res! pinging myself to remember @LemonySnaket
Entry #: 1
This one's a bit short but my poems are always kinda short so sorry about that^^
Title: Contamination
Category: Poem, Pens for plague
Completed? Y/N: Yes
Part one:
A dusted wasteland seeming to lack many a species,
Old and new scars in the ground; the struggle of enemies.
Lost in rotting trails of carrion,
Trudging through, unknowing of the location.
Shifty eyes glaring from the dark,
Blistering bones that have certainly left their mark.
Very few live through this torturous boneyard,
If you're here you've played your final card.
For if you see your destination;
At a cauldron of horrors, bubbling as it spreads the endless Contamination.
Part two:
Several eyes staring from shelter;
Rugged and stretched skin beginning to swelter.
Focused on the scavenging prey,
Who would be lucky to see the next day.
Mutated predators following in a pack,
Built only to attack.
The survivors, watching, hiding within the bones of their foes,
Too busy focusing on their own woes.
The disorganised mess of Plaguebringer's experimentation:
Ready to spread the endless Contamination.
Entry #: 2
Title: Campfire.
Category: Spooky, Prose
Completed? Y/N: Yes
Link:
Silence fell around the campfire.
A little less than a dozen huddled beside the pitiful flames. Their eyes scanned others; they all had a reason to be here. None wished to say it. It was a dark time, not to mention that numb coldness that wasn't too cool to make you shiver nor to say it was an average temperature. The sparks only illuminated the silhouettes of each dragon. So only the sharp features of the face and the glaring gazes could be seen. It seemed like an eternity that nobody moved, just scanned what they could make out in the dim light.
A masculine coatl tried to break the deafening lack of noise, a simple joke. It got a few huffs of momentary laughter, but nothing that sounded genuine or brightened up. The dragons went back to being sombre again, the joke seemed to only remind them of their formerly happy past. Which was a topic it seemed every serpent and drake wished to avoid.
Finally, the crackling of the heat was interrupted. A harsh voice. It had a texture like a crackle, sharp and jolting. A slight lisp on a soft S. It could be imagined as formerly stern, now seeming like a senior's voice. The type that gave you hard but true advice. Though it also seemed deeper than that, like it had a history. A past. A hard time. Nonetheless, it had several layers to it, and it would take a good deal of talking to figure it out.
"Listen, no point trying to lighten the mood. Sayin' anything else will just darken it. So let's go along with it. Eh? Campfire stories. Not just the made up junk. But the real thing. The thing that rocks your spine, eh? And I got a story. All real."
Glances were exchanged. The speaker's face was illuminated now, a mirror. He wore a dark, ripped guise that hid most of his facial features. Scars covered his muzzle, it seemed slightly crooked too. A large fang erupted from the side of it, a bit of dried blood stained on the tip.
The was some murmuring but no dragon seemed completely with or against campfire stories. Overall, seemed like a better alternative that doing nothing all night.
The mirror seemed to put on a slight grin, but quickly vanquished it. It was most likely another trick of the dim light casting a ray over his fangs.
A tongue flicked out. A putrid green, a classic plague colouration.
"If you're sure then." He whispered.
"We were venturing to the plaguelands,, me and my buds, we always wanted to visit. Loved the culture y'know? And finally we all saved enough gems for the expenses, motels and travel. It was going great. We travelled through the Wandering Contagion just fine. Had a bunch of fun, then its when we reached the outskirts of it when it started to go downhill...
The sun was setting. You wouldn't call it pretty, just some dull orange sky and an annoying temperature between a numb coolness and baking heat of the ground. We were skipping along, kicking the skin-like rotten ground. Having a good time like old friends do, eh?
A rumbling came, pure shaking. We heard some shrieks from nearby locals. Panic rose through nearby, a few stray red-eyed dragons scrambled through a half-eaten carcass and rushed by us.
"What's up? What's happening?" My friend Falcus called.
"They're here!" A panicked wildclaw yelped.
"Who?"
"The Contaminators!"
The rumbling increased as stampedes of dragons rushed by, my friends and I were pulled by the crowd, ushered in a confusing, manic time. I don't remember much but I can tell you it wasn't pretty. I still have scars and hear the screams from the dragons that day.
Finally it slowed down, everyone was huddled in a broken down building. Barely anything could be seen through the cracks. The only noticeable thing was the scrape of claws, from outside. They sounded deep, sharp, digging into the wasteland. Irregular. There was no wind. No creaks. No nothing. Just the scrape of claws.
My friends and I assumed this was some gang, a band of bandits, robbing the town of the edge of the Contagion. Nothing more. Soon after a minute of dead silence, the town's people stumbled up and walked out as if nothing happened.
I stumbled up and approached a snapper. The young drake looked fine, humming a tune and collecting her stuff together. But, confused as I was, I attempted to speak.
"Ma'am, what happened out there?"
She completely ignored me, not even glancing up, as if I were a ghost. I sighed, assuming she was some weirdo - maybe even deaf - and turned to another dragon. A large old guardian laughing and talking to an equally old but quite small fae. They seemed to have missed nothing, happy and not even showing any signs of panic, cautiously I approached them.
The guardian turned to me with an old friendly smile; kind, happy eyes.
"What can I do for ya lad?"
"Nothing much, just wanted to know who the contaminators lot are?" I responded.
His face whitened for a second, before turning and not saying a thing. The fae talked back to him and the went back to talking and laughing: ignoring me.
At this, I should have took my lads and ran back to our homes, it was getting suspicious now.
But no,,, the worse was yet to come.
We continued along the wasteland. It was dark, ruthless and we barely made our first night, but alas we got there. We lit a campfire there, set up some tents and were gathering our things to make the night. We were all still pretty disturbed by the 'contaminators' but we managed to shrug it off and have a good laugh.
