Creative Corner

[img]https://i.postimg.cc/RhrCws6b/1598628364338.png[/img] [Columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/kMUNtPE.png[/img][nextcol] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [center][Size=7][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]CLAN HISTORY[/center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][/columns] [center][Size=6][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]I[/center] [center][Size=5][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]The deal[/center] [center][Size=3][font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] ...It all began somewhere before the extinction of the former shadow aligned clan of settlers who led from the isles of Arcane. Their ruler, a Ridgeback going under the name of Seraph, was a mad king corrupted by his ceaseless hunger for fortunes and thirst for blood that could never be quenched. Never satieted, never satysfied. He took the originally arcane aligned clan that was founded by a Mirror and her mate, cut their lineage without thread of remorse and single-handedly committed coup. Assassinated the leading duo and took the position, injecting his ill poison into the clan as he then turned it into an empire. It grew,and grew... Any male members left of the original clan,were eighter viciously driven out by him as he soon found a powerful cultist organisation from the elements of Plague and Shadow, or thrown to the frontlines of his troupes. They were all weakened beforehand,supposedly as a precaution. Seeing how efficent the organisation is, Seraph falsely pledged his loyalty to them, making a deal that would later cost him his head and usher a total disaster in its wake: He would be allowed to join the leading positions, in exchange allow their leaders lead his empire as co-leaders. This way the two parties would do each other a favor and service. Little did the blinded tyrant know of the guild's secret bruttish practices? Of their subject of worship being the Shade itself? The mysterious disappearances were brushed off, as long as new recruits were placed in their stead. As long there was someone to replace them. But the biggest secret in the policy that Seraph had recklessly accepted without much of a concern or question was hidden in the contract itself. For his grave mistake was not pressing for more details. He would have known that the Curse guild intends resolutely for their contract to persist far,far,far beyond his reign. After his passing, the next ruler would be his replacement regardless if said next ruler gives their consent or not. The clan, and the next generations, were damned. So, for years the organisation took members for their sacrifices, using the fractures and wisps of Shade matter that their own followers across all evelen flights ventured to discover and bring back...in order for the organisation, for the twisted manic cult to create their devastating diseasse. Its resilience to cures and temperatures made it near impossible to eradicate or even halt. Only one being was capable of withdrawing it back from its victims, forever, yield it without effort. The deity that would be borne from it. The Curse of the cult. By the time the Ridgeback finally decided he wanted to cut the contract, their project, their engineered virus, was completed and could only mutate rapidly. Vastly. [i]Dramatically[/i]. It was unstoppable. So they released it. Let the demon they've created claim him for his folly. During the Neuma times, it continued as planned. Untill the deity they aimed to create was borne at long last, from shadows,their curse and the collected Shade matter. Plus the small magics of the sacrificed dragons. It was truly, an abomination far too strong and powerful to be contained, let alone control. A creature of pitch darkness roughly the size of an Emperor...though considering the high probability for many Imperial dragons to have also been used in the rites without the usual precautions to prevent merging....well, it does not seem too far of a stretch for this newly risen being to be at least partially one itself. The only majour differences setting it appart from Emperors, however, are its near godly powes, high sentience and intelligence. It could sniff out life like magic and energy, without effort. But it could also create life. Amalgamations of its own. It was borne long after the Neuma clan's extinction along with the exctinctions of the clans founded after it. The Glorious wings clan, home to tough and unyielding dragon warriors along with mighty fighters, The Harmonious wings clan, welcoming in both the newly risen Beastclans who answered the savagely call of warfare as well as fellow dragons, The Shadow survivours clan, neutral towards all who foolishly thought that they have managed to evade the Curse and their sights, All gone without even a bloody trace. As if they have never existed at all. During the decades that followed its creation and growth, the Curse organisation began working on the few side projects they had planned. To bait their time, alongside monitoring their illness and their brand new creation, with yet another ambitious project. After all, surely their precious young deity would need a loyal guard and herald, right? One as ferocious as the presence which they shall herald. The serpentine cult that their bussiness parthner and...unaware "follower" had created in the Tangled wood, the concept, gave them an idea. Using the tools they have gained, the guild's scholars glimpsed into the timeline of a universe, realm, separate from Sornienth entirely filled with funny looking small pinkish creatures. Peered furthur into that timeline, into these creatures' legends, to see a legend speaking of entities very simillar to the Serthis tribe people but with different personality and behavior. A polar opposite to them. It claimed that these beings are guardians to the gods. From there the scientists and researchers took off, their morbid psychothic curiousity pushing them to request the presence of a former gladiator of Serthis race...more like [i]capture[/i] said individual. Him and a select two more individuals. One of the same race and the other from Maren. A seer or oracle. After combining the dnas of these pests, they took the best traits and mixed them into one,so to speak: High intelligence, ablitity for divianation, high combat skills, speed, wit and thinking, ferocity, calculation...Adaptivity. Thus they created a hybrid of two species. Trained him until his skills were beyond exceeding those of the elites known to the people of his heretic kind. Drove him to his utter limits on every possible level, disregarding the amouts of stress they cause. Kept his relentless progress meticulously documented in a journal, jotting his status and other quick statistics. Day in–day out. Since the day of his "birth", knowing nothing more other than the experiments endured and his code name: Offspring Subject C67 Parent subject C67 was removed due to having passed away. The water likely being much too salty. While Parent Subjects B67 and A67 had their memories corrected before release from the facility... --------------------------------------------- [img]https://i.postimg.cc/RhrCws6b/1598628364338.png[/img] [Columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/kMUNtPE.png[/img][nextcol] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [center][Size=7][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]CLAN