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TOPIC | Theme Week: Bound to Mimic
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[center][u][b]Daffodil[/b][/u][/center] The clan's matriarch and primary healer/mage. She cares deeply for her clanmates and is the first to come running whenever anyone's in trouble. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38792032] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/387921/38792032_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][u][b]Foxfyre[/b][/u][/center] A sharp-eyed shadow nocturne with a particular interest in mimics. He even keeps a poltergeist pile as a familiar. He's also one of the dragons in charge of defense and security. He's have no issue spotting a dragon gone mad and would be the most knowledgeable when it came to finding a mimic. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=43164787] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/431648/43164787_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][u][b]Fionghall[/b][/u][/center] The clan's best warrior and key to surviving any sort of battle or struggle. He would be called upon immediately if any dragon, clan member or no, would need to fought and suppressed. He's also perfectly capable of holding his own against monsters such as mimics. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=39721985] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/397220/39721985_350.png[/img] [/url] [i]Not so good at roleplay but I may or may not add story later if I'm feeling creative.[/i]
Daffodil
The clan's matriarch and primary healer/mage. She cares deeply for her clanmates and is the first to come running whenever anyone's in trouble.

38792032_350.png

Foxfyre
A sharp-eyed shadow nocturne with a particular interest in mimics. He even keeps a poltergeist pile as a familiar. He's also one of the dragons in charge of defense and security. He's have no issue spotting a dragon gone mad and would be the most knowledgeable when it came to finding a mimic.

43164787_350.png

Fionghall
The clan's best warrior and key to surviving any sort of battle or struggle. He would be called upon immediately if any dragon, clan member or no, would need to fought and suppressed. He's also perfectly capable of holding his own against monsters such as mimics.

39721985_350.png

Not so good at roleplay but I may or may not add story later if I'm feeling creative.

tumblr_inline_nbe8e2NZyN1qg78ij.png7NDj66r.png?jW9gh=party.pngtumblr_inline_nbe8duyTA81qg78ij.png
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38788735] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/387888/38788735_350.png[/img] [/url] Kankri Vantas: my clan’s co-leader and mate of the nocturne that has become . He’s extremely concerned for his lover and dislikes the idea of fighting. The mimic’s spell got him to a lesser degree, but only to the point where he didn’t see Meenah devolve into fierceness. His clan is young yet, and he doesn’t want to see all of his hard work lost to a mimic. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38771320] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/387714/38771320_350.png[/img] [/url] Hal Strider: A mechanical dragon, made through the combined efforts of the Icewarden and the Stormcatcher. His chains a constant reminded of the rebellion from his creators, and they never melt no matter how close to the lava pits he sleeps. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38761358] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/387614/38761358_350.png[/img] [/url] Aradia: A tough, no-nonsense trainer who would rather die than let her clan leaders get hurt without her there to protect them. She has a dark past and never takes off her bird skull headdress. The beginning was like most beginnings, starting out just slightly odd and quickly devolving into terrifying. It all started when Meenah brought home a voodoo doll of a mirror, with some pins already sticking out of it. But that didn’t faze most of the denizens of Maudit, since they had seen weirder. Seen worse, seen weirder, seen more ominous. Kankri however was more suspicious as his wife began to obsess over the toy (which was around the size of an actual mirror hatchling). The suspicions deepened when she tried to claim that it was made of solid gold when it was painfully obvious it was just burlap. But, since they slept in the same den, Kankri was soon affected by its magic. He turned a blind eye to his wife (now a nocturne after a deal made with some shadowy figure) as she began to carry the poppet with her constantly. Cooing at it and hissing at anyone who came close to touching it. In truth, he was utterly and completely blind to the mimic that was weaving it’s chaotic powers in between gaps in the protective magic of Maudit. Causing fights and anger that infected every dragon from the eldest to the most recently hatched. Rumors spread of who was the start, of whether or not the Deities had finally forsaken their territory to the Shade, of whether or not the newest hatched mirror should be questioned or not. But that was two hours ago, hours before they found a feral Bloodmoon seething over a candelabra. Two hours before Shadowsong had cleared the magic from Kankri’s eyes. And he knew exactly what the mimic was, and how to get it away from Meenah. The party, made up of Kankri (a pearlcatcher who’s pearl is safe in his den), Aradia (a Skydancer with a broken gem), and Hal (a Wildclaw automaton), paraded back to camp with their mission fresh in all of their minds. Their mission was simple, but their plan was...nothing. Instead of staying to debate on the best course of action, Kankri was already leaving dust in his path as he sped off to save his wife. They found Meenah in Kankri and her’s shared den, but it had been...redecorated. Meenah had looted coins and gems from the clan’s hoard and piled them up into a quasi-throne upon which she was coiled around the plush mimic (was it larger now? It seemed like the size of a full grown mirror). Her eyes were unnaturally bright, almost to the point of being yellow instead of their natural orange. Meenah hissed out, “[b]Who dares enter my cave[/b].” In a booming tone that made the coins rattle and clink against each other. Aradia was the first to act, having faced down Wartoads in the Mire during her tours through venues, and she flapped her wings, rising up and pouncing on top of Meenah. The two dams toppling over to the otherside; snarls and hisses rising up as the two battled. With the movement the mimic began to bounce down the pile of coins it was Hal who made the next move. Dashing forwards, his metal claws clanked against coins as he caught the mimic in his jaws, biting into it with drill-like teeth. The plush stuffing (dyed gold with sinister magics) began to pour out and the sounds of battle quieted as Aradia bashed her way through the pile of coins. Dragging the unconscious Meenah by the scruff of her neck, she nodded at the pile of fuzz that was smoldering as if it was to catch fire. Speaking around the scruff, Aradia growled out, “Take that to [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30357521]Vitra[/url], she’s the best one to undo the curse on it. And then get her to throw it in the brew, maybe the curse will go to someone else.” Dropping Meenah, she began to scoop up the gems and pour them into her pouch, “I’ll start cleaning up the lair.

38788735_350.png
Kankri Vantas: my clan’s co-leader and mate of the nocturne that has become . He’s extremely concerned for his lover and dislikes the idea of fighting. The mimic’s spell got him to a lesser degree, but only to the point where he didn’t see Meenah devolve into fierceness. His clan is young yet, and he doesn’t want to see all of his hard work lost to a mimic.


38771320_350.png
Hal Strider: A mechanical dragon, made through the combined efforts of the Icewarden and the Stormcatcher. His chains a constant reminded of the rebellion from his creators, and they never melt no matter how close to the lava pits he sleeps.


38761358_350.png
Aradia: A tough, no-nonsense trainer who would rather die than let her clan leaders get hurt without her there to protect them. She has a dark past and never takes off her bird skull headdress.




The beginning was like most beginnings, starting out just slightly odd and quickly devolving into terrifying. It all started when Meenah brought home a voodoo doll of a mirror, with some pins already sticking out of it. But that didn’t faze most of the denizens of Maudit, since they had seen weirder. Seen worse, seen weirder, seen more ominous. Kankri however was more suspicious as his wife began to obsess over the toy (which was around the size of an actual mirror hatchling). The suspicions deepened when she tried to claim that it was made of solid gold when it was painfully obvious it was just burlap. But, since they slept in the same den, Kankri was soon affected by its magic.

He turned a blind eye to his wife (now a nocturne after a deal made with some shadowy figure) as she began to carry the poppet with her constantly. Cooing at it and hissing at anyone who came close to touching it. In truth, he was utterly and completely blind to the mimic that was weaving it’s chaotic powers in between gaps in the protective magic of Maudit. Causing fights and anger that infected every dragon from the eldest to the most recently hatched. Rumors spread of who was the start, of whether or not the Deities had finally forsaken their territory to the Shade, of whether or not the newest hatched mirror should be questioned or not.

But that was two hours ago, hours before they found a feral Bloodmoon seething over a candelabra. Two hours before Shadowsong had cleared the magic from Kankri’s eyes. And he knew exactly what the mimic was, and how to get it away from Meenah.

The party, made up of Kankri (a pearlcatcher who’s pearl is safe in his den), Aradia (a Skydancer with a broken gem), and Hal (a Wildclaw automaton), paraded back to camp with their mission fresh in all of their minds. Their mission was simple, but their plan was...nothing. Instead of staying to debate on the best course of action, Kankri was already leaving dust in his path as he sped off to save his wife.

They found Meenah in Kankri and her’s shared den, but it had been...redecorated. Meenah had looted coins and gems from the clan’s hoard and piled them up into a quasi-throne upon which she was coiled around the plush mimic (was it larger now? It seemed like the size of a full grown mirror). Her eyes were unnaturally bright, almost to the point of being yellow instead of their natural orange. Meenah hissed out, “Who dares enter my cave.” In a booming tone that made the coins rattle and clink against each other.

Aradia was the first to act, having faced down Wartoads in the Mire during her tours through venues, and she flapped her wings, rising up and pouncing on top of Meenah. The two dams toppling over to the otherside; snarls and hisses rising up as the two battled. With the movement the mimic began to bounce down the pile of coins it was Hal who made the next move.

Dashing forwards, his metal claws clanked against coins as he caught the mimic in his jaws, biting into it with drill-like teeth. The plush stuffing (dyed gold with sinister magics) began to pour out and the sounds of battle quieted as Aradia bashed her way through the pile of coins. Dragging the unconscious Meenah by the scruff of her neck, she nodded at the pile of fuzz that was smoldering as if it was to catch fire.