We were all asleep by then. But I was awoken by something. I wasn't sure what, as all I could tell was the damp scent of sweat and the thump-thump of my own heart, until I heard it. Beyond the snoring and worn breaths of my lads, there was a scratching. I can't really describe it, nor could I visualize what made it, but there was a scratching. Irregular prowling of a predator. Scratch, pause, scratch. I did nothing all night, just listening to the scratch as it creeped nearer, as it seemed.
Another dragon had woken up though, my old sky dancer mate, we made eye-contact. He nodded, he heard the sound too. More so, he wanted to go and investigate.
I wish I stopped him, but my paralyzed self watched my friend lift the flap of the tent and wander into pitch blackness, not moving until I heard the shriek.
It was like the type of noise when a creature of monstrosity came out of the darkness at night, strangling you as you try to call for help; yet know nobody will come to your aid. The noise rang in my ears, I wasn't able to make out what was happening in the moment, only the blood-curdling shriek of death and fear that rang through my mind; as it would forever.
I jumped to my senses, trying to put my friend's safety first. I leapt out and by now everyone had woken up, some out even before me. I let out a sigh of relief, I saw the sky dancer's silhouette out of the gloom, perfectly intact and my heat vision told me there was no injury and he was doing just fine; alive. I approached him further, being able to tell he was sobbing.
"Hey, what's up bud-"
He turned to me, and I saw with my own eyes, plague primal eyes. A dozen, gloopy leaking eye sockets scored onto his muzzle. It also had features of shadow primal; it was leaking immense amounts of goop around. To add onto the extremity it covered his whole face, and the eyes even spread down under his head- to the neck like some deformed version of multigaze. He tried to shriek again, but as its mouth opened the goop seemed to overtake it, stringing it together.
We had to get him to a doctor, we had to do something. Before I could try and calm him down, however, he ran. Ran off. Far away. Until I couldn't even make him out in my heat vision. This was my fault, I knew to be sure. And I couldn't even muster up the courage to run after him.
Everyone around was silent, we didn't have much else to do, however, so we just packed our things and left. Continued travelling.
Not much was said or done the next few days.
Then, we reached Rotrock Rim.
All I knew at that time was I must find out more about the Contaminators and what happened to my friend.
The Rotrock' was far busier than we anticipated but we were all fine with it. In a crowd you were safer it seemed. As we always do, we drifted to the local tavern. Dragons laughing with their mates and messing around were always easier to talk to, of course. Maybe we'd find our answers there.
As we strode in barely anyone batted an eye, I suppose non-locals were common here, though perhaps not as common as in the Wandering Contagion. Soon we found ourselves with food and drinks in hand and spread around the room, getting to know the bartender and the regulars. Everyone seemed relatively friendly as they were in the Wandering Contagion, I almost forgot about the Contaminators and my poor, sky dancer friend.
Almost.
The sky was about to turn to night, and was a dull grey-red colour. No stars or moons in sight.
I remembered the shrieks of him as he was converted into the monstrous primal-esque creature. I inhaled, turning to a good young imperial that seemed pretty friendly and honest.
"Hey, can you happen to tell me about-"
"Sure mate."
"The Contaminators?"
There was an uneasy silence, and his head turned for a minute, spotting a game of Truth or Dare sparkle up, he turned back to me.
"Maybe ask it as someone's 'truth' in Truth o' Dare? Just a bit of fun?" He gave a nervous laugh.
I wandered over, taking a seat. It was better than nothing I supposed.
Most of those in the tavern were now huddled around, as the game started. So far just asking about crushes, daring to lick the floor, and other common, mediocre questions and dares where happening. I would have enjoyed it, I supposed, but I was too focused on the question I just had to ask. I needed to know.
Finally, my turn to ask. A somewhat elderly female ridgeback was before me. She didn't look like she fitted in but everyone still treated her with a strong amount of respect.
"Truth or Dare?"
"I shall only speak the truth from the day I was born."
I supposed that meant truth and continued on.
"Who are the Contaminators?"
An uneasy rustle of the locals occurred, but nobody said anything. A few of my friends gave me a nod for trying to find out.
The answer seemed cryptic, I wasn't quite sure how to react to it. Yet I nodded, despite not knowing who 'she' or 'them' were.
The young imperial I asked before now was daring one of my friends - a fellow mirror lad. I wouldn't of cared much except what he dared them to do:
"Say 'Contaminate us' in the middle of the boneyard!" He had an almost evil looking sneer. But I assumed it was supposed to be a toothy grin, right?
Regardless, my friend thought nothing of it and strode out, most of my friends scuttling after. Did they not remember about the Contaminators? Nor see his expression?
The ridgeback was behind me now, I turned looking into her blood red eyes. Endless swirling scarlet.
"You must stop them before its too late, it is too dangerous."
I felt the opposite of how I should and did the opposite of what I was supposed to do. It is too dangerous? To say 'Contaminate us' in a boneyard? She was surely some mad lady, perhaps she wasn't respected but nobody wanted to be with her - and for a reason.
I ran out after my friends, laughing almost hysterically. Another mistake.
Of course we all yelled it- still laughing: "Contaminate us! Contaminate us!"
Another mirror lad of mine leant on a bone, laughing. We were pushing eachother around just as old mates do, when-
Well, I'd like to say it was quick. Painless. But, no.
The mirror who'd be leaning on the bone got- I don't know how to explain it but sucked in. The bone wrapped around his ribcage; suffocating him. The ground chewed at his feet and he started screaming. I was once again paralysed. In a state of fear so bad I couldn't control my own body.
I watched and watched as he flailed, trying to keep alive. His eyes were almost popping out of his head. Mouth held limp and wide open, trying to suck in oxygen. He stopped yelling now, no breath was left. Only a soft, helpless whimper as his head was dragged under, into the ground. His final gaze was on me. I couldn't get the picture of his immense struggle as he was absorbed into the ground out of my head. It would, as with the shrieks of my old sky dancer pal, haunt my nightmares forever.
