Venzsi

BIOGRAPHY When Venszi was very young, the clan seer looked him in the eye and told him that he would die alone. But first she told him that he would leave; that he would abandon everything he had ever known. She told him that he would suffer for it, but in the end that he would be happy. Venszi has done exactly as she has said: when he was hardly an adult, he packed up his belongings and left the Scarred Waste, believing he would never look back. He will never again be welcome in the clan of his hatching; when he left in the dead of night, the old seer looked him in the eyes one last time and watched him go.

"A stranger comes," Sundown murmured, pausing mid-paragraph to look up at Corroda. "He seeks what we give, but not from us. There will be others to meet."

The Fae seated across from him pushed her glasses up her snout with a delicate claw and squinted at him from over her own book. She didn't exactly mind that Sundown spoke in riddles, contradictions, and other confounding forms - Earthshaker knew it was a common enough habit among mystics - but did he really have to ask her to make sense of them? She was a scholar and a historian, and preferred to deal in clean, clear facts, thank you very much; she'd already plenty to do just keeping track of the clan's comings and goings. No need to add another prophecy to the work list.

She sighed. "I'll summon Cinder."

"Good," he replied, nodding. "Fetch Vriesea as well. She will want to paint them for your records. Do not worry; he'll stick around long enough for that. There's going to be a feast, after all."

"Oh, really? And how do you know that? Glimpses of Candycomb's future?"

Sundown smiled and pointed to the calendar. "It's Brightshine. We always feast on holidays."

Corroda didn't need to be clairvoyant to know that the leatherbound book she threw at him would survive the collision with the wall behind him. This was because she'd thrown it a hundred times before. "Out! Out! Tell her yourself. And bring me a plate!"

"I will have him bring it. He needs to see the clan records. Plague dragons do not often leave for softer environments. He may burn with the fires of other magics. If so, we must encourage him. A guide should help as well - one of Plague origins. A role model, as it were."

She bit her thumb. "Not another Wildfire. I can't take that."

"I am a prophet, not a sadist." He puffed his thin chest out and smoothed his cloak, aiming to look somewhat presentable despite the long hours spent sitting coiled up in the records house. "Besides, Wildfire is possessed. It's hardly his fault. No, no; we'll send Sodalime. That one will keep him up all hours with stories of the Wyrmwound and post-departure success. Hmm, yes. He could teach the stranger how to polish stones as well. That should help fund his travels."

"That is very thoughtful of you."

"Isn't it?"

"Yes. And I still want you to leave."

Sundown chuckled. "I'm going, I'm going. Do tidy up, though. He'll be here in two hours."

Travelled to the Alstroemeria Clan Your dragon appeared during their archaeological dig, through the brambles and blacksand beaches, to end up with the Alstroemeria clan for a time~ With a renewed sense of mystery and a few weird trinkets, they head off to their next destination! Achieved: 23 July 2019 BSJ

Venzsi knew how ancient and unchanging the caves of Dragonhome were. Such a difference from his ever changing birthplace that demanded its inhabitants do the same. Far below the pillar of eternity and the surface of all dragon’s ancestral homeland, he found himself wandering an ancient hall, decorated ceiling to floor with stories carved into the walls by clans and loners alike, remembered by only the stone that once protected them.

There were stories he recognized among the masses. A shattered pillar and what looked to be the Earthshaker at its feet represented the beginning of the modern age that seemed so long ago. A carving of intricate swirls and free flying dragons must be the Twisting Crescendo he had heard so much about, carved by one who had seen lands he had not. There was a beast with eleven heads, all marked as one of the eleven elemental flights. That was an Emperor, a horror Venzsi hoped he would never have to face. A warrior adorned with blooming flowers leaping at one adorned with bones, both with teeth bared and claws at the ready, a story he knew well, one he had even participated in during his time in the Plaguebringer’s realm.

It was the stories he didn’t recognize that we’re the most moving. A troupe of Snappers, leaving the Shattered Plain on the search for new lands, far away from their Father. Spirals such as himself streaking through the sky, away from the Zephyr Steppes into unexplored territory, following the wind without a care. Nocturnes appearing far from the Tangled Wood, out of hiding and in the midst of building a new clan. It mattered little where he came from or who he was expected to be by sheer virtue of his birth. If the ancient ancestors were brave enough to leave their homelands unapologetically, then there was no shame to be found in following their example.

It was then that inspiration struck. Venzsi leapt out of the cave, looking back a few times to ensure he would remember where it was, and made his way to the surface below its entrance. He remembered there being a patch of cactus nearby with ripe fruit, which he harvested, careful of the thorns. He gathered a set of stones, some sharp and some blunt, then carried his haul back to the cave and began to work.