HISTORY[/center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][/columns] [center][Size=6][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]II[/center] [center][Size=5][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]The ill rise of a deity[/center] [font=times new roman][color=#5B3522]Two dark purple beady eyes stare up at the full moon shinning softly from above. Wisps of dark smoke dance at the silhouette's feet, the atmosphere crackling with anticipation and ill excitement. Soon they turn to sweep their near blackened gaze across the many faces of the dragons gathered. Tonight..is the night. Time has at long last come for the true ruler of this planet to arise. Awaken and claim their rightful domain! [Font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] A garnet skinned Pearlcatcher gazes down at his palms. They're smeared with sticky thick crimson, crusted into sanguine little crystals at his talons. Gleaming, laughing in the dragon's solemn face. Once guilt used to gnaw at his bones and poke at his mind, the reptillian recalls. But that memory has grown so very fuzzy. Who he used to be is of no importance anymore– the Initials and aliase given to him upon joining have long turned into his true self. He, is Red Tide, creator of this organisation's brand. The Curse. The large chilling stoney chamber, his humble workspace, is mostly quiet....Well, [i]almost[/i] blissfully quiet. If it wasn't for the rather..persistent noise echoing off in the southwestern corner of his peacefull little operational office. Metallic rattling, insistently continuing for a long few minutes with small pauses scattered inbetween. The sound of frustrated desperation ricochets off the walls dully- As if the stone is swallowing it. Heavy, laboured breathing. A cruel, sympathetic–or more like pitying–look settles on the nimble medic's snout while he calmly listens to his patient's last melody. [i]Fight little doll, fight and writhe while you still can. Oh, but please don't fret! You would join your other brave friends in the gallery. Preserved, [u]perfect[/u], for all of eternity! You all will see decades, no, [u]centuries[/u] pass! And you would never wither in time's cruel hands~![/i] A jolly shrill tune fills the stagnated air, slicing the tense silence. He saunters right back to his wooden desk and sweeps his crimson eyes over the various items, containers, trinkets and materials sitting neatly. Scanning the small jars filled with different pigments, R.T smiles in a dreamy daze. The image of the caged, dear, Skydancer painted with nice intricicate lines...Two black on her forehead for a small skull pierced by a cross, runes wishing her happiness and peace in the afterlife adoring her strong arms and throat... Black on the eyelids for eyes of the Mighty. So their wisdom trails with her. And one,single, sangine line starting from the throat and going all the way to the heart...Simply gorgeous. They would be ideal colours for the opening of tonight's ceremony. The first sacrifice, meant to share their blood, for the Mighty to drink. The second, meant to donate their magic generously, for a greater being. Selfless and humble. The very pinnacle of truest virtue. The last is left for the Mighty to seek. Many had been trialed but it was not enough (as most went for Tide's reasearch) but the first component has been completed. The anger, hatred, greed, wanting, envyious blood..all perfect fuel. Imbued with their magics, into their spilled life force, in part of his masterpiece. Sealed in a nice vial, just for this occassion. The perfected sample. An hour later (it would have been much sooner, had his patient stayed still), all was prepared on R.T's end. His comrades no doubt awaiting him at the altar. With that same eerie smile, the medic takes a vial containing his great creation and draws up the hood of his blackened robes. He turns just in time to see his dear friends standing somewhat impatiently in the doorway with solemn expectant faces and the bio scientist nods in muted response. The rattling of shackles comes to a stop from within the cage as the lucky dragon whips their head around to stare in pure terror. Without a word the two Guardians stride into the office and roughly seize the ceremonial sacrifice, dragging her out and down the arched corridor to the other chamber. Sighing wistfully R.T follows suit after their backs. [center]******[/center] [Font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] Whispers of excitement and hardly concealed anticipation scuttle throughout the restless chamber, many heads turning in a slow circle with their eyes following the two behemoths. The painted Skydancer still wriggle and thrash in her captors' grasp, sobbing at the sight of the pillar. Two more hooded dragons stand on each side holding sticks and large drums- the slow, rythmic and deep melody filling the room. At the center of a drawn circle around the erected stone pillar proudly stands a sandy Coatl, their plummage painted in dark purple hues and white skull facepaint. --"Please, have mercy! I beg of you-oh gods-[i]please![/i] Don't kill me!" -With a quivering voice the brighter feathered dragon pleads but gets shushed, fire-aligned eyes widening in horror at the sympathetic look she is given. The Coatl gently grips her face with a tender smile...and their next words were enough to make her cry. --"Don't worry dear child, we aren't going to take your life. We will simply help your honorable ascend. Can you feel the rumbling in your bones, dear? Our god is calling, it's our duty to answer. " In a matter of seconds she was pinned to the pillar, sturdy ropes wound around her stomach, arms tied to form a cross over her chest. The crowd chants unintelligible things in one voice with eyes closed under the hoods and a rope ties itself around her throat. The poor soul can no longer move or look around, forced to stare at the wanning moon in the sky. Her sobs subside into fearful whimpers as she feels another member approach. And then everything was over- her suffering, her life, the ritual- all of it. Such freedom...Nothing matters anymore, Saravi is at long last completely free. But not for long, with a sense of detached alarm she notes while watching the scene below her floating form. The Skydancer watches a sable Pearlcather- the medic- uncork the vial in his hand. The dark liquid sloshes violently, spilling on the stone floor and absorbing the blood. It crawls towards the altar, to Saravi's corpse, her throat. With disgust she continues to observe this abnormal thing- it plunged into the wound. Seconds later the body wither and shrivel up, not a single drop of blood left. The thing flies out, having no interest for the rest except for the...organs? Skeleton? The spirit watches on with awakened grim fascination what happens next, wondering why of all dragons it chose this. Why not take a Guardian or Gaoler? It swallow the bones after somehow tearing the skeleton out, the heart pulsating with a different rythm. It rises on unstable wispy feet, the ''flames'' forming ''feathers''. The abomination's jaws unhinge at a hundred-eighty angle, impossible for any creature, a blood curdling roar ripping out of its throat. Her (?) wispy body cracks and becomes a more obsidian-black hue as tar slips through the cracks. Curiously enough, the strange oozing liquid begins to harden into smooth armour-like plating on this unholly Shade-spawn's back,arms,legs, tail,throat and stomach. It looks like the scales of a Banescale or Gaoler, but tougher