Determination and adrenaline suddenly filled my muscles. I rushed over, clawing at the desolate ground to retrieve the mirror that had been dragged under. When suddenly I felt it. The bone by me tearing into my wing membrane. I don't know if I made a noise or not, but I didn't want to tug it out in fear of it ripping my wing further. Blood softly trickled down the bone. I was distracted looking at what had possibly happened to my wing when the ground pulled me down like quicksand. I tried to stand ahead of it, move my feet up and out yet I found no stable footing. Whenever I tried to move I just got more stuck. The ground that was once solid against my claws pulled me in. I flared my loose wing and raised my fins, this time indefinitely shrieking a cry for help. None came though. I couldn't hear anything above the blood ringing in my ears and my heart thumping to escape. The bone that had pierced my wing was leaning in now, pushing me in. I felt ribcages and phalanges; femurs and craniums pushing into me. Trapping me. Caging me into a position where I couldn't escape and I was fed into the land. I felt as hopeless as a mouse trapped in a dragon's claws. Held tight in a larger force that was just toying with you. Waiting for the chance to finally go in for the kill.
It was up to my chest now. My legs crying under the pressure of the ground and piles upon piles of bones. The thing that hurt the most though, was my wing. Impaled through the middle by a sharpened string of vertebrae it hung. I couldn't move it without feeling like jolts of fire streamed through my bloodstream. I couldn't handle it anymore and my conscious faded.
I saw a bright light. Some dragons say when they nearly die they see a light tunnel. I wouldn't describe it as a tunnel however, more just whiteness of the afterlife boring into your body.
I somehow found the strength to turn away from the light and saw the faint silhouette of a guardian and a spiral. I also somehow made out a noise; a murmur of talking. They turned back to me.
"Good you're awake lad." The guardian said, pushing me back into a more stable position.
"Nearly lost you there, you're lucky. Unlike- well,,, just drink."
I only managed to let out a soft grunt of reply and sipped from the cup placed at my lips. It wasn't quite water, probably some cold herbal brew.
After drinking gallons, I regained awareness of my surroundings. The place would be considered a witchdoctor's hut. It was some strange mix of a very modern hospital like those in lightning and an old witch's hut from those plant-obsessed nature dragons. The spiral wore casual clothes with an addition of some bone-carved jewellery and the guardian - I assume the witchdoctor - wore a patched up lab coat with stains I didn't want to know what from. They turned back to me with a minor discussion between them finished.
"Your wing, ah, I've done what I can but you being able to fly for awhile - or even ever again - is unlikely. The bone punctured a number of major veins and arteries in the membrane. Being able to flex it will be extremely painful and awkward. If you return to lightning, nature, arcane or honestly anywhere they will have better healing resources than we hold here. Plague,,, not too big on the healing thing y'know? I suggest covering up to avoid dragons treating you as a weakling or thieves targeting you."
I nodded at the guardian's advice. Not really taking in the fact I'd lost the ability of flight for possibly forever.
"My friends?" I asked.
They both sighed, before looking up at me.
"Well, we were only able to recover four dragons from the ground. One died in our service, another mirror - he had wasp and bee genes. He had fatal wounds. Another mirror was in critical condition, they've been transferred to a more major healthcare centre - The Survivor's Guardian. If they are judged to not make it, they'll be sent to the Mother's Little Hatchlings Hospice.
Your tundra friend, though it seems, is doing great. He clung onto a bone and used it to force his way up."
As much as they attempted to make the good news outnumber the bad, I was faced with a terrifying reality:
Almost all 8 of my friends had died.
I felt like it was harder to breathe now than even when I was almost pulled under the ground. This was meant to be our holiday, a fun time and only 3 of us had made it. One of which was likely to die.
Tears formed at the edges of my eyes, the guardian looked at me with pity, the spiral with regret. They tried to comfort me but I heard nothing but my own sobs.
I did hear another voice, calling from the very deep corners of my mind. The corners of lost and forgotten memories. Of triggering times that haunt your life.
I decided to ignore it.
Another mistake to add to the list I suppose."
The mirror added with a slight tone of humour despite the horrible circumstances. Nobody said anything, but they all felt that tinge of fear. They had heard enough despair and didn't want to hear anymore, but at the same time wished to know the conclusion to this unfortunate tale.
"The doctor brought me back to life, with a simple instruction of sorts:
"You and your tundra buddy should head to The Survivor's Guardian and ask about your friend. If they've recovered you need to help them back to wherever you live and if they've died or been transferred to the hospice you should stay with them there."
I nodded, though still daunted by the events of the 'holiday'.
It seemed after ages of hearing screams and disease ridden faces tear at me, I woke up again. I hadn't even stayed there for over a day - hadn't even finished my nap - and wanted to leave. I was about to try and go back to sleep as I had for who knows how long when I saw a tundra staring down at me, with a large smile. I felt some relief at that, my good lad was still up and standing. I stumbled up, forcing myself to be happy. Just forget everything.
"We're at the Wyrmwound now, and we need to go pick up you-know-who from the "Survivor's getaway" or something."
I nodded, I appreciated him not saying their name, I could barely handle my own physical pain; losing most of my friends was heartbreaking.
"I saw a mural that is kind of like a map down the street, we can go have a look at that."
We wandered out the witchdoctor's place, bid goodbye and padded down the street. It looked strangely organised, rich, and even a nice place for non-plague dragons. It looked like some place you'd find it light, maybe even nature, spare the decorations and overall colour scheme.
I felt watched, scared, my fins raised up occasionally and I quickly huddled behind my friend. Finally, we reached what was something between a map and a mural. It was obviously for navigation purposes but also followed all key-points of a mural. It was relatively easy to see that the "Survivor's Guardian" was opposite to where we were; we'd have to take the long way round or cut through by the Wyrmwound itself.
"We should go through here." My claw traced a pathway by the Wyrmwound, "It's the shortest and least complicated trip."
"Are you sure you want to go that way?..." I saw in his eyes; fear. I felt it too. However, I nodded.
"It's the quickest, I want to get out of here and fast."
We both wanted to leave understandably, so he didn't argue.
