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[columns][center][item=dried cedar branch][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#D1B300][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]the house of second chances[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
special thanks to Hnai, et al.
[color=#9494A9]949 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#77493F]To many dragons, the Plaguelands are nothing but a death trap. Foreign travelers, hurrying through the Scarred Wasteland, are always glad to see the borders. Whether they’re the light-flecked trees of the Starfall Isles or the twisted shapes of the Tangled Wood, the sight of the borders brings relief to those looking to leave the Wasteland.
Forests equal trees, and trees mean life. But many dragons forget that trees can also mean danger...even death. Each forest is a labyrinth all on its own, and the trees hide many dangers.
Many a traveler has gotten lost in the forests clustered around the Plaguelands. They wander for days...sometimes even for weeks. The woods are heavy with magic, and sometimes dragons get entangled, unable to walk or even fly out on their own. Sometimes accidents happen and they are left languishing among the leaves, praying desperately for rescue.
And to a lucky few, indeed, rescue comes.
Somewhere in those forests, there’s a house. It doesn’t matter which forest: It can appear in the Starfall Isles or the Tangled Wood or even among the sparse trees by the Tidelord’s sea. It is made of white stone, seemingly carved from a single massive piece; just pure, unbroken white that gleams even in darkness. Copper and gold filigree crawls delicately across its surface. At intervals the metal curls around panels of jewels; some panels are made of glass. Windows.
And inside, there are warm and comfortable rooms, an inviting hearth. And there she awaits. The witch.
“You’re lost, dear,” she greets wayward travelers — telling them, never asking. “Come inside and rest.”
And she beckons towards her house. From inside come the scents of delicious meals. Roasting meat or simmering vegetables, more often than not the sweet smell of baking pastries.
Inside the house, the travelers are warmed and cared for. They are given nourishing food and drink and offered a place to stay overnight. The witch is pleasant company. She heals travelers if they are ill, listens tranquilly if they are upset. More often than not, however, the travelers are delighted to have found her. She is a good person. She asks for nothing in return; she is solicitous and kind. “It’s just like in fairy tales!” they gush...and the witch’s smile fades ever so slightly.
“Fairy tales are the most dangerous stories,” the witch always warns her guests. “They teach you that no matter what happens to you, no matter how bad or horrible, there’s always a ‘happily ever after’ waiting for you. Don’t be unwise, visitor. They are called [i]tales[/i], not [i]facts[/i], for a reason. Don’t assume that just because you got a second chance now, you’ll get another reprieve next time.”
She looks gravely at her visitors and tells them, “You came here because you deserve a second chance. Use it wisely, and take care not to blunder into trouble again.”
Many dragons, already cowed by their ordeals in the forest, take her words to heart. The next day, they open the door to find that they are magically near civilization, always near friendly dragons who will take them the rest of the way to safety. They bid the witch goodbye, and they sing her praises, tell her tale, for the rest of their days. [i]The House of Second Chances[/i], they call her domain, remembering her somber words.
There are those dragons, however, who do not learn...or who refuse to.
They are the foolhardy, the overconfident, who dare to challenge the forest again. Who dare to ignore the witch’s words: [i]Don’t assume that just because your ordeal is over, you’ll get another chance next time. [/i]
They blunder in among the trees, intent on meeting the witch once more. Many of these dragons find danger again. The beasts of the forest assail them, or nature itself takes a hand. They are left lost and shivering, injured and cowed — as they were before the witch first saved them.
But this time, the witch does not come.
It is called the House of [i]Second[/i] Chances for a reason. There will be no third chance. No fourth chance. No fifth...
There will be no [i]happily ever after [/i]for those who dare challenge the forest a second time.
Somewhere among the trees — a child, crying. Lost and scared and alone. The witch takes them in. She sponges off their sore feet, gives them a bowl of hot stew. The hatchling stares up at them with wondering eyes. “You’re like a fairy go’mother!”
“No, child. I am a witch.”
A smile, no fear. A dangerous combination in one so young. “Like in fairy tales?”
The witch’s mood grows somber. She crouches before the child, and at the back of her mind are bones lying moldering beneath the leaf litter and cries that went ignored. [i]“Please! Save me again....You saved me once before! You saved me once—”
Once.[/i] That’s all, no more. If they are meant to survive longer, perhaps the gods will save them, or nature will grant them another reprieve. But not her. Once a dragon leaves her home, she is done with them.
The child’s smile drops off his face as he beholds the witch’s fierce expression. The bowl rattles in his paws. He listens carefully as she warns him, “Fairy tales are the most dangerous stories...”
Will he listen? She can hope so. She would hate to hear his voice again, crying out in the wilderness. Hate to know that his bones have sunk beneath the loamy soil.
