Erro

He claims to be from the Wind flight, but because of his mask, no one can tell if he is lying or not. Not once has he taken his mask off, sculpted from clay and painted with the crushed petals of dying flowers. It forever smiles, cheeks carved into a lopsided grin that will never fade away. It is imbedded with magic, gifting him with sight, smell, and sound. Some could find his mask to be disturbing, others may see it as charming.

Erro is a dragon wrapped in mystery, frequently traveling from clan to clan and never staying in one place for long. He is a nomad studying to learn the cultures of other flights. His time in Ashfall Waste has left him horribly disfigured; Scars splitting across his face like an overly ripe peach. But his pain is only a valuable lesson. Every Region is just as dangerous as the next. His love for diversity knows no bounds and he continues to stubbornly pursue his desire. This overwhelming feeling burning fervently within his soul has introduced countless adventures and interesting characters into his life.

-

Erro writhed upon sharp volcanic rock, his body twisting and curling like a frightened worm. The only sound he made was a confused gurgle as he choked on bodily fluids. He could taste blood, but he didn’t know what frightened him more; loosing his sight or the constant pain he felt. Erro couldn’t describe it. Maybe it was something like an annoying itch that seared with heat or a blinding head-splitting scream that easily clouded his mind. The Skydancer was in a constant state of torment and delirium. His world faded away into darkness.


Erro awoke, unable to see. Stiffly, he sat up, his upper body completely numb. There was a dull ache in his head or what he thought was his head. This body didn’t feel like it was his. Pausing, he tried to distinguish his surroundings. He lay upon soft earth, maybe a bed? Had someone brought him here? Erro opened his mouth to speak and felt resistance. He fought and pulled, something tearing away after a few attempts. “Hello?” He couldn’t hear his own voice. He began to panic.

Something touched his right flank and he flinched, breath hoarse as his heart hammered in his chest. A soothing sensation ran across his scales and it took him a moment to understand that another was attempting to calm him. Erro turned his head in their direction. He didn’t know what to say, but eventually he managed to ask his first question; “What happened… to me?”

The caressing stopped, before a tight pressure pulled on his jaw. Pain blossomed and he visibly winced. “Please-” He was cut off as he assumed something had been pulled across his face, snapping his jaw shut. A numb sensation began to tingle across his awakening snout, crawling up to his eyes, his ears. Slowly, the world came back into focus, like he was opening his eyes for the first time.

“It will take awhile for the magic to work.” A voice echoed softly. His ears began to ring. "In time you will begin to learn how to speak."

That was the last he ever heard of the voice. When his vision returned, Erro found himself in a small hut laying upon a bed of wool. It took him a while, but he finally managed to leave the small hut with the little strength he had gained with rest. Warm, salty air greeted him and he felt like he was going to be sick. The Skydancer was on the edge of a cliff, right by the sea. Barren rock surrounded him, stretching in every direction for eternity. Where was he to go?

Erro was grateful however, for his survival. His accident had almost killed him. He flinched when his ears began to ring again, gritting his teeth with annoyance. This was apart of the healing process, but he already felt like he was loosing his mind.

He just wanted to go home.

---

Speaking wasn't easy and often it was a struggle for him. Harder words he would slur, smaller words sounded muffled. The mask was powerful with magic and taming it wasn't going to be easy. There were days when he broke objects and screamed, tearing at his scales as he sobbed. He wished, fervently wished, that he had just stayed at home and never left his region. Dragons misunderstood him and sometimes he could see the pity in their gaze. It made him feel sick. Erro just wanted to be seen as something normal, not a deformity struggling with life. On better days, he practiced speaking, starting with the basics. It was like he was back in preschool and he hated himself with a passion. His tongue felt fat and dry. But he kept his mask on. Erro didn't want to see the horrors underneath. He promised himself, if it ever did come off, it wasn't going to be in front of a mirror.