Zephra
(#78861820)
Level 1 Tundra
Familiar
Hoarfrost Mauler
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Female Tundra
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.6 m
Wingspan
3.87 m
Weight
298.85 kg
Genetics
Maize
Basic
Basic
Seafoam
Basic
Basic
Jade
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Lineage
Biography
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It is a secret to all, but, ever since he was small, Bryn Thimaer’kerym feared the dark. Even in the day, under the bright summer sun, he shied from the shadows. And when the night finally crept upon the land, he would dart under his mother’s wing or his father’s embrace. He would not sleep without them by his side, and that proved difficult for all of them, for his parents were warriors and were gone many nights. Eventually, his father fashioned a solution. With his magic, he formed a soft ball of ever-shining light. It would hover forever in the middle of Bryn’s room, leaving no corner or crevice in shadow. He slept soundly. He grew, and said it was only a childhood fear. He lied. The world was darkening, and not in the way a moon wans and vanishes in the sky. Eyes were losing their luster. Smitheries were burning clouds of black into the sky. An unstable peace was fraying: two sides were waiting with bated breath for that string to snap. He found solace in friendship and naivety, in avoidance and his parent’s great shining presence. Then snap went that string. His village collapsed and burned. He lost sight of his parents between billowing walls of smoke. And he’d been dragged into that darkness. Now and then, his mind wanders back to that little ball of light. Was it still there, glowing in the ruins? Or had the magic been severed once his father had fallen? It’s not like he could ever return to it to see for himself, but the thoughts fester nonetheless. In the dark, they swarm, and sometimes he blinks and cannot tell which darkness he’s a part of; the past, or the present. Tonight, he claws his way out of memories just before he falls into them. It’s one of those nights, and so he walks. He passes libraries and blooming moon gardens, trailing his eyes up to arching architecture until his aimless path finds its way to the peak of Blackstaff Tower. The night is long and Waterdeep is silent, shrouded in deep slumber. He sets his eyes on the horizon. Eventually, the sun will rise in that shimmering line between sea and sky, but for now, they reach into each other’s planes and stretch onward. Eternal in tales, but now, he wishes it truly was. If it were just Waterdeep and the sea, there would be no need to fear the dark. There would be nothing but them and the endless ocean. Nothing to lurk in the shadows, just out of sight. “I thought I’d find you here.” The Blackstaff does not startle, but it’s a near thing. His entire body spins from the edge to face the tower, to the shadows stretching across its pristine architecture. But the shadow within the dark is a familiar one, laced in gold. Torrin melts out from the dark and joins his side. Their heads brush together in greeting. “You’re up early.” Bryn jests. “And you appear equipped for war.” Bryn pauses at that, the gears in his mind failing to follow his mate’s line of thought. Torrin waits, then, after a long stretch of silence, trails his eyes down. Bryn follows his gaze to his claws, and this time he does startle. Between his claws, locked in an iron grip, is his battle stave, pulsing with an energy he hadn’t realized he let flow. Pulling his awareness away from within, he finds his body heavy, soul coiled tight and Suzaku’s blessing simmering on the surface of his scales. “Oh.” He remarks eloquently. “Am I wearing my battle armor?” “Afraid so, darling.” “Gods.” He sighs, willing his claws to release the staff. They do not. “I did not realize.” “I gathered as such.” Torrin nods, placing a hand over his pauldron. “Be glad it was me and not anyone else. They’d assume we were headed to war.” Bryn attempts to laugh. He does not hold the same aptitude as Torrin, however. His tongue tastes of ash. “That would be quite a disaster.” They lapse back into silence. Bryn’s gaze returns to the horizon, and Torrin sits beside him. The water is beginning to sparkle, the hint of Suzaka’s rays seeping up from below, still so far. A gust of wind ruffled his feathers, and once it passed he found his words again. “You never went to sleep, did you?” “Hm.” Torrin tilts his head to the side, a sly smile creeping up. “Depends. Do we wish to share our secrets under the silent vow of Elistraee or Suzaku?” “I don’t think it matters which.” Bryn trails his gaze over the horizon, to the first glimmering specks across the edge. “We’re at the cusp of their domains anyhow.” “Fair enough.” Torrin agrees. His wings stretch out in what one would assume was repose, but Bryn has known him long enough to understand it's a ruse; an anxious tick. They’re both uncomfortable in honesty. One just holds a mask better than the other, so to speak. In a surprising twist of fates, it is Torrin who begins. “I was out with my informants. We were gathering intel, passing information to turncoats, the standard. Afterwards, I headed to a tavern, to enjoy what the rumor mill had to say. You and I both know