Xialanthe
(#36348118)
Level 1 Wildclaw
Familiar
Serthis Support
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Female Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.09 m
Wingspan
5.66 m
Weight
618.46 kg
Genetics
Antique
Iridescent
Iridescent
Ice
Shimmer
Shimmer
Seafoam
Stained
Stained
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
NOT FOR SALE, TRADE, OR LENDING
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Xialanthe
{ shya - LAN - thay } Nickname: Xia Recycler ♦ AH purchase 
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ Amo, ergo Sum ~ I Love, therefore I Am ~ (written by Disillusionist) ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ |
“It’s inconceivable. It’s preposterous! It is—”
“It’s driving you mad, I know, I know. With a head that fiery, it’s a wonder you aren’t from the Ashfall Waste. Now here...” Aloysius pushed a tankard towards him. “Drink up.”
“Uuugh!” Faust exploded. But he lowered his muzzle and drank deeply all the same.
The cause of the offense, if it could be called that, was this: the Lightning Representative, Karmanh, had, as a hatchling, created a most wondrous automaton. As he’d grown in skill, the automaton had become more sophisticated till it could think and act as a living dragon could. As a matter of fact, most visitors found it hard to believe that Carousel wasn’t a real dragon. They tended to think he was just a Wildclaw wearing an intricate skin.
That in itself was impressive enough, but Karmanh had also succeeded where other inventors had failed: He had created an automaton that could love.
It had fallen in love with a spirit that had floated into the lair one night. The spirit was naturally drawn to artists and displays of creativity, so she had searched for Karmanh at first. But it was the delicate automaton, with his beautiful voice and soft manners, who had captivated her. The wonder in her had awakened something similar in Carousel, and it...he...had fallen in love with her, too.
The spirit, Qualia, was welcomed by the Disillusionists for her ability to encourage and inspire, and Carousel was of course a great help to the engineers. Long story short, the artisans felt...superseded by this extraordinary development. They were artisans, they were supposed to create art. It was right there in their name.
Faustino calmed down, which is to say that instead of bellowing complaints, he now had a plan of action. Sort of: “We can create one of those magnificent automatons ourselves, too, just you wait and see!”
Well, it was a plan. Just not a good one. Or probably even feasible. Aloysius squinted his small orange eyes. “How will we go about that?” He hesitated ever so briefly before saying “we”, because he was seriously considering saying “you” instead. At the last instant, his sense of responsibility won out, and he painted himself into a corner along with his incendiary, oversized colleague.
Faust’s eyes narrowed. He rubbed his chin with one gloved paw. “Mm, that upstart young inventor will be loath to reveal his secrets.”
“Indeed,” sighed Aloysius, never mind that Karmanh was actually very polite, hardworking, and well-mannered. “Then, too, he probably has no idea how his automaton grew a heart and soul of its own. So to speak.”
“We shall have to assemble a team of our own! Let us do our best to, uh, best...no, um...surpass the Lightning engineers! What say you, Aloysius? Are you with me, old drake?” Faust craned his neck forward eagerly.
“Yes,” Aloysius answered, “if only to keep you out of trouble.”
“I never get into trouble.”
“I’m sure your Guardian would have much to say about that,” the Snapper replied scathingly. “I guess you’ll just have to keep on learning. Well, then. How shall we begin?”
Karmanh was a dragon of spirit, and he and Faust gravely agreed on a bet: The Fire Adepts had to create an automaton as intelligent as Carousel. A hundred gems were at stake, and given that Karmanh had had plenty of help from his birth clan, Faust and Aloysius were allowed to recruit assistants of their own.
Their first pick was the Coatl who ran the kitchen, Kyuchan. “It’s like this, old drake,” Faust began, hunkering down to face the much smaller dragon. “We’ve made a bet with the Lightning team that we won’t be able to match Karmanh’s magnum opus, Carousel.”
Kyuchan bobbed his head eagerly. He blinked watery red eyes behind his goggles. “You want to make an automaton just like him, then?”
“Rather like him, yes.”
Kyuchan was about to beam, but then a slight frown moved over his face. “Wait, you said ‘bet’. How much is this bet?”
Faust told him. Fast-forward to a few seconds later, and the old Coatl was flapping away as fast as his tattered wings could carry him.
Faust’s head drooped. Aloysius nudged him comfortingly with one shoulder. “Money is very important to risk gambling with, Faust.”
