Feorr

mirror cherub ghost goat (x)

renaming scroll: 6000 (7/5/19)

apparel: http://www1.flightrising.com/dressing/outfit/843714

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He remembered his clan, and his home, vividly.

They were many. At least six hundred Mirrors, all fang and claw and blood and violence. The Shifting Expanse was not kind, and the Carrion Canyon even crueler. Feorr distinctly recalled his clan moving constantly, chasing fickle prey and avoiding the capricious whims of other clans.

It wasn't unheard of for a Mirror clan to grow monstrously massive. Mother told him stories of the Mirrors in the north, in the heart of the Plaguebringer's domain, and the green-eyed hunters in the east, in the Gladekeepers forests. Mother said that these Mirrors formed into a horde of fierce killers only for the biggest of game. An army of wartoads enough to feed the whole clan for months, or raging behemoths crowned with leaves and moss.

But Feorr's clan wasn't preparing for the fight of their lives, or the hunt to end all hunts. They were just family. Six hundred Mirrors, moving as one, breathing as one, living as one. "Family stays together," Mother said with a gentle grin as she curled herself around him. "We protect each other."

Feorr didn't really understand why a group of vicious Mirrors needed "protection" from anything until his first raid.

He was a hatchling then, innocent to what being part of the Khurthaz clan meant. The raid came in the dead of night, when the tempestuous storms the Expanse was infamous for suddenly struck. The crackle of lightning and booming cacophony of thunder masked the footfalls of a band of raiders. Two dozen dragons, armed to the teeth, hauling sharp blades and sharpened claws. Some of the larger ones carried with them large glass containers filled with a strange liquid.

The lookouts the clan had immediately shouted the alarm, though not before the raiders sent the first volley of magic.

Their immense numbers gave them an edge in fighting, able to take down prey quickly and move on to the next almost immediately. But when six hundred Mirrors tried to react to the panic of an attack, things became chaotic.

Screams erupted. The more experienced fighters immediately took to the skies, only to divebomb the oncoming raiders. Brooding mothers wailed as they were forced to flee, leaving their eggs behind. Bizarrely, the eggs were immediately trampled by the clan, leaving no trace behind.

Like many of the Mirrors with hatchlings to protect, Mother grabbed Feorr by the scruff and ran. Her powerful jaws gently clamped onto his tiny body and he clung to her head as he watched the carnage play behind them.

Most of the Mirrors fled, a strange sight to see. Feorr had witnessed these very Mirrors face down elephants four times as large as they were, saw them rip apart dragons for the territory. To think that they would flee from two dozen raiders was odd.

He saw Giasis, one of the older Mirrors, get taken down by three raiders who slung nets onto him, and grounded him with hooks to his wings. Rather than killing him, Giasis had been thrown inside one of the glass containers.

Giasis fell into the odd liquid, struggled, then stilled. Not a moment later, the container lit up, sparks dancing around the edges.

Later, when the clan had moved on, found somewhere else to live, Mother sat him down and explained.

"Listen, Feorr," Mother said pulling him close, hoping he wouldn't see the hatchlings who weren't lucky enough to have their mothers survive, or the dragons devastated by the loss of their children. Mother hummed, and soothed, and pacified him as best she could, but all Feorr could see was Giasis, falling silent in that glass container as it lit up.

Mother embraced him with her wings and said, "Our clan is special. Our eyes are valuable. Our magic is strong." Feorr saw Giasis, powering the strange container into glimmering brightly with a shining light. Even as a child, it was not hard to piece together the truth. There were sparks where Giasis had been captured. The raiders were not interested in killing any dragons. Feorr figured it out before Mother said the words. "We are valuable, Feorr. As batteries. As fuel."

As a hidden weapon in other clans' wars, as the pretty eyes kept in a collector's jar.

"We are many because we're the last of our kind," Mother said. "We keep our eyes hidden to protect ourselves. We are strong, but we can be killed. We can be captured."

In that moment, Feorr had wondered. Was Father taken the same way Giasis was? Did he fight as hard as he could, only to be outnumbered and overpowered, nets slung over him, hooks stabbed through his wings? Did he get thrown into the container, submerged in the mysterious liquid, and go still?

Mother didn't say. Feorr didn't ask.

They simply sat together, mourning the loss, before the Elder called for the group to move again.

The Khurthaz Clan did have strange eyes. And a strange magic. Feorr noticed Mother's eyes glowing whenever she lit up a dark cavern, the markings on her body pulsing in time with the light. The eyes of the other Khurthaz dragons pulsed and changed, too. Their eyes had pupils, and the brilliant electric colour of their irises shifted, darkening or lightening as their emotions fluctuated.

Their magic was strong, their bodies were strong, their minds were strong.

Mother was right. The Khurthaz Clan needed to be protected, and needed to thrive.

When she had gone, thankfully passed away in the arms of the clan rather than being hauled off to Shade-knows-where, Khurthaz had swore to her dying soul, to the rest of his clan, that he would die to protect the Khurthaz name. He would not let another dragon get trapped under the weight of capture nets, never let eggs and hatchlings stolen from their homes.

He had promised that, Vowed it and meant every word.

So why had he left the Expanse, to pursue a world that had shown him nothing but cruelty?

[blah blah bunch of detail]

Why is it, that he returned to destroyed caravans, and bloody sands?

When he left the Clan for no longer than a year, Feorr had returned to nothingness. Worse still, he did not regret leaving, though the hollow ache in his chest would burn into a scar that would never fade.

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"If I were a precious stone, what would I be?"

Feorr glared, eyes narrowing beneath his mask. He contemplated killing ??, just to shut him up. Patiently, he didn't, and instead focused on sharpening the battle claws he wore to a fight. Not that his actual claws wouldn't deal damage, but having six inches of sharpened Black Annex metal was more practical. And it kept his claws from being bloodied or blunted from hitting a dragon's hide.

Still, ?? stubbornly waited for an answer.

With a sigh, Feorr finally said, "Quartz."

?? took the opportunity to crawl closer, wings brushing faintly against Feorr's side. "Because I'm so beautiful?"

"Because it's hard to see your true colours." Feorr stamped his foot where ??'s tail had slowly begun to inch closer to his own. Frustratingly, ?? didn't even flinch, merely smirked wider. "And I can crush your with ease."

"I know." Of course, ?? seemed completely pleased with the knowledge that Feorr could kill him, like it was the universe's gift. Something is definitely wrong with ??'s head. "Your turn."

"Excuse me?"

"Your turn to ask me a question. Go on, or I'll ask again."

On one hand, Feorr didn't want to have a conversation with this annoying pest that challenged him to a fight whenever he was in the area. On the other, however, ?? just got more annoying the more he was denied attention. Like a dog. Sickening.

"If I was a flower, what would I be?"

The look of surprise on ??'s face was almost worth it. Almost. He immediately grinned and pulled closer to Feorr, if that was even possible. "Sonata white," he purred almost breathily against the leathery membrane of Feorr's wing. "The flowers are prized for their beauty. But also because they're royally tough to kill. Like you."

Feorr scoffed. ?? couldn't kill him even if Feorr had both wings cut off, an arm shattered to bits, and a leg bitten off by a bicorn whale. Tough to kill, he can agree on. He pointedly ignored the first part.