how easily spirits can loosen the mind and the tongue. Bring out the truth behind even the most guarded of individuals.” He pauses. His eyes darken just the slightest, and Bryn involuntarily stiffens. The moment passes just as quickly, and Torrin’s signature sly smile is back in place. “In the middle of it all, two drunkards began to discuss the past, and one of them, in their narrow-minded opinions, began to talk about my people. Said we’d all be better off as servants and pets under the Avariels, since we only know how to be brutes bred for war anyhow.” As Torrin spits out those final words, Bryn sees red. For a moment, he feels as if he will erupt in flames, his feathers standing on the edges, and it takes all of the will he has left to reel his emotions back. They don’t get far, as tense as he already is, but for now, it suffices. ‘My love.” Bryn stresses. “You did not.” “I’ll have it heard here and now that I was not the one to strike first!” Torrin retorted. “That hand belongs to one of your Council, which, as of now, I retract my earlier statement and agree with your reasoning. They are a perfect fit.” “I’m glad they have risen to your standards.” Bryn attempts to sigh, but a chuckle bleeds through. “But by the stressors in your words I can assume you did strike that fool.” “Oh of course.” Torrin grins, sharp teeth and sharper anger shining in his eyes. “One does not slander my people in my presence and think they’ll get away with it, aware of their words or not.” “They’re not dead?” “No. No. Injured? Certainly. Not in any way that’s fatal, luckily for them, and not anyone you would know either.” He adds when Bryn opens his mouth. “Thanks to some encouragement, they’ll be out of the city by sunrise.” “Shame. Consider them exiled from Waterdeep, then. He growls, glaring into the dark and the silhouettes of half-constructed homes. “Those kinds of thoughts are not welcome here.” Torrin laughs then, and it is surprisingly genuine. Bryn turns, trying to read his mate’s face, but coming up blank. “What?” He asks. “Just memories.” Torrin says. “Reminds me of the time after we rented that totally-not-haunted house off that dealer between the apothecary and that ancient oak.” “Oh Gods, do not remind me.” Bryn groans, resting his head in his palms. “And how does that even connect to anything that just happened?” “Your face looked about the same after we dealt with that first spirit.” Torrin grins. “Made me think you were going to hunt down the dealer yourself and strangle him.” “Well, you’re not completely wrong.” Bryn admits. “Failing to mention the additional house guests would have saved us both the trouble.” ‘And the screaming.” “Torrin.” “What? We’re under vow. I can’t not omit that.” “Love, sometimes you make me want to stab you.” “Hm, unlikely. Only time I ever see you hold a knife is to add them to that collection on your wall. Stabbing is more my thing, anyhow.” It feels like forever since he last laughed in full. Many times he’d let slip a chuckle or two, but now it’s like a torrent. Spilling out from his chest and his heart. And with the shattering of that barrier in his emotions, the rest tumble freely. The joy, and the hurt. He doesn’t know which he feels more by the time he falls silent again. His eyes are wet, and his chest is light. “I wish you never had to deal with that.” The words fall. They tumble and spill onto the floor, and he can’t take them back. “With what? The words of bigots?” Torrin looks mystified. “I’ve dealt with it enough to understand it’s just the opinions of old. It doesn’t affect me.” “That’s not what I mean, love.” Torrin is no fool, but he was raised in a militaristic environment. Bryn forgets sometimes that Torrin grasps words in their literal, that the layered types he was taught to recognize were lies. It doesn’t make finding the right words any easier. Avariels danced beautifully in both the art itself and around the dim realities of the world with their words. “I hate that you and your people fled one side, only to find the other was just as unwelcoming and unkind as your own.” He settles on. “I wish your people didn’t need to prove themselves to be seen as equals in my people’s eyes.” “It’s what war does.” Torrin says, matter of fact, shrugging. “It would be the same if fate had changed our natures.” “But…” Bryn finally spits them out, and his heart spills out with the words. “It was happening before that.” Their eyes lock. Torrin’s head is tilted the slightest bit to the side. Behind his eyes, Bryn watches Torrin’s mind spur to life. “I’m… not quite sure I follow.” He admits, voice distant. Bryn twirls his staff as he once again grapples with his words. When he looks up, he can’t quite match his mate’s gaze. He turns his eyes to the horizon instead. The blue has begun to shift to peach, lavender, and wispy pink clouds. “You know fairy tales?” “I know of them, yes. Cautionary tales for younglings?” “Exactly. Well, in a time of peace anyway. We were both raised preparing for war.” In the corner of his eyes, Torrin nods, and so he continues. “I know my grandparents, at least, weren’t raised with the same stories I was fed. The tales were twisted in my parent’s time, fitting the likeness of our enemies into the descriptions and actions of the monsters of