Moondust
(#31355504)
Level 25 Skydancer
Familiar
Light Sprite
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.79 m
Wingspan
6.31 m
Weight
778.77 kg
Genetics
Silver
Fern
Fern
White
Seraph
Seraph
White
Points
Points
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
119
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
69
INT
5
VIT
19
MND
5
Biography
A sharp jerk on his ankle brought Moondust out of his reverie. He blinked painfully, trying to clear the dust from his too-dry eyes. By the angle of the sun beating down on his burned, peeling back, it was not yet midday. Too early for the gulp of water and morsel of food that he and the other dragons in line received three times a day.
Moondust blinked again, squinting against the glare of the Shifting Expanse. He had been born in this arid wasteland, but he had never noticed its heat as he had these past few weeks. Behind him another Skydancer, a deep violet male so thin Moondust could have counted his ribs had he wanted to, slumped to the ground with a groan. Moondust felt almost as tired as this dragon looked. In the weeks shackled beside him, he hadn’t even bothered to learn his name. Now, as he listened to the other’s rasping breath, he felt a stab of pity. He knew better than to act on it. Three long welts on his left flank still wept blood from the first time he had tried to help one of the dragons who marched beside him. That dragon had been cut loose and left to die that same day. Moondust hadn’t tried to help since.
The pale Skydancer flinched as he heard a raid driver’s whip crack, but no lash fell on him. The chain that connected his left foreleg to his right hind leg, which was in turn connected to the foreleg of the Skydancer behind him, tugged at his ankles as behind him another dragon jerked feebly in his manacles. Moondust turned to see a Tundra even gaunter than the Skydancer next to him struggling weakly to rise. The Tundra’s coat was so matted with filth Moondust couldn’t guess what colour he had been. He coughed, bloody froth forming in the corners of his mouth. His forelegs quivered as he tried to pull himself to his feet, but his hind quarters seemed immobilized. There was panic in his eyes.
The driver’s whip cracked again, then he struck the Tundra across the face with one wing, his Ridgeback spines leaving trails of blood. The Tundra’s head snapped to the side, and collapsed onto the dry, stony ground. He did not try to rise again.
Cursing loudly, the driver called to one of his companions. The other raider, also a Ridgeback, aimed a kick Moondust as he passed that the Skydancer barely avoided. This dragon was the leader of the roving raider clan, and the only one important enough for Moondust to have learned his name. Sariel was lean and muscular, with cruel eyes and a foul attitude even toward his clanmates. When he saw the motionless Tundra he growled at the first raider, unhooking a ring of iron keys from his belt. The chain around Moondust’s ankles was connected to the Skydancer behind him, rear leg to foreleg, and it chafed painfully at the skin beneath as Sariel fought with the Tundra’s manacles. Finally, with a groan from lack of use, the manacle opened. It had been locked for a long time.
Moondust knew where they were going, of course. If he could only get those keys… but no. Sariel was too careful. Bands of hunter-raiders like this were rarely spoken of, but they weren’t altogether uncommon. Hatchlings everywhere heard tales of bad dragons who would snatch them in the night if they wandered too far, but none but the very youngest took them seriously. Moondust had all but forgotten these stories in the years since he had left his nest.
It had been centuries since the gods last appeared on Sorneith, but every flight still revered them. Priests and soothsayers spoke of the holy act of exaltation and direct service under their clan’s patron deity. By choosing to become one with a god, a dragon could gain favour for the clan he or she left behind.
Moondust did not doubt that the first dragons to exalt had been noble and self-sacrificing. Many, he supposed, still were. But there were some clans who, whether because of some threat they hoped to avoid or through pure greed, sought to cultivate their patron’s favour in massive quantities.
These clans enjoyed wealth and prosperity that most dragons would never experience, fueled by a near-constant stream of exalted members. To sustain this rate of exaltation, many clans turned to illicit prisoner markets as fodder for their greed. Weak, half-starved dragons were purchased from their captors and forced to exalt themselves to a god they may or may not recognize immediately after joining their new clan. Moondust wasn’t sure how you could forcibly exalt someone, but he would find out soon enough.
It was two more weeks before they reached the exalt market. It was a ramshackle collection of wooden buildings and iron cages, with a bidding platform facing a packed dirt square near the center. The unnamed Skydancer behind Moondust in line had fallen only two days before, cast aside on the roadway as dozens of other dragons trampled past. The ground was softer here, cracked clay dropping away by degrees into a mist-filled basin that reached to the horizon. This land, on the border between the Shifting Expanse and the Tangled Wood, was claimed by no clan. No one cared what happened here.
Moondust was far weaker than he had been on the day the Tundra died. His once-magnificent feathers were dry and brittle, and he lost a few more every day. His flesh had retreated between each of his ribs, and his joints were painfully swollen. Every step hurt, and the skin under his manacles had been chafed with rusty iron until it was puffy and greenish with infection.