Those who enter that cave today are greeted by carvings and stories, many ancient, but one recent. Amidst the faded colors and weathered scratches lies a story told in bright red, carved by inexperienced, yet excited hands. Away from the Wyrmwound flies a lone spiral with scarlet eyes, following the call of the ancestors. The carving ends there, with no destination to behold, but under the guiding claws of those who wandered before, this one would surely endure.



Brightshine Jubliee was still going strong when Venzsi arrived in light flight territory. Rather than attend the main bulk of the celebration of course, the spiral instead choose to investigate a lair on the borders of the hewn city. Like calls to like after all, and a blight in light was an interesting reflection to a dragon of blight seeking light.

And upon further investigation, that wasn't the only like thing here in light - indeed there was another dragon of plague who had left for better lands.

There were no witness to the conversation, but the two dragons did chat for a time, bonding over having escaped the harshness of plague.



Venzi took pause in his flight, his mind wandering as he peered around. He'd flown over his homeland in search of something new to see, to experience the world beyond his infested home, and yet it was here in Ice that he felt something creeping upon him worse than any plague. He turned about, his ruby eyes scanning the copse around him in search of the eyes he knew were watching him. He expected an ambush of sorts.

He did not expect the Nature Fae with wings that seemed to glow with the blessings of the Gladekeeper. She seemed just as surprised as he was, her fins flaring as she dropped her scroll case, scattering the seeds and plants she'd pulled together. He was quick to help her, though he did wonder what she was doing out here. Ice was nearly as bad as Fire or Plague for a Nature dragon, especially a botanist. She quickly pulled her things together, peering at the Spiral before she spoke.

"You know, I get the feeling that you're a lot like Clockwork..." He didn't know who this Clockwork was, but she sounded important to the Fae. She paused for a moment longer before shaking her head, holding the case closer to her. "If you're traveling, you might want to go out to the Frigid Floes before the Bifrost Watch finds you. They'd likely force you to join us Wanderers out by the Cloudscrape Crags, or at least at their base. You still have some adventuring left to do, don't you?"

"I do, actually. Hey, that reminds me, what're you doing out here? I'd think a drake like yourself would be somewhere... warmer." The level look she gave him was enough to still his tongue, if only for the moment. Then her fins rose in what could only be described as a smile for a Fae, and she spun around.

"Gathering supplies for the Wanderers. The Gaolers are too busy to watch us all the time. I'm sure they'd miss you if you wanted to stay for a while." He stared at her as she darted ahead, beaming. "Well? Aren't you coming?" Before he could reply, a tree toppled nearby, and she was lost in the pine nettles that crashed with it. A large form peered over, apparently surprised by the two dragons' appearance.

"Whoops. Didn't see you there. Are you alright, small one?" Venzi didn't stick around. Surely this was one of the Gaolers the small Fae had warned him about. Well, he certainly had a story to tell for later. Gaoler accidentally crushes Fae with massive pine; Supposed to be her warden. He doubted anyone in his old home, or wherever he ended up after all this, would believe him. He wondered if they'd believe he actually felt bad for a dragon blessed by the Gladekeeper. He didn't see the multiple eyes watching him as he left, nor did he see the faint glow as the Fae reappeared, her eyes wide.

Most certainly of all, he didn't hear the argument that ensued as the Fae demanded to know how the Gaoler could be so careless, how she'd died and had to use her blessing when she ought to be saving it, and how her poor Sprite could have died as well. He just didn't want to be trapped by Gaolers before he could truly complete his adventure.

There was too much left to see to let it end now.



Brightshine Jubilee may be winding down, but here in Scatterspark Outpost, the dragons are still jubilant. The marketplace is adorned with banners and strings of lamps, bright even in midday, and music rings out from radios placed here and there. As they go about their day-to-day business, the dragons of the outpost stop to chatter, laugh, and occasionally sing or dance, enjoying the company of their neighbors. There's so much to see and so many interesting dragons to talk to, but Venzsi's attention is drawn first to a large banner near the inn:


There's a dragon waiting beneath the banner, a brown and green Skydancer, clearly from Nature. And even though she must be able to see the bright crimson of Venzsi's eyes, she waves him eagerly over. "Hello, traveler! Welcome!"

The Spiral flutters closer, hesitantly at first, but the Skydancer's genuine friendliness boosts his confidence. "Hello. I'm Venzsi," he says, approaching the table she's stationed at. "Your town, uh, looks pretty nice."

"Pleased to meet you, Venzsi. My name's Cliele," the Skydancer answers, reaching out to shake his hand. "Oh, it is nice. I just moved here myself, not too long ago. It's a wonderful place for research, even though it's not in the heart of the Sunbeam Ruins."