with a vibrant color fading at the tips. And then...another pair eyes open, nestled between the plating of this proclaimed deity's neck. Then another, on wings with more and more sprouting in their wake until nearly the entire demon is covered in eyes. Like an all seeing shroom. Her eyes are devoid of life- soulless and darker than the night skies above, the color of a black hole. Another pairs of jaws open underneath the first gaping set, then very slowly these jaws close with a deafening click. Gnawing hunger claws at her very core...yet she only stares at the living things closest to the circle. There is...interest in the many soulless eyes of the wispy figure. As if its waiting for something, someone, to move- just to see what they would do next and what reaction they will make. For long hours the room was plunged in pitch darness with the cultists shuffling their feet or turning their heads this way and that, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically fidgety. This is it, the Mighty has at long last answered their calls and made herself present. So where is this unease and uncertainty stemming from? A series of teeth clicking, low guttural purs and hissing whistles fills the silent temple- the atmosphere growing significantly more oppressive as the noises draw closer in a circle. The entity that has been created seems to circling them and keeping to the chamber's pheriphery, simply observing. From amidst the instinctually huddling crowd, a rusty-haired Pearlcatcher smiles in admiration and amusement. [center]****[/center] [font=times new roman][color=#5B3522]R.T is in no way as delusional as the rest of his gathered comrades, no. He knows this is his creation, not some faulty deity spawned out of thin air into existense. Or a frilly monarch proclaiming themselves as a god with impressive magic effects. Oh no,no, not at all. Though it certainly [i]does[/i] appear godly, with powers unknown even to him. After all, it has a great percentage of Shade within- truly the Mighty. All he did, is add a few more changes to an already delightfully powerful entity. This [i]is[/i] his legacy to Sornienth. [i]This is my mark. Now if I pour the remainings of my residue...I will become godly myself. And remould this place, in the name of the Mighty- nevermind the unworthy herald those fools think of making. Glory.[/i] [center][font=times new roman][color=#5B3522][/center] [center]****[/center] [font=times new roman][color=#5B3522]In the next following years the task of keeping the newly risen deity content and contained became significantly difficult. Sacrifices gradually grew steep, the precious goddess- more demanding. Whilst preparing the rise of her herald, the deity just keeps getting more ravenous. It started with live feedings- R.T would send out that Beastclan pest, what was his name again? Litot? Lato? Latoth, to track and fetch a new target. The deity would feed off of their emotions- anger and hatred. Then she would sap their magic with ease like syrup, before finally devouring their heart and skeleton. Weirdly enough she not once displayed much interest in the flesh of her victims, or their other organs. What she would take, however, is their memories and spirit. It appears that the creature preffers to collect magics, spirits and memories, moulding them into one big mess...Like a pearl, except it is kept hidden somewhere deep within that whispy body of hers. A core where everything is likely stored. With each target, Ride Tide's creation changes its appearance- taking the DNAs of the creatures she hasn't yet collected. Thus she grew in size drastically over the course of five years, having the gills of a Guardian, antlers of an Imperial, crests of Faes, wings of Spirals... What she copies the most, is all of these dragons' temperaments. Not the appearance so much. Many months later, she started devouring her targets whole, leaving nothing behind. As if the target never ever exsisted before. ----------------------------------------- [img]https://i.postimg.cc/RhrCws6b/1598628364338.png[/img] [Columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/kMUNtPE.png[/img][nextcol] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [center][Size=7][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]CLAN HISTORY[/center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][/columns] [center][Size=6][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]III[/center] [center][Size=5][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]The truth[/center] [Size=3][font=times new roman][color=#593A1B] ....The Coatl librarians look up when the wooden doors swing open almost without a sound and a familiar armor-clad Skydancer strides into the main room from the archives, followed up by an ashen-haired ambassador with a tower of tomes in arms. He raises an inquisitive brow upon overhearing their hushed theories regarding the deaths and origins of the clan's former misfortunate leading duo. Though watching his movements, the trio don't pause their conversation for a second, simply looking back with intense curiosity. Untill at long last Azazel can no longer bear to listen to whispers of conspiracy, and promptly pads over to join them at their round table nestled in a corner of towering bookcases close to the window. The dragon unceremoniously flops into an empty chair and beckons for the feathered serpents to sit down themselves without a word, tailtip flicking idly. His tired voice rings in the silence like the cry of thunder. —"Alright kiddos, buckle down. This has been held in secret long enough." Antiqua, Sunnis and Orrin exchange befuddled looks amongst themselves but dare not make a sound, anticipating a great story. The somber exhale signal it wouldn't be a very light one. —"I'll level with your story and dial time back. While the demon circling overhead is responsible for our clan's lack of stability, there's more to it. I'm going to direct your attention, not to the mad king, but to the Organisation. Don't ask me when that Shaded cult was first spawned, I don't know. I, Vulcan, Delani, Niko, Hazel, Bazzal,Bazal, Tullu and Clay all once used to be part of it for many years. We were all new young recruits, I can tell you this." A gasp cuts the quiet for a split second. Azazel continues talking, eyes closed. —"There were more, half the clan. We all escaped and formed a clan- the one you know. It was meant to be a shield of sorts for us, a network held together by collective oaths to serve as rules. None of us ever thought furthur for that reason. So no structure was made." In the minute of pause to his sad recalling, a seemingly disjointed tale that sounds offhanded and out of place-- The former assassin sweeps his gaze over his listeners. The shimmering sanguine scholar has diverted his grassy green eyes to look out the mosaic window, brows lightly creased in contemplation. Orrin is fiddling with the sleeves of his robes in thought, trying to put the puzzle pieces into a cohesive historical picture. And Antiqua? She's already beginning to realise where this is headed, where the story would go next. He smiles a rueful smile that fades when all six pairs of eyes turn back to him. —"We were fledglings when we first saw Seraph himself. He didn't perish like many were led to believe. The old Ridgeback was facing his biggest mistake, and when his attempts at calling off the deal from a decade ago failed. When negotiations also hit a dead end, he stormed out." —"Why?" The clan warrior glances at