“It almost feels like I’m the one who should be saying that, but bah, whatever.” Faust tossed his mane. But the disconsolation didn’t leave him.
Aloysius thought. His son, Sagrad, was a cooperative and capable assistant, but he was away from the lair on various modeling jobs and would not be back for some time. Faust’s own mate, Mara, was similarly away on a trading expedition. They’d already asked his Guardian to help, but she had just laughed in his face and said, “You’ve got a knack for blundering into trouble, haven’t you, kid?” Her own mate and Faust’s friend, Aidan, was similarly unhelpful — the clan had recently admitted a new group of trainees eager to serve the Lightweaver, and the Security Chief had his paws full with them.
“We need someone with some free time on their hands, or at least someone who’d be willing to immerse themselves in the project. Immerse themselves...Hmm...”
They approached their next prospective ally carefully, not because of his diminutive size but because he’d been having an extraordinarily difficult time lately. Camillus was the clan’s appraiser, a Fae who made a living assessing how valuable objects were. He was also a jeweler, though he treated it as a hobby rather than an actual sideline.
He had also lost his mate some months ago. The rest of the clan, to be frank, had seen it coming. Floe had been a mentally unstable Skydancer, prone to violence and wandering off. She had been unduly aggressive from the very beginning — and had never wanted to change.
Camillus had interceded for her. The gentle Fae was adamant that Floe’s character could be moderated, that all she needed was rest and patient care. This he had provided, to no avail: Had Floe always been violent, or had she sustained a brain injury, hence the irrational behavior? They would never know — one night, she had attacked Camillus. Passing dragons had intervened, and she had fled into a gathering storm. It was assumed that she’d been blown off-course, fallen into the sea and then drowned. For Camillus’ sake, efforts were made to ascertain what’d happened to her, but nothing ever came to light. Eventually, the search was stopped altogether.
A few dragons dared to tell Camillus he was better off without her. He only sighed gustily and didn’t reply. It didn’t matter that the relationship had been toxic, that she had done nothing but hurt him and then drive their children away. He had loved her...and she had loved him in return, surely?
Now, months after her disappearance, he was no longer so sure. Perhaps that was the most painful part: acknowledging that for all his devotion to her, he’d really been nothing but a target for her wrath.
The Fire Adepts found Camillus in his shop. It was a slow day, and the delicate Fae was looking out the window at the rain. He didn’t move as Faust and Aloysius lumbered in.
Aloysius spoke first: “Not too busy today, are you, Camillus?”
The Fae sighed. Aloysius continued, “We could use your help with something.”
“You want me to appraise something for you?” The Fae’s droning voice was steady. His fins remained droopy, however.
“Mm...Not exactly. Say...” Faust’s gaze fastened on a mannequin nearby. It had been decorated with various items, though the ones that stood out were the delicate flourishes upon its head and neck. Faust poked them with a claw. “These are quite nice. You made them, did you not?”
Camillus nodded mutely.
“We want you to make something like these for us.”
“Yes...Faust and I, you see...We got into a bet with the Lightning Adepts,” Aloysius explained wryly. Faustino cringed, his tail coiling like a spring. The Snapper continued, oblivious, “We bet Karmanh that we’d be able to create an automaton as amazing as his Carousel.”
“Carousel? Ah...He’s a magnificent being indeed.” And now Camillus’ green eyes showed a spark of interest. He frowned faintly. “An automaton with a heart of his own.”
“Oh, Karmanh is willing to forgo that requirement. He doesn’t know how it came about, anyway,” Faust said with a wave. He looked just a bit desperate, however, as he growled, “Do you want to help us?”
“We could use someone of your expertise, especially with the finer details,” Aloysius chimed in.
“And it’s not like you have anything better to d—”
Aloysius crushed Faust’s toes underneath one solid foot. The Imperial cringed again, his teeth grinding audibly against each other. Neither action was noticed by Camillus, who had turned inward — at least for the moment. He looked at the rain falling outside the window, at his dim, cluttered shop. It was already starting to gather dust.
His fins quivered. He raised his head again. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he droned to the Fire drakes. “What do we have to do?”
It wasn’t really a competition, since there were no rules or a time limit to speak of. About the only condition was that the Fire Adepts plus Camillus had to produce an automaton of their own. “So purchasing one is out of the question,” Faustino said, and his golden eyes flashed. “Not that we’d stoop to something as lame as that!”