Her words piqued his interest. So she was recently looking for a home too? Despite their clashing elements, perhaps they have something in common. "What kind of research do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a historian," she tells him. "Right now, I'm trying to find out what happened to the Tidelord, but that's not my only interest. I've studied a wide variety of things!"

"Have you ever been to Dragonhome?" Venzsi asks eagerly. "I saw the most amazing paintings in the caves..."

And off they go, talking about the things Venzsi has seen on his journey so far, and the things Cliele wishes she could see one day. As they wander the market, Cliele tells him stories about migrations, expeditions, and travelers of the past, and Venzsi's eyes shine with fascination. Though he wants more than anything a place to belong, it sounds like a dream to go exploring the world and bringing back stories. Perhaps this journey is only the first of many yet to come.

Venzsi and Cliele buy sandwiches at the cafe, then the Skydancer takes him out to an archaeological site a few miles outside of town. The ruins look empty and sad to him, at first, until Cliele begins describing the lives of the dragons who used to live there. She's a good storyteller, with a passion for details. He can imagine it now: vibrant with life and activity, ancient dragons celebrating ancient events. Loving, playing, fighting. Living and dreaming.

They spend a couple hours helping the excavators with their dig, and Venzsi finds a few interesting rocks and a large shard of pottery. These aren't the sorts of finds Scatterspark's archaeologists are looking for, so the Spiral is permitted to keep them. As the sun beings to set, Venzsi and Cliele head back to town, meeting up with a frosty-furred Tundra at the Merry Marzal for a drink.

The tavern is lively on a weekend, especially during a festival. Everyone's chatting and exchanging stories, and Venzsi isn't left out. Cliele and her mate Cecily, the Tundra, make sure to draw him into every conversation, asking him questions and marveling at his stories. The Spiral has never felt so included, even admired. This, he thinks, is what home must feel like.

In the morning, as he heads out to continue his travels, Venzsi feels a renewed energy. This place, he knows, is not his home, but home seems much more achievable after his visit here. And he has a bit of inspiration for what he'll do for a living, too. Archaeologist, perhaps? Or maybe even... a professional explorer.



Venzsi remembers the day he promised himself he'd never return to the Scarred Wasteland.

And now somehow, he's standing at the edge of the Wyrmwound and peering into the stinking, bubbling goop below, wondering what in the name of all eleven deities possessed him to come back to his birthplace.

Above all, the Plagueborn believe in survival. Venzsi hates that. Surviving is not living-- never was, never will be. Still, he has no idea why he's here, why he obeys the tug of the Wasteland and lets himself get dragged all the way to its epicentre, the Wyrmwound itself.

'You know, it's really not smart to stand that close to the edge.'

A voice from behind him jolts him out of his thoughts. Venzsi turns and finds a mirror dressed like... well, dressed exactly like a devout follower of the Plaguebringer peering at him, head cocked to the side.

The birdskull mask on her face makes it hard to read her expression, but there's an amused lilt in her voice when she says, 'I had a friend who fell in once.'

'What happened?' Venzsi asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

The mirror clambers up the rotting sides to join him at the lip of the Wyrmwound. 'I don't know. I said I had a friend.'

He doesn't quite know what to say to that, so he settles on silence.

The mirror, however, takes this as a cue to continue. 'Hey, can I ask? I've never seen you before and you don't seem like those fanatics who travel all the way here to, err--' she gestures at the stinking green liquid(?) in the Wyrmwound-- 'jump in. I saw you while i was running past and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.'

A pause ensues before she adds, 'Like, not going to make any stupid decisions or anything.'

Venzsi suppresses the laugh that threatens to bubble out of him. 'No.' Then, despite himself, he mutters, 'Didn't think I'd ever want to come back, anyway.'

Turning away, the mirror lets out a 'huh'. 'Good to know. It was nice meeting you.' Venzsi doesn't watch her leave, but two minutes later he hears the scrabbling patter of a dragon in a rush and he knows who it is.

'I forgot; if this is the last time you're going to see the Scarred Wasteland again, you might as well have a lil' something to remember it by.' The mirror comes up to him, presses something small and light into his claws, and promptly leaves.

A little shocked, Venzsi looks at the object she'd given him. It's a runestone, a small one, with the Plague symbol carved into it. If he focuses, he can just hear the faint beat of elemental magic that lies in it, the same kind that flows in his veins.

The mirror's words ring in his head. The last time.

So, a farewell. Venzsi smiles to himself, tucks the runestone away, then takes off.

And as he heads for the Ashfall Wastes, he does not look back.