"Let's go then."
We already were on the path at a fast pace, wanting to get there before dark. Both unnerved. Nothing bad happened though. That was until, of course, we reached where you could finally see the large cauldron of the Plaguebringer. Its spikes rose in the distance, though we were quite a bit away from it to avoid accidently being infected by the terrible diseases and killed. Then, my companion stopped. His ears flicking.
"Do you hear that?"
"No-"
He quickly rushed off to some noise. I wanted to grab him back, stop him but I couldn't find the strength. Just stared as he tumbled off the path and heard a large yelp of pain. Not wanting to lose another friend, I forced myself to run after.
He was clearly alive, but was also in discomfort. I blinked at him. My heat vision told me he had an injured back leg from the fall. The Wyrmwound loomed closer.
"It's okay, don't worry. It'll be alright-- uh, I'll get-"
"Don't you hear it?" His eyes were wide, like they were filled with insanity.
"Hear-" I paused, this time actually trying to listen. And I heard it. The irregular scratch of claws. They sounded deep, sharp, digging into the wasteland. There was no wind. No creaks. No nothing. Just the scrape of claws.
"Don't you see them?" His head turned, staring at the Wyrmwound.
I didn't make them out at first, but then I saw them. The silhouettes that resembled a wildclaw. As if the plague creator attempted to copy her sister. They were more jagged, with far larger claws. Their wings were shredded and even more so they leaked. Goop foamed at the mouths, dropped down the sides and covered their body. No single one was the same, each baring more resemblance to another breed. Like the wildclaw-like creature with parts of a guardian, a snapper, or most of the time mirrors. They moved in a half-slither, half-bound. The ones that slithered were scarier though. Their necks looking up in an uncanny position, tilted to the side slightly as if broken. Their hind legs stuck up from having larger back legs, and small front. They used their wings sort of like a demonic wyvern, used as an extra pair of limbs. As one approached closer in the setting sky, I could see it now: eyes covering almost every inch of scale. Meaty flesh where it was missing and goop leaking out like a sewer was unplugged. The one that approached could only be described as not properly cooked. Not finished. As if Plague Mother needed to drop it in her cauldron a bit longer. It had a skydancer arm and a wildclaw arm. Some partially developed spines and a half-fallen off skydancer tail that seemed cut of circulation - limp. As it spotted me and my tundra pal it's mouth opened up, covered in goop like my own skydancer lad's was.
Then it came to me.
The colouration.
The way it stumbled.
The way it seemed to recognise me.
It was him.
I scrambled back, hissing. It approached and turned to my companion. He was limp now, I now saw his bloodloss from an injury that slipped my sight earlier. His eyes stared at me, unblinking as his breaths rattled.
Save me, the gaze said.
I couldn't. I could only watch as the monstrous skydancer-wildclaw creature engulfed him in goop, until what was left was only an infected specimen of a partial tundra.
Another creature turned beside me. This one was stronger, "properly cooked" you could say. It stood upright far above me. It had less eyes, less of the strange flesh around its eyes, but it seemed scarier. It had one single eye in the middle of its forehead.
It seemed feminine. The jawbone was etched away and it had a pale frame of what was, it seemed whatever had infected this dragon decided it wouldn't need to chew, or bite or use its mouth for any other purpose than storing more of the vile goop. I stared deeply into its eyes and I saw something.
It wasn't a beg for mercy, a life that once was or anything cliché...
But rather a goal. Determination. Not of that of a dragon, but from something stronger. A collective force.
A virus.
Something that made dragons only have one goal in mind. One thing they must complete. It wasn't that the dragons themselves were zombified or turned into some form of monster.
No.
It simply changed the goal in a dragon's head, from whatever dreams they had to something else.
To contaminate.
To become, the ultimate contaminator."
The dragons around the campfire seemed unnerved just as the dragon telling the story once was. All disturbed by the story, that was also claimed to be true.
"Well, what happened next?" Asked a curious young nocturne. He seemed like he'd be a good dragon if he had the chance to grow up, he looked smart yet handsome. Small but by no means inferior.
"I ran, as fast as I could. Away. Tried to forget it all."
"That's it? A terrifying story, where you were just being cornered by a contaminator, and you just,,,, ran away?" He blinked. "How did you get away in time? Wildclaws are faster than mirrors, assumably a bunch of contaminators would be too, and you can't even fly."
He looked up at the nocturne, clearly annoyed. "Would you rather hear a story about me just running away in fear or another ghost story? I told you the truth and that's all you're getting."
Everyone was silent for a moment, before a gaoler began, "Well, I have this tale that-"
"Wait!" Called the nocturne, all eyes focused on him.
"You say this is a true tale, and I don't doubt that. Yet, whenever you show a strong emotion it tends to have a physical response like 'I raised my fins'. You seem to have a severe lack of things that you see with your heat vision and you never mention any of your friends in name or even much detail.
Yet you describe the contaminators in such detail, the moments where you're being attacked in every agonizing moment. You don't even flinch at mentioning some of your 'best lads' die like you supposedly do in the story.
The ridgeback's voice you hear in your head you always ignore and has no reasonable explanation, which at least the contaminators do somewhat. Almost as if it was added in to make things scarier-
I thought I was being paranoid yet I see it now. When you looked up at me, I undoubtedly saw a variation of plague primal. All over the face dripping goop as you described. Hidden under your guise and other apparel.
This story is true, but it was told based on an onlooker's sight.
Someone who started looking in, from when the contaminators first attacked, so why the backstory was very brief.
You're not the protagonist of this story. At least, not anymore are you?"
All eyes turned to the mirror's direction, the huddled dragon was clearly smiling. The mouth extended far from where it should have ended, the trail of teeth all the way up to the fin. Each tooth leaking goop from the cracks.
Silence fell around the campfire.
Entry #: 1
This one's a bit short but my poems are always kinda short so sorry about that^^
Title: Contamination
Category: Poem, Pens for plague
Completed? Y/N: Yes
Part one:
A dusted wasteland seeming to lack many a species,
Old and new scars in the ground; the struggle of enemies.
