Creative Corner

[columns] I've been writing a piece based around the festival halo apparel every festival so far this cycle (and I hope to continue) so I thought I would finally start compiling them on-site ^u^ [b]Ok to comment![/b] MOST RECENT: [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]GREENSKEEPERS[/url] [nextcol][center]Pinglist [b]@[/b]cometmebro [b]@[/b]amezrou[/columns] [br] --------- [center][font=book antiqua][size=4][b]|| A Scourge on the Devout ||[/b][/size] [size=3]The Fletching Clan is a wealthy, tragedy-riddled clan resting on the cliffs over the bay on the edge of Wind territory. The massive fae sap castle overlooks the bay between Wind and Arcane--and in this bay is a craggy island hosting the [i]Temple of the Eleven[/i], the truly massive structure with wings dedicated to each of the eleven deities. The temple is a place of devotion and pilgrimage to hundreds of faithful on a regular basis. Unbeknownst to the Fletching Clan, amidst political turmoil, a dark presence has established itself in the sprawling catacombs beneath the temples, and something sinister is afoot, growing with every act of devotion during the festivals...[/size] [br] [center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#d3a610]Brightshine[/color][/font][/size][/center] [size=2]Warnings: heavy religious themes, manipulation[/size][/center] -------- [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=46894259] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/468943/46894259_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua] “[i]Elahir.[/i]” The fae jerked awake. As he sat up, his cheek printed with the cool marble of the altar’s base, he looked around wildly. “You fell asleep at Her feet again.” Finally Elahir located Ishkari. She stood some distance off, hand rested on one of the imported Sunbeam pillars decorating the path to the altar. Elahir wanted to scramble to his feet and make himself presentable, but he found himself transfixed by her. She had never, [i]never[/i] looked so intently at him. He stared back, picking out the bright highlights of the last candlelight in her eyes beneath her mask–then the candle guttered and went out. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38263312] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/382634/38263312_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]“How devout you are,” she said, and though Elahir thought perhaps she mocked him, his chest twisted up that she spoke to him, finally, just him, and he knew that she could slip her ceremonial dagger between his ribs and he would still love her the more for it. He sat up as she took a few steps forward, the feathers of her gown swishing against the tile. She paused and looked up at the towering statue of the Lightweaver, echoing the deity’s poise even as she cocked her head curiously. Her hands and mouth were all that was visible beneath the layers of gauzy priestess garb. Elahir tried to stop himself from looking at her lips. “I’ve been thinking about the worshipers who come to this temple,” she said, without taking her eyes off of the statue. “So many, so devout. This place is known across the Plateau as the place for the most zealous followers of the deities.” Elahir nodded eagerly, hanging upon her every word. Her voice was like the stream of smoke slipping from the wick of the candles around her. “Some temples have orders of members. Initiates, acolytes, hierophants, all collected under a code. But it’s forbidden by the Queen here.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Elahir just continued to nod, and Ishkari quirked her head toward him. “There are no binding vows here,” she began. “Only prayers, only promises. But…” She trailed off, and Elahir leaned forward, waiting for her to continue. Ishkari paused a long time. The vague sounds of the bay crashing against the catacomb walls far below echoed in the vaulted ceiling of the temple. Finally, the Light priestess turned to face him. “Can I trust you, Elahir?” she murmured. Elahir’s heart pounded so wildly that he could hardly think. He nodded desperately, and finally unglued his tongue to speak. “Yes, Priestess, anything,” he promised in a whisper. Ishkari smiled–a true smile this time, Elahir thought, and it felt like the beating of his heart would rattle his whole body apart. “I knew I could,” she said, so quietly it was barely a whisper. Then she crouched down next to him, an excitement he rarely saw in her movements. “Elahir, I want to start a secret Order. And I want you as my first initiate.” Some part of Elahir knew how reckless this was, how dangerous and blasphemous… but her eyes glittered even without light, and for the first time, she addressed him–more, she wanted something from him. He couldn’t deny her, not now. “Anything,” he heard himself saying. She laughed, and for a moment his raging heartbeat stopped–was this a trick? Had she finally decided to rid herself of him, spy him out for blasphemy and throw him from the temple? Was this a cruel joke to break his heart? Yet he only pined for her more. Her laugh was like coarse honey and the wind through the rushes of the Hewn City. But she rocked back, still giggling, and then reached and tipped her mask up, letting it rest on her forehead. Elahir’s chest constricted. He hadn’t seen her full face since they were both teenagers. She had grown more handsome than he had imagined as he nodded through all her sermons. Ishkari gave him a mischievous look as she grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s do it now,” she whispered. Elahir couldn’t say anything, only stared, sick with adoration, and nodded again. Ishkari drew a string of prayer beads from one of the many pockets of her sashes and let it run between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time, truthfully,” she said, some of her solemnity returning. The beads began to glow slightly, shivering like firelight. “I know the vows by heart already. You’ll repeat them.” Elahir watched the light playing off her features. “You don’t care what the vows are, do you? What they entail, what the Order means?” The fae looked into her eyes, golden-white as marble. Did the truth matter? “No, Priestess. Only serving… serving…” he wavered between “Her” and “you,” but Ishkari was turning her hands over and over. The prayer beads seemed to be melting as they trailed over her fingers, and she shook her head as she smiled. “Repeat,” she commanded, and Elahir did as she said. “[i]I vow my life to Her.[/i]” “I vow my life to her.” “[i]All my thoughts and soul are Hers.[/i]” “All my thoughts and soul are hers.” The prayer beads were now one ribbon of golden light, circling around Ishkari’s fingers. “[i]I lay my heart upon Her every wish, I obey Her in life and death.[/i]” “I lay my heart upon her every wish, I obey her in life and death.” “[i]I keep the Order’s secrets to my grave, to better serve Her.[/i]” “I keep the Order’s secrets to my grave, to better serve her.” The light was almost blinding, yet Elahir couldn’t tear his eyes away from it now. The light had formed a band, which she now lifted over his head. It settled around his neck–and it burned. Tears sprang to Elahir’s eyes as he fought back a sob of pain. “[i]Amen.[/i]” “Amen.” Suddenly spears of the light emitted from the band–it was a halo, a brand, and its points stabbed into Elahir’s neck. He couldn’t help but scream now, and collapsed upon the stairs of the altar. He tried to pull the brand from his throat, but it burned his fingers too. Holy–or was it profane?–fire seemed to engulf his vision, until suddenly, it all ceased. He found himself with his head cradled in Ishkari’s lap as she soothed him. Light pulsed in the corners of his vision. “It’s beautiful,” she cooed, and Elahir turned his head toward the glass windows. In the darkness, he could see the faint pulse of a white brand around his throat.[/font]

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#1d86a5]Thundercrack[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=42663847] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/426639/42663847_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]Born a tundra, Khorzaad was sweeter than his striking appearance would seem to indicate. [i]I’m afraid, please Stormcatcher, don’t make me do this.[/i] When he was a hatchling, both of his parents were both struck dead by lightning, as luck would have it. He was intelligent enough to see the irony in that, despite his age. [i]I’m willing, ever willing, but please, if I don’t have to, don’t make me.[/i] He hid himself in the burned remains of his tiny clan’s cave shelter until scavengers found him eventually. Really, he scared them half to death when he peeked out from the ashy bushes to sniff weakly at them. Lucky for him, they weren’t malicious, but they had no idea what to do with a tiny tundra hatchling. Khorzaad, or as they called him at the time, “Crackle” (apt, that one), was shared what food they had before he was dragged to the marketplace in the Tempest Spire, where the scavengers searched for information on local orphanages. The little hatchling, malnourished and scared, huddled in the pack on the back of a mirror until, looking up, he saw a towering statue of what he would later learn was the Stormcatcher. Delicate coils of wire created artificial lightning to wreathe his head, and twisting arcs of glowing blown glass created more artistic replicas of the phenomenon at his feet. The tundra slipped down from the scavenger’s back and made his way over to the statue, transfixed. Later he would wonder why the lightning didn’t scare him–he recognized it as the thing that had destroyed his clan–but at the time he felt nothing but awe. [i]They told me from the beginning it would hurt. Why didn’t I listen?[/i] “A work of art, isn’t it?” The hatchling realized that he was being addressed and looked up to see a towering guardian standing beside him. Something was odd about him, and as the tundra squinted he could see glowing marks etched into the larger dragon’s neck and chest. But the dragon smiled and bowed and introduced himself as the keeper of the temple beneath the spire, and the hatchling decided he didn’t mind him. The guardian asked where the hatchling’s parents were. When “Crackle” said that they were dead, the guardian seemed unsurprised. “You had that look about you,” he said, before sweeping him off to enter the temple doors. The hatchling didn’t particularly mind. He liked the swish of the mechanisms that pulled the doors open for them, and the glow of the wires that fed electricity to the blue flames ringing the sanctuary. [i]I’m ready. Stormcatcher, I’m ready–in soul if not in mind.[/i] The tundra was gifted the name Khorzaad. He grew up in the temple beneath the Tempest Spire, a sense of awe always in his mannerisms as he learned the mantras of the Stormcatcher, studied the diligently kept histories, and rose through the ranks quickly. The day he became a priest, he knew, he would be sent out to a Lightning temple elsewhere in Sornieth. The thought frightened him–he’d never left the Shifting Expanse–but what frightened him more was the knowledge that his vows would include the shape-changing scrolls and brands as a test of faith. “We pride ourselves on this method,” one of his teachers had told him. “Everyone knows that these scrolls can be painful. Using one demonstrates that an acolyte is capable enough of shirking fear and the physical limitations that they have the dedication for a life of study and hard work.” - The day Khorzaad’s escort arrived to take him to the Windswept Plateau, where he was told he would have the privilege of presiding as priest in a highly esteemed temple, the now-pearlcatcher sat before the statue of the Stormcatcher, shivering with pain. He rolled his marble-sized pearl between his scaly paws to distract himself. He was bound to the Stormcatcher now–isn’t that what he had wanted ever since he saw this statue? Yet this new body ached and twisted in ways he could never have fathomed. And worst of all, the brand on his neck… He wondered if it ever would stop burning. He hadn’t thought to ask his elders that detail. “Khorzaad, I believe that is the Fletching Clan crest I see.” Khorzaad turned and followed the old guardian’s gaze to find two dragons–a brightly-colored spiral and a ridgeback not so different in appearance from himself–making their way up the marketplace toward him. They exchanged respectful words with the guardian before turning to Khorzaad. The spiral smiled warmly. “We hope you’ll love your new home,” she said, and her voice sounded like a spring breeze. For a moment, Khorzaad let himself relax. Perhaps it would not be so frightful after all. But after he had said his goodbyes and the three were out of sight of the temple and the statue, the silent ridgeback edged close to him. She brushed his neck with a wingtip, and a dark look crossed her face. “What have they done to you, little one?”

