of Spirals, he had quickly grown bored and fluttered away. The hatchlings crowded around her feet now, chattering to her. Now that the intimidating Metalicana was gone, they wanted a better look at the statue.
"It will look nice next to your rooms," Veritas decided. There was a common area near the hatchlings' rooms where they frequently gathered to play. The Guardian lady extracted a solemn promise from the children that they would take good care of the statue, "For after all, she is a hatchling just as you are, and you must be kind to other dragons, too."
And so the hatchlings carried the glossy statue away. A plinth was installed in the common room, and they set the statue atop it -- not so high, for they liked to take it down and look at it. They played with it, dressing it up in scraps and finery, and had tea parties with it and told it lots of stories. They put it in a wagon and drew it carefully along behind them as they wandered up and down the clan lair's halls.
At night when all was dark, the hatchlings were nervous. But then they saw the statue sitting atop its plinth. Its kunzite eyes had captured the daylight, and they glowed with a gentle violet radiance. The hatchlings were reassured; they became braver and more confident. The statue was always returned to its plinth at the end of the day ("She has her bed, too, just as you do."), but sometimes, when the weather was particularly bad or if there was too much to think about, a hatchling would walk over to it. They would wrap it in blankets and light candles nearby and talk to it, or just sit beside it, until they fell asleep. In these cases, Vanessa or Tantris always came by to put the hatchling in question to bed. They later had to ask[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25555187]Frostlyn[/url] [color=#4C2A4F]to do it, as the hatchlings began to grow larger and larger.
And so the hatchlings grew. They played together and laughed together, and they became a part of the clan. As they took on adult responsibilities, they moved to different parts of the lair, and the statue stayed where it was. There were no other hatchlings during that time. But the statue was not forgotten. When one of the dragons was feeling contemplative, they came to the room. They made sure the statue was polished and clean, and at times they spoke to it about their days. The statue never replied.
Visitors sometimes came to the lair. They meandered down the rough-hewn halls; they looked over the clan records, read the tales, and heard the songs. They marveled at the works of art, and many of them commented on the statue.
"It is a lovely piece," said a merchant one day. "It was fashioned with such tender care. A work like this would fetch a high price if it were auctioned off."
His words had a faintly questioning tone. The Disillusionists quickly closed ranks.
"It's not for sale," said[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25629155]Neira[/url][color=#4C2A4F].[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=28592608]Melqart[/url] [color=#4C2A4F]chimed in, "It was given to us by another clan when they forged an alliance with us. Such things are not given up lightly."
"I understand. Hmm. Indeed, such things are priceless." The merchant smiled in understanding, and then he left.
He did not trouble them again, but his words had a strange effect on the clan. When Neira and Melqart later recounted this conversation, the three once-hatchlings huddled together. "Gotta admit that he's right -- she's a pretty piece of work. But d'you recall what old Metalicana said, back when we were new?" Ozymandias mumbled. (Veritas seemed to have decided from the beginning that the statue was a "she", and the hatchlings had cottoned on.)
"She's 'just a statue'." Cimarron flicked her tail dismissively. Briar flattened her ears in a rare show of bashfulness. "But we [i]have[/i] grown quite attached to her. That is...Here we are, all educated and grown. And yet we cling to this statue more than we've clung to any other toy."
"Well...She's not a toy." Cimarron pressed a paw against her orb. She suddenly seemed confused. The others could relate.
"She's a symbol," Ozymandias said suddenly. As the young ladies turned to look at him, he continued, "She came to us as a token of friendship...and at first she was our toy. But we did not [i]play[/i] with her. Not exactly..."
"No," the others agreed. They frowned at each other, but couldn't quite put their fingers on it. The others would have have said much the same thing, if they'd had the same discussion.
More years passed.
One afternoon, the lair was rocked by an earthquake. The earth groaned, its tremors ripping up through the stone building. Glass shattered; artifacts tumbled from the shelves. Jubilant, the Arcane mage, did his best to quickly raise the lair into the air. But by the time he got it off the ground, it had already been damaged.
Some parts of the lair had broken. A huge crack had ripped open the walls of the common room where the statue stood.[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=29453385]Amaryllis[/url][color=#4C2A4F] had hurried to save it, for it had been given by the clan that had sheltered him and his parents, and so he, too, held a special place in his heart for it. He had carried it to safety, and he and the other dragons had huddled together, cringing as the lair had lifted off from the ground.
They didn't know what had caused the earthquake: nature or other clans fighting. It was no concern of theirs. While the earth continued to tremble, they bustled around the lair, assessing the structure and making repairs where they could. Most of the breakages were quickly patched up, but the electric systems had been badly damaged, the larger conduits ripped in Jubilant's haste to lift the lair to safety. Crystaline and the other engineers quickly got to work; the others did what they could. The newer clan members weren't really sure what to do.
"We can keep her safe," Amaryllis said to his younger clanmates. He carried the statue to the meeting room near the roof, where the windows had already been fixed. It soon became clear that the engineers wouldn't be able to mend the damage so quickly. Perhaps things would be better in the morning. The dragons lit lanterns and called up spells to light their way. They set up candles in the statue's new room, and they smiled to see that she was still unmarked, her eyes still sparkling brightly.
They soon determined that the earthquake had stopped. With many apologies to the engineers, Jubilant lowered the lair again. It sank softly towards the ground and bonded itself to the soil. The dragons waited for the rumbling to cease. They looked at one another's faces, lit by shivering candlelight, as a cloud glided past the moon.
Silver radiance poured from the sky. It passed through the windows like a fairy's breath and struck the statue like a sword. For the first time in many long years, a crack appeared in the deep purple hide.
Nobody saw -- but they did hear the noise. Those dragons that were in the room got to their feet and started calling out to the clanmates. They came in groups, still wary of danger -- yet when they saw that it was their statue, they could only watch. How could they feel threatened by it? They had known and loved it for so long.
And had it loved them in return? They were about to find out.
"Hsst...Jube!" Crystalline elbowed the Spiral. "What's happening?!"
Jubilant was fluttering in agitation. His body was whipping about, tying itself into knots, but his head remained fixed in one position. His eyes bored into the statue. "Oh...It is...a guardian spirit of some sort. The old name is [i]genius locus[/i]. They take a long time to condition, you know. Oh. [i]Ohh[/i]. [size=2]Has it been that long already?[/size]"
"It is a [i]what[/i]?"[/color]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26537209]Alberge[/url] [color=#4C2A4F]hissed and shook his head. "Why do you tell us this only [i]now[/i]?!" he exploded, an instant before the statue did.
A crack opened along its back. Darkness roiled within. They stretched into shapes like a crow's wings, and then the rest of the statue shattered, violet pieces crumbling into dust. The kunzite eyes were swallowed by the darkness.
The violet dust swirled, mixing with the shadow. It gained substance, form. Four short, strong legs. A pair of great wings.
Veritas, the clan leader, stood strong and unafraid. "[/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=27760230]Dulindara[/url][color=#4C2A4F], analyze," she commanded.
The glittering Guardian's eyes flashed. Blue light flickered from them, playing over the swirling darkness. A glint of talons here, the sheen of iridescent scales there. A shimmering mane, a powerful tail. Antlers surmounted a noble head, and when the statue finally opened her kunzite eyes, she beheld the entire clan arrayed in front of her. Artisans, teachers, warriors, engineers...They were all familiar. She had heard their voices and felt the touch of their hands.
"It is a genius locus," Jubilant mumbled again. He seemed abashed. "They are created to guard a place. They must be conditioned for that task, and it takes a long time; mostly they mature in inanimate vessels while doing so....I suppose that that statue was one."
Veritas stepped forward. Her golden eyes narrowed in wariness. "I am the leader of this clan. Do you know my name?"
"You are Veritas." It was a soft, whispery voice. The shadowy dragoness spoke, barely moving her lips, but they were parted in a smile.
"The Mother of Truth," Dulindara droned. She stood back, head held high, her analysis completed. Everyone looked to her for more elucidation, and then to Jubilant again. As Veritas queried, "What is your name?" the Arcane mage hastened to tell her, "They typically have the same name as the place they guard. This place...It, um, I don't suppose it was ever given a proper name." It had always been just "the lair" or "the Disillusionists' lair". He looked at Harfang, and the chronicler shook her head.
"I know you. I know you all. And you have loved me so much!" The Imperial dragoness reared back on her hind legs. The others suddenly noticed that some of the nearby candles seemed to have bonded to her; they swirled around her like will-o-the-wisps. Their light danced over her wings, her smile. Her glittering kunzite eyes.
"I desire a name," she sighed. She spread her dark wings wide. "This place...It overflows with love. Lair of love, land of love. What is a name for an abode of love?"
Dulindara crackled, deep inside her chest. She uttered something, an alien word, a name. The Disillusionists had never heard it before. The statue picked it up with her keen and polished ears.
"Shalimar -- Abode of Love." She settled down again, her feet tucked daintily beneath her, wings folded along her back. The candles planted themselves beside her. Her kunzite eyes shone. "Yes...That will be my name."[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/3bsinb57r53q8mo/2-mind.png[/img][/center]
[color=#4C2A4F]The lair was soon in working order, and life fell back into its usual routine. Except, of course, for the shadowy dragoness who had recently become part of the clan (if she had not been a part of it already). Her skin never lost that glossy sheen, but her eyes, while still made of kunzite, now shone with inner life, with the light and love she had absorbed over the long years.
The common room was repaired, but it was deemed too big for her. She acquired a place of honor in that great meeting hall at the top of the lair. It is always lit by moonlight or sunlight, and so she never loses the shine in her eyes.
At times there are no hatchlings in the Disillusionists' lair, but she never wants for company. There are those dragons among the clan who are troubled and just need someone to talk to, or who just want to sit in the brightly-lit room. Mostly Shalimar just listens silently, as she did over the past years. The difference now is that she sometimes smiles back or draws a wing around the other dragon's shoulders. They lean on the shadowy statue in the room filled with light. Looking at the candles, protected by a mighty force, they realize that things aren't always as bad as they seem. They only have to look at the noble sculpture standing next to them to remember: They live in an abode of love.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#6E235D][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
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This gem can be affected by dragonbreath to capture flame luminosity for a short while. It is not uncommon to see bundles of kunzite hanging from the ceilings of caves in the Dragonhome, used as tunnel lighting for miners and excavators.
