Yellowfeather

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Forests were rare in the Shifting Expanse, but grow this one did—and its age, more than its depth and vitality, unnerved those who knew of it. For something so tremendous to endure for so long in this inhospitable land...It was no wonder the place was regarded with awe and fear.

Still, clans made their homes around it, as dragons sought the safety of the trees. Over the years, many of them came and went. There were many reasons why a clan would abandon its territory: tales of more prosperous lands, for example, or to honor an alliance...or to flee vicious beasts, natural disasters, and marauding Beastclans and dragons.

This last one could be particularly troublesome, and settlers learned not to immediately welcome outsiders. Yellowfeather’s village was one such clan. Despite having lived in the village his whole life, he had always been regarded with suspicion. He had not been hatched here; he’d never known his parents, and there was some discrepancy over whether they’d been travelers who’d abandoned him at the village, or if he’d been found and brought here by gatherers. Perhaps he had even been left behind by bandits, one of those unsavory clans who, if they did not steal, just outright extorted money from the villagers.

The children of the village were always spared these encounters, chivvied away by well-meaning adults. They wandered off to play—and despite their elders’ remonstrations, found themselves drawn to the forest just outside the walls. Or at least, Yellowfeather did. Dire warnings and unnerving tales hung about the place as thickly as a miasma, yet for him, it looked almost inviting—certainly more inviting than the village, where he was regarded with disdain, tolerated only when the other dragons needed him to perform chores. What did he have to fear from the forest, when what should have been “home” was already an unpleasant place?

Still, he wanted to belong, and so he stuck to the rules, even as the villagers’ tolerance of him diminished over the years. He followed the rules to the letter—and the day he finally broke them, it was through no fault of his own.

~ ~ ~
“W...Where are you taking me?” the young Pearlcatcher cried. He struggled feebly, but it was no use; the Snapper paid him no attention. The vaporous claws around her wings maintained their tight grasp on Yellowfeather. They felt like nothing at all, yet he couldn’t break away, and was hauled firmly through—

The forest. It towered around them, seemingly reaching into the cloudy sky. Unlike the silent dunes, it was alive with the chirr of insects, the songs of birds, the rustles of animals rushing through the undergrowth. All combined to form a strange, continuous song—all the more unnerving because Yellowfeather only rarely glimpsed the creatures who made these sounds.

He shied away from the Snapper guard. She stank of ginger and rosemary, and was hung with dully gleaming iron charms, strung on scarlet cords. The herbs were no perfume; she had put them on to ward away the things that dwelled in the forest. The things that Yellowfeather had long been warned about...and that he was now being taken to.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked—feebly, for he knew he would get no response. He never did—not even now, when it truly, desperately mattered.

It had all started when the wayfarers had come. Oh, sure, they called themselves that, but when they were gone, the villagers whispered of them as bandits.

They’d demanded a meal in the village hall and had been given one—but that night, there’d been a great commotion, plenty of things being smashed. The wayfarers had left the next morning, jeering belligerently and leaving shattered market stalls, bottles and pots, behind them.

The clan elders had shut themselves into a house after that—not the village hall, for that had been vandalized. Their discussion had left them with slumped wings and dark expressions, more of which had been directed at Yellowfeather over the succeeding days. Finally, that morning, the Snapper guard had plucked him out of his nest. He’d thought he was about to be scolded for some infraction, but she had grimly dragged him towards the woods—and the few dragons who’d been around had simply watched with uncaring eyes.

Now, up ahead, Yellowfeather spied a clearing. The sight of it suddenly filled him with dread, which was odd since it was not an eerie-looking place. It was actually quite lovely, seeming to shine silver in the light from the sky...

And then it hit him: All around him, the noises of the forest had abruptly stopped dead.

The phantom hands heaved him into the center of the glade. He landed hard, blinking dazedly at the mushrooms that ringed the clearing in a perfect, unbroken circle.

The Snapper started to chant. It began as a murmur at first, so low and deep that the ground vibrated beneath Yellowfeather’s feet. As he watched in terror, mist rose within the ring of mushrooms, and the forest around him became blurrier. As if it were now on the other side of a veil...or getting farther away...

The Snapper’s voice had been crescendoing, rising like an approaching earthquake. The chant abruptly ended, in a shout so loud Yellowfeather flinched, briefly shutting his eyes.

Something shifted in the air. He looked up again—and stared, stunned into silence, at the dragon hovering nearby.

