Durantis

Crimson Rootvine

Plant

Nearly all of this plant grows beneath the ground, save for a few small flowers. Digging it up can be quite a chore.

37

4

It’s being edited but it’s here so I don’t lose it
Tenses are all over the place


So, Durantis was a student, same time as Oleander, friends even
They hung out all the time
One day, Ole goes to Dura’s home, saying he’s discovered smth, smth big about the The Arcanist. Ole can’t say just yet, but Dura needs to take this bag, keep quiet, and to leave as soon as he can. Ole looks different. He has a sparkle in his eyes, a glow around his head.
Dura doesn’t leave, he’s worried. He stays, but he keeps quiet as promised, and he doesn’t look in the bag. He follows Ole in secret, and sees him go to The Arcanists room. Ole didnt leave the Arcanist room that night.
The next day, he sees Ole again, ascended and in one of the hands of The Arcanist, but he is not himself. He’s babbling nonsense, dried blood covering his mouth and throat.
The Arcanist announces to his entire court, that sometimes, a dragon can find knowledge too great for their mind to contain or handle, driving them mad. This is what happened to Ole. The Arcanist vowed to find a cure for his madness, to help his student anyway he could.
But Dura, he knew something was off, that something was wrong. Dura came home to see one of the Hounds lurking nearby. Dura figured it was time to leave. But he wouldn’t leave without Ole.
He grabbed the bag Ole gave him, and a go pack of his own, and then he flew. He used his potions and magic to get past the Hounds and any other guards. He found the cells where Ole was being kept. He definitely was not himself. He didn’t even recognise Dura. Ole was cackling horsily, tying him self into knots, an old nervous tick he had as a kid. Dura mustered all his strength, and pulled him out of the cell. He used every trick he could to keep Ole quiet, to get him out, to keep him safe. It worked, but he knew he could never come back, not after what he had learned
He dragged Ole to the Wasteland, found a nice hole to curl up in, and passed out.
Next few months, he with ole in tow hopped around the Waste, avoiding any signs of life, dragon or beast, while trying to heal Ole. He looked in the bag that Ole gave him, and saw journals and scrolls, filled to the brim with Ole’s scrawls, getting messier and messier, to the point he was convinced it was another language, something, alien. He knew this is what got Ole in trouble, but he couldn’t read it, couldn’t find anything that would help him cure Ole.
During a moving day, Dura saw them: The Hounds. They were tracking them. He didn’t know how they found him, but he knew he had to act fast. He grabbed Ole and ran across the border, from Plague into Shadow, and disappeared into the Mists. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care, he just needed to get his friend somewhere safe. They ran through a rose bush patch, tearing their clothing and skin, but the adrenaline pushed him further. He knew he hadn’t shaken The Hounds, so he found a stump, and shoved Ole into it. Told him to stay there, and not to move. Ole understood that much and stayed.
Dura ran, leaving Ole, and attracted The Hounds attention away from Oles direction. He had for the first time in months. His wing muscles had atrophied in that time, as he had to keep to land only and stay out of sight of The Arcanists many telescopes. He got their attention, and lured them far away, and eventually lost them since they couldn’t keep up, but his wings weren’t the same after that. He could never fly for very long if at all.




...


Yellow highlight = some stuff that might need rewording or something extra I added that you might want changed)