Sariel sauntered down the line, inspecting his wares. He paused to inspect Moondust’s oozing foreleg, then spat in disgust. He reeked of rotten fish, but the smell was almost pleasant compared to the unwashed bodies that had surrounded Moondust for so long. He gestured, and one of his clanmates unlocked the bolt connecting Moondust's manacles to the chain that held the line of prisoners together. Some of the other dragons were unchained too, the ones who had been with the party the longest. The ones Sariel knew were too weak to run.
Moondust forced his mind into focus, banishing the pain and exhaustion for the first time in weeks. He would have only one chance. If he was to escape, it would have to be now.
The silvery Skydancer bounded forward, earning shouts of alarm from the raiders. One step, then another. He screamed as the manacles dug into is flesh, the chain snapping taunt with every stride, but he did not fall. Their shock earned him a few precious moments and he launched himself into the air, off balance until he felt an updraft rise beneath his wings.
He knew Sariel and the others would be following, but he did not look back. Even if he had been healthy, the manacles on his legs would have slowed him. He couldn’t spare the time.
Without thinking about it, he veered toward the swirling mists of the Tangled Wood. If he was to lose his pursuers, it would have to be in there. He shivered as their cool touch enveloped him, the dampness suffocating after so long in the arid lightning territory.
Shouts behind him. Moondust strained forward, but the air currents seemed to disappear beneath his wings. Uncared for and malnourished, his long pinions had lost whatever rigidity remained to them in the unexpected damp. Fear of pursuit was the only thing that kept him from crying out as he plummeted through the air. Trees like skeletal fingers rose up around him. Then, blackness.
Night had fallen when Moondust regained consciousness. Above him, something shiny and purple moved in the darkness. This is it, he thought. The eye of the Shadowbinder herself. He must have been captured. Now, he would serve the god of shadows for eternity whether or not he willed it. As he faded back into a fever-ridden sleep he thought he heard a high-pitched voice speaking to him.
“Hang in there friend. I’ll bring help. Just hang in there.”
When next he awoke, he was wrapped in soft blankets in a cozy stone-lined den. A glossy brown Tundra with a magnificent golden mane bustled around by the fireplace, preparing something in a large iron pan that smelled delicious.
“Couldn’t just leave him…”
“But we have no food to spare…”
“It was those raiders on the plains, I’ll bet my claws.”
Still only half awake, Moondust turned toward the voices. A small group of dragons huddled around a table, a massive black Ridgeback at their head. She was strong and dangerous-looking, but her haunted eyes held none of the cruelty that Moondust had seen so often in Sariel’s clan. Two Faes, one a swirl of green and tan and the other the same glowing violet as the Ridgeback’s eyes, flitted toward him. They chirruped softly, swirling around the brown Tundra as he brought Moondust a steaming bowl of broth.
Starved though he was, Moondust reached a bandaged forepaw toward the purple Fae.
“Thank you.”
Moondust blinked again, squinting against the glare of the Shifting Expanse. He had been born in this arid wasteland, but he had never noticed its heat as he had these past few weeks. Behind him another Skydancer, a deep violet male so thin Moondust could have counted his ribs had he wanted to, slumped to the ground with a groan. Moondust felt almost as tired as this dragon looked. In the weeks shackled beside him, he hadn’t even bothered to learn his name. Now, as he listened to the other’s rasping breath, he felt a stab of pity. He knew better than to act on it. Three long welts on his left flank still wept blood from the first time he had tried to help one of the dragons who marched beside him. That dragon had been cut loose and left to die that same day. Moondust hadn’t tried to help since.
The pale Skydancer flinched as he heard a raid driver’s whip crack, but no lash fell on him. The chain that connected his left foreleg to his right hind leg, which was in turn connected to the foreleg of the Skydancer behind him, tugged at his ankles as behind him another dragon jerked feebly in his manacles. Moondust turned to see a Tundra even gaunter than the Skydancer next to him struggling weakly to rise. The Tundra’s coat was so matted with filth Moondust couldn’t guess what colour he had been. He coughed, bloody froth forming in the corners of his mouth. His forelegs quivered as he tried to pull himself to his feet, but his hind quarters seemed immobilized. There was panic in his eyes.
The driver’s whip cracked again, then he struck the Tundra across the face with one wing, his Ridgeback spines leaving trails of blood. The Tundra’s head snapped to the side, and collapsed onto the dry, stony ground. He did not try to rise again.
Cursing loudly, the driver called to one of his companions. The other raider, also a Ridgeback, aimed a kick Moondust as he passed that the Skydancer barely avoided. This dragon was the leader of the roving raider clan, and the only one important enough for Moondust to have learned his name. Sariel was lean and muscular, with cruel eyes and a foul attitude even toward his clanmates. When he saw the motionless Tundra he growled at the first raider, unhooking a ring of iron keys from his belt. The chain around Moondust’s ankles was connected to the Skydancer behind him, rear leg to foreleg, and it chafed painfully at the skin beneath as Sariel fought with the Tundra’s manacles. Finally, with a groan from lack of use, the manacle opened. It had been locked for a long time.
