Anemone
(#19783261)
Level 25 Coatl
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49
out of
50
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.95 m
Wingspan
7.44 m
Weight
704.48 kg
Genetics
White
Iridescent
Iridescent
Obsidian
Shimmer
Shimmer
Maroon
Gembond
Gembond
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Coatl
Max Level
STR
128
AGI
10
DEF
6
QCK
50
INT
7
VIT
16
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
- Nesoi
- Meliora
- Kayler
- Vivace
- Nye
- Arietis
- Lucina
- Planewalker
- Tomos
- Kincaid
- Canelm
- Liberator
- Eirawen
- Carrie
- Willheist
- Salma
- Xii
- Heavenwards
- Kinath
- Warscar
- Lauras
- Achalendra
- Riftmaker
- Althalos
- Orpehus
- Luxana
- Mysterious
- Ilona
- Ameloren
- Arben
- Amberlee
- Eveleen
- Livid
- Unnamed
- Nox
- Isi
- Stardust
- Neal
- Grumbly
- Lukas
- Dappled
- Fearmoon
- Tordin
- Destria
- Veil
- Hematite
- Myca
- Majestic
- Taric
- Aero
- Shadowside
- Saramune
- Thayn
- Anaisa
- Hypermancer
- Triad
- Jaxon
- Lee
- Honour
- Franco
- Cinnabar
- Unnamed
- Moonfire
- Gethin
- Starrun
- Earthshatterer
- Gairoth
- Hexagon
- Rinu
- Larisa
- Yahtzee
- Bennie
- Lark
- Arietis
- Charming
- Seeker
- Etude
- Zeranium
- Leynth
- Darrin
- Mantle
- Greatblade
- Longtooth
- Arviasal
- Maela
- Horror
- Eternity
- Aldryd
- Wallington
- Naoki
- Mestra
- Silmeria
- Queen
- Gladiator
- Elian
- Graav
Biography
T H E M E - None yet O C C U P A T I O N - Military General of Reverence Survivor of Voiceless Reverence F A M I L Y - - Parents - She hasn't heard from them in ages, but Lady K noted that they would probably be afraid or intimidated of her with all that she's done in her life since leaving Dragonhome so long ago. - Siblings - She took in Elara as an adoptive sister in the days of Clan Voiceless Reverence. - Mate - It's a miracle, but somehow Altus found his way into the General's heart. - Children - NAME F A M I L I A R - A P P A R E L - A R T - All art is clickable and links back to their creators C O L I S E U M
E X T R A - - Genes/Apparel - Probably one of the least dressed, but it's all she needs. - Comments - - Headcanons - - Lair Reviews - - Forum Games - C R E D I T S - Coding Template, Honor by the Sword by Merethic Coding Template has been modified by VoxxVoleur (Template allows modificaiton) First section of the Backstory Begins by merit The Basic Lore and everything written after merit's portion of Backstory Begins by VoxxVoleur All of the beautiful art is clickable and links back to their creators! |
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Basic Lore:
The General of Reverence, Anemone, commands all of Clan Reverence’s military forces. She is often seen in the presence of other members of the Court and various advisors discussing matters of war, much to her exasperation. It has been noted that unless Clan Reverence is formally at war, Anemone often remains in the clan to draft plans and oversee training - anything to get away from the bureaucracy. She leaves the Court with haste whenever possible. Backstory Begins: below by merit Anemone is sure that if her parents wanted her, they wanted her as a pretty dress-up toy; as proof that they'd done something right. It wasn't her fault that she was born with pale plumage. What had her mother expected her hatchlings to look like? There was never any room for vibrant colors in Anemone's life. That much was decided for her from the start. Her mother and father looked at her like they weren’t sure what she was or where she came from, but she had the upper hand. She has inherited not only their looks, but also their ruthlessness. She could be cold too. It was in her blood. Looking back, she guessed she was expected to learn a thing or two about magic as she grew older, and to unflinchingly use that magic on those around her, for the sake of data and progress. She always did have a knack for achieving that detached state where it didn't feel like it mattered what she did, or to whom. But magic, the skills of the Arcane, failed to come naturally to her. Like her father, she preferred the use of weapons that she could touch. In the end it didn't matter. Their cold, secluded lair was breached, and the light flooded in. The dragons whose jobs it was to endure the magic without complaint were set free, moved to safety. It never crossed her mind that the invaders might find her young enough, or innocent enough, to bring her along, but she found herself ushered into the warmth of Dragonhome all the same. Which might have been nice, but it wasn't. She was expected to live with her parents. To introduce herself, to make friends. To do her chores and speak when spoken to, and it didn't take long for this new set of rules to overwhelm her. She could have ended up staring blankly at the wall of her lair for a good few years, if not for Rosaline. Rosaline brought color back into the world. She was loud and tough and brave, like exactly no one else around. She was smart enough to understand why all this calmness and friendliness and weird old-fashioned routine made Anemone want to panic and scream and maybe fly away. Unlike Anemone, she was not very objective or distant, but that's part of what made them so compatible. She was Anemone's only friend, and they swore by the Plaguebringer, the Earthshaker, and every deity they know that they would break out of there at any cost, to go find themselves new lives worth living. above by merit They spent weeks planning it out. Dragonhome had plenty of caves and tunnels that wove under the clan. Freedom would be found through there. They would sneak out of their lairs at night to find the maps of all of the interconnected caves that wound and spiraled all around them. Anemone would copy them all down on their own papers, also taken from other clan members, while Rosaline kept watch. Night after night they would spend an hour or two or even more doing this, and eventually they would roll up the papers and sneak back into their lairs. Days were spent snitching treasure from counters and tables. Any food that wouldn’t perish was hidden away in nooks and crannies that only they knew about. Sacks and worn leather bags were also hidden and hung anywhere that no one would look twice. They slowly moved their food and treasure into them, but it was getting harder with the older dragons looking at them so glaringly. Two sets of claws quietly crept in to find the maps; they only needed one more map copied down. They had spent their time after lunch and dinner every day memorizing the paths that looked like their best shot out of there. They held bated breaths as another set of steps could be heard coming towards them. Quickly ducking into the room, Anemone and Rosaline got to work. Rosaline started to sift through their packs, separating them out. One pack was for Anemone, the other for Rosaline. Anemone’s claws slid over her papers as her eyes glanced back and forth. The parchment barely made a sound as she copied the last map down, etching it into her papers and her mind. It was done. An hour later she lifted her claws and nodded to Rosaline, who grinned back eyes gleaming. They gathered their packs and even Anemone was smiling at the thought of escaping. They had done it. Little did she know that the fun was only now beginning. Just as they peered out of the doorway and took a step outside, they could hear shouting. A few of the clan’s guard were out, and they were changing shifts! The two flew off in unison with their bags in tow, and the beating of wings behind them only hastened their own flight. Down the hallways muffled groans could be heard, dragons were starting to wake up. Left, right, down down down, left again. The two friends kept in pace with each other. Down the hall, it curved to the right on its own. They kept going, already knowing the path by heart. Keep going, keep going, but more shouts could be heard that way. Veering off into another section, Earthshaker, Plaguebringer, just let them get out. Down this hallway, but there were too many dragons behind them. They didn’t have to say anything to know it, and if they were caught who knew what would happen. They would be separated. Glancing back and nodding to Rosaline, the two kept going despite their pursuers. This one wasn’t a dead end. It split off into two paths. One more glance at Rosaline and both had made their choice. |
C O N T I N U E D - L O R E
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The two split up and split the guards following them in turn. Anemone tried to listen to the wingbeats, slowly calculating how many dragons were following her. Maybe even which ones were following her. Numbing her mind, her thoughts turned round and round. Which path was the best one to take? Which one would let her lose these guys? Which one would Rosaline be taking? Depending on that, would Rosaline get out? But she seemed a little hesitant recently. Would she...back out?
Of course Rosaline would get out. Releasing a quiet sigh, Anemone dove into a more narrow passageway. Satisfaction glimmered over her briefly. The walls were turning to rock. Gems could be seen ahead. She could lose them this way.
A chilled pang of fear went through her feathers. How far would they follow her? She didn’t know, but she wouldn’t allow them to take her back. She couldn't. If she had to act ‘normally,’ for one more day she was going to scream. She didn’t need her parents. She didn’t need the rules. Not the choking normalcy, or the chores, or the smiles that she didn’t understand.