these narratives.” “Hm, smart. Like taking a mind-brand. Instill terror while they’re young.” They subside into silence for some moments, the past hanging bitter over both their minds until Bryn wills his words to form once again. “One story was about monsters that took the form of shadows.” Torrin snorts. “Very original.” “Clearly.” Bryn smiles, gazing down towards the city. “The story goes that these shadows would inhabit the world where children usually walked. Of course, as I grew, as I began to practice in the ways of combat, those shadows turned to Drow, and the threat of war became much more real. I never forgot that story, and by the time I was skilled in combat I felt nothing but enmity towards your kind.” The sky is glowing in morning shades; a kaleidoscope of color. “But then I met you.” From a shadow emerged a shadow, and that shadow a face that wasn’t monstrous, or demonic. The face was beautiful. “You crept out of the shadows, muttered out ‘greetings’, and I thought oh. This is what I was raised to hate? This was who I was supposed to fight and kill? And I felt so incredibly guilty.” “You do realize I was gathering intel on our enemies that day? That if you had raised that rock at your side I would have poisoned you.” “And I likely would have let you, provoked or not, but that’s not the point.” Bryn shakes his head, forcing his thoughts to not stray. “I met you, and you kept coming back just to sit there and I kept letting you in, filling that silence with song because I wanted to know you and understand why my people raised me to see you as monsters, but…” “But war happened.” “Right… War happened. My village was attacked and, well.” He buries his eyes, pressing at the pressure building there. “There is another part of that little twisted tale. The story goes that children who are not careful, who wander into those shadows and into their clutches would be, well, taken.” Torrin takes in a sharp breath. Bryn finds his lungs struggling. “I found my thoughts wandering back to that fairytale again and again in that Godsforsaken cell. It ate away at me, in there, and before I knew it my mind had completely twisted. Never in my life had I felt such an urge to kill someone before, but down there smelling nothing but iron, vapor, and darkness I wanted to mangle my captors and destroy that battalion, never mind it was your blood I wanted dead.” He’s laughing again before he can stop it, manic and shrill and everything the infallible Blackstaff is not. “I think my mind broke in there, and even now as we strive for peace, I look at the dark and all I feel is the fear and the anger of my child self. Every small step I make, every refugee we take in, every effort made, it doesn’t stop. Isn’t that ironic? The great Blackstaff, the Archmage of Waterdeep, holding the blessing of the Goddess of the sun, who can so easily chase away the darkness with the snap of a claw, afraid of something as childish as the dark.” A hand touches the back of his neck, and another cups the side of his face. For a moment, his mind falls back into the dark, but the touch is soft, and loving, As it remains, the feather touches draw him back. His gaze sharpens to brilliant eyes, staring into his own. “Bright, my dear. Breathe.” Torrin says softly, his voice no higher than a rustling wind. It’s agony wrangling a semblance of control, but Torrin is there with him, guiding him through trembling breaths until his heart isn’t pounding as rapidly, his hands aren’t shaking. “Do you see me?” He eventually asks. Bryn nods, and Torrin guides the Avariel into an embrace. “Under the vow of Elistraee, I say with clarity and certainty that you, Bryn Thimaer'kerym, are not broken. A ray of light blooms over the horizon. “This war was bound to happen. We were raised just before that final breaking point, between two nations who’d let hatred fester for generations. None of what happened to your people, or mine, could have been changed, and what happened to you was not your fault.” Bryn speaks into the shoulder of Torrin’s tunic. “But I am failing your people by letting this hatred fester. What if I’m continuing this same hatred in our legacy? I can’t see into the darkness, can’t prepare for whatever will emerge from it, or know if there is anything there to begin with.” Torrin chuckles. “Well, you can rest assured that you don’t need to. You have me, after all. I can look and tread where you can not.” “But what if it’s not enough?” Torrin hums. A chill wind brushes over them both, and Torrin lets the embrace relax for a moment to sweep a claw over the city below them. “Waterdeep is rebuilding. Drow are finding refuge among the Avariels. The practice of artisans and diplomats is rising again. A city at war would not be like this” He guides Bryn’s head to his, resting their foreheads together. “Bright, remember when you flew above and said it will take time and many generations more, but Waterdeep shall heal? Please, give yourself the same time as you gave this city. You are the Blackstaff, but it is not a burden you should bear alone.” They leave it as that, hearts open as the silence stretches. Together they stay, heads together, sharing the first rays of light as the sun finally breaks over the horizon, casting Waterdeep in sharp light and long shadows. |