Orrin, choosing to look the creamy spotted Archivist square in the eye when answering. [i]I only speack the truth, I'm not afraid of my words. [/i] —"Because the Reapers informed him of what will happen to his daughter soon. He was afraid of their plans, after witnessing the demon being borne. He finally saw the abomination, the very thing Latoth was warning us all about 'til his last breath." Azazel sends the frowning trio a knowing smirk, sadly laughing at their puzzled barrage questions. —"He was?? Then why don't we know anything? Why hasn't the leader brought it up???" —"Heh, why else? Vulcan never cared about being a real leader, he only liked the privilages of bossing and parading around in his armour. Untouchable and no one was allowed to point it out." It was Sunnis' turn to lift a questioning brow as he interrupts, holding up a hand with a shake of his head and raise of his feathers. The incredulous if not downright scandalised expression very much fits the absurdity. It was ten times more ridiculous it all happened. Poor Sunnis would have broken down both into a fit of crying and screeching if he knew at the time. Half the clan did. —"Wait,wait,wait,wait! What about Ajax? Wh-How in Shade, did you two even manage..? [i]WHAT?[/i]" With a calm face the ex-mercenary carries on, tone nonchalant. —"Ajax was too tired of his bs to step up and simply left him to his own devices. Meanwhile I and Clay were left to juggle our duties as guards and his as well. So suddenly, in essense things looked more like this: Two militarries juggling between keeping a hawk eye on all borders, their subbordinates, filing reports on them and simultanuously serving as a link to each unit, but also having to deal with paperwork. Thank the gods Aja at long last pitched in with Tullu and Baz to lead the Orders. However the bulk of the work still rested on our heads in terms of leadership tasks." Orrin hesitantly pipes up once more, voice still a meek whisper. —"Why don't we know?" The inquiry however was drowned out by the bookish looking Coatl and her sharpened voice. It makes her colleagues jump in their seats and gape at Antiqua in surprise. —"That...Is sorely unacceptable! And why didn't any of you turn to us for help?" —"We were swamped with work. Weren't you paying attention? Also Vulcan was still on post. And then we stumbled upon two travelling Serthis, said they're merchants looking for refuge. So we let them. " By now Ashtikar had settled on a nearby table and has started organising the books, not bothering to hide his interest in the sprawling conversation. He hums and Azazel takes it as cue to resume his story. —"I was desperate. We were all getting frustrated with the clan's shaky foundations, at our wits' end. So at the last minute I made my own bad mistake, booting Vul and placing Arryon as clan leader while Clay positioned Hennae for Leutenant. Ajax only authorized it. After that you all saw how peaceful things had gotten gradually over the five years those two ruled." —"Then what happened?" —"Arryon had a terrible chronic sickness that he's been fighting with and had been growing weaker with each passing day. My guess is he didn't want to frighten us, after seeing the near frenzied state our clan was in at the time. So he didn't tell anyone, except for Delani and Tyu. As for Hena? Well, turned out she's not his sister at all but a friend. The medics had called me and her both, when Arry was rasping his last breaths. We were suprised to see Verian and Avisa, Avea and Moonlight present." At this Antiqua pales for a split second before squacking. —"Aren't they dead? The curse attacked Neuma and decimated it two generations ago! It's been..!" The masked dragon tips his head in a nod. —"Seems like some individuals had escaped by fleeing far from the Woods as they can. For example Avea had left for Arcane, settled in Astrolodome and has been working at the Archives as an astronomer all this time. Moonlight has gone far to the Northeast, living as a trader at Worldedge Wetlands without looking back and Avisa has been working as a field medic." —"Verian?" —"The boy was comatosed for three years. After the visit and brief reunion he took to combat. Then decided to become a pirate or a sailing merchant. That mad lad has taken so much after both his mother and father, in terms of temperament and job, I'm telling you." For a long moment the library falls in grim silence. They don't have a leader, a structure-- they have no clan. The group is slowly falling apart, tearing up at the seams. Unbeknownst to them, a certain fiery winged Skydancer has been listening intently from outside.... ------------------------------- [img]https://i.postimg.cc/RhrCws6b/1598628364338.png[/img] [Columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/kMUNtPE.png[/img][nextcol] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [center][Size=7][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]CLAN HISTORY[/center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][/columns] [center][Size=6][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]IV[/center] [center][Size=5][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]Bleeding secrets[/center] [Size=3][font=times new roman][color=#5B3522]For years things were peaceful, five to be exact. And then along came the dreaded day, when the dark abomination came. The blasted demon threw the clan of Tainted shadows back into ruins that they had been recovering from and could at long last move on from. Many lives were taken, the deity covering the territory like a horrid cloud, greedily devouring what she sees, sending the clan into chaos. It wasn't enough for her. The Shade-spawn wanted more than just the spilled blood of the members she had consumed. No, she declared to desire the crown- be the ruler of this clan. Seeing the sheer destruction, the Serthis duo were adamant on refusing. Untill the demon threathened to continue the bloodbath and leave nothing. What now? Resentfully they surrendered, praying for this unseen horror to have mercy. It did. Like it had promised, stopping the madness. The next demand was even worse than the last: To ensure the safety of the clan, they would have to choose each year a member to sacrifice. No negotiations were allowed to be made. For many years this grim tradition continued, the previous leading duo mysteriously vanishing one day, though many followers sadly claim the serpents had sacrificed themselves to this Curse. In the name of the clan, for the sakes of their dragons and people. In recent years members of long extinct clans-Neuma descendants and First clan settlers- have made their return to stop this at long last. This group grew into a guild since, attracting more and more members. They call themselves: The Ghoul tracking hunters' team or G.T.H.T for short. Usually their goals are to track down stray spirits of the extinguished clans prior to the Tainted shadows and put them to rest. However, times had gotten rather desperate once more since Zolhusa's arrival and coming of rulership, forcing the expanding guild to do the opposite. Instead of putting old ghosts to rest, they would wake them up and bring them back to the living. It was Vulcan's idea, at first as a snarky joke that turned serious. There are two primary targets that they're currently 'tailing'. Antiqua had very helpfully supplied them with a copy of both the Shadow Chronicles and the Descriptive book, after a full week of digging in the archives, wishing them good