Lost in rotting trails of carrion,
Trudging through, unknowing of the location.
Shifty eyes glaring from the dark,
Blistering bones that have certainly left their mark.
Very few live through this torturous boneyard,
If you're here you've played your final card.
For if you see your destination;
At a cauldron of horrors, bubbling as it spreads the endless Contamination.
Part two:
Several eyes staring from shelter;
Rugged and stretched skin beginning to swelter.
Focused on the scavenging prey,
Who would be lucky to see the next day.
Mutated predators following in a pack,
Built only to attack.
The survivors, watching, hiding within the bones of their foes,
Too busy focusing on their own woes.
The disorganised mess of Plaguebringer's experimentation:
Ready to spread the endless Contamination.
Entry #: 2
Title: Campfire.
Category: Spooky, Prose
Completed? Y/N: Yes
Link:
Silence fell around the campfire.
A little less than a dozen huddled beside the pitiful flames. Their eyes scanned others; they all had a reason to be here. None wished to say it. It was a dark time, not to mention that numb coldness that wasn't too cool to make you shiver nor to say it was an average temperature. The sparks only illuminated the silhouettes of each dragon. So only the sharp features of the face and the glaring gazes could be seen. It seemed like an eternity that nobody moved, just scanned what they could make out in the dim light.
A masculine coatl tried to break the deafening lack of noise, a simple joke. It got a few huffs of momentary laughter, but nothing that sounded genuine or brightened up. The dragons went back to being sombre again, the joke seemed to only remind them of their formerly happy past. Which was a topic it seemed every serpent and drake wished to avoid.
Finally, the crackling of the heat was interrupted. A harsh voice. It had a texture like a crackle, sharp and jolting. A slight lisp on a soft S. It could be imagined as formerly stern, now seeming like a senior's voice. The type that gave you hard but true advice. Though it also seemed deeper than that, like it had a history. A past. A hard time. Nonetheless, it had several layers to it, and it would take a good deal of talking to figure it out.
"Listen, no point trying to lighten the mood. Sayin' anything else will just darken it. So let's go along with it. Eh? Campfire stories. Not just the made up junk. But the real thing. The thing that rocks your spine, eh? And I got a story. All real."
Glances were exchanged. The speaker's face was illuminated now, a mirror. He wore a dark, ripped guise that hid most of his facial features. Scars covered his muzzle, it seemed slightly crooked too. A large fang erupted from the side of it, a bit of dried blood stained on the tip.
The was some murmuring but no dragon seemed completely with or against campfire stories. Overall, seemed like a better alternative that doing nothing all night.
The mirror seemed to put on a slight grin, but quickly vanquished it. It was most likely another trick of the dim light casting a ray over his fangs.
A tongue flicked out. A putrid green, a classic plague colouration.
"If you're sure then." He whispered.
"We were venturing to the plaguelands,, me and my buds, we always wanted to visit. Loved the culture y'know? And finally we all saved enough gems for the expenses, motels and travel. It was going great. We travelled through the Wandering Contagion just fine. Had a bunch of fun, then its when we reached the outskirts of it when it started to go downhill...
The sun was setting. You wouldn't call it pretty, just some dull orange sky and an annoying temperature between a numb coolness and baking heat of the ground. We were skipping along, kicking the skin-like rotten ground. Having a good time like old friends do, eh?
A rumbling came, pure shaking. We heard some shrieks from nearby locals. Panic rose through nearby, a few stray red-eyed dragons scrambled through a half-eaten carcass and rushed by us.
"What's up? What's happening?" My friend Falcus called.
"They're here!" A panicked wildclaw yelped.
"Who?"
"The Contaminators!"
The rumbling increased as stampedes of dragons rushed by, my friends and I were pulled by the crowd, ushered in a confusing, manic time. I don't remember much but I can tell you it wasn't pretty. I still have scars and hear the screams from the dragons that day.
Finally it slowed down, everyone was huddled in a broken down building. Barely anything could be seen through the cracks. The only noticeable thing was the scrape of claws, from outside. They sounded deep, sharp, digging into the wasteland. Irregular. There was no wind. No creaks. No nothing. Just the scrape of claws.
My friends and I assumed this was some gang, a band of bandits, robbing the town of the edge of the Contagion. Nothing more. Soon after a minute of dead silence, the town's people stumbled up and walked out as if nothing happened.
I stumbled up and approached a snapper. The young drake looked fine, humming a tune and collecting her stuff together. But, confused as I was, I attempted to speak.
"Ma'am, what happened out there?"
She completely ignored me, not even glancing up, as if I were a ghost. I sighed, assuming she was some weirdo - maybe even deaf - and turned to another dragon. A large old guardian laughing and talking to an equally old but quite small fae. They seemed to have missed nothing, happy and not even showing any signs of panic, cautiously I approached them.
The guardian turned to me with an old friendly smile; kind, happy eyes.
"What can I do for ya lad?"
"Nothing much, just wanted to know who the contaminators lot are?" I responded.
His face whitened for a second, before turning and not saying a thing. The fae talked back to him and the went back to talking and laughing: ignoring me.
At this, I should have took my lads and ran back to our homes, it was getting suspicious now.
But no,,, the worse was yet to come.
We continued along the wasteland. It was dark, ruthless and we barely made our first night, but alas we got there. We lit a campfire there, set up some tents and were gathering our things to make the night. We were all still pretty disturbed by the 'contaminators' but we managed to shrug it off and have a good laugh.
We were all asleep by then. But I was awoken by something. I wasn't sure what, as all I could tell was the damp scent of sweat and the thump-thump of my own heart, until I heard it. Beyond the snoring and worn breaths of my lads, there was a scratching. I can't really describe it, nor could I visualize what made it, but there was a scratching. Irregular prowling of a predator. Scratch, pause, scratch. I did nothing all night, just listening to the scratch as it creeped nearer, as it seemed.
