Origins: Imperials
Antique
Bones lay scattered all around him. They were all shapes and sizes, some old and some new, some broken and some whole despite their impressive size. They lay heaped against the cavern walls mostly. Many spread from those piles across the ground. The ones closest to him were covered in dust. Pale, scentless dust of other bones he had already set to work on.
His work was seen as strange by many, but he saw himself as an artisan. From some bones he carved intricate figurines. Into others he etched designs, both simple and dizzying. Some bones became multiple works, while others had the better part of them cast aside in favour of a select section.
A few of the giant bones were partially worked on, unfinished masterpieces. Much fewer small bones shared their state.
All the completed artworks were stored at the mouth of the cave where his shop is set up. He keeps an eye on it while he works, but dragons seldom come by. Even the wildlife avoids his cave. Still, the rare dragon will wander by, or even come intentionally. Those who seek him will bring gifts of food or bone to fuel his labor in exchange for one of his relics.
No one is certain how old he is. The bone dust coats his pale form and the sheer number of works make him seem ancient. Some say he learned this morbid trade from his family, others say he snapped and went at it all on his own; no one knows for certain.
He is Antique and a mystery.
Thaloyss
You're just like your father!
Thaloyss knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but that's all he ever heard; it got tiresome. Whenever anyone looked at him, all they saw was his father. The older dragon was a proud imperial, a skilled hunter and flier to boot. Dragon’s eyes were filled with awe and pride whenever they said it about Thaloyss. He wanted more than that! He wanted to make his own mark without everyone just seeing his father. His mother always said “each and every snowflake is unique,” but what was that supposed to mean?! Whenever he asked, all she would do is smile and say something evasive like “you make your own meaning.”
Thaloyss was going to have none of it anymore. He was running away. He would find somewhere far from here where no one knew his father. Then maybe he could make his own way and stand out in a unique way, just like his mother said.
The day he set out was brisk and windy. It tousled his pale mane and he leapt up into the air. The gusting air caught in his wings and pushed him along at a good pace. He had no particular destination in mind, so was happy to go whichever way the wind blew.
Thaloyss shivered. He had made good distance, but the wind was beginning to pick up and the air had a new bite to it. A sudden downdraft knocked him down, and he struggled to stay airborne, tail brushing rocks below him. Snowflakes swirled down around him with increasing frequency. They melted on his wings, making his muscles stiff as they drew out his warmth. He fluttered to the ground, panting.
The terrain around him was unfamiliar. Perhaps here would be a good place to stop and make his new home. However, he had a nagging feeling this just wasn't far enough. Determined, he continued onward on foot.
With time, the snow began to pile up around him. He could no longer see very far ahead. Something howled not far off and the sound sent shivers down his spine. Soon he could hear footsteps approaching, many of them. He knew his colours would hide him in the blizzard, but he also knew not everything hunted by sight.
He took to the air, liking his chances there more. Unfortunately, the gale knocked him around. His wings strained to keep him in the air with marginal success. He tumbled through the freezing storm, but managed to stay above the ground.
His goal was no longer escape or making a name for himself, it was simply survival. The cold and exertion numbed his wings but he pushed onward. Being only a young dragon, he couldn't last in these conditions forever. He was finally forced to land, panting and his vision pulsing with each beat of his heart. He curled up as small as he could in the snow and fell asleep. This was certainly one way to stand out from his father; he never froze to death running from home.
He woke up oddly warm, leading him to think he was back at home. Had the whole thing been a dream? Something moved infront of him and he realized how strange it smelled and sounded here. Odd birds sing in verdant trees and the dragon before him was a furry behemoth.
“Hello there little one, I see you're awake,” she said with a smile. Thaloyss figured she wouldn't hurt him since she hadn't already. Still, he didn't know what to say. Thankfully, she continued, “What's your name? I found you in the snow after the storm, like a fallen little snowflake. I don't know where you're from but I can send someone to bring you home, if you'd like. If not, we'd certainly welcome you to our clan.”