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#b76e16]Flameforger's[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=39625282] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/396253/39625282_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]The Flameforger’s Festival was beginning to wind down at last, and Hyaki was exhausted. He’d enjoyed the opportunity to see so many other dragons–it felt like forever since the Fletching Clan had truly been on its feet enough to host a festival–but he had found himself without the company of his lovers, who had gone home to visit family in the Molten Scar. As one of the few remaining Fire dragons in the clan, and the priest at that, Hyaki had needed to take on more responsibility than he’d expected. Exhaustion had plagued him all week, but he chalked it up to the numerous rites and rituals he’d been performing on top of all the celebrations. It was enough to make him wish he’d gone home with his lovers, but he took it in stride. Now, as the bonfires crackled low and the dragons in the temple had at last trickled out, he found himself pacing circles around the ember-filled cauldrons and tiny rivers of molten gold that made up the chapel in his part of the Temple of the Eleven. His new accoutrements were heavy; the cast-iron chains and brass-burnished tassets around his waist slowed his steps. The swirling mark of the new halo etched on his forehead still stung and burned a little, too, but he tried not to mind it. He’d been burned his fair share of times, and knew it would subside eventually. [i]Why do I feel the need to pace?[/i] He wondered vaguely, slowing further to look into the glowing coals of the main altar. Little sweeps of light crawled across the embers. [i]I feel as though I could sleep on my feet.[/i] Hyaki chuckled to himself. Perhaps he really could sleep on his feet there, relaxed by the warmth and hypnotized by the slow dance of the dying flames. His eyes ached to close, itching with smoke and exhaustion, and his limbs felt slow, weighed down by his priest’s garb. He stood watching the coals , swaying slightly,and thinking of the beauty of the fire itself–ever moving, always changing, impossible to capture in any way. Occasional sparks billowed up alongside the plumes of jasmine-perfumed smoke. He felt that he was dozing, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care; the scent was soothing and the slow twisting of the light in the embers felt like home. He found himself looking for images in the flames, as he had been taught by the priests in the Great Furnace. They flitted in and out of sight so quickly and smoothly that it was hard to say what was what, but if he relaxed and let his eyes unfocus, they came easier. In the fiery haze, he picked out a shape–a star–and smiled. A symbol of new beginnings, of course. Then another, a sickle. Not quite as good an omen. Then, a skydancer’s gem. A crown. A scepter, an emblem, a grave marker. Hyaki shook himself. The coals suddenly collapsed in on themselves and spat sparks as though they were mocking him. Heart fluttering from the sudden start, Hyaki squinted into the altar flame, perturbed by what he’d seen. Perhaps it had only been his imagination; he would never know for certain. As he looked, the flames guttered and all at once pulled together and turned themselves into an image of the Flameforger’s grinning face. Hyaki tried to gasp and step back, but found himself transfixed instead. For a moment he wished that another worshiper would pull him away, but he forgot quickly as the face’s grin split into a gaping maw, and the hiss of the flames became jeering laughter. - Pele and Centiel returned to the Fletching Clan to find their lover both silent and deaf to their desperate attempts to stir him. The once-vibrant nocturne now wandered the temple in circles, occasionally humming vague hymns to the Flameforger, speaking to no-one, looking at no-one, eating only when he was fed. His dark scales grew faded with time, his lithe body became peaked, and even his wings grew ragged. The only part of him that remained bright was the fiery brand on his neck, given in celebration of the very festival that had seemed to drain him of life.

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#d83cce]Starfall[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][img]http://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/dragon?did=43610534&skin=0&apparel=27765,19710,25794,25798,25793,25797,27766,1753,15694,25796&xt=dressing.png[/img][/center] [font=book antiqua]Soft pink light surrounded Salsadra’s footfalls, a silencing spell she chanted in her head as she cradled the hatchling in the folds of her voluminous priestess’ cloak, hiding him from the prying eyes of Starfall faithfuls lingering in the temple. Now the hatchling, he was beautiful to ordinary eyes. Swirls of blue mixed with violet on his smooth scales like stardust in a nebula. Pale pink eyes winked curiously as he stared, uncomprehendingly, at the spires of the temple halls as they passed. But those were not the things that struck Salsadra--no, this hatchling was far more special. [center][img]http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=0&body=61&bodygene=24&breed=1&element=9&eyetype=3&gender=0&tert=17&tertgene=12&winggene=0&wings=81&auth=5ef8a41d7b2de57f2c9375e14c65dafdac5a75c9&dummyext=prev.png[/img][/center] [font=book antiqua]As the Arcane priestess, Salsadra was happy not only to perform the sacred ceremonies and rites to the Arcanist, but also to have the privilege of the highest education and equipment that her new clan had to offer. And thus, she had been the first to catch on to the odd pattern appearing lately; religious brands. Not only were they becoming increasingly common in conjunction with minor disasters, but they seemed to be connected to the elemental holidays. Salsadra kept this discovery of the phenomenon to herself, however, knowing that letting it out before first finding the source would be disastrous. Since Starfall had been quickly approaching, she had decided to take it as an opportunity to observe carefully and study. So, when one of the several Arcane eggs gathered for the festival hatching had cracked open to reveal a tiny fae with a brand already glowing on his neck, she had carefully extracted him and spirited him away for further study. Presently, Salsadra came to the doors of her study. Glancing behind herself to check that she wasn’t followed, she stepped inside, and then gleefully set her bundle on her table, caring nothing for the notes that scattered under his unsteady paws. She plucked off her gloves and set to work studying. Hours later, with strings of tools strewn over the floor and nothing to show for it, Salsadra was simply staring at the fae, waiting for his behavior to give away what it was about these brands that was affecting dragons so. The hatchling stared right back at her. His eyes were so big that he seemed to have a constant look of surprise around him. He hiccuped. Finally, he moved. Salsadra sat up straight to watch him, but he only wobbled forward a step or two, and then crashed down on her desk and, thereupon, began crying. “Oh,” the skydancer said aloud. She looked around her study again until her eyes came upon a glass container she kept full of sweet things for anyone who stopped by. She offered one to the fae, who stopped crying long enough to take a bite. His crests shot up as he sucked at it, and then with a little screech of delight, he reached out to pull it from her hands. As he did, his claws scraped her fingertips. “Oh,” Salsadra said once again, as a sudden flash of searing pain doused her body. “But it's not…” The next morning, she was found comatose on the floor of her study with a crying hatchling tucked by her neck, where a new brand was glowing faintly.