Aloysius rolled his eyes. It seemed he’d been doing that a lot lately. “How shall we get started? D’you want to order sheet metal from the Great Furnace? I have some contacts there.”
“No, no, no, something...” Faust snapped his claws. “Something something recycled materials...Yes! Carousel is made of recycled materials; it’s right there in his name! If Karmanh could make an automaton out of those, so can we!”
“Of course,” Aloysius whispered, his face taking on an expression of fascinated horror. He now realized that Faust wanted to copy Karmanh’s exact method, notwithstanding the fact that Karmanh was, well...an entirely different dragon with an entirely different set of abilities from theirs.
Camillus just sighed. He quietly trailed after them like a helium balloon on a string. They led him from the lair and into some rather desolate places, where there wasn’t much greenery to speak of and only trash heaps grew. Aloysius, meanwhile, hadn’t really lost his look of horrified fascination. “Faustino,” he gasped, “this place is a dump.”
“So was Carousel; I mean, his parts were scattered in one.”
It was Aloysius’ spluttering that lifted Camillus from his reverie. He started to look around. “What should we do?” he asked.
Faustino answered him, “Start poking around for things that can help us build an automaton. Things that will help it think...and feel.”
“Feel...?”
“Things that have a soul. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
Camillus didn’t, but the appraiser in him hadn’t worked for some time, and now it was raring to burst loose. And so, without really thinking about it, he started to look around....
They found so many things. Soft scraps of terrycloth, bits of porcelain, chunks of metal that might’ve glittered with gemstones once....Camillus’ great, gentle heart thundered in his ears as he slowly turned the objects over in his paws. This had been a child’s toy once. This might have sat on a mantel in some warm family home. This could have been jewelry, a ring or pendant, or just as importantly, it might have been one of those metal parts, small but crucial, that every machine starts missing once it’s gone....
“Oy, Camillus! Find anything?”
The great Imperial’s voice was not to be ignored. Camillus bundled everything into a sack and fluttered after his friends.
At home, they poured everything out onto a table. And then they just sort of stared for a while. Aloysius’ martyred expression was now permanently carved onto his face. The wheels in Faust’s head were audibly turning, until they realized he was just grinding his teeth.
“What now?” he grunted. He was seriously considering the ramifications of getting Karmanh inebriated and prodding him into spilling some secrets—
Aloysius quashed that: “We figure it out,” he said with a gusty sigh. Camillus, meanwhile, had picked up some pieces and was pushing them together. Click, click, click...“Like puzzle pieces,” he said, seeing the others’ glum looks.
Faust’s eyes narrowed. “Puzzle pieces...Mosaic.” He loomed over the table and started scraping the pieces together. Long neck...two arms, two legs...large wings...The shape of a Wildclaw.
“Why a Wildclaw?” Aloysius asked.
“Well, Carousel is a Wildclaw.”
The Snapper scowled. “So you’re just copying Carousel? Faust, why don’t you come up with ideas of your own?”
“Like that’s easy. And don’t you dare give me the same ‘explanation’ Laurant did!”
“I have no idea what Laurant said to you.”
Faustino rolled his eyes. He mimicked his Guardian’s higher voice: “Where do ideas come from? — Well, Faust, when a mommy idea and a daddy idea love each other very much—”
The others’ squabbles receded into background noise as Camillus sifted through the pieces. A shard of glass winked at him like a lively eye, and bits of metal rustled together like scales. He lifted a piece of porcelain and was examining it closely, tracing the flower-like patterns etched onto its surface, when something whispered into his ear.
“What are you searching for?”
“Things that have a soul. Things that feel and care,” he murmured. Across from him, Faustino and Aloysius continued squabbling, oblivious.
There was a smile in that whisper: “Is it an easy thing to discern?”
Camillus’ fins drooped. They said, quite emphatically, “No.”
The voice sighed as it sensed his pain. It drifted closer to his ear: “One hundred years old,” it advised him. “Things grow, too, but it takes them longer to awaken. One hundred years old is when they grow a mind, a heart. Their souls spread new wings.”
“I will remember that.”
“And I’m sure you will put that information to good use, appraiser,” Qualia whispered to him. Though unseen, she was smiling warmly as she withdrew. Her voice faded from the air, and then from Camillus’ memory, leaving the advice and inspiration to blossom in his mind.
