Creative Corner

[center][font=Papyrus][size=7][b]Introduction[/b][/size][/font] [font=Century Gothic][size=3]INTRODUCTION | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771961]INDEX[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771965]CREDITS[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771968]CHARACTERS[/url][/size][/font][/center] [columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/mz9zekr.gif[/img] [nextcol] [indent][font=Century Gothic][size=4]Between the realms of Light and Shadow lies a grassy knoll that, unknown to most travellers passing by, is home to myriad creatures. This is the Shrouded Grotto: a twisting network of caves, trees and hollowed-out logs. Led by the pitiless and cunning Ta'shir, the creatures within cleave to a singular purpose: survival. Against this backdrop, [i]Precipice[/i] begins as the border of the Sunbeam Ruins overtakes the Grotto. Once nestled in dark sanctuary, the clan is now plunged into daylight and hatchlings are opening brilliant golden eyes for the first time in the Grotto's history. As sunlight pushes deeper into the Tangled Wood, Ta'shir finds her clan at the heart of a gathering storm. She knows they must leave the Grotto in search of answers if they ever hope to set things right again. This is a tale of cutting away the chaff, and how one clan, in their struggle to stay together, stumbled upon the answer to a question that has threatened the very nature of Sornieth: [i]where have all the deities gone?[/i] [/indent][/font][/columns]

[center][font=Papyrus][size=7][b]Credits[/b][/size][/font] [font=Century Gothic][size=3][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771959]INTRODUCTION[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771961]INDEX[/url] | CREDITS | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771968]CHARACTERS[/url] GRAPHICS: [img]http://i.imgur.com/UAq8IPJ.png[/img] courtesy of [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2138900#post_26074668]Sesshin[/url] [img]http://orig03.deviantart.net/c8d5/f/2016/276/5/2/lightshield_divider_2_by_starkindlerstudio-dajsymj.png[/img] courtesy of [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/1997330]Starkindler[/url] [size=5] [/font][/center]

[center][font=Papyrus][size=7][b]Characters[/b][/size][/font] [font=Century Gothic][size=3][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771959]INTRODUCTION[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771961]INDEX[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771965]CREDITS[/url] | CHARACTERS [size=5][columns][center][u][b]Hush[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38455546] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/384556/38455546.png[/img] [/url] [/center] [nextcol][center][u][b]Liminal[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=39186770] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/391868/39186770.png[/img] [/url][/center] [nextcol][center][u][b]Omen[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38670013] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/386701/38670013.png[/img] [/url][/center] [nextcol][center][u][b]Rue[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=35534085] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/355341/35534085.png[/img] [/url][/center] [nextcol][center][u][b]Ixquist[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24347388] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/243474/24347388.png[/img] [/url][/center] [/columns] [columns][center][u][b]Malice[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30997261] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/309973/30997261.png[/img] [/url][/center] [nextcol][center][u][b]Ta'shir[/b][/u] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24095020] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/240951/24095020.png[/img] [/url][/center] [/font]

Hush spent a long time looking up at the crumbling tower on the edge of the sea before she made her camp. The beacon, at last!

She had lost count of how many weeks she'd spent wandering through the Mirrorlight Promenade and the Hewn City, searching for the tower of the Lightweaver - and now, here she was, at last.

She had circled the beacon three times before making her camp, just to be sure she was actually there. She had peered over the edge of the cliff on her third circuit and had seen the great, ponderous body of Relic roll over the surface of the sea in pursuit of elusive prey, and she had known at that moment that this truly was the place she had been searching for.

The tower looked dark, here on the edge of twilight - none of the shining within one might expect from the lair of a god.

She had thought she would feel ... different, here at the end. Elated, perhaps; accomplished. Instead, she simply felt anxious. What if the Lightweaver was not there?

What if, like so many times before, her journey was to end in failure?

The Sunbeam Ruins were growing. They had been pushing into bordering lands for months, affecting all of Sornieth as a result. The answers had to be in that tower.

Hush sat back on her haunches and looked into the light of her campfire. What would Liminal say if he could see her now?

Thinking of Liminal made her chest heavy. She knew what he would say - why does it have to be you who saves us? He'd said it to her before. He'd said it to her when she left him in the Shifting Expanse, and his sharp blue eyes had been hopeless and sad.

She had wanted to tell him, then, but it was you who saved me. But she'd known if she said that she would never have the courage to leave. And so, instead of answering, she had simply gathered her things and set off from his spire in the Lightning Farm.

It had been a long, hard trek to the ruins. She had flown straight through Carrion Canyon, over the corpses of giant, long-dead creatures, and walked through the Highland Scrub, catching water from looming cacti the way Liminal had shown her.