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#9b2e18]Riot[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][img]http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=1&body=60&bodygene=21&breed=4&element=2&eyetype=8&gender=0&tert=121&tertgene=17&winggene=20&wings=87&auth=bf047c0217dde69da7a37bf92c5a9d1706e80812&dummyext=prev.png[/img][/center] [font=book antiqua]As the Plague priest, Jezren’s duties began at night. Despite the fact that dusk was meant to be his waking call, the pearlcatcher always rose from his chambers in the early evening and made his way quickly to the Fletching Clan palace in order to attend the daily dinner gathering with most of the rest of the clan. At first, the more devout among the Fletching dragons bristled at this, wondering that he shouldn’t eat in private like so many of the other priests did, but Jezren proved himself so earnest and polite, carrying himself as well as any priest might, and praying thrice over his meals, and this slight was soon forgotten. After saying good-night to his friends in the clan after dinner, Jezren made a habit of gathering a basket of food to bring to the retiring daytime priests before stopping in to wake the other nighttime priests. Then, as streaks of lilac and gold slanted across the sky, Jezren would at last don his full Plague garb and set about his duties. Acolytes who knew him personally always thought it an odd thing, seeing him swathed in dark wraps and clothes dyed with blood. Despite his dark appearance, Jezren was not only one of the quietest and most unassuming of the deity priests, but also the youngest. His tattered mantle and bone jewelry skittered on the floor, far too big for him. He had only been living at the Fletching Clan for five months when the Riot came around, and the priest, barely older than a hatchling, was terrified. Jezren knew each of the suffering priests well; he had once thought of Ishkari as an older sister and Salsadra as an aunt, often helped Hyaki light the candles around his altar while the priest struggled to rouse himself, and tried every day to help Khorzaad grow accustomed to being a pearlcatcher before the Lightning priest fell into too dark of a depression to attend his duties. As the Riot of Rot grew near, Jezren visited Salsadra in the hospital every morning as dusk drew near, staring fearfully at her comatose form, wondering what would become of him. And for the Plague priest, it was all too much. It was a week until the Riot began, and other members of the clan began to notice that Jezren was eating very little, and missing dinner more often than not. The Plague temple stank of rosemary smoke; Jezren had shattered two censers in the last few days, unable to hold them steady in his shaking hands. His usually bright eyes had grown dull and dark, and the few dragons who tried to find him in his chambers heard only tears in response to their knocking. Jezren knew that the Plaguebringer was not a merciful deity. He knew that She welcomed swarms of dragons into Her horde, cared for them even, but so far away from the Wyrmwound he wondered if the deity could even hear his fearful prayers. And then… if none of the deities had come to the rescue of his fellow priests, why would She help [i]him[/i], the youngest and least experienced of any of them? These thoughts spiraled in the young dragon’s mind, etching inevitable paths of terror and uncertainty into every moment, until finally, the pearlcatcher snapped. He couldn’t stay. He didn’t want his friends to see him suffer, whatever might happen to him in the clan. Perhaps he would be ostracized, shirking his priestly duties, but if that happened… he would find somewhere else he could help. He would change his name, buy a scatterscroll, and go somewhere he wouldn’t be recognized. Perhaps the dragons of the Shattered Plains would take him in, if he worked hard enough. Jezren wept bitterly to think of leaving the life he loved in the Fletching Clan, but the fear was too much for the young dragon to bear. He fled, taking nothing but a shell from the shore of the bay that had been outside his window every day of his life. After he left, a culling began. The first Plague dragon to die was Haktiir, the glassblower. Then Namira, the alchemist. Then every other Plague dragon in the clan. Quietly. Precisely. And on the first day of the Riot of Rot, Jezren’s body was dumped on the steps of the Fletching Clan palace. His face was still screwed up in a wide-eyed expression of fear, and a halo of Plague thorns and flesh was circled around his throat.

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#73889e]Gala[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=45762761] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/457628/45762761_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]Word of the tragedies at the Fletching Clan had begun to spread, and fewer and fewer dragons came to attend holiday festivities. Though the market street was still open, and merchants still brought their most luxurious goods to hawk, the Gala was not as cheery as it had once been--at least, that is what Ilsaire was told. He watched the sparse few dragons wandering the market street and making their ways to the temple--but he wouldn’t be there. [i]Maybe I am a coward[/i], he thought, bowing his head. [i]I cannot even bring myself to beg the Icewarden’s protection.[/i] The alcove he’d hidden himself in, atop one of the hundred opal spires, was barely big enough, even for a wildclaw on the small side, like himself. His claws were dug into the fae-amber just to keep himself from falling. But he’d seen what had happened to the other priests. As a hatchling, groomed specifically from a long line of holy workers, he had originally thought it the highest of privileges to be sent to the Fletching Clan. He could still remember the day he’d been brought, along with gifts of sealskin coats and Rasa porcelain. It hadn’t been a long flight across the sea, but he recalled looking down at waters as they turned a marvellous pink approaching Windstar bay, and feeling a thrill of excitement. Soon the spires of the palace had come into view--it had just passed Mistral Jamboree then, and glittering pinwheels and ribbons still spun in the warm breeze. He closed his eyes for a moment, bathing in the memory. None of that would happen this Jamboree, he knew. [i]Maybe I am just hiding from the inevitable.[/i] None of the priests in the last cycle of holidays had escaped some miserable fate or another, and they had only grown more violent of late. He shuddered as he remembered Evraine’s broken remains, however carefully they had been buried, after they finally excavated her from the landslide. Since then, he had considered so many times fleeing--but he knew that it would only shunt his fate onto the other Ice dragons. When the Plague priest ran, all of his flight in the clan had been culled in his stead. Skadi, Vindler, Whisper, Emilitia, Kalaedin, Elathan… He couldn’t do that to them. Some part of him thought that hiding where he was might incur the wrath of whatever force was behind this, but the greater part of him knew that no matter where he hid, so long as he stayed in the palace, it would find him. And it did, two nights later. The next day was to be the high point of the festival, the traditional Gala itself, and Ilsaire was to lead the religious rites to precede it. As twilight came and went, he sat awake on his perch, his whole body sore from clinging to the opalized sap, but it did not matter. He could feel it coming. And he was scared. “You’re not going to fight,” came the voice from the shadows, and it didn’t even surprise him. “No,” he said, barely able to raise his voice above a trembling whisper. “So unlike the others,” said the voice. In the darkness, Ilsaire could barely make out the shape of a long, slithering dragon coiling itself around a tower across from him. A spiral. Or an illusion? It was impossible to tell. “Do you not pray for mercy?” “I know that it won’t change anything.” A laugh--a laugh like any other. Not rasping or deep or menacing. Cruel, perhaps. But it could have come from a normal dragon his own age. It made him recoil. “Why do you serve the Icewarden if you know He will not serve you in your time of need?” Ilsaire looked at his claws. His shaking was causing a skittering sound where they scratched the crystal beneath him. “I was raised for it,” he said, truthfully. “I love the Icewarden, but in another life, perhaps I would have been a dancer, or a sculptor.” “You’re honest,” said the voice. Ilsaire saw the shape in the darkness shift, and suddenly it was before him--yet despite its proximity he still could not make out any of its features. It reached out a claw and tipped his face up. A shudder ran through him and his breath hitched. “Don’t be afraid,” it said. “I like you. I’ll have more mercy on you than the others.” Ilsaire couldn’t breathe. The claw under his chin turned his head this way and that, presumably allowing it to examine him. “So pretty,” it said. “I know just what to do with you.” - When the massive doors to the ballroom were cracked open the next day to allow the small crowd inside for the Gala, for a brief time all seemed normal. Then, a shriek rose up from one of the Fletching Clan’s dragons. On the dais, a beautiful ice sculpture sparkled--a wildclaw, twisted as though he was mid-step in a dance. His silks and jewelry hung from him, still fluttering, like the master who shaped him had left in a great rush only moments before. A beautiful icicle brand was carved into his neck.