He looked like a dragon: scaly, with four legs and wings. But he was smaller even than a Fae, with a fantastically long mane of swirling, silky hair. He was garbed in armor; Yellowfeather thought it was spiked, until he realized the thorny protrusions were part of the stranger’s body, jutting through clefts in the gleaming metal.

“I greet you, Sentinel,” rasped the Snapper. At the sound of her voice, the strange dragon turned, and his spear and sword unholstered themselves, hovering warningly in the air. The Snapper was unfazed, and she spoke again, in a lower tone this time. The Sentinel drew nearer to speak with her.

“...an offering...” Yellowfeather caught the words, and they filled him with ice-cold dread. He would have run, but he couldn’t—some supernatural force held him in place.

“...do not require a teind,” objected the Sentinel, and he shook his head. The Snapper spoke more firmly. Her gaze moved to Yellowfeather, burning with clear distaste. Yellowfeather was suddenly deathly frightened of her—more than of the strange Sentinel, the alien forest around them. He cringed back, his wings and tail wrapping tightly around himself and his pearl.

The Sentinel was silent for a long moment, and then he breathed a short, sharp huff, a sound that showed he’d made a decision. He handed the Snapper something that glittered: a small, golden sickle. One of her phantom hands took it, and experimentally, she severed a nearby leaf from its branch. It plopped to the ground as a honeyed cake—one that gleamed just a little too brightly, a little too invitingly....

She smiled a shark’s grin, cold and predatory. Without another word, she turned and began lumbering back towards the village. The sickle disappeared beneath her cloak of iron and scarlet.

“Come along, boy.” The soft, velvety voice was now directed towards Yellowfeather. He looked at the Sentinel, croaking, “Where?”

Beneath the Sentinel’s helmet, Yellowfeather caught a glimpse of a smile. And suddenly, all around them, the entire forest changed.

~ ~ ~
The mist didn’t just cover up the forest around them—it revealed a completely new one. Not just new in the sense that Yellowfeather had never seen it before, but new in that it was utterly alien. Arbors of darkness, bowers of blazing light, radiant forms flickering in the distance...

He realized the Sentinel was moving away from him. “Wait!” he gasped, blundering towards the armored dragon.

The Sentinel chuckled—and as smoothly as though they were in a dream, he grew so that he was now larger than the hatchling. Or had Yellowfeather shrunk, becoming smaller than him? The Pearlcatcher patted himself over with one paw, his pearl clutched protectively close.

“It’s nothing to be afraid of. The realm adjusts your perceptions to ease your passage through,” the Sentinel explained. Again, Yellowfeather caught a hint of that slightly amused smile.

“Who are you?” he whispered. The Sentinel chuckled quietly. “Names later, little one. There is someone whom I must introduce you to first. She already knows you’re here...but still, one must pay one’s respects.”

Yellowfeather hurried after him. The luminous land pulsated around them, and some of the glowing forms grew nearer—or bigger. They resolved themselves into dragons like the Sentinel, graceful beings with magnificent manes of hair. They looked curiously at the hatchling, but didn’t stop to chat.

“What are you?”

“We are known by many names. Perhaps the one you will be most comfortable with, for now, is the one appended to dragons with this shape. You may call us Veilspun.”

Yellowfeather was silent after that, instead trying to make sense of this strange new situation. He was no fool; he knew he’d been exchanged for...some magic spell? He remembered the golden sickle, the honeyed cake gleaming on the forest floor.

“We’re here,” the Sentinel said—and as if his words were a command, light flooded the space before them, rising up to delineate ornate double doors. He smiled again at Yellowfeather and said, a bit more casually, “Keep your chin up, boy.”

And with that, the doors swung open.

~ ~ ~
The first thing that took Yellowfeather’s breath away was the night sky. It rose into oblivion, so thickly spangled with stars that they seemed almost like mist.

He managed to wrench his gaze away, and that was when he saw her: more splendid than the night sky, dark and bright at the same time. Even before Yellowfeather registered the throne she was lounging on, some instinct told him that this dragon was a queen.

He approached, but that was only because he was trying to stay next to the Sentinel; everything was so strange, so terrifying in its wondrousness. The queen leaned forward and greeted the Sentinel warmly.

She looked at Yellowfeather next. “Sentinel,” she said, “we have not demanded teind from the wyrms. Why have you brought this child here?”

Yellowfeather heard faint murmurs, and as his eyes adjusted to the intense splendor, he realized the queen wasn’t alone. There were other Veilspun, probably courtiers, hovering at the fringes of perception. They drew closer to hear their queen’s words better.