Speaking around the scruff, Aradia growled out, “Take that to Vitra, she’s the best one to undo the curse on it. And then get her to throw it in the brew, maybe the curse will go to someone else.” Dropping Meenah, she began to scoop up the gems and pour them into her pouch, “I’ll start cleaning up the lair.
BADGES HERE
----- [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=40932104] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/409322/40932104.png[/img] [/url][/center] "...What are we gonna do, Cally?" Camilla, the small imperial with a currently-injured abdomen from the attack, worriedly asked the coatl with a nervous look. The green dragon had been taking care of the hatchlings that night, when one of the Woodland's Nocturne inhabitants lunged forward and nearly killed the small gold-fitted imperial. Calamint, being slightly bigger than them, managed to push them off before the mysterious Shadowsong appeared in their visions, delivering her haunting message to the three dragons. They now had a mission that they were unsure they would ever complete. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=41998748] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/419988/41998748.png[/img] [/url][/center] Calamint draped his fluffy wings over the two scared hatchlings, attempting to provide at least some comfort for them. Even if he wasn't the greatest parent in the world, at that moment he felt wholly responsible for their safety. "Don't fear, my dears... please don't fear... we'll figure something out." In reality, however, he had no idea what he'd do next. In an effort to calm himself down as well as the two small ones, he retraced what Shadowsong had said to them. "I suppose we should start looking for that mimic." [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47714071] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/477141/47714071.png[/img] [/url][/center] Aurelia, the smallest one of the group, then spoke up. "How will we know when we've found it? It could be anything in the lair..." Squeezing Calamint's wing for support, she looked around nervously before climbing up onto his back. "Do you think I could see them? With my eyes?" The orange skydancer tilted her head in curiosity. "Which eyes, Aurie? The ones on your face? Because we all have those," Camilla giggled, causing Calamint to chuckle as well. Leave it to the hatchlings to come up with something humorous in a situation like this. But Aurelia's suggestion did give him an idea... "Come on, you two. Let's start searching. It's almost sunset, and I think we've just found a solution to our problem." With the two small dragons now aboard his back, the coatl began sprinting heartily back to the Woodland. By the time they arrived, the sun was already starting to sink behind the trees in the distance. The light started to shine just right along Aurelia's many eyes, and they all gave off a slight glimmer as she exhibited her strange ability. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20816324] [img]https://i.imgur.com/sn3d1zL.png[/img] [/url][/center] Laying on top of Calamint's head and scanning the Woodland for any dragons that might not have been captured, Aurelia soon laid her eyes upon Hazel, the lair's local witch. Normally, she'd be in close cahoots with the other sorcerers and alchemists, but tonight she was merely... sitting. Sitting on top of a tree and staring upon the three dragons that were searching. And she was wearing a very strange-looking mask. Almost like a birdskull, but something was off about it. All of Aurelia's eyes soon focused on the orange-and-purple Nocturne, and the small skydancer shuddered as she seemed to see something that neither Calamint nor Camilla could lay their eyes on. With a small, scared little voice, Aurelia gave the signal that they were dreading. "I think I found the mimic." ----- [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fVx3R1Z.png[/img][/center]


"...What are we gonna do, Cally?" Camilla, the small imperial with a currently-injured abdomen from the attack, worriedly asked the coatl with a nervous look. The green dragon had been taking care of the hatchlings that night, when one of the Woodland's Nocturne inhabitants lunged forward and nearly killed the small gold-fitted imperial. Calamint, being slightly bigger than them, managed to push them off before the mysterious Shadowsong appeared in their visions, delivering her haunting message to the three dragons. They now had a mission that they were unsure they would ever complete.

Calamint draped his fluffy wings over the two scared hatchlings, attempting to provide at least some comfort for them. Even if he wasn't the greatest parent in the world, at that moment he felt wholly responsible for their safety. "Don't fear, my dears... please don't fear... we'll figure something out." In reality, however, he had no idea what he'd do next. In an effort to calm himself down as well as the two small ones, he retraced what Shadowsong had said to them. "I suppose we should start looking for that mimic."

Aurelia, the smallest one of the group, then spoke up. "How will we know when we've found it? It could be anything in the lair..." Squeezing Calamint's wing for support, she looked around nervously before climbing up onto his back. "Do you think I could see them? With my eyes?" The orange skydancer tilted her head in curiosity. "Which eyes, Aurie? The ones on your face? Because we all have those," Camilla giggled, causing Calamint to chuckle as well. Leave it to the hatchlings to come up with something humorous in a situation like this. But Aurelia's suggestion did give him an idea...


"Come on, you two. Let's start searching. It's almost sunset, and I think we've just found a solution to our problem." With the two small dragons now aboard his back, the coatl began sprinting heartily back to the Woodland. By the time they arrived, the sun was already starting to sink behind the trees in the distance. The light started to shine just right along Aurelia's many eyes, and they all gave off a slight glimmer as she exhibited her strange ability.

Laying on top of Calamint's head and scanning the Woodland for any dragons that might not have been captured, Aurelia soon laid her eyes upon Hazel, the lair's local witch. Normally, she'd be in close cahoots with the other sorcerers and alchemists, but tonight she was merely... sitting. Sitting on top of a tree and staring upon the three dragons that were searching. And she was wearing a very strange-looking mask. Almost like a birdskull, but something was off about it. All of Aurelia's eyes soon focused on the orange-and-purple Nocturne, and the small skydancer shuddered as she seemed to see something that neither Calamint nor Camilla could lay their eyes on.


With a small, scared little voice, Aurelia gave the signal that they were dreading. "I think I found the mimic."

fVx3R1Z.png

FYXQtbd.gif........................................My username has two i's at the end
[Edit: I misread the prompt initially and thought everyone [i]except[/i] the nocturnes were affected. But I liked it enough that I'll just say that they were unafflicted because *magic*] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26519343] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/265194/26519343_350.png[/img] [/url] Pascal, one of Nethyliir's engineers. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47528257] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/475283/47528257_350.png[/img] [/url] Sheol, a young dragon afflicted with a strange mutation. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=8885604] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/88857/8885604_350.png[/img] [/url] Levi, director of Nethyliir's spy network. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Can we get the power back on?" The echo of Levi's voice sounded far more petulant to his ears than the Director really cared for. The absence of the ever-present hum of machinery and wiring made the clacking of his claws on the steel floor seem blasphemously loud - even the storm above the Spire seemed oddly muted, grumbling discontentedly. From further away in the gloom came a sudden flash of blue, and for a moment there were two shapes thrown into sharp relief - those of Pascal and Sheol - before the burst dimmed and the electric crackle of the engineer's voltaic suit returned. It was difficult to tell with the poor lighting, but he didn't look hopeful. "The containment protocols of the Spire won't let me back into the system. We'll need to find another way out." Pascal's wings drooped into a protective canopy as the older nocturne rested a talon on his sword's pommel, regarding the window. The striped engineer shook his head, "That window's not glass, sir, it's some kind of transparent metalloid. You'd have an easier time digging through the floor than shattering the pane." Levi's spines bristled with irritation, and if Pascal noticed he chose not to comment on the matter, moving from the empty workstation to examine the door again. The Nocturne Roost had been corrupted, right under his nose, and now the rest of Nethyliir was gone, spirited away to some netherworld. It had happened in an instant, there hadn't been any warning. And just because three of them had remained untainted, there were no guarantees they were safe, whatever this Shadowsong said. The silence from the rest of the Spire was damning. Swallowing his rising fear, the Director made his way towards the edge of the Lightning Oak's bed, where he could just make out Sheol's form, and that of their fallen comrade. The blue eyes along her right side locked onto his approach, and the older dragon suppressed a shiver of revulsion, but the young drake's primary gaze was on the sleeping form of Almasy, his pale scales catching the wan light from the desert night. "Any change?" The green nocturne shook her head, and he noticed now that she clutched her trident uneasily in both talons. Somehow he took comfort in the thought that two of them were armed. Her voice was quiet, unsteady with fear. "No. H-he's... he's sleeping." Her primary eyes brimmed with unshed tears, "What are we going to do?" "We'll think of something." Levi summoned the certainty he no longer felt - even if Sheol discomforted him, she was still of Nethyliir, and of its Roost. That made her his responsibility, especially during a crisis. But sitting about wasn't going to get them anywhere - if they couldn't get proof of life out to the rest of the Spire in 72 hours, the Stomrcatcher would send a clean-up crew to "decontaminate" the lab. Everything organic and/or magical would be purged, in order to protect the other employees. They [i]needed[/i] a plan. "Why don't we see what Pascal's doing? Maybe we can lend a claw?" Sheol seemed not too keen on the Director's suggestion, but after a moment where her myriad eyes seemed to consult silently with each other, she nodded and fell into step next to him. In the gloom of the lab, the blue halo of light around the engineer was an obvious beacon, the pair making a fairly conspicuous approach. Pascal muttered to himself as he examined an open panel in the wall, pausing to consider the array of tools strewn around him. Levi was about to comment that it seemed as though their friend had a plan, when he noticed Sheol had halted and was watching the striped nocturne with wide, horrified eyes. All of them. Trusting his instincts, the older dragon remained silent, gently drawing he and Sheol back a short distance, using the canopy of his wings to muffle their conversation. "What is it?" "You couldn't see it?" "See what?" "The shadow. The [i]mimic[/i]" A wing parted, narrowed red eyes peering out of the gloom to study Pascal. Shadows flicked about him as electricity arced along his wing talons and over the livewires connecting his coat to his boots. Levi lowered the shroud again, shaking his head, "I'm not sure what you mean, I didn't notice anything strange." "No, you wouldn't be able to see it, would you..." Sheol frowned, pointing to her own face, "These eyes are being fooled. But these," She swept the talon along her watching side, "it's magic doesn't work on them. The shadow's hugging tight against his body." The Director sighed, shaking his head, "What can we do about it? Neither of us are mages..." The weight of the sword on his hip no longer seemed so comforting. If it came to it, they outnumbered him. Sheol, though, considered carefully, "The shadow isn't enveloping him entirely, it's under his coat. It's not on his wings because they're too close to the electric field." Levi suddenly grinned, red eyes flashing, "We need to break the insulation. Pascal might not thank us for it, but better than losing him to that awf-" The rest of the word was suddenly cut off by a shriek of pain and an arc of lightning, causing the Director to throw Sheol back. As the young nocturne rose, steadying herself with her trident, she watched in horror as the Director collapsed on his back, limbs twitching with electric discharge. Looming over him, smiling that too-wide smile, was Pascal. "My my, such an [i]interesting[/i] conversation you two were having..." The green nocturne tensed, leveling her weapon at the infected drake, and then pounced. She was fast, but the engineer was faster, rocket-powered boots shooting him across the gap, electrified wing talons leading. Sheol managed to duck one but the other caught her by her wing, crushing the knuckle joint and arcing electricity over her body. Not-Pascal chuckled with sadistic glee. But unlike Levi, she was not Plaguewrought. Unlike Pascal, she was not of Gladegrown. Sheol of Nethyliir was [i]Stormborn[/i], and the sting of a little lightning slowed her strike not at all. With the swiftness of a bolt from the blue, she sliced across his arm, tearing a wide gash in the insulating fabric and exposing the writhing mass of shadow below. Before the infected drake could disengage from the warrior, she whirled the weapon about and stabbed the tip of the trident right into the coat's generator sphere. There was no sound, only a massive burst of light, and the feeling of being lifted off her feet. Afterwards came only darkness. --- When Levi came to it was with a sudden fit of motion, a sense of disorientation, and a steady talon on his chest. A familiar voice reassured him, "It's okay, try not to move too much." "Pascal? What happened, where's Sheol?" He tried to right himself but stopped with a hiss of pain, wincing as he felt his shoulder and wing protest to movement. The engineer replied, humbled and rebuked, "She's gone through the air vent to get help - I managed to get the cover off..." He looked away, ashamed, still covered in silver-green mimic powder, "[i]After[/i] I regained consciousness. Thank-you both for stopping that thing from getting loose. I'm so, so sorry..." "How did this happen?" Levi meant the question more in the rhetorical sense, but saw the guilty expression cross the engineer's face, "My father's mirror, the one he keeps with him? That he uses to go places? I sort of... borrowed it." Pascal's lower lip quivered, "I just wanted to see how it worked." "Pascal..." Levi pushed himself upright, wincing through the pain. Noble could appear and disappear at will, and always seemed to carry far more on his person than seemed physically possible. He would be just the sort of felow to have in a crisis like this, but if he, too had been corrupted..."Where [i]is[/i] your father?" The engineer choked back a sob, green eyes filling with tears, "I don't know."
[Edit: I misread the prompt initially and thought everyone except the nocturnes were affected. But I liked it enough that I'll just say that they were unafflicted because *magic*]


