Calamity

Entry Number 0̷̣́̒̊͐̿͆̓͌̒̕0̸̢̧̥̫͓̣̯͎̯̥̦̪́͂̽̈́͌͝1̶̨͉̻̈́́̽͆̾̀͛͋̽͋̆͂̃̇ :



I'm writing this so that people may know my story.

I hatched, cold and alone, on a lone ice floe, floating in the Southern Icefield's frigid ocean. Although, I was hatched in Ice, and inherited Ice aligned magic as a result, the withered remains of my leafy, bulbed eggshell said otherwise. I lost track of the days and nights I spent on that desolate outcropping, barely managing to catch any gullible minnows for nutrients. Eventually when my wings grew strong enough, I could glide from floe to floe with limited success. Eventually, I met my downfall when I jumped too soon, and slipped and fell into the dark sea below. Washing up a huddled and sodden mess on Snowsquall Tundra's North shore, that's where I met the Bevy.

The Bevy are a colorful and nomadic musical group, keen on passing down stories from the past. Mostly composed of Wind-aligned dragons, much of their days are spent rehearsing and performing different stories across time. Each member is placed in a subgroup based on a popular character archetype: the Heroes, Mentors / Mages, Sidekicks, or the Tricksters (my personal alignment), all under Minho, the benevolent Storyteller. From there, I took on the moniker of Calamity, and began my new existance. It was the first time I felt like I truly belonged. Quality food, outgoing dragons, and a jubilant performance every night. I've never been one for religion, but heaven on Sornith must have been close to this. But one night, Nightraider (who always played "the knight in shining armor"), shared his family heritage in an entrancing ballad. According to the performance, Nightraider's Fae bloodline was once caught in an ancient war between the Gaolers and a band of Aethers who were infected by the stars. They managed to escape to safety, but not before the Aethers mistook them for a threat, and infected the entire Fae group. It is said that those Faes and their direct descendants could rain bolts of infection down like meteor showers. Although, any offensive traits of the astral infection have been bred out of his family line, and Nightraider cannot summon bolts of plague, even if he stepped on a leyline. However, echoes of the infection live on in both Nightraider, and his daughter, Mari's genes, and are expressed in a brilliant dance of cyan, purple, and pink.
The band of Aethers was eventually wiped clean off the land but not before the last one cursed an expectant Gaoler warrior with a particularly deadly strain of the infection. Rumor has it that the hatchling was frozen and locked away in the Fortress of Ends.

It is through Nightraider's mate, Candle (a Coatl, no less), that I finally got more insight on my background. Coatls are usually born in vibrant, saturated coloration, usually matching their personalities. But if a Coatl is born / prophesied with white or grey plumage, then they are considered bad omens and exiled from their homelands. And looking down at my pale feathers, I began to piece the story together. She guessed that the only subpopulation of Nature Coatls that were superstitious enough to abandon an egg away from the Labyrinth, probably lived somewhere in the Gladebough Village.

I agonized about the information I was given. Feelings of shame, confusion, and a seething hatred that were once supressed, had resurfaced. It took a week for me to finally come to terms with abandoning a decent lifestyle for a fugitive's on a wild goose chase. Nightraider tended to exaggerate his stories, so I wasn't entirely sure when I left to confirm them.

On the day I left, I didn't leave a trace. If Kel wanted to track my footprints, he would have gotten as far as the Cloudscrape Crags, before the tracks disappeared from a recent winter storm that night. In Ice flight culture, passing through the Crags and heading off into Reclaimer's Glacier is a death wish. The Bevy must have thought I died that night, and their assumed cries of sorrow clung to me as I scrabbled my way past the peaks

As someone who has entered Reclaimer's Glacier and made it out to the other side: the claims of frozen death are far overblown. As long as you aren't an idiot, you can smell an oncoming bout of freezing snow on your way. If you are cautious and only push forward when necessary, getting killed should be none of your concern.