“I'm Thaloyss, and, well I'm from the Starfall Isles, but I really would like to join you!”
“Oh wonderful! Come right this way then,” she turned and lead him towards a cluster of dens, “They'll all be so excited to meet you!”
Raquel
The murky depths cleared slowly, a dim light filtering down to her. Bubbles from an unknown source rose all around her, popping as they reached the surface. Each burst revealed a flash of a mystical rune, each one carrying a blood chilling message. They spelled out danger, despair, and quarel, all terrible signs. She knew she had to tell someone, anyone. With all her might she clawed for the surface, dread filling her as she drew nearer.
She woke up, panting and afraid. Another vision. Raquel curled up smaller against her mother. She wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight.
In the morning, she told them about it. Both of them were powerful seers, and they took her seriously. Through their excitement at their baby sharing their gift, they tried to help her decipher the meaning.
“So you felt like you were in water? Perhaps you should seek some out,” her father suggested.
Her mother was lost in thought then chimed in, “You know, quarrel is almost an anagram of your name. The message may be for you yourself.”
The thought of that made Raquel whimper. Surely those terrible runes couldn't be for her. Her mother nuzzled her head and said, “Why don't you go on and find that water like he said? Do you want us to come too?”
She shook her head, “If you think it's for me, then I should go alone.” She stared off for a few moments remembering the vision, “I don't want you two involved with whatever happens next. If I don't come back,” she trailed off and her parents dismissed the notion but she pressed on again, “if I don't come back, I love you both!”
They smiled and returned the sentiment. Then, Raquel was off to find that dark water.
Looking back now after so many years, she could still see it so clearly. The events that followed were a jumble in her head.
She had found many bodies of water, but none felt like the one. Until she found this river. Out of nowhere came a storm and it flooded, taking her with it. It was then that she had felt the terror of her vision. It was then that she thought she knew the meaning. It was then she thought she was going to die.
But she didn't.
She washed up onto the riverbank incredibly far downstream. A kind dragon had found her. They took her back to their clan. As they nursed her back to health, she was constantly troubled by visions.
By now they had all blurred together for her. More words, terrible signs, and confusion. Sometimes they felt like her vision was at a distance, and many, oddly enough, contained male geese. None of it ever came to pass.
The only place she could find peace then, and now, was in the garden. This clan, part of the Gladekeeper’s flight, kept a beautiful garden full of elegant flowers and good things to eat. It attracted tasty things as well. It was tranquil there and she felt it in her very soul. Here and only here she had better visions, comprehensible ones.
It was in the garden that she had more than one vision that saved the clan. The runes came to her with clarity and meaning, even when she awoke. She used her knowledge to help them, averting disaster after disaster.
They eventually let her build a den there. Her greens blended well with the leaves and she would often lay hidden watching the wild animals do as they wished, unaware of the silent watcher in their midst. This brought her abounding joy. The dragons of the clan began to revere and respect her, even bringing her praise for all the work she had done for them. This too made her happy.
Only now, after years of living like this, did she finally understand. Her mother had been right, and her father had great insight. That first vision was for her, and just as her name was an anagram of quarel, danger, ranged, gander, and so much more had led her to this garden that eased her affliction. This was where she belonged.
Kokoa
The small group of pearlcatchers whispered to one another. Every now and then one of them would glance up. None of them were lucky enough to see Kokoa approaching. He crept forward with great stealth given his size and brought colouring, the patterns breaking his outline in the dry grass.
With a burst of energy he shot forward, clawed paws darting out and scooping one of the prized pearls away from them as they took to the skies. There were many angry screeches as he held the pearl and looked into its shimmering surface. He was never sure what the big deal about these things were.
A magical force buffeted him from behind and he turned with a snarl. The other youngsters in the air were charging up more magical attacks and he began to prepare his own. Before he could loose it, they all scattered. They flew off a good distance, though the pearlless one hung back. Kokoa grinned at his easy victory until a pair of jaws closed around the back of his neck. He swung through the air, wings flapping a couple times weakly, as he was carried away. The pearlcatcher squawked angrily as he retrieved his pearl.
