juncosongs » Lair » Etherea

Etherea

(#39995621)

Level 10 Bogsneak

Familiar

Enchanting Goblin

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.67 m

Wingspan

6.91 m

Weight

838.6 kg

Genetics

Storm
Jaguar

Twilight
Rosette

Ultramarine
Opal

Hatchday

Mar 09, 2018
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Bogsneak

Eye Type

Nature
Common

Level 10 Bogsneak

EXP: 8932 / 27676

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Rigel
Breath

Offspring

Biography

ETHEREA

The Sorcerer Queen :: Ambitious

The disgraced student of the great mage Brightscale, Etherea came to the Hoard in search of her mentor's alleged murderer, the notorious Shadowfell. Arriving too late, she discovered that not only had Shadowfell escaped his captors, but rumors of Brightscale's demise had been somewhat exaggerated. Alive or dead, the dragons of Erinys reported that her mentor had left in pursuit of Shadowfell. Rather than face whatever had become of her old teacher, Etherea found excuses to stay with the Hoard. Much to her chagrin, her presence sparked a rift between the clan's progenitors, Erinys and Jacinthe. Thanks to Etherea's incredible knowledge of magic, and the convenient absence of the Hoard's own mages, Jacinthe succeeded in wresting control from Erinys, who set sail with her closest advisors in what remained of the Hoard's floating city.

Since then, Etherea has assumed command from the short-sighted and impractical Jacinthe, who immediately regretted the whole rebellion-thing. Where some of the Hoard respect her, others merely fear her, and some may be actively plotting against her. Etherea's new role as the reluctant "Sorcerer Queen" of the Hoard has fortunately distracted her from Brightscale and Shadowfell, but also kept her from further pursuing her arcane research.