The Fortress of Ends is similar. Disguising your scent in snowfall makes the Gaoler sense of smell irrelevant and as long as you aren't making a fuss, going in an out isn't a problem. Getting Avalanche out... could've gone better... but no permanent damage was done. After fleeing north to the Ashfall Waste, I quickly set to thawing the hatchling and otherwise waiting for the little bundle of fur to wake up. It's odd looking back on the molten scarred landscape. According to Candle, this is the homeland of the Coatls and where they come to breed every year. However, I never really felt a particular drive to settle down in this place. It's warmer than what I prefer, and I was never much of a forging type. Maybe as a gold digger in the Molten Scar, but for now, I was going to take Avalanche and leave to somewhere more productive.

The Scarred Wasteland was an entirely different beast. Like the Ashfall Waste, it was barren and humid (although considerably less so). Bony growths jutted out of the land, and the land itself was.. squishy. After landing in the Abiding Boneyard, I set off for the long trek to find some Plague inspiration for cultivating the Astral Infection. As I headed closer towards the crown of thorns surrounding the Wyrmwound, I met a inquisitive Abberation, Thomas, by chance. He pointed me into the direction of the strongest Quarantine Zone he knew, and I dropped off Avalanche, having an uneasy trust in his care. I really didn't need to be burdened with a smaller dragon any longer, especially due to the tedious nature of the entire place. I found myself digging a new hole every night and having the entrance almost close in on me when I awoke. The land was dotted with green eyeballs that felt like a part of something bigger. Random pustule pools lurked just below the surface, and if I didn't test them with a chunk of ice, I risked falling in.

It was only in a paranoid daze, did I finally reach the Seedscar. There I met Gale and his ragtag group of Fire aligned mages and fighters, routinely hacking their way past an ever-malignant lush growth. The group composed of around 25 or so dragons, with Catastrophe as the right hand. After learning that our efforts to quell Nature's influence were somewhat aligned, Gale reluctantly agreed to help my efforts, with Catastrophe volunteering to help me with my research. And although Gale claimed he was a "mutated Spiral", whispers around him claimed he was an Auraboa. A Nature Ancient that could speak with the Behemoth, an essential asset in leading me through the jungle and to the Gladebough villiage.

I didn't reach the same high of emotional connection that I felt with the Bevy. Fire for Hire's group, was a lot more... grounded. We were together, but slashing at the same regrowing hedge all week gets a little exhausting. There weren't nightly celebrations of performance and cheer, although Gale did create fireworks from his metallic, pyrophoric venom, on special occasions. Although a major positive was the proximity to various supplies needed for my research, and the research itself. Catastrophe harvested saplings from the Seedscar, and used them to eliminate weaker strains of the Astral Infection, and feed the resulting survivors. She was also my first test subject for the infection, gaining azure, prehensile tentacles in the process. After we gained more recognition for providing Arcane / Plague powered augments at the following Hellwell Undercroft meetup, that kind of took over my job as "designated shrub killer", with Cataclysm being one of the first to pay treasure for the treatment.

By now, it was around 9 months after I escaped the Fortress of Ends. I was still selling my astral infection power-ups, and working on stronger variants using the Seedscar. After messing around with Cataclysm's strain in Nakba, a stronger version of Catastrophe's variant was infused into a Banescale egg that was left for dead, about 2 miles from where Nakba was found. The resulting hatchling was everything I could've hoped for. Whip-like tendrils oscillated in a rhythmic motion. The outer claw and wing tips were tinted with an alien cyan hue. A purplish haze rose from the head and wings, radiating an intense heat. Quickly alerting Gale that I was done and ready to serve Nature the revenge they deserve, he gave me an ultimatum for his help.

He would be willing to permit free access to the Behemoth's village in the treetops, only if I promised to give him time to warn fellow Auraboas and to not harm any of his species. An aggravating limitation if I wanted to cause further damage to the Behemoth, but one I agreed to. Fire for Hire's numbers were dwindling due to refusal of new recruits. Gale planned on shutting down the operation to, one: prepare for my attack, and to take custody of his orphaned nephew, whose parents were exalted and killed in battle.

After flying over to the Viridian Labyrinth and waiting for Gale to come out with his nephew and leave, thereby giving his signal to go, I decided to glance around the place that I was going to annihilate. Much of it was an extension of the Seedscar, and I frankly didn't see much beauty in the place. As soon as Gale took to the skies holding a silver, serpentine hatchling, I flew up with Hades and set her up in position.