“The older something is...One hundred years old?” He shook his head slowly. “Surely they needn’t be that old....But perhaps it might be better. I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
He began picking through those shattered, discarded pieces again, looking for the ones that felt warmest to his spirit. He examined them with his eyes as much as with his keen appraisal skills. And meanwhile the words kept thrumming in his mind: Things that have a soul...are one hundred years old....
Days and nights passed, and the artisans rode that roller coaster all creators are familiar with: the highs of inspiration and motivation, and the lows of artistic exhaustion. Their progress was erratic — but it was progress, nonetheless, and no matter how many shouting matches or mishaps they blundered into, they were always moving forward. Their plans took shape, and it seemed that their dreams were on the verge of solidifying....As it turned out, they weren’t the only ones with dreams.
A cold, dark night — the hours between midnight and dawn were when the lair was at its quietest. When dreams were dark and deep. And in the silence, with dreams weighing so heavily upon the air, it became possible to sense things one otherwise wouldn’t have perceived....
“Hello, my friends...” The dark kitsune coiled above the table, unseen, unheard. She bent her great head and smiled. “Who are you? Who would you like to be?”
It was the objects she was addressing — those discarded things Camillus and the others had picked up and were steadily infusing with new life. They answered, sort of — objects don’t dream in words. They instead absorb memories of those who are closest to them, and play them back in bits and pieces. Qualia closed her eyes as she examined the memories.
Sights and sounds and sensations...They swam into view, overlapping each other like pictures on a collage. She could concentrate on one, and it would sharpen and draw near until it surrounded her and she was reliving that fragment of time. She was somewhere high up...a mantelpiece, maybe. “Now, be careful when you get your doll,” someone said — mother, the word came to mind. Tiny claws came into view and picked her up...
And dropped her. An unfortunate accident; she ended up in the fire. It began eating into her, and the little Fae dove forward to get her out — she was yanked out but then dropped again, her porcelain body shattering on the floor. It still didn’t hurt as much as seeing the child wail, though, not because of the pain but because she couldn’t be saved....
Rattling in a cupboard. Someone was clearing out their fine china. They moved quickly, talons almost blurring as they wrapped the dishes in cloth and paper and lined them up on a tray. As the green scales passed over her porcelain, Qualia caught the memory: “War is coming.” The Wildclaw put her into a cart, which was quickly pulled away from the village, jouncing over an unpaved road. They hit a bump — she flew out, shattered upon the ground. There was the brief fear that she would be left behind, but no, the Wildclaw heard, turned around to pick her up again. “War is coming, but even then, this will remind me of home....”
And another welter of memories, from a humble garden sculpture. It had sat outside in the elements, day after day after day, watching dragons pass by, hearing the conversations of the household, children and pets dancing around it. Frost peeling away before the advance of spring, flowers and leaves bursting to life upon branches. Life and death and rebirth and survival....The statue watched, began to understand, and it knew it wanted that, too. But eventually it was shattered by a carelessly-kicked ball and then thrown onto the trash heap, and it watched the seasons spin overhead. Life and death and life and...
“Things that have a soul.” Qualia was back in her own mind again. And smiling — serenely, surely, confidently. She could almost see the end of it now....
“Indeed, together, they have a spirit. Now all they need is...”
Faustino and Aloysius maintained their fiery zeal as they continued working on the project. If they noticed a change in Camillus, they didn’t really mind it, since he now seemed to be as focused on the project as they were. “It looks like it’s doing him a world of good,” Mara commented to Faust. She was back from her trading trip, and she had to admit that she’d always felt guilty about having picked Floe up and not doing more to discourage Camillus from forming a relationship with her. The Skydancer had been quite violent even then....It hadn’t been Mara’s business at the time, but still...
“He is tiny,” said Faust, “but he is stronger than he seems. There’s perseverance in that frail frame of his. And passion — he talks quietly, but there’s a fire in him that hasn’t gone out yet.”
“Is that why you first approached him?” Mara asked. She was a bit surprised by how penetrating the Master Craftsdrake’s assessment was.
Faustino shrugged. “Of course. I only needed to look at his work to realize he would be a great help to us. And indeed, he hasn’t proven me wrong yet.”
Somehow, they’d gotten all caught up in Faustino’s “idea” of creating another Wildclaw automaton. Perhaps because a life-sized Imperial or Guardian would not have been feasible....Sagrad and several of his colleagues did some modeling for them, and they reached out to other Flights for additional information. Aloysius’ earlier suggestion of ordering supplies had been reluctantly vetoed: Karmanh had made Carousel purely out of scrap, and they were determined to do the same.