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#4b2466]Trickmurk[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=43436045] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/434361/43436045_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]Aukri spent the majority of Trickmurk in a haze. It was alcohol, mostly. After everything that had happened to the other priests, he knew what was coming for him, and he preferred not to think about it. He had never been the best priest anyway. Orphaned and taken into a Shadow monastery, he’d been plucked right back out of it at too young an age to really know the rites, and placed in the lap of one of the most luxurious clans in all of Wind territory… it was enough to go to a young dragon’s head. He’d quickly become nothing but a hedonist. He knew his duties well enough by now, and he performed them--but only so that he could continue living in this clan. He barely cared about the Shadowbinder. Much less about blaspheming her. It wouldn’t matter now if he could barely stay on two feet through the sacred rites of the festival. He would be dead--or worse--soon, anyway. Through the spinning, half-conscious state he was in, though, a memory plagued him. [i]As the imperial bore down on him, he was giggling, coquettish. Backed up to the altar. As [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=45705712]Vothoris’[/url] claws dug into his waist to sit him up on it, Aukri caught a glance over his shoulder of another dragon in the cathedral. It didn’t faze him, really. The spiral didn’t look like an acolyte. Grinning, Aukri watched him as Vothoris mouthed along his neck--and the spiral watched him in return--at least he seemed to, anyway. His eyes were covered by a strip of cloth. Probably has magic of some sort, Aukri thought. He was leaned against the entrance to the cathedral, arms crossed, and nodding, almost like he was silently approving the sacrilegious behavior. Vothoris yanked Aukri’s hair, forcing his head back as he laughed. When he looked to the entrance again, the spiral was gone.[/i] By the time the final event of the Trickmurk Circus came around, Aukri was swinging wildly back and forth from unconscious stupor to sobbing hysterics. He didn’t want to die. And, as it turned out, he didn’t die. He didn’t even face a scratch or bruise. Nothing happened. The circus went by in a haze of panic for the wildclaw, but in the end, he was untouched. The stragglers were watching him, almost puzzled that the festival had gone by without incident. One or two had a bitter look about them. Why had Aukri--the most blasphemous of any of the priests, the filthy hedonist gorged on riches--gone unscathed, when the others suffered, descended to madness, even died? Aukri was asking himself the same question. And as he did, as he made his way on shaky legs back to his chambers, tears streaming down his face, the pangs of guilt wracking him felt almost worse than any of the fear that had clung to him all week. He collapsed on the silks and brocade of his bed, and suddenly the mixture of confusion and relief and panic and guilt and alcohol in his head had him rocking back and forth, unable to control the sobs that turned into wailing and screaming as the night went on. It was only the next morning he would realize that among the patrons of the Trickmurk rites that last day had been a spiral, smiling and watching him from behind a cloth band. [/font]

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#373d35]Paralogue[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=58227384] [img]https://flightrising.com/rendern/350/582274/58227384_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]“The next festival is tomorrow,” said Ghadrael. His claws were tapping agitatedly on the stone floor of the catacombs. “I don’t know yet what to do.” “Do you want me?” Aziikandre asked quietly, from his place in the corner of their chambers. Ghadrael thought of correcting him--[i]Do you want my help[/i] or [i]Do you want me to help[/i], but the question struck a nervous chord along his spine. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=44406327] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/444064/44406327_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]Azii. Ghadrael had found the ridgeback in the woods months ago. He was young and wild and powerful, but he had nothing to him--he hadn’t even known how to speak. Ghadrael had never troubled himself with pity, but something about the other dragon took him off-guard. He realized that it was the only time he had wished that he had powers to give instead of take. Here he had found someone who had no notions of flight or deity, no loyalties--but also no understanding. So he’d secreted the ridgeback to his hiding place in the catacombs beneath the Temple of the Eleven and named him Aziikandre--[i]lost, lonely warrior[/i]--and taught him how to speak. Aziikandre had loyalties now, and they were all to Ghadrael. It gave the spiral more time to practice his magic, having someone to carry out menial tasks like gathering food--and he could talk to him as much as he liked about his hatred and pain, little as the ridgeback understood, without fear of the consequences. Best of all, Azii had no notions of right and wrong. When Ghadrael asked him to kill every red-eyed dragon in the Fletching Clan, quietly, he’d done it without question. He did everything just as Ghadrael wished it, except for one thing. Aziikandre had fallen in love with him. Ghadrael didn’t know how long ago it had started. But one day--a month ago? Two? Time was beginning to blur by now--the spiral had looked up from the letters he’d been scratching in the sand to berate Aziikandre for not paying attention, only to find the ridgeback staring at him. And despite his wild spines and scales, the dark paint on his face, the sharp braids of muscle across his shoulders and arms… His eyes were so soft. Gentle. Full of puzzled wonder and adoration. No-one, [i]no-one[/i] had ever looked at Ghadrael in such a way. Ghadrael had almost torn out the mechanism that gave him sight--the one he’d sold his senses of touch and taste for. He didn’t want to see that expression. He didn’t want to see the way Azii’s fingers twitched toward him when he came too close. He didn’t want to see his shivering at night or the flush on his cheeks whenever Ghadrael turned his way. He had grown more harsh to Aziikandre in return, but the ridgeback never complained. He took tongue-lashings without complaint. He completed the pointless tasks Ghadrael set him on unflinchingly--paint yourself in stinging nettle and take the flame from that lighthouse, bring me two pearlcatchers’ pearls of the exact same size, take a pint of blood from a Guardian’s charge without getting caught, kill every creature in the Ghostlight Ruins with nothing but a needle--he did it all perfectly. He was quiet as ever, naive as ever, compliant and obedient and beautiful. Ghadrael shook himself. No. Azii was not beautiful. The ocean was beautiful. He leaned his head against the sill of the rough-hewn window, watching the pink foam crash and roll and fold in on itself. The cracked spires of rock from the Starfall Isles were just beginning to glow with the coming twilight. The stars of the sky cast reflections in the waves. These were beautiful. “[i]Ha kiien?[/i]” [i]My master?[/i] That was the only name Azii knew him by. Ghadrael swiveled his ears back. “Do you want me?” A true shudder wracked Ghadrael. [i]I won’t[/i], he wanted to say. [i]Even if I did, I could never feel your touch. Not your hands on my skin or your breath in my mouth or the pulse of your heart in your neck. I gave that away long ago in exchange for sight, so all I can do is look, look at your filthy Light eyes and the blood on your fingers when you kill for me and your perfect, perfect body.[/i] Ghadrael stood. “No,” he said sharply. “I don’t want you.” He cloaked himself in void and left to exact his wrath on the gods.[/font] ------- [center][size=6][font=century gothic][color=#829937]Jamboree[/color][/font][/size][/center] ------- [font=book antiqua]Mistral Jamboree. Ordinarily the most festive time of the year for the Fletching Clan, of course--and, to be fair, the tragedy-riddled dragons had managed to put on their best for it this year as well. Walking through the festooned marketplace, one would see the usual accoutrements; massive mazes of hoops for young spirals, games of chance for the older dragons, map trading shops, stands selling perfumes, feathered jewelry, and textiles of all sorts. The winery still had its usual stand for aether berry wine and coral carpenter mead. Dragons still walked up and down the market street, hawking bamboo sticks, sweet grass, and candied spearmint. But the atmosphere was somehow muffled. Somehow oppressive. The pinwheels lining the streets were still. Kites filled the plateau beyond the market stands, laying on the grass with no wind to lift them into the skies. It seemed as though voices didn’t carry as they used to, and everything was just a little grayer, just a little[i]thinner[/i]. And above it all, the silhouette of the crumbling palace cut a jagged line on the horizon. The glittering of its million opal facets seemed more like tears than stars, now. Only the fey seemed unbothered. They held no notions of deity, only enjoying the holidays as times of sport; sport they had been deprived of lately as the festivals grew smaller and colder. But Mistral Jamboree could not be neglected by such a respected Wind clan, and so the fey were all out to celebrate, curiously exploring the wares and sampling Fletching specialties. All fey, that is, except for one. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=35811599] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/358116/35811599_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]Ahazraal, the Savior. The embodiment of the peace pact between the Fletching and the fey. The ever-gentle, ever-calm skydancer would ordinarily have been there, pacing softly behind the fey King and Queen whom he considered as close as parents. Of all the dragons in the clan, Ahazraal had been the most calm throughout the calamities. He had comforted the weary, bolstered the weak, and aided in rebuilding the clan in every way he could after each tragedy with never a complaint; only his usual soft smile and sing-song voice. But as Mistral Jamboree had approached, Ahazraal began to unravel. