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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.33 m
Wingspan
5.24 m
Weight
564.4 kg
Genetics
Buttercup
Python
Python
Ginger
Spinner
Spinner
Terracotta
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
101
AGI
26
DEF
14
QCK
50
INT
5
VIT
30
MND
14
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
| __._ |
 ”Tis a dog-eats-dog world. Ya do better ta give up quickly.” The District of Dust ate those who lived inside it alive. There was no easy escape, there was no sure way out. Every few months, those having nothing but their names dared to wander, to flock around the gates, begging, clawing against the gilded surface. Let us out, we want out of here, they screamed, their words falling onto deaf ears as the Knights and the Watchers remained unmoving. And if they were there for too long and the novelty of this gathering wore off entirely, a rain of arrows and bolts of lethal magic started to rain down. He was very sure this was how his mother died. One moment she was there, the next they tossed her in a hole with all the rest, covered them up with chalk and walked away. He had no father, he had no family to cling to. So he went into the mines, a child, ideal for narrow tunnels and light enough to climb up ridges unsecured. Why waste rope and gear on a fly? He dug and he did it fast, deep, with his bare hands if necessary. It was better than risking the anger of the overseer. And of course, he wasn’t alone. There were many children down here with him, hopeless, lost, orphaned and nowhere else to go. ”Have ya ever seen ta sun, Dusty?” “Aye, tis a big, bright ol’ ball of light in ta sky.” “Like a sunflower?” “Yeah, Azra. Just like a big sunflower.” Vayne was his favorite. Everyone called him Dusty, he just fell in line. Because it fit too well, ashen hair, charcoal colored skin stretching too tightly over sharp angled bones. He was like the rest of them, but he was loyal. Azrael struck up an easy friendship with the other, Dusty was just like him. Only bigger, braver, stronger. Azrael shared his sparse food with the younger boy and he liked the way he still held onto gratitude. Kindness and gratitude, loyalty and compassion were weaknesses, those were dying traits in the District of Dust, where people died on the streets and no one cared. When the mines run dry and closed, they were all alone again, scattered in all winds, except for him and Dusty. They stayed together, because they liked the company and had become a well suited team over time. It wasn’t meant to be, it seemed however. Hunger and starvation, coupled with hard work left the body exhausted, prone to sickness. He watched helplessly how fever struck Dusty down, bound him to the pathetic patch of dry earth and moth eaten linen they called his bed. He tried. For so long and so hard, Azrael tried to stay honest, to not take from another, not when they all had nothing to their names. But Dusty was dying and he was running out of options. ”I-its a-alright, Dusty...me’s gunna...gunna find ya some...medicine.” “Azra...me’s cold.” He stumbled over the dead wanderer by mere coincidence. A stranger that had come to Undying City and succumbed to the District of Dust. They still had a pack full of useful things, a large brass pot and a cleaver, useful to chop up meat. Ironic, Azrael had only planned to strip the corpse of its belongings, but when he tore off the wanderer’s coat - unusable for them to wear, but good for stitching the walls of the tent they lived in - he couldn’t help but notice. The dead still had some fat on their ribs and they didn’t look too sick. And Dusty was starving, was dying. When Azrael picked up the cleaver, his hands were shaking. The stew was coming along nicely, smelled savory and promised nutrition. Azrael didn’t taste anything out of the ordinary when he tried it, only herbs and the few pieces of vegetables he could find that were not rotten to their core. The meat was stringy and had a chew, but it filled his stomach nicely. So he took it to Dusty, hand fed him, day after day. He didn’t expect Dusty to reach up, to pull him in. And he didn’t expect to taste him on the tip of his tongue, laced with fever heat and glinting eyes, chapped lips and calloused skin. ”I promise ya, I won’t let ya go hungry again…” “We’re gunna get outta here, Azra. We gunna have a home and all ta food ya could ever want.” “And a garden full of sunflowers?” “If ya want, yeah.” A clumsy kiss in the heat of the moment and yet, it opened the gates for more. It became his most treasured memory as Dusty recovered and more kisses followed, quick and stolen in the heat of the moment, it became his anchor when the tide turned against them. And all the while, Dusty promised he would get them out of here. He promised Azrael a home and a garden full with sunflowers. Burying the dead on the streets in not populated areas of the District of Dust only served as a facade for so long. It was a matter of time until people got suspicious, how could a little gravedigger and his house robbing partner eat nearly every night? So they followed him, they saw him butcher the less sickly looking ones and putting them all underground so it shall never be found out. Disgust and anger boiled high and while they only beat him at first, when Dusty tried to intervene, to offer himself instead of Azrael, viciousness took over. Drunk on the little bit of power they had, they hurt Azrael, made Dusty watch. He tried, he really did try to be brave. To be strong. But it hurt and it ran deep. Before he knew it, he found himself crawling, bleeding, clothes torn and useless towards Dusty. They robbed them blind, took his pot and his cleaver and everything he had on him. And just like this, their roles were reversed, he grew weak, weaker even and it was Dusty’s turn to feed him by hand, to keep him as warm as he could, to watch over him as he slept at night. ”O-open up, Azra...Me found some food...please…” “‘m not hungry.” “P-please...Imma tell ya more ‘bout our home too.” “....alright.” Recovery was a rocky path and Azrael did not make it. Stuck in a state of ignorant bliss, his mind tried to protect him by making him innocent, by making him crazed and cheerful to fight against the misery surrounding him and against his own failing body. Rashes and sores, eating his own kin, even if it had happened out of pure despair had its own set of consequences. Dusty had promised to get them out. He had promised. He noticed something was bothering the other, he could feel it in the tightness of his embrace, could smell it when he returned from Butcher’s Gathering, bloodied and beaten, rarely victorious. He saw a small purse of strange powder disappear in Dusty’s pocket, but thought little of it, too happy to have his loyal friend, his loyal companion and love around him. Winter was coming and they would not make it, even Azrael knew it. The rate at which they got jumped, beaten, assaulted in every manner of the word, made it impossible to recover, they were on their last legs and the home Dusty promised for them seemed further away than ever before. They would die here and he was strangely alright with it, as long as he had Dusty with him, he could accept anything. ”Do ya trust me, Azra?” “With my life.” “...I’s...I’s gonna make sure ya’ll see the sun. And have ya sunflowers. Just a lil while longer, alright? Hold on just a bit longer.” A last ditch effort, it wasn’t meant to work. They left all behind them, squeezed through a gap in the wall, on hands and knees they crawled, Azra too far gone to sense the seriousness in their escape. He coughed, he shivered and when his legs could no longer carry him in the mad dash away from the city, he clung to Dusty like dead weight. Dusty rambled, just as he would have before, don’t fall asleep he begged, don’t die on him now. Azrael would smile, shiver, would cling just a little tighter. But he was so tired, why couldn’t he rest for a little while? ”Please wake up, Azra...wake up, please...we’re home.” The sun truly resembled the flowers. Wide and warm and at the zenith of the sky, it cast everything in a shade of gold he had never seen before. Surrounded by sunflowers dancing in the light breeze, he simply sat and enjoyed. Resting on a blanket softer than a cloud, everything was different now. Only one thing never changed. ”Dusty, come join me!” 
| ___ |
code & assets by archaic #19153
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