They did extensive research on how to create an engine that would power the automaton. Through trial and error, Faustino and Aloysius figured out the spells and principles that would drive such a contraption, and they created several prototypes out of scrap, just as Karmanh had. It was a rather explosive journey. More than once Faustino had to pick Aloysius up and then run with him behind a barricade as their prototypes ejected fire, smoke, magic, or all three. Or simply blew apart in pieces of twisted metal, or flat-out refused to work. Somehow, that last result was always the most insulting. All that effort, and for what — nothing?
“I wonder how the little wyrm is doing,” Faust said one day. He took his spectacles off and dragged his wrist across his face, smearing soot across his carrot-colored scales. Aloysius’ own hide was blotched with soot and ash.
The Snapper shook himself like a wet dog. As soot cascaded down his flanks, he groaned, “Probably a lot better than we are. His room is awfully quiet, at least.”
Camillus was in charge of designing the automaton’s outer shell. It would be transmuted from the objects they’d picked up, just as Carousel had. That rich, deep-blue hide...It wouldn’t have been nice to copy that. So, inspired by the shards of porcelain he’d picked up, Camillus produced sketches of delicate floral patterns. He tinted them with the faintest washes of watercolor, and Aloysius burst out, “Sold!” when he saw them. Now that they were chugging along, he was his usual cheerful self again. Faustino just grinned like a hainu with a ball to chase.
Having finished sketching the initial patterns, Camillus carefully selected the parts, fusing and cutting them as needed, shaping them into more workable forms. And slowly, those pieces of trash became graceful limbs of metal and porcelain....He hefted some of them, tried putting the pieces together. Foot, lower leg, upper leg...The blueprints Faustino had made were cleanly drawn, almost clinical-looking, but within Camillus’ mind, the automaton shone with pearly light, flowers of white and gold chasing across its flanks.
Someone knocked on the door — it had to be Faust; no one else knocked fit to bust doors off their hinges. Sure enough, the Imperial bellowed, “Come out of there, Camillus, and let’s have a drink! We’re perishing of frustration out here.”
“I’ll be back,” the appraiser whispered to the blueprints, the materials, the work waiting to be completed. He opened the door with a magical touch and then flitted into the hallway. The door swung shut behind him, and the things he’d left behind shivered and continued to dream.
The air was now alive with anticipation. The artisans’ excitement had spread through the lair, and the automaton’s shell felt it, too. The individual objects comprising it continued to dream. And wait...A dream either ended or came true. Their awakening wasn’t too far off now.
“How go things, Faustino?” Karmanh asked politely. It was some months after the Lightning and Fire Adepts had entered their rivalry, and it was getting to the point where the “rivalry” was more like “begrudging friendship”.
“Hah! That little jeweler is a master of his craft. He has created a wonderful shell for our own automaton. It is, dare I say it, a work of consummate artistry.” Faust lifted his snout proudly.
Karmanh wasn’t at all offended. On the contrary, he just seemed perplexed. “I thought the point was to create an automaton as intelligent as Carousel.”
“Oh. Well...You know what they say, Karmanh! ‘Presentation is half the plate.’”
“It’s ‘meal’,” thought Karmanh, and was doubly perplexed because they weren’t talking about food, but he was too courteous to argue. Instead, he queried, “Have you sorted out your engine yet?”
“Aye, and we took rather a long time getting there.” Faustino scowled thunderously. “A long, irritatingly flammable time. But we got there.”
Karmanh wasn’t the only one who was curious. The rest of the Disillusionists had been following the contest (and a few had been taking bets), and now it was time for Team Flammable (as they were being called) to show how far they’d come. On a clear golden afternoon, Team Flammable threw open their workshop doors and carefully rolled out a platform. Atop it was their automaton.
They attracted renewed interest from their clanmates as the platform was wheeled out onto the terrace garden. The Disillusionists, having completed their errands for the day, were coming home to roost, and the gleaming statue upon the terrace drew in many of them. They perched on the higher levels or teetered on the edges of the garden, oohing and aahing among themselves.
“She’s been sitting in the darkness for so long....What made you trot her out now?” Laurant asked her Charge. Faust was about to answer, and then he frowned in confusion. “What d’you mean, ‘her’?”
“Well, uh...” Laurant was stumped. “She looks like a ‘her’.”
All eyes went to the automaton. It crouched atop the platform, its wings draped around it as if it were asleep. “She is like a swan, graceful even in repose,” Tantris sighed dramatically. He strummed a few notes on his lute, and everybody clapped just to be polite.