luck. [center]*****[/center] [font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] —"[i]Ohhkay[/i]...Do we know where we can find this veteran? Asking because I fear we might be walking in circles." A shrill voice croacks out quietly, making the exorcist glance at the group's volounteer. ---"Rarszozs was part of the clan Neuma and perished there." Qaji shoots her a skeptical deadpan, snorting. ---"Myri, you do realise that the man has probbably been wandering away from the clan, right? According to the chronicles, they were pretty bad with him, so he most likely didn't stick around for long." Myriam doesn't say anything back to this. The Emperor enthusiast has a good point. So far the atmosphere hasn't changed. It doesn't help the fact that his place of death is unknown and not marked. Which means this would be a long and frustrating search expedition. He could be practically anywhere. Or nowhere. ---"Why don't we try to get into his mindset and walk in his tracks?" -someone from the back pipes up. Arabellena, their second volounteer for the trip. A sweet calm voice rumbles next to her, the Imperial of the group peering down at her guildmates. ---"I could agree, Ara. But, do we know his full story?" Regalia hums, taking slow heavy steps on Myria's right side- eyes looking on ahead. Whether it's a form of agreement or not is unclear. The nun rarely speacks these days, having joined the travelling guild at the near last second after learning of their goals. All eyes turn to her lumbering form, followed by Pfezhaseph who trails little ways ahead next to Dulunar. Again, just like Regalia, she had joined them last second. Oh who are they kidding, pretty much the entire bloody clan has joined. Much to Zargata and Myria's great dismay- now absolutely believing telling anyone outside of the guild was a bad idea. First it was supposed only Qaji to be a volounteer and keep this trip a secret, but unfortunately the Mirror turned out to be a blabbermouth and couldn't keep his mouth shut. So he accidentally slipped and told Arabellena. And the word has spread throughout the whole clan faster than a wildfire, which led to this. Everyone pretty much abandoned whatever they were doing and just came along, stubbornly refusing to leave. Even Vraga. [i]Vraga who doesn't like travelling or myths.[/i] [i]Godsdammit.[/i] ---"Aren't we gonna get robbed while out like this?" Someone from the rows futher back inquires lazily. Likely none other than the treasure accountant, the charismatic Cloudchaser. ---"Nope, I made sure of it personally." The stoic voice of the clan codder makes the Bogsneak and a few other more jumpy members jump out of their skins in surprise, causing a few others to laugh or chuckle. Poor Qaji being one of them- the hyper energetic Mirror swivelling his head to peer up at the sauntering Ridgeback. ---"Mathi?! What are ya doin' here?" Mat'taha rolls her eyes with an amused casual smile. ---"Same as the rest of, [i]Qaj[/i], same as the others."- then she clears her throat, resuming her thought. ---"As I was saying, nobody has access to any of our supplies as I have them all storred in the dimension drawer my dad gave me some time ago. A Technocorp gadget." The brightly coloured dragon gapes at his friend in utter disbelief, chocking out a bewildered ---"How on..??? Wh-Just [i]how?????[/i]" To his half-formed questions, Mat'taha simply points a claw at her crime buddies: Hazel, Nko also known as Niko, Crusade, Nimus, Sunnis, Orrin, Alderna, Adilat and of course- Greytail who is currently riding on Eledur's back beside his mate. Many culprits to works in kahoot with. Qaji nearly pales at this. ---"Where were we again?" ---"Driftwood dragg, currently headed to the Grove but not quite." Ajax notes solemly, looking over at Nghatar whose eyes seemed to be glued to the map in his talons- constantly checking their course. ---"Skelo,dear? You lived in Flamecaller's domain for long time, correct?" The soothing motherly voice of Regina sounds next, the dragon in question nodding at her in response before speaking, tone apologetic. ---"Yes, I have, since the Neuma times but...I lived with Zargata in the far eastern part. Assuming the stories of the Gladiator vateran moving to Fire to escape the Curse... he most likely would have been in the northern part of the continent." At these words the spitfire fighter groans, rolling his eyes and refocuses once more muttering. ---"Ooh greeeat, [i]lovely[/i]. Sweet Lightweaver!" In truth it was he, Vulcan, who succseeded in convincing Myria and everyone else to set out on this trip. That they explicidly need to revive Rarszozs, because he can supposedly kill the evil god. Oh yes, there most definately [i]is[/i] a demon, but not the one they think of. The Zolhusa they're seeking to end is actually the Spitfire himself. For months he's been coordinating these planned attacks, mimicking the wave patterns of the Curse. Plus a few old pals joining in, together they have been the fiends plundering the hoard and vault, killing off clan members. In truth the old monk hasn't been talking about a real demon, no, he was reffering to [i]him.[/i] All along. For eleven months Vulcan and Latoth had been stuck in a game of cat and mouse, both keeping a very close eye on each other, waiting for an opportunity to off the other. That snake wasn't an easy kill, he has to admit but still lost in the end. This trip is simply an excuse to find Verian and end him as well, lest he decides to meddle. But the oblivious idiots don't need to know that. A breezy voice joins the conversation timidly, the librarian fixing her spectacles. ---"If I remember correctly, he had settled somewhere at what would nowadays be Cinderslag or Churnscar Wharf. The latter being more plausible location as it would likely remind him of home..." ---"Ya,but like, didn't he move back to Shadow eventually tho? Just thinking here." It was Thyngere who spoke this time around with a long suffering sigh. ---"Boy does this not make sense. C'on Kai- why would the Serthis [i]ever[/i] go back there all things considered? Haven't you been paying attention to what we're talking this whole time?" From the middle-front lines his brother calls out in agreement, followed by a chorus of hums and other same minded opinnions. ---"Called it!" ---"It does make more sense when you think about it." ---"Yup." A long minute of silence befalls the travelling clan until Saraxhanún breaks it. ---"When did this beast die? And who has last seen him?" ---"I think it was around the age of thirty. Or slightly younger, late twenties, time period considered..As for anyone seeing him...." The dull feathered Coatl speaks next followed by Vulcan who grumbles waspishly. ---"Even if anyone has seen that guy, they probbably couldn't give a f-" a yell from somewhere in the back rows interrupts him. ---"[i]Language![/i] You donkey!" The fiery winged dragon cranes his neck to see the drake reprimanding him is no other than Artemis, also known for cussing out a fair amount. He snorts a laugh sneering. ---"The irony." Raising his voice he shouts back, now playful- ---"Shut it dimwit." Suddenly Irayote opens his maw to talk, effectively silencing everyone and drawing their full attention. ---"Gang? I think the ghost radars just caught wind of someone! Look at Pfezhaseph and Dulu!" Next to him the vulgar Skydancer frowns both in concern and annoyance. ---"[i]You better not be pranking us, dingus.