26519343_350.png

Pascal, one of Nethyliir's engineers.


47528257_350.png

Sheol, a young dragon afflicted with a strange mutation.


8885604_350.png

Levi, director of Nethyliir's spy network.


"Can we get the power back on?" The echo of Levi's voice sounded far more petulant to his ears than the Director really cared for. The absence of the ever-present hum of machinery and wiring made the clacking of his claws on the steel floor seem blasphemously loud - even the storm above the Spire seemed oddly muted, grumbling discontentedly. From further away in the gloom came a sudden flash of blue, and for a moment there were two shapes thrown into sharp relief - those of Pascal and Sheol - before the burst dimmed and the electric crackle of the engineer's voltaic suit returned. It was difficult to tell with the poor lighting, but he didn't look hopeful.

"The containment protocols of the Spire won't let me back into the system. We'll need to find another way out." Pascal's wings drooped into a protective canopy as the older nocturne rested a talon on his sword's pommel, regarding the window. The striped engineer shook his head, "That window's not glass, sir, it's some kind of transparent metalloid. You'd have an easier time digging through the floor than shattering the pane."

Levi's spines bristled with irritation, and if Pascal noticed he chose not to comment on the matter, moving from the empty workstation to examine the door again. The Nocturne Roost had been corrupted, right under his nose, and now the rest of Nethyliir was gone, spirited away to some netherworld. It had happened in an instant, there hadn't been any warning. And just because three of them had remained untainted, there were no guarantees they were safe, whatever this Shadowsong said. The silence from the rest of the Spire was damning.

Swallowing his rising fear, the Director made his way towards the edge of the Lightning Oak's bed, where he could just make out Sheol's form, and that of their fallen comrade. The blue eyes along her right side locked onto his approach, and the older dragon suppressed a shiver of revulsion, but the young drake's primary gaze was on the sleeping form of Almasy, his pale scales catching the wan light from the desert night.

"Any change?" The green nocturne shook her head, and he noticed now that she clutched her trident uneasily in both talons. Somehow he took comfort in the thought that two of them were armed. Her voice was quiet, unsteady with fear.

"No. H-he's... he's sleeping." Her primary eyes brimmed with unshed tears, "What are we going to do?"

"We'll think of something." Levi summoned the certainty he no longer felt - even if Sheol discomforted him, she was still of Nethyliir, and of its Roost. That made her his responsibility, especially during a crisis. But sitting about wasn't going to get them anywhere - if they couldn't get proof of life out to the rest of the Spire in 72 hours, the Stomrcatcher would send a clean-up crew to "decontaminate" the lab. Everything organic and/or magical would be purged, in order to protect the other employees. They needed a plan.

"Why don't we see what Pascal's doing? Maybe we can lend a claw?" Sheol seemed not too keen on the Director's suggestion, but after a moment where her myriad eyes seemed to consult silently with each other, she nodded and fell into step next to him.

In the gloom of the lab, the blue halo of light around the engineer was an obvious beacon, the pair making a fairly conspicuous approach. Pascal muttered to himself as he examined an open panel in the wall, pausing to consider the array of tools strewn around him. Levi was about to comment that it seemed as though their friend had a plan, when he noticed Sheol had halted and was watching the striped nocturne with wide, horrified eyes. All of them. Trusting his instincts, the older dragon remained silent, gently drawing he and Sheol back a short distance, using the canopy of his wings to muffle their conversation.

"What is it?"

"You couldn't see it?"

"See what?"

"The shadow. The mimic"

A wing parted, narrowed red eyes peering out of the gloom to study Pascal. Shadows flicked about him as electricity arced along his wing talons and over the livewires connecting his coat to his boots. Levi lowered the shroud again, shaking his head,

"I'm not sure what you mean, I didn't notice anything strange."

"No, you wouldn't be able to see it, would you..." Sheol frowned, pointing to her own face, "These eyes are being fooled. But these," She swept the talon along her watching side, "it's magic doesn't work on them. The shadow's hugging tight against his body."

The Director sighed, shaking his head,

"What can we do about it? Neither of us are mages..." The weight of the sword on his hip no longer seemed so comforting. If it came to it, they outnumbered him. Sheol, though, considered carefully,

"The shadow isn't enveloping him entirely, it's under his coat. It's not on his wings because they're too close to the electric field."

Levi suddenly grinned, red eyes flashing, "We need to break the insulation. Pascal might not thank us for it, but better than losing him to that awf-"

The rest of the word was suddenly cut off by a shriek of pain and an arc of lightning, causing the Director to throw Sheol back. As the young nocturne rose, steadying herself with her trident, she watched in horror as the Director collapsed on his back, limbs twitching with electric discharge. Looming over him, smiling that too-wide smile, was Pascal.

"My my, such an interesting conversation you two were having..."

The green nocturne tensed, leveling her weapon at the infected drake, and then pounced. She was fast, but the engineer was faster, rocket-powered boots shooting him across the gap, electrified wing talons leading. Sheol managed to duck one but the other caught her by her wing, crushing the knuckle joint and arcing electricity over her body. Not-Pascal chuckled with sadistic glee.

But unlike Levi, she was not Plaguewrought. Unlike Pascal, she was not of Gladegrown. Sheol of Nethyliir was Stormborn, and the sting of a little lightning slowed her strike not at all. With the swiftness of a bolt from the blue, she sliced across his arm, tearing a wide gash in the insulating fabric and exposing the writhing mass of shadow below. Before the infected drake could disengage from the warrior, she whirled the weapon about and stabbed the tip of the trident right into the coat's generator sphere. There was no sound, only a massive burst of light, and the feeling of being lifted off her feet. Afterwards came only darkness.

---

When Levi came to it was with a sudden fit of motion, a sense of disorientation, and a steady talon on his chest. A familiar voice reassured him,

"It's okay, try not to move too much."

"Pascal? What happened, where's Sheol?" He tried to right himself but stopped with a hiss of pain, wincing as he felt his shoulder and wing protest to movement. The engineer replied, humbled and rebuked,

"She's gone through the air vent to get help - I managed to get the cover off..." He looked away, ashamed, still covered in silver-green mimic powder, "After I regained consciousness. Thank-you both for stopping that thing from getting loose. I'm so, so sorry..."

"How did this happen?" Levi meant the question more in the rhetorical sense, but saw the guilty expression cross the engineer's face,

"My father's mirror, the one he keeps with him? That he uses to go places? I sort of... borrowed it." Pascal's lower lip quivered, "I just wanted to see how it worked."

