Whir

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(... Tick 3.35)

It's a surprise how a single, small event can change so much.
Whir is an explorer, someone who physically cannot keep themselves rooted to a single location, so it's a real shame he ended up here, a place that forces you to stay put. It nearly broke him, learning that he'd likely have to stay here forever, but then he realized that that intrusive thought was the thing holding him down, so he decided to unroot himself and explore.
The landscape was rather repetitive, it was just fog and repeating patterns for miles, and Whir didn't want to get lost, especially while alone like this. He lands, but -- while expecting just more dense fog -- he finds an open clearing, lacking what he expected. It was in fact, entirely unique, entirely different to everything else he's seen here before. It was a small patch of, what appeared to be grass made of glass, swaying about as the cold breezes blow in.
In the center of it all, was the rose.
It looked like a rose, but it wasn't a rose. It was purely white, the stem and petals, probably the insides too, but whatever it was, it was stunning. Whir, in an awe and some sort of trance, eyes wide and full of wonder, a dragon who is never so interested in such a simple object. Why was it so wonderful? Why did he think like this now, and never before now? Was it the rose? Surely, which surely meant, that this was more than your average rose you'd find in an average garden.
Betrayal is also, a surprising thing; a small event that can change so, so much.
Clavorra, a fae Whir trusted to the core, was trusted to watch this rose while he went away to continue exploring, attempting to reach the farthest reaches of this potentially endless world. He was gone for only a short period of time, so short, yet somehow, Clavorra betrayed that trust, splitting it into two. Clavorra took the rose for her own, and Whir was going to do anything he possibly could to get it back. He would bribe, scheme, perhaps even tear a dragon to shreds, rip them apart like someone would discard paper, no matter how big or helpless. Perhaps he'd even crumble this world to dust, somehow; he'd find a way, someway. Who would stop him? Why would they stop him, considering what he had lost?

Clavorra. Is. Dead.

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B

On the front page July 18, 2022, ~16:50-16:55 FR time