She kept beating her wings, going down winding path after winding path. Gems glowed all around and the paths narrowed. She lost track of how many paths she had gone down. Now all she knew was whether to go down one or two, but eventually, all she wanted to do was lose them. Her claws were raw from hitting the rocks. Her wings were straining and every beat hurt. Pain flared throughout her body, but adrenaline replaced it with each step.
Just one more. Just one more. Just one more.
Was it losing one more guard or was it taking one more wingbeat? She lost track. It was all just path one or zero or five, whichever one would get rid of them. She knew some of them had gotten stuck, or they had hit something. One or two even fell down a cavern, and she didn’t know if they had gotten out. She hadn’t looked back. The unnatural sound that an animal would make pierced her hearing. Even when she looked back at it later, she couldn’t quite call it a sob or a cry. It was just despair.
The wingbeats behind her died down one by one. The garnet and ember seemed to mock her, dancing across her vision. She was sure that her claws were bleeding and her wings begged her to let them fall off. The ember fluttered around and her wings stilled. Dragging tender and bruised claws one in front of the other, the silence embraced her.
Hazily, she startled awake. A few rocks dislodged themselves and tumbled down far below her. Why were her claws so red?
Groggily lifting her head up, she blinked. A blanket of navy beckoned in a sea of azure. Darkened shapes and shadowy figures without silhouettes were dotted with pinpoints of light. It gradually flowed into a pocket of copper and cobalt where embers hit the edge of the sky.
Anemone couldn't say how long she laid there, taking the sky's light in. She watched it turn. The light spread. Laying her head down, she watched until sleep overtook her again. She was free.
A crack disrupted her rest, and she was up again in a jolt of fear and energy. A shadowy figure lurked at the edge of one of the bushes in the narrow path that could be used to climb up and down the long ascent.
“Who are you?” she asked warily, searching for her knife before remembering that her pack had been lost in the caves.
“A traveler.” A feminine voice echoed back and the figure shifted slightly, hiding behind the bushes and rocks.
“Where are you from? Are you taking me back there?” Anemone asked stiffly, gazing at the shadowy figure.
“That depends on where you’re from. As for me, I am from Voiceless Reverence.” the dragon answered.
Anemone was about to answer, when the leaves rustled. A couple hatchlings burst out of the shade and their colors were almost blinding.
“Oh, get back here.” An older dragon came out after them.
Her eyes were veiled and she barely managed to pull them back to her, keeping some semblance of grace.
“You two are staying with me.” she said to the pair, who were squirming and wiggling under her loose claws.
“I’m Rivalen.” The Skydancer bowed her head and Anemone couldn’t quite catch her eyes.
“Anemone.” Anemone murmured in return, tensely watching the ruby hatchlings that tentatively fluttered away from Rivalen.
Rivalen merely rose a claw up to brush a few feathers out of her eyes, but the hood remained right where it was. Anemone had to wonder, if it was it supposed to shield Rivalen’s eyes, or if it was to keep her eyes from being seen.
“You’re injured.” Rivalen nodded her head towards Anemone.
Anemone winced, rubbing her claws gently. They were raw from so hastily flying through the cave system. Cuts and deeper scrapes were long scabbed over. Pale feathers were pulled tight by the dried blood, a few spots were matted in it. Her wings jolted with pain, as she shifted them down to her sides.
“I take it you’re not going back to your clan for that?” she asked again, sending a small, side glare in the direction of the hatchlings.
“No.” Anemone answered curtly, though it in no way deterred the other.
“Need somewhere to stay then?” Rivalen asked, blankly watching both the hatchlings and Anemone. The stranger’s gaze fell to the space between, and the bones that lined her feathers jingled in the breeze.
“Who are you?” Anemone asked without even a slight change in tone.
“Just Rivalen. A Skydancer. Occasional trader and unofficial ambassador of my clan. Also an avid scholar of dark magic.” she said listlessly.
“You’re what?” Anemone crept back into a more defendable position, looking over Rivalen to see which spots would hurt the most if hit.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second.” Rivalen had also backed away slightly, waving her claws in a controlled manner.
“You’re a dark mage?” Anemone asked, trying to ignore the thought of just how much her claws would be hurting after she fought Rivalen.
“Not a danger.” Rivalen said slowly to make sure that the message was received.
To prove her point the Skydancer swiftly and smoothly tossed her hood back, making Anemone jump back out of reflex and surprise.
“Light?” Anemone asked with nothing short of confusion.
Tilting her head and blinking just to make sure still revealed two golden eyes gazing back at her, before glancing at the wandering hatchlings.
“Light, yes. I am more knowledgeable than most dragons when it comes to dark magic, especially older magics, however I cannot practice it myself.” Rivalen said matter of factly, giving a small nod.
“Anyway, now that such boring things are out of the way, would you like to take some bandages and a salve or two? I’ve been carrying them for a while, and it seems like you could use them.” Rivalen continued, seemingly disinterested in Anemone’s continued confusion.
Rivalen slowly lowered a claw into the bag that was loosely slung over her body. A labeled jar with some kind of off white cream and a roll of bandages emerged, neatly held in place by a careful yet loose grip.
“I can help you with this, or you can use these yourself. Our healers could probably heal you fully, if you’d like to come with us.” Rivalen extended a claw out in her direction.
Nothing short of trepidation slowed her claws to where she might have been seeing if the earth would fall out underneath her with each step. Nothing short of the sizable pain kept her from stopping her approach to the hooded Skydancer. Whoever this dragon was, she was clearly shifting between as clear as glass to being as impenetrable as the shadows. Every nerve Anemone had filled with anxiety, and not even the weight of the bandages seemed to lift it. The roll was warily taken, but still held with some difficulty as she peered over her screaming wings.
“Here, let me help you. Just-” Rivalen offered, probably noticing the grimaces.
She first turned to the wayward hatchlings, calling them back yet again. The pair tottled and bobbled back into view.
Soft claws took the bandages from her, before pausing in what Anemone assumed was assessing the injuries. Rivalen seemed to hum quietly. A sigh had Anemone turning around again to cast a narrowed gaze at her.
“These are really bad. You’re covered in blood.” Rivalen said, glancing at her before dipping a claw into the salve. A cold burn spread wherever Rivalen’s claws touched.
“Do you have to do that?” Anemone asked, gritting her teeth.
The rocks underneath her dug into her claws as the pain waved back and forth through her feathers.
“It should get numb enough to let you move a little in a minute or two. It’ll also keep the bacteria out, which is important if you want to come with us.” The answer was far from soothing.
Rivalen finished quickly but carefully. No mercy was given towards the pain, but it made the process go by faster. When the Skydancer finally backed away, wiping her claws off on a cloth, Anemone couldn’t help but look at her numbly. The numbed aching had spread across all of the wounds and then some, but it was now bearable. Barely.
“You should probably come with us just to be safe from the Beastclans. At least until your wounds heal.” Rivalen said, waving the hatchlings over yet again. “The clan won’t ask questions with the exception of the Queen, and she doesn’t say a word about anything to others. Your choice though.”
“Where is your clan?” Anemone asked, looking between the hatchlings and Rivalen.
“Abiding Boneyard of the Scarred Wasteland. It’ll be a quick trip as long as you don’t get lost. Get lost and you might die.” she answered nonchalantly. “I’ll be keeping track of you for your sake though, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Anemone shifted around a little, scrutinizing Rivalen and the words that she spoke.
“That’s better than where I’ve been.” Anemone said right as Rivalen opened her mouth to speak again.