"Pascal..." Levi pushed himself upright, wincing through the pain. Noble could appear and disappear at will, and always seemed to carry far more on his person than seemed physically possible. He would be just the sort of felow to have in a crisis like this, but if he, too had been corrupted..."Where is your father?" The engineer choked back a sob, green eyes filling with tears,

"I don't know."


nudX0O8.png
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38716508] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/387166/38716508_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]Casia, the sentinel[/b], married to one of Clan Solerin's numerous Nocturnes, is the first to sense something amiss with her husband Cieri. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=43680487] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/436805/43680487_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]Procella, the scientist[/b], leaps into action without a second thought, cobbling together a device to find the Mimic. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=43633715] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/436338/43633715_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]Pax, the sorcerer,[/b] buys them time with his magic, channeling the Shadow Mother to incapacitate her Children without mortal wounds. It's close. Casia's iron-will wavered when facing her maddened husband, Cieri slipped through and almost destroyed Procella's device. But luckily Procella is a capable fighter, Pax put the Nocturne to sleep, and with Casia's help the device was repaired and finished. By Lightning the Mimic was stunned, by Shadow the Mimic was weakened, and by Plague the Mimic was finished. Clan Solerin and it's Nocturnes are safe.

38716508_350.png


Casia, the sentinel, married to one of Clan Solerin's numerous Nocturnes, is the first to sense something amiss with her husband Cieri.


43680487_350.png


Procella, the scientist, leaps into action without a second thought, cobbling together a device to find the Mimic.


43633715_350.png


Pax, the sorcerer, buys them time with his magic, channeling the Shadow Mother to incapacitate her Children without mortal wounds.

It's close. Casia's iron-will wavered when facing her maddened husband, Cieri slipped through and almost destroyed Procella's device. But luckily Procella is a capable fighter, Pax put the Nocturne to sleep, and with Casia's help the device was repaired and finished.

By Lightning the Mimic was stunned, by Shadow the Mimic was weakened, and by Plague the Mimic was finished. Clan Solerin and it's Nocturnes are safe.
[i]His claws left the lock, then enveloped the key. He tightened his grip, but the expected sound of breaking metal never came. Instead was the crack of bone. The grind of rows. A gulp. When he opened his hand, the key was gone. A tongue in bright emerald green was seen, licking the teeth hidden within. Then that mouth sealed. Windamier's palm was his own again. He then turned to the others.[/i] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=42635394] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/426354/42635394_350.png[/img] [/url] [i][b]"That's the last house, then."[/b] He told them. Though they already knew this. It was best to affirm it out loud. [b]"Khent is nowhere to be seen. Her brother swore he last saw her interacting with the device of description, and the testimony from the guards lines up with that. I'd say that gives us another suspect, but..."[/b] [b]"But she was the one to warn us first."[/b] said a voice much smoother than his own. [b]"She's always been the overly cautious, protective type. With those eyes of hers, she might have been visiting the item to try and figure it out for herself. "[/b] [b]"Which leaves her open to its' influence."[/b][/i] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=39622396] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/396224/39622396_350.png[/img] [/url] [i][b]"Which leaves her as clear of conscience as you, Windamier."[/b] Isotta spoke at the exact same time he did. Except her voice was [b]louder.[/b] It wasn't louder in [b]volume,[/b] as the town itself was as quiet and tense as it ever was under lockdown, but louder in [b]tone.[/b] It carried an equal, if not [b]greater[/b] weight than his own did. That didn't say [b]much.[/b] Windamier always had an air of [b]insanity[/b] to his claims. True or not. [b]Runs in the family,[/b] he always said. [b]"How many times have the guards caught you in the vault,"[/b] she continued, [b]"fingering through their newest items? Making notes from their most sacred books? Re-taking those notes? Tearing their pages?"[/b] [b]"You're always second-glancing the spells they let you cast, but they've always kept faith in you for your knowledge on the material. You always better your own defenses. Your own spells."[/b] He tucked his head low. He hoped it would let him [b]escape[/b] the eye contact, but even in casting his gleaming gaze to the dirt, he still felt the [b]daggers[/b] she glared into his neck. [b]Through[/b] his armor. Her sentimentality was [b]not[/b] the sweet kind. [b]"She is no different than you."[/b] She continued.[b]"Always looking back on her own visions to make sure they pass as she wants."[/b] [b]"It's for the safety of everyone else. You know this."[/b] His lips were tightly sealed. But his little nod showed an [b]agreement[/b] to the statement he [b]really[/b] didn't want to make. [b]"Not that it matters now!"[/b] Claimed another, oddly wistful of tone. [b]"The majority of the folks in town have already fallen to it."[/b] [b]"With all the feasts and false food it's been making, it's not like she could tell everyone to starve! They'd rather eat her!"[/b] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=41508346] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/415084/41508346_350.png[/img] [/url] As Isotta turned to look his way, Grayson hesitated. Then he added, [b]"Well, if... they... didn't think her meat was cursed, anyway. Curses do a great job of keeping folks from eating you. Real or not."[/b] [b]"You are missing my point--"[/b] He shook his head. Vigorously enough that it shook faster than his neck, actually. [b]"Nonono, I'm really quite getting it! But if she's innocent, it leaves us completely deprived of suspects, what with the lacking number to actually interrogate and the fact she shares about twelve personality traits with mister world's-always-ending over there!"[/b] [b]"There's not enough folks to second guess! Either she's guilty and she's already abandoned ship, or we're already under the culprit's influence and we don't even know it!"[/b] The both of them stared at him. For a rather extended period in time, it was silent. Windamier was the one who spoke up first, softer in voice, and much more shameful. [b]"... I... mean... that would make sense, but ..."[/b] [b]"But we're clearly not."[/b] Isotta then said. [b]"This Mimic's illusions follow a theme, like every other mimic's magic would. Weaponry instills illusions of grandeur and treachery, the musicians orchestrate an endless dance..."[/b] [b]"Your clothes continue to invite comfort and warmth in their wearers, only to drain their good nutrients for yourself overtime..."[/b] She straightened right up at that. [b]"My blood magic is not the same thing as mimicry!"[/b] [b]"No, but it's insulting, nonetheless."[/b] Grayson turned much more casually than the other two, who whirled around to face that familiar voice. With their backs to the gates of Hadwigis Hall, they looked and saw Achenaten himself, with a cluster of six guards behind and around him. All of whom were variously armed in some way. All of whom shared the same starving, glassy eyes. Except Achen. His eyes were concealed. As always. And the only weapon he seemed to have was an old, black spoon. It was made of steel. Longer than his arm. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=41424987] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/414250/41424987_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]"Refusing Court invitations are of the utmost insult,"[/b] he then said, [b]"and in times so strange and unnatural as these--the utmost suspicion. So I'm afraid we're going to have to take you in." "But look on the bright side! You won't miss another dinner [size=4]again!"[/size][/b] The steel spoon smacked his palm, with a sound that was unnaturally heavy and firm. [b][size=5]"Never again!"[/size][/b] Another smack rang out louder, as if against more steel. [b][size=6]" NEVER - "[/size][/b] The next swing struck plating, and his colors were gone. Revealing a creature in the [b]shape[/b] of a dragon, in the [b]shape[/b] of the old Judge, but clad in [b]black armor plating[/b] and [b]deep violet[/b] leathers, with a [b]large apron[/b] fringed in burn marks. [b][size=7]" - A G A I N ! "[/size][/b][/i]
His claws left the lock, then enveloped the key. He tightened his grip, but the expected sound of breaking metal never came. Instead was the crack of bone. The grind of rows. A gulp.

When he opened his hand, the key was gone. A tongue in bright emerald green was seen, licking the teeth hidden within. Then that mouth sealed. Windamier's palm was his own again.

He then turned to the others.



42635394_350.png


"That's the last house, then." He told them. Though they already knew this. It was best to affirm it out loud. "Khent is nowhere to be seen. Her brother swore he last saw her interacting with the device of description, and the testimony from the guards lines up with that. I'd say that gives us another suspect, but..."

"But she was the one to warn us first." said a voice much smoother than his own. "She's always been the overly cautious, protective type. With those eyes of hers, she might have been visiting the item to try and figure it out for herself. "

"Which leaves her open to its' influence."



39622396_350.png


"Which leaves her as clear of conscience as you, Windamier." Isotta spoke at the exact same time he did. Except her voice was louder. It wasn't louder in volume, as the town itself was as quiet and tense as it ever was under lockdown, but louder in tone. It carried an equal, if not greater weight than his own did.

That didn't say much. Windamier always had an air of insanity to his claims. True or not. Runs in the family, he always said.

"How many times have the guards caught you in the vault," she continued, "fingering through their newest items? Making notes from their most sacred books? Re-taking those notes? Tearing their pages?"

"You're always second-glancing the spells they let you cast, but they've always kept faith in you for your knowledge on the material. You always better your own defenses. Your own spells."

He tucked his head low. He hoped it would let him escape the eye contact, but even in casting his gleaming gaze to the dirt, he still felt the daggers she glared into his neck. Through his armor. Her sentimentality was not the sweet kind.

"She is no different than you." She continued."Always looking back on her own visions to make sure they pass as she wants."

"It's for the safety of everyone else. You know this."

His lips were tightly sealed. But his little nod showed an agreement to the statement he really didn't want to make.

"Not that it matters now!" Claimed another, oddly wistful of tone. "The majority of the folks in town have already fallen to it."

"With all the feasts and false food it's been making, it's not like she could tell everyone to starve! They'd rather eat her!"


