has a cobra like neck

voiceclaim

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72oM5cTvnIs

aesthetic https://www.pinterest.com.au/MahuruRaji/my-dragons/suileabhan/
https://imgur.com/a/HxVMo1K

a wind dragon, who whispers secrets.

Sand blowing in the wind. where the wind comes from is hard to say. He himself may be its origin, being a wind dragon.

face behind a mask, you cannot tell his expression or see his mouth move when he speaks.

lives underground in a city ruin flooded with sand. waterfalls of sand fall from high caverns, and eerie noises are carried on the wind.

milliefaes and other creepy crawlers invest the area.

The history of the city is unknown. Did he destroy it? was he a resident here? does he even know anything about this place?

dragons can find themselves falling down here, from sinkholes, caught in updrafts that spew from hidden caverns on the earths surface. Dragons that fall down here usually don't come back.










A forgotten king of secrets, whispering from the depths of sand, ruin, and sun. In this place lies the Serpent of Solace, a title outlived by a millennium of silence in these hollowed walls. A child of blasphemy meant to be as harvest for the gods lies here in waiting, in watching, in wanting. Blackened scales laced with gold line the uneven steps of the broken temple and the shifting of sand is heard.

Footsteps. One too many entwined with gusts of wind echo as millifae scuttle to their master, a looming, gilded face among the dusty carvings and ever-present darkness. Unmoving, hidden eyes gaze past a porcelain visage on all he knew, all he once was. The walls seem familiar but so distant as he grazes his claws against the faded glyphs that once bore his name. A shift in his wings sends the sand flying, revealing stained onyx floors marbled with intricacies of golden inlay. They reflect him in a shallow light, the visor of his mask imbued in a somber glow. The wind is speaking again.

“Where have you been? Home is deeper within.”

He mouths words that only the ruin’s breath will hear, carrying them to the depths of the abandoned city. There they waft among the bones of the lost, those consumed by the desert’s hunger, the city’s infinite desire to collect, to preserve. Many has he watched fall into the city’s promise of treasure and answers. But he knows what it wants. And what it always gets. Scratching, frantic scratching pierce the otherwise placid stillness of wind and sand. Never has he truly been alone.

But among the towering walls of this sunken place there is beauty, perhaps one that only he can see strewn amidst the decaying walls and artifacts. His hands, laced with delicate chains and gems, carefully cradle the fragments of pots and cloth. He may be forgotten but their history, together all these years, is not. He speaks to them, softly, and their warm hues deepen ever so slightly. The jewels of his claws rattle, eager to find more antiquity. How long has it been? The wind beckons once more.

“You cannot hide here.”

In shallow breath he whispers an unknown tongue. The millifae scatter and the sand settles, obscuring the stone and gold once more. Like a specter he continues his ancient patrol through the city, cascading his eerie presence over the vast tomb. The dark invites him as warm gales flow past his limbs into the city’s maw. It wants him. But he stands vigil, his elegant form swathed in dull light and copper glimmer as he peers unmoved into the void. He cannot stop the city’s lusting desire for more history, for more memories, but he will not give it the satisfaction of consuming all that is left. The wind hisses, irate and dry but he moves not.

He does not answer to the wind’s bellow.

He is of his own storm and the city may go without his corpse.

written by Brahkest