The Skydancer stopped with a nod, and the discussion ended with that. Rivalen spent a few minutes settling packs onto the hatchlings, probably just to slow them down rather than to help Rivalen disperse the weight. She took the rest only briefly mentioning that having Anemone carry anything would probably injure her even more. They traveled in relative silence. The hatchlings babbled away and bumped against one another. Rivalen kept an eye on all of them, weaving her way through what had to be familiar paths to her. Shifting rocks and crystals became smaller as they traveled, and a crimson rot seemed to edge into its place. Pustules of ooze dotted the ground at intervals. The scent of death and decay seemed to fall onto them the farther they walked. When the waves of nausea started coming, Anemone couldn’t even tell if it was from the pain of her wounds or the hanging odor. Her claws panged with each step. The bandages only allowed so little flight. Pushing them would pull the fabric off altogether, and if they were hurting now, having any of the buzzing parasites that would bury themselves into the wounds would double the pain. If she was lucky that would be all of it at least. She was sure that the trip and the environment was only bearable because her senses were tuning herself and her surroundings out. Vaguely aware that something smelled like it had died, and that multiple animals and even a dragon had died along the path that they took, she pressed forward refusing to stop despite the circumstances. Howling and feral jeering was replaced by slithering as the sun slipped away. The land glowed with a sickly green grime.
The hatchlings passed out almost immediately once they made their stop for the night. Tents hadn’t even been set up for the night and they had dozed off despite the slithering, rattling all around them.
“What is that noise?” Anemone asked.
Slowly stretching a wing and then the other, she laid down in the rusted dirt. The bandages clung to her wings, chest, claws, and everything else. Most hung off of her loosely unraveled. Others were barely still wrapped around her. The scabs mirrored her gems. She might have been the only fresh wound in the area. If a day was what it took for her to smell iron and the differences between blood being fresh or dry, then a day in the Wastelands might have been too long to stay.
As for Rivalen, her guide was practically silhouetted against the shifting shadows. Hardly a noise could be heard, despite the setup of the camp.
“Shattered Serpents are coming out for the night. If we made a bigger fire, you could actually see them slithering out for a while. It looks a lot like an ocean. Just in a defiled, crimson desert with moist patches.” Rivalen said, backing away from her work.
“Anyway, you should get some rest. I’ll take watch and just nap in the morning. The clan isn’t that much farther in. We’re right on the edge of the Contagion and the Boneyard.” she continued, wrapping herself in the heavy, sable cloth had hung around her in the sunlight.
The seams looked worn. It was the kind of cloth that would fall apart if the strings were pulled on. Anemone thought she might’ve seen a slash or two from times when that had happened. Maybe it was just her eyes. Prickling was never a good sign, and that was still a familiar feeling from the nights spent staring at maps. Laying her head down, neither of them even had the energy to change her bandages. Sleep took her and any thoughts of her day, night, and everything in between, in seconds.
They awoke to the sun setting a haze of light upon the very Wasteland that seemed to fight it. Thin sheets of a tumbling fog rushed forward, before being taken by the light. The hatchlings giggled and argued over what clattered like a few bones and rocks. Anemone poked her head out of her tent only to be greeted by more quiet banter. Rivalen gave a small wave, before slipping into what had to be her own tent.
With a sigh, Anemone left her’s to take a look around. Moving hurt, but she was actually more fatigued than anything. Blinking, she rubbed her claws together in surprise. The soaked bandages were gone and new ones had taken their place. She had to have been tired if she hadn’t felt Rivalen changing them. If the nature of Skydancer’s clan was the same as Rivalen, herself, then maybe they wouldn’t be so bad. Deceptive. Organized. Definitely held more power than it wished to let on. Also willing to help, and uncaring towards any unwillingness to be polite or kind. Maybe that kind of clan could be a good place to stay. Maybe it could even be a home.
Would Rosaline find one? Would Anemone find one to begin with? Thoughts of Rosaline, but also ones of Anemone’s own future plagued her. She looked at the hatchlings, but all she saw was an assortment of mistakes and other possibilities. She wondered what had happened to her friend, and yet she could not go back and find out. The wondering got her nowhere, but she had to wonder anyway. What happened now? What was this clan going to be like? It could be good or...it could be worse.
They left once Rivalen had slept for what could have been an hour or a few. Anemone hadn’t kept track. Only her frown did. The barren landscape that thrived with pathogens unseen gave way to bones. The horizon was dotted with graves that had been scattered like seeds across a field. Winds rippled by once or twice just to remind them that something, somewhere had died and that things would keep on dying here. Whatever the Plague could get its claws on was at risk. Everything that could be seen, even the skulls, four-eyed Mirrors, and skulls of four-eyed Mirrored that peered back at them reminded them of that sentiment. Keep going or have something else take your place. Not even that...keep going or have something take your place, and watch it use everything that you had on you to live.
Bones, graves, and eyes led them to slight valleys and hills. Trenches used to fight wars between the land’s denizens. Trenches used by the same denizens to survive. On one of these hills, a path of bones was strewn and sewed up. Its edge fell off into another valley, but the path up to the clan was clear.
“Here we are. Try not to run up there too quickly.” Rivalen said, nodding to the hatchlings.
Navigating the path seemed harder than it should have been. Footwork was made harder by ragged rocks and jutting bones still clawing for the sky. The path was beaten and worn but still littered in obstacles.
“Take your time. It’s made like this to keep the Mirrors and Beastclans out, or at least to slow them down.” Rivalen added, then flew above seemingly expecting silence in return.
Anemone merely gave a nod, beginning the slow trek up to the clan. Rest was something to look forward to. Maybe this place would even be safe with where it was. Only a few other outposts on the way had been placed so conveniently for the defense of the residents. Once inside the clan’s borders, a very new sight met her gaze. Rivalen dismissed herself to bring the hatchlings elsewhere. Tents of thicker leathers and pelts looked as if they could have been used as armor at another time. Some of them had been armor pieces based on the tears, but that was a source of pride for these dragons if she had to guess. Dirt paths connected the clan, and the bones were the only boundaries between paths and someone’s yard. Smoke billowed from a couple buildings. Stairs seemed to descend into alleyways. Extremely clean bones were the only ones used in the towering walls that surrounded the borders. If someone were to shoot an arrow into the wall from outside, the arrow would probably just lodge itself into the wall. One more piece of protection for the clan.
Rivalen returned only giving a few slight nods to her other clan members. One or two looks in Anemone’s way was the extent of attention that she received. Unable to decide whether that was good or not, she followed Rivalen for a little longer. They wound through the paths, passing by various dragons all wandering about on their own business. Some had stopped to chat with others. Others moved around with purpose. Just when she started to wonder where they were going, Rivalen took a sharp descent into a set of stairs. A few pebbles skidded down into the darkness. The lack of light was impressive, but the slanted steepness of the stairs may have beaten it. If they could have spoken, the stairs would’ve told her that they not want dragons going down there.
Rivalen opened a door at the bottom, leaving Anemone to follow her through. Dull lights whose sources were hidden masked the walls and smoke wafted out into the air outside. The ceiling could have been right above them, or it could have towered above them. Realizing that the smoke was cutting through her vision along with the weak lights, she glanced around for whoever lived down here. Someone had to. Birdskulls were lined along the shelves. Archways led into other sections of this place. Blankets and throws were draped along harder edges, but also on many of the pillows and furniture. Movement caught her eye. A figure with colors strikingly similar to her’s separated herself from a small group off past the smoke.
A Nocturne laden in silks approached them. Piercing eyes passed over Rivalen, setting themselves on Anemone. She held no weapon, but this dragon moved with far more will and control than any other. This dragon was undoubtedly in charge. A protector of a leader would have had armor and scars. The Nocturne’s only visible weapon was her gaze, perhaps that was enough.
“Rivalen, you seem to have brought an extra dragon back to us.” the Nocturne positioned herself with a grace that mimicked the one she spoke to.
Something told her that she would have held herself high regardless of her company, and regardless of her species’ impulsive mimicry.
“Veilerris, I ran into her on the way back from the Labyrinth. She was badly injured. I figured that you would still want to talk to her, before sending her to Citrine and Sting.” Rivalen gave a small nod and a slight bow.
“Indeed. I’ll make it quick, you look like you’re still in pain.” Veilerris said, turning to Anemone.
Rivalen bowed herself out and Veilerris kept her gaze on Anemone unblinkingly. Staring back at her, Anemone narrowed her eyes searching the ones that were so intent on pulling her apart. A silent turn had the pair venturing off into another hazy hall, but not before Veilerris could motion to another dragon off in the group that Anemone had seen earlier.
“In here. We just need to talk to you for a little, before you can go see our healers.” she said smoothly, stepping to the side of the doorway.