But the Ruins had proved more treacherous. Far different from the bustling seascape of her home, the once-thriving metropolis of the ancient seaside empire seemed abandoned, holding empty structures and ruins void of life. The alien realm of Light seemed even less hospitable to a water dragon than the endless storms of the Shifting Expanse had.

She sighed and shifted as the wind blew tiredly through her hair. The sight of Relic had calmed her - a familiar shape in a strange land - but behind her, the spectre of the Hewn City still towered tall against the fading dusk, silent and ominous, dark with shade.

And ahead of her, the Beacon of the Radiant Eye loomed with no radiance to be seen.

Not at all what she had expected to find in the ever-growing kingdom of Light.

[center][font=Papyrus][size=7][b]Part I: Omen[/b][/size][/font] [font=Century Gothic][size=3][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771959]INTRODUCTION[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771961]INDEX[/url] |[url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771965]CREDITS[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771968]CHARACTERS[/url][/size][/center] [font=Century Gothic][size=4] Omen sneezed as the dust from a hefty ream of parchment trickled up her nose, blinking to clear her vision and straightening her glasses ever so slightly atop her snout. "Rue!" the portly enchantress exclaimed indignantly, holding down the parchment stack as a draft from the freshly opened door wafted into the room. She found herself looking down her snout at a tiny coatl tumbled face-over-tail in a heap of papers, books and ancient plate texts. Rue looked up at her sheepishly with bright blue eyes, a book upside down on her head. "Aw, geez," she squeaked, her tiny voice echoing from under the book "I'm sorry, ma'am!" That's Rue for you, Omen thought with chagrin. Always the politest little hatchling, but ever so clumsy. She put on a severe face and snagged the book from atop Rue's head, straightening a creased page with a careful claw before snapping it shut. Rue winced at the sound, her vivid red feathers drooping. "You need to be more careful, little one. How many times have I told you that?" Omen's stern gaze softened. She let an edge of exasperation enter her voice. "I trust you're here for a reason?" "Yeh-CHOO!" Rue's answer was interrupted by an explosive sneeze, the effort sending her deeper into the pile of records. She worked her speckled nose for a minute before trying again. "Yes, ma'am. Ta'shir asked me to give you a hand with your note-taking." Omen paused before responding, her yellow eyes measuring the words. It wasn't that she [i]disliked[/i] Ta'shir, after all. The monolithic clan leader simply went about things in ways that irked her. Irked a lot of clanmates, actually, but Omen and Ta'shir had been butting heads ever since venturing into the Ruins. Nodding decisively, she gently shooed Rue back toward the doorway. "No need, little one. Run along and tell Ta'shir I'll have answers for her just as soon as I can - or more questions, at least." As Rue scampered off, promising to deliver Omen's message, the skydancer sighed and pushed the door closed again. She rubbed her temples. How long had she been at it, anyway? She looked out one of the high, slender windows at the sun. It had been weeks. Maybe months, now, digging through records, translating ancient texts. Yet she still had yet to find what she was searching for. Or, more accurately, what Ta'shir was searching for. "It's time for a break," she told herself sternly. She straightened the pile Rue had barrelled into, then put the book that had landed on Rue's head carefully on top. In the late-afternoon light of the sun, the ancient runes on the front of the book took on an otherworldly, dimensional glow. It was just the angle of the light, but ... [i]Maybe this is the one?[/i] She picked it up and opened it, smoothing the pages. The parchment was old - older than any she'd seen before. The ink was deep red, almost black, and the sight of it made her catch her breath. She ran her claw down the neat rows of minuscule runes that lined the pages. As Omen returned to her short wooden chair, easing her bulk down, she began translating the runes from memory. They were early second-age markings, she thought. She whispered to herself as she went and the pages seemed to glow with an inner light. [i]In the beginning of time, a great chaos rang out in the darkness ...[/i] The book fell from her nerveless fingers and clattered noisily against the desk, sending up another cloud of dust. Omen coughed and waved away the cloud, her mind churning. Not the second age, she thought to herself. The [i]first.[/i] She had found it. The book of the gods. The creation story.