But she cannot interfere again. [i]“No more chances. No more,”[/i] the forest whispers to her, and she must obey.
After all, the forest needs to feed itself. It needs its [i]happily ever after,[/i] too.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#D1B300][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
[size=2][color=#9494A9][b]Note:[/b] This story was originally written for Shadow's [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2734734/1][i]Poet's Tea Party[/i][/url] (2019), where it won second place in Prose. Thank you to everyone who read and voted!
Special thanks also to [i]Hnai[/i] for the lore blurb included in Niamh's bio.[/color][/size]
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the house of second chances
written by Disillusionist
special thanks to Hnai, et al.
949 words
|
To many dragons, the Plaguelands are nothing but a death trap. Foreign travelers, hurrying through the Scarred Wasteland, are always glad to see the borders. Whether they’re the light-flecked trees of the Starfall Isles or the twisted shapes of the Tangled Wood, the sight of the borders brings relief to those looking to leave the Wasteland.
Forests equal trees, and trees mean life. But many dragons forget that trees can also mean danger...even death. Each forest is a labyrinth all on its own, and the trees hide many dangers.
Many a traveler has gotten lost in the forests clustered around the Plaguelands. They wander for days...sometimes even for weeks. The woods are heavy with magic, and sometimes dragons get entangled, unable to walk or even fly out on their own. Sometimes accidents happen and they are left languishing among the leaves, praying desperately for rescue.
And to a lucky few, indeed, rescue comes.
Somewhere in those forests, there’s a house. It doesn’t matter which forest: It can appear in the Starfall Isles or the Tangled Wood or even among the sparse trees by the Tidelord’s sea. It is made of white stone, seemingly carved from a single massive piece; just pure, unbroken white that gleams even in darkness. Copper and gold filigree crawls delicately across its surface. At intervals the metal curls around panels of jewels; some panels are made of glass. Windows.
And inside, there are warm and comfortable rooms, an inviting hearth. And there she awaits. The witch.
“You’re lost, dear,” she greets wayward travelers — telling them, never asking. “Come inside and rest.”
And she beckons towards her house. From inside come the scents of delicious meals. Roasting meat or simmering vegetables, more often than not the sweet smell of baking pastries.
Inside the house, the travelers are warmed and cared for. They are given nourishing food and drink and offered a place to stay overnight. The witch is pleasant company. She heals travelers if they are ill, listens tranquilly if they are upset. More often than not, however, the travelers are delighted to have found her. She is a good person. She asks for nothing in return; she is solicitous and kind. “It’s just like in fairy tales!” they gush...and the witch’s smile fades ever so slightly.
“Fairy tales are the most dangerous stories,” the witch always warns her guests. “They teach you that no matter what happens to you, no matter how bad or horrible, there’s always a ‘happily ever after’ waiting for you. Don’t be unwise, visitor. They are called tales, not facts, for a reason. Don’t assume that just because you got a second chance now, you’ll get another reprieve next time.”
She looks gravely at her visitors and tells them, “You came here because you deserve a second chance. Use it wisely, and take care not to blunder into trouble again.”
Many dragons, already cowed by their ordeals in the forest, take her words to heart. The next day, they open the door to find that they are magically near civilization, always near friendly dragons who will take them the rest of the way to safety. They bid the witch goodbye, and they sing her praises, tell her tale, for the rest of their days. The House of Second Chances, they call her domain, remembering her somber words.
There are those dragons, however, who do not learn...or who refuse to.
They are the foolhardy, the overconfident, who dare to challenge the forest again. Who dare to ignore the witch’s words: Don’t assume that just because your ordeal is over, you’ll get another chance next time.
They blunder in among the trees, intent on meeting the witch once more. Many of these dragons find danger again. The beasts of the forest assail them, or nature itself takes a hand. They are left lost and shivering, injured and cowed — as they were before the witch first saved them.
But this time, the witch does not come.
It is called the House of Second Chances for a reason. There will be no third chance. No fourth chance. No fifth...
There will be no happily ever after for those who dare challenge the forest a second time.
Somewhere among the trees — a child, crying. Lost and scared and alone. The witch takes them in. She sponges off their sore feet, gives them a bowl of hot stew. The hatchling stares up at them with wondering eyes. “You’re like a fairy go’mother!”
“No, child. I am a witch.”
A smile, no fear. A dangerous combination in one so young. “Like in fairy tales?”
The witch’s mood grows somber. She crouches before the child, and at the back of her mind are bones lying moldering beneath the leaf litter and cries that went ignored. “Please! Save me again....You saved me once before! You saved me once—”
Once. That’s all, no more. If they are meant to survive longer, perhaps the gods will save them, or nature will grant them another reprieve. But not her. Once a dragon leaves her home, she is done with them.