Reluctantly, Anemone entered the room. Stone walls and sparse decorations were hardly welcoming. Fresh memories of her recent escape echoed through the whole structure. A wing flap and a coarse voice forced her to look over her shoulder. A much darker Coatl laden in blood armor and cloth placed herself on the other side of the room with a scowl. Armor and sword sung a quiet song before growing silent. Veilerris entered and the door clicked behind them.
“Briar, you could at least take a seat.” Veilerris said still just as calm as before.
Briar merely flicked a glare in Veilerris’ direction. Anemone swore that the other Coatl had hummed something quietly, but she couldn’t quite catch it. Silence and seconds passed, leaving Briar to set her eyes on Anemone still refusing to make herself comfortable.
“Briar. General Briar if you feel like cowering.” she nodded a greeting in Anemone’s general direction. “That would be Veilerris, Voiceless Reverence’s Queen. She’ll decide whether you stay here, if you want to stay here. I’ll decide on whether you’re a threat to us or not. I’ll also judge whether you’re fit to join our clan’s Military force or not, if you so desire. Or if her majesty so desires.”
Another scowl was sent off into her Queen’s direction with the last comment, but no response was received in turn.
“You may have a seat if you would like.” Veilerris said cordially.
It crossed her mind that the suggestion might have been more of a command, a silent threat, from someone who wasn’t ready to let on the reasons for being in power. Dragons didn’t just gain power of a clan. Not without a reason at least. Cautiously sitting herself down, Veilerris did the same.
“How bad are those wounds…?” Veilerris asked pausing questioningly.
She wanted a name. If Anemone was giving her a name, she was going to need something in return.
“What do I need to give you to stay here?” Anemone asked.
“Straight to the point.” Briar said matter-of-factly. “Depends on how long you’re staying. If it’s just until your wounds heal, we don’t need anything. If you want to stay here longer than that, you need to earn your keep.”
“So what would that be?” she asked cautiously, glancing between the two.
One pair of eyes intently gazed at her. The other had a look that matched her tone. This clan would be a good place to recover, but the nature of the dragons in it caught her off guard. Harsh as the Plague that they lived in, but a ruthlessness to match was lacking. Based on the two in front of her, they could and would destroy whatever threats came their way. No safe havens that gave freely were passed by on the way to this clan. There may have been havens, but they came at a cost and with fierce competition. Why was this place different?
“You will need to pull your own weight and contribute to the clan. We cannot provide you with everything. Preferably, you would merely offer your current skills. You could also learn under someone with skills that you could learn quickly and learn to their own proficiency.” Veilerris explained barely waving a claw.
The silks were tied closer to her than most dragons would wear them. Was it just to keep them out of her way for convenience, or was she actually ready for a fight?
“What would a Plague clan need?” Anemone asked dryly, focusing more on the expressions and movements of the pair than on their words.
“Fighters are our main concern, but I’ll say it now, we don't need any lone wolves.” Briar stretched her wings, before tucking them against her sides.
“We could also use food gatherers, travelers, merchants, healers, anyone with more covert abilities, and most daily life roles.” Veilerris said, before interrupting the pause that came with Anemone’s thinking. This comment was directed at Briar. “You could be more cordial.”
“I am not here to be cordial. I am here to protect. The clan can have their nice dragons, but I won’t be one of them. My only job is to make sure that the clan is safe from beastclan and dragon alike. The healers can deal with pestilence and the like.” Briar’s words were as cutting as the sword and armor that hung all around her.
For the first time since meeting her, Veilerris shot a glare as strong as Briar’s back at her own General.
“What if I want to fight?” Anemone risked breaking the argument.
Scales and feathers shuffled around. Gazes turned back over to her once more.
“I’ll assess your abilities. We have a few trainers around, so depending on what you want to learn…” Briar shrugged.
“If that’s the path you want to take, that should be all that we need to hear. Briar will take control from here, and she may delegate your training to someone else. You can also choose who you want to train you, depending on your fighting style.” Veilerris said, rising from her place to leave.
“Welcome to Voiceless Reverence then…” Veilerris paused again, turning over her shoulder to look her way.
“Anemone.” Anemone said, blankly watching the Queen leave.
“I’ll take you to our healers. Once they give the ‘all good’ we can start training you. Until then, you can just rest.” Briar nodded, motioning for her to follow.
Anemone’s wounds healed quickly under claws that had dealt with wounds like her’s a thousand times. She trained knowing that the same healers would do so another thousand times. Form came quickly with only two of five trainers specializing in pure physical combat. Briar was as abrasive as ever, but she consistently fought fluidly in whatever team she joined. Where Briar taught form, stance, and instant analysis of the situation, Enthrall gave her the ‘how’ and ‘why’ infighting. If she moved too slowly, she had to fight Enthrall for every breath and inch that she had. If she moved too quickly, she had to fight her own body to keep her reflexes a millisecond faster than Briar’s calculated strikes. With each breath and strike that Enthrall sent her way, Anemone was one claw closer to losing the fight. With each second that Briar was given, Anemone’s body was surely lined up with one more weakness the Briar could use against her. Practice until breaths came shallow and sweat beaded down her neck was part of her daily routine.
Over time she closed the gap between them. Time had her tallying up more swipes slipped into defending herself against Enthrall’s onslaught, and eventually, the two were claw to claw. Each breath was a coin toss between who would strike first. She learned to use the adrenaline to hit harder and faster, but spars with Briar kept her in check. Her cold and ruthless nature absorbed the adrenaline and kept a harsh alertness about her. It was as if someone had dumped frigid water over her. Heat, cold, blood, wounds, none of it mattered in the sparring. Rather than trying to guess what Briar would do, she learned to watch and react to what she did do. Mimicking her mentor’s style, Anemone parried and sidestepped. Blows were blocked and sent back against the clattering bones. What came too hard and too fast was dodged, but that wasn’t the end. Clipping closer and drawing herself in came with practice. Closing the distance gave Anemone more momentum behind each strike, and it stole Briar’s advantage with the sword from her. They fought claw to claw, but rather than hammering slashes with each step, each strike was calculated and aimed for precision. One jab from Briar was enough to knock her down and keep her down. Force and accuracy ended their fights in minutes.
Ventures into other regions of Sorneith took her breath away, but she never dropped her guard. Ever alert, Anemone was the first to keep watch during more dangerous hours. Real battles ranked her as one of the most prepared. As sure as the night, Anemone never held back in fighting for her life. No hesitation. No regret. Everything that she had learned was honed to a deadly precision.
No one asked her to be nice. No one asked her to go clean the lair up. No one told her to go introduce herself and make friends. No one told her to be quiet when they weren’t talking to her. She was nice in keeping the ones next to her alive. She cleaned up in making sure that her daggers and armor were all sharp and clean. There was no rust or a dull edge, but the metal was crimson with nicks and scratches along all of the once silver blades. Even her armor had dark stains along the sable edges. She introduced herself with a cold nod and made her friends in fighting alongside them. And talking? They talked when they wanted to, and they stayed silent when they chose to.
Anemone settled into Voiceless Reverence through blood and merit. She was unquestioningly placed as one of the team leaders, soon after promoted to Sergeant, and eventually, she was the first dragon to gain Lieutenant status. Anemone spent much of her time coordinating the more difficult attacks that the clan faced, rarely needing Briar to step in to offer aid. With much of her past put behind her, she focused on what she can do then. Her abilities surpassed what anyone ever expected of her, even leaving her impressed at times. Her decisions could be remembered as cold and at times even cruel, but they served to minimize deaths on her side of the board.
Anemone stood as a proud if distant, dragon within Voiceless Reverence. She was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, able to move faster and hit harder than most dragons. The true nightmare came in the frightening speed that she can pull apart an enemy’s fighting style to pick and strike their weakest points, while she, herself, narrowly dodged and parried almost all incoming attacks. Untouchable, so they called her. Even Voiceless Reverence had few dragons that dare to waste her time. Those who do befriend her found that she was far less cold than what she once was. Detached? Certainly. Ruthless? She definitely could have been. Heartless? No. In relaxing into her home, her life was given meaning. It was a place that didn’t demand that she be someone else, but it did demand that she be her very best and nothing less than that. That was what made it home and was enough to give her life meaning.