[/font][/size] [center][img]http://orig03.deviantart.net/c8d5/f/2016/276/5/2/lightshield_divider_2_by_starkindlerstudio-dajsymj.png[/img][/center] [font=Century Gothic][size=4] Ixquist knew before he saw Rue scampering down the stairs toward the kitchen. He could feel it in his bones, could see the remnants of old magic clinging to Rue's soft feathers. Something was very wrong. The bony pearlcatcher looked into the pearl he clutched tightly in his claws. The filmy sphere swirled until the mists inside formed visions and images. [i]Omen.[/i] His head snapped around and he headed for the stairs at a bound. Had she found it? Or had she found ... something else? Something hidden away for millennia where mortal dragon eyes could not see it? Something locked away on purpose - he was sure of it. He could feel a darkness growing in the back of his mind, haunting and malevolent. A chill dread slicked his mane with sweat and his eyes blurred with the effort of not probing that magical energy. For weeks, the seer had been dreaming about darkness, but the spell had always broken when he awoke. He had wondered if the dreams, vivid and visceral, were a harbinger of what was to come. Up the stairs Ixquist went and down the corridor to where the towering doors of Omen's study stood open and silent. Although the sunlight still poured in through the windows, Ixquist recoiled in fear, his heart hammering. The magical darkness was most suredly coming from that room. He could feel it emanating into the corridor, black tendrils creeping forth across his second sight. There was an old magic here, an ancient evil. And through the darkness, he could hear the faint sound - as if at a great distance - of Omen screaming a warning. Ixquist added his own voice to the din. But he didn't call out to Omen - instead, he shouted a spell that he knew would summon every mage in the place. And then he held his pearl aloft and commanded it to glow. The tendrils recoiled, but only briefly. As they crept toward him again across the cobbled floor, he heard the thundering of footsteps up the stairs behind him. Everyone who could wield magic in the Grotto was coming, or had arrived: Malice, Hestia, Marici. Cael and Riot, Askan and Nefertari, and behind them all came Ta'shir. The darkness drew the attention of all but his mother. Ta'shir's attention was fixed on him and she croaked the question that was on everyone's mind. [i]"What is it?"[/i] Ixquist knew. He didn't think any of the others did, though - maybe Malice, the oldest warlock in the Grotto, did. But Malice didn't have the personal experience with it that Ixquist did, the endless sanity-crushing struggle. "It's Shade," Malice said quietly. So he [i]did[/i] know, after all, at least partly. Ixquist ignored whatever question his mother asked next. He had fought this battle countless times in his dreams, but he had never expected to ever do so awake. His pearl was still glowing and it took only seconds for the other mages to create light as well. It wasn't just any light, though - it was magical energy that cut through the Shadeling as he had hoped it would. The darkness retreated. The mages advanced. At the threshold to Omen's study, Ixquist realized the enchantress had stopped screaming. That was a bad sign. Within the study, the darkness lurked, thick as mire. Ixquist tried to inch forward but the piles of books and records hid shadowy claws and gnashing teeth. He jumped back as a tendril lashed at him from a small shadow. Malice was beside him, but the brightness of the wildclaw's staff couldn't penetrate all the shadows. There was nothing they could do. Ixquist pulled Malice backwards as a larger shadow gathered to their right, looming in iridescent malevolence. The Shadeling gathered itself and dove for the entrance, forcing the two dragons to backpedal and slam the door before any tendrils could get through. A part of Ixquist was grateful for how well the Beacon had been built. The tall, ornate wooden door crashed shut behind him and Malice sealed it with a roared word. [i]"What are you doing?"[/i] Ta'shir cried, bounding forward. "Omen is still inside!" Askan caught her before she reached them, holding her back. "It's Shade, Ta'shir. There's nothing we can do!" Not Shade, Ixquist thought. Not truly. Just a Shadeling: a memory; a remnant of the First Age. But what was it doing here? [i]What had Omen found?[/i] And yet Askan was right, he knew. Dragon magic could frighten something that had sat in darkness for eons, but it couldn't truly harm it. There was only one thing Ixquist knew of that could harm the Shade and that was the gods themselves. The group stood looking at the sealed door for some time. Eventually, the ever-practical Nefertari flexed her bright wings and turned. "We won't figure it out just by sitting here," she said. "We must call a meeting of the holds." [/font][/size]