Kokoa was carried back to his home, and only then did his captor drop him. He turned to see a giant version of himself, his father only differing from him in the colour of his eyes. Right now they were like hard jade stones boring into him. “Just what do you think you were doing?”
Kokoa wilted at the sharp tone of his father's deep voice and mumbled, “I just wanted to see what those imposters thought was so special about those dumb pearls.”
“Their customs and possessions are not our concern. We know we are better, and we don't need to consort with those gossips.”
“You may not need to, but I want to!”
“Then maybe you shouldn't stay here. We can't have disturbances like this in our clan!” Kokoa scoffed and turned away. His father growled, “I'm not kidding. Perhaps you should learn some respect like I did.”
“You didn't grow up here; you don't know what it's like,” Kokoa snarled.
“Then you'll go to where I grew up!”
Kokoa has a lot to learn about respect and will be quite the little trouble maker I suspect.
Moonglass
The sky above was alight with the distant flames of countless stars. Distant arms of the galaxy dappled the inky backdrop they lay against. The distant lights reflected dimly in Moonglass’ eyes. His very skin matched their designs. Except it didn't. Not that he could find yet.
His gaze slowly scanned the heavenly bodies. He sought the patterns that painted his own skin. They were so natural and clear; he felt compelled to seek their meaning. He knew if I could just find their place in the sky, he would have the answer.
He blinked slowly to refresh his gaze and glanced down. Below the rock he stood upon, the waters of the pond were still and clear. They reflected his own markings back at him. He recommitted them to memory before turning back to the sky.
After uncountable time, a voice startled him. He jumped into the air a small amount and slipped from his perch, splashing awkwardly into the water. He looked towards the shore as he clawed his way back onto the rock. There stood his mother, watching him. She called to him again, “Come here Moonglass! I need to talk to you.”
He jumped up and flapped over to her, “What is it? Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she smiled softly, “I've decided to join the ranks of Shadowbinder. I've come to say good bye.”
“Oh,” he said and looked down.
“Listen,” her voice was oddly soft, and he looked up as she continued, “I want you to find whatever it is you're looking for. I know the others may tell you to get your head out of the clouds, but I know you can't do that. So, I want you to follow your dreams and seek out the meaning behind your stars.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. He pressed his head to her shoulder gently, “Good bye.”
She smiled at him and nodded, then walked away. He stared after her silently.
Once she disappeared, he smiled and flew back to his stoney perch. As he searched the star speckled sky, he was beginning to suspect that his stars were not in this sky. He really would have to go searching to find where his stars aligned with those high above.
Shine
The first time she saw him, he was a mess. He was hunched in a dimly lit shack, the windows completely blacked out. The interior was totally coated in dark ink, including the dragon himself. His feathers were stained with the coal-coloured ooze. Dark shapes surrounded him, scurrying about and acting almost affectionately towards the dull eyed dragon.
His pupils were mere dots when she opened the door. When was the last time he had seen the sunlight? He left the shack without a question, almost as if in a daze. Her noxious coralclimber scuttled from her shoulder to meet the new dragon. He stared, mesmerized by the colours on the small creature. She smiled, "You like it?"
He blinked, eyes already more alert, "Oh? Yes. Very much so. Its charming, magnificent really."
She beamed and held out a claw for her little coral climber. It returned to her shoulder, watching the stained coatl. She shuffled her feet, "I heard there was a talented artist living here. I didn't expect…"
"This?" He grinned. It felt weird; it had been so long.
She nodded, "Yes, though you're certainly charming. I think I saw some of your creations though- they looked different than I expected."
His gaze darkened and he looked off into a nearby field, "Yes. Things changed a while back. They have changed again for the better though it seems," he smiled again, this time at her familiar. It squawked at him softly and leapt over. She looked in surprise, watching it scurry up the inky artist and coo.
"They seem to like you," she giggled.