It began with a stolen necklace.
Etherea was close to tears. The larger dragon sneered, turning the bauble to catch the light.
"Give it back," Etherea demanded, digging her claws into the earth.
"No," the bigger dragon said. His name was Marius. He was the biggest in their age group, and the strongest. And the meanest, Etherea thought. "I think it goes so much better with my scales."
"I'm telling," Etherea whined.
Marius lunged at her, snapping his powerful jaws.
"Do it," he hissed. “I dare you.”
She didn't.
When her mother asked where her pretty necklace had gone, Etherea mumbled something inaudible, burning with shame. Privately, she vowed that she would never feel so powerless again. She began to fight, and to study. Soon she realized that her brawls would go better if she complimented her physical strength with magic. It wasn't long before the adult dragons grew concerned. Her parents agreed an apprenticeship might focus her mind and keep her away from her usual targets.
Etherea soon outpaced the clan's mage, Nimu, and he suggested taking her with him to study under a great mage he'd heard tell of by the name of Brightscale.
Nimu had hoped Brightscale would take him as her personal apprentice, but it was Etherea who caught the master's eye early one spring. Etherea had spent the winter studying in Brightscale's extensive library, poring over the ancient scrolls as her mentor pranced and preened in the great hall. She had discovered an ancient spell that would gather energy from the sun and stars. All it required was a little set up . . .
"Oi! You!"
Etherea ignored the old Snapper, concentrating on the spell. It was written in an ancient Earth flight language, and the pronunciation was tricky.
"You can't be doing that here!"
From the corner of her eye she could see the bulky dragon beginning to pick up speed as he waddled across the lawn towards her. He wasn't one of the mages, just staff. She continued chanting.
"Who do you think y--"
The Snapper hit her ward with a sizzle and a yelp, followed by a thud as he hit the ground several yards back from the edge of Etherea's workplace.
At last, the soil under her feet began to quiver and shudder, growing noticeably warmer. Undeterred, she raised her voice over the deep rumble and groan of shifting rock. A pillar of stone shot out of the lawn. A second joined it, then a third, until eleven granite shards clawed the sky: one for each of the deities.
Now for the tricky part.
“Ah. Boreta’s source.”
Etherea jumped. Without her noticing, a skydancer had appeared at her elbow. The stranger peered curiously at Etherea’s crabbed handwriting.
“It’s quite an elegant mechanism, in theory,” the skydancer said.
The ward was still standing, popping and sizzling sporadically as the gathering crowd of irate mages tried throwing various spells a it. The skydancer tapped a dainty claw on one particularly snarled algorithm in Eherea’s notes.
“Unfortunately, Boreta never took our planet’s erratic orbit into account. Constantly adjusting the stone circle to compensate works, but consumes more magic than the source actually produces.”
Something clicked in Etherea’s head.
“. . . You’re Brightscale,” Etherea said.
“The one and only,” Brightscale said. “But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
“Oh. Um. I’m.”
“ETHERA!” Nimu stood as close to the ward as he could without triggering the spell. Unable to contain himself, the spiral writhed in agitated loops. “ETHERA, YOU TAKE DOWN THIS WARD THIS INSTANT!”
Following Etherea’s gaze to where her mentor seethed, Brightscale clicked her beak irritably.
“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter?”
Ethera blinked in the sudden dimness. Lawn and irate mages had given way to an overstuffed study. Scrolls covered every surface and sprawled onto the floor. Chests lined the walls, fitted with tiny drawers, no two the same size. Best of all, one end of the room ended in a cupola constructed to the dimensions of the enormous, ornate telescope that filled it.
“Now. Where were we?” Brightscale glanced sharply at a pile of papers, which fluttered sheepishly aside to reveal a pair of worn but serviceable couches. “Why don’t you tell me how you came to study at my institution to begin with?”
There wasn’t much to tell, but Etherea found herself explaining everything. From her home in the Gladeveins, to the way her mentor had--well, “abandon” was a strong word, but he certainly hadn’t been attending to her studies since they’d arrived here. Halfway through a passionate tirade about her research into Boreta’s Source, a tiny fae arrived pushing a cart laden with refreshments.
“So you want to learn?” Brightscale asked, sipping her tea.
“More than anything.”
Etherea was eyeing a row of silver ingots powdered with something shimmery and blue. She was wondering whether they were decorative or edible, and whether she could pass off casually taking a bite out of an ornament if she guessed wrong.
“How would you like to be my student?” Brightscale asked.
Etherea choked on what turned out to be a sort of puff pastry. Coughing too hard to answer, she nodded vigorously.
“Splendid. I’ll let Yetta know to move your things into one of the suites in my wing.”
Brightscale and her personal students had an entire wing of the institute to themselves. For the first time in her life, Etherea not only had her own room, but her own study, which she quickly filled with the products of her passion projects. There was no lesson plan. Instead, they studied whatever caught their interest, much as Brightscale did. Mostly Etherea was interested in combat magic, but again and again she found herself returning to Boreta’s Problem. Brightscale sometimes helped her with it, but even working together they failed to make any progress.
“Imagine the power,” Etherea sighed. “If only we lived on a planet that could stick to an orbit for more than a few days at a time.”
“It’s a pity,” Brightscale agreed. “It would revolutionize magic as we know it.”
“With that kind of power, a dragon could become a god.”
Brightscale gave her an odd look, but said nothing.
Among Brightscale’s students, a young skydancer named Shadow stuck out. He shared Etherea’s interest in offensive magic, and they often worked together, but she could never quite relax around him. Though he had little interest in her other pet project, he still had his own theories.
“I bet Brightscale’s already solved Boreta’s Problem,” he said. He bounced a sphere of blue flames from hand to hand. “Think about it.”
Etherea rolled her eyes, but only after she’d made certain he wasn’t looking.
“Why else take an interest? She’s trying to sabotage you.” He closed his claws over the fireball and it exploded into smoke.
“She’s not trying to sabotage me,” Etherea groaned.
“Think about it.” It was one of Shadow’s favorite phrases. “It would explain why she’s so powerful.”
It was nonsense, of course. Although . . . Etherea had stumbled upon some of her mentor’s scratch work in the margins of a book she’d borrowed. It detailed the particulars for a teleportation spell designed to bypass an incredibly complex ward. The scratchwork was incomplete, but it would be hatchling’s play to reason out the rest. She would solve it, just for her own amusement. But then how would she know if she’d got it right unless she tested it?