[/i]"- Vulcan growls halfheartedly, eyes narrowing on the area ahead of the squad, now concentrated. The dark plumged prophet was walking on unsteady feet, antenae sways in an invisible wind, the necromancer following by her side cautiously. Myriam and Regalia had also disappeared to join them, forming a small semi circle infront of the large group. Without a warning Pfezhaseph lurches forward, dashing to the southeastern shores, swiftly followed by the rest. ---"Where are we going??" ---"To the Tsunami flats! We're following the coast!" ---"Verian is around still, we can catch him!" -------------------------------------------------- [img]https://i.postimg.cc/RhrCws6b/1598628364338.png[/img] [Columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/kMUNtPE.png[/img][nextcol] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [center][Size=7][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]CLAN HISTORY[/center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] [center][Size=6][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]V[/center] [center][Size=6][font=times new roman][color=#A57055]Tracking a deadman[/center][/columns] [Size=3][font=times new roman][color=#5B3522]The sun was still set high on the blue horizon, clinging to it as if afraid from the land below. No clouds today- a good sign. Looking over at the glimmering blue-green Imperial repairing the tired boat, Verian feels a sense of impatience and longing....The seas are already calling for his return. Moreover, there are memories that the serpentine man had uncovered only five years ago during his sailing, shortly after getting voted as the new captain. To learn who his true parents are- were, his heritage as the son of both a well-known ferocious fighter and an equally fierce pirate captain...It overwhelmed him. This explained.....nothing. Because Verian never got to see either of the duo. As a result he had to learn early on how to yield daggers both for combat in self-defense and for flashy performances. And no one was there for him, to show the ways of a sea thief. Everything he has, he fought tooth and nail for and discovered on his own through trials and errors. Some were costly and luck came in hand. The memories trickle in. [center]~~~~~~~~~~[/center] [font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] [I]The last storm had worn down the poor sea-mutt almost to its wooden bones, the jagged bone-rocks and thorns resting in the ocean depths like Kraken tendrils having done the worst damage. Attempting to maneuver in that blasted narrow canal without patching up the ship's previous wounds was a bad idea. Nearly sank that one time. That one, he swore that they are going to swim with the Maren for sure.... Thankfully he managed to zig-zagg through the rocky slew, using his wind magic to lift the struggling vessel from the roaring tides and steer the old dog ahead whilst battling the stray unrelenting vertigo rampaging from the Windswept plateau. The crew were scattered throughout the deck, adjusting the sails and clinging onto the railing or ropes as the captain rolls the creacking wheel to hold their course. (She didn't know two things at the time: One, that the assistant is capable of yielding any elemental magic; second being the fact said crew member was utilizing it to technically hold up and guide her whining rusty bucket.) By dawn the waters had finally eased and the ship could sail smoothly once again, having slipped out of the Leviathan's wretched jaws. The battle of the elements had raged there badly with underwater sinkoles forming, terrible veils of darkess obscuring the view and stray whirlwinds spawning from time to time. All of this makes the area dangerous for sailing, however the recent abnormal growth of plague teeth crawling underneath paired with shadow's spiked vines had made it into a death trap. Rumours say many sailors have met their demise there. The Nocturne couldn't make it. The old fool was hit roughly by one of the planks that the formations had shredded on the way out of the cove. The winds had snatched the pieces, hailed them at the sea-hound like bullets and [b]bam[/b]! Down the striped dragon went, to the abyss depths. The price he paid for his poor descision and stupidity. If it wasn't that, then he most likely would have been overthrown by his crew and then tied up to the belly of the ship and dragged behind. Shortly after the mutiny. After his unfortunate death the crew gathered to vote for a new captain and most votes were cast for the magic yielder. Verian had declined, passing up his post to Daravag with the words that he will stay until they find someone who can fix the Damned sea-hound then take his leave. —"Don't get me wrong here mates, I'll remain on account till my watery grave like the rest of us.." The former acrobat had said as he was saying his farewell to his now old shipmates at Kicking warmare. It was Drava's idea as a form of both a goodbye party and wordless thanks. —"Then why are ye leavin' tis ship?" Wolftalon had questioned, the old Bogsneak leaning on the table at the tavern with bottle of liquior half raised to tip the bottle for another swing. It wasn't a accusing jab, rather, a simple question. Just curious. It made the Serthis pause for a brief moment to give Vilerat a slightly puzzled look asking a quick inquiry of his own. —"I--Is there punishment for a crew member who wishes to leave the ship?" The Quartermaster was sat on the left side, rolling a bottle of rum on the table with a claw, appearing disinterested. Verian's question made the Skydancer look up at him. At the looks he got, the snake hurried to explain. —"I know what happens to those who disobey the Code...And those who newly join onboard. Especially the latter one, since I made an oath to follow the rules when I came. But, will I be punished, now that I want to no longer be part of this crew?" A snort was heard from someone on the right and soon Quara wades her way through the crowd, placing three more bottles on their table, her golden fang gleaming for second as she flashes her teeth at some of the drunk members reaching for more. —"What the shade ye think tis be? Th' wretched royal palace? If ye wanna go, then go. Jus' get rid o' yer copy fer yer own sake." Lan nods in agreement to the Coatl's words, adding his own two cents to the conversation whilst playing with the copper earring on his right ear. —"Yep, what Qua just said. Plus, you never did anything to go against the articles of agreement. So why punish you now? I mean, it would be pretty dumb to,say, keelhaul you for literally nothing randomly." —" 'Cause we all should walk the plank or hang from the mast ourselves if we did. Any one who enacts punishment against another for no reason shall be tied to the mast for ten hours by the crew himself. If there is a dispute, it must be dealt with by those involved in it, on land." The Guardian's bass voice rumbles, the captain returning to the table and reclaiming his seat at the far end. —"Wiieeeh pistol 'n culass. We *hic* nooow." Someone from the drunks slurs in a whine, having sat up just to finish the scentence then falls back again, muttering things. He sounded like a dying alarm siren out of batteries. The aquamarine-eyed man hums and rights himself, aswering the assistant's earlier question. —"I didn't accept the vote to become captain of this crew because I don't like you folks. No. I simply preffer to find my own crew and boat. If, I'm to be captain, that is." Some were disappointed by this, some were relieved and others merely shrugged their shoulders. The crew seemed amused. Either way they let him go with parting words of good luck, accepting his choice. After a moment of staring the beast dead in the eyes, Wolftalon shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. Verian smiles sheepishly, feeling like an idiot or a young boy. —"Alrigh' then. Suit yerself." —"Go a'it bucko, A beelieeve in ye! Anwey, cheers!" A drunk Fang slurs cheerfully, hiccuping and passes a bottle over to the freckled buckaneer, looping an arm around his shoulder. (A smidge too roughly.)