He blinked, smiling vaguely at the fascinating creature on his shoulder, "I like them too. You're nice too," he winked at her.
She laughed nervously, "Well I actually came to ask if you'd like to travel with me. I'm on my way to a clan in the depths of the Gladekeeper's realm."
"Gladekeeper," he mumbled, gaze growing distant. "The jungle?"
She nodded, and he smiled, "I'd love to go there. It would be a delightful place for my drakelings to roam!"
She looked with a grimace at the hut with its melting ink creatures, "Oh."
"Oh not them. Though I should put them to rest. It's long past due I'd say," he trailed off softly. "I'll just be a moment," he turned back to the shed then looked back, "What was your name..?"
"Shine," she smiled. He was quite the dragon, and she looked forward to understanding just how his mind worked.
Silviana
Silviana stretched languidly, lifting her delicate head from the lavish pillow. Her claws flexed lightly at the cushy surface, letting them scrape the velvet the wrong way. Her crimson eyes were dull and hooded with lazy lids. They trailed slowly along the room, not really seeing even as she looked.
Her whiskers twitched as someone entered behind her. It had to be Her. With a resigned sigh, Silviana sat up, puffing her chest proudly and lifting her head high. She gazed blindly forward, ensuring her shining hide was hit by the light just right.
The mistress walked by without looking. Her long, tapered tail slid beneath Silviana's chin before coming to a stop holding it. The gargantuan coatl turned to look her in the eye, "How are you my pet? Well?"
Silviana whispered, "Yes."
She smiled and her tail dropped to the ground. "Perfect!" She chirped with glee. "Now, go out onto the grounds for a stroll. Remember to stay in view of this window though," she chided.
Silviana slunk elegantly as she could to the window then leapt out. It was only a short glide to the ground thankfully.
She strut across the manicured lawn, body poised and the very image of beauty in the high noon light. It was terribly hot on her dark hide but she pressed on. She looped in lazy circles, then zigzagged across the terf. She kept the watching dragon guessing, never too predictable.
What a life! She was no more than a fixture. No, worse; she was a toy! It was like she was just waiting to be wound up then set loose for the much larger coatl to watch. She was unyielding, insisting that Silviana maintain decorum for for nobility at all times. She was only the most elegant of decorations throughout the sprawling home.
Silviana longed to be more than just some living statue. She wanted to be free and wild, able to do as she pleased. She longed for something to catch her eye and make them blaze with life, sparked by an instant of passion. Most of all, she wanted to finally be able to fly. For now though, all she had to do was strut and not stray.
Pierce
His family had a long tradition of gardening. Together they worked to create all kinds of plant variants. His father's specialty was mint plants in particular. Their square stalks and fragrant leaves were renowned throughout the clans.
Pierce helped out from a very young age. As a hatchling he chased off, or ate, insects and when he got older he was able to haul water or transplant the plants. He loved the work. The smells of the earth and plants became all too familiar to him and brought him comfort.
Now, he had entire patches under his care. Each strain of mint had to have proper and consistent care. It needed to be kept free of pests and he had to ensure there was no unintentional cross pollination. The work was peaceful and relaxed; so long as the duties got done daily there was no time constraints.
His father had gone on to work directly with Stormcatcher some time ago. This meant that Pierce was responsible for making new kinds of mint as well. For the first while, there had been many hybrids that his father left unfinished. Now they all bred true and there was nothing new in development. He knew that had to change.
Driven by the goal of finding new mints, he left his home. He collects seeds and clippings of many plants related to mint in hopes of creating new subtypes. The domain of Gladekeeper is promising with its abundant plant life; he may even settle down there permanently!
Forgeblack
Within a damp patch of earth, a place on the cusp of the Gladekeepers domain, something stirred. The saturated soil shifted and heaved, strange lumps rising and falling. Slowly, carefully, wonderfully, eyes opened. The shifting subsided and those eyes in the ground gazed out into the world.