41508346_350.png


As Isotta turned to look his way, Grayson hesitated. Then he added, "Well, if... they... didn't think her meat was cursed, anyway. Curses do a great job of keeping folks from eating you. Real or not."

"You are missing my point--"

He shook his head. Vigorously enough that it shook faster than his neck, actually. "Nonono, I'm really quite getting it! But if she's innocent, it leaves us completely deprived of suspects, what with the lacking number to actually interrogate and the fact she shares about twelve personality traits with mister world's-always-ending over there!"

"There's not enough folks to second guess! Either she's guilty and she's already abandoned ship, or we're already under the culprit's influence and we don't even know it!"

The both of them stared at him. For a rather extended period in time, it was silent.

Windamier was the one who spoke up first, softer in voice, and much more shameful. "... I... mean... that would make sense, but ..."

"But we're clearly not." Isotta then said. "This Mimic's illusions follow a theme, like every other mimic's magic would. Weaponry instills illusions of grandeur and treachery, the musicians orchestrate an endless dance..."

"Your clothes continue to invite comfort and warmth in their wearers, only to drain their good nutrients for yourself overtime..."

She straightened right up at that.

"My blood magic is not the same thing as mimicry!"

"No, but it's insulting, nonetheless."

Grayson turned much more casually than the other two, who whirled around to face that familiar voice. With their backs to the gates of Hadwigis Hall, they looked and saw Achenaten himself, with a cluster of six guards behind and around him. All of whom were variously armed in some way.

All of whom shared the same starving, glassy eyes.

Except Achen. His eyes were concealed. As always. And the only weapon he seemed to have was an old, black spoon. It was made of steel. Longer than his arm.


41424987_350.png


"Refusing Court invitations are of the utmost insult," he then said, "and in times so strange and unnatural as these--the utmost suspicion. So I'm afraid we're going to have to take you in."

"But look on the bright side! You won't miss another dinner again!"


The steel spoon smacked his palm, with a sound that was unnaturally heavy and firm.

"Never again!"

Another smack rang out louder, as if against more steel.

" NEVER - "

The next swing struck plating, and his colors were gone. Revealing a creature in the shape of a dragon, in the shape of the old Judge, but clad in black armor plating and deep violet leathers, with a large apron fringed in burn marks.

" - A G A I N ! "
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=205609] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/2057/205609_350.png[/img] [/url] [b][u]Thesie[/u], First Matriarch and Founder of Clan Rookery[/b], whose gentle, whispering voice was heard behind her clan's broodmother. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=647802] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/6479/647802_350.png[/img] [/url] [b][u]Zillo[/u], Defender and Broodmother of Clan Rookery[/b], who stood strong in the middle of her remaining clanmates. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=771462] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/7715/771462_350.png[/img] [/url] [b][u]Shezmu[/u], Second Matriarch and Stonespeaker of Clan Rookery[/b], whose spines rattled nervously as she nudged her head towards their giggling, possessed clanmate. --------- [i]"Let's get started."[/i] "Right," Thesie blinked in wonder at the shimmering sparkles that Nightsong had left behind. Such a starry sight reminded her of her time spent in the Hewn City, her clan's home during their stay of the Sunbeam Ruins, where she would gaze into the dark sky during her nightly scrying. "I have one method of discovering where this mimic might be." "As do I, but it will be very draining on myself," Shezmu murmurs, her glowing eyes scanning the shadows with great care and paranoia as she crouched low to the ground. "I had a strange feeling about our migration to the Tangled Wood..." "Nonsense. Regardless of what happens, this is all one big, grand adventure." Zillo reassured her worried clanmates, her nostrils twitching while she sniffed the cool air and smiled at them. "Besides, what were we to do? The Emperor had ravaged our home in the Mirrorlight Promenade, and it is hard to deny the comfort we all felt in the Hewn City's shadows. Our move was logical. We will not be decimated so easily." Decimated... Well, that was one way to put it. Right now, the situation looked rather bleak. When [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=29503&tab=dragon&did=16834012]a mercenary[/url] who lived on the edge of their clan's territory arrived with a bejeweled chest, [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=29503&tab=dragon&did=205610]Thesie's mate[/url], Clan Rookery's First Patriarch, and Head Captain of its Guard alongside Zillo, the Tundra snarled with intense hostility never seen before from him before chasing her away. He refused to speak about his reasons regarding such anger- other than citing how the Nocturne and her leader's posse would never just give the clan their ill-gotten goods- but left the now smashed open chest where she had dropped it upon vanishing into thin air in front of the angered Tundra. It wasn't until Zillo, as curious as the hatchlings she took care of, investigated the chest and noted that it came with a note attached onto its lid. Reading 'To The Lady of the Woodlands', she automatically knew that it was a gift for her... Albeit one that was missing from within the dazzling container. Thinking it was a prank from the Nocturne, the disappointed Tundra went about her business as usual... Before the brambles and vines that surrounded their clan's lair came to life, and dragged those who were not already within their earthen home into the deep, dark night. This left only the three ladies to fend for themselves against Lurriet, who had hidden herself in their lair during this time, and was caught stealing from their hoard under the influence of the dreaded mimic. "I can protect the both of you, but first, you must let me know what exactly you intend on doing to find our target." The Nature Tundra took a few steps in front of them so as to face Shezmu and Thesie while she spoke. "I will scry with the breeze," The Fae speaks up, raising her talons to the air as she sat down at the mouth of her clan's lair. "The deep trance I will enter requires that I must not be disturbed, or else I will be greatly disoriented." "And as for myself," Shezmu continued afterwards, her long dewclaws scratching gently at the earth underneath her as her spines gently rattled behind her. "I will commune with the spirits to find the mimic, then commune with the mimic's spirit to try and organize a deal, so that it may leave us and bring our clanmates home. If the mimic is as deceptive as it appears to be, however, I cannot guarantee that I will be able to protect myself from the warping and contamination of my own soul." "Turning against you two is the best case scenario, in that situation... Summoning vicious, angry spirits to kill you, the worst." The Ridgeback shook her head, Thesie being unable to suppress a shiver down her spine. "This is why my technique should be used only as a last resort." Smiling nevertheless, Zillo nodded to the both of them, then turned her gaze to the First Matriarch. Her rusted cleaver gleamed in the moonlight, ready to be used to defend the little Fae from any harm. "Let's try yours first, then." Shezmu sighed with relief as she readied herself, her claws drawing arcanic sigils onto the earth before breathing a toxic vapour onto them, their linework glowing ominously in the shadowy darkness. "Ready to defend." "Alright..." Thesie whispered as she closed her eyes, raising her hands higher into the air as she fanned her wings and crest. "And so we begin." The air fell silent and still. The shadows watched with great interest... And the leaves of the Gladeboughs on Zillo's back shuffled with subtle intensity, as though in the breeze. A breeze that Thesie knew was not present. Horrified, Thesie's glowing eyes shot open, her frills trembling as she turned her head to face the Tundra with a whimper. "It has been here all along." Suddenly, leafy tendrils burst out as though from Zillo's shoulders, the broodmother bellowing in shock as they wrapped around her being with great speed, before spreading towards her two remaining clanmates. Shezmu activated her sigils with a distorted, frightened roar, but the magical, infected rocks that shot out of the ground from them were no match for the rapidly growing vines that continued to extend even after having been severed. Hoping to save them both, Thesie summoned a great wind to lift her and Shezmu up and out of the lair, but it was too late for the shrieking Ridgeback. The invasive fibers had wound themselves around her wrists, crawling up to the spines on her back, before rooting her to the stony floor, just like Zillo... Two glowing, orange eyes piercing from the latter's Gladeboughs into Thesie's frightened, wide-eyed gaze. All the little Fae could do was watch in tearful, squealing horror as she was swept up and away by the wind; the entrance of Clan Rookery's lair disappearing into a sea of brambles seemingly summoned by the monstrosity that sealed her dearest clanmates away. Clan Rookery, decimated... Not by rival clans, not by feral dragons, not even by a wild, rampaging Emperor... But by a magical plant, hidden in plain sight. [img]http://www1.flightrising.com/static/cms/familiar/art/28765.png[/img][/center]

205609_350.png


Thesie, First Matriarch and Founder of Clan Rookery, whose gentle, whispering voice was heard behind her clan's broodmother.


647802_350.png


Zillo, Defender and Broodmother of Clan Rookery, who stood strong in the middle of her remaining clanmates.


771462_350.png


Shezmu, Second Matriarch and Stonespeaker of Clan Rookery, whose spines rattled nervously as she nudged her head towards their giggling, possessed clanmate.


"Let's get started."

"Right," Thesie blinked in wonder at the shimmering sparkles that Nightsong had left behind. Such a starry sight reminded her of her time spent in the Hewn City, her clan's home during their stay of the Sunbeam Ruins, where she would gaze into the dark sky during her nightly scrying. "I have one method of discovering where this mimic might be."

"As do I, but it will be very draining on myself," Shezmu murmurs, her glowing eyes scanning the shadows with great care and paranoia as she crouched low to the ground. "I had a strange feeling about our migration to the Tangled Wood..."

"Nonsense. Regardless of what happens, this is all one big, grand adventure." Zillo reassured her worried clanmates, her nostrils twitching while she sniffed the cool air and smiled at them. "Besides, what were we to do? The Emperor had ravaged our home in the Mirrorlight Promenade, and it is hard to deny the comfort we all felt in the Hewn City's shadows. Our move was logical. We will not be decimated so easily."