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Durantis and Oleander were both students of the Arcanist, as well as close friends. Dura was worried then, when he opened his door one day to find Oleander behind it; an eerie glow around his head and sparks in his eyes.
He said he discovered something about the Arcanist, something big. Speaking quickly, he passed an object to Durantis from the doorway; a bag. Oleander couldn’t say what it was just yet, only that Dura needed to take it, stay quiet, and leave his home as quickly as possible. Then, Oleander left.
Dura stared at the empty doorway for several long minutes. He couldn’t make himself leave, not after seeing the look on Oleander’s face. Dura cinched the bag tight to his shoulder and without looking inside, slipped out after Oleander. He trailed his friend at a distance, keeping his promised silence.
Oleander wove his way through the Atrium, leading them both to the Arcanist’s room. Oleander disappeared inside. He did not leave the room that night.
The next day, the Arcanist called his court to him for an announcement. He appeared to the gathered crowd with an Ascended Oleander in one taloned hand. Incoherent nonsense spilled out of Ole instead of words, but Durantis could barely hear it. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the dried blood coating his friend’s mouth and throat.
“Sometimes,” the Arcanist boomed, his voice tinged with sadness, “A dragon stumbles into knowledge too great for the mind to handle. They are not equipped to contain what they have found, and so they are overcome and driven mad. As rare and unpredictable as it is, not even I can tell when a new discovery will become too much. This is one of my own, and so he is my responsibility. He will be cured. All in due time.” The Arcanist moved away with Ole in hand, to put him away for his own safety.
The Arcanist’s explanation wasn’t enough. Something was wrong; Durantis could feel it. When he returned home, he caught a glimpse of one of the Arcanist’s Hounds lurking within walking distance of his house. Watching.
It was time to leave. But first, he would break Ole free of the Arcanist.
Durantis gathered his things, his supplies, the pack Oleander gave to him, and flew to the [undercroft of the Atrium.] He suspected Ole was being held there. The presence of the Hounds deep within the Atrium confirmed it. Through potions and magic he managed to elude the guards, buying himself enough time to find the Atrium’s cells.
Durantis found him through his laughter. A hoarse, unstable, cackling thing, that echoed through the rows of cells with the ring of madness. Oleander tied his own body into nervous knots over and over again, barely even looking at Durantis. When he was still enough, Dura could see no hint of recognition in his friend’s eyes. The realization only hardened his resolve.
Mustering all of his strength, Durantis broke Oleander free of his cell. He used every trick he could to haul Oleander from the [undercroft], keep Ole quiet, and keep him safe. It worked, but Durantis knew he could never come back--not after what Oleander had learned.
He did not stop running until he reached the Wasteland. After dragging Oleander with him for hours, he found a hole for the both of them to sleep in safely.
Over the next few months he and Ole hopped about the Waste, avoiding any signs of life--dragon or beast--all while desperately trying to heal his friend. Durantis kept low to the ground and between the cliffs of the wastes, where the Arcanist’s telescopes could not see them in flight.
The moment he was sure they were clear of the Arcanist’s many eyes, Durantis opened the bag. Journals and scrolls lay inside, filled to the brim with Ole’s handwriting. His entries were clean at first. Then they became scrawls, growing messier and messier until Durantis was convinced it was another language entirely. Something alien. This strange script--this is what had gotten Oleander in trouble. But Durantis couldn’t read it, and nothing in the books or the bag could cure Oleander’s mind.
During another day on the run, Dura saw a glimpse of them; The Hounds. He didn’t know how they picked up the trail after so long, but he knew that he had to act fast. He took Oleander and ran, through the Wastes and across the border from Plague into Shadow, disappearing into the mists. He didn’t know where he was going and did not care. All that mattered was their escape and Oleander’s safety.
Obstacles tore at them both in Durantis’ blind run. The thorns of a rose bush patch sliced into their clothing and skin, but adrenaline pushed him further. It wouldn’t be enough to stop the Hounds, not with them so close on their heels. Durantis skidded to a stop at the sight of a hollowed dead stump and shoved Oleander inside. “Stay here, don’t move,” he said between breaths. He could not wait for his friend’s response. But when he fled, Oleander stayed.
Durantis ran, moving quick and fast away from Oleander’s hiding place. Then he leapt into the air and spread his wings. He flew for the first time in months, atrophied wings screaming in pain as he forced them to bring him into the sky. He drew the attention of the hounds to himself and lured them far, far away. He lost them in the tops of the trees when they could no longer keep up with his flight. Durantis landed hard back between the trunks of the Tangled Wood, exhausted, and broken. His wings would never be the same. He still cannot fly for long periods of time, if at all.

---original content---
So, Durantis was a student, same time as Oleander, friends even
They hung out all the time
One day, Ole goes to Dura’s home, saying he’s discovered smth, smth big about the The Arcanist. Ole can’t say just yet, but Dura needs to take this bag, keep quiet, and to leave as soon as he can. Ole looks different. He has a sparkle in his eyes, a glow around his head.
Dura doesn’t leave, he’s worried. He stays, but he keeps quiet as promised, and he doesn’t look in the bag. He follows Ole in secret, and sees him go to The Arcanists room. Ole didnt leave the Arcanist room that night.
The next day, he sees Ole again, ascended and in one of the hands of The Arcanist, but he is not himself. He’s babbling nonsense, dried blood covering his mouth and throat.
The Arcanist announces to his entire court, that sometimes, a dragon can find knowledge too great for their mind to contain or handle, driving them mad. This is what happened to Ole. The Arcanist vowed to find a cure for his madness, to help his student anyway he could.
But Dura, he knew something was off, that something was wrong. Dura came home to see one of the Hounds lurking nearby. Dura figured it was time to leave. But he wouldn’t leave without Ole.
He grabbed the bag Ole gave him, and a go pack of his own, and then he flew. He used his potions and magic to get past the Hounds and any other guards. He found the cells where Ole was being kept. He definitely was not himself. He didn’t even recognise Dura. Ole was cackling horsily, tying him self into knots, an old nervous tick he had as a kid. Dura mustered all his strength, and pulled him out of the cell. He used every trick he could to keep Ole quiet, to get him out, to keep him safe. It worked, but he knew he could never come back, not after what he had learned
He dragged Ole to the Wasteland, found a nice hole to curl up in, and passed out.
Next few months, he with ole in tow hopped around the Waste, avoiding any signs of life, dragon or beast, while trying to heal Ole. He looked in the bag that Ole gave him, and saw journals and scrolls, filled to the brim with Ole’s scrawls, getting messier and messier, to the point he was convinced it was another language, something, alien. He knew this is what got Ole in trouble, but he couldn’t read it, couldn’t find anything that would help him cure Ole.
During a moving day, Dura saw them: The Hounds. They were tracking them. He didn’t know how they found him, but he knew he had to act fast. He grabbed Ole and ran across the border, from Plague into Shadow, and disappeared into the Mists. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care, he just needed to get his friend somewhere safe. They ran through a rose bush patch, tearing their clothing and skin, but the adrenaline pushed him further. He knew he hadn’t shaken The Hounds, so he found a stump, and shoved Ole into it. Told him to stay there, and not to move. Ole understood that much and stayed.
Dura ran, leaving Ole, and attracted The Hounds attention away from Oles direction. He flew for the first time in months. His wing muscles had atrophied in that time, as he had to keep to land only and stay out of sight of The Arcanists many telescopes. He got their attention, and lured them far away, and eventually lost them since they couldn’t keep up, but his wings weren’t the same after that. He could never fly for very long if at all.