385
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abode of love written by Disillusionist 2,520 words
It was through Clan Elysia that the Disillusionists met the dragons of the Midnight Gambler's Den. They soon concluded an alliance with the Shadow clan. The Disillusionists had befriended other clans in the domain of the Shadowbinder, and by then they had an inkling (though not really an understanding) of the trickster dragons' ways. Still, a few eyeridges were raised in surprise when the Midnight Gamblers proffered neither treasure nor the service of a clan member, as was typical.
"It's a statue," said Veritasdubiously, as it was placed into her claws. The clan leader of the Gambler's Den smiled, his violet eyes twinkling.
"Yes, it is," he said, "but a very special statue."
Veritas cradled the statue gently as she took it home. Her mate,Nachtstreiter, walked alongside her, and he frequently raised his head to peer at their precious cargo. The statue was made of polished stone so black it shone with an indigo hue. It was the size and shape of a newly-hatched Imperial, its paws tucked daintily underneath it. Its eyes had been fashioned from polished kunzite. They sparkled brightly, but there was no life in them.
The clan leaders arrived home. Their clanmates clustered around them, eager to see what they had brought. When the statue was unveiled, reactions were...mixed.
"Why, it's a statue," saidMakeda, the Snapper lady. Her flock of birds swirled around her and aimed many beady eyes at the sculpture. She shooed them away, scolding quietly, saying they should not nick it with their beaks or claws.
"It is quite adorable."Vanessa was the next notable to speak. She patted the statue's head gently, for she was the clan's matron, or head childcarer, and was frequently surrounded by a creche of hatchlings. Three little dragons all clustered by her:Cimarron,Ozymandias, andBriar. They had all come from different clans and looked at the world with large, curious eyes.
Tantristhe headmaster declared, "It is a work of consummate artistry!" This prompted an excited stir fromJubilantandCrystaline. The Wildclaw engineer reached out a claw and promptly got smacked on the wrist, while Jubilant focused his bright pink eyes on the statue. "There is a strange magic in it," he burbled, "but I cannot quite figure it out...."
"Bah, it's just a statue," blusteredMetalicana. Immediately, the clan's reactions stopped being mixed.
"It's a gift."
"It's a treasure!"
"It's flippin' gorgeous!" bellowed Veritas, and her word was law. Metalicana ground his teeth and lumbered away. The hatchlings cheered.
Veritas looked around for Jubilant. She'd heard the Arcane mage's mutterings, but in the way of Spirals, he had quickly grown bored and fluttered away. The hatchlings crowded around her feet now, chattering to her. Now that the intimidating Metalicana was gone, they wanted a better look at the statue.
"It will look nice next to your rooms," Veritas decided. There was a common area near the hatchlings' rooms where they frequently gathered to play. The Guardian lady extracted a solemn promise from the children that they would take good care of the statue, "For after all, she is a hatchling just as you are, and you must be kind to other dragons, too."
And so the hatchlings carried the glossy statue away. A plinth was installed in the common room, and they set the statue atop it -- not so high, for they liked to take it down and look at it. They played with it, dressing it up in scraps and finery, and had tea parties with it and told it lots of stories. They put it in a wagon and drew it carefully along behind them as they wandered up and down the clan lair's halls.
At night when all was dark, the hatchlings were nervous. But then they saw the statue sitting atop its plinth. Its kunzite eyes had captured the daylight, and they glowed with a gentle violet radiance. The hatchlings were reassured; they became braver and more confident. The statue was always returned to its plinth at the end of the day ("She has her bed, too, just as you do."), but sometimes, when the weather was particularly bad or if there was too much to think about, a hatchling would walk over to it. They would wrap it in blankets and light candles nearby and talk to it, or just sit beside it, until they fell asleep. In these cases, Vanessa or Tantris always came by to put the hatchling in question to bed. They later had to askFrostlynto do it, as the hatchlings began to grow larger and larger.
And so the hatchlings grew. They played together and laughed together, and they became a part of the clan. As they took on adult responsibilities, they moved to different parts of the lair, and the statue stayed where it was. There were no other hatchlings during that time. But the statue was not forgotten. When one of the dragons was feeling contemplative, they came to the room. They made sure the statue was polished and clean, and at times they spoke to it about their days. The statue never replied.
Visitors sometimes came to the lair. They meandered down the rough-hewn halls; they looked over the clan records, read the tales, and heard the songs. They marveled at the works of art, and many of them commented on the statue.
"It is a lovely piece," said a merchant one day. "It was fashioned with such tender care. A work like this would fetch a high price if it were auctioned off."
His words had a faintly questioning tone. The Disillusionists quickly closed ranks.
"It's not for sale," saidNeira.Melqartchimed in, "It was given to us by another clan when they forged an alliance with us. Such things are not given up lightly."
"I understand. Hmm. Indeed, such things are priceless." The merchant smiled in understanding, and then he left.
He did not trouble them again, but his words had a strange effect on the clan. When Neira and Melqart later recounted this conversation, the three once-hatchlings huddled together. "Gotta admit that he's right -- she's a pretty piece of work. But d'you recall what old Metalicana said, back when we were new?" Ozymandias mumbled. (Veritas seemed to have decided from the beginning that the statue was a "she", and the hatchlings had cottoned on.)
"She's 'just a statue'." Cimarron flicked her tail dismissively. Briar flattened her ears in a rare show of bashfulness. "But we have grown quite attached to her. That is...Here we are, all educated and grown. And yet we cling to this statue more than we've clung to any other toy."
"Well...She's not a toy." Cimarron pressed a paw against her orb. She suddenly seemed confused. The others could relate.
"She's a symbol," Ozymandias said suddenly. As the young ladies turned to look at him, he continued, "She came to us as a token of friendship...and at first she was our toy. But we did not play with her. Not exactly..."
"No," the others agreed. They frowned at each other, but couldn't quite put their fingers on it. The others would have have said much the same thing, if they'd had the same discussion.
More years passed.
One afternoon, the lair was rocked by an earthquake. The earth groaned, its tremors ripping up through the stone building. Glass shattered; artifacts tumbled from the shelves. Jubilant, the Arcane mage, did his best to quickly raise the lair into the air. But by the time he got it off the ground, it had already been damaged.
Some parts of the lair had broken. A huge crack had ripped open the walls of the common room where the statue stood.Amaryllis had hurried to save it, for it had been given by the clan that had sheltered him and his parents, and so he, too, held a special place in his heart for it. He had carried it to safety, and he and the other dragons had huddled together, cringing as the lair had lifted off from the ground.
They didn't know what had caused the earthquake: nature or other clans fighting. It was no concern of theirs. While the earth continued to tremble, they bustled around the lair, assessing the structure and making repairs where they could. Most of the breakages were quickly patched up, but the electric systems had been badly damaged, the larger conduits ripped in Jubilant's haste to lift the lair to safety. Crystaline and the other engineers quickly got to work; the others did what they could. The newer clan members weren't really sure what to do.
"We can keep her safe," Amaryllis said to his younger clanmates. He carried the statue to the meeting room near the roof, where the windows had already been fixed. It soon became clear that the engineers wouldn't be able to mend the damage so quickly. Perhaps things would be better in the morning. The dragons lit lanterns and called up spells to light their way. They set up candles in the statue's new room, and they smiled to see that she was still unmarked, her eyes still sparkling brightly.
They soon determined that the earthquake had stopped. With many apologies to the engineers, Jubilant lowered the lair again. It sank softly towards the ground and bonded itself to the soil. The dragons waited for the rumbling to cease. They looked at one another's faces, lit by shivering candlelight, as a cloud glided past the moon.
Silver radiance poured from the sky. It passed through the windows like a fairy's breath and struck the statue like a sword. For the first time in many long years, a crack appeared in the deep purple hide.
Nobody saw -- but they did hear the noise. Those dragons that were in the room got to their feet and started calling out to the clanmates. They came in groups, still wary of danger -- yet when they saw that it was their statue, they could only watch. How could they feel threatened by it? They had known and loved it for so long.
And had it loved them in return? They were about to find out.
"Hsst...Jube!" Crystalline elbowed the Spiral. "What's happening?!"
Jubilant was fluttering in agitation. His body was whipping about, tying itself into knots, but his head remained fixed in one position. His eyes bored into the statue. "Oh...It is...a guardian spirit of some sort. The old name is genius locus. They take a long time to condition, you know. Oh. Ohh. Has it been that long already?"
"It is a what?"
Albergehissed and shook his head. "Why do you tell us this only now?!" he exploded, an instant before the statue did.
A crack opened along its back. Darkness roiled within. They stretched into shapes like a crow's wings, and then the rest of the statue shattered, violet pieces crumbling into dust. The kunzite eyes were swallowed by the darkness.
The violet dust swirled, mixing with the shadow. It gained substance, form. Four short, strong legs. A pair of great wings.
Veritas, the clan leader, stood strong and unafraid. "Dulindara, analyze," she commanded.
The glittering Guardian's eyes flashed. Blue light flickered from them, playing over the swirling darkness. A glint of talons here, the sheen of iridescent scales there. A shimmering mane, a powerful tail. Antlers surmounted a noble head, and when the statue finally opened her kunzite eyes, she beheld the entire clan arrayed in front of her. Artisans, teachers, warriors, engineers...They were all familiar. She had heard their voices and felt the touch of their hands.
"It is a genius locus," Jubilant mumbled again. He seemed abashed. "They are created to guard a place. They must be conditioned for that task, and it takes a long time; mostly they mature in inanimate vessels while doing so....I suppose that that statue was one."
Veritas stepped forward. Her golden eyes narrowed in wariness. "I am the leader of this clan. Do you know my name?"
"You are Veritas." It was a soft, whispery voice. The shadowy dragoness spoke, barely moving her lips, but they were parted in a smile.
"The Mother of Truth," Dulindara droned. She stood back, head held high, her analysis completed. Everyone looked to her for more elucidation, and then to Jubilant again. As Veritas queried, "What is your name?" the Arcane mage hastened to tell her, "They typically have the same name as the place they guard. This place...It, um, I don't suppose it was ever given a proper name." It had always been just "the lair" or "the Disillusionists' lair". He looked at Harfang, and the chronicler shook her head.
"I know you. I know you all. And you have loved me so much!" The Imperial dragoness reared back on her hind legs. The others suddenly noticed that some of the nearby candles seemed to have bonded to her; they swirled around her like will-o-the-wisps. Their light danced over her wings, her smile. Her glittering kunzite eyes.
"I desire a name," she sighed. She spread her dark wings wide. "This place...It overflows with love. Lair of love, land of love. What is a name for an abode of love?"
Dulindara crackled, deep inside her chest. She uttered something, an alien word, a name. The Disillusionists had never heard it before. The statue picked it up with her keen and polished ears.