Another dragon had woken up though, my old sky dancer mate, we made eye-contact. He nodded, he heard the sound too. More so, he wanted to go and investigate.
I wish I stopped him, but my paralyzed self watched my friend lift the flap of the tent and wander into pitch blackness, not moving until I heard the shriek.
It was like the type of noise when a creature of monstrosity came out of the darkness at night, strangling you as you try to call for help; yet know nobody will come to your aid. The noise rang in my ears, I wasn't able to make out what was happening in the moment, only the blood-curdling shriek of death and fear that rang through my mind; as it would forever.
I jumped to my senses, trying to put my friend's safety first. I leapt out and by now everyone had woken up, some out even before me. I let out a sigh of relief, I saw the sky dancer's silhouette out of the gloom, perfectly intact and my heat vision told me there was no injury and he was doing just fine; alive. I approached him further, being able to tell he was sobbing.
"Hey, what's up bud-"
He turned to me, and I saw with my own eyes, plague primal eyes. A dozen, gloopy leaking eye sockets scored onto his muzzle. It also had features of shadow primal; it was leaking immense amounts of goop around. To add onto the extremity it covered his whole face, and the eyes even spread down under his head- to the neck like some deformed version of multigaze. He tried to shriek again, but as its mouth opened the goop seemed to overtake it, stringing it together.
We had to get him to a doctor, we had to do something. Before I could try and calm him down, however, he ran. Ran off. Far away. Until I couldn't even make him out in my heat vision. This was my fault, I knew to be sure. And I couldn't even muster up the courage to run after him.
Everyone around was silent, we didn't have much else to do, however, so we just packed our things and left. Continued travelling.
Not much was said or done the next few days.
Then, we reached Rotrock Rim.
All I knew at that time was I must find out more about the Contaminators and what happened to my friend.
The Rotrock' was far busier than we anticipated but we were all fine with it. In a crowd you were safer it seemed. As we always do, we drifted to the local tavern. Dragons laughing with their mates and messing around were always easier to talk to, of course. Maybe we'd find our answers there.
As we strode in barely anyone batted an eye, I suppose non-locals were common here, though perhaps not as common as in the Wandering Contagion. Soon we found ourselves with food and drinks in hand and spread around the room, getting to know the bartender and the regulars. Everyone seemed relatively friendly as they were in the Wandering Contagion, I almost forgot about the Contaminators and my poor, sky dancer friend.
Almost.
The sky was about to turn to night, and was a dull grey-red colour. No stars or moons in sight.
I remembered the shrieks of him as he was converted into the monstrous primal-esque creature. I inhaled, turning to a good young imperial that seemed pretty friendly and honest.
"Hey, can you happen to tell me about-"
"Sure mate."
"The Contaminators?"
There was an uneasy silence, and his head turned for a minute, spotting a game of Truth or Dare sparkle up, he turned back to me.
"Maybe ask it as someone's 'truth' in Truth o' Dare? Just a bit of fun?" He gave a nervous laugh.
I wandered over, taking a seat. It was better than nothing I supposed.
Most of those in the tavern were now huddled around, as the game started. So far just asking about crushes, daring to lick the floor, and other common, mediocre questions and dares where happening. I would have enjoyed it, I supposed, but I was too focused on the question I just had to ask. I needed to know.
Finally, my turn to ask. A somewhat elderly female ridgeback was before me. She didn't look like she fitted in but everyone still treated her with a strong amount of respect.
"Truth or Dare?"
"I shall only speak the truth from the day I was born."
I supposed that meant truth and continued on.
"Who are the Contaminators?"
An uneasy rustle of the locals occurred, but nobody said anything. A few of my friends gave me a nod for trying to find out.
"Sometimes, even she is scared of them"
The answer seemed cryptic, I wasn't quite sure how to react to it. Yet I nodded, despite not knowing who 'she' or 'them' were.
The young imperial I asked before now was daring one of my friends - a fellow mirror lad. I wouldn't of cared much except what he dared them to do:
"Say 'Contaminate us' in the middle of the boneyard!" He had an almost evil looking sneer. But I assumed it was supposed to be a toothy grin, right?
Regardless, my friend thought nothing of it and strode out, most of my friends scuttling after. Did they not remember about the Contaminators? Nor see his expression?
The ridgeback was behind me now, I turned looking into her blood red eyes. Endless swirling scarlet.
"You must stop them before its too late, it is too dangerous."
I felt the opposite of how I should and did the opposite of what I was supposed to do. It is too dangerous? To say 'Contaminate us' in a boneyard? She was surely some mad lady, perhaps she wasn't respected but nobody wanted to be with her - and for a reason.
I ran out after my friends, laughing almost hysterically. Another mistake.
Of course we all yelled it- still laughing: "Contaminate us! Contaminate us!"
Another mirror lad of mine leant on a bone, laughing. We were pushing eachother around just as old mates do, when-
Well, I'd like to say it was quick. Painless. But, no.
The mirror who'd be leaning on the bone got- I don't know how to explain it but sucked in. The bone wrapped around his ribcage; suffocating him. The ground chewed at his feet and he started screaming. I was once again paralysed. In a state of fear so bad I couldn't control my own body.
I watched and watched as he flailed, trying to keep alive. His eyes were almost popping out of his head. Mouth held limp and wide open, trying to suck in oxygen. He stopped yelling now, no breath was left. Only a soft, helpless whimper as his head was dragged under, into the ground. His final gaze was on me. I couldn't get the picture of his immense struggle as he was absorbed into the ground out of my head. It would, as with the shrieks of my old sky dancer pal, haunt my nightmares forever.