“I am aware, Queen Nelkir,” the Sentinel said, “but he was cast into the ring as an offering.” He growled the last word. “I attempted to explain our conditions, but the wyrm insisted, said that he was...”

He glanced sideways at Yellowfeather. The hatchling suddenly got the impression he was embarrassed, perhaps even concerned. He remembered the Snapper’s cold eyes glaring through her helmet, the vicious looks the elders had given him....

Another chill swept over his body. Now that the immediate panic had subsided, he understood that he had been in grave danger in his village—and that if not for the Sentinel’s actions, he probably wouldn’t have survived this long.

Nelkir nodded in understanding. “His life was not theirs to barter—or to cast aside. If they were so quick to abandon this one, then he is better off without them.”

Yellowfeather felt a feather-light touch on his chin then, and he looked up—and into the Queen’s lightning-bright eyes. There was a smile on that dark face, one of warmth and of welcoming.

“Child,” she said to him, “do not be downcast. You are welcome to our realm, and by my royal leave, you may go where you wish—for you have a home here now, in the Veilspun Court.”

The courtiers murmured uneasily at this, but none of them dared challenge the Queen. She rose from her throne and glided down a side passage. The Sentinel indicated that Yellowfeather should follow her and, avoiding the suspicious glances of the other Veilspun, he did.

Away from the courtiers, some tension seemed to flow out of the Queen. She asked Yellowfeather, “What is your name?”

“Y-Yellowfeather, ma’am.”

“So formal? Be at ease, child; this is not an official ceremony. I am Nelkir, and the Sentinel is Jakota. Come along now...” She flashed a quick, diamond-bright grin. “We’re off to see the Weaver.”

With Nelkir ahead and Jakota behind, Yellowfeather hurried past walls of gently curling brambles, over crystal bridges that sang with their footsteps. This fantastical, disorienting journey ended at the foot of a tree so vast that it took a moment for Yellowfeather to understand that there was a Veilspun settled beneath it.

“The Queen is here, Aretha, with a mortal child,” Jakota declared. The other Veilspun didn’t even glance at them. She was busy weaving, her deft claws plucking and pulling threads that shimmered with a thousand pearly colors.

Yellowfeather couldn’t help shrinking back from her. Who was this dragoness, to ignore even the Queen? With her pale mane, she seemed like a venerable crone—perhaps even a prophetess. Could she see beyond the threads she was weaving? Or perhaps she was weaving fate itself?

Nelkir sighed, and she fluttered over, settled next to the weaver. “Aretha—” she began—and the other Veilspun erupted into a shriek, toppling over backwards against the tree roots.

“You surprised me, Nelkir! Don’t do that!” Aretha gasped, fluttering upright with an embarrassed laugh. Jakota chuckled, and Nelkir shook her head good-naturedly.

“We have a guest,” she repeated, and she indicated Yellowfeather. Aretha’s eyes widened. She fluttered over, took Yellowfeather’s face between her paws. “A young one! What a sweet child. Ah, you have such wonderful golden eyes!”

“He is Yellowfeather,” Nelkir explained. “Jakota brought him through the ring. He is in need of refuge, and will be living with us from now on. I had thought to make him an assistant, one who can teach us more about the mortal realm. Will you see to his care?”

The weaver didn’t respond immediately. She was now fussing over Yellowfeather’s mane, murmuring something about golden hues. Nelkir said, a bit more loudly, “Aretha.”

“Mm? Why, of course, Nelkir, it isn’t any trouble at all. Come along, dear child. Let’s get to work.”

“Work?” Yellowfeather gasped. Jakota was already moving away, and Nelkir was making ready to leave, too.

“Yes, we shall have to prepare a room for you. There’s a chamber nearby; it’s a bit dusty, but nothing a bit of housekeeping won’t fix. Oh...would you prefer to sleep somewhere else?”

“N-no! I’m fine, I...”

The shining realm, the Veilspun, the beauty and splendor—but more than that, the kindness, the welcoming, the warmth. It was more disorienting than any fairy magic Yellowfeather could have experienced, and he could only squeak out, “Thank you.”

Aretha grinned; Nelkir nodded calmly back. “Be at ease, child,” she repeated, and then she was gone.

~ ~ ~
Aretha chattered gaily as she and Yellowfeather cleaned out what would later become his quarters. Yellowfeather learned that weaving was her primary occupation— “Though I am of course pleased to work with you! I’ve never met a mortal before. What work did you do in the mortal realm?”

Yellowfeather blinked, remembering the menial tasks he’d performed in the village. He wondered if Aretha would even equate turning the dungheap as “work”.