"Shalimar -- Abode of Love." She settled down again, her feet tucked daintily beneath her, wings folded along her back. The candles planted themselves beside her. Her kunzite eyes shone. "Yes...That will be my name."
The lair was soon in working order, and life fell back into its usual routine. Except, of course, for the shadowy dragoness who had recently become part of the clan (if she had not been a part of it already). Her skin never lost that glossy sheen, but her eyes, while still made of kunzite, now shone with inner life, with the light and love she had absorbed over the long years.
The common room was repaired, but it was deemed too big for her. She acquired a place of honor in that great meeting hall at the top of the lair. It is always lit by moonlight or sunlight, and so she never loses the shine in her eyes.
At times there are no hatchlings in the Disillusionists' lair, but she never wants for company. There are those dragons among the clan who are troubled and just need someone to talk to, or who just want to sit in the brightly-lit room. Mostly Shalimar just listens silently, as she did over the past years. The difference now is that she sometimes smiles back or draws a wing around the other dragon's shoulders. They lean on the shadowy statue in the room filled with light. Looking at the candles, protected by a mighty force, they realize that things aren't always as bad as they seem. They only have to look at the noble sculpture standing next to them to remember: They live in an abode of love.
Please check the spelling of my name when pinging me: @Disillusionist. Thanks!
[center][color=#BBBABF][size=1][b]PREV.[/b][/size] [size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/15#post_32803852]Dragon[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_2323941]Contents[/url] • Characters [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_30507351]A-M[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_30507353]N-Z[/url] • [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_30507358]Stories Pt. 2[/url] | [/size][size=1][b]NEXT[/b][/size] [size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/15#post_32803863]Dragon[/url][/color][/size][/center]
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[right][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30114429][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/301145/30114429.png[/img][/url]
[size=2][color=#9494A9][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30114429]profile[/url] • back to[/color] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/15#post_32803857]main post[/url][/right]
[columns][center][item=greystone deer][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#7995C1][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]stardust, stardeath[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
special thanks to awaicu
[color=#9494A9]3,633 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[quote][columns][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=149080][img]http://i.imgur.com/fffbUeI.png[/img][/url]
[nextcol][font=Garamond][color=#9494A9][size=5][i]ex libris[/i] awaicu[/size][/color][/font]
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[size=3][color=#9494A9]Capable of siphoning energy from living beings, this hatchling was born with a fatal touch. Prolonged physical contact with this dragon causes anything living to slowly wither and die. He keeps his scales wrapped in many layers of bandages and cloth to prevent unintended casualties. While he can survive solely on the energy he pulls from other living creatures, this dragon rarely uses his abilities.[/color][/size][/columns][/quote]
[color=#545365]
The gods of Sornieth are mighty, but they are not eternal. There exist beings in this universe that are older than the gods.
But they are not gods. They are far removed from dragonkind. And it would probably not be accurate to say that they are alive.[/color]
[columns][color=transparent]________[/color][nextcol][font=Garamond][size=4]
[color=#9494A9]“In the beginning of time, a great chaos rang out in the darkness,
shining brilliantly in the form of a billion small star fragments. Amidst
the emptiness, a handful of these shards combined and churned
themselves into a series of heavenly bodies, quietly floating around
a young sun.
...From this bedlam, the magical energies themselves began to
concentrate and change.”[/color][/size][/font][nextcol][item=Celestine]
[item=Crystal Ball][/columns]
[right][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=wiki&article=6][font=Garamond][size=4]~ Chapter 1: The First Age[/size][/font][/url][/right][color=transparent].....[/color]
[color=#545365]As the universe created various planets, it also shrugged off bits of star-stuff, leftover energies. And so, while the gods of Sornieth waged their war upon each other, the star-stuff dug itself deep into the ground. It lay there, and for many centuries it was quiet.
But the planet of Sornieth continued to shake. The gods fought with each other and then slumbered, and in the Second Age a new people took control of the world. They employed titanic enchantments and raised vast factories, stirring up the magic of the planet. Corrupting it. Changing it.
The leftover star-stuff, deep in the earth, stirred uneasily. It slowly devolved into a miasma. [i]Pwdre ser.[/i] Star rot.
Then the Arcanist awoke, and thus the Eleven deities were complete. Dragonkind was born. These new creatures went to war against the Beastclans and the Shade, and sorcery shook the planet once more.
So many long centuries of magic, chaos, corruption....They filtered down through the rocks and dug deep into the planet's heart. Miles beneath the earth, the astral miasma roused itself. A creeping mass of energy, not really alive, and unable to die. It was raw energy, but like fire, it was filled with the need to consume. And what it needed to consume was [i]life[/i].
It shrank away from the planet's fiery heart and crept up to the surface. Oozing through fissures, seeping through cracks, its amorphous tendrils encountered strange new objects. Some of these it passed by. Others it devoured. Magic still clung to some of these objects, and so the star rot began to change until it became a gelatinous mass with razor-sharp claws and teeth, pilfered from the skeletons of long-dead dragons. Tatters of cloth and flesh clung to it, tangled with the bones it had absorbed.
It was indeed a creature of horror -- but not a malicious one. In its fledgling mind flickered distant glimpses of memory: an endless blackness and shattering light. Noise, bedlam...The fiery rush of chaos, of stars being born, and of worlds being built. And best of all: the endless emptiness, freedom in every direction. The creature did not know why it was down here in the darkness of the world. But it knew that it did not belong. So it would keep searching and devouring until it regained that endless freedom and chaotic joy.[/color]
[columns][color=transparent]________[/color][nextcol][center][font=Garamond][size=4]
[color=#9494A9]“Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long
to return; and we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We’re
made of star stuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.”[/color][/size][/font][/center]
[right][font=Garamond][size=4][color=#7995C1]~ Carl Sagan[/color][/size][/font][/right][color=transparent].....[/color][nextcol][item=Multi-Lens Magnifier][/columns]
[color=#545365]At last there came a time when the star-creature was close enough to the surface for it to encounter living drakes. These dragons were underground for various purposes: they were miners or geologists, or else they had simply chosen to live away from the light. Many of them fled before they encountered the creature, for it fouled water sources, withered vegetation, and killed the tiny beasts and insects simply by being near. The carcasses piled up until a horrendous stench pervaded the caverns. Those who fled these befouled homes were fortunate, but one Imperial was not so lucky.
He was a sorcerer who had been sent to investigate these strange goings-on. In his arrogance, he only harrumphed at the other dragons' complaints; he thought the problem had been caused by nothing more than a ruptured sewage pipe. He bridled at being sent to check what he wrote off as a simple sanitation problem. And so he was woefully unprepared for what he found.
He was overtaken by the star-beast's magic. Even before the sorcerer spied the beast, it knew he was there, and its invisible, insidious touch laid itself upon him and slowly peeled the life from his bones. Deep in the darkness, the sorcerer felt weakness overtake him. He thrashed uselessly, scrabbling at the earthen walls. And he let out a pathetic moan as he beheld the miasmic creature for the first time: a shambling heap of gelatinous flesh, bones bobbing in its translucent mass. He saw it quite clearly, for it emitted an unearthly glow. A creature not of this world, neither mortal nor divine.
The sorcerer was mighty, but he knew he could not stand against this fiend. He cursed himself, groaning inwardly, regretting his arrogance. The creature began to devour him. It consumed his body...his brains...his magic...his soul....
[i]"Rhadamanthes."[/i]
The creature opened its eyes....Yes, it now had eyes. And perhaps more significantly, it now had a name.
[i]"Rhadamanthes. That is...my name."[/i]
To be precise, it had been the Imperial sorcerer's name. But the sorcerer was dead now, swallowed up by the beast he'd been sent to destroy. It might have been because Rhadamanthes was the first living drake the star-beast had swallowed, and one brimming full of magic besides: the creature had absorbed not just his magical strength, but also bits of his memories and personality. Its form had changed, too. Antlers now sprouted from its head, and it walked on four short, strong legs. Its tail dragged behind it, leaving an ephemeral film.
But its...[i]his[/i] body was still translucent, gelatinous. The unspeakable remains of his meals could still be seen floating inside him. Not that he cared.
Rhadamanthes the sorcerer had come from the surface. Rhadamanthes the star-beast now followed these thoughts. He dragged himself slowly through the abandoned lairs, crawling up to the surface. Up to the sky. Searching for the heavens and his home.[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/0gvl45j3laze5qb/2-ice.png[/img][/center]
[color=#545365]When Rhadamanthes the sorcerer didn't return, his colleagues grew worried. They also realized that the radius of death and decay was spreading, and that if Rhadamanthes had gotten close enough to the contagion's source, he had also perished from it. Fearing for their safety, the sorcerers pulled down the tunnel ceilings, trapping the star-beast in the darkness once more.
The star-beast was not deterred. Its form was not solid; it simply turned and oozed through one of the larger cracks. It bored through the earth until it found another network of shafts and tunnels. A dragon mine.
The miners began to catch glimpses of it: In the dark mine, it glowed faintly, and its eyes were as pale and smooth as the moon. The antlers crowning its head were black, but they glittered as if bound in stars.[/color]
[columns][color=transparent]_______[/color][nextcol][center][item=Greystone Deer][/center]
[center][font=Garamond][color=#9494A9][size=4]“...We do know that these tragic animals live underground in mines and desire nothing more than to reach the light of day. They have the power of speech and implore miners to help them to the surface....When this gambit fails, the beast becomes troublesome....”[/size][/color][/font][/center]
[right][font=Garamond][size=4][color=#7995C1]~ Jorges Luis Borges[/color][/size][/font][color=transparent].....[/color][/right][nextcol][img]http://flightrising.com/images/cms/familiar/art/16487.png[/img][/columns]
[color=#545365]It was the size of an Imperial, but it could not rightly be called one. The miners whispered of it, calling it a "celestial stag" for its antlers and the way its body glittered and shone. They worked in teams, and they always outnumbered the celestial stag -- until one day, when they fled in panic from the creature and one of them, a new worker, got separated from his gang. He fled deeper into the tunnels, the celestial stag following behind.
It cornered him in a cavern, and there, it spoke to him. If any of Rhadamanthes' old colleagues had heard it, they would have recognized his voice, but distorted, stretched out and made distant, as if it were crackling to them from a distant star.
"Where?" it rasped to the miner. Its eyes shone, white and luminous, as cold and uncaring as the moon. As the miner stared at it, it continued, "Where...is...the sky?"
The miner's teeth chattered. He pointed upwards with a claw. He stammered to the beast, telling it the sky was above the earth, and the star-beast entreated him to show it the way. "I will follow you," it rasped to him.