Determination and adrenaline suddenly filled my muscles. I rushed over, clawing at the desolate ground to retrieve the mirror that had been dragged under. When suddenly I felt it. The bone by me tearing into my wing membrane. I don't know if I made a noise or not, but I didn't want to tug it out in fear of it ripping my wing further. Blood softly trickled down the bone. I was distracted looking at what had possibly happened to my wing when the ground pulled me down like quicksand. I tried to stand ahead of it, move my feet up and out yet I found no stable footing. Whenever I tried to move I just got more stuck. The ground that was once solid against my claws pulled me in. I flared my loose wing and raised my fins, this time indefinitely shrieking a cry for help. None came though. I couldn't hear anything above the blood ringing in my ears and my heart thumping to escape. The bone that had pierced my wing was leaning in now, pushing me in. I felt ribcages and phalanges; femurs and craniums pushing into me. Trapping me. Caging me into a position where I couldn't escape and I was fed into the land. I felt as hopeless as a mouse trapped in a dragon's claws. Held tight in a larger force that was just toying with you. Waiting for the chance to finally go in for the kill.
It was up to my chest now. My legs crying under the pressure of the ground and piles upon piles of bones. The thing that hurt the most though, was my wing. Impaled through the middle by a sharpened string of vertebrae it hung. I couldn't move it without feeling like jolts of fire streamed through my bloodstream. I couldn't handle it anymore and my conscious faded.
I saw a bright light. Some dragons say when they nearly die they see a light tunnel. I wouldn't describe it as a tunnel however, more just whiteness of the afterlife boring into your body.
I somehow found the strength to turn away from the light and saw the faint silhouette of a guardian and a spiral. I also somehow made out a noise; a murmur of talking. They turned back to me.
"Good you're awake lad." The guardian said, pushing me back into a more stable position.
"Nearly lost you there, you're lucky. Unlike- well,,, just drink."
I only managed to let out a soft grunt of reply and sipped from the cup placed at my lips. It wasn't quite water, probably some cold herbal brew.
After drinking gallons, I regained awareness of my surroundings. The place would be considered a witchdoctor's hut. It was some strange mix of a very modern hospital like those in lightning and an old witch's hut from those plant-obsessed nature dragons. The spiral wore casual clothes with an addition of some bone-carved jewellery and the guardian - I assume the witchdoctor - wore a patched up lab coat with stains I didn't want to know what from. They turned back to me with a minor discussion between them finished.
"Your wing, ah, I've done what I can but you being able to fly for awhile - or even ever again - is unlikely. The bone punctured a number of major veins and arteries in the membrane. Being able to flex it will be extremely painful and awkward. If you return to lightning, nature, arcane or honestly anywhere they will have better healing resources than we hold here. Plague,,, not too big on the healing thing y'know? I suggest covering up to avoid dragons treating you as a weakling or thieves targeting you."
I nodded at the guardian's advice. Not really taking in the fact I'd lost the ability of flight for possibly forever.
"My friends?" I asked.
They both sighed, before looking up at me.
"Well, we were only able to recover four dragons from the ground. One died in our service, another mirror - he had wasp and bee genes. He had fatal wounds. Another mirror was in critical condition, they've been transferred to a more major healthcare centre - The Survivor's Guardian. If they are judged to not make it, they'll be sent to the Mother's Little Hatchlings Hospice.
Your tundra friend, though it seems, is doing great. He clung onto a bone and used it to force his way up."
As much as they attempted to make the good news outnumber the bad, I was faced with a terrifying reality:
Almost all 8 of my friends had died.
I felt like it was harder to breathe now than even when I was almost pulled under the ground. This was meant to be our holiday, a fun time and only 3 of us had made it. One of which was likely to die.
Tears formed at the edges of my eyes, the guardian looked at me with pity, the spiral with regret. They tried to comfort me but I heard nothing but my own sobs.
I did hear another voice, calling from the very deep corners of my mind. The corners of lost and forgotten memories. Of triggering times that haunt your life.
"They never forget a request."
It was the voice of that female ridgeback from aeons ago it seemed. I didn't know what to do. Should I tell the doctor and the spiral what I heard? But wouldn't they just send me to the nearest mental asylum?I decided to ignore it.
Another mistake to add to the list I suppose."
The mirror added with a slight tone of humour despite the horrible circumstances. Nobody said anything, but they all felt that tinge of fear. They had heard enough despair and didn't want to hear anymore, but at the same time wished to know the conclusion to this unfortunate tale.
"The doctor brought me back to life, with a simple instruction of sorts:
"You and your tundra buddy should head to The Survivor's Guardian and ask about your friend. If they've recovered you need to help them back to wherever you live and if they've died or been transferred to the hospice you should stay with them there."
I nodded, though still daunted by the events of the 'holiday'.
It seemed after ages of hearing screams and disease ridden faces tear at me, I woke up again. I hadn't even stayed there for over a day - hadn't even finished my nap - and wanted to leave. I was about to try and go back to sleep as I had for who knows how long when I saw a tundra staring down at me, with a large smile. I felt some relief at that, my good lad was still up and standing. I stumbled up, forcing myself to be happy. Just forget everything.
"We're at the Wyrmwound now, and we need to go pick up you-know-who from the "Survivor's getaway" or something."
I nodded, I appreciated him not saying their name, I could barely handle my own physical pain; losing most of my friends was heartbreaking.
"I saw a mural that is kind of like a map down the street, we can go have a look at that."
We wandered out the witchdoctor's place, bid goodbye and padded down the street. It looked strangely organised, rich, and even a nice place for non-plague dragons. It looked like some place you'd find it light, maybe even nature, spare the decorations and overall colour scheme.
I felt watched, scared, my fins raised up occasionally and I quickly huddled behind my friend. Finally, we reached what was something between a map and a mural. It was obviously for navigation purposes but also followed all key-points of a mural. It was relatively easy to see that the "Survivor's Guardian" was opposite to where we were; we'd have to take the long way round or cut through by the Wyrmwound itself.
"We should go through here." My claw traced a pathway by the Wyrmwound, "It's the shortest and least complicated trip."
"Are you sure you want to go that way?..." I saw in his eyes; fear. I felt it too. However, I nodded.
"It's the quickest, I want to get out of here and fast."
