Airborne

art by AlkaTech

Airborne is a master storyteller, she has traveled all of Sornieth collecting tales. Here are the tales she has collected so far:


Why We Tell Stories : a tale of the Wind Flight
By ScienceFandom


Windsinger was bored. For a god (even a friendly one) this was a bad thing. Why you ask?

Well my little puff it is because when gods get bored they cause things like plagues and famines.
Windsinger gathered all his exalted and said to them, "Tell stories to me, ones that no dragon has ever heard, ones of heroism and courage, of villainy and cowardice, and of happy endings and sad ones."

In turn each of his exalted told him stories, stories that were so magnificent that he asked for more and more.

Little did they know that a puff, not too different from you little one, was at the door listening to the stories, hanging on every word. And when the stories were done the puff went to his clan and told them the stories all throughout the night.

The next morning, the beautiful Windsinger was in a much better mood. So he went to his land to see his flight. To his surprise The stories that his exalted had told him were being told in gardens and lairs everywhere he went.

Windsinger was shocked and asked the dragons where they had heard the stories until he found the puff.
"Little one" he said "Where did you hear the stories"

The puff sniffed and spoke quietly "I overheard them I... didn't mean too... they were just so pretty and memorable. I thought everyone should hear them"

Windsinger thought for a moment then spoke "You are right small one. All the dragons should hear the stories, tell the flight to tell stories and never stop not until every single dragon has heard them"

So the puff did and the same stories are being told today


Gloria: A tale of the Wind Flight
by @plaant

Once, a wind dragon, called Gloria, looked at the gray skies. She thought, it is dreary, even here in the Windsinger's realm. She looked at her clan's lair. It was dark and silent and gray. She was a dragon who loved beautiful things, and she decided to bring them to her world. She traveled to the Cloudsong, which was gray and still, and consulted the Windsinger.

"Great Windsinger," she implored. "What must I do to bring music and brightness?"

He spoke to her, "Gloria, my child. You know how to do this; it is in your blood. You do not need the help of a god to do this simple thing." He then left her. Disappointed, she traveled home, wondering how.

Perhaps I am not worthy to do this thing. She thought. Perhaps someone else must do it.

When she walked past a hill, she saw something strange. A bunch of flowers, red and gold and orange. She ran and grabbed a basket, then flew home. The other dragons said to take them away, that those colors were bad luck. In this gray world, they have never seen such bright flowers before.

Gloria knew in her soul that these flowers were the secrets to brightening the world. She brewed them in potions, she buried them, she nibbled them. Whatever she did had no effects.

Finally, in a rage, she smashed them against the wall of her cave. Then she saw it. The juices of the petals smeared on the wall, leaving stripes of brilliant color. Gasping with delight, she began to rub the flowers on everything she saw. The colors blossomed and spread, growing.

Spreading of the walls were pictures, swirling flowers, flying dragons, cloudy skies. She gave a cry of joy as the colors spread outside, into the air, everywhere. Dragons, too, took on bright colors, and they began to sing.

So, Gloria was honored as a great hero, known as She Who Brings Song and Life.


On the Origins of Guardians: A Tale of the Water flight
By Zensilverquill


At the dawn of the Fourth Age, the remnants of the broken Pillar were scattered all across the world. The Eleven, as the tales say, followed the call of Their own magic and settled where Their respective elemental pieces were most abundant.

The god of our tale - the Tidelord - did not have to travel far to find His own land.

Not long after waking from His age-long slumber, he discovered and laid claim to the immense body of water at the heart of the continent. Its fathomless depths held His lithe form with ease. Its breadth was so great that even He was hard pressed to swim from shore to shore in a single day.

Such was His joy that He dove and danced upon the waves for weeks on end. The god thrashed those waters with such a euphoric fury that to this day they still move with the echoes of His movements, giving the region its name: "The Sea of a Thousand Currents."

Yet this time of peace and happiness was not to last long, and He soon fell into His old grudge matches with His fellow gods.

Now the Sea held everything ideal for a fledgling flight - wide, unclaimed expanses; shimmering fish to hunt and verdant fields of kelp to harvest; and the depths themselves in which to hide from enemy and storm alike.

The Lore tells us that the Tidelord’s brothers and sisters looked with terrible jealousy upon His rightful territory. In Their envy, They encroached inch by inch upon the sea, up to the very waves lapping against the shores.

As an elder god, He remembered achingly well the hard-earned lessons that had brought about the close of the First Age. Never again could there be such a war between the deities, or it would mean the end of Their fragile creation - again.

Yet this challenge to His borders could not go unanswered. His pride and anger, while slow to provoke, demanded that He take immediate action. His godhood, His territory, His very future - too much hung in the balance for Him to sit idly by.

In His wisdom, the Tidelord at last divined a solution: if He could not mount a personal defense against the interloping gods, then He would create sentinels to keep watch of His borders - Guardians.

He set out without hesitation to put His plans in motion. From the finest silt and sand He fashioned the bodies of His creatures. Fangs to bite, fins to swim, claws to score, and wings to fly - the Tidelord gave everything worthy of a dragon to His children. It is said that of all the races the gods created, it is the Guardians that take most after their patron deity, for indeed, He created them in His very own likeness.

