Nightingale
(#70471771)
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
Sincerity
Shadow Serpent
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Pearlcatcher
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.55 m
Wingspan
3.95 m
Weight
488.48 kg
Genetics
Midnight
Iridescent
Iridescent
Midnight
Shimmer
Shimmer
Midnight
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
6
MND
7
Biography
Winning entry by CultOfTheSky:
Daily Theme: The Desolation
Applicable CW: Depictions of burning feathers, skin, and wing membrane. Oh yeah and a brief mention of alcohol.
Additional Notes: Based loosely on something I wrote for a ‘lore inspiration’ game. So I’m using my old work to re-inspire myself this time. Also, this is (attempting to be) written in the style of the older entries for TMA, as I’ve just started re-listening to them!
A letter from Trophonius of the BoneForest clan, about his traumatizing experience with fire at an early age.
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***   ***  ******Bonus ***** 
***** 
*****
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I’ve put off writing about this for long enough. Many have simply told me that what I’ve seen either isn’t possible, or is a mis-remembered memory. However, my husband finally convinced me that if I wasn’t going to go seek help for this issue in therapy, then I might as well write to people who believe me. Or even if you don’t, it is better to just... get it out now. The incident took place when I was still very young, and living among my birth flight. In fact, this story is the reason I left my birth flight... but I’m getting ahead of myself. I used to live on the Churnscar Wharf, roaming the streets with other young dragons of my age. I can’t exactly remember if my parents were ever too attached to me, meaning that they likely were not. Certainly explains why no one went looking for me when I ran. Now, I lived on the Wharf because I never quite liked the idea of being deep underwater. The vast, expansive emptiness of it all, combined with the knowledge that there was over a thousand tones of water above your head at any given moment... nevermind. My story isn’t about that, although I guess it serves to prove as to why I didn’t retreat to the depths after this event. Though that might have been the smarter option. When I was younger, I often hung around an old skydancer named Tempest. She was well known for building ships that sailed out onto the Sea of A Thousand Currents, whether they be small, agile sailboats or grand, sweeping merchant vessels. She built them all, rain or shine, high or low tide. I don’t think I ever saw her take a break from her precious ships, except to wash the wood shavings and dust from her wings when the feathers became too clogged for her to fly. However, Tempest wasn’t a natural born water dragon. She was, in fact, originally from the Ashfall Waste. She’d grown accustomed to being able to dive like the rest of us, but she still felt very connected to her fiery homeland. Around the time when the days got a little shorter and colder, Tempest would make the journey back to the Wastes for the Flameforger’s Festival. It was the longest stretch of time that I’d not see her working on the boats. Whenever she got back, she’d sometimes work for days straight, and only come back into town to buy something to eat. Often, she’d leave a trail of splinters and nails in her wake as she apologized to the locals for the sawdust. They never minded, though. Everyone loved Tempest and her work. She was an integral part of the community, after all. So when one year, after the Flameforger’s Festival, Tempest didn’t immediately go back to her boats, everyone was concerned. But we all decided to leave Tempest in peace. For all we knew, she was just sick. It wasn’t as though the smoke billowing from her house scared us. We just... wanted to give her time. For the next week, all that came out of Tempest’s house was soot and ashes, until that entire side of the docks reeked of fire. Another member of the town, a tundra botanist named Kelpie, went to check in on her when Tempest didn’t stop by for her weekly basket of fresh herbs and fruit. The whole town seemed to be watching as Kelpie stepped inside of the skydancer’s house, a basket of fresh mangos slung around the tundra’s waist. Kelpie didn’t come back out for what seemed like hours. There were murmurs spreading, of someone going into to fetch her. But just when Samul, a white guardian from the plague flight, had decided to go in, Kelpie stumbled out. Her garnet fur was darkened with ash, and she had a dazed look in her eyes. But still, she urged us to follow her, as she’d tell us what she’d seen once she had her bearings. ‘She kept clutching this strange glowing gemstone,’ Kelpie said, clutching a mug of cool ale between her paws. The entire town it seemed had gathered around her in the small pub. ‘She wouldn’t let go of it, and kept looking out at her ships. When I asked if she was well enough to work again, she snapped at me and told me that she’d ‘go back when she was ready’. Whatever that meant.’ |