[center][font=Papyrus][size=7][b]Part II: The Holds[/b][/size][/font] [font=Century Gothic][size=3][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771959]INTRODUCTION[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771961]INDEX[/url] |[url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771965]CREDITS[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2379545#post_31771968]CHARACTERS[/url][/size][/center] [font=Century Gothic][size=4] Ancient and slumbering, the leviathans writhe in their depths off the eastern seaboard. Slowly, the creatures untwine and become two. "She calls, my sweet," the lesser one whispers. "More fool she, who cannot see," the response comes, languid and amused. "A fool indeed." The two shapes become distinct and, after a while, begin to make their ponderous way lightward. The greater one rumbles softly - not words, just sound, vibrations that touch the lesser one gently before disturbing the surface of the sea. "It has been a long time since last we made landfall, my sweet." [img]http://orig03.deviantart.net/c8d5/f/2016/276/5/2/lightshield_divider_2_by_starkindlerstudio-dajsymj.png[/img] Shriek nipped Riot's tail playfully and he looked over his shoulder indulgently at her grinning face. Ta'shir's summons was still fresh in their minds and he knew the lithe spiral was just trying to push her luck. He was tempted to let her push it a little further, but he also knew the only way to find out what was really going on was to leave now, and hopefully make it to the Grotto before the rest of the scoundrels arrived. He flicked his tail at her in a good-natured warning and she retreated, sitting back on her haunches and curling around herself, eyeing him speculatively. "I'll do the Talon job by myself if you're not back by nightfall," she said primly, holding up one long claw and inspecting it. He chuckled as he swept on his cloak and rested the thorned crown on his head - if he was going to the Grotto, he was damn well going to look the part. "The wicked don't get the luxury of rest, love," he reminded her, baring his teeth as he did. She knew him well enough to hear the subtle warning behind his words: [i]If you leave this hold without me, there will be hell to pay.[/i] "You're not half as wicked as you think," she said mockingly, but her eyes gave the lie away. He could see the fear there, where it was supposed to be, wondering just what hell he had in mind. He held her gaze for a moment before giving in and stalking over, touching his muzzle to hers. "I'll be back with plenty of time to spare," he promised. "Gargoyle Hold will just have to manage without me until then." [img]http://orig03.deviantart.net/c8d5/f/2016/276/5/2/lightshield_divider_2_by_starkindlerstudio-dajsymj.png[/img] Deep in the Driftwood Drag, a creature of dank and slime lifted her mossy, elongated snout into the air and inhaled deeply. Her fingers loosely clutched a bowl where old duskrat bones clattered dully. The bones never lied: the time was approaching. She hissed into the air and the sound filled the space around her, hanging like something tangible before dissipating. Around her, the slow shapes of her dire children began moving. Up from the dust they arose, her Willow Wisps, from long slumber. Claws raked the earth; snouts snarled into the sky; wings unfurled and beat the air mercilessly. A grin split the moss on Cat's face at the cacophony racketed off hollowed logs and spooked birds from their nests high up in the Wood. She turned wordlessly, her clever claws seeking purchase as the rocks turned to silt. She slithered into the river silently, and behind her the Wisps followed, still creating their din. [img]http://orig03.deviantart.net/c8d5/f/2016/276/5/2/lightshield_divider_2_by_starkindlerstudio-dajsymj.png[/img] Mayhem bowed his maned head as he listened to Ta'shir list off the holds in a clipped tone. This was how she worked, and he respected that. Dragons spread out around the Grotto's cavernous underkeep. Their chatter was almost drowned out by the roar of the underground river, beside which two great shapes loomed. He counted them off in his head as Ta'shir named them. Leviathan Hold. Gargoyle Hold. Raven Hold. Mayhem's Vanguard was present as well, along with the Dark Lunae and the riverdancers. Other members of the Grotto milled around the factions, and word had come from the Drag that Cat's Cacophony was on their way as well. Ta'shir had no patience for stragglers. Mayhem would bring them up to speed when they arrived. [/font][/size]

Ta'shir hated this part.

She glared around the room at the chattering, excited dragons. One hold had even brought their children, for crying out loud. Like this was some kind of picnic.

Morons, the lot of them! They'd probably all fall to the clutches of Shade if it weren't for their captains.

She hated being the one to give speeches. Had tried, in fact, to force that job on Thana, except the wily red pearlcatcher had somehow managed to slither away unnoticed. How could a dragon so eye-searingly pink hide so well!?

The fact was, she simply hated being the object of attention - in no small part because she knew Mayhem and the captains would have to keep the crowd quiet so her rasping voice could be heard over the din. The thought flared the ever-burning fires of hatred in her soul as she scratched the faded red scars on her neck.

Ta'shir scowled around her at the dragons who had answered her call. They would have to do - yes, even the hatchlings who peeped up at her timidly or squawked baby-dragon talk to each other.

"SHUT UP, THE LOT OF YOU!"

Mayhem's voice roared into the cavern and Ta'shir's hackles rose as all eyes in the underkeep turned to her. She was inwardly grateful for the giant birdskull mask that hid her discomfort.

"Omen's dead. There's Shade in the Beacon," she said.

She grinned inwardly as Mayhem deflated a bit, and she saw Malice and his Dark Lunae cover their eyes and shake their heads in defeat.