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47079333] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/470794/47079333_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua]Ezishti was an imperial born in the Windsinger Temple just out of Fletching territory. He had been raised in the halls carved to make music of the wind. From birth he was taught the hymns and dances to the deity; all the rites and rituals of worship to Him. Always a cheerful young dragon, Ezishti had been a favorite of all the Windsinger’s priests, and when he was old enough he took a position working in the temple. Ezishti’s role was as a comforter, a masseuse, an advisor all in one. The aching and weary made their way to the temple, and Ezishti relieved them with his perfumed baths and massages with oil from his oil press. He sat for long hours sharing tea with the temple patrons beneath the secluded golden statue of the Windsinger, listening and conversing and consoling. There was not a dragon in Sornieth Ezishti could not soothe, they said. This was how the imperial had met Ahazraal. For all his importance in the clan, the young skydancer had had next to no knowledge of the Windsinger, and so paid a pilgrimage to the temple to learn when the aftermath of the Fey Calamity began to die down. But the fey part of him was insatiably curious, and mixed with his calm and quiet demeanor, he was an odd thing to Ezishti--but wonderfully so. The imperial was accustomed to his routine; asking questions of his patrons, exploring their emotions, learning about their lives… but when Ahazraal visited, [i]Ezishti[/i] was the one answering questions. [i]What is an oil press? Do you like it here? How do they make the halls sing? Who made this statue? Will you show me how to brew this tea? What does that scroll say?[/i] Ezishti caught himself smiling more often than not. So it was that when Queen Amdiffyn announced that the Temple of the Eleven was at last finished, and that the clan was ready to bring priests from all corners of Sornieth, Ahazraal suggested quietly that Ezishti be brought as the Wind priest. Amdiffyn, who viewed Ahazraal as the closest thing she had to a son, agreed. Ahazraal now regretted that moment more than anything else in his life.. As, over the year, the line of priests were slowly tortured, killed, transfigured and driven mad, the skydancer and the imperial had pushed their fears to the backs of their minds in order to help those who suffered most from it. They were often seen working together, maintaining the parts of the Temple of the Eleven that were left abandoned, comforting the lovers and families of the priests, diligently taking up the work of dragons now too riddled with grief to carry out their duties. But now that Mistral Jamboree was upon them, Ahazraal could no longer ignore it. With every passing day, the once calm skydancer grew more and more fearful. Ezishti reassured him at every turn; [i]Aukri went untouched, did he not?[/i] and, [i]Ishkari looks well today, don’t you think? [/i]and, [i]Dibella says that Salsadra will speak again any day now[/i]. But, inwardly, Ezishti was truly terrified. Aukri was just as lost to them as the other priests; left in fits of paranoia, he could not leave his rooms except to beg sleeping draughts from Darcy to forget it all. Ishkari spent all her time locked in the Lightweaver’s section of the temple, and the statue of the deity was covered in the scratches of the frenzied pearlcatcher’s claws. Salsadra lay still in the infirmary, silent as the dead. What did this mysterious force have planned for the next priest--for him? The night before Mistral Jamboree began, Ezishti could not console his lover. “Your heart is just as fast as mine, [i]ha ka’azi[/i]. You’re afraid, too. You can feel it, too. Something coming.” Ahazraal’s sun-green eyes searched his, glassy with tears. His voice was tight and broken. Ezishti had never seen him like this. But he had nothing left with which to comfort him. There was no choice. He simply held Ahazraal’s face, rubbing his thumb over the tears that fell now. Ahazraal crumpled against him, the hand that had been at his chest to feel his heart now fisting into his robes. “It will all be empty without you, Ezishti, [i]ha ka’azi--ha seka[/i]--please, no...” [i]My spring-wind, my life[/i]. A surge of emotion punched a quiet sob from Ezishti, however much he tried to hold it back. Ahazraal had never called him by a name such as that, not with tears on his cheeks. The imperial took in deep breaths, steadying himself as his lover fell apart in his arms. In the end, there was nothing to be done. He only managed to leave Ahazraal’s rooms as the sky was beginning to turn pink with dawn light; the skydancer had finally cried himself to exhaustion and could not cling to him any longer. The world seemed terribly quiet as Ezishti changed into his formal priest’s garb. He had no desire to sleep, nor the ability, he thought. He found himself wondering what the other priests had thought on the mornings of their deaths and demises. How had they felt? Had they seen whatever it was that was doing this to them? He wished that he could know that all that awaited him was death. Death, he could face. But the uncertainty of it made his shaking fingers numb. There was little time left before the morning rites and the opening of the temple to Wind pilgrims. Ezishti spent it penning a letter for his lover; something for him to keep, to remember him by. He encouraged the skydancer to remember him with joy, to continue to help the clan, to take a new mate as it pleased him. A few tears escaped him at that, but he wiped them away, folded the letter, and tied it with a lock of his own hair. He looked around at his room--perhaps for the last time, he thought--and then left to begin the ceremonies. When the morning passed without incident, a little knot of hope appeared in Ezishti’s chest. Perhaps the tragedies [i]were[/i] over. [i]Or perhaps[/i], thought a more cynical part of him, [i]it is only to torture me all the more.[/i] Ahazraal appeared near the back of the crowd, as the opening rituals drew to a close, and Ezishti was comforted somewhat. If he was to face some torture, it felt better to know that Ahazraal had seen him at his finest before it all. He wound his way through the sea of worshipers toward his lover, and couldn’t help but smile as the skydancer turned toward him. “You have your old serenity back,” said Ezishti, relieved. “See? It is as I said. Perhaps all is well again after all.” Ahazraal looked at him curiously. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “Have we met?” The whole world seemed to telescope in Ezishti’s vision. Suddenly, he couldn’t hear. [i]Please, Windsinger, let this be a nightmare[/i]. He grabbed Ahazraal’s hand. “Az, [i]ha ka’aki[/i], what…” His words were lost in his throat as Ahazraal cocked his head, that inquisitive gesture Ezishti knew like the beat of his own heart. There was no recognition in those sun-green eyes. Ezishti let the skydancer’s hand slip from his grasp; warm and calloused palms, long fingers that had once explored every inch of Ezishti’s body. Ahazraal did not try to hold on to him. - The sun had set on the last day of the Mistral Jamboree. Ezishti knelt broken at the foot of the Windsinger’s altar, alone, as the wind seemed to return at last; the candles flickered, and then went out. Jasmine smoke drifted around the imperial. What had Ahazraal said of that smoke, once? [i]It is like a perfume, how it clings to you.[/i] He’d laughed. [i]It has become my favorite scent.[/i] Ezishti had been somehow too empty to cry throughout the week. At first he had tried to convince himself that this was some sort of doppelganger. But Ahazraal knew his life still, knew his way around the Fletching Clan and all of his other friends and family--only, not Ezishti. That first night, Ezishti had paced himself into a frenzy, trying to explain what it was. [i]It must be me[/i], he thought. [i]All of the victims have been priests. What is it? That force has erased me somehow. Or I’m going mad. I’m seeing things, my worst fears.[/i] But as the week went on, Ahazraal seemed to forget more and more. First, he forgot a few other friends. Then, he forgot Talikail, the fey like his brother, the ambassador between the two factions. Next was Amdiffyn, and finally, King Alekain and Queen Haliketra. Yet everything else was intact. The skydancer still seemed to understand his role. He walked his usual paths with his old confidence and calm. He knew the clan, he knew the territory. [i]But he doesn’t know me[/i], thought Ezishti. He laid his head in his arms, pressing himself against the cool jade base of the statue. [i]He doesn’t know me, and he forgets me over again, every day.[/i] “Why, Windsinger,” Ezishti found himself whispering, as finally tears came. “Why him? I was ready for anything. I was ready to die. But not…” he broke off, curling up at the statue’s feet, shivering with sobs. Suddenly, a shadow on the wall shifted, and Ezishti jumped, staring at it. Then, he whipped around. “Wait!” he cried. The long form paused. Ezishti’s eyes widened. Cloaked in shimmering shadows, massive, but long and lithe, eddies of magic curling around his limbs. Could it truly be..? “[i]Windfather[/i]?” Ezishti whispered. - Ghadrael’s first reaction was to laugh. The priest flinched away, but continued to stare at him in broken wonderment. Had he truly mistaken the spiral for the Windsinger himself? A sudden feeling of giddy elation swelled up in Ghadrael’s chest. [i]There are no gods,[/i] he thought, [i]but I am just as powerful as one.[/i] “Why is this happening?” he heard the priest asking. “Won’t you help us?” Ghadrael wound himself around the base of the Winsinger’s statue, revelling in the awed expression. Endless possibilities unfolded before him, and his heart raced. “I cannot,” he said, fashioning his voice into something airy and ancient. He smiled to himself. [i]I will speak the truth.[/i] “There are forces more powerful than I.” The imperial’s sobs quieted. His shoulders sagged. “What… How can this be? What is happening?” he asked in hushed tones. Ghadrael had never felt so drunk on power, but he knew that every bit of it was [i]earned[/i]. [i]He[/i] had wrought this. “There is a god of void,” he said. “He grows more powerful with every day. He has taken, each festival. Don’t you see?” The imperial stared at him, and Ghadrael’s tongue was loosened. “He takes, my child, the most precious things which he can. He took Ishkari’s inhibition. He took Hyaki’s comprehension. Salsadra’s mind. He grows more powerful.” “He takes… Even life,” the priest whispered, and Ghadrael could have sung. “Even life,” he agreed. [i]Soon, I[/i] will[/i] be able to take life. It is only a matter of practice. After all, see how powerful I am now; to take select memories, select emotions. It is exact, it is perfect. I am perfect.[/i] “But why Ahazraal, and not I?” the priest suddenly burst out. Ghadrael’s thoughts soured, turning, unbidden, to Aziikandre. He hadn’t known what he wanted, the morning he had left the ridgeback in the catacombs; only that cruelty sizzled in his clawtips. When he’d seen the priest leaving his Ahazraal’s room, the idea had come to him. And he had hated the satisfaction of it; of watching the imperial break as the love he had was lost. He knew why it felt so good to take that. It wasn’t just the power. It wasn’t just the skill. He shut his empty eyes and saw only Azii in his mind. His tail lashed. [i]I will take the love from all of you,[/i] he thought. [i]I cannot have it, and so none shall. And when I’ve finished, you will worship me, and know that your gods have failed you.[/i] “It was the most I could do, to protect you,” Ghadrael said, in as soothing a voice as he could muster. The imperial lowered his head. “I… I wish that you had not, Father. I would rather have faced any fate than to lose him.” Ghadrael laughed, a hollow thing, and left the priest there to suffer.