At some point in the haze of daily life, Anemone happened to pass by the clan’s nursery. She passed by it often, and there were always one or two little ones who would come to the fence to peer at her in wonder. One day was different. She knew and had known, that many of the clan’s hatchlings were left here due to busy parents, or were placed here after coming in from another clan. Almost all of them stayed there until adulthood, but one caught her eye. A young Skydancer, who was probably around the age that Anemone was when she had escaped from her clan in Dragonhome. She looked too much like herself. The colors were close, but what really got her was the blank look in her eyes. The girl slouched and emptily stared as if she was waiting for something or someone to come along and change her world.
Waiting for someone like Rosaline.
Anemone approached her and the young one lifted her gaze, hardly moving her head, as if the very act was a chore. A few bandages loosely clung to her claws, and a small pile seemed to be tied up around something in front of her. Anemone didn’t tell others about the how or why, but she took the girl in. No resistance came from the girl, but no joy either. However far memories can be tucked away, they still seemed to linger. For Anemone, there were questions that she would always have and they would probably never be answered. For the girl, whatever haunted her and shut her into an empty silence would be staying with her for a long time.
Elara, as she was called, warmed up to her slowly. Anemone backed off to allow her the space and time to adjust. Most of their time together was spent in silence with one of them watching the other. Anemone had no objections, treating Elara as an adoptive sister - or at least as close as she could get to it. Once the younger dragon settled in she requested lessons in combat. Scars and quick reflexes showed that it wasn’t her first fight. She picked up the skills at a surprising pace, following a path similar to Anemone’s own. Unlike Anemone, Elara carved out her own fighting style in time. She took on the path of the duelist, specializing in one-on-one combat. She couldn’t work in most teams and wasn’t the type to make decisions on how things would happen. Maybe it was just the experience in battle that made the weaknesses clear. If Anemone thought about it, she was sure that the ones who trained her knew every little mistake that she had ever made. That wasn’t to say that either of them were inadequate. On the contrary, Elara’s learning curve was as steep as Anemone’s. Her speed and precision were far more deadly than any of her trainers. Brute strength was replaced with a fatal augmentation to her magic. One hit to the right place could fell the majority of her targets, leaving the rest crippled and easily disposed of.
She should have seen it, but somehow Elara’s choice to become an assassin for the Espionage sect still chafed against their bond. It shouldn't have bothered her. Elara was perfectly skilled for it, and she was suited to the task. She could get into and out of places without being noticed, and her proficiency in combat meant that there was no need to rely on another dragon. Her skillset was the hallmark of an assassin's. The danger did not bother her; what set her on edge was the lifestyle. Was that kind of life worthwhile? She couldn’t say, and in the end, she reluctantly decided that it was not her choice.
Anemone could only encourage that Elara spend some time doing something else. A hobby, a trade, anything that would be enjoyable. For Anemone, this was reading a book, playing a mind game like chess with another dragon, or simply chatting with one of her comrades. Seeing Elara pick up dancing was a relief; it even brought some joy to the clan members. Dancers and any kind of entertainer were few and far between in Voiceless Reverence, but Elara managed to coax the others into competing with her out in the open where the clan could watch. The question of who was the better dancer was left forgotten by both the clan and the dancers, themselves. The dancers formed a small group of their own, and Anemone assumed that they spent time together outside of their displays. Meeting in various places at the same time couldn’t have happened otherwise.
Whether Anemone was in the field leading, back in the clan planning attacks, or merely lounging around Voiceless Reverence, her life there was certainly worth living. Would some kind of nod from her parents, just to acknowledge that she was far more than they had expected - maybe even far better than them, be nice? It would be, but she already knew that she has surpassed their expectations and them as a whole. Would knowing what happened to Rosaline be a relief? Definitely, but she didn't need to go chasing ghosts. Not at the cost of losing what she had made for herself here. What she had was worth it and she would fight to keep it.
-
The two split up and split the guards following them in turn. Anemone tried to listen to the wingbeats, slowly calculating how many dragons were following her. Maybe even which ones were following her. Numbing her mind, her thoughts turned round and round. Which path was the best one to take? Which one would let her lose these guys? Which one would Rosaline be taking? Depending on that, would Rosaline get out? But she seemed a little hesitant recently. Would she...back out?
Of course Rosaline would get out. Releasing a quiet sigh, Anemone dove into a more narrow passageway. Satisfaction glimmered over her briefly. The walls were turning to rock. Gems could be seen ahead. She could lose them this way.
A chilled pang of fear went through her feathers. How far would they follow her? She didn’t know, but she wouldn’t allow them to take her back. She couldn't. If she had to act ‘normally,’ for one more day she was going to scream. She didn’t need her parents. She didn’t need the rules. Not the choking normalcy, or the chores, or the smiles that she didn’t understand.
She kept beating her wings, going down winding path after winding path. Gems glowed all around and the paths narrowed. She lost track of how many paths she had gone down. Now all she knew was whether to go down one or two, but eventually, all she wanted to do was lose them. Her claws were raw from hitting the rocks. Her wings were straining and every beat hurt. Pain flared throughout her body, but adrenaline replaced it with each step.
Just one more. Just one more. Just one more.
Was it losing one more guard or was it taking one more wingbeat? She lost track. It was all just path one or zero or five, whichever one would get rid of them. She knew some of them had gotten stuck, or they had hit something. One or two even fell down a cavern, and she didn’t know if they had gotten out. She hadn’t looked back. The unnatural sound that an animal would make pierced her hearing. Even when she looked back at it later, she couldn’t quite call it a sob or a cry. It was just despair.
The wingbeats behind her died down one by one. The garnet and ember seemed to mock her, dancing across her vision. She was sure that her claws were bleeding and her wings begged her to let them fall off. The ember fluttered around and her wings stilled. Dragging tender and bruised claws one in front of the other, the silence embraced her.
Hazily, she startled awake. A few rocks dislodged themselves and tumbled down far below her. Why were her claws so red?
Groggily lifting her head up, she blinked. A blanket of navy beckoned in a sea of azure. Darkened shapes and shadowy figures without silhouettes were dotted with pinpoints of light. It gradually flowed into a pocket of copper and cobalt where embers hit the edge of the sky.
Anemone couldn't say how long she laid there, taking the sky's light in. She watched it turn. The light spread. Laying her head down, she watched until sleep overtook her again. She was free.
A crack disrupted her rest, and she was up again in a jolt of fear and energy. A shadowy figure lurked at the edge of one of the bushes in the narrow path that could be used to climb up and down the long ascent.
“Who are you?” she asked warily, searching for her knife before remembering that her pack had been lost in the caves.
“A traveler.” A feminine voice echoed back and the figure shifted slightly, hiding behind the bushes and rocks.
“Where are you from? Are you taking me back there?” Anemone asked stiffly, gazing at the shadowy figure.
“That depends on where you’re from. As for me, I am from Voiceless Reverence.” the dragon answered.
Anemone was about to answer, when the leaves rustled. A couple hatchlings burst out of the shade and their colors were almost blinding.
“Oh, get back here.” An older dragon came out after them.
Her eyes were veiled and she barely managed to pull them back to her, keeping some semblance of grace.
“You two are staying with me.” she said to the pair, who were squirming and wiggling under her loose claws.
“I’m Rivalen.” The Skydancer bowed her head and Anemone couldn’t quite catch her eyes.
“Anemone.” Anemone murmured in return, tensely watching the ruby hatchlings that tentatively fluttered away from Rivalen.
Rivalen merely rose a claw up to brush a few feathers out of her eyes, but the hood remained right where it was. Anemone had to wonder, if it was it supposed to shield Rivalen’s eyes, or if it was to keep her eyes from being seen.
“You’re injured.” Rivalen nodded her head towards Anemone.
Anemone winced, rubbing her claws gently. They were raw from so hastily flying through the cave system. Cuts and deeper scrapes were long scabbed over. Pale feathers were pulled tight by the dried blood, a few spots were matted in it. Her wings jolted with pain, as she shifted them down to her sides.
“I take it you’re not going back to your clan for that?” she asked again, sending a small, side glare in the direction of the hatchlings.
“No.” Anemone answered curtly, though it in no way deterred the other.
“Need somewhere to stay then?” Rivalen asked, blankly watching both the hatchlings and Anemone. The stranger’s gaze fell to the space between, and the bones that lined her feathers jingled in the breeze.
“Who are you?” Anemone asked without even a slight change in tone.