She didn't have a good grasp of the common tongue initially. Some words just felt better than others; that was how she chose her name.
She didn't have a form like the dragons. It was only by observing them that she could imitate their shape. Even so, she struggled to maintain it. This failing effort was evident by the oozing of her so-called skin. Her features dripped like wax too warm to hold its shape.
Her unsettling appearance made her want to hide away some days. However, most dragons paid the horrid visage little mind. As they came and went, she saw many dragons of all sorts of shapes and sizes. Perhaps being an oddity wasn't so odd.
Nacre
Born from an enchanted pond her parents visited, Nacre was unusual from the start. She had odd interests, collecting rocks and plants and tending them like a garden. No one seemed to notice, for all who beheld her were enchanted by her shimmering elegance. Those she encountered seemed to overlook her actions, or even words, and simply accept her.
The only time she faced any serious resistance is when she tried to leave the lair. It seemed, for some reason, they wanted to protect and cherish her. This reaction gave her all sorts of mischievous ideas. If they were unwilling to actually notice her, then she would ensure they noticed.
As one of the largest breeds, sneaking out of the lair was near impossible. However, she discovered if she distracted them with displays of beauty, she could get far enough to make a break for it! They seemed to get wary of her at times, but escape was never too difficult. With each attempt, they became more and more aware of her.
After the first few times she became adept at evading capture. Not that they would hurt or drag her away, but a couple large dragons as an escort ensured cooperation. It was simplest to just never be found!
She passed her free time doing what she loved: exploring rocky places and tending plants.
The rush of rebellion, the joy of exploring, it all began to fade. Her clan began to get used to these excursions because she always returned safe and sound eventually. They let her go easily and hardly troubled themselves upon her arrival at home.
Even with the extra time saved by not needing to make an elaborate escape, she was hardly able to go much further. Everything became familiar. Everything became bland. She had seen these plants cycle through their lives half a dozen times. There was no surprise, no delight. Everything was well known here.
So, one day, she left for good!
Venice
Wherever she walked, the earth shook lightly. It seemed she had the weight of the cosmos behind every step.
Whenever she spread her wings, it became night. They blotted out the sun and the sky, replacing them with her bright night.
Whatever her gaze focused upon was blown away. The gale-force of those pale eyes was too much for most.
Why ever did such a magnificent creature come to be? No one could be sure, but here she was.
Magnificent. Monstrous. Majestic. Venice.
Leeta
When she was young, she didn't understand her parents' relationship. Her mother was a force to be reckoned with, unstable and as dangerous as she was protective. Leeta could never be sure of where she stood with her. Her father was known to her only in passing; the descriptions of him were imposing but they didn't feel accurate. He was a Barghest, some lupine beast tied to the moon. Her mother seemed to think little of his power, never concerned or feeling at a disadvantage. How could something who hunted in dreams really be so little of a concern? Leeta didn't understand their bond.
The organization was not something she feared anymore. Her mother scorned them; every word about them was derisive. They were little more than a childish bedtime story used to threaten misbehaving hatchlings. They possibly existed, but if they did they were rare and could be delt with.
At her first full moon, her own Barghest powers awoke. Her shadow wavered and almost seemed to double, a extra one lurking just offset from the true shadow. She could hide within dark corners despite her pale hide, almost seeming to meld into their umbral embrace. While one with the shadows her form became lithe, her mane spread to veil her form, and her natural weapons became even sharper. She became more beast than dragon.
She had been taught to be lethal, to use her affinity for the darkness to stalk her prey with ease. Then she could strike, either in the waking world or in their sleeping mind. She preferred an honest fight, striking from the shadows and lashing out physically with claws and teeth, giving them a chance to defend themselves. Invading dreams and tearing apart minds just didn't feel fair. Besides, it was far more personal to see a dragon's inner world, what occupied their consciousness when they were at their most vulnerable.
Her moral qualms didn't stop the hunger. As surely as her belly grew empty, some part of her had an appetite for the mental energy of others. The urge waned and waxed with the moon. On the most brightly lit nights she felt insatiable hunger pangs.