[/i] And like that the goodbye party went on long into the night, hearty sailor songs echoing with laughter. Many were banking on the convenient opportunity to drink as much booze as possible and stay past curfew hour, knowing they wouldn't get the chance again soon. If not at all. At some point Verian decided it was time to go and wished his old shipmates good luck on sea in return, the captain nodding his wordless farewell. The only one to have remained sobber. [center]~~~~~~~~~~[/center][font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] From around his work, repairing yet another fisher's boat, Agual calls for his attention. Not that the Imperial already doesn't have it regardless. It was interesting to watch the process of patching up and constructing new boats. —"Verian, there are folks who want to talk with you." Don't many do these days? Considering how he's passed up for a thief. Still observing the boat maker's fluid calm motions, the pale green-skinned blond doesn't budge from his seated position on his sunlit rock. Instead he simply coils his tail tighter around it, head still resting in his gloved hand, elbow propped on his scales, back slightly hunched. The cutlass strapped to his back is a nice reasurring presence. Makes him feel closer to his mother. And so does the loaded pistol on his hip. Same reason as the first weapon. Though the curved sword definately feels more personal.... Kind of like the six throwing daggers decking the cutlass belt over his chest, each one of them having its own sheath. Most say having six knives added to his sword and pistol is overboard, or overkill like some like to say, but he likes to think that this just means extra protection. —"Hmm, you're a wee bit too ambiguous here, friend. Gotta be more specific, you know?" Blowing a puff of smoke through his nose, Agual adds on sternly, readjusting his haunches ever so slightly. It's funny to watch his elongated ears twitch as though trying to swat a particularly pesky fly buzzing around them. —"It's the Ghost hunting trackers. As far as I'm concerned, this partially has to do with them needing a ship to sail--said they're tracking some old spirit near Flotsam." —"The ghost hunters? If all they need is a boat, then they should turn to you. You're the expert in this field here, not me." The young sailor questions flatly with a slightly distasteful tone, closing his eyes. Yeah, he really has to relax these days. Too bad he has to keep a hawk eye on the Jostluns and one for the Buskers at all times. The first had been a rather growing nuisance for Verian, specifically. The way those seagulls always swoop in to snatch his plunders has been getting on his nerves. Coy smile now gone, he quizzes offhandedly. —"What business does that ghost of theirs have to do with Flotsam anyway?" Maybe this could help get his mind off of them for enough to chill out. The reptillian shrugs his shoulders lightly in response. 'I have no clue.' —"Why don't you see what they have to say?" A second hesitation, then he adds as an afterthought grimly- "It must be urgent." Okay, [i]this[/i] has Verian's attention. Opening his eyes, the Serthis rose from his perch and slinks down to the sandy ground, brows now to his hairline. Creasing them in confused apprehension, he passes by the elder and goes to greet the group. [center]*****[/center] [font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] A few steps further up the sandy shoreline and a large squad of what look like a eighty-something dragons are determinedly marching to Agual's hut. This can't be right. From what information he last checked, the ghost busters are a small guild of roughly ten to twenty members. This is the whole clan, sans its leaders. [i]Where is Arryon?[/i] Hen? Persy?? [b][i]What in the name of the Flying Dutchman is going on exactly?[/i][/b] He waits for them to draw closer, scanning the crowd for any possible faces. None, not really. The atmosphere is filled with dispair, exhaustion and dread. As the dragons reach him, the pirate notes the very look on their faces-- It's one he has seen many times during fairly ugly raids. The look of desperate and stubborn resolution of a struggling deadman, still fighting whilst he can. Usually when faced with an inevitable doom. One of the- a purplish Guardian dressed in macabre attire of herbs, small bones, violet feathers and beads dangling on his broad wings--steps at the forefront. (They're a richer color, almost like wine but several shades lighter with constellations curling on them. ) A dirty coat of rags and blue fur-like feathers held together by simple jewelry obscures most of the dragon, a skull hidding his face and a crown of bigger bones resting atop the giant's head. There are dark trails of mist at his feet. What immediately catches the beast's eyes most, are the delicate flowery petal pattern on the behemoth's hide and the darker blue runic symbols. In the clan, the only dragon left with these traits is Avi. His Avisa, his dear bestie. Was, at least, until she disappeared like the rest of the drakes Verian knew. So he must also be a necromancer then. Speaking in a stern voice the buckaneer questions them, cutting to the point of this—"Where are your leaders?" —"There is a great dark deity who overthrew them both." The necromancer answers solemnly, words making his heart feel like stone. The last of his old comrades had been likely flat-lined. An ashen Coatl steps around the rest of the gathering, pushing up her reading glasses, head feathers lowered down in sorrow. —"We have to stop that demon from consuming everything." The Serthis' sympathetic gaze swiftly flit back to the assembly, watching as a fiery winged Skydancer jumps out and charges right at him, ignoring their protests. Nostrils flared and smoking, the hooded spitfire gets in his personal space and points a chipped knife at Verian's throat, snarling like a dog. —"So you better get us to this damn town,Serthis, or I'll gut you! Got it, bàstard?!!" With a light scowl of annoyance and dangerously calm movements, the former circus performer reaches a hand and takes out his pistol--pointing it at Vulcan's neck underside. Just under the jaws. He thumbs ever so lightly on the trigger, applying the right amount of pressure to very nearly fire yet not enough to actually shoot. [i]Yet.[/i] A tiny bit more pressure and the old gal Barbossa [i]will[/i] spit the bullet for certain. This rascal won't even have a chance to drag his lil' knife or so much as [i]blink.