And follow him it did. But the miner's efforts were all for naught, for he had become hopelessly turned around in his wild flight through the dark. Nothing was familiar, and his fellows wouldn't answer his calls. Eventually he had to admit that he didn't know where to go. He prostrated himself before the terrible creature, begging it to let him go. Rhadamanthes, meanwhile, was thinking. In his half-formed mind, nebulous thoughts were congealing: [i]"Dragon does not know the way to sky. Dragon is useless. Dragon can still be useful -- one more way...
"Kill dragon."[/i]
Rhadamanthes inflicted a horrid wound upon the miner. The poor dragon leaped away, howling in pain as his wing was shredded. Rhadamanthes advanced, slashing at him with heavy-bladed claws. Eventually the dragon died, and the celestial stag bent his head and ate the miner's flesh.
A faint memory flickered in his mind: Once upon a time, he had killed a great sorcerer with a thought. Why had he tormented this poor drake so?
And he thought: [i]"Cannot answer if dead. Keep them alive...for a longer time. Death comes slowly. More time to answer...is more time to think. More time to show me...the way."[/i][/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/0gvl45j3laze5qb/2-ice.png[/img][/center]
[color=#545365]More miners disappeared into the dark tunnels. Sorcerers and warriors were sent down to rescue them; they perished, too. A few returned, frightened almost into insensibility. They told tales of a horrible wraith stalking slowly through the darkness. At times the dragons around it withered and died as it stared at them, and often it left one or two alive. These poor souls were doomed to lengthier demises, slowly bludgeoned to death as the star-beast repeated its question: "Where...is...the sky?"
At last the mine, too, was closed off. The shafts were pulled down and the entrances sealed by both earth and magic. Rhadamanthes was crushed under several tons of rock. He had by then eaten many other dragons, and they had changed him so that he was no longer amorphous. He had gained substance and become solid -- he could no longer ooze through rocks.
He could not die, and so he spent the long years twisting and wriggling, trying to free himself. Above him, the mine was abandoned and forgotten. Tales of the celestial stag became obscure footnotes in history, the deaths chalked up to pestilence, poisoning, or infighting among the victims. The world continued to turn.
And one day, as it turned, it began to shake. Tectonic plates trembling and brushing up against each other -- tiny movements with titanic results. Sornieth was rocked by an earthquake, and the rocks encasing Rhadamanthes broke apart. At last, he was free.
And he had been pushed to the surface; he could feel it. He was closer to the sky! He crawled up and up and up; in his excitement, he let his magic run loose. Animals, burrowing nearby, all died. The trees above him began to shrivel. The beasts began to flee.
As birds ascended the sky, shrieking and cawing, nearby dragons took notice. The Disillusionists poked their heads out of their lair. They were relatively new to the Hewn City and had heard the strangest stories about it; they were also jumpy because a recent earthquake had shaken their clan -- in more ways than one. The flight of the birds and beasts was not a good sign.
"They are afraid," said [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26683071]Makeda[/url][color=#545365]. Her golden eyes were wide with terror. "They say that death is coming from beneath the ground. And there is no stopping it."
The Disillusionists bridled at this. They hadn't been here long and weren't about to be chased out by another earthquake.
But it wasn't an earthquake: Rhadamanthes had reached the surface. At long last, he felt the cool air on his face and saw the vastness of the sky. A noise of triumph burst from his maw: not a roar, but a spectral howl. It was so low it could barely be heard, but the Disillusionists all felt it. They trembled as it shook their very bones. They all watched in horror as the nearby trees withered suddenly, leaves and branches falling like rain. More birds filled the skies. Some of them were too slow, and they dropped in mid-flight. They joined the corpses of land-beasts that had been unable to flee in time. A foul smell began to fill the air.
Rhadamanthes crawled up out of the darkness, singing his chilling song. In the noonday sun, he didn't shine, he [i]burned[/i]. It was almost too bright to look at him -- but his skeleton was seen, dimly outlined, as he shambled towards the Disillusionists' lair: he would ascend that immense structure and from there, he would climb back up into the sky. Somehow.
The Disillusionists rallied. They attacked from a distance, hurling bolts of energy, stone, and steel. These all broke over Rhadamanthes without effect or stuck harmlessly in his glowing skin. Meanwhile, the mages and leaders conferred quickly. [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24664798]Polosim[/url] [color=#545365]the terraformer could open the earth, make it swallow the creature again -- but the beast had clearly survived in the darkness and would survive for a thousand years more if need be. If it were dropped back into the earth, it would simply crawl out again, and the nightmare would continue.[/color]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26635401]Jubilant[/url][color=#545365]'s own Arcane spells hadn't had any effect. He did have some other tricks left, but they would take too long to cast. The beast was closing in quickly. "Prepare to abandon the lair," he advised the others. "We have one last option -- but if she doesn't work, then that's it for us, I'm afraid."
It was Lady [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25521457]Veritas[/url] [color=#545365]who gave the next order: "Prepare the[/color] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=29847564]genius locus[/url][color=#545365]!"[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/0gvl45j3laze5qb/2-ice.png[/img][/center]
[color=#545365]When Rhadamanthes climbed over the next hummock, the genius locus was already in place. A life-sized statue of an Imperial lady, carved from polished indigo stone. It stood by the door to the lair.
A Guardian stood on either side of it. The white lady was as still as marble, her frills raised.[/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25521458] Her mate[/url] [color=#545365]bent his head, almost bowing to the statue. He spoke in a soft whisper: "Can you help us?"
With the creak of moving stone, the statue turned its head. It looked at Rhadamanthes with shining kunzite eyes.
She broke apart in a shower of gleaming indigo dust. It swirled apart, forming beating wings, a lashing tail. The Guardians retreated back into their lair and barred the door as the two Imperial-shaped entities closed in on each other.
Rhadamanthes reocgnized her as an enemy. He was now so close to his goal; nothing would stand in his way! He'd give it everything he had. Only...
Nothing seemed to be working. The shadowy Imperial pushed him back and back, driving him away from the lair. He bent his will upon her, trying to leech the energy from her heart. Something [i]was[/i] burning inside her -- it was a heart, but it was not a living one. He struck with his claws; they sank into dust and rebounded harmlessly. No blood flowed from the shadow-beast.
He, too, had one final option: to consume her, body and soul. He hadn't consumed anyone since his namesake, but he would attempt to do so again. And so he reached out and attempted to leech away the dragon's very mind and soul....
The strangest thing was that she let him have it.
Rhadamanthes froze. Images flashed through his mind: the statue had been created by a skilled artisan and polished with gentle hands. Her previous owner had woken her up by whispering in her ear: "You will go to a new clan. Be their guardian and their shield. Let their nature become yours, and thus you will truly become a part of their clan."
And her new clan [i]had[/i] treated her well. The adults had handled her with care; the hatchlings had played with her. They had cared for her. They had loved her. And she had loved them back.
[i]Let their nature become yours.[/i]
They had had to leave her in darkness every night. But they had always brought her candles and spoken tenderly to her. The hatchlings had grown, but the statue had remained a part of the clan. Watching them with kunzite eyes. Growing with them. Becoming a part of the clan.
[i]Let their nature become yours.[/i]
She had learned everything they'd had to offer. They loved life, and they loved each other. Some members were troublesome and others were just plain annoying, but still they were cared for. They remained a part of the clan. They relied on each other and protected each other. She would protect them too. As she was doing right here, right now.
[i]Let her nature...become yours.[/i]
There was nothing more Rhadamanthes could take, but that was because his mind was now full. And his heart -- suddenly he had a heart. It didn't beat; it [i]burned[/i]. It made his soul ache; he cried out at the thought of what he'd been about to do to these innocent dragons and their clan. And so many others...He had tortured them and taken their lives. What had he been?
What was he becoming?
The shadowy Imperial closed in on him -- and then her wings were around him, cradling him gently. "It's all right," she crooned. "Everyone gets tired. We all need to sleep sometime."
He began to grow sleepy. His eyes clouded over -- still as pale as the moon, but no longer empty or cold.
"Go to sleep, go to sleep." The Imperial enveloped him in a gentle darkness. "There, now...It's all right. I will be here. And the sun will still be there in the morning."[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/0gvl45j3laze5qb/2-ice.png[/img][/center]
[color=#545365]Rhadamanthes had completely consumed just two beings. The first was the sorcerer who'd given him his name. The second was Shalimar, a genius locus. A mass of magical energy given strength, shape, and a soul by the dragons she lived with. And Rhadamanthes had acquired something of her strength, shape, and soul, too.
The mad desire to reach the heavens left him. He could look at the sky every day and rejoice because it was there. Instead, he was now painfully aware of the dragons who surrounded him. Shalimar had glimpsed their minds and souls and passed the information on to Rhadamanthes when he'd tried to consume her. He now knew their natures, and he understood them. And thus, he could no longer hate them.
He was not really made of flesh and blood. As before, weapons and magic did not have any effect on him. He could be cut, but the thick, milky white ichor welled up for only a second before the wound closed up again. Probably the only thing that hadn't changed was his ability to leech the life from other beings. It had grown weaker since his failure to consume Shalimar, but it was still there. He could no longer kill with a thought -- just a touch. To protect those around him, he wrapped himself in layers of cloth. He looked like a mummy when he finally presented himself to the clan leaders, a few days after he'd attacked them.
He had fallen unconscious in front of the lair. The Disillusionists had watched as the stolen energy had flowed out of him, turning the grass and trees green again. His body had gradually solidified and become opaque, pale scales glittering in the sunlight. He had acquired a distinctly Imperial shape. No one would call him a "stag" now.
They questioned him cautiously. Rhadamanthes could see the fear in their eyes. His newfound emotions stabbed keenly into his newly-ignited heart, and he spoke humbly, almost tearfully. He was a fallen star -- he used the analogy he thought they'd understand best. He'd been hurled deep into the earth and had struggled to reach the sky. Other creatures had nourished him -- he had taken their lives with impunity. But he had been radically changed by the recent encounter, and he no longer wished to threaten anyone.
Still, it was difficult for them to trust him. So they put him back in the darkness, in the caverns beneath their lair. Rhadamanthes still glowed like the moon, and the Disillusionists shivered and turned away from him.
Only one didn't -- Shalimar the genius locus, now set down here to guard him. She had previously been kept in one of the high rooms, through the windows of which she could see the sky. Rhadamanthes apologized for this. He did not like the idea that the sky had been taken away from someone because of him.