The child’s smile drops off his face as he beholds the witch’s fierce expression. The bowl rattles in his paws. He listens carefully as she warns him, “Fairy tales are the most dangerous stories...”
Will he listen? She can hope so. She would hate to hear his voice again, crying out in the wilderness. Hate to know that his bones have sunk beneath the loamy soil.
But she cannot interfere again. “No more chances. No more,” the forest whispers to her, and she must obey.
After all, the forest needs to feed itself. It needs its happily ever after, too.
~ The End
Note: This story was originally written for Shadow's Poet's Tea Party (2019), where it won second place in Prose. Thank you to everyone who read and voted!
Special thanks also to Hnai for the lore blurb included in Niamh's bio.
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[columns][center][item=sickle claws][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#287CEF][font=garamond][size=7][size=4]{ a story for wadjet }[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]884 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#003584]Wadjet's original clan made their home among the lower slopes of the Cloudscape Crags. Like many Gaoler groups, they were secretive, their lair cunningly concealed by natural topography and magic. The clan served the Icewarden loyally for many centuries. They also kept in touch with other Gaolers, who were just as secretive as they.
It was from some of these other dragons that Wadjet's clan first heard: The Shade had been neither exterminated nor contained. Worse, it actually seemed to have [i]spread out[/i], leaching into dragonkind and the land alike. The clan was divided as to what should be done next. The majority, Wadjet included, believed that it was time for the clan to make itself known to other dragons. They could join with these new races to continue the fight against the Shade. The minority advocated continued secrecy. They held that as long as the clan remained in the Cloudscape Crags, the Icewarden's protection would be sufficient. As the Icewarden himself hadn't sent any orders yet, the factions remained at odds with each other.
One of the more impulsive Gaolers sent out word, exposing the existence of their clan. Those who were against contacting outsiders were angered by this, but when they received the news that other dragons were coming to meet them, some weeks later, the entire clan erupted into furor. The majority explained that since the clan's existence was now known, everyone had no choice; they had to meet the rest of dragonkind and eventually leave their icy home. The others were outraged. Backed into a corner, and with most of their clanmates against them, they came up with a truly despicable scheme.
They pretended to agree with their leaders, smiling placidly and going along with the orders to gather drink and food....They took the ingredients and laced them with poison as they prepared that evening's meal. There wasn't enough poison to alert their clanmates' sensitive noses -- but consumed in bulk, as food was during mealtimes, it made the other Gaolers slower, more confused. The dissenters moved to dispatch them then, striking quickly as the confusion took effect. They used their own frigid magic to baffle their clanmates, hunting them through the halls of the lair.
Not all of the Gaolers were caught up in this raid, however. A small hunting party, which Wadjet was a part of, had been sent out earlier in the day. They returned the next dawn to find the lair eerily quiet, many of their clanmates missing. The slain Gaolers' bodies had been dragged deep into the lair, where they had been thrown into underground rivers, away from any dragons who might want to investigate. The gore had been cleaned up or hidden under snow and ice. But the scent of blood and deception was strong, and it clung thickly to the dissenters who came out to greet the hunters. Wadjet and her comrades sniffed the air, and they realized -- [i]the Shade had been here.[/i]
A battle erupted between the dissenters and the hunters. Although the hunters were outnumbered, they were ferocious, and Wadjet, the eldest of them, was the most vicious of all. Her comrades fell one by one, but the remaining dissenters ran from her all the same, fleeing in terror from her bloody fangs, her wide and blazing eyes. Wadjet pursued them into the frozen tundra. She left the lair open behind her, snow drifting in to thickly cover the floor....
It was some days before she returned. She had killed the last of the dissenters, and now that her berserk rage had left her, she realized she should have investigated the lair more carefully. She wandered through the empty halls, sniffing the air. The stink of the Shade was faint now -- but there was the scent of other dragons. Wadjet snarled as she realized that while she had been away, outsider dragons had come and gone. They had--
Then she came to the nursery, and she stopped. While the place had seen battle, the eggs had been left alone: doubtless the dissenters had intended to raise these children with their own twisted beliefs. But in the chaos that had followed, the eggs had been forgotten and left exposed to the cold. Wadjet stood before them, shaking with grief as she realized all the hatchlings inside had perished. All the dragons of her clan were dead now, and she was the only one left....
But as she stood there in sorrow, those strange smells tugged at her again. The foreign dragons had come here, approached the nests...and they had taken an egg; she could smell it. [i]And the hatchling inside it still lived.[/i] The scent of its Ice magic, as familiar as her own lair, mingled with theirs; they had taken it away, possibly across the sea.