The first full moon after her powers quickened, she couldn't resist. She hardly recognized herself as instinct took over and she stalked the shadows with murderous intent. When she found a suitably succulent psyche she tore into it, scattering sweet dreams. There was no self control, no gradual drain; she gorged herself. The next morning, it appeared to all they had died in their sleep peacefully. But Leeta knew; she remembered the violence and struggle.
With her silver tongue she quickly became well liked by every dragon she met, convincing them with ease of her will. None of them realized she was a wolf among sheep.
When her mother noticed, she was sent off to convince others of all sorts of things, things Leeta didn't fully understand herself. There didn't seem to be one goal in mind, just little suggestions or favors here and there. However, this was short lived as dragons noticed her influence. Her popularity fizzled out, leaving her to slink in the shadows. It felt more fitting this way anyway. She wasn't like them and they were right to fear her.
Once Leeta had learned all she could from her mother, she struck out on her own. With such a potent lineage, Leeta had little to fear in the world. Her only true fear was the full moon, and that would follow her wherever she went.
Ihimaera
From an early age magic came easily to him. The arcane power of his birthright flowed from his veins through his claws and antlers. It shaped itself at a mere thought; his every whim formed with ease. Thankfully his father’s power surpassed his own, so a tantruming hatchling was less of a threat than it could have been.
As he grew, so did his power. Luckily, so did his self control. He learned to wield his magic with incredible precision. He used it for everything he could, both his own convenience and to help others however they asked. No task was too small, and no challenge was too great. He felt unstoppable.
When he began to see omens, he thought it was a gift. The way a leaf fell from a tree, the arrangement of stones, the number of petals on a wilting flower, they all held meaning. He had dreams too, they helped interpret the signs he saw. Whenever he saw a sign, he rushed to take a nap to interpret it and share the omen with whoever it pertained to. He grew quite good at napping anytime and virtually anywhere.
Every now and then he would notice something that seemed to indicate something about the future, but it remained uninterpretable. His dreams offered no clarity in these cases. His magic, though potent, was not meant for scrying, so it was no help here. As these unintelligible signs built up, he began to worry. Were they building to something bigger? He couldn’t ignore it. Something serious might happen and only he could prevent it!
The first vision that offered some hint at the truth came as he reached full maturity. He had just left home to find his own way in the world. The dream came slowly that night, rolling in like fog. The anomalous signs faded in and out of his line of sight. The ground began to ooze, and his feet sunk into its tarry grip. His claws were enveloped, trapping him in place. He struggled and tried to pry himself free with magic, but nothing happened. He was transfixed, frozen in place as the sludge slid slowly up his legs.
He awoke that morning feeling tired. His legs, they felt… contaminated, somehow. With a flick of his head he willed cleansing magic to wash up from his claws. That eased his mind the first day.
When the next night came and went, the quagmire returned. Whatever these omens were building up to was something monstrous. This time, no amount of magic made him feel clean. He didn’t dare groom himself, instead opting to bathe in a nearby river. The water flowed over him, washing away the oily sensation. That worked for a few days. Each night the visions grew stronger, new signs adding to them. The way those twigs fell on the path. The markings left by some busy insects in the dust. They all had to mean
something.
When the water was no longer enough, he added his magic to the pool. He wove the cleansing power of both together in an intricate ritual. The combined potency of fresh, moving water, and his own sorcery seemed to do the trick. Soon it was the only thing that made him feel clean. Mundane sources of filth were swept away just the same as this lingering contaminant.
Whenever he noticed a slime trail that predicted rain, or the colours of a sunset to indicate a scorching week, his faith in his abilities was cemented. With each example of him being right, it became even more clear that these sickening dreams had to mean something.
With this in mind, he decided he wouldn’t shy away from the dreams anymore. He let the feeling it left behind linger as long as he could. Maybe this too was a sign. It made his skin crawl and food taste wrong, but he bore it bravely. When the nights came, the ground would swallow him a little further each time.