She replied in her sweet and breathy voice, "Silly thing. The sky is always there. It can't be taken away from anyone."
Rhadamanthes mulled this over. It dawned on him, as slowly and as gloriously as the rising sun, that she [i]was[/i] right. They were on a planet, floating in the vastness of space...Indeed, the heavens were all around them. Nothing had ever been taken from him. He bowed his head in contrition as he finally accepted this.
There was no need for him to go back up into the heavens because he was already there. And the darkness didn't seem so bad anymore. Like Shalimar, he would get used to it. Maybe later, after some time, he would also become a part of the clan.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#7995C1][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
[size=2][color=#9494A9][b]Credits:[/b] Special thanks to [i]awaicu[/i] for gifting Rhadamanthes and writing the lore blurb at the top of this post.[/color][/size]
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[center][color=#BBBABF][size=1][b]PREV.[/b][/size] [size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/15#post_32803852]Dragon[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_2323941]Contents[/url] • Characters [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_30507351]A-M[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_30507353]N-Z[/url] • [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/1#post_30507358]Stories Pt. 2[/url] | [/size][size=1][b]NEXT[/b][/size] [size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2323941/15#post_32803863]Dragon[/url][/color][/size][/center]
A simple statue often left as a territory marker by hunters. Pronghorn will often move them close to their lairs as a deadly lure.
47
..
stardust, stardeath written by Disillusionist
special thanks to awaicu 3,633 words
Quote:
ex libris awaicuCapable of siphoning energy from living beings, this hatchling was born with a fatal touch. Prolonged physical contact with this dragon causes anything living to slowly wither and die. He keeps his scales wrapped in many layers of bandages and cloth to prevent unintended casualties. While he can survive solely on the energy he pulls from other living creatures, this dragon rarely uses his abilities.
The gods of Sornieth are mighty, but they are not eternal. There exist beings in this universe that are older than the gods.
But they are not gods. They are far removed from dragonkind. And it would probably not be accurate to say that they are alive.
________
“In the beginning of time, a great chaos rang out in the darkness,
shining brilliantly in the form of a billion small star fragments. Amidst
the emptiness, a handful of these shards combined and churned
themselves into a series of heavenly bodies, quietly floating around
a young sun.
...From this bedlam, the magical energies themselves began to
concentrate and change.”
Celestine
Minerals & Ores
Massive quantities of celestine are found in the pillar-like rocks that stretch out below the Observatory, but almost nowhere else in the realm.
As the universe created various planets, it also shrugged off bits of star-stuff, leftover energies. And so, while the gods of Sornieth waged their war upon each other, the star-stuff dug itself deep into the ground. It lay there, and for many centuries it was quiet.
But the planet of Sornieth continued to shake. The gods fought with each other and then slumbered, and in the Second Age a new people took control of the world. They employed titanic enchantments and raised vast factories, stirring up the magic of the planet. Corrupting it. Changing it.
The leftover star-stuff, deep in the earth, stirred uneasily. It slowly devolved into a miasma. Pwdre ser. Star rot.
Then the Arcanist awoke, and thus the Eleven deities were complete. Dragonkind was born. These new creatures went to war against the Beastclans and the Shade, and sorcery shook the planet once more.
So many long centuries of magic, chaos, corruption....They filtered down through the rocks and dug deep into the planet's heart. Miles beneath the earth, the astral miasma roused itself. A creeping mass of energy, not really alive, and unable to die. It was raw energy, but like fire, it was filled with the need to consume. And what it needed to consume was life.
It shrank away from the planet's fiery heart and crept up to the surface. Oozing through fissures, seeping through cracks, its amorphous tendrils encountered strange new objects. Some of these it passed by. Others it devoured. Magic still clung to some of these objects, and so the star rot began to change until it became a gelatinous mass with razor-sharp claws and teeth, pilfered from the skeletons of long-dead dragons. Tatters of cloth and flesh clung to it, tangled with the bones it had absorbed.
It was indeed a creature of horror -- but not a malicious one. In its fledgling mind flickered distant glimpses of memory: an endless blackness and shattering light. Noise, bedlam...The fiery rush of chaos, of stars being born, and of worlds being built. And best of all: the endless emptiness, freedom in every direction. The creature did not know why it was down here in the darkness of the world. But it knew that it did not belong. So it would keep searching and devouring until it regained that endless freedom and chaotic joy.
________
“Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long
to return; and we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We’re
made of star stuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.”
~ Carl Sagan
.....
Multi-Lens Magnifier
Trinkets
Toymaker dragons often use devices like this to carve or paint intricate details onto dolls and figurines.
45
At last there came a time when the star-creature was close enough to the surface for it to encounter living drakes. These dragons were underground for various purposes: they were miners or geologists, or else they had simply chosen to live away from the light. Many of them fled before they encountered the creature, for it fouled water sources, withered vegetation, and killed the tiny beasts and insects simply by being near. The carcasses piled up until a horrendous stench pervaded the caverns. Those who fled these befouled homes were fortunate, but one Imperial was not so lucky.
He was a sorcerer who had been sent to investigate these strange goings-on. In his arrogance, he only harrumphed at the other dragons' complaints; he thought the problem had been caused by nothing more than a ruptured sewage pipe. He bridled at being sent to check what he wrote off as a simple sanitation problem. And so he was woefully unprepared for what he found.
He was overtaken by the star-beast's magic. Even before the sorcerer spied the beast, it knew he was there, and its invisible, insidious touch laid itself upon him and slowly peeled the life from his bones. Deep in the darkness, the sorcerer felt weakness overtake him. He thrashed uselessly, scrabbling at the earthen walls. And he let out a pathetic moan as he beheld the miasmic creature for the first time: a shambling heap of gelatinous flesh, bones bobbing in its translucent mass. He saw it quite clearly, for it emitted an unearthly glow. A creature not of this world, neither mortal nor divine.
The sorcerer was mighty, but he knew he could not stand against this fiend. He cursed himself, groaning inwardly, regretting his arrogance. The creature began to devour him. It consumed his body...his brains...his magic...his soul....
"Rhadamanthes."
The creature opened its eyes....Yes, it now had eyes. And perhaps more significantly, it now had a name.
"Rhadamanthes. That is...my name."
To be precise, it had been the Imperial sorcerer's name. But the sorcerer was dead now, swallowed up by the beast he'd been sent to destroy. It might have been because Rhadamanthes was the first living drake the star-beast had swallowed, and one brimming full of magic besides: the creature had absorbed not just his magical strength, but also bits of his memories and personality. Its form had changed, too. Antlers now sprouted from its head, and it walked on four short, strong legs. Its tail dragged behind it, leaving an ephemeral film.
But its...his body was still translucent, gelatinous. The unspeakable remains of his meals could still be seen floating inside him. Not that he cared.
Rhadamanthes the sorcerer had come from the surface. Rhadamanthes the star-beast now followed these thoughts. He dragged himself slowly through the abandoned lairs, crawling up to the surface. Up to the sky. Searching for the heavens and his home.
When Rhadamanthes the sorcerer didn't return, his colleagues grew worried. They also realized that the radius of death and decay was spreading, and that if Rhadamanthes had gotten close enough to the contagion's source, he had also perished from it. Fearing for their safety, the sorcerers pulled down the tunnel ceilings, trapping the star-beast in the darkness once more.
The star-beast was not deterred. Its form was not solid; it simply turned and oozed through one of the larger cracks. It bored through the earth until it found another network of shafts and tunnels. A dragon mine.
The miners began to catch glimpses of it: In the dark mine, it glowed faintly, and its eyes were as pale and smooth as the moon. The antlers crowning its head were black, but they glittered as if bound in stars.
_______
Greystone Deer
Trinkets
A simple statue often left as a territory marker by hunters. Pronghorn will often move them close to their lairs as a deadly lure.
47
“...We do know that these tragic animals live underground in mines and desire nothing more than to reach the light of day. They have the power of speech and implore miners to help them to the surface....When this gambit fails, the beast becomes troublesome....”
~ Jorges Luis Borges.....
It was the size of an Imperial, but it could not rightly be called one. The miners whispered of it, calling it a "celestial stag" for its antlers and the way its body glittered and shone. They worked in teams, and they always outnumbered the celestial stag -- until one day, when they fled in panic from the creature and one of them, a new worker, got separated from his gang. He fled deeper into the tunnels, the celestial stag following behind.
It cornered him in a cavern, and there, it spoke to him. If any of Rhadamanthes' old colleagues had heard it, they would have recognized his voice, but distorted, stretched out and made distant, as if it were crackling to them from a distant star.
"Where?" it rasped to the miner. Its eyes shone, white and luminous, as cold and uncaring as the moon. As the miner stared at it, it continued, "Where...is...the sky?"
The miner's teeth chattered. He pointed upwards with a claw. He stammered to the beast, telling it the sky was above the earth, and the star-beast entreated him to show it the way. "I will follow you," it rasped to him.
And follow him it did. But the miner's efforts were all for naught, for he had become hopelessly turned around in his wild flight through the dark. Nothing was familiar, and his fellows wouldn't answer his calls. Eventually he had to admit that he didn't know where to go. He prostrated himself before the terrible creature, begging it to let him go. Rhadamanthes, meanwhile, was thinking. In his half-formed mind, nebulous thoughts were congealing: "Dragon does not know the way to sky. Dragon is useless. Dragon can still be useful -- one more way...
"Kill dragon."
Rhadamanthes inflicted a horrid wound upon the miner. The poor dragon leaped away, howling in pain as his wing was shredded. Rhadamanthes advanced, slashing at him with heavy-bladed claws. Eventually the dragon died, and the celestial stag bent his head and ate the miner's flesh.
A faint memory flickered in his mind: Once upon a time, he had killed a great sorcerer with a thought. Why had he tormented this poor drake so?
And he thought: "Cannot answer if dead. Keep them alive...for a longer time. Death comes slowly. More time to answer...is more time to think. More time to show me...the way."
More miners disappeared into the dark tunnels. Sorcerers and warriors were sent down to rescue them; they perished, too. A few returned, frightened almost into insensibility. They told tales of a horrible wraith stalking slowly through the darkness. At times the dragons around it withered and died as it stared at them, and often it left one or two alive. These poor souls were doomed to lengthier demises, slowly bludgeoned to death as the star-beast repeated its question: "Where...is...the sky?"
At last the mine, too, was closed off. The shafts were pulled down and the entrances sealed by both earth and magic. Rhadamanthes was crushed under several tons of rock. He had by then eaten many other dragons, and they had changed him so that he was no longer amorphous. He had gained substance and become solid -- he could no longer ooze through rocks.