[/i] —"Mind who yer point this knife at, scallywag. Is this how ye ask fer transport these days?" —"Your bluffing doesn't scare me, jackáss. The gun's empty." Vulcan laughs tauntingly, blowing a puff of smoke in the freckled serpent's oval face. However his sneering smirk quickly fades when Verian challenges back, a dark lilt to his humorous voice. —"Am I really? Wanna test yer luck, lad?" A barely audible slow click makes the former assassin freeze, the realization that this isn't a bluff dawning on him. The gun is loaded and ready to blast. Growling, the furious rascal backs off and stomps to the back lines of the group without another word.. Smart descision. Returning his attention back to the giant, he slides the weapon back into its sheath and crosses his arms, leaning on the closest palm tree. Most of the crowd had been squirming as the square off happened, cringing. Four young Banescale hatchlings waddle their way through the crowded adults, drawing the man's eyes. They encircle him, looking up with their big pleading shadow-aligned eyes and trembling lower lips. They look like they're going to cry any moment, begging in quivering voices. —"Please, Mr. snake man. Let us go there.." ...Oh gods no, not this. Not the crying. Verian may be a ruthless pirate, but the one and only thing he absolutely can't stand to look at or listen to, is the crying of young children. Even less think of harming them. Every raid, if there are kids, then he ultimately ends up sparing them. Embarassing, maybe, but at least his conciense isn't heavy with guilt..not nearly as heavy as it would be if he didn't. —"[i]Please?[/i] Pretty please?" The four youngsters continue to plead and whine, clinging to his sash. Dammit. According to the pirate code, no women or young kids are allowed on the ship. [i]Period.[/i] End of story. Some of his crew had tried negociating, Dininara if he has to exact, but failed. He won't hear the end of it if any of his hearties learns about what he's about to do. And no doubt will he be flogged. Or dunked, worse than when he was upon forming the crew after their collective oaths. Just because he's a captain now, doesn't mean Verian can get away with breaking the law and do as he please. It means that he has slightly better privillages, other than that he is equal to the rest. With a pained grimace, the pirate captain finally relents. Yes, this is literally all that it took for him to surrender. [i]Ridiculous[/i]. Curse his weakness. Lifting his hands up in front of himself as if in defense, he lets out a long-suffering sigh in defeat. —"Fine, fine. But [i]you[/i] buckos better hide and stay out of sight, savvy?" The dragonets instantly grin their brightest, most excited toothy smiles imaginable and throw themselves into a big hug, chirping in unison. Unwittingly, he finds himself smiling fondly. —"Thank you Mr. Snake man!" Oh, it melted his heart. Some of the adults were about to coo at the scene but the Serthis quickly shoots them a glare that says 'not a single word.' Someone still snickered. Ten minutes later, the gang was aboard and pretending to be prisoners, part of the crew or chose to hide as well. (Most were forced into joining to still be able to claim innocence infront of authorities if caught.) [center]~~~~~~~~~~[/center][font=times new roman][color=#5B3522] A few minutes into the sail, Verian decides to make small talk. The frosty silence is getting really awkward and is starting to make him tense up. It's almost as if there are enemies lurking by. —"So, what's your plan again? Why this sudden trip? Hardly believe it's simply for the stunning scenery." The freckled Serthis inquires casually, steering the wheel with languid movements. After another few minutes pass with no given answer, he cuts to the chase with a small suppressed sigh. This whole operation has him on edge already and this consicious silence isn't helping. Yes, he's doing this as a favor to the clan-- for old times' sake. Mainly to Arryon and Hennae. —"How going to the port will stop this evil as you all claim?" Have these lizards thought of this propperly? Sure, get a boat, go there. From there what? Also, travelling together like this is incredibly dangerious. Since this all-powerful malign deity is most probbably on their trail. Then again, desperation makes for zero sober planning. Antiqua had filled him in on this baddie and the rest of the predicament, it makes him feel genuinely sorry for all of them. Aaand possibly guilt-tripped, kinda. Verian used to be part of the Tainted shadows, once some years ago. Before he left in search of his origins, who he really is and setting sail. ....Truthfully the reason he so readily joined this group of maddragons is to search for their former leaders. It has been months if not years since he has last heard of them or glimpsed them mulling about land. Verian does not want to believe the dragons are telling the truth. Not to mention that this Shade-spawn could very quickly turn into his problem as well. In fact, no doubt it actually [i]would[/i]. Stopping it is overall for the best. The sphinx riddles here are how to go about it, or if it is even possible. Filling in the silence, he unexpectedly throws another follow-up inquiry. Just curious. —"Also, isn't this demon after your backs? If so, travelling to Flotsam runs the risk of putting the residents there in grave danger." Despite the sudden unease with the situation at hand, Verian still finds himself adopting a more casual seeming expression and stance. Almost like he's laughing about all of this, rolling the wheel with easy-going flowy movements. To be fair, he kind of actually is. To a small degree. The Wildclaw, looking like a black bird wearing a fancy violet cape, stands beside him. What is she supposed to be? Also a necromancer?? She still hasn't told him, just her name. Myria, that's her name. Most of his questions are still hanging unanswered. By the way, an observation that doesn't give a good impression. Watching out of the corner of his eye, he sees her holding the book and flipping through its yellow pages. Not a minute later Mriya answers stiffly. —"We are searching for Rarszozs of Neuma." At these blunt words the sailor raises his eyebrows, looking indifferent. Then he briefly glances at the book she's holding. On the first page is a picture of his mother and on the next, the man they're searching. Aha, now he remembers. Yup, these photos are very much familliar. —"Why?" The sole question that slips out his lips quietly, focusing his eyes on the horizon and waters ahead entirely. His grip on the wheel has become like that of a drowner, rolling it stiffly. —"Why what?" The little black bird tilts her head to the side, playing dumb. He gestures with one hand sharply, waving it around in the empty evening air. —"Ye know wha' I be natterin' 'bout here, don't play stupid." The captain mutters sourly with a roll of his eyes. Still, he elaborates anyway. —"Why are you looking for him and this woman? They're both dead, died long ago." Silence. A long hour passes by. The stars begin to show and twinkle on the horizon one by one. —"We are intending on resurrecting both of them once located, using realistic wax statues. Bring them back home to stop the demon from raging. To get two propper leaders to bring us stability and end this insanity." The words flow out of the dragon's maw like water, sparking a flame in Verian. Almost caused him to roll the wheel much too harshly and turn back, kick them all out. Narrowing his blue eyes, the captain tightens his grip even more, tail beginning to thump in impatience. If he gets more vexed than this, his magic might flare up. It's just weird tick he's developed at some point unknowingly, along with flipping to the broken language. Taking long deep breaths through his nose, he lets his mind meander to happier moments and linger on them. Before this thing showed up, before his friends all vanished without a trace. He remembers hanging out at R