Losing patience at this incremental progress, he decided he would just dive in. That night he embraced the ooze. He willed himself deeper, feeling the chilling fluid seep up around him. It slid into every crevice. It felt like it was working beneath his scales. It made his skin crawl, he wanted it off. The very world depended on him embracing this. Anyone could be in danger, he had to know! That was his driving thought as he submerged completely within this tar.
He emerged on the other side. Shockingly his vision was clear. The disparate omens swirled through the sky, aligning to paint the picture more clearly. They indicated.. Downward? He looked down. Before him was a glassy pool, the surface unbroken by ripples. Reflected in it was a dark mass, an oozing, disgusting monstrosity. Reflected in that pool were two familiar eyes, eyes that became twisted, eyes he knew with cold certainty. Impulsively he clawed at his reflection, dispelling the image in a shower of arcane sparks. His magic surged in a way he had never felt before, bursting out in a nova.
He woke up. Every inch of him felt that slime oozing around him still. There was a residue. He completed his cleansing ritual and sighed in relief. Maybe the dreams would leave now that he understood. He knew with perfect clarity: he was the danger. If he listened to the signs, perhaps they would indicate a solution.
He looked with fresh eyes at the world that day. Every sign contained new hope, new meaning, new necessity. If he paid enough attention he would understand. He was gifted; he was powerful.
He was powerful.
That night he dreamed of home. His mother and his father were there. The dragons he helped whenever he could. While studying some bones cast on the ground, he felt something shift in his gut. Claws digging into the ground, magic shot out from them, cracking the ground. He looked up to see his mother pinned within a crevice. Blood oozed from her wings as she flailed. He reached out a desperate hand. The gap widened. His stomach fell as did her body, crumpled wings fluttering uselessly as she fell.
The next night he was gathering food for the clan with some others. He shook a tree gently to free its fruit, but the whole thing came down. He saw his clanmates’ twisted limbs sticking out from its branches.
The night after that a hatchling stumbled up to him. It babbled a question while he stood perfectly still. Even so, power crackled from between his horns and struck the little one.
He couldn’t control it. He was out of control. Each night brought on fresh horrors, new torments.
The new plan was to not sleep. He couldn’t dream if he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, he would see a sign that just had to be slept on, and he would face the nightmares for this dreg of hope. Sometimes he would go days without sleep only to collapse and take a nap, anytime, anywhere. When he was able to fight off the sleep long enough, the visions came unbidden into the waking world. Their oily forms slithered over his skin to paint pictures of the worst possibilities. Each time he used his power, dread gnawed at his belly and he felt tainted. Even the smallest task posed too great a risk. He saved it solely for cleansing these days.
He was glad this power had awoken when he was alone. It was better that way. He alone knew the meaning of the signs, he could bear this burden alone. Through ritual and diligence he would keep himself pure and contained. He had grown in strength but also in self control.
Boison
"Alright now little Boison, which way should we go?"
The young imperial looked from one pile of debris to the other. The heaped leaf litter looked identical! Come on, it's a half and half shot, he thought. The odds didn't soothe him- or offer any clarity. He gave a weak smile, "West?"
The slow frown gave him his answer. The survivalist teacher looked at the group of assembled hatchlings, "Who can tell me why Boison is wrong?"
Several eager heads popped up. He just averted his gaze. A ladybug was crawling between his front paws, and he moved a claw in its path. To his delight, it clambered on. The beetle marched across the back of his forelimb as he watched it-
"BOISON," boomed the instructor. The little dragon jumped, knocking his insect passenger off. He looked up with saucer eyes as the elder continued, "Were you even listening? How do you expect to learn this if you don't pay attention to corrections?"
He mumbled an apology. This seem to satisfy the teacher, and they continued the class. Boison dropped to the back of the pack, dragging his feet as they continued their hike.
On the day of the survival exam, Boison knew he wasn't ready. The group dwindled as they flew from drop off to drop off. All were roughly equidistant to the settlement and all had trail markers, but each had their own unique challenges.