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The town came to the decision near unanimously. We’d all give Tempest another week to get back to normal, and then we’d all confront her. People seemed to think this might give Tempest just enough time to wake up from whatever stupor she was in. As if a week hadn’t been enough to prove that things weren’t going to fix themselves. But we never got to wait that long. The very night, everyone awoke to the sound of clanging bells, roaring dragons, flapping wings, and a crackling blaze. Smoke wafted over the entire town, near choking anyone who tried to fly. It didn’t take long to find the source of the fire. Being smaller than my peers, I managed to squirm my way to Tempest’s docks. All I wanted was to make sure Tempest was alright. My little brain hadn’t quite registered that Tempest might actually be the problem. That Tempest might have done something to harm her precious handiwork. But that all seemed to click the moment I saw what was happening. A skydancer, more fire than dragon at this point, leapt through the cloth that made up the sail of one of the larger merchant ships. I watched as all of Tempest’s hard work stitching a beautiful swirling design into the sail was undone in moments, used as kindling to fuel the flames. Through it all, my eyes remained fixed on the skydancer —firedancer, I’d thought to myself— as she continued to storm through the remaining boats. Her feathers were quickly burning away, blackened ends spinning off into the night sky and mixing with the ash of the burning ships. What little remained flickered with embers that burst into flame with each new dive. Her skin and wing membranes seemed to bubble and crack. Blood charred and flaked away before it could ever drip from the open wounds caused by the fire. The trailing whiskers on her face were barely hanging on, each alight with their own individual flame. And despite her numerous injuries, Tempest danced on. But the gem in her forehead... was drastically changed. It wasn’t burned, or on fire. No, it seemed... different. Like it wasn’t the same one Tempest used to have. And it seemed to glow against the back drop of the midnight sky, a sickly orange only matched by the skydancer’s eyes. Her glowing, ravenous, flame spurting eyes. Oh by the Tidelord, those eyes. I still cannot bear to sleep with candles nearby for they remind me of her gaze, always seeming to find me and dig deep into my soul like a hot knife. The fires burned to hot and bright for anyone of the town to put them out. Samul tried, and received embers that seared holes in his wings for his efforts. It was only as dawn rose that the fire finally burnt itself out, leaving only the smell of smoke and charred timber behind. We never did find any trace of Tempest. Not even her bones were left, scorched as they would have been. Rumor had it that Kelpie was seen hurling a small, glowing orange stone into the sea, but no one ever spoke of it. That was the day I decided to leave the Churnscar. It held nothing for me but bad memories, and I wanted to be as far away from the remnants of Tempest’s dock as possible. But I was still young, and my wings gave out halfway across the sea. I was lucky to be found by the BoneForest clan. And here I’ve stayed ever since then. I have a husband now, and have joined the local guard. There’s even a skydancer from the Ashen Wastes on the guard, too, though he’s never shown much passion in anything except for his familiar. I’m still wary around him when he comes back from the Flameforger’s Festival, but so far, nothing has happened. Though this probably all sounded like the ramblings of a young dragon afraid of fire, I hope you take it into consideration. |
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Research into this event has been surprisingly difficult. Despite physical evidence for there being a large section of burned docks in the Churnscar Wharf, none of the locals seem particularly keen to discuss it. When looking for the Miss Kelpie and Mister Samul mentioned in the story for follow up interviews, I was informed that both had left for the light flight and ice flight, respectively.
While I’d be keen to dismiss this tale as simply unchecked and unnoticed mental health issues on the part of Miss Tempest, the mention of the glowing stone that seemed to replace Tempest’s intrigued me.
Though we scoured the area around the Wharf, no evidence of any glowing stone was found.
However... as we were waiting for one of the water dragons from the institute to come back to the surface, an older banescale fisherman approached us. He stared into the water for a long time, before finally saying that we ‘wouldn’t find it anywhere, the tides have taken it’s curse far away.’
Whatever that may mean remains to be seen. However, the mention of this ‘it’ does lend credence to the gemstone being real- or at least, being very real to the dragons of the Wharf. More research into this is recommended.
End Statement.
 ************* |
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@Saronai wrote:
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Inky spectres, barely visible and entirely unnoticed slipped out of their prison the day the Great Library crumbled into ruins on one side. These wisps of The Shade, trapped together no longer, gathered from fragments in tainted tomes and artifacts. All of them strange, many dangerous, secreted into a warded archive by one Jurgen Lightner. Warded no longer. Many appear to originate from The Ghostlight Ruins, others...well, no flight’s territory remains completely untouched by The Shade, does it? Those who built their nests far too close to that secret archive paid the ultimate price, though no one found a trace of them in the aftermath. Only their eggs remained, infected by the fear-drenched fragments of shade, some more than others, perhaps. Either way, this invasive presence transformed all of them to their very core, resulting in one of the Shadeborn. While these unlucky hatchlings are not contagious like those with a more shallow infection, they must feed it magic, and eventually their descent into madness is nearly assured. At that point, no matter how steadfast they were as guardians against The Shade, they may end up as agents spreading its fear and terror. |
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Bio template by @Saronai 2021
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