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The heavens were bleeding. Thick and heavy cascades from the sky to the earth. Drenching the land and mingling with mortals and the fallen. Torrin charged through the rivers of blood, forcing himself through the thicket with all his might. Crashing through the forest, he broke free into a red-stained clearing. A small group in the center clambered to action, raising their weapons and holding their ground. Torrin realized just as quickly as the battalion that they were on the same side. “Torrin, sir!” One of them limped forward and bowed their head, a colonel sigil on their breastplate. “The heretic’s forces have retreated, but Amunrahx has breached our defenses.” “Colonel,” Torrin nodded back. “Where is he now?” “In Godhome.” They answered. “ We tried to stop him from passing the barrier, but he cut us down in a flash. We’re grounded now, tending to our wounded. The Blackstaff went after him.” “Damnit, Bright.” Torrin hissed under his breath. He paced, surveying the sky. Blood and blue and the shining sun. No sign of Amunrahx’s army. Only their own. “Get your wounded to safety!” He barked out, and the battalion scrambled to follow his orders. “Any who can still fight regroup with the line. Send your scouts after the army. Find what Amunrahx’s forces are planning and make sure they do not get behind us. Hold this point. The Blackstaff and I will deal with Amunrahx.” With those words and a chorus of affirmatives, Torrin spread his wings and shot into the sky. He flew faster than he ever had, faster than any mortal could dream. His wings were silver as Elistraee’s blessing aided him in his ascent. A presence stirred to life over his shoulder; two invisible eyes blinking out of slumber. The clouds broke apart in a single beat of his wings, and he soared over the white sea they became. His path ahead began to shimmer. The endless barrier stretched across the sky. Torrin shoved down his instincts to stop and flew even faster. His entire body lit up in gold and silver as he reached the edge of the divide. Elistraee reached out just as he did. He cut through the barrier like skin against a sharp knife. His vision blurred, then sharpened into a new world. Ancient monoliths and impossible architecture shining holy and built across a ground of light. It was his first time seeing Godhome and he had no time to take it all in. It was broken. The land was soaked under the blood of the Gods. Their bodies were strewn about, donning broken armor and shattered weapons. Torrin shot through the land, weaving through the path of destruction. He tracked the bloodshed to a towering temple, and beside it was Amunrahx. It was impossible to not see him. The heretic was a giant. In the home of the Gods, he seemed more in place than Torrin. His horns curled up his head like the branches of an ancient oak, making his towering form that much more imposing. Against the darkness of Amunrahx’s crimson hide, Torrin spotted a blazing light. The heretic’s claws raked through the air, sending out blazing blades of light, and the fiery light ducked and dodged them. The blades sliced into the ground and the buildings around them, sending the golden stone crashing to the ground. The Blackstaff slammed aside a blade of light with his staff, sending it up toward Amunrahx’s head. The giant did not flinch as the blade slammed against his maw, ricocheting off his skin. He raised his claw again. Torrin was faster. With the speed of lightning, he withdrew his daggers and slammed his body into the heretic’s open hand. The silver shield around Torrin’s body cracked at the impact, but so did the bones under Amunrahx’s skin. Pulverized under Torrin’s speed. His blades only bounced off the crimson skin, but a satisfying amount of damage was done nonetheless. Amunrahx roared in pain. Godhome trembled under the power-soaked sound. Torrin retreated to Bright’s side. The Blackstaff was glowing, calm in his eyes even as the flames of Suzaku continued to blaze. Torrin felt Elistraee’s joy over his shoulder at the presence of the other Goddess. Torrin felt that same relief stir. “How dare you!” The giant snarled, wings unfurling. “You rats!” “My weapons were ineffective.” Torrin ignored him and turned his eyes to Bright, getting right to the point. He sheathed his blades and shoved down other emotions for the time being. “The impact broke his bones underneath, but the skin remains intact.” Bright nods. “I noticed that as well. Near invulnerability. He’s absorbed enough power to be able to mimic what a true God harbors.” “Damn it.” They split as spidery lightning jumped between them. The energy poured from the giant’s mouth as he breathed the power of other gods. Stolen power. Torrin twisted out of the crackling legs of energy, distancing himself from the giant from the sky. Amunrahx’s broken hand was twitching, slowly repairing the damage. For now, he limped. His wings had stretched themselves to full, making his presence even more imposing. Imposing, but not intimidating. Elistraee at his side, Bright on the other, he had no reason to fear a False God. “On your mark.” Torrin said. “Any attempt at peace died the moment he tore past the barrier and blood spilled all the way to earth.” Bright