He could not die, and so he spent the long years twisting and wriggling, trying to free himself. Above him, the mine was abandoned and forgotten. Tales of the celestial stag became obscure footnotes in history, the deaths chalked up to pestilence, poisoning, or infighting among the victims. The world continued to turn.
And one day, as it turned, it began to shake. Tectonic plates trembling and brushing up against each other -- tiny movements with titanic results. Sornieth was rocked by an earthquake, and the rocks encasing Rhadamanthes broke apart. At last, he was free.
And he had been pushed to the surface; he could feel it. He was closer to the sky! He crawled up and up and up; in his excitement, he let his magic run loose. Animals, burrowing nearby, all died. The trees above him began to shrivel. The beasts began to flee.
As birds ascended the sky, shrieking and cawing, nearby dragons took notice. The Disillusionists poked their heads out of their lair. They were relatively new to the Hewn City and had heard the strangest stories about it; they were also jumpy because a recent earthquake had shaken their clan -- in more ways than one. The flight of the birds and beasts was not a good sign.
"They are afraid," said Makeda. Her golden eyes were wide with terror. "They say that death is coming from beneath the ground. And there is no stopping it."
The Disillusionists bridled at this. They hadn't been here long and weren't about to be chased out by another earthquake.
But it wasn't an earthquake: Rhadamanthes had reached the surface. At long last, he felt the cool air on his face and saw the vastness of the sky. A noise of triumph burst from his maw: not a roar, but a spectral howl. It was so low it could barely be heard, but the Disillusionists all felt it. They trembled as it shook their very bones. They all watched in horror as the nearby trees withered suddenly, leaves and branches falling like rain. More birds filled the skies. Some of them were too slow, and they dropped in mid-flight. They joined the corpses of land-beasts that had been unable to flee in time. A foul smell began to fill the air.
Rhadamanthes crawled up out of the darkness, singing his chilling song. In the noonday sun, he didn't shine, he burned. It was almost too bright to look at him -- but his skeleton was seen, dimly outlined, as he shambled towards the Disillusionists' lair: he would ascend that immense structure and from there, he would climb back up into the sky. Somehow.
The Disillusionists rallied. They attacked from a distance, hurling bolts of energy, stone, and steel. These all broke over Rhadamanthes without effect or stuck harmlessly in his glowing skin. Meanwhile, the mages and leaders conferred quickly. Polosimthe terraformer could open the earth, make it swallow the creature again -- but the beast had clearly survived in the darkness and would survive for a thousand years more if need be. If it were dropped back into the earth, it would simply crawl out again, and the nightmare would continue.
Jubilant's own Arcane spells hadn't had any effect. He did have some other tricks left, but they would take too long to cast. The beast was closing in quickly. "Prepare to abandon the lair," he advised the others. "We have one last option -- but if she doesn't work, then that's it for us, I'm afraid."
When Rhadamanthes climbed over the next hummock, the genius locus was already in place. A life-sized statue of an Imperial lady, carved from polished indigo stone. It stood by the door to the lair.
A Guardian stood on either side of it. The white lady was as still as marble, her frills raised. Her matebent his head, almost bowing to the statue. He spoke in a soft whisper: "Can you help us?"
With the creak of moving stone, the statue turned its head. It looked at Rhadamanthes with shining kunzite eyes.
She broke apart in a shower of gleaming indigo dust. It swirled apart, forming beating wings, a lashing tail. The Guardians retreated back into their lair and barred the door as the two Imperial-shaped entities closed in on each other.
Rhadamanthes reocgnized her as an enemy. He was now so close to his goal; nothing would stand in his way! He'd give it everything he had. Only...
Nothing seemed to be working. The shadowy Imperial pushed him back and back, driving him away from the lair. He bent his will upon her, trying to leech the energy from her heart. Something was burning inside her -- it was a heart, but it was not a living one. He struck with his claws; they sank into dust and rebounded harmlessly. No blood flowed from the shadow-beast.
He, too, had one final option: to consume her, body and soul. He hadn't consumed anyone since his namesake, but he would attempt to do so again. And so he reached out and attempted to leech away the dragon's very mind and soul....
The strangest thing was that she let him have it.
Rhadamanthes froze. Images flashed through his mind: the statue had been created by a skilled artisan and polished with gentle hands. Her previous owner had woken her up by whispering in her ear: "You will go to a new clan. Be their guardian and their shield. Let their nature become yours, and thus you will truly become a part of their clan."
And her new clan had treated her well. The adults had handled her with care; the hatchlings had played with her. They had cared for her. They had loved her. And she had loved them back.
Let their nature become yours.
They had had to leave her in darkness every night. But they had always brought her candles and spoken tenderly to her. The hatchlings had grown, but the statue had remained a part of the clan. Watching them with kunzite eyes. Growing with them. Becoming a part of the clan.
Let their nature become yours.
She had learned everything they'd had to offer. They loved life, and they loved each other. Some members were troublesome and others were just plain annoying, but still they were cared for. They remained a part of the clan. They relied on each other and protected each other. She would protect them too. As she was doing right here, right now.
Let her nature...become yours.
There was nothing more Rhadamanthes could take, but that was because his mind was now full. And his heart -- suddenly he had a heart. It didn't beat; it burned. It made his soul ache; he cried out at the thought of what he'd been about to do to these innocent dragons and their clan. And so many others...He had tortured them and taken their lives. What had he been?
What was he becoming?
The shadowy Imperial closed in on him -- and then her wings were around him, cradling him gently. "It's all right," she crooned. "Everyone gets tired. We all need to sleep sometime."
He began to grow sleepy. His eyes clouded over -- still as pale as the moon, but no longer empty or cold.
"Go to sleep, go to sleep." The Imperial enveloped him in a gentle darkness. "There, now...It's all right. I will be here. And the sun will still be there in the morning."
Rhadamanthes had completely consumed just two beings. The first was the sorcerer who'd given him his name. The second was Shalimar, a genius locus. A mass of magical energy given strength, shape, and a soul by the dragons she lived with. And Rhadamanthes had acquired something of her strength, shape, and soul, too.
The mad desire to reach the heavens left him. He could look at the sky every day and rejoice because it was there. Instead, he was now painfully aware of the dragons who surrounded him. Shalimar had glimpsed their minds and souls and passed the information on to Rhadamanthes when he'd tried to consume her. He now knew their natures, and he understood them. And thus, he could no longer hate them.
He was not really made of flesh and blood. As before, weapons and magic did not have any effect on him. He could be cut, but the thick, milky white ichor welled up for only a second before the wound closed up again. Probably the only thing that hadn't changed was his ability to leech the life from other beings. It had grown weaker since his failure to consume Shalimar, but it was still there. He could no longer kill with a thought -- just a touch. To protect those around him, he wrapped himself in layers of cloth. He looked like a mummy when he finally presented himself to the clan leaders, a few days after he'd attacked them.
He had fallen unconscious in front of the lair. The Disillusionists had watched as the stolen energy had flowed out of him, turning the grass and trees green again. His body had gradually solidified and become opaque, pale scales glittering in the sunlight. He had acquired a distinctly Imperial shape. No one would call him a "stag" now.
They questioned him cautiously. Rhadamanthes could see the fear in their eyes. His newfound emotions stabbed keenly into his newly-ignited heart, and he spoke humbly, almost tearfully. He was a fallen star -- he used the analogy he thought they'd understand best. He'd been hurled deep into the earth and had struggled to reach the sky. Other creatures had nourished him -- he had taken their lives with impunity. But he had been radically changed by the recent encounter, and he no longer wished to threaten anyone.
Still, it was difficult for them to trust him. So they put him back in the darkness, in the caverns beneath their lair. Rhadamanthes still glowed like the moon, and the Disillusionists shivered and turned away from him.
Only one didn't -- Shalimar the genius locus, now set down here to guard him. She had previously been kept in one of the high rooms, through the windows of which she could see the sky. Rhadamanthes apologized for this. He did not like the idea that the sky had been taken away from someone because of him.
She replied in her sweet and breathy voice, "Silly thing. The sky is always there. It can't be taken away from anyone."
Rhadamanthes mulled this over. It dawned on him, as slowly and as gloriously as the rising sun, that she was right. They were on a planet, floating in the vastness of space...Indeed, the heavens were all around them. Nothing had ever been taken from him. He bowed his head in contrition as he finally accepted this.
There was no need for him to go back up into the heavens because he was already there. And the darkness didn't seem so bad anymore. Like Shalimar, he would get used to it. Maybe later, after some time, he would also become a part of the clan.
~ The End
Credits: Special thanks to awaicu for gifting Rhadamanthes and writing the lore blurb at the top of this post.
Please check the spelling of my name when pinging me: @Disillusionist. Thanks!
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[columns][center][item=battered book of fables][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#003584][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]song of the swearlord[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]3,242 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#292B38]When the Disillusionists settled in the Hewn City, things were a bit difficult at first. The only piece of land large enough to accommodate their floating lair was a marsh near the sea. They soon found[/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=28748526] a hydromancer[/url][color=#292B38] who helped them drain the land, and then they were able to plant their lair. Once their home was in place, the Disillusionists continued going about their business, [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=27347683]small [/url][color=#292B38]and [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30114429]large [/url][color=#292B38]crises notwithstanding.
They made new allies and maintained their ties with their old friends. One of the clans they kept in contact with was [/color][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/clan-profile/7346]Clan Elysia[/url][color=#292B38]. As was traditional, the two clans exchanged children: the Disillusionists' leaders sent [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31033000]their son[/url][color=#292B38] to be raised in Elysia, while Elysia sent a pair of Imperial siblings to live with them.
The Imperial hatchlings quickly bonded with [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25521457]Veritas'[/url][color=#292B38] and [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25521458]Nachtstreiter's[/url][color=#292B38] then-youngest daughter,[/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31033001] Laurant[/url][color=#292B38]. They had all been hatched on the same day, and the close companionship eased the pains of being separated from home and family. [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31031764]Poseidros[/url] [color=#292B38]and [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31031765]Tiferet[/url][color=#292B38] maintained fairly good manners, probably because they knew from the beginning that the lair wasn't really theirs. Laurant, however, had no such qualms. She soon got over her brother's absence and was again as rambunctious and rough as ever. To help her burn off some of her energy, it was suggested that she be allowed to explore.
The lair was close to the sea, and the Disillusionists frequently sent their members to the harbor. It was where the clans of the Hewn City could mingle freely with travelers, buying and selling goods from all over Sornieth. Laurant, with her friends in tow, occasionally accompanied older clanmates on business here.