Regardless, he knew he would fail.
He didn't know beforehand how badly he would, though.
Stumbling through the forest, he went right into a Rift. Any half-decent survivalist knew how to spot them, and even he could detect them half the time. This time he was so distracted and bewildered, it took him completely by surprise.
On the other side was a hot, humid jungle. Within moments he was so turned around he couldn't find the rift again!
Maybe this was for the best.
After an unknown amount of time bumbling through the jungle, he came upon a clan. They were not much like his, that much he could see at a glance.
Good.
~~~~~
Before long he had settled in. Though he was native to the ice domain, he fit in well with these nature dragons. His soft heart and gentle spirit allowed him to make quick friends with the flora and fauna in the area. Soon little creatures flocked to him, whether it was wildlife, young dragons, and moving plants. His good nature meant they could festoon him with sweet flowers.
Though others thought various wood-apparel would look good on him, he refused. He found his own style, giving in to some whimsy and sylvan tastes, but keeping a practical bag on him. After all, he couldn't be trusted to forage necessities on his own!
He enjoyed basking in the sun and spending time with the little creatures. Their boundless energy and endless antics brought him hours of joyful entertainment.
Sometimes they asked him for stories. He tried to make them up, but they often became so long and rambling that he got distracted before finishing them. When they pressed for stories about his past, he tried to brush them off. Even the youngest could see how withdrawn and solemn he grew when pushed too hard for such information. Soon they all let him be, not asking for stories or his past.
For their other requests, games of chase and using him to climb, he was more than happy to oblige! This kept him popular; this kept him surrounded by company. What more could a dragon ask for?
Everly
Though her training began many moons ago, Everly finished her training in the darkest time of the year. She joined with a great warrior of the clan, along with his queen, to face the mimics as they surged from places unknown. Together the three fought and felled many monsters.
These strange creatures who appeared like other objects were both foul and fascinating. Their imitation skill varied from type to type, but they all fought bravely. She couldn't help but feel drawn to these beasts. At first, she just collected the trinkets they dropped. Then she began to adorn herself with trophies from their strange chests. Finally, she took on a mimic of her own as a familiar.
The way they moved, the way they lived, and the way they fought enchanted her. She began to mimic the mimics in her battling. Nothing was more marvellous than they!
Through training during this dark season, Everly has found her new identity. She has come out of Night of the Nocture changed. Her power has grown, but she is just beginning on the path of a warrior.
Cinders
Sometimes, when a dragon is on the run, someone must be left behind. In this case, it was for her own good. She was small. Vulnerable. Her father tucked her away somewhere safe where They would never get ahold of her and some friendly dragons would find her. He could continue his search for redemption with the knowledge she would be cared for.
She felt like he had left her in his dust. That first day alone was bewildering. The second was not so alone. Just as he had planned, dragons from a nearby clan came out of their lair and took her in.
Though they asked, she divulged nothing of her past. For her own good, she tucked away those memories somewhere quiet and safe. She called herself Cinders, and they accepted this name without question. It felt fitting.
For her own good, she held her head high and began the path of a warrior. She was supposed to be safe, but who could say when that looming threat, the Organization, might appear. She had some cousins here, but none of them seemed as acutely aware of the danger which threatened any of them. For her own good, she did not reveal herself to them.
She sought out a capable dragon to train her and found Nirhilor. He and his mate were a powerful duo capable of tackling some of the toughest venues. Like her, he was a survivor. He had been alone too. It had made him ruthless; she could see the appeal of such a path.
Through her training she had changed a lot. If only he could see her now.
She embraced the clouds, using them as cover and making her own if none could be found. They blended with her form until it seemed as though she was nothing but a puff of smoke, a phantom. From any angle she would strike, crashing down with the full force of an imperial to eliminate her foe. Though she preferred ambush tactics, she was a fearsome opponent even when she was expected. Most kept their distance if they hoped to stand a chance against her brutal ferocity.