“Just Rivalen. A Skydancer. Occasional trader and unofficial ambassador of my clan. Also an avid scholar of dark magic.” she said listlessly.
“You’re what?” Anemone crept back into a more defendable position, looking over Rivalen to see which spots would hurt the most if hit.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second.” Rivalen had also backed away slightly, waving her claws in a controlled manner.
“You’re a dark mage?” Anemone asked, trying to ignore the thought of just how much her claws would be hurting after she fought Rivalen.
“Not a danger.” Rivalen said slowly to make sure that the message was received.
To prove her point the Skydancer swiftly and smoothly tossed her hood back, making Anemone jump back out of reflex and surprise.
“Light?” Anemone asked with nothing short of confusion.
Tilting her head and blinking just to make sure still revealed two golden eyes gazing back at her, before glancing at the wandering hatchlings.
“Light, yes. I am more knowledgeable than most dragons when it comes to dark magic, especially older magics, however I cannot practice it myself.” Rivalen said matter of factly, giving a small nod.
“Anyway, now that such boring things are out of the way, would you like to take some bandages and a salve or two? I’ve been carrying them for a while, and it seems like you could use them.” Rivalen continued, seemingly disinterested in Anemone’s continued confusion.
Rivalen slowly lowered a claw into the bag that was loosely slung over her body. A labeled jar with some kind of off white cream and a roll of bandages emerged, neatly held in place by a careful yet loose grip.
“I can help you with this, or you can use these yourself. Our healers could probably heal you fully, if you’d like to come with us.” Rivalen extended a claw out in her direction.
Nothing short of trepidation slowed her claws to where she might have been seeing if the earth would fall out underneath her with each step. Nothing short of the sizable pain kept her from stopping her approach to the hooded Skydancer. Whoever this dragon was, she was clearly shifting between as clear as glass to being as impenetrable as the shadows. Every nerve Anemone had filled with anxiety, and not even the weight of the bandages seemed to lift it. The roll was warily taken, but still held with some difficulty as she peered over her screaming wings.
“Here, let me help you. Just-” Rivalen offered, probably noticing the grimaces.
She first turned to the wayward hatchlings, calling them back yet again. The pair tottled and bobbled back into view.
Soft claws took the bandages from her, before pausing in what Anemone assumed was assessing the injuries. Rivalen seemed to hum quietly. A sigh had Anemone turning around again to cast a narrowed gaze at her.
“These are really bad. You’re covered in blood.” Rivalen said, glancing at her before dipping a claw into the salve. A cold burn spread wherever Rivalen’s claws touched.
“Do you have to do that?” Anemone asked, gritting her teeth.
The rocks underneath her dug into her claws as the pain waved back and forth through her feathers.
“It should get numb enough to let you move a little in a minute or two. It’ll also keep the bacteria out, which is important if you want to come with us.” The answer was far from soothing.
Rivalen finished quickly but carefully. No mercy was given towards the pain, but it made the process go by faster. When the Skydancer finally backed away, wiping her claws off on a cloth, Anemone couldn’t help but look at her numbly. The numbed aching had spread across all of the wounds and then some, but it was now bearable. Barely.
“You should probably come with us just to be safe from the Beastclans. At least until your wounds heal.” Rivalen said, waving the hatchlings over yet again. “The clan won’t ask questions with the exception of the Queen, and she doesn’t say a word about anything to others. Your choice though.”
“Where is your clan?” Anemone asked, looking between the hatchlings and Rivalen.
“Abiding Boneyard of the Scarred Wasteland. It’ll be a quick trip as long as you don’t get lost. Get lost and you might die.” she answered nonchalantly. “I’ll be keeping track of you for your sake though, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Anemone shifted around a little, scrutinizing Rivalen and the words that she spoke.
“That’s better than where I’ve been.” Anemone said right as Rivalen opened her mouth to speak again.
The Skydancer stopped with a nod, and the discussion ended with that. Rivalen spent a few minutes settling packs onto the hatchlings, probably just to slow them down rather than to help Rivalen disperse the weight. She took the rest only briefly mentioning that having Anemone carry anything would probably injure her even more. They traveled in relative silence. The hatchlings babbled away and bumped against one another. Rivalen kept an eye on all of them, weaving her way through what had to be familiar paths to her. Shifting rocks and crystals became smaller as they traveled, and a crimson rot seemed to edge into its place. Pustules of ooze dotted the ground at intervals. The scent of death and decay seemed to fall onto them the farther they walked. When the waves of nausea started coming, Anemone couldn’t even tell if it was from the pain of her wounds or the hanging odor. Her claws panged with each step. The bandages only allowed so little flight. Pushing them would pull the fabric off altogether, and if they were hurting now, having any of the buzzing parasites that would bury themselves into the wounds would double the pain. If she was lucky that would be all of it at least. She was sure that the trip and the environment was only bearable because her senses were tuning herself and her surroundings out. Vaguely aware that something smelled like it had died, and that multiple animals and even a dragon had died along the path that they took, she pressed forward refusing to stop despite the circumstances. Howling and feral jeering was replaced by slithering as the sun slipped away. The land glowed with a sickly green grime.
The hatchlings passed out almost immediately once they made their stop for the night. Tents hadn’t even been set up for the night and they had dozed off despite the slithering, rattling all around them.
“What is that noise?” Anemone asked.
Slowly stretching a wing and then the other, she laid down in the rusted dirt. The bandages clung to her wings, chest, claws, and everything else. Most hung off of her loosely unraveled. Others were barely still wrapped around her. The scabs mirrored her gems. She might have been the only fresh wound in the area. If a day was what it took for her to smell iron and the differences between blood being fresh or dry, then a day in the Wastelands might have been too long to stay.
As for Rivalen, her guide was practically silhouetted against the shifting shadows. Hardly a noise could be heard, despite the setup of the camp.
“Shattered Serpents are coming out for the night. If we made a bigger fire, you could actually see them slithering out for a while. It looks a lot like an ocean. Just in a defiled, crimson desert with moist patches.” Rivalen said, backing away from her work.
“Anyway, you should get some rest. I’ll take watch and just nap in the morning. The clan isn’t that much farther in. We’re right on the edge of the Contagion and the Boneyard.” she continued, wrapping herself in the heavy, sable cloth had hung around her in the sunlight.
The seams looked worn. It was the kind of cloth that would fall apart if the strings were pulled on. Anemone thought she might’ve seen a slash or two from times when that had happened. Maybe it was just her eyes. Prickling was never a good sign, and that was still a familiar feeling from the nights spent staring at maps. Laying her head down, neither of them even had the energy to change her bandages. Sleep took her and any thoughts of her day, night, and everything in between, in seconds.
They awoke to the sun setting a haze of light upon the very Wasteland that seemed to fight it. Thin sheets of a tumbling fog rushed forward, before being taken by the light. The hatchlings giggled and argued over what clattered like a few bones and rocks. Anemone poked her head out of her tent only to be greeted by more quiet banter. Rivalen gave a small wave, before slipping into what had to be her own tent.
With a sigh, Anemone left her’s to take a look around. Moving hurt, but she was actually more fatigued than anything. Blinking, she rubbed her claws together in surprise. The soaked bandages were gone and new ones had taken their place. She had to have been tired if she hadn’t felt Rivalen changing them. If the nature of Skydancer’s clan was the same as Rivalen, herself, then maybe they wouldn’t be so bad. Deceptive. Organized. Definitely held more power than it wished to let on. Also willing to help, and uncaring towards any unwillingness to be polite or kind. Maybe that kind of clan could be a good place to stay. Maybe it could even be a home.
Would Rosaline find one? Would Anemone find one to begin with? Thoughts of Rosaline, but also ones of Anemone’s own future plagued her. She looked at the hatchlings, but all she saw was an assortment of mistakes and other possibilities. She wondered what had happened to her friend, and yet she could not go back and find out. The wondering got her nowhere, but she had to wonder anyway. What happened now? What was this clan going to be like? It could be good or...it could be worse.