We both wanted to leave understandably, so he didn't argue.
"Let's go then."
We already were on the path at a fast pace, wanting to get there before dark. Both unnerved. Nothing bad happened though. That was until, of course, we reached where you could finally see the large cauldron of the Plaguebringer. Its spikes rose in the distance, though we were quite a bit away from it to avoid accidently being infected by the terrible diseases and killed. Then, my companion stopped. His ears flicking.
"Do you hear that?"
"No-"
He quickly rushed off to some noise. I wanted to grab him back, stop him but I couldn't find the strength. Just stared as he tumbled off the path and heard a large yelp of pain. Not wanting to lose another friend, I forced myself to run after.
He was clearly alive, but was also in discomfort. I blinked at him. My heat vision told me he had an injured back leg from the fall. The Wyrmwound loomed closer.
"It's okay, don't worry. It'll be alright-- uh, I'll get-"
"Don't you hear it?" His eyes were wide, like they were filled with insanity.
"Hear-" I paused, this time actually trying to listen. And I heard it. The irregular scratch of claws. They sounded deep, sharp, digging into the wasteland. There was no wind. No creaks. No nothing. Just the scrape of claws.
"Don't you see them?" His head turned, staring at the Wyrmwound.
I didn't make them out at first, but then I saw them. The silhouettes that resembled a wildclaw. As if the plague creator attempted to copy her sister. They were more jagged, with far larger claws. Their wings were shredded and even more so they leaked. Goop foamed at the mouths, dropped down the sides and covered their body. No single one was the same, each baring more resemblance to another breed. Like the wildclaw-like creature with parts of a guardian, a snapper, or most of the time mirrors. They moved in a half-slither, half-bound. The ones that slithered were scarier though. Their necks looking up in an uncanny position, tilted to the side slightly as if broken. Their hind legs stuck up from having larger back legs, and small front. They used their wings sort of like a demonic wyvern, used as an extra pair of limbs. As one approached closer in the setting sky, I could see it now: eyes covering almost every inch of scale. Meaty flesh where it was missing and goop leaking out like a sewer was unplugged. The one that approached could only be described as not properly cooked. Not finished. As if Plague Mother needed to drop it in her cauldron a bit longer. It had a skydancer arm and a wildclaw arm. Some partially developed spines and a half-fallen off skydancer tail that seemed cut of circulation - limp. As it spotted me and my tundra pal it's mouth opened up, covered in goop like my own skydancer lad's was.
Then it came to me.
The colouration.
The way it stumbled.
The way it seemed to recognise me.
It was him.
I scrambled back, hissing. It approached and turned to my companion. He was limp now, I now saw his bloodloss from an injury that slipped my sight earlier. His eyes stared at me, unblinking as his breaths rattled.
Save me, the gaze said.
I couldn't. I could only watch as the monstrous skydancer-wildclaw creature engulfed him in goop, until what was left was only an infected specimen of a partial tundra.
Another creature turned beside me. This one was stronger, "properly cooked" you could say. It stood upright far above me. It had less eyes, less of the strange flesh around its eyes, but it seemed scarier. It had one single eye in the middle of its forehead.
It seemed feminine. The jawbone was etched away and it had a pale frame of what was, it seemed whatever had infected this dragon decided it wouldn't need to chew, or bite or use its mouth for any other purpose than storing more of the vile goop. I stared deeply into its eyes and I saw something.
It wasn't a beg for mercy, a life that once was or anything cliché...
But rather a goal. Determination. Not of that of a dragon, but from something stronger. A collective force.
A virus.
Something that made dragons only have one goal in mind. One thing they must complete. It wasn't that the dragons themselves were zombified or turned into some form of monster.
No.
It simply changed the goal in a dragon's head, from whatever dreams they had to something else.
To contaminate.
To become, the ultimate contaminator."
The dragons around the campfire seemed unnerved just as the dragon telling the story once was. All disturbed by the story, that was also claimed to be true.
"Well, what happened next?" Asked a curious young nocturne. He seemed like he'd be a good dragon if he had the chance to grow up, he looked smart yet handsome. Small but by no means inferior.
"I ran, as fast as I could. Away. Tried to forget it all."
"That's it? A terrifying story, where you were just being cornered by a contaminator, and you just,,,, ran away?" He blinked. "How did you get away in time? Wildclaws are faster than mirrors, assumably a bunch of contaminators would be too, and you can't even fly."
He looked up at the nocturne, clearly annoyed. "Would you rather hear a story about me just running away in fear or another ghost story? I told you the truth and that's all you're getting."
Everyone was silent for a moment, before a gaoler began, "Well, I have this tale that-"
"Wait!" Called the nocturne, all eyes focused on him.
"You say this is a true tale, and I don't doubt that. Yet, whenever you show a strong emotion it tends to have a physical response like 'I raised my fins'. You seem to have a severe lack of things that you see with your heat vision and you never mention any of your friends in name or even much detail.
Yet you describe the contaminators in such detail, the moments where you're being attacked in every agonizing moment. You don't even flinch at mentioning some of your 'best lads' die like you supposedly do in the story.
The ridgeback's voice you hear in your head you always ignore and has no reasonable explanation, which at least the contaminators do somewhat. Almost as if it was added in to make things scarier-
I thought I was being paranoid yet I see it now. When you looked up at me, I undoubtedly saw a variation of plague primal. All over the face dripping goop as you described. Hidden under your guise and other apparel.
This story is true, but it was told based on an onlooker's sight.
Someone who started looking in, from when the contaminators first attacked, so why the backstory was very brief.
You're not the protagonist of this story. At least, not anymore are you?"
All eyes turned to the mirror's direction, the huddled dragon was clearly smiling. The mouth extended far from where it should have ended, the trail of teeth all the way up to the fin. Each tooth leaking goop from the cracks.
Silence fell around the campfire.
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- they/them - +8 FR time - Feel free to talk/ping! - Old UN: LemonySnaket |
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