She misinterpreted his silence and gasped, “Oh, that’s right, you’re not yet full-grown! You’re a child; children like to play. What games did you play? Or perhaps you were a reader?”

Games, books? Yellowfeather had had those—when the other children had tolerated him. But what things did he want or like, beyond the village’s meager offerings?

“I like...stories...” Merchants had sometimes come through, bearing gifts and tales. Sometimes there’d been traveling circuses or performers. “Card games, puzzles. Riddles and tricks...”

He thought Aretha was listening just to be polite, but it soon became clear that she was genuinely fascinated by his words. She questioned him, listened closely, was as attentive as she’d been towards her weaving. Encouraged, Yellowfeather spoke further, and soon he and the weaver were talking and laughing together about many different things.

There was a great feast that night, as Nelkir formally welcomed him into the Court. He was given a seat between her and Aretha. The forest around them was ablaze with light and wonder: wisps of magic formed fantastic images; brilliantly colored birds and fish were glimpsed through the trees. Various Veilspun, each seemingly more gorgeous than the ones before, were introduced to Yellowfeather, told that he was now a part of the Court. They murmured politely to him, and whatever their true thoughts about him staying here, they kept these to themselves.

For Yellowfeather, though, the best part was, for the first time, having more than enough to eat and drink. “Would you look at that! What an excellent appetite he has!” Aretha gasped in delight, watching Yellowfeather go through his third plate.

“Indeed he does,” Nelkir murmured. She was watching him too, but was noticeably more subdued. Her sheltering Yellowfeather was not some idle whimsy—like Jakota, she had seen the fear in his eyes, the bones showing through his underfed body. Something had had to be done.

The feast eventually came to an end. Nelkir bade her guests good night, and she watched as Yellowfeather and Aretha leaned affectionately against each other and tottered down the hall.

“Did you have a good time?” Aretha asked. Yellowfeather’s voice came floating back, sleepy but bright, like a distant star: “Yes, Aretha, I had a great time!”

The Veilspun queen smiled to herself. Perhaps with time, the fear in the child would dissipate; time would make him healthy and strong again. They would do what they could for him...and only time would tell if they’d done the right thing.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users

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- cast out as a hatchling, unknown parents
- taken into Nelkir's court somehow and managed to win her favor so she turned him into a Veil?
- loyal, one of Nelkir's most devoted companions

- new name Mitra ("MI-tra") - Vedic god of friendship, oaths, and the morning sun

Hit Lv 25 1/13/2022 01:53 FRT w/ Nelkir

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[ in the distant past ]

Hatchling, unknown parents. Lives in a village in the Shifting Expanse [Moormist], with a mysterious forest nearby. Hatchlings are always told not to go near it, and strange rumors of Faeries and gates to another world abound. Yellowfeather's something of an unwanted kid. He's allowed to stay since he can make himself useful, but no one really cares about him no matter how much he tries to help. Other hatchlings are cordial enough when they have to deal with him, but he has no friends here. Village in some sort of trouble, meeting of village heads, decide to see if the forest rumors are true and throw one of the kids to the Faeries as a trade for them either fixing what's wrong or giving some sort of talisman or something. As Yellowfeather has no family, they choose him without explaining the situation to him. Big dragon hauling Yellowfeather along, him struggling in their grip. They weave through the forest, coming to a clearing that sets Yellowfeather's skin prickling, and he struggles harder. The other dragon releases him, sending him tumbling into a perfect ring of glowing mushrooms. He holds completely still, breath caught, heart hammering in his chest. The mist around him begins to rise.

Big dragon calls something out, some sort of chant. A mysterious figure [Veilspun] appears, barters with them in low tones. Yellowfeather hears and knows enough about what's happening to know that he's an exchange, and begins to fear for his safety.

One way or another, the other dragon walks away with a prize in hand while Yellowfeather is taken into a strange realm - a forest that doesn't look like a forest, with colors and twists and turns that make no sense at all. The Veilspun guard that appeared takes proper shape now, growing larger (or is it that Yellowfeather is growing smaller?), and they tell him not to fear. Also mention something dark about how one should be careful about bartering with what isn't theirs, implies an even worse situation befalling the old village. [new curse, something something Neovia?]

Guard asks him to follow, and since Yellowfeather believes he isn't losing anything by going, he does.