[center][size=2][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_2538086]Brightshine[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575851]Thundercrack[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575854]Flameforger's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575855]Starfall[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575857]Riot[/url] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575860]Rockbreaker's[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575862]Gala[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575865]Trickmurk[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575868]Jamboree[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/1#post_35575871]Wavecrest[/url] || [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2538086/2#post_35575874]Greenskeeper's[/url][/size] [size=6][font=century gothic][color=#213970]Wavecrest[/color][/font][/size][/center] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47886759] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/478868/47886759_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua] Aansaiyasi-- “Calm as still water.” The slender skydancer was indeed as calm and still as the glassy pool before her. Her eyes stayed downturned, transfixed by the water, as Water acolytes poured in for the Saturnalia. Wavecrest, for the Fletching Clan, was unlike any other holiday, just as its priest was unlike any other priest. Instead of the usual festivities, games, and markets, under Yasi’s direction, Wavecrest had become a time for peaceful contemplation. Never was the Fletching Clan so beautiful, yet so still. Glass bubbles and scrying mirrors hung from the domed ceiling refracted the light of the stained glass wall behind Yasi, scattering prisms all over the surface of her pool. [i]There is peace[/i], she had taught pilgrims of times past, [i]in any thing you might set your senses upon[/i]. Now, she set herself upon the beauty of the rainbows playing in her unwavering sight. The dragons filing in were humming--a hymn she knew well. It was a melody that had originally been used by ancient Guardians to find one another while exploring the darkness of the Leviathan Trench. Now, it was a call for the Tidelord; [i]Come home[/i]. Yasi hummed, a little, but did not let her focus break. [i]Serenity of mind is not an emptiness, but a quiet concentration[/i]. The pilgrims to the Temple of the Eleven settled around the pool, and their trance-like humming eventually tapered off. They watched eagerly was the water priestess lifted her head with a serene smile, surveying each of them in turn. There were no opening rites to the Saturnalia; no texts to read and no ceremonies to be held. Only Aansaiyasi’s wisdom, spoken so soft and musically that all of the Tidelord’s followers leaned in, hanging upon her every gentle word. In truth, Aansaiyasi had not always been a priestess, nor had she been raised in a temple. Quite the opposite, in fact. The now-dazzling skydancer was born into a heavily stratified kingdom, at the bottom of the social ladder. As a hatchling, she had watched her father’s gruesome execution; punishment for his relationship with her untouchable mother. That same mother had fallen ill not long after, and Yasi had only lived by the sacrifice of her two elder brothers. “Don’t think about it,” Mahorai had told her, covering her eyes with a wing, while Ahanrial wrapped their mother’s body in a burial shroud. “Doesn’t the rain sound beautiful?” It was this moment that stayed with Yasi as she fled her home, the screams of her brothers echoing in her ears as the guards pinned them to the ground. [i]The rain sounds beautiful. The rain sounds beautiful. The rain sounds beautiful.[/i] Her philosophy had drawn crowds in her wanderings thereafter--train your mind to focus, truly, and your pain will be forgotten. She had helped many suffering Water dragons learn control over their minds even before coming to the Fletching Clan. Now, surrounded by jewels and finery, she was no different. [i]Still as water. Steady as the tides. Calm as the sea on the horizon.[/i] And Yasi was just as calm as ever, when Ghadrael came for her. - “I’ve decided what to take from you, little water priestess. Will you pray to the Tidelord to save you?” Yasi did not answer. She sat cross-legged before her personal altar--a hollowed-out stick of bamboo, clacking softly against weathered stones as a stream of water tipped it first one way, then the other, dividing itself into two pools. “I know you are not deaf. You listened and spoke with your precious followers this morning.” [i]Clack… Clack… Clack…[/i] “Do you want to know what I’m going to take? I’m going to take your body. I wonder if your soul will go with it. Does that not frighten you?” [i]Clack… Clack… Clack.[/i] A sharp claw appeared in Yasi’s vision. It held up the bamboo rod, spilling all the water to one side. It bubbled up over the stones and began to pool onto the floor. “Answer me, little priestess. You have nothing to say before you disappear? The Tidelord, I am sure, will not miss you.” Yasi did look up, now. The dragon before her was strange. His form fluctuated in the moonlight, like smoke made solid. He laughed. “Are you afraid now, silly priestess?” “No.” The smoke seemed to writhe at that. “Do you not wonder who I am? How I do what I do?” “No.” The room was filled with a very quiet screeching, and the smoke plumed and curled and frothed. “Am I nothing to you? Very well then. I will show you what it feels to be nothing.” Yasi hummed in response. Then, in an instance, she found herself tumbling. If she was honest, this was the one moment when she felt fear. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she trashed out for something to hold onto. For an eternal moment, she was spinning wildly through what she supposed to be time or space or reality; scenes of all proportions flashed incomprehensibly around her. Sounds battered her ears and crawled under her skin. Her mouth was filled with all the words she had ever said, or ever would say, and she could not understand any of them. It felt as though a million million different sensations were jostling in her mind all at once, each begging to be felt. She was unravelling. Then, suddenly, all was silent again. She had not moved. Still, she sat cross-legged. But the Fletching Palace was gone. Instead, she sat beneath a sky of pure white. The horizon was unbroken in every direction, and beneath her... a dizzying sea of stars. Nebulae cartwheeled through space, planets whirling wildly around suns of all colors. It stretched out below her infinitely, yet somehow was completely flat. And then it all began to move. Like it was dragging her down. Yasi got to her feet, watching the masses of stars and blackness slithered up around her ankles. She tried to pull free, and couldn’t. Another blip of fear crossed her, but she took in a deep, quiet breath, and focused on one pinwheel of a galaxy. [i]How beautiful[/i], she thought. [i]Like flecks of bronze.[/i] As she sunk to her waist, she only focused more intently on the galaxy; every star, every planet. She tried to count each one but lost track. She watched it move one way, and then another, while blackness sucked at her clothes and pulled, pulled her down. Her ears were filled with laughter like none she had ever heard. The darkness sprouted eyes, a thousand thousand eyes, all bronze and glittering and wide and staring as whatever it was caught her hair and her head snapped back. The white sky was gone now. Then, she was sailing through the air. Hitting the ground was not as painful as she had expected (really, she ought to have been dashed to pieces), but it was all her training to keep from crying out. She sat up, slowly, and turned to look at the eyes all around her. [i]If I am to die[/i], she instructed herself, [i]How lovely to see such beautiful eyes before I do.[/i] As she thought it, she realized that her mouth was moving, forming the words in her head aloud. The eyes all blinked in surprise. A bellow of cacophonous screeching nearly knocked her on her back again. The eyes looked at her expectantly. Like they were waiting for a response. Yasi blinked back. [i]It’s alive[/i], she thought, and as she did it seemed like an incredibly obvious conclusion. “I don’t speak eldritch horror,” she said gently, righting herself into a cross-legged position again. There was a brief pause. Some rumbling. And then the darkness began to recede. The eyes rolled up and closed as all the color was sucked from the plane around her, shrinking back into a single point. Yasi watched it curiously as it seemed to flash through a variety of odd shapes, each time collapsing again into a tiny pool of universe before her. Then, a man rose up from it--blurry at first, as though taking a moment to chisel himself into the right shape. Wisps of stardust clung to him, cascading down his back and from his fingers. He was covered head to toe in constellations. He looked at her. His eyes were starry amber. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38200269] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/382003/38200269_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] [font=book antiqua] He opened his mouth. A few odd sounds came from his throat before he shook his head and went quiet for a moment. “[i]Kaja qa tenil nan jai?[/i]” Yasi shook her head. “Nor do I speak... that. Sornen?” She made a vague attempt to revert to her draconic form, but couldn’t. She had figured as much, but unclasped an earring to hold it out to him. A tiny spiral was coiled around its edge. He stared at the earring for a moment. Then, “This? This tongue?” His accent was the oddest she had ever heard, but it was Sornen. Yasi nodded. “Who are you?” she asked, replacing her earring. His face split into a wide grin--wider than any natural smile. When he talked, Yasi noticed that it was black behind his teeth--not that his tongue was black. Like there was nothing there. “You--a dragon? Yes. For who I am, you would say, ‘god.’ Or, a god.” Yasi cocked her head. “Of what?” He threw his arm out in a gesture around them. “Void.” Yasi hummed. “You wanted me to be part of that void? Why did you decide not?” It was at this point that he finally mimicked her, sitting on the now-white “floor,” still staring at her as though she were the alien and not he. “I… I’m unsure how you came here. You’re the first. To come here. Aside from me.” “How did you get here, then?” He made a face--as he did, the constellations across his skin stuttered and shifted color. He scooped up a handful of the stardust wreathing him and clapped it between his hands. When he drew his fingers apart, the figure of what was obviously another god in miniature swirled between his palms. “Him,” said the god of Void. Yasi leaned back on her palms. “Tell me what happened.” He squinted at her, as though he was considering swallowing her in blackness again, but then the figure crumbled in his fingers before resurrecting itself in the shape of another miniature galaxy. Beside it, the god of Void himself--but younger somehow, more naive. Yasi would have wondered how she could tell such detail from simple stardust figures, but then again, no part of this strange world between worlds had been very logical so far. As she watched, the miniature god of Void’s mouth opened nearly to the size of his whole body, jaw unhinging impossibly, as he swallowed the stars and planets and nebulae like they were nothing. The scene repeated, over and over--the god galloping through universes like a hatchling on unsteady legs, happy just to be alive. Eating worlds upon worlds. Yasi could almost hear the screams of those devoured as though they were here with them. Then, the other god appeared again. As Void was about to gobble up yet another cluster of planets, he was seized by the other god. Yasi felt a shock of confusion and panic as though it was her, captured by an unfathomable creature. “Ahamkara,” the god of Void said, watching the figures wrestling. Yasi put up her hand. “What is your name?” He paused to look at her. Something behind his eyes seemed to dull. “I have none.” Yasi hummed, watching the ripples of starstuff billowing around his head like hair made of clouds. “Nebulos, I think, would suit you. Do you like it?” He stared at her, then back at the scene he had constructed. He shrugged, and Ahamkara had finished throttling the miniature Nebulos. Finally, in a flash, the scene turned to mimic the one around them. “A prison,” said Yasi. “He put you here.” Nebulos nodded. “For how long?” With a wave of his hand, Nebulos dissipated the images he had built. He mimicked her again, leaning back on his hands. “Sornieth… To you, a hundred hundred years. Or a thousand thousand. Impossible to say.” He tipped his head back, looking up at the vast blank sky above them. “And no other creature here with you?” Nebulos shrugged. “You must be very lonely.” His eyes turned down to her. He laughed, showing shining silver fangs. [i]Those are new[/i], thought Yasi. [i]He really is lonely.[/i] He waved his hand again, and above them appeared a crumbling mass of towers that reminded Yasi of home. With another gesture, the towers became a whole jungle, swelling with vines but eerily silent. Again, and it turned to a volcano erupting violet lava. Yasi didn’t flinch as the lava came to land on them--it disappeared to stardust as it did. “I have all of this. The things I swallowed.” It was Yasi’s turn to shrug. “That is no replacement for life.” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned toward her. “You speak truly. Millenia without a real world to eat. Millenia of hunger. Millenia without the breeze of air on my skin.” He was twisting stardust into shapes to illustrate his words again--spinning planets, grass blown by a warm wind. “No water--” A jug spilling sand appeared, “No light--” A blazing sun swirled into existence, “Not even the sound of music, the touch of another living being…” There were a few tuneless notes of music made of screams, and he reached out his hand to touch Yasi--but before he could, he recoiled suddenly, staring at his own hand. There was a short silence as all of the stardust fell and scattered, glittering, around them, before Yasi grabbed his hand back. She could feel his pulse in his wrist. Nebulos was frozen as the pulse sped up and the coils of stars that made his hair glowed like candle-flame, before suddenly he burst into another fit of laughter. New eyes peeked out at her from his forehead, and his mouth split two ways, like a cross. “You see what I do,” he said, and his voice felt like it came from inside Yasi’s own head. “Do you truly wish to touch one such as I? I feast. I am Void. I am God.” Yasi nodded. Hummed. Rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand. “And you are lonely.” The monstrous creature before her throbbed. Yasi smiled. “If there is no-one else here, then you needn’t pretend that you aren’t.” Nebulos tossed his head, looking away from her as the eyes disappeared and he shrank back into his “humanoid” appearance. “I once ate an entire universe in the blink of an eye,” he said haughtily, not looking at her. “There were unfathomable screams that day. There were other gods in my stomach afterward. I’ve eaten stranger. I eat languages. I eat knowledge and art and names. I have a hundred thousand forms. I ate one of my own forms, once. I swallow seas of stars and entire civilizations by the millions, but I’m… always hungry. I have never been sated, and now never will be, alone here, alone in this prison, alone for millennia… I…” He shrank with each word, folding in on himself like he might be crying, but did not know how. Yasi tugged on his hand--he yelped in surprise--and pulled him into an embrace. The galaxies of his hair smelled like magic. His skin was dancing wildly with constellations and colors, thrumming like any moment he would dissolve back into the fathomless expanse she had seen first. But he was speaking. “Alone... I am--I have been--who are you? Why? Please, whoever you are... please touch me…” There were the tears. Glowing brighter than the rest of him, like rivers of light, as he turned his strange horned head and buried it in Yasi’s shoulder. He was still trying to speak, but the words were garbled with sobs. Yasi smiled into his hair and obliged him, running a hand up and down his starry back. And she hummed a lullaby. When the tears had subsided enough for the god of Void to speak again, Yasi still did not let go of his hand. He was trying to apologize. “You act as though, after millennia, a few minutes of tears and a hand on your back are enough.” He looked at her helplessly. “How do you know these things?” he asked, in a whisper now. “Who are you?” “Aansaiyasi,” said Yasi, standing and tugging him to his feet. “Among all the things you’ve swallowed, is there somewhere more comfortable to lie down?” The god started at her, dumbstruck, for a moment longer, before nodding. He gripped her hand tightly as the ground underneath them shifted, and then the sky. The change went in trickling stripes, like water running over a window, only upside-down. Then they were somewhere completely other. Yasi couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto her face as she looked around; it was like nowhere on Sornieth, nothing she ever could have imagined. Gauzy, phosphorescent plants waved and fluttered beneath towering willow trees with trunks and branches of stained glass. Beneath their toes, the moss glowed in reaction to their steps. The whole world pulsed with blue light. Yasi let Nebulos guide her through the leaves like strings of lanterns and to a small hillock beside a pool of black water. When the water priestess leaned over to look for her reflection, there was none; instead, every bead of dew that dripped from the trees above created dizzying, ever-shifting fractals of color. But Yasi could tell that it was not real. It was only an echo of what it was before it was swallowed by the void. There was no birdsong, no buzzing of insects, no scent of plant life or water. When Yasi went to dip her toe into the black pool, it rippled around her foot, but she couldn’t feel it. She looked at Nebulos, who was staring, unseeing, out at the water. All of the beauty and wonder--it was all hollow. - Yasi found that while she could if she chose, she no longer needed to sleep or eat. But some of the worlds Nebulos showed her had suns like Sornieth’s, and so Yasi assumed that it was a few days that followed, during which time Nebulos let her explore dozens of new places, each more dizzyingly beautiful than the last. But she began to understand why the god had never been sated. As soon as anything entered the void, of course it was no longer real. As many illusions and replications as Nebulos could create, nothing would ever bring back the full of the things he had swallowed. Nebulos began to grow more accustomed to Yasi’s touch. It still made him jump, from time to time, but he relaxed more quickly now, spoke Sornen with greater ease, remembered how to cry and smile alike. The only thing that seemed real in all of this gilded cage was Nebulos himself. His skin was the only warmth she could feel, pulsing under her fingers, and his hair was the only thing she could smell--the soft cassia-smoke scent of magic. And she knew that to him, she was the same. So it never bothered her when his hands lingered on her arms or curled into her clothes, seeking every ounce of sensation he had been starved of for so long. He sometimes brought her odd tokens, but ones she eventually recognized as rarities in his prison; snippets of languages that were still spoken somewhere, dances of long-lost civilizations, clumsily performed as they were by him. One day, as Yasi was leaning against a balcony carved entirely of pearl, looking over the iridescent, bubble-like spires of a centuries-dead civilization, Nebulos approached her with an unwieldy-looking object in his arms. When he spoke, his Sornen was suddenly slippery again. “This is a… a music-making… an instrument. An instrument. I can’t use it well. I’ve tried--many many instruments, but I’m probably best at this one, I think. It’s probably about three... Four thousand years old? Any… In any case, I--there’s a song, from the civilization--the one that made it--and it reminds me of… you…” He trailed off, looking down at the dusty thing. The ribbons of starstuff that made up his hair whipped and snapped like they were caught in a fierce wind. Yasi grinned. “Are you going to play the song for me?” For a long moment, Nebulos looked quite like he was about to say “no,” but then he sucked in a breath and nodded. “It is something I wish to give you.” It was… clunky. The instrument was badly out of tune, and Nebulos was obviously unskilled with it--not to mention the way that his fingers shook so badly he could barely hold it--but the melody he managed to pick out was pretty enough. When he looked up at her as the last notes faded, his expression was so intense that it almost took Yasi by surprise. She offered a soft smile and rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “That is a wonderful gift.” And she meant it. But he stared at her a moment longer, and shook his head. He dropped his gaze to his hands on the instrument again, and then his whole body was shivering like a leaf on the wind. “I forgot,” he said, almost to himself, and then cursed in some long-dead tongue. “What did you forget?” Nebulos hugged the instrument to his chest. “The--the civilization this comes from. The instrument. Their language, it was musical. So it was like a--a poem? Like words.” “So it had a specific meaning? What was it?” His whole form seemed to turn fizzy, and then glassy, like he would have disappeared if he could. There was a faint cracking sound as he clutched the instrument so hard that its brittle wood began to give way under his grip. “Love… a love poem,” he said. Then he looked at her, still vaguely transparent, searching her face for her reaction. Yasi chuckled. “Come back, you,” she said gently, rubbing his arm in soothing circles as he slowly became opaque again. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.” [i]Crack[/i]. “Oh, I should say that I don’t mind,” Yasi added, noting how he trembled still. “What does that mean?” Nebulos burst out desperately. “You accept?” Yasi looked at him curiously. “Accept what?” Nebulos dropped the instrument altogether--it disappeared in a wisp of blue smoke before it hit the floor--and ran his hands through his starry hair. “It’s--it’s…” He swore again. “In Sornen--in Sornieth, you have, between two people…?” His language grew more and more garbled, and he gesticulated helplessly to try to illustrate his meaning. Yasi’s smile widened as he did. “You stay with one another, you have a celebration and then you are each other’s… I don’t… I shouldn’t have…” “Marriage?” Yasi suggested. Nebulos flickered briefly as he blew out a breath and nodded. “If you don’t… It’s… We’ve not known one another that long--and maybe you’ll escape, and then you shouldn’t feel tied to me, but I just… I only…” “Of course.” Every part of Nebulos froze in place, including his ever-swirling cloud of hair. He stared at her, and she leaned against the railing overlooking the city, resting her chin in her hand and smiling at him. “Do you know anything else about romantic customs in Sornieth?” she asked him. Still almost completely frozen, Nebulos just looked at her. Yasi shrugged. “Well, in a humanoid form like this one, kissing is a common way to express affection. You know it?” Nebulos, still staring, nodded slowly. Yasi cocked an eyebrow. “You should kiss me.” One more frozen moment went by, and then Nebulos reached out trembling hands to take her shoulders. His expression was an open book--overwhelmed joy, relief, surprise-- as he tugged her to him. When he kissed her, his nose bumped against her cheek, and Yasi laughed into his mouth. She wound her arms around his neck. He was still shaking; it felt like he might crack her spine with how hard he pressed her to him. His lips were hot and clumsy, but the way he laughed too made Yasi’s serene heart skip giddily. - Nebulos was much more talkative after that. His hands always seemed to find Yasi, and she didn’t mind. He shared everything with her. Yasi lost track of time, wandering through hundreds of worlds, hearing of unimaginable histories and cultures. Sometimes, she wondered what had become of the Fletching clan, but her years of training and her new and fascinating life meant that it didn’t plague her. That is until, one day, Nebulos was showing her some of the more abstract and strange things that had found their way to his prison of void. And she recognized these things. They were put on pedestals, like a museum. Nebulos had showed her a spell of invisibility that had gone wrong, the soul of an animal that was both real and not at the same time, and then… a set of inhibitions. “This showed up not long before you, actually,” he said, as Yasi stared at the abstract thing, trapped in an orb like a light sprite might hold. “I don’t know how someone managed to extract them. It seems like they were from a person not dissimilar to you. A religious figure, I think.” Next was a coherency, a wreath of flame which whispered incomprehensibly--but Yasi could have sworn that she heard Sornen. Then, a scroll. It looked almost exactly like a breed change scroll, but black, and an intense negative energy surrounded it. Yasi stared at it. “This is… a dragon whose breed was taken away.” Nebulos nodded. Yasi slowed to a halt, looking down the line of pedestals, realizing the pattern. She turn to look at Nebulos, who slowed, expression turning to concern. “Yasi?” “These are from my clan,” she said. “The priests… Some creature of void has been attacking. Sending things here. That’s what happened to them. To us.” She thought wildly back to her encounter with the creature who had sent her to this realm in the first place. [i]”I’m going to take your body… I will show you what it feels to be nothing.”[/i] “That’s… how [i]I[/i] came here. Void magic.” Nebulos’ expression was falling. His hair cascaded slowly down his shoulders, pooling at his feet. “You have to get home,” he said quietly, offering a small smile as he reached for her hand. Yasi looked into his face. Focused on the dark amber of his eyes. She had to, or she would feel his heartbreak. She nodded. “You know how I can return,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Nebulos nodded. “I am sorry.” Yasi stroked his hair. “I would not trade this time with you for anything.” He closed his eyes. Nodded. Tears clung to his eyelashes. “You have nothing left,” he said. “If you are to take something real, it would follow that you can’t stay here anymore.” “I thought that I took you when we exchanged vows.” “Those only bound us to one another. I belong to you, but you do not [i]have[/i] me.” Nebulos shook his head. “But you can. Take a part of me,” he said quietly. “If you do, perhaps I could experience something again--anything. Please, Yasi, I--” his voice caught in his throat, and he reached for her with his other hand, too. He took a deep breath. “It would be a wonderful gift.” Yasi stroked his face. “Tell me what to take.” He leaned into her touch. Turned to kiss her palm. “You could take my eyes,” he whispered against her skin. “That I might truly see again.” He looked at her. “Or you could take my claws, that I might truly feel again.” Yasi stepped closer to him to catch his mouth in a kiss. “What if I took your children,” she asked, “That you might truly love again?” A flash of confusion crossed his face before his eyes widened. He clutched her hand to himself and nodded, swallowing. “That… would do.” - The next two nights, Yasi fell asleep to the steady sound of Nebulos’ breathing. He slept, too, though neither of them needed it in this place. Something about the warmth and quietude and rhythm of it soothed the parting that they both knew would come soon. His breath tickled her ears. [i]Whoosh, hiss. Whoosh, hiss.[/i] Then, in an instant, the sound changed. [i]Clack. Clack. Clack.[/i] Yasi opened her eyes. Her bamboo fountain bubbled next to her, its two pools glittering in the dawn light filtering in through her window. She sat up from the floor, touching a hand to her stomach. - It had only been a week and a half, as it turned out. What had felt like--or actually been--months and years to Yasi and Nebulos, in Sornieth had barely been a handful of days. When Yasi emerged from her chambers, swallowing tears with focus, a great cry went up from the Fletching Clan palace. Her friends ran out to embrace her with fear and relief on their voices. [i]The sunlight feels wonderful. The sound of the ocean is soothing. The bamboo smells so sweet.[/i] It was everything Yasi could do to maintain her composure while she explained all she had learned to the Council of Suns. A monster was preying on them, one with the power of Void. It had taken from the priests; Ishkari’s inhibitions. Khorzaad’s breed. Hyaki’s comprehension. Salsadra’s consciousness. Ilsaire’s motion. Ahazraal’s memories. The others, she could not explain. She left the chamber as Whisper was positing that this monster had acquired an accomplice. It all seemed terribly unimportant, now. Somewhere else in the universe was a man made of stars--her husband--with worlds and worlds of only hollow beauty to keep him, now. Aansaiyasi returned to her chambers. She knew that she ought to prepare a nest for her children to be born, but the tears were so close to the surface that she couldn’t bring herself to face the hatchery right now. She tried to sleep, but everything seemed so much louder, after so long in a realm of silence. She grew accustomed to the hypnotic clack of her fountain again, but the sound of the insects she had missed so sorely at first seared into her mind. She laid awake, aching for Nebulos’ touch, and thought that the sound of crickets might just drive her mad. [i]I wish whatever insect it was plaguing me would just disappear[/i], she begged the unfeeling cosmos, as she shifted in bed for what felt like the thousandth time that sleepless night. And it did. Yasi sat bolt upright as the unfamiliar magic fizzled in her arms. She looked down at herself. [i]Could it be?[/i] She pressed her hands to her stomach again. Perhaps she now had some of Nebulos’ power… She looked around for something to test it on. “I want my water jug to go to the void,” she said. Without a sound, the jug disappeared. Her heart was pounding. [i]Please…[/i] “I want the song that Nebulos gave to me.” The moment the clumsy notes came drifting to her, she stood up on her bed and, shaking, said, “I want my husband.” And there he was. Nebulos looked just as surprised as she did, standing dazedly with the gauzy wing of a cricket still sticking out of his mouth. Yasi laughed. He quickly swallowed it and grabbed her hand, pressing her fingers as though checking that she was real and not a dream. “How did you do that?” he whispered, then closed his eyes and shivered as a breeze of warm bay air came in through the window. Yasi couldn’t help it. She was crying now. “It must be the part of you I took--I must have your powers, at least for a while.” Nebulos opened his eyes again and looked at her, his face breaking into a grin. “I [i]feel[/i] everything,” he gasped out, tugging her closer. “I feel it, I feel everything again. But I don’t… I don’t feel hungry, anymore.” Yasi buried her face in his hair. “How? You said you have always been hungry.” He gathered her in his arms, laughing. “I [i]have[/i] something now, given to me instead of taken. I think it’s because you’ve given me love. No other creature has.” “Well, I have no intentions of stopping,” said Yasi, before he kissed her.