This became a problem later on. Poseidros and Tiferet never lost their grip on their manners, but Laurant could and did pick up swear words from the mariners who came here to trade. This was tolerated at first, because the adults of the clan found it cute and hilarious. It was accepted that Laurant was too young to understand the import of cussing. She was gently upbraided and told that it was not really good to imitate everything she heard. When she cursed -- a slip of the tongue, the adults said -- she was reminded again.
And again.
And again some more...
The school headmaster, [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26439393]Tantris[/url][color=#292B38], was at his wits' end. He was a cultured individual who took great pride in having a peaceful, well-coordinated school, with pupils who were polite and eager to learn. When Laurant came to class, she would inevitably let loose a swear word or three. They would explode in the class like firecrackers, startling the other hatchlings and resulting in a barrage of awed screams -- and enthusiastic imitations. "She is such a bad [i]influence[/i]," he despaired one day, cracking his tail like a whip. His headpiece clinked as he hung his head despondently.
The progenitors exchanged looks. Nachtstreiter looked a bit miffed with his daughter's reported behavior, but Veritas only wore a vaguely amused smile. Veritas, it had to be said, wasn't really hurt by swearing.
She asked Tantris, "Well, what do you tell her to do when she misbehaves?"
"I tell her to go stand in the corner and face the wall."
Veritas had to hold back a laugh now. At this age, Laurant was about five times as large as Tantris, and she couldn't imagine that his "punishment" was very effective.
The same thing had occurred to Tantris. He actually had a plan for a harmless punishment that, he hoped, would drive his point home. "No swearing!" he exhorted Laurant (again) one day. "Swearing is very bad!"
The other hatchlings squealed in delighted terror at this. Tantris appreciated the gesture -- after all, most of them were a lot bigger than he was. Laurant herself hunkered down, looking suitably ashamed. [i]"But not for long,"[/i] the headmaster thought. He turned towards the blackboard again.
As he'd dreaded, the peace didn't last long. Laurant, while struggling with her essay, muttered something not very discreetly. Something about an anonymous dragon's parentage and how bad it was, especially their mother. The other students erupted into scandalized laughter.
[i]"Right, that does it!"[/i] Tantris decided. He fixed Laurant with his most determined scowl even as he drew his lute from among the folds of his cloak.[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/3fy95bk4r2b1chs/3-water.png[/img][/center]
[color=#292B38]Laurant came home looking a bit disgruntled. Her parents had heard that something odd had happened during school, and they were beginning to suspect that whatever it was, she'd earned it. "How did your studies go today, Laurant?" Veritas asked her.
Her daughter mumbled a noncommittal reply. Something about her voice was off. Veritas' eyes narrowed. "Say something rude, dear," she said, even as Nachtstreiter cringed.
"[img]https://i.imgur.com/LlK1cEE.png[/img]," said the despondent Guardian. Veritas' jaw dropped, and Nacht blinked several times. "I'm sorry, could you...[i]I can't believe I'm saying this[/i]. Could you [i]repeat[/i] that?!"
They hadn't heard any curse words, or indeed, any words at all. When Laurant had spoken, the blare of a trumpet had sounded out of the heavens. It had been so clear and bright, the progenitors had looked up in case the Lightweaver was actually descending. "Say something!" Veritas exhorted. She was unabashedly delighted by this new development. "Say something [i]petrifying[/i]!"
"I am not sure I approve of this," Nacht said. Indeed, he sounded very unsure. After several more moments of experimentation, he summoned the headmaster.
Tantris looked somewhat woebegone. "Look, I can explain--" he began.
"It's amazing. Why didn't you do this sooner?" Veritas asked him.
Tantris blinked. He'd thought he would be fired on the spot, maybe get reported to the Observatory for good measure. It had been an unorthodox punishment, and he'd realized he couldn't be sure it was harmless.
He listened, light-headed, as Veritas chattered, "She creates the most beautiful music now. She'll be the envy of the bards in other clans! Go on, dear, let Teacher Tantris hear your latest opus."
This last one was said to Laurant, who also looked as dumbstruck as Tantris felt. The two of them swapped quick, uncertain looks before Laurant sang (or swore), "[img]https://i.imgur.com/CtO1vVp.png[/img]~" As she did so, music sounded out of the air: the glissando of harps and the chime of silver bells, finishing with a trumpet's triumphant cry.
By the end of it, Tantris was almost weeping. Mostly it was because he, as a bard, appreciated fine music and he'd never heard anything finer than that, but also he was terrified he would still be reported to the Observatory and then sacked from his position as headmaster. Laurant seemed pleased as punch now, though. She looked a lot like a happy hainu; her tongue was almost lolling out of her mouth.
Tantris regained his composure long enough to ask, "You don't want me to...remove the enchantment?"
Veritas winked at him. She reached out a massive paw and scooted her daughter forward. "I think that's something the two of you should discuss," she advised them.[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/3fy95bk4r2b1chs/3-water.png[/img][/center]
[color=#292B38]Once outside, Tantris looked warily at his pupil. She was quite a bit larger than he was, and he wasn't sure just what else she'd told her parents. Some children could be pretty nasty liars at times.
Fortunately, Laurant was not one of these children. "Sorry," she grumbled. With her feet tucked under her and her tail wrapped around herself, she looked like a pretty contrite cat, and that was saying something. Most cats didn't understand the concept of contrition.
"It's fine," Tantris sighed. He forced himself to relax or at least appear in control; after all, [i]he[/i] was the teacher here. He shot Laurant a curious look. "I don't believe we've had a chance to talk about this; you always bail on us right after school lets out. So -- why the swearing, Laurant?"
"Well, it's...funny."
"[i]Funny[/i]?!"
"Yeah, it makes the others laugh, and some of the words are really kooky." The heard a brief shimmer of violins as she tried -- and failed -- to demonstrate. As the music faded from the air, Laurant admitted, "I don't actually mean them."
"I guess you don't," Tantris had to admit. He had known Laurant since she was a tiny, wobbly hatchling, and despite the coarse language, she was never vehement or vicious. Rather like Veritas, come to think of it.
With that in mind, he told her, "Right. I accept your apology, but you have to promise not to swear again -- or at least not more than twice a day."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't intend to stop?" Tantris asked. He looked incredulously at her.
Laurant grinned back -- two rows of teeth, sharp and gleaming. "Heck, [i]no[/i]! This is fun!"
"[i]Oh good gods, I can't believe--[/i]"
"With the meanest words I can muster, I can make the most beautiful songs! [i]This is amazing[/i]. Teacher Tris, did you know that the worse the words are, the more gorgeous the music?"
Tantris was a rather a long time in replying. "Y...You don't want me to remove the enchantment?"
Laurant unleashed a spangle of music so brilliant, Tantris could almost [i]see[/i] it. He nearly didn't hear her more mundane mutter of "Nah."
"Oh. Well...Well, then! That is perfectly fine." He was trying to suppress a grin. "I suppose that, strictly speaking, it's no longer swearing." Inside, he was thinking, [i]"I'm probably going to get fired for this someday,"[/i] but also figured, [i]"What the heck."[/i] He managed, somehow, to make himself look stern again. "But my rule still stands."
"Wha...?"
"No swearing in the classroom! The music is gorgeous, yes, but it's also incredibly distracting, and I don't want the others to forget their lesson because they like to hear you...um, sing." Tantris thought of something else then, and he shivered. He would have to ask the clan leaders to issue an official announcement that he'd been scolded or something. He didn't want other dragons approaching him and begging him to ensorcel themselves or their children. [i]"We'll have to lie. Ugh, I [/i]hate[i] lying. Maybe we can tell them it was a magic lute....Yes, that should do it. Shoddy magical artifacts are a dime a dozen these days."[/i]
It was more trouble than it was worth. He had made a mistake, after all. But there was a silver lining, of a sort. If nothing else, at least they'd be unbeatable in choral contests now.[/color]
[center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/3fy95bk4r2b1chs/3-water.png[/img][/center]
[color=#292B38]Fortunately for Tantris, magical afflictions were a dime a dozen, too. Dragons soon got over the novelty of Laurant's ability to blare out music at will. In retrospect, it wasn't really that spectacular; there were devices from the Shifting Expanse that could do the same thing, and they didn't even run on magic. As for Laurant herself, she never asked for the enchantment to be removed. It was a lot of fun, she explained, and it did give her something nice to listen to when she was bored. "Helps me calm down, too, when I'm stressed about something," she added at one point. The other dragons imagined her grumbling and swearing over her arithmetic homework, and they had to agree.
Unlike her brother, Laurant remained with her birth clan. The enchantment became nothing more than a strange personal quirk, rather like [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26808131]Euclid's[/url][color=#292B38] vanishing at will or [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25555187]Frostlyn's [/url][color=#292B38]aurora-colored wings. She became known around the Beacon as "the Swearlord", in part because she'd also taken to dressing as grandiosely as her parents.
"Going somewhere, dear?" Veritas asked. The white Guardian was sprawled lazily in the flowers outside, basking in the sun. Her daughter flowed by her, quick and dark as a shadow, and then paused, one paw lifted. "Ah, yes, Mama."
"Try not to swear too much, my girl. We haven't been here long, and we should make a good impression on the neighbors."
"Yes, Mama." Laurant watched as her mother's eyes closed, and then she loped away.
She had left school behind long ago. After various hijinks involving much magic and yelling, the lair had flown halfway across the Sunbeam Ruins and then plopped down near the Beacon of the Radiant Eye. They were still near the water, but not as near as before, so Laurant's supply of salty words had more or less dried up.
Still, it didn't really matter. It was probably time to outgrow that now. Laurant wanted to set a good example for the new hatchlings coming in. In fact, if she happened to win the bet set up by a nearby clan, a new one would be joining the lair soon.
She strode over to the [/color][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/clan-profile/274008]Lair of the Sharded Lights[/url][color=#292B38][color=#292B38]. [i]"Why'd I pick 'Carrot'? I don't even [/i]like[i] carrots. Maybe 'Cinnamon' would've been a better first bet. Oh, well...Carrots and Cinnamon, [/color][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33029109]don't fail me now[/url][color=#292B38]!"[/color][/i]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#003584][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
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The terrible thing is that all your favorite characters die in the end. (Special thanks XenonZerrow.)
70
..
song of the swearlord written by Disillusionist 3,242 words
When the Disillusionists settled in the Hewn City, things were a bit difficult at first. The only piece of land large enough to accommodate their floating lair was a marsh near the sea. They soon found a hydromancer who helped them drain the land, and then they were able to plant their lair. Once their home was in place, the Disillusionists continued going about their business, small and large crises notwithstanding.