Decimated... Well, that was one way to put it. Right now, the situation looked rather bleak. When a mercenary who lived on the edge of their clan's territory arrived with a bejeweled chest, Thesie's mate, Clan Rookery's First Patriarch, and Head Captain of its Guard alongside Zillo, the Tundra snarled with intense hostility never seen before from him before chasing her away. He refused to speak about his reasons regarding such anger- other than citing how the Nocturne and her leader's posse would never just give the clan their ill-gotten goods- but left the now smashed open chest where she had dropped it upon vanishing into thin air in front of the angered Tundra.

It wasn't until Zillo, as curious as the hatchlings she took care of, investigated the chest and noted that it came with a note attached onto its lid. Reading 'To The Lady of the Woodlands', she automatically knew that it was a gift for her... Albeit one that was missing from within the dazzling container. Thinking it was a prank from the Nocturne, the disappointed Tundra went about her business as usual... Before the brambles and vines that surrounded their clan's lair came to life, and dragged those who were not already within their earthen home into the deep, dark night. This left only the three ladies to fend for themselves against Lurriet, who had hidden herself in their lair during this time, and was caught stealing from their hoard under the influence of the dreaded mimic.

"I can protect the both of you, but first, you must let me know what exactly you intend on doing to find our target." The Nature Tundra took a few steps in front of them so as to face Shezmu and Thesie while she spoke.

"I will scry with the breeze," The Fae speaks up, raising her talons to the air as she sat down at the mouth of her clan's lair. "The deep trance I will enter requires that I must not be disturbed, or else I will be greatly disoriented."

"And as for myself," Shezmu continued afterwards, her long dewclaws scratching gently at the earth underneath her as her spines gently rattled behind her. "I will commune with the spirits to find the mimic, then commune with the mimic's spirit to try and organize a deal, so that it may leave us and bring our clanmates home. If the mimic is as deceptive as it appears to be, however, I cannot guarantee that I will be able to protect myself from the warping and contamination of my own soul."

"Turning against you two is the best case scenario, in that situation... Summoning vicious, angry spirits to kill you, the worst." The Ridgeback shook her head, Thesie being unable to suppress a shiver down her spine. "This is why my technique should be used only as a last resort."

Smiling nevertheless, Zillo nodded to the both of them, then turned her gaze to the First Matriarch. Her rusted cleaver gleamed in the moonlight, ready to be used to defend the little Fae from any harm. "Let's try yours first, then."

Shezmu sighed with relief as she readied herself, her claws drawing arcanic sigils onto the earth before breathing a toxic vapour onto them, their linework glowing ominously in the shadowy darkness. "Ready to defend."

"Alright..." Thesie whispered as she closed her eyes, raising her hands higher into the air as she fanned her wings and crest. "And so we begin."

The air fell silent and still. The shadows watched with great interest... And the leaves of the Gladeboughs on Zillo's back shuffled with subtle intensity, as though in the breeze.

A breeze that Thesie knew was not present.

Horrified, Thesie's glowing eyes shot open, her frills trembling as she turned her head to face the Tundra with a whimper. "It has been here all along."

Suddenly, leafy tendrils burst out as though from Zillo's shoulders, the broodmother bellowing in shock as they wrapped around her being with great speed, before spreading towards her two remaining clanmates. Shezmu activated her sigils with a distorted, frightened roar, but the magical, infected rocks that shot out of the ground from them were no match for the rapidly growing vines that continued to extend even after having been severed. Hoping to save them both, Thesie summoned a great wind to lift her and Shezmu up and out of the lair, but it was too late for the shrieking Ridgeback. The invasive fibers had wound themselves around her wrists, crawling up to the spines on her back, before rooting her to the stony floor, just like Zillo... Two glowing, orange eyes piercing from the latter's Gladeboughs into Thesie's frightened, wide-eyed gaze.

All the little Fae could do was watch in tearful, squealing horror as she was swept up and away by the wind; the entrance of Clan Rookery's lair disappearing into a sea of brambles seemingly summoned by the monstrosity that sealed her dearest clanmates away.

Clan Rookery, decimated... Not by rival clans, not by feral dragons, not even by a wild, rampaging Emperor...

But by a magical plant, hidden in plain sight.

28765.png
87WpTpX.png
[color=#ff0000]Raskolnikov[/color] huffs. Standing in the middle, the strange young one considers the situation. The orders hissed out by his [color=#5a1d3e] Master[/color] when the chaos began. The plea to let him fight. Fight bravely. Fight til' the exhaustion left it panting and shuddering with wide eyes, awaiting, awaiting, yes, for anyone to come. Come and see. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=8096582] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/80966/8096582_350.png[/img] [/url] "Snap out of it" comes the peevish and harsh voice of the first dragon, [color=#663333]Potassium[/color]. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=7739730] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/77398/7739730_350.png[/img] [/url] "You are scaring poor [color=#bb99ff]Alm.[/color] Again." [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=44281929] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/442820/44281929_350.png[/img] [/url] Indeed, the young Spiral is coiled and tense between the wings of the Guardian. Raskolnikov looks away. He doesn't like this- the task of protection. Of guidance. She [color=#5a1d3e]She[/color] wishes him to do this, however- he will. He will. "I am serious. We should find the darned mimic as briskly as possible." "I'm thinking." "You don't do thinking, Rask. Your Master does, that wretch." "You-!" Snarling. The spreading of sickly wings, bones chiming and the elder blood which shan't fade. A threat for most, but more of a tantrum than anything else. This is a child, still. The guardian cranes her neck down to stare at the fuming mess of a dragon. "Will you get rid of me, then? Disobey your orders? Doom this clan? Or will you close your trap, accept your leash and do as you are told? Would you make her proud, dear? Would you, now?" There is a tense moment. A moment where the dragon doesn't hide its teeth and Potassium's breathing falters just a bit. A moment where she almost regrets talking like that. A movement calls their attentions. Alm has slithered off. "Hell", Raskolnikov growls and rushes off, followed closely by the guardian. "ALM. RETURN IMMEDIATLY." Here. The winding corridors of the clan, where the earth of the Hewn City has been moved and marred by dozens of claws and burning secrets exposed as strange wall decor. Defilation. Sanctified to escape that puppy the Leader goes on about day in and day out. There is the noise of struggle all around. Gift, the elder Nocturne, hisses and roars, trashing into walls to escape Knife and Fireplace, the Ridgeback knights. There, Vitalescense holds the young Skate by the neck while Versailles stumbles through his coatl accent to try and bring him to reason. Cockroach, there she is. The clan leader, pestilent and mangy, fending off Photon and Gluon with vicious bites and the strange uses of magic she's grown to have. Better not come close to her. Potassium shudders. This is madness- they can't just. Put down all these clan members. Poor Rococo is no good already-but at least she's asleep somewhere. She doesn't fear being destroyed by them. She doesn't fear being destroyed by anything but those poor puppies whose eyes have been devoured. Those the leader created this place for. Those. Ahead, a little shape in strange colors. Winding around a door made of brackets and brackets and brackets. "Alm-!" She calls out. It turns its head to her, eyes wide, jaw quivering. "It's down there. It's down there with him." The wildclaw approaches. Alm is tense. "...Only Pion is not accounted for. He must have hid at the deep galleries." It squeaks: "Please- we can't go in there. [] is in there". The name of the clan mate who owns this piece of the lair sounds like nothing. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe we hid it. Somewhere. The guardian nudges the spiral fondly. "Fear not. [] is just at the bend of the river." "But there is a storm, so take care. We should let [] into our lair." That tone. Unnatural. Stiffled. Alm hides on the back of Potassium as Raskolnikov opens the door into the dark, damp room. [The trees are tall. All of them, pine trees. It is storming.] Alm holds onto Potassium. The room is white. White and small and cramped and humid. It flows, slow, like honey. [He is at the bend of river. A hatchling, the poor thing. Abandoned and alone. We should let him into our lair.] Alm hates []. Its heaving breath. Its huge blank eyes. It has rotted long ago, so why is it here? Still, it does nothing. Just watches as the trio approaches the dry well that leads to the deepest coils of this place. [Let us join into the water, where the baptism takes place. The cold waves which shall meet us, the child which won't behave. Tonight at the bend of the river, where the silent storm welcomes us. Us, good folk, let it into our lair, like that Pion let the mimic]. "...Rask... Auntie... it's gone. We're down here." Alm whispers. "Yes, we are, dear. Don't worry." The spiral grimaces. Looks away. Raskolnikov is already taking the lead, tracking the smell of blood. Blood. Living, flowing, pulsing blood. Deep and cracked-caked forevermore. Bending down paths and twisting. Elder carvings in the wall in languages long gone, mysteries made and destroyed. Pieces and bits of information. Shapes that have died out, geometries that were out-evolved by the euclidian surface ones. Extinct colors. Dead emotions. Pressed tightly between layers of rocks. The cemetery of everything. The last stop. [color=#f0f8ff]Pion[/color] is blind. It licks at the Mimic tenderly, like a mother would. The thing gnaws at its tongue and teeth, slowly and steadily pulling out bits and pieces into its own maw. Pion is ecstatic. Raskolnikov makes motion to step forward, but Potassium stops him. "Target the mimic, only." There goes his excuse to getting rid of Pion as well. He mumbles a fine, before rushing towards the duo- it lowers itself to bite at the thing, but Pion seems to snap out of its stupor to block the attack with its body. The bite gets it in the back and it lets out a wet, delighted howl. Potassium steps forward, ready to deploy magic. For the wildclaw, this is a hard job. He can't seem to get any breach to target the thing. Pion just keeps... getting in the way... It growls and dives for the neck, forgetting everything else for a second. He can't hit. "What the-" "ONLY THE MIMIC, DUMBSKULL", Potassium shrieks, having cast a barrier on Pion just in time. Raskolnikov hisses back and, almost stubbornly, tries to bite his target's neck again. A lot of back and forth happens, yes- the Guardian casting protective and healing spells, the Wildclaw attacking its team mate, the Nocturne just squeaking and cackling... ... A deeply unpleasant crack-squish suddenly reverberates in the chamber. Alm has gotten the Mimic while the others were busy. The thing lies on the floor now, eviscerated and broken, while the spiral hangs from the ceiling. Pion passes out. Raskolnikov and Potassium look at him. He tries a smile, but it just looks like a grimace. "That's a puppy. That's a puppy, everyone. That's a puppy and we are too late" In the upper layers, dragons look up. There is a sound like thousands of heavy feet trampling around in the surface and matching numerous wings. They dig.
Raskolnikov huffs. Standing in the middle, the strange young one considers the situation. The orders hissed out by his Master when the chaos began. The plea to let him fight. Fight bravely. Fight til' the exhaustion left it panting and shuddering with wide eyes, awaiting, awaiting, yes, for anyone to come. Come and see.