growled. He drew his staff, and it burst into flames along with the rest of him. “Mark.” In unison, Torrin called to the dark, and Bright the light. Both answered their calls in full. The shadow below Amunrahx fell under Torrin’s control. He drew it upward, and they consumed the giant and pinned him to the ground. The heretic roared, flailing against the bindings. Torrin grit his teeth and held fast. Bright dove, carrying rays of light as he plummeted, sharpening them into spikes. They rained down on the giant. Like rain, they fell right off. His skin remained unmarred. Bright swooped out of the way as the giant’s tail thrashed and tried to grab him. Torrin made the shadow wind itself tighter around the giant. If blades wouldn’t work, he’d crush the heretic into dust. Amunrahx opened his mouth and the air itself turned to nothing. He plummeted to the ground, and in that moment of shock, he let go of the shadow. Amunrahx tore free. “Is that all you have?” The giant mocked. Bright answered by slamming his staff into the ground, and the land around Amunrahx burst into flames. The giant took to the sky, collapsing ruins with the force of his wings, and Torrin followed. With Elistraee’s will, She summoned a crooked blade of silver in his claws. His wings turned silver and gold as the speed he held before returned, and he shot past the giant and carved the blade up his stomach. Scales tore from the skin. A line of exposed skin appeared where the blade sliced. “Now!” He called down. Just as the word was uttered, a spike of light shot from the ground and slammed into the exposed skin. The giant was forced backward, flailing, and Torrin grabbed all the shadows he could. A wall rose from the ruins, and between the blade of light and the wall of shadow, Amunrahx’s heart was pierced. It was a sickening noise, and Torrin smiled as the giant struggled. He landed at Bright’s side. The Blackstaff had his staff pointed towards the giant, the spike of light still growing as it forced its way deeper. Only when the giant stopped struggling, did they let go of the borrowed power, and the giant crumbled to heaven’s floor, slick in blood. The impact shook the land. Torrin examined the body first. The wound was burning from within. Nothing spilled. Amunrahx’s eyes followed him. “Still alive.” Torrin said. The giant clawed uselessly at the ground, breath stuttering. “You’ll die soon enough once you don’t have the strength to hold onto all that stolen power. It may take a while if you’re stubborn.” The giant's eyes are locked onto him as Torrin paces, smiling. “That is a fate I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. But I'll make an exception for you, False God.” A growl bubbled up with a breath of smoke. Somehow, the giant was able to utter a word, but it was too quiet to make out. “What was it you said? Speak up.” Torrin prodded the giant’s face with his blade, relishing in the moment. A heretic such as this did not deserve mercy, and for once he feels like Bright agreed. The Blackstaff has not yet intervened. The giant wheezed. His eyes wide, crazed, as he managed to say his words at last. “Mine. Not yours.” In a sudden surge of strength, neither of them could have predicted, Amunrahx slammed his claws into the blood around him. Torrin slashed out. A single, unknown, word slipped from the False God’s lips just as Torrin dragged his blade across Amunrahx’s jugular. The heretic sputtered and died, his blood mingling with that which he’d spilled, but the damage was done. Just as the heretic’s eyes closed, the heavens shuddered. The sound that followed was unlike anything Torrin had ever heard. The sky was splitting open, Godhome crumbling around them, and the head-splitting noise was like death itself. He felt Elistraee’s horror before his own, spurred by what might have been her eyes widening. He spun on his heels to face the horror the Goddess saw. It was a spirit in the likeness of the body the transparent figure stood over. They were looking down at it in the same horror he felt in Elistraee. Their gaze shifted to their claws, their body shuddering with the heavens. “Oh.” The God whispered. Their voice sounded mortified even as it trembled into existence. “This isn’t right.” Their shimmering form flickered away as the shadows crawled across the floor. The movement was uncanny, wrong, and it took him a moment to realize why. He snapped his gaze above. The sun. It was the sun. Moving across the sky faster than a cycle should. No. Not just moving. Growing smaller as it shifted across the sky. For an agonizing moment, Torrin watched it shrink without a single thought in his mind. Then, all at once, the realization struck. Torrin lept towards Bright. A spell for protection entwined with Elistraee’s blessing at his panicked intent. Bright, the same realization etched into his eyes, turned to Torrin, and ran as well. He reached for Torrin, casting a protection of his own silently under Suzaku’s fiery breath. Their spell shields crashed together and wove into the might of both Goddesses’ blessings. They grasped each other tight. The heavens collapsed and fell to earth. The world tilted on an axis, careened out of orbit, and plummeted into darkness. |
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