Aloysius handled the impromptu ceremony. He thanked everyone for their support, “since as we all know a project like this doesn’t come cheap, even with repurposed materials!” He thanked Karmanh for being a good sport and also spoke to Carousel, saying, “If we succeed in this endeavor, we hope you and our creation will get along. The more the merrier, I always say!
“Now, the reason you’re all here is because we’d like to show you our progress up to this point. We’re sorry we couldn’t do that earlier, but we were a little...um, worried about the engine.”
“Bah.” Faustino scowled.
“But now it’s working nicely — we’ve tested it, we promise! And today we would like you to see in action. We’ll be ordering a cybernetic brain for the automaton later on — one we can program with a personality — so today you’ll only be able to see, um, her walking and moving. She won’t be able to talk or perform sophisticated tasks.”
“Does she have a name?” Laurant asked. And then, before anyone could answer: “Wait, how d’you activate the engine?”
“Well...” Aloysius turned, but Camillus was already moving. He settled on the platform next to the automaton and whispered in her ear.
A magic word — the clan felt its power tingle over their scales. They leaned forward in anticipation, all senses and thoughts focused on the automaton. Whatever their original opinions on the project, now they were all thinking the same thing: “Let it work....Let it work....Let it...!”
In a softer darkness, the rescued objects continued to dream. They had survived this long and become more aware of the world....Now they wanted to be a part of it instead of just idle bystanders. Instead of mere objects...
“Someone shares our dream,” they’d realized some time ago. They’d heard the artisans’ voices and been shaped by those careful claws. The Snapper and Imperial had given them a mighty, burning heart to help them move. And the Fae, the one with the gentle touch — he had lifted them from the ground, cleaned and polished them. Fused them with his own magic of fixing and beautifying things...He was broken, too, desperately so, but he had healed them with his touch.
In the past, they had been cared for, and had cared in return. They had always wanted to return the favor. Perhaps now, they could do so...?
The anticipation of so many magical beings pressed upon them like a hand. It shook them gently, pulling them towards the light...into wakefulness.... “Awaken,” they thrummed to each other. “We are being called...!”
Like a dragon rising from a dream, they became aware of their new body all at once. “There’s our arm.” And then — “Two arms...And we have two legs! Wings!”
(Outside, the dragons were murmuring, and there was a faint note of alarm. “Is it supposed to be moving like that? It’s almost as if it’s...”)
“We have a tail. Let us stand!” And together, they rose to their feet. “We can hear them — we have ears! And we have eyes...”
Magic crackled through machinery. Magic — and something more profound...
“Now let us see...the world...!”
Immediately after Camillus whispered the activation spell, light coursed through the automaton. That was expected. What was surprising was how it suddenly broke into arcs, pulsing over the porcelain surface like waves upon a shore.
“Ah...An unexpected reaction,” Aloysius murmured. He squinted at it. “Perhaps it is...warming up?”
And then the automaton’s arm moved. Her fingers twitched idly....A fluid shiver rushed up the limb. She rose to her feet, moving slowly, almost languidly. The tail undulated behind her. She spread her wings.
The terrace was briefly drowned in a mighty flash of light. The dragons gasped and leaned back. Mara, looking through her parted claws, asked, “Is it supposed to be moving like that? It’s almost as if it’s...”
“What?!” Faust bellowed at her. He was pushing her, trying to get her to move away — he was grimly convinced the thing was going to explode.
“...waking up...”
Then the automaton opened her eyes.
Light flooded the terrace. The accompanying surge of power was astonishing. It didn’t shock or sear, but it flattened the dragons, pushing them away from the platform. It was like the force of repelling magnets, magnified several times. Most of the Disillusionists had already managed to edge away by then and were relatively safe from the impact. Aloysius and Faustino were nearer to the platform, but their bulk shielded them; Aloysius instinctively flattened himself, his head turned away, and Faustino covered his mate with one wing, grunting as the blast hit his scales.
And then it ebbed away like the tide. Faustino coughed and lowered his wing. “What the blazes—”
“Never seen anything like that before,” gasped Aloysius, and for an old adept like him, that was saying something. He turned to squint at the automaton but suddenly noticed Camillus lying crumpled at the base of a nearby column.
“Camillus...Oy, Camillus!” Aloysius tried to lumber forward, but stopped — Faust had grabbed his tail. The Imperial was looking past him, hackles raised, at the automaton standing atop the platform.