They made new allies and maintained their ties with their old friends. One of the clans they kept in contact with was Clan Elysia. As was traditional, the two clans exchanged children: the Disillusionists' leaders sent their son to be raised in Elysia, while Elysia sent a pair of Imperial siblings to live with them.
The Imperial hatchlings quickly bonded with Veritas' and Nachtstreiter's then-youngest daughter, Laurant. They had all been hatched on the same day, and the close companionship eased the pains of being separated from home and family. Poseidrosand Tiferet maintained fairly good manners, probably because they knew from the beginning that the lair wasn't really theirs. Laurant, however, had no such qualms. She soon got over her brother's absence and was again as rambunctious and rough as ever. To help her burn off some of her energy, it was suggested that she be allowed to explore.
The lair was close to the sea, and the Disillusionists frequently sent their members to the harbor. It was where the clans of the Hewn City could mingle freely with travelers, buying and selling goods from all over Sornieth. Laurant, with her friends in tow, occasionally accompanied older clanmates on business here.
This became a problem later on. Poseidros and Tiferet never lost their grip on their manners, but Laurant could and did pick up swear words from the mariners who came here to trade. This was tolerated at first, because the adults of the clan found it cute and hilarious. It was accepted that Laurant was too young to understand the import of cussing. She was gently upbraided and told that it was not really good to imitate everything she heard. When she cursed -- a slip of the tongue, the adults said -- she was reminded again.
And again.
And again some more...
The school headmaster, Tantris, was at his wits' end. He was a cultured individual who took great pride in having a peaceful, well-coordinated school, with pupils who were polite and eager to learn. When Laurant came to class, she would inevitably let loose a swear word or three. They would explode in the class like firecrackers, startling the other hatchlings and resulting in a barrage of awed screams -- and enthusiastic imitations. "She is such a bad influence," he despaired one day, cracking his tail like a whip. His headpiece clinked as he hung his head despondently.
The progenitors exchanged looks. Nachtstreiter looked a bit miffed with his daughter's reported behavior, but Veritas only wore a vaguely amused smile. Veritas, it had to be said, wasn't really hurt by swearing.
She asked Tantris, "Well, what do you tell her to do when she misbehaves?"
"I tell her to go stand in the corner and face the wall."
Veritas had to hold back a laugh now. At this age, Laurant was about five times as large as Tantris, and she couldn't imagine that his "punishment" was very effective.
The same thing had occurred to Tantris. He actually had a plan for a harmless punishment that, he hoped, would drive his point home. "No swearing!" he exhorted Laurant (again) one day. "Swearing is very bad!"
The other hatchlings squealed in delighted terror at this. Tantris appreciated the gesture -- after all, most of them were a lot bigger than he was. Laurant herself hunkered down, looking suitably ashamed. "But not for long," the headmaster thought. He turned towards the blackboard again.
As he'd dreaded, the peace didn't last long. Laurant, while struggling with her essay, muttered something not very discreetly. Something about an anonymous dragon's parentage and how bad it was, especially their mother. The other students erupted into scandalized laughter.
"Right, that does it!" Tantris decided. He fixed Laurant with his most determined scowl even as he drew his lute from among the folds of his cloak.
Laurant came home looking a bit disgruntled. Her parents had heard that something odd had happened during school, and they were beginning to suspect that whatever it was, she'd earned it. "How did your studies go today, Laurant?" Veritas asked her.
Her daughter mumbled a noncommittal reply. Something about her voice was off. Veritas' eyes narrowed. "Say something rude, dear," she said, even as Nachtstreiter cringed.
"," said the despondent Guardian. Veritas' jaw dropped, and Nacht blinked several times. "I'm sorry, could you...I can't believe I'm saying this. Could you repeat that?!"
They hadn't heard any curse words, or indeed, any words at all. When Laurant had spoken, the blare of a trumpet had sounded out of the heavens. It had been so clear and bright, the progenitors had looked up in case the Lightweaver was actually descending. "Say something!" Veritas exhorted. She was unabashedly delighted by this new development. "Say something petrifying!"
"I am not sure I approve of this," Nacht said. Indeed, he sounded very unsure. After several more moments of experimentation, he summoned the headmaster.
Tantris looked somewhat woebegone. "Look, I can explain--" he began.
"It's amazing. Why didn't you do this sooner?" Veritas asked him.
Tantris blinked. He'd thought he would be fired on the spot, maybe get reported to the Observatory for good measure. It had been an unorthodox punishment, and he'd realized he couldn't be sure it was harmless.
He listened, light-headed, as Veritas chattered, "She creates the most beautiful music now. She'll be the envy of the bards in other clans! Go on, dear, let Teacher Tantris hear your latest opus."
This last one was said to Laurant, who also looked as dumbstruck as Tantris felt. The two of them swapped quick, uncertain looks before Laurant sang (or swore), "~" As she did so, music sounded out of the air: the glissando of harps and the chime of silver bells, finishing with a trumpet's triumphant cry.
By the end of it, Tantris was almost weeping. Mostly it was because he, as a bard, appreciated fine music and he'd never heard anything finer than that, but also he was terrified he would still be reported to the Observatory and then sacked from his position as headmaster. Laurant seemed pleased as punch now, though. She looked a lot like a happy hainu; her tongue was almost lolling out of her mouth.
Tantris regained his composure long enough to ask, "You don't want me to...remove the enchantment?"
Veritas winked at him. She reached out a massive paw and scooted her daughter forward. "I think that's something the two of you should discuss," she advised them.
Once outside, Tantris looked warily at his pupil. She was quite a bit larger than he was, and he wasn't sure just what else she'd told her parents. Some children could be pretty nasty liars at times.
Fortunately, Laurant was not one of these children. "Sorry," she grumbled. With her feet tucked under her and her tail wrapped around herself, she looked like a pretty contrite cat, and that was saying something. Most cats didn't understand the concept of contrition.
"It's fine," Tantris sighed. He forced himself to relax or at least appear in control; after all, he was the teacher here. He shot Laurant a curious look. "I don't believe we've had a chance to talk about this; you always bail on us right after school lets out. So -- why the swearing, Laurant?"
"Well, it's...funny."
"Funny?!"
"Yeah, it makes the others laugh, and some of the words are really kooky." The heard a brief shimmer of violins as she tried -- and failed -- to demonstrate. As the music faded from the air, Laurant admitted, "I don't actually mean them."
"I guess you don't," Tantris had to admit. He had known Laurant since she was a tiny, wobbly hatchling, and despite the coarse language, she was never vehement or vicious. Rather like Veritas, come to think of it.
With that in mind, he told her, "Right. I accept your apology, but you have to promise not to swear again -- or at least not more than twice a day."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't intend to stop?" Tantris asked. He looked incredulously at her.
Laurant grinned back -- two rows of teeth, sharp and gleaming. "Heck, no! This is fun!"
"Oh good gods, I can't believe--"
"With the meanest words I can muster, I can make the most beautiful songs! This is amazing. Teacher Tris, did you know that the worse the words are, the more gorgeous the music?"
Tantris was a rather a long time in replying. "Y...You don't want me to remove the enchantment?"
Laurant unleashed a spangle of music so brilliant, Tantris could almost see it. He nearly didn't hear her more mundane mutter of "Nah."
"Oh. Well...Well, then! That is perfectly fine." He was trying to suppress a grin. "I suppose that, strictly speaking, it's no longer swearing." Inside, he was thinking, "I'm probably going to get fired for this someday," but also figured, "What the heck." He managed, somehow, to make himself look stern again. "But my rule still stands."
"Wha...?"
"No swearing in the classroom! The music is gorgeous, yes, but it's also incredibly distracting, and I don't want the others to forget their lesson because they like to hear you...um, sing." Tantris thought of something else then, and he shivered. He would have to ask the clan leaders to issue an official announcement that he'd been scolded or something. He didn't want other dragons approaching him and begging him to ensorcel themselves or their children. "We'll have to lie. Ugh, I hate lying. Maybe we can tell them it was a magic lute....Yes, that should do it. Shoddy magical artifacts are a dime a dozen these days."
It was more trouble than it was worth. He had made a mistake, after all. But there was a silver lining, of a sort. If nothing else, at least they'd be unbeatable in choral contests now.
Fortunately for Tantris, magical afflictions were a dime a dozen, too. Dragons soon got over the novelty of Laurant's ability to blare out music at will. In retrospect, it wasn't really that spectacular; there were devices from the Shifting Expanse that could do the same thing, and they didn't even run on magic. As for Laurant herself, she never asked for the enchantment to be removed. It was a lot of fun, she explained, and it did give her something nice to listen to when she was bored. "Helps me calm down, too, when I'm stressed about something," she added at one point. The other dragons imagined her grumbling and swearing over her arithmetic homework, and they had to agree.
Unlike her brother, Laurant remained with her birth clan. The enchantment became nothing more than a strange personal quirk, rather like Euclid's vanishing at will or Frostlyn's aurora-colored wings. She became known around the Beacon as "the Swearlord", in part because she'd also taken to dressing as grandiosely as her parents.
"Going somewhere, dear?" Veritas asked. The white Guardian was sprawled lazily in the flowers outside, basking in the sun. Her daughter flowed by her, quick and dark as a shadow, and then paused, one paw lifted. "Ah, yes, Mama."
"Try not to swear too much, my girl. We haven't been here long, and we should make a good impression on the neighbors."
"Yes, Mama." Laurant watched as her mother's eyes closed, and then she loped away.
She had left school behind long ago. After various hijinks involving much magic and yelling, the lair had flown halfway across the Sunbeam Ruins and then plopped down near the Beacon of the Radiant Eye. They were still near the water, but not as near as before, so Laurant's supply of salty words had more or less dried up.
Still, it didn't really matter. It was probably time to outgrow that now. Laurant wanted to set a good example for the new hatchlings coming in. In fact, if she happened to win the bet set up by a nearby clan, a new one would be joining the lair soon.
She strode over to the Lair of the Sharded Lights. "Why'd I pick 'Carrot'? I don't even like carrots. Maybe 'Cinnamon' would've been a better first bet. Oh, well...Carrots and Cinnamon, don't fail me now!"
," said the despondent Guardian. Veritas' jaw dropped, and Nacht blinked several times. "I'm sorry, could you...I can't believe I'm saying this. Could you repeat that?!"
~" As she did so, music sounded out of the air: the glissando of harps and the chime of silver bells, finishing with a trumpet's triumphant cry.