Now the Tidelord, as the peer of His sometime comrades and being a creature of some humility, was not keen on keeping hold of grudges. He knew, almost as well as the god of Earth Himself, that laying aside His personal quarrels might indeed work for lasting peace between Himself and his brethren.

So, in a gesture of good will that would bring Him equal parts grief and joy, He invited His brothers and sisters in the pantheon to give their blessings to His nascent creations.

The first to answer the Water god’s invitations were the rulers of Earth, Nature, and Ice. As They shared no borders or animosity with the Tidelord, They did not stand to lose anything from the creation of these Guardians.

Willing enough to give Their blessings, the Earthshaker was the first to step forward.

"To you," He rumbled with the voice of the mightiest quakes, "I give the stalwart cast of the earth itself. May its strength inspire you and instill within you unerring loyalty."

"To you," the Gladekeeper whispered like a breeze through a summer forest, "I give nature’s everlasting vitality. May it lend you a long, fruitful life through all your seasons."

"To you," the Icewarden hissed like a blizzardy squall on the tundra, "I give the indomitable spirit of ice. May your will and convictions be ever consistent, never changing."

All too happy to receive these gifts on behalf of His children, the Tidelord thanked Them well and graciously. He gave these blessings in turn and without hesitation to His yet unborn progeny. It is said that one can see the remnants of the gods’ gifts in the breed even today, most especially in the magnifcent beards of the males. (Whether the beard was from the Earthshaker or Gladekeeper or both, no mortal can be certain.)

Of course, the deities are not always the benevolent sort, not even towards Their fellows. In so openly calling the others to give a blessing, the Tidelord invited terrible curses as well as wonderful gifts upon the Guardians. This was especially true of the deities that vied for a share of his territory.

Some - namely the Windsinger and the Lightweaver - feared for the safety of Their own young children. Might these so-called Guardians not go beyond their prescribed duty, perhaps even seek to take the lands that rightfully belonged to Their own Spirals and Imperials? The Water god’s sentinels needed to brought to heel - before they were born.

Others, it seemed - most especially the Plaguebringer - merely hungered for power and conquest. Within the Sea was food and space abundant, enough to sustain Their flights for thousands upon thousands of years. Why should one god have sole power over that source?

So six of the deities banded together for what They considered to be the "greater good"; to put a snag in Their brother’s designs before they came to fruition. While it would have been easiest to wish death upon the Guardians, that would most surely incur the Tidelord’s wrath. Their mission called for wit and diplomacy above all else.

The lady of darkness and night, the Shadowbinder, was the first among Them to give her “blessing.”

"To you," She crooned like the deepest murk before the dawn, "I give the isolation of the shadows. May you walk alone, self-sufficient and without need of others."

"To you," growled the Plaguebringer with the hiss-pop of Her own eldritch brew, "I give the terrible and transforming persistence of the plague. May it strengthen you and your descendants even as it puts distance between you and dragonkind."

"To you," whistled the Windsinger like a hurricane through chimes, "I give the restless soul of the wind. May your journey take you far from your birthplace, that you may see the world and its wonders."

"To you," roared the Flamecaller like a volcano bursting apart, "I give the heart of fire. May its raging inferno guide you in the ways of righteous anger and vengeance."

"To you," cackled the Stormcatcher with the shock of a thunderbolt, "I give the quick decisiveness of lightning. May you make deliberate choices and do so without hesitation, whatever the cost."

"To you," hummed the Lightweaver with the blinding brilliance of the sun, "I give the truth of the light. May it offer you honest wisdom, however unflattering or painful."

At once the Tidelord realized the veiled threats behind Their supposed gifts, but by then it was too late. The damage had been done.

His gift of premonitions, in truth, had warned Him long before of Their treachery. Yet like a fool He ignored His better judgement and chose to believe better of those He called His siblings. Many believe, in that dark hour, the Tidelord lost His faith in the other elements and moaned His harsh, damning prophecies ever after. Fate did not seem to look kindly upon the Guardians, doomed as they were before they had even breathed their first.

Yet not all was lost.

The Arcanist, still weak from the His brush with the Shade and fearful of these new gods like Himself, was the last to come to the Tidelord. From afar in His Observatory, He had watched the others each come to bless this young breed in turn.

He was a reclusive and lonely being, more likely to think of Himself and His own curiosities before the well-being of others. A kind of pitying compassion, however, stirred in His delicate heart, an empathy for these much maligned children of Water.

So, finally, the Arcanist bestowed His gift - the last, but by no means the least.

"To you," He said in a voice as wispy and ethereal as stardust, "I give magic, the hopeful promise of a supernova. For I too know what it is to wander the world, alone and without purpose. Though you must indeed wander, far away and separate, you have My word: it shall not be forever.

"As the stars of the heavens call to Me, so too shall you hear a call and find your own purpose on this Search. You shall find a Charge, a treasure that you shall guard and protect for all your days."

The Tidelord rejoiced at this final present, jubilant once again. The waters of the Sea danced again with His joy. With a final exultant cry, He breathed life into the clay vessels of His children. And on that first day of their existence, they danced and roared with Him, under the watchful eyes and glory of their father-god.

So in this lies the origin of the protective and fierce manner of all Guardians, as well as the Search for a Charge that defines their breed. And so they live today, born with all the blessings and curses - and hope - bestowed upon them by the Eleven.

Fin.