As it turned out, she’d gotten it wrong.
The ward caught her as she popped into existence within a crudely carved cavern. Her breathing slowed, racing heart stilled, joints locked stiff. Consciousness began to fade . . .
“How did you get in there?” Brightscale hissed.
Etherea tried to focus her eyes on the skydancer, her beak inches from Etherea’s face.
“Whu.” Her mouth was dry and her tongue moved sluggishly in her mouth.
“You could have been killed!” There were tears in Bightscale’s violet eyes. “I could have killed you! You shouldn’t have been in there! How did you get in?”
Gradually, haltingly, Etherea explained. Not about Shadow, but about the spell, and the curiosity, and the not meaning to.
“But you knew about the wards,” Brightscale said, voice strained and words stiff. “You’re too smart not to have figured that out. You knew I didn’t want dragons going in there.”
She wanted to ask about where there was, and what was in it.
“I’m sorry, Etherea.” Brightscale sighed. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
It wasn’t exile, exactly, but it felt about the same. Etherea couldn’t bear staying in the Starfield Isles, and she couldn’t imagine going home. So she wandered. Years passed, and Etherea lost track of time. She fought Beastclan and opportunistic bandits, faced cold and starvation. At last, she heard tell of Brightscale’s demise. The spiral who’d shared the news recoiled as Etherea began to cry, her muscled shoulders shaking with grief.
Further investigation implicated Shadow in their mentor’s death. Etherea could barely fathom it. The Shadow she’d known had been jealous and prone to paranoia. He might steal or lie, but murder? She had to know the truth. Finding him proved surprisingly easy: a certain Wind clan boasted that they held the “dread Shadowfell” captive, but when Etherea reached them she found the clan in disarray.
“One of our dragons helped him escape,” a skydancer who introduced herself as Primavera explained. “The cursed dragons and Brightscale and some of the others went after them.”
Etherea started.
“Brightscale? So she’s alive?”
The skydancer hesitated.
“‘Alive’ might be putting it strongly,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what she is.”
None of the clan knew exactly where Shadowfell or Brightscale had gone. Etherea planned to follow them anyway--but found herself delaying. If Brightscale really wasn’t dead, then Etherea might have to speak to her.
What would she say?
While she tried to answer that question, the clan was only too happy to have her: their mages had yet to return from their hunt for Shadowfell, leaving them vulnerable. Etherea took up residence in the whistling caverns their progenitors had hollowed out before they moved into the skies. A few dragons still lived on the ground, including one of their two leaders, a tiny purple Fae named Jacinthe. He seemed enamored with her, and went out of his way to make her stay more comfortable, including giving her an extensive tour of the clan’s territory.
“And this,” he said, pressing his hand to the ward key. “Is something Erinys and I found years ago. It was all sealed up, right in the middle of the mesa.”
It looked like a study. Crumbling scrolls sat in shelves that lined the stone walls, and heavy oak tables supported a bevy of delicate, if somewhat archaic instruments. A diagram carved into the far wall caught Etherea’s eye.
“Who else knows about this?” she asked, scarcely breathing.
“A few dragons,” Jacinthe said. “Probably Falx and Alabaster. Most of the clan wouldn’t have any interest in this old stuff, but I thought you might like it.”
“Did Brightscale know about this?”
“What, the ghoul?” Jacinthe chuckled. “She was only interested in Shadowfell.”
“Good.” She said. She traced the carving with her clawtips. “Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“Not at all,” Jacinthe said. He beamed, little chest puffed up with pride. “Need any help?”
“Does your clan have a library?”
Etherea had always assumed Boreta was an Arcane dragon, or possibly Earth flight. She’d never expected to stumble upon her study deep in the Windswept Plateau. Yet here it was: notes and calculations, iterations of the spell that Etherea had committed to memory as a fledgeling mage. But the carving . . . the carving was something else. Familiar, yet subtly different than the diagrams she’d found in Brightscale’s collections. Parts of it didn’t make any sense. She would need to study it.
But the clan’s leader, Erinys, had grown unreasonably suspicious of the reclusive stranger in their midst.
“She keeps asking after you,” Jacinthe said, nervously. “You really should go see what she wants.”
“Tell her I’m busy,” Etherea muttered.
“That’s a bad idea.”
“Why?” Etherea snapped. “I’ll come see her when I finish.”
She lay in the middle of the study, scrolls new and old arrayed around her.
“You can’t just tell Erinys ‘no’,” Jacinthe mumbled, depositing another bundle of scrolls on the table.
“Why ever not? Aren’t you a progenitor as well?” Etherea asked.
Jacinthe winced.
“I . . .”
“This clan is your birthright as much as hers,” Ethera said. “You told me yourself, you carved out most of these tunnels. And you organized the gatherers and scavengers that built the clan’s fortune.”
“I--I did, didn’t I?” Jacinthe scowled. “And what thanks have I gotten?”
“Exactly,” Etherea said, absent-mindedly.
“I’m going to go tell her what’s what,” Jacinthe said. “I’m as much clan leader as she is!”
“M-hmm.”
“Only . . .” Jacinthe’s wings sagged. “Only, she’s really, really big. And strong.” He sat back on his haunches.
Something in his voice, the defeatism, the powerlessness, chimed with Etherea. She raised her head from her scrolls and narrowed her eyes at the fae. The more she heard about this Erinys, the less she liked her.
“I’ll come with you,” Etherea decided, getting to her feet. “For moral support.”
Which turned out to be the second big mistake Etherea made in her life.

SEE ALSO

Brightscale, the Undead Arcanist
Shadowfell, the Cursebringer
Erinys, the Fallen Matriarch
Jacinthe, the Usurper

Lore by juncosongs

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Exalting Etherea to the service of the Windsinger 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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