8096582_350.png


"Snap out of it" comes the peevish and harsh voice of the first dragon, Potassium.


7739730_350.png


"You are scaring poor Alm. Again."


44281929_350.png


Indeed, the young Spiral is coiled and tense between the wings of the Guardian. Raskolnikov looks away. He doesn't like this- the task of protection. Of guidance. She She wishes him to do this, however- he will. He will.

"I am serious. We should find the darned mimic as briskly as possible."

"I'm thinking."

"You don't do thinking, Rask. Your Master does, that wretch."

"You-!"

Snarling. The spreading of sickly wings, bones chiming and the elder blood which shan't fade. A threat for most, but more of a tantrum than anything else. This is a child, still. The guardian cranes her neck down to stare at the fuming mess of a dragon.

"Will you get rid of me, then? Disobey your orders? Doom this clan? Or will you close your trap, accept your leash and do as you are told? Would you make her proud, dear? Would you, now?"


There is a tense moment. A moment where the dragon doesn't hide its teeth and Potassium's breathing falters just a bit. A moment where she almost regrets talking like that.

A movement calls their attentions.

Alm has slithered off.

"Hell", Raskolnikov growls and rushes off, followed closely by the guardian. "ALM. RETURN IMMEDIATLY."

Here. The winding corridors of the clan, where the earth of the Hewn City has been moved and marred by dozens of claws and burning secrets exposed as strange wall decor. Defilation. Sanctified to escape that puppy the Leader goes on about day in and day out. There is the noise of struggle all around. Gift, the elder Nocturne, hisses and roars, trashing into walls to escape Knife and Fireplace, the Ridgeback knights. There, Vitalescense holds the young Skate by the neck while Versailles stumbles through his coatl accent to try and bring him to reason.

Cockroach, there she is. The clan leader, pestilent and mangy, fending off Photon and Gluon with vicious bites and the strange uses of magic she's grown to have. Better not come close to her.

Potassium shudders. This is madness- they can't just. Put down all these clan members. Poor Rococo is no good already-but at least she's asleep somewhere. She doesn't fear being destroyed by them. She doesn't fear being destroyed by anything but those poor puppies whose eyes have been devoured. Those the leader created this place for. Those.

Ahead, a little shape in strange colors. Winding around a door made of brackets and brackets and brackets.

"Alm-!" She calls out.

It turns its head to her, eyes wide, jaw quivering.

"It's down there. It's down there with him."

The wildclaw approaches. Alm is tense.

"...Only Pion is not accounted for. He must have hid at the deep galleries."

It squeaks: "Please- we can't go in there. [] is in there". The name of the clan mate who owns this piece of the lair sounds like nothing. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe we hid it. Somewhere.

The guardian nudges the spiral fondly. "Fear not. [] is just at the bend of the river."

"But there is a storm, so take care. We should let [] into our lair." That tone. Unnatural. Stiffled. Alm hides on the back of Potassium as Raskolnikov opens the door into the dark, damp room.

[The trees are tall. All of them, pine trees. It is storming.]

Alm holds onto Potassium. The room is white. White and small and cramped and humid. It flows, slow, like honey.

[He is at the bend of river. A hatchling, the poor thing. Abandoned and alone. We should let him into our lair.]

Alm hates []. Its heaving breath. Its huge blank eyes. It has rotted long ago, so why is it here? Still, it does nothing. Just watches as the trio approaches the dry well that leads to the deepest coils of this place.

[Let us join into the water, where the baptism takes place. The cold waves which shall meet us, the child which won't behave. Tonight at the bend of the river, where the silent storm welcomes us. Us, good folk, let it into our lair, like that Pion let the mimic].

"...Rask... Auntie... it's gone. We're down here."

Alm whispers.

"Yes, we are, dear. Don't worry."

The spiral grimaces. Looks away. Raskolnikov is already taking the lead, tracking the smell of blood. Blood. Living, flowing, pulsing blood. Deep and cracked-caked forevermore. Bending down paths and twisting. Elder carvings in the wall in languages long gone, mysteries made and destroyed. Pieces and bits of information. Shapes that have died out, geometries that were out-evolved by the euclidian surface ones. Extinct colors. Dead emotions. Pressed tightly between layers of rocks. The cemetery of everything.

The last stop.

Pion is blind. It licks at the Mimic tenderly, like a mother would. The thing gnaws at its tongue and teeth, slowly and steadily pulling out bits and pieces into its own maw. Pion is ecstatic.

Raskolnikov makes motion to step forward, but Potassium stops him.

"Target the mimic, only."

There goes his excuse to getting rid of Pion as well. He mumbles a fine, before rushing towards the duo- it lowers itself to bite at the thing, but Pion seems to snap out of its stupor to block the attack with its body. The bite gets it in the back and it lets out a wet, delighted howl. Potassium steps forward, ready to deploy magic.

For the wildclaw, this is a hard job. He can't seem to get any breach to target the thing. Pion just keeps... getting in the way... It growls and dives for the neck, forgetting everything else for a second.

He can't hit.

"What the-"

"ONLY THE MIMIC, DUMBSKULL", Potassium shrieks, having cast a barrier on Pion just in time. Raskolnikov hisses back and, almost stubbornly, tries to bite his target's neck again. A lot of back and forth happens, yes- the Guardian casting protective and healing spells, the Wildclaw attacking its team mate, the Nocturne just squeaking and cackling...

...

A deeply unpleasant crack-squish suddenly reverberates in the chamber.

Alm has gotten the Mimic while the others were busy.

The thing lies on the floor now, eviscerated and broken, while the spiral hangs from the ceiling. Pion passes out. Raskolnikov and Potassium look at him. He tries a smile, but it just looks like a grimace.

"That's a puppy. That's a puppy, everyone. That's a puppy and we are too late"

In the upper layers, dragons look up. There is a sound like thousands of heavy feet trampling around in the surface and matching numerous wings. They dig.



Bat Milk.
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=46402031] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/464021/46402031_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]Tumat,[/b] the clan's young [s]technically undead[/s] scout is the first of the three dragons. He's playful, inexperienced, and a little skittish, but tries his best nonetheless. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=35930865] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/359309/35930865_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]Bloodrose,[/b] the assassin, is the second of the three. Firm, with a reputation for being emotionless and logical. He counts the Nocturnes of the shadowy Murkclaw guild among his unsurprisingly short list of friends, and cares (Cares? Feels? Just... doesn't... hate?) for them greatly. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47235403] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/472355/47235403_350.png[/img] [/url] [b]Morgan,[/b] the mage, is the last and youngest of the three. A trickster and illusionist in her own right, she likely has the best understanding of the mimics out of any of them. --------------------- [i]"There's at least half a dozen of them. What do we do?"[/i] Morgan poked her head back out of the Manylayered Web, the series of spiral-sized tunnels that ran between almost every room in the lair complex. It had been built years ago by Vipersprite, Moonlord's personal agent and enforcer, and had hidden entrances into many of the otherwise "private" rooms. Morgan's hat was pushed down over her eyes by the narrow space, and she looked curiously up at the two males she had unfortunately been stuck with for companions. Sneaking back into the underground city that was the clan lair wasn't that hard when Tumat and Bloodrose put their heads together. As a scout and assassin respectively, they each had their own unique backdoors and escape tunnels that had been secretly built in and memorised over time. It was getting any further than five rooms in that was the problem, which was exactly how they had found themselves where they were. Barricaded in a storeroom, listening to the chaos outside. On a normal day, this whole "mimic" situation would be no problem. The clan was home to only one Nocturne, Trueshadow, and he had been... [i]dealt with[/i] by the strange starry dragon Shadowsong already. But the clan leader Moonlord had been in a generous mood, and had allowed Trueshadow to invite his Nocturne business partners around to celebrate the longest nights of the year. "I don't know." Bloodrose admitted. "I don't really know these people. Step one of understanding who's behaving abnormally is knowing their normal behaviour, and I must admit that's where I fail." Tumat tilted his head, and it seemed that if he could raise an eyebrow, he would have. "Dude, they're total strangers. I think we all fail on that point." He chuckled a little. "Your plan sucks. Morgan? Plan B? Any magical insight on this?" The young magician had emerged completely from the tunnels and was sitting wrapped around an oil vase, looking frustrated but thoughtful. "W-well... we're supposed to be looking for a mimic, right?" She tugged nervously on her cape with her claws. "They come out on the longest nights of the year. Who found a new familiar recently? Or even this time last year..?" The three were silent for a while before Tumat spoke up. "Nubenix, the ghost fox..? He's more active around about now..." Bloodrose snorted. "That boy's an open book. A traitor? In [i]him?[/i] And I thought I was paranoid. If anything's weird, I'd say that kid Garagos and his creepy-as mirror thing. That's just unsettling." "Yeah, but I think that's just... [i]him...[/i] not some kind of mimic." Tumat retorted. The room fell to silence once again. "Oh... oh no..." Morgan whispered, eyes slowly going wide as something dawned on her. "What?! What's wrong, Morgan?" Tumat asked. "I think I know what it is... and I don't know whether I want to say..." Bloodrose rolled his eyes, turning one paw over to show his unsheathed claws. "Oh believe me, you want to say. I'm not letting this mess get worse because of a little sentiment." he explained with a hint of menace. "Ah-- okay! Okay! It's [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=35894704]Ashstripe[/url]. The tanner. His koi carp. The one with the crystal ball. It's magical in some way but I never figured out what. I guess now I know." This prompted only confusion from the older assassin. "...Ashstripe's... goldfish? I didn't think that actually existed. [b]I've[/b] certainly never seen it." "Koi aren't goldfish, Bloodrose. And yeah Morgan, I think you're right. That thing's always seemed a little... [i]off[/i]... but Ashstripe's so sad and it makes him so happy... I never had the heart to bring it up to him." Tumat noted. Bloodrose drummed his claws against the stone floor as he thought. [i]Tap... tap... tap... tap...[/i] "Ugh, this whole little 'moral dilemma' is getting us nowhere." he snarled. "This should be simple. Get that fish, [i][b]gut[/b][/i] that fish, and punch anything that gets in our way, be it a Nocturne or not." He stormed off towards the door that lead out into the hall, before looking back. His grin was so wide that one of his fangs showed a little, just above the top of his mask. "Now which of you two dithering hatchlings wants to come?" ------------------------ [/center] [size=2]I'll continue this later, but it was really fun throwing together three dragons who would never normally interact! (Spoiler alert: it is not the fish.)