They left once Rivalen had slept for what could have been an hour or a few. Anemone hadn’t kept track. Only her frown did. The barren landscape that thrived with pathogens unseen gave way to bones. The horizon was dotted with graves that had been scattered like seeds across a field. Winds rippled by once or twice just to remind them that something, somewhere had died and that things would keep on dying here. Whatever the Plague could get its claws on was at risk. Everything that could be seen, even the skulls, four-eyed Mirrors, and skulls of four-eyed Mirrored that peered back at them reminded them of that sentiment. Keep going or have something else take your place. Not even that...keep going or have something take your place, and watch it use everything that you had on you to live.
Bones, graves, and eyes led them to slight valleys and hills. Trenches used to fight wars between the land’s denizens. Trenches used by the same denizens to survive. On one of these hills, a path of bones was strewn and sewed up. Its edge fell off into another valley, but the path up to the clan was clear.
“Here we are. Try not to run up there too quickly.” Rivalen said, nodding to the hatchlings.
Navigating the path seemed harder than it should have been. Footwork was made harder by ragged rocks and jutting bones still clawing for the sky. The path was beaten and worn but still littered in obstacles.
“Take your time. It’s made like this to keep the Mirrors and Beastclans out, or at least to slow them down.” Rivalen added, then flew above seemingly expecting silence in return.
Anemone merely gave a nod, beginning the slow trek up to the clan. Rest was something to look forward to. Maybe this place would even be safe with where it was. Only a few other outposts on the way had been placed so conveniently for the defense of the residents. Once inside the clan’s borders, a very new sight met her gaze. Rivalen dismissed herself to bring the hatchlings elsewhere. Tents of thicker leathers and pelts looked as if they could have been used as armor at another time. Some of them had been armor pieces based on the tears, but that was a source of pride for these dragons if she had to guess. Dirt paths connected the clan, and the bones were the only boundaries between paths and someone’s yard. Smoke billowed from a couple buildings. Stairs seemed to descend into alleyways. Extremely clean bones were the only ones used in the towering walls that surrounded the borders. If someone were to shoot an arrow into the wall from outside, the arrow would probably just lodge itself into the wall. One more piece of protection for the clan.
Rivalen returned only giving a few slight nods to her other clan members. One or two looks in Anemone’s way was the extent of attention that she received. Unable to decide whether that was good or not, she followed Rivalen for a little longer. They wound through the paths, passing by various dragons all wandering about on their own business. Some had stopped to chat with others. Others moved around with purpose. Just when she started to wonder where they were going, Rivalen took a sharp descent into a set of stairs. A few pebbles skidded down into the darkness. The lack of light was impressive, but the slanted steepness of the stairs may have beaten it. If they could have spoken, the stairs would’ve told her that they not want dragons going down there.
Rivalen opened a door at the bottom, leaving Anemone to follow her through. Dull lights whose sources were hidden masked the walls and smoke wafted out into the air outside. The ceiling could have been right above them, or it could have towered above them. Realizing that the smoke was cutting through her vision along with the weak lights, she glanced around for whoever lived down here. Someone had to. Birdskulls were lined along the shelves. Archways led into other sections of this place. Blankets and throws were draped along harder edges, but also on many of the pillows and furniture. Movement caught her eye. A figure with colors strikingly similar to her’s separated herself from a small group off past the smoke.
A Nocturne laden in silks approached them. Piercing eyes passed over Rivalen, setting themselves on Anemone. She held no weapon, but this dragon moved with far more will and control than any other. This dragon was undoubtedly in charge. A protector of a leader would have had armor and scars. The Nocturne’s only visible weapon was her gaze, perhaps that was enough.
“Rivalen, you seem to have brought an extra dragon back to us.” the Nocturne positioned herself with a grace that mimicked the one she spoke to.
Something told her that she would have held herself high regardless of her company, and regardless of her species’ impulsive mimicry.
“Veilerris, I ran into her on the way back from the Labyrinth. She was badly injured. I figured that you would still want to talk to her, before sending her to Citrine and Sting.” Rivalen gave a small nod and a slight bow.
“Indeed. I’ll make it quick, you look like you’re still in pain.” Veilerris said, turning to Anemone.
Rivalen bowed herself out and Veilerris kept her gaze on Anemone unblinkingly. Staring back at her, Anemone narrowed her eyes searching the ones that were so intent on pulling her apart. A silent turn had the pair venturing off into another hazy hall, but not before Veilerris could motion to another dragon off in the group that Anemone had seen earlier.
“In here. We just need to talk to you for a little, before you can go see our healers.” she said smoothly, stepping to the side of the doorway.
Reluctantly, Anemone entered the room. Stone walls and sparse decorations were hardly welcoming. Fresh memories of her recent escape echoed through the whole structure. A wing flap and a coarse voice forced her to look over her shoulder. A much darker Coatl laden in blood armor and cloth placed herself on the other side of the room with a scowl. Armor and sword sung a quiet song before growing silent. Veilerris entered and the door clicked behind them.
“Briar, you could at least take a seat.” Veilerris said still just as calm as before.
Briar merely flicked a glare in Veilerris’ direction. Anemone swore that the other Coatl had hummed something quietly, but she couldn’t quite catch it. Silence and seconds passed, leaving Briar to set her eyes on Anemone still refusing to make herself comfortable.
“Briar. General Briar if you feel like cowering.” she nodded a greeting in Anemone’s general direction. “That would be Veilerris, Voiceless Reverence’s Queen. She’ll decide whether you stay here, if you want to stay here. I’ll decide on whether you’re a threat to us or not. I’ll also judge whether you’re fit to join our clan’s Military force or not, if you so desire. Or if her majesty so desires.”
Another scowl was sent off into her Queen’s direction with the last comment, but no response was received in turn.
“You may have a seat if you would like.” Veilerris said cordially.
It crossed her mind that the suggestion might have been more of a command, a silent threat, from someone who wasn’t ready to let on the reasons for being in power. Dragons didn’t just gain power of a clan. Not without a reason at least. Cautiously sitting herself down, Veilerris did the same.
“How bad are those wounds…?” Veilerris asked pausing questioningly.
She wanted a name. If Anemone was giving her a name, she was going to need something in return.
“What do I need to give you to stay here?” Anemone asked.
“Straight to the point.” Briar said matter-of-factly. “Depends on how long you’re staying. If it’s just until your wounds heal, we don’t need anything. If you want to stay here longer than that, you need to earn your keep.”
“So what would that be?” she asked cautiously, glancing between the two.
One pair of eyes intently gazed at her. The other had a look that matched her tone. This clan would be a good place to recover, but the nature of the dragons in it caught her off guard. Harsh as the Plague that they lived in, but a ruthlessness to match was lacking. Based on the two in front of her, they could and would destroy whatever threats came their way. No safe havens that gave freely were passed by on the way to this clan. There may have been havens, but they came at a cost and with fierce competition. Why was this place different?
“You will need to pull your own weight and contribute to the clan. We cannot provide you with everything. Preferably, you would merely offer your current skills. You could also learn under someone with skills that you could learn quickly and learn to their own proficiency.” Veilerris explained barely waving a claw.
The silks were tied closer to her than most dragons would wear them. Was it just to keep them out of her way for convenience, or was she actually ready for a fight?
“What would a Plague clan need?” Anemone asked dryly, focusing more on the expressions and movements of the pair than on their words.
“Fighters are our main concern, but I’ll say it now, we don't need any lone wolves.” Briar stretched her wings, before tucking them against her sides.
“We could also use food gatherers, travelers, merchants, healers, anyone with more covert abilities, and most daily life roles.” Veilerris said, before interrupting the pause that came with Anemone’s thinking. This comment was directed at Briar. “You could be more cordial.”
“I am not here to be cordial. I am here to protect. The clan can have their nice dragons, but I won’t be one of them. My only job is to make sure that the clan is safe from beastclan and dragon alike. The healers can deal with pestilence and the like.” Briar’s words were as cutting as the sword and armor that hung all around her.
For the first time since meeting her, Veilerris shot a glare as strong as Briar’s back at her own General.
“What if I want to fight?” Anemone risked breaking the argument.
Scales and feathers shuffled around. Gazes turned back over to her once more.
“I’ll assess your abilities. We have a few trainers around, so depending on what you want to learn…” Briar shrugged.
“If that’s the path you want to take, that should be all that we need to hear. Briar will take control from here, and she may delegate your training to someone else. You can also choose who you want to train you, depending on your fighting style.” Veilerris said, rising from her place to leave.