Well, she'd never been known for her tact, had she? If holds wanted to bring their Plague-spawned three-day-olds to a top priority meeting she wouldn't give them time to cover the little nuisances' ears.

A chill silence fell over the underkeep. Then, as though someone had flipped a switch, everyone began yelling at once.

"What do you mean!?"

"Shade? In the Ruins!?"

"What happened to Omen?"

"Shade's a myth!"

She saw Mayhem gather himself again and he yelled for quiet. His voice barely covered above the din and nobody paid him any attention.

He waved his claws impatiently and did a little dance of frustration.

"SHUT YER TRAPS, YOU TINY-FRILLED BOGSNEAKS!"

The ruckus had just quieted as the crowd parted for Cat's crew to slither into the underkeep, and Mayhem's voice crashed through the room. One bogsneak looked up at him in horror as she clapped her hands over her hatchling's ears.

Ta'shir snickered. She couldn't help herself. Luckily, no one heard her laugh over Cat's cackle at Mayhem's words.

"You tell 'em, dearie," the barnacle-encrusted Ridgeback said, leering at him. The white pearlcatcher shifted uncomfortably under her slimy gaze.

"Uh, yes, well, glad you could make it, Cat," he said politely. She snorted.

"Oh, we've been here for a while. We were just waiting to see how the scarred one would handle things before we made our entrance."

Ta'shir's grin turned to a scowl at the nickname. The scars around her neck itched as eyes turned back to her. Finally, she rolled her eyes and continued.

"Yes, well, if you've all got that out of your system, let's get back to business," she rasped acidly. Some of the dragons had the decency to look sheepish, at least.

Malice clawed forward, speaking before she could continue.

"Omen's not dead," he told the crowd. "But she was attacked in the Beacon by a remnant of Shade and we couldn't get to her in time."

Ta'shir waved one claw impatiently.

"That means she's as good as dead," she said. "What we need to do is kill that thing so we can finish her research."

"No, it means we have to kill thing so we can get her back," Malice said testily.

Ta'shir levelled a glare at him.

"If Omen is alive in there," she said, stressing the first word, "she's probably going through a torment dragons have not known for an age. You know what being touched by Shade does to a soul."

Above her came a quiet fluttering, and she glanced up to see Deven alight next to Malice. She'd thought her quiet mate was going to skip the meeting, as they usually did, but instead they spoke.

"Ta'shir, Omen is the only one who can translate the ancient texts," they reminded her, their tone apologetic.

"If she is alive, we should find a way to save her."

Ta'shir bared her teeth in frustration. You and I will talk later, she thought fiercely, and she could tell from the chagrin on Deven's face that they knew what she was thinking.

"Omen does have the best chance of finding what we need. Losing her could set us back indefinitely," Malice agreed.

"Fine," Ta'shir snapped. "We save Omen. But first, we find a way to kill that thing."

And now that she'd said it, it was law.

Cat spoke up first, her voice lazy and amused.

"I think I can help with that."

Cat eyed Ta'shir as the bony albino pearlcatcher paced the length of the now-empty underkeep.

The other holds had cleared out save for Ta'shir and her lieutenants - and Cat's Cacophony, of course. The hulking shapes of those sea behemoths, Ruin and Relic, had disappeared back into the depths.

"No. No, no, no," Ta'shir was saying. "Not the Marauders."

Cat had told Ta'shir of a holy place, a monastery on the cliffs of Light where it was said even Shade could be banished. She wasn't sure she believed it herself, except the rumours had been detailed in all the right places.

"I trust my source," she said. At least, as far as I can throw 'im, she cackled inwardly. And the bones never lied.

Malice frowned. He flexed his dusky wings thoughtfully.

"The Moondrift Marauders have a ... reputation," he said finally. He sighed. "But I'm not sure we have a choice."

"Of course we do," Ta'shir snapped. "Would you choose to cut off your own tail?"

"They're not that bad," Riot chuckled.

"They're mercenaries, Riot. Pirates," Ta'shir growled.

The lithe red pearlcatcher rolled his eyes expressively.

"You might as well call me a mercenary while you're at it," he pointed out. "Besides, they won't extort you - if you've got the right negotiator."

In the end, Ta'shir had no choice to give in. She did so grudgingly, making the group work for every inch she gave.

Stubborn fool, Cat thought, with a hint of affection.

Later that evening, when all the other dragons of the Grotto were asleep, Cat remained awake. She had oh, so much work to do - and oh, so little time to do it in.

She worked feverishly and quietly, grinding bone matter into paste, whispering secret arcane words under her breath. Next to her, in a cage, several tiny toads slowly blinked small, beady eyes.