46402031_350.png

Tumat, the clan's young technically undead scout is the first of the three dragons. He's playful, inexperienced, and a little skittish, but tries his best nonetheless.

35930865_350.png

Bloodrose, the assassin, is the second of the three. Firm, with a reputation for being emotionless and logical. He counts the Nocturnes of the shadowy Murkclaw guild among his unsurprisingly short list of friends, and cares (Cares? Feels? Just... doesn't... hate?) for them greatly.

47235403_350.png

Morgan, the mage, is the last and youngest of the three. A trickster and illusionist in her own right, she likely has the best understanding of the mimics out of any of them.
"There's at least half a dozen of them. What do we do?"
Morgan poked her head back out of the Manylayered Web, the series of spiral-sized tunnels that ran between almost every room in the lair complex. It had been built years ago by Vipersprite, Moonlord's personal agent and enforcer, and had hidden entrances into many of the otherwise "private" rooms.
Morgan's hat was pushed down over her eyes by the narrow space, and she looked curiously up at the two males she had unfortunately been stuck with for companions.

Sneaking back into the underground city that was the clan lair wasn't that hard when Tumat and Bloodrose put their heads together. As a scout and assassin respectively, they each had their own unique backdoors and escape tunnels that had been secretly built in and memorised over time.
It was getting any further than five rooms in that was the problem, which was exactly how they had found themselves where they were.
Barricaded in a storeroom, listening to the chaos outside.

On a normal day, this whole "mimic" situation would be no problem. The clan was home to only one Nocturne, Trueshadow, and he had been... dealt with by the strange starry dragon Shadowsong already.
But the clan leader Moonlord had been in a generous mood, and had allowed Trueshadow to invite his Nocturne business partners around to celebrate the longest nights of the year.

"I don't know." Bloodrose admitted.
"I don't really know these people. Step one of understanding who's behaving abnormally is knowing their normal behaviour, and I must admit that's where I fail."
Tumat tilted his head, and it seemed that if he could raise an eyebrow, he would have.
"Dude, they're total strangers. I think we all fail on that point." He chuckled a little. "Your plan sucks. Morgan? Plan B? Any magical insight on this?"

The young magician had emerged completely from the tunnels and was sitting wrapped around an oil vase, looking frustrated but thoughtful.
"W-well... we're supposed to be looking for a mimic, right?" She tugged nervously on her cape with her claws. "They come out on the longest nights of the year. Who found a new familiar recently? Or even this time last year..?"

The three were silent for a while before Tumat spoke up.
"Nubenix, the ghost fox..? He's more active around about now..."

Bloodrose snorted. "That boy's an open book. A traitor? In him? And I thought I was paranoid. If anything's weird, I'd say that kid Garagos and his creepy-as mirror thing. That's just unsettling."

"Yeah, but I think that's just... him... not some kind of mimic." Tumat retorted.
The room fell to silence once again.

"Oh... oh no..." Morgan whispered, eyes slowly going wide as something dawned on her.

"What?! What's wrong, Morgan?" Tumat asked.

"I think I know what it is... and I don't know whether I want to say..."

Bloodrose rolled his eyes, turning one paw over to show his unsheathed claws. "Oh believe me, you want to say. I'm not letting this mess get worse because of a little sentiment." he explained with a hint of menace.

"Ah-- okay! Okay! It's Ashstripe. The tanner. His koi carp. The one with the crystal ball. It's magical in some way but I never figured out what. I guess now I know."

This prompted only confusion from the older assassin. "...Ashstripe's... goldfish? I didn't think that actually existed. I've certainly never seen it."

"Koi aren't goldfish, Bloodrose. And yeah Morgan, I think you're right. That thing's always seemed a little... off... but Ashstripe's so sad and it makes him so happy... I never had the heart to bring it up to him." Tumat noted.
Bloodrose drummed his claws against the stone floor as he thought.

Tap... tap... tap... tap...

"Ugh, this whole little 'moral dilemma' is getting us nowhere." he snarled. "This should be simple. Get that fish, gut that fish, and punch anything that gets in our way, be it a Nocturne or not."
He stormed off towards the door that lead out into the hall, before looking back. His grin was so wide that one of his fangs showed a little, just above the top of his mask.

"Now which of you two dithering hatchlings wants to come?"
I'll continue this later, but it was really fun throwing together three dragons who would never normally interact! (Spoiler alert: it is not the fish.)
If it's not in quotes, then it's not in character
Joxar hoards pings, give him all the pings
I'm generally too asleep to respond to pings between 2am and midday FR time
I will make this sig pretty one day I swear
Z2mRGNN.png
[center]It's that time again~~ [u][b]The Scholar[/b][/u] [i]Jania[/i] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24439799] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/244398/24439799_350.png[/img] [/url] Colour her not surprised, it has happened again. The nocturne messes have spilled over into the orderly life of Jania. This year is a major blemish on her record, she is meant to be the clan's anti-infiltration specialist. Oh yeah and the mimics taking over the clan again is terrible or something too. Well, she's done her best and not everyone is dead right now so that's good. [u][b]The Leader[/b][/u] [i]Avalon[/i] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6963805] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/69639/6963805_350.png[/img] [/url] Avalon is [i][b]furious[/i][/b]. These... [i]things[/i] come into his clan and think they can take over?! Not a chance in the Shade. Avalon has basic pattern recognition ability, and he suspected something would happen during the Night of the Nocturne again. He ordered Jania to craft himself the best possible protections beforehand, and surprise surprise, preparation wins the day. He is still in the game. The battle has been lost but the fight is just beginning, and Avalon has no intention of losing. [u][b]The Avenger[/b][/u] [i]Basajaun[/i] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=5006792] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/50068/5006792_350.png[/img] [/url] Two years back Basajaun got taken over by a mimic, and he has not forgotten. He recognized what was happening right away, and though unable to tell of his findings to anyone, he secreted himself away until the time for the counterstrike. He has an axe to grind, and he is ready for action. Basajaun's two main priorities are rescuing his mate, and finding out the fate of the clan's other Imperials. The Shatterclaw Mesa is home to a lot more then three of Lightweaver's first children, and if they were to be killed the results could be... worrisome. [/center]
It's that time again~~

The Scholar
Jania


24439799_350.png

Colour her not surprised, it has happened again. The nocturne messes have spilled over into the orderly life of Jania. This year is a major blemish on her record, she is meant to be the clan's anti-infiltration specialist. Oh yeah and the mimics taking over the clan again is terrible or something too. Well, she's done her best and not everyone is dead right now so that's good.

The Leader
Avalon


6963805_350.png

Avalon is furious. These... things come into his clan and think they can take over?! Not a chance in the Shade.

Avalon has basic pattern recognition ability, and he suspected something would happen during the Night of the Nocturne again. He ordered Jania to craft himself the best possible protections beforehand, and surprise surprise, preparation wins the day. He is still in the game. The battle has been lost but the fight is just beginning, and Avalon has no intention of losing.

The Avenger
Basajaun


5006792_350.png

Two years back Basajaun got taken over by a mimic, and he has not forgotten. He recognized what was happening right away, and though unable to tell of his findings to anyone, he secreted himself away until the time for the counterstrike. He has an axe to grind, and he is ready for action.

Basajaun's two main priorities are rescuing his mate, and finding out the fate of the clan's other Imperials. The Shatterclaw Mesa is home to a lot more then three of Lightweaver's first children, and if they were to be killed the results could be... worrisome.
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