“Welcome to Voiceless Reverence then…” Veilerris paused again, turning over her shoulder to look her way.
“Anemone.” Anemone said, blankly watching the Queen leave.
“I’ll take you to our healers. Once they give the ‘all good’ we can start training you. Until then, you can just rest.” Briar nodded, motioning for her to follow.
Anemone’s wounds healed quickly under claws that had dealt with wounds like her’s a thousand times. She trained knowing that the same healers would do so another thousand times. Form came quickly with only two of five trainers specializing in pure physical combat. Briar was as abrasive as ever, but she consistently fought fluidly in whatever team she joined. Where Briar taught form, stance, and instant analysis of the situation, Enthrall gave her the ‘how’ and ‘why’ infighting. If she moved too slowly, she had to fight Enthrall for every breath and inch that she had. If she moved too quickly, she had to fight her own body to keep her reflexes a millisecond faster than Briar’s calculated strikes. With each breath and strike that Enthrall sent her way, Anemone was one claw closer to losing the fight. With each second that Briar was given, Anemone’s body was surely lined up with one more weakness the Briar could use against her. Practice until breaths came shallow and sweat beaded down her neck was part of her daily routine.
Over time she closed the gap between them. Time had her tallying up more swipes slipped into defending herself against Enthrall’s onslaught, and eventually, the two were claw to claw. Each breath was a coin toss between who would strike first. She learned to use the adrenaline to hit harder and faster, but spars with Briar kept her in check. Her cold and ruthless nature absorbed the adrenaline and kept a harsh alertness about her. It was as if someone had dumped frigid water over her. Heat, cold, blood, wounds, none of it mattered in the sparring. Rather than trying to guess what Briar would do, she learned to watch and react to what she did do. Mimicking her mentor’s style, Anemone parried and sidestepped. Blows were blocked and sent back against the clattering bones. What came too hard and too fast was dodged, but that wasn’t the end. Clipping closer and drawing herself in came with practice. Closing the distance gave Anemone more momentum behind each strike, and it stole Briar’s advantage with the sword from her. They fought claw to claw, but rather than hammering slashes with each step, each strike was calculated and aimed for precision. One jab from Briar was enough to knock her down and keep her down. Force and accuracy ended their fights in minutes.
Ventures into other regions of Sorneith took her breath away, but she never dropped her guard. Ever alert, Anemone was the first to keep watch during more dangerous hours. Real battles ranked her as one of the most prepared. As sure as the night, Anemone never held back in fighting for her life. No hesitation. No regret. Everything that she had learned was honed to a deadly precision.
No one asked her to be nice. No one asked her to go clean the lair up. No one told her to go introduce herself and make friends. No one told her to be quiet when they weren’t talking to her. She was nice in keeping the ones next to her alive. She cleaned up in making sure that her daggers and armor were all sharp and clean. There was no rust or a dull edge, but the metal was crimson with nicks and scratches along all of the once silver blades. Even her armor had dark stains along the sable edges. She introduced herself with a cold nod and made her friends in fighting alongside them. And talking? They talked when they wanted to, and they stayed silent when they chose to.
Anemone settled into Voiceless Reverence through blood and merit. She was unquestioningly placed as one of the team leaders, soon after promoted to Sergeant, and eventually, she was the first dragon to gain Lieutenant status. Anemone spent much of her time coordinating the more difficult attacks that the clan faced, rarely needing Briar to step in to offer aid. With much of her past put behind her, she focused on what she can do then. Her abilities surpassed what anyone ever expected of her, even leaving her impressed at times. Her decisions could be remembered as cold and at times even cruel, but they served to minimize deaths on her side of the board.
Anemone stood as a proud if distant, dragon within Voiceless Reverence. She was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, able to move faster and hit harder than most dragons. The true nightmare came in the frightening speed that she can pull apart an enemy’s fighting style to pick and strike their weakest points, while she, herself, narrowly dodged and parried almost all incoming attacks. Untouchable, so they called her. Even Voiceless Reverence had few dragons that dare to waste her time. Those who do befriend her found that she was far less cold than what she once was. Detached? Certainly. Ruthless? She definitely could have been. Heartless? No. In relaxing into her home, her life was given meaning. It was a place that didn’t demand that she be someone else, but it did demand that she be her very best and nothing less than that. That was what made it home and was enough to give her life meaning.
At some point in the haze of daily life, Anemone happened to pass by the clan’s nursery. She passed by it often, and there were always one or two little ones who would come to the fence to peer at her in wonder. One day was different. She knew and had known, that many of the clan’s hatchlings were left here due to busy parents, or were placed here after coming in from another clan. Almost all of them stayed there until adulthood, but one caught her eye. A young Skydancer, who was probably around the age that Anemone was when she had escaped from her clan in Dragonhome. She looked too much like herself. The colors were close, but what really got her was the blank look in her eyes. The girl slouched and emptily stared as if she was waiting for something or someone to come along and change her world.
Waiting for someone like Rosaline.
Anemone approached her and the young one lifted her gaze, hardly moving her head, as if the very act was a chore. A few bandages loosely clung to her claws, and a small pile seemed to be tied up around something in front of her. Anemone didn’t tell others about the how or why, but she took the girl in. No resistance came from the girl, but no joy either. However far memories can be tucked away, they still seemed to linger. For Anemone, there were questions that she would always have and they would probably never be answered. For the girl, whatever haunted her and shut her into an empty silence would be staying with her for a long time.
Elara, as she was called, warmed up to her slowly. Anemone backed off to allow her the space and time to adjust. Most of their time together was spent in silence with one of them watching the other. Anemone had no objections, treating Elara as an adoptive sister - or at least as close as she could get to it. Once the younger dragon settled in she requested lessons in combat. Scars and quick reflexes showed that it wasn’t her first fight. She picked up the skills at a surprising pace, following a path similar to Anemone’s own. Unlike Anemone, Elara carved out her own fighting style in time. She took on the path of the duelist, specializing in one-on-one combat. She couldn’t work in most teams and wasn’t the type to make decisions on how things would happen. Maybe it was just the experience in battle that made the weaknesses clear. If Anemone thought about it, she was sure that the ones who trained her knew every little mistake that she had ever made. That wasn’t to say that either of them were inadequate. On the contrary, Elara’s learning curve was as steep as Anemone’s. Her speed and precision were far more deadly than any of her trainers. Brute strength was replaced with a fatal augmentation to her magic. One hit to the right place could fell the majority of her targets, leaving the rest crippled and easily disposed of.
She should have seen it, but somehow Elara’s choice to become an assassin for the Espionage sect still chafed against their bond. It shouldn't have bothered her. Elara was perfectly skilled for it, and she was suited to the task. She could get into and out of places without being noticed, and her proficiency in combat meant that there was no need to rely on another dragon. Her skillset was the hallmark of an assassin's. The danger did not bother her; what set her on edge was the lifestyle. Was that kind of life worthwhile? She couldn’t say, and in the end, she reluctantly decided that it was not her choice.
Anemone could only encourage that Elara spend some time doing something else. A hobby, a trade, anything that would be enjoyable. For Anemone, this was reading a book, playing a mind game like chess with another dragon, or simply chatting with one of her comrades. Seeing Elara pick up dancing was a relief; it even brought some joy to the clan members. Dancers and any kind of entertainer were few and far between in Voiceless Reverence, but Elara managed to coax the others into competing with her out in the open where the clan could watch. The question of who was the better dancer was left forgotten by both the clan and the dancers, themselves. The dancers formed a small group of their own, and Anemone assumed that they spent time together outside of their displays. Meeting in various places at the same time couldn’t have happened otherwise.
Whether Anemone was in the field leading, back in the clan planning attacks, or merely lounging around Voiceless Reverence, her life there was certainly worth living. Would some kind of nod from her parents, just to acknowledge that she was far more than they had expected - maybe even far better than them, be nice? It would be, but she already knew that she has surpassed their expectations and them as a whole. Would knowing what happened to Rosaline be a relief? Definitely, but she didn't need to go chasing ghosts. Not at the cost of losing what she had made for herself here. What she had was worth it and she would fight to keep it.
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All art is clickable and links back to their creators
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All art is clickable and links back to their creators
(Full size)
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
Exalting Anemone to the service of the Plaguebringer will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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