Wadjet straightened up. She would follow that trail, for no matter how faint it was, it was all she had left. She would honor her leaders' words by doing what they had wished, by going out into the world to continue their fight against the Shade. After all, the conflicts that'd erupted here had proven that there was really nowhere to hide from it. It would find them all eventually.
If they wanted to stand a chance against it, they would have to meet it head-on.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#287CEF][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
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..
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{ a story for wadjet }
written by Disillusionist
884 words
|
Wadjet's original clan made their home among the lower slopes of the Cloudscape Crags. Like many Gaoler groups, they were secretive, their lair cunningly concealed by natural topography and magic. The clan served the Icewarden loyally for many centuries. They also kept in touch with other Gaolers, who were just as secretive as they.
It was from some of these other dragons that Wadjet's clan first heard: The Shade had been neither exterminated nor contained. Worse, it actually seemed to have spread out, leaching into dragonkind and the land alike. The clan was divided as to what should be done next. The majority, Wadjet included, believed that it was time for the clan to make itself known to other dragons. They could join with these new races to continue the fight against the Shade. The minority advocated continued secrecy. They held that as long as the clan remained in the Cloudscape Crags, the Icewarden's protection would be sufficient. As the Icewarden himself hadn't sent any orders yet, the factions remained at odds with each other.
One of the more impulsive Gaolers sent out word, exposing the existence of their clan. Those who were against contacting outsiders were angered by this, but when they received the news that other dragons were coming to meet them, some weeks later, the entire clan erupted into furor. The majority explained that since the clan's existence was now known, everyone had no choice; they had to meet the rest of dragonkind and eventually leave their icy home. The others were outraged. Backed into a corner, and with most of their clanmates against them, they came up with a truly despicable scheme.
They pretended to agree with their leaders, smiling placidly and going along with the orders to gather drink and food....They took the ingredients and laced them with poison as they prepared that evening's meal. There wasn't enough poison to alert their clanmates' sensitive noses -- but consumed in bulk, as food was during mealtimes, it made the other Gaolers slower, more confused. The dissenters moved to dispatch them then, striking quickly as the confusion took effect. They used their own frigid magic to baffle their clanmates, hunting them through the halls of the lair.
Not all of the Gaolers were caught up in this raid, however. A small hunting party, which Wadjet was a part of, had been sent out earlier in the day. They returned the next dawn to find the lair eerily quiet, many of their clanmates missing. The slain Gaolers' bodies had been dragged deep into the lair, where they had been thrown into underground rivers, away from any dragons who might want to investigate. The gore had been cleaned up or hidden under snow and ice. But the scent of blood and deception was strong, and it clung thickly to the dissenters who came out to greet the hunters. Wadjet and her comrades sniffed the air, and they realized -- the Shade had been here.
A battle erupted between the dissenters and the hunters. Although the hunters were outnumbered, they were ferocious, and Wadjet, the eldest of them, was the most vicious of all. Her comrades fell one by one, but the remaining dissenters ran from her all the same, fleeing in terror from her bloody fangs, her wide and blazing eyes. Wadjet pursued them into the frozen tundra. She left the lair open behind her, snow drifting in to thickly cover the floor....
It was some days before she returned. She had killed the last of the dissenters, and now that her berserk rage had left her, she realized she should have investigated the lair more carefully. She wandered through the empty halls, sniffing the air. The stink of the Shade was faint now -- but there was the scent of other dragons. Wadjet snarled as she realized that while she had been away, outsider dragons had come and gone. They had--
Then she came to the nursery, and she stopped. While the place had seen battle, the eggs had been left alone: doubtless the dissenters had intended to raise these children with their own twisted beliefs. But in the chaos that had followed, the eggs had been forgotten and left exposed to the cold. Wadjet stood before them, shaking with grief as she realized all the hatchlings inside had perished. All the dragons of her clan were dead now, and she was the only one left....
But as she stood there in sorrow, those strange smells tugged at her again. The foreign dragons had come here, approached the nests...and they had taken an egg; she could smell it. And the hatchling inside it still lived. The scent of its Ice magic, as familiar as her own lair, mingled with theirs; they had taken it away, possibly across the sea.
Wadjet straightened up. She would follow that trail, for no matter how faint it was, it was all she had left. She would honor her leaders' words by doing what they had wished, by going out into the world to continue their fight against the Shade. After all, the conflicts that'd erupted here had proven that there was really nowhere to hide from it. It would find them all eventually.
If they wanted to stand a chance against it, they would have to meet it head-on.
~ The End
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