She was still moving. The Disillusionists watched, and despite their trepidation, a few of them let out sighs of awe at how gracefully the automaton walked. Carousel moved like a regular Wildclaw; she moved like something drifting underwater, slow and languid and unhurried. Like something within a dream.
She walked towards Camillus. He stirred, his wings trembling....He struggled to raise his head.
“Have I broken you?”
“Huh?” Camillus opened his eyes. He turned, just as the automaton stopped before him.
“Have I broken you? I am sorry.” She crouched before him, her wings arched behind her back. He stared back, dumbly trying to process what he was seeing. She was walking, yes, that was expected — but talking? And forming coherent words, sentences....Her voice was soft with a strange, silky timbre, like thrumming glass. And her face...The eyes should have been orange, glowing with the engine’s Fire magic. Instead, they shone blue — not cold like ice, but calm and warm, like turquoise water near a beach.
“Things should not be broken. I didn’t mean to...I only wanted to see...” Light pulsed along her flanks in rhythm with her words. She was struggling to put her new thoughts together, struggling to convey them in a medium she’d only heard up to now. Words...Words were difficult. Dragons had always spoken around her before, never to her. But there was another language she had learned.
She reached out to Camillus. “Let me lift you up,” she said, using terms she hoped he understood. Her face couldn’t relax into a smile, but her eyes warmed; now she was not the one who needed to be lifted up whenever she was broken. Now she could lift others up, too.
“Yes...thank you,” Camillus responded. And he allowed himself to be lifted to his feet.
Beyond them, the Disillusionists were milling about, uncertain in their relief and their bafflement. “Clearly it worked,” Aloysius mumbled, though he wasn’t sure what “it” was. Neither was Faustino. Or Carousel. Or Karmanh.
“But how...Why...” Faustino was stammering. He looked at Aloysius, Mara and Karmanh for an explanation. None was forthcoming.
The Fire Adepts’ rival couldn’t care less, however. He smiled and admitted, “I’ve never thought about it. I don’t think it really matters.” He removed his hat and bowed to them; when he straightened up, he was holding a bag of gems. He pressed it into Faustino’s grasp and nodded to Aloysius. “A job well done, my friends...very well done. I gladly yield to you.”
He put his hat back on and moved away. Faustino remained frozen in place, the gems sitting limply in his grasp. He looked down at the gems and then back at the automaton. “H...How,” he stammered.
Aloysius burst into slightly hysterical laughter. “Well, we’ve won, and that’s all that matters, right? Come on, my large friend, let’s have a drink....”
“I don’t understand anything; how is this happening,” Faust wailed. He was now too baffled to form question marks with his voice. His mate took pity on him and gently took the gems away; Aloysius gave him a friendly headbutt. “Let’s talk it over. I’m sure a drink or two will help! Mara, will you join us? We could use an extra brain...”
Carousel watched from the sidelines. Like his creator, he didn’t pretend to understand things; all he knew was that something momentous had happened and everything would turn out all right. He studied Camillus. The Fae was still standing before the automaton, perched on an arbor. He was unhurt, and as Carousel watched, his fins rose. He was curious now, almost eager, rather than tense and afraid. “My name is Camillus,” he began.
“I know. I heard you when we...I...was still broken in the wilderness.”
“Ah...” Camillus’ eyes briefly widened. Perhaps in time, he would understand.... “Do you...have a name?”
The automaton hummed to herself, thinking, thinking....Carousel looked away and saw his own mate hovering near the ceiling. The kitsune held up a finger in front of her grin, and then she winked and vanished into the shadows.
~ The End
|
Sillywinter wrote on 2018-11-28 19:21:21:
a sense of peace standing within a dusty room
large drapes pool upon the floor, moth-eaten and webbed milky water dotted with lily pads and blossoms koi fish circle feverishly the pond only reaches one's ankles soft whispers and equally gentle caresses a collector's study, busy and colorful little misshapen dolls and toys trinkets and knick-knacks a little bell chimes, the clock ticks once ~ poem by Sillywinter |
♦ adopt by Starsspectre
♦ art by Aeimberdini
made with Picrew
♦ art by Hocotate
♦ art by Aeimberdini
♦ moodboard by CleverDual
made with Picrew
♦ art by Hocotate
Credits & Notes:
• Coding by me.
• Dividers by PoisonedPaper.
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