Moondust knew where they were going, of course. If he could only get those keys… but no. Sariel was too careful. Bands of hunter-raiders like this were rarely spoken of, but they weren’t altogether uncommon. Hatchlings everywhere heard tales of bad dragons who would snatch them in the night if they wandered too far, but none but the very youngest took them seriously. Moondust had all but forgotten these stories in the years since he had left his nest.
It had been centuries since the gods last appeared on Sorneith, but every flight still revered them. Priests and soothsayers spoke of the holy act of exaltation and direct service under their clan’s patron deity. By choosing to become one with a god, a dragon could gain favour for the clan he or she left behind.
Moondust did not doubt that the first dragons to exalt had been noble and self-sacrificing. Many, he supposed, still were. But there were some clans who, whether because of some threat they hoped to avoid or through pure greed, sought to cultivate their patron’s favour in massive quantities.
These clans enjoyed wealth and prosperity that most dragons would never experience, fueled by a near-constant stream of exalted members. To sustain this rate of exaltation, many clans turned to illicit prisoner markets as fodder for their greed. Weak, half-starved dragons were purchased from their captors and forced to exalt themselves to a god they may or may not recognize immediately after joining their new clan. Moondust wasn’t sure how you could forcibly exalt someone, but he would find out soon enough.
It was two more weeks before they reached the exalt market. It was a ramshackle collection of wooden buildings and iron cages, with a bidding platform facing a packed dirt square near the center. The unnamed Skydancer behind Moondust in line had fallen only two days before, cast aside on the roadway as dozens of other dragons trampled past. The ground was softer here, cracked clay dropping away by degrees into a mist-filled basin that reached to the horizon. This land, on the border between the Shifting Expanse and the Tangled Wood, was claimed by no clan. No one cared what happened here.
Moondust was far weaker than he had been on the day the Tundra died. His once-magnificent feathers were dry and brittle, and he lost a few more every day. His flesh had retreated between each of his ribs, and his joints were painfully swollen. Every step hurt, and the skin under his manacles had been chafed with rusty iron until it was puffy and greenish with infection.
Sariel sauntered down the line, inspecting his wares. He paused to inspect Moondust’s oozing foreleg, then spat in disgust. He reeked of rotten fish, but the smell was almost pleasant compared to the unwashed bodies that had surrounded Moondust for so long. He gestured, and one of his clanmates unlocked the bolt connecting Moondust's manacles to the chain that held the line of prisoners together. Some of the other dragons were unchained too, the ones who had been with the party the longest. The ones Sariel knew were too weak to run.
Moondust forced his mind into focus, banishing the pain and exhaustion for the first time in weeks. He would have only one chance. If he was to escape, it would have to be now.
The silvery Skydancer bounded forward, earning shouts of alarm from the raiders. One step, then another. He screamed as the manacles dug into is flesh, the chain snapping taunt with every stride, but he did not fall. Their shock earned him a few precious moments and he launched himself into the air, off balance until he felt an updraft rise beneath his wings.
He knew Sariel and the others would be following, but he did not look back. Even if he had been healthy, the manacles on his legs would have slowed him. He couldn’t spare the time.
Without thinking about it, he veered toward the swirling mists of the Tangled Wood. If he was to lose his pursuers, it would have to be in there. He shivered as their cool touch enveloped him, the dampness suffocating after so long in the arid lightning territory.
Shouts behind him. Moondust strained forward, but the air currents seemed to disappear beneath his wings. Uncared for and malnourished, his long pinions had lost whatever rigidity remained to them in the unexpected damp. Fear of pursuit was the only thing that kept him from crying out as he plummeted through the air. Trees like skeletal fingers rose up around him. Then, blackness.
Night had fallen when Moondust regained consciousness. Above him, something shiny and purple moved in the darkness. This is it, he thought. The eye of the Shadowbinder herself. He must have been captured. Now, he would serve the god of shadows for eternity whether or not he willed it. As he faded back into a fever-ridden sleep he thought he heard a high-pitched voice speaking to him.
“Hang in there friend. I’ll bring help. Just hang in there.”
When next he awoke, he was wrapped in soft blankets in a cozy stone-lined den. A glossy brown Tundra with a magnificent golden mane bustled around by the fireplace, preparing something in a large iron pan that smelled delicious.
“Couldn’t just leave him…”
“But we have no food to spare…”
“It was those raiders on the plains, I’ll bet my claws.”
Still only half awake, Moondust turned toward the voices. A small group of dragons huddled around a table, a massive black Ridgeback at their head. She was strong and dangerous-looking, but her haunted eyes held none of the cruelty that Moondust had seen so often in Sariel’s clan. Two Faes, one a swirl of green and tan and the other the same glowing violet as the Ridgeback’s eyes, flitted toward him. They chirruped softly, swirling around the brown Tundra as he brought Moondust a steaming bowl of broth.
Starved though he was, Moondust reached a bandaged forepaw toward the purple Fae.
“Thank you.”
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Exalting Moondust to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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