Sunscream

Cling, serpent.

Cling to those fragments. You were born in plague, and thus born to survive. The horror of what you may be will split your skull and sunder your bones, but you will survive to see the dawn.

Hold fast, serpent. What can you remember? Sisters, three, each as reckless, relentless, and wild as the last. You tore through the wildlands, laughing and kicking; you loved for your freedom, for the power of your wings.

Hold. What longing crosses your twisted maw? What memory do you seek? None could stop you, although cruel you were not; if you stole, you took enough to live (and what is life but a thin veneer over death?). The blood through your veins, the breath in your teeth - what need, magic, when you could so prize your own mortality?

Speak, serpent. What regrets shiv’r over your tongues? What language is this that you speak, broken and old? Of old, you slept hard at the ends of the days, valuing as best you could the seconds striking down. Then, your wings were weighed not by crystal and opal, agate and amethyst; your bodies were whole, but they struck you down.

They struck you down, I see it now - the sword, impaled through your body. It struck - yes, first your sister, flying high above, brought her screeching to earth - struck the other sister as she raced to intercept. And you, the youngest, it sundered third on that bloody day, in a too-blue sky - and in your dying breaths, thus mixed your blood and fused your mind.

O emperor!

I see you here, splintered and mourning - your mind is the strongest, but not for long. Go ahead, then. Pick up the thing that sent you spiraling. Feel its weight, heft in in your claws. A sword of silver, slick with curses and ill intent. This thing is far from sacred. This thing is far from kind.

Yet you will make it yours, again.
By SilverSilver

I am Clawhammer.
I am Swordbinder.
I am Sunburst.
We are Sunscream.