Led to the Court, a gap in the forest with an eternal starry night sky overhead. Get the first glimpse of a few other Veil characters before meeting Nelkir. He's awed and a little intimidated by her at first, sitting so regal upon her throne, but she greets him without scorn and has the Veil guard explain his actions. Veil does [do they see something special in Yellowfeather?], and when he's done, Nelkir expresses the same sentiments; a life should only be bartered by one who owns it, and the village is not fit for caring for Yellowfeather if they're so quick to cast him aside. She welcomes Yellowfeather into the Court (to the first Veil's satisfaction and other Veils' mutterings), something something he'll be her assistant and learn from her from now on. Bit more back and forth with some of the Court's other members that speak up, then rises and has him follow her, accompanied by the same guard.

She leads him along a path that Yellowfeather can't make any sense of; twisting brambles and branches and trees curving in ways they shouldn't and everything is so disorienting here. The more he tries to look and understand it, the less he does. So he focuses on Nelkir and sticks close, trying to ignore the fact that apparently normal natural laws don't exist in this weird world.

They come to the base of a large tree, at a gap between the roots. Nelkir leads him inside, and there's another Veilspun, busy weaving. The guard announces them, but when the new Veil makes no sign of having heard, Nelkir flutters in and gives a quiet word and startles the weaver so badly they jump and flail and fall backwards, disrupting their whole workstation.

Aretha is introduced. She's much less intimidating than any of the other Veils that Yellowfeather's seen so far. Nelkir tasks her with Yellowfeather's care, says he'll be living with her from here on. Aretha seems thrilled with the arrangement. Yellowfeather is still a bit thrown by everything that just happened, but thinks it'll probably be okay. Nelkir leaves and the pair spend some time chatting; Aretha shows off her weaving, asks after Yellowfeather's interests, and they work on cleaning out a storage room that'll now serve as his quarters.

There's a feast/party thing of some sort that night to celebrate Yellowfeather being brought into the Court. He sits between Nelkir and Aretha, Nelkir introduces him to everyone, and he gets a chance to meet others around all the activity. It's colorful and chaotic and utterly bizarre with so much magic in the air; the forest itself is putting on a show. When it's done, Aretha leads him back, and his first day in the wonderland comes to a close.

---

[ growing up ]

Aretha serves as caretaker when Nelkir doesn't have him at her side. bonding with Aretha, learning more about their strange weaving power; first example of someone in the Court angering Nelkir, Nelkir gesturing to Aretha, Aretha draws a thread of starlight and cuts it.

"learning" from Nelkir, unsure if he's an assistant or an accessory. much of his time is spent at her side, but not necessarily doing anything in particular.


- though others often assured him that his constant presence at Nelkir's side was a sign of great favor.

It was impossible to discern the true passage of time in Nelkir's realm. Days passed, certainly; the mysterious forest had its own sense of the dance between the sun and moon, though it couldn't be said that it was the same time of day through the entire forest in the same moment. But the days never felt like they lasted as long as a day back home. Sometimes they flitted by in what felt like minutes; other times dragging on for weeks. Though he never felt the need to sleep until what amounted to nightfall, the strangest exhaustion clung to his bones in those times, as though his body still felt what his mind could not grasp.


growing, training with the Thorns, learning more about the Court and its members, picking up nuances, adjusting more and more to life in the wonderland



Though he had no way of knowing the length of his stay in Nelkir's domain, eventually he began to realize subtle changes. He was growing, becoming stronger, faster - yet the Veils around him remained just the same. Even the realm itself had a consistent sort of chaos, if it could be called such. Winter had never visited upon it. Fires had never scarred it. Rain had never drowned it. With everything around him caught in a timeless cycle, why was it only him that changed? Could it be his mortality?

Would he again lose everything, even at the end?

To leave Nelkir and the others... Would they remember him? Would even that memory be mortal, wiped away in mere centuries while the state of the realm endured?


eventually adult, a loyal assistant to Nelkir and one of the few able to joke/be sarcastic around her. he's never feared her for her position


[ a new guest ]

A new mortal arrives.


Possible that the one who charmed Nelkir was initially investigating the curse of Yellowfeather's old village in search of the mysterious force behind it.


[ Nelkir's disappearance ]





[ the search ]

galvanizes the Court to leave its borders to search Sornieth,




[ Nelkir's return ]

Nelkir changes him into a Veilspun and names him Mitra.


His Light magic hadn't changed, but now... he could also feel the storm within.

"I'm... one of you now?"

She smiled, amused. "Silly child. You always have been."




[ present and on ]

Possibly returns to Pearlcatcher form while in the mortal realm, can carry Nelkir and others? Supports her in seeking out new alliances, integrating with the world at last. Remains immune to Veilspun hypnotism and in tune (or at least aware) of pheromones even as a PC.