Rosario

Can't see the world falling at our feet
Blind to the things that make us see
Hot fire falls and thunder rolls
Breaking the things that make us whole
We're running fast, but running alone
The sky is dark, hearts turned to stone
Can't find our way in the twisting path
As we reach the end, we'll breathe our last
The clouds roll in and lightning flashes
Bright tears fall and black grief crashes
Our wings are shredded, bones are broken
Our pride is splintered, victory stolen
Need air to live, air to become free
But breathing is an impossibility
The smoke is coating, suffocating
The fear is a craving, tempting, chaining
Won't open our eyes till the storm clears
The wave's gonna break, don't come too near
Surging and cursing, oh fire away
Your anger is fuel to this great dissaray
The chaos is growing, we can't hear a thing
And as you scream, here we will sing
The clouds clear away, the light shines through
We can finally see this world anew
Don't look so afraid, you caused this mess
Watch this thing you made, born of unrest
Take to the sky as it chases the sun
No longer broken, no longer numb
Watch us fly, watch us dive, watch us soar
You can't try to control us anymore
Oh won't you look as the gold light shines
And see us dance where the feathered birds fly?

~Poem by Dragonglimmer~

---

https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/3118590/9#post_53657887


'The winter is harsh, the waters are always willing to offer refuge. There, you are now home.' A dragon that shelters those lost in the winter storms. Kind, but unapproachable. His voice is the rumbling of a glacier, aand reverberates just as deep.

---

The wind howled like a wolf, swirling eddies of snow clouding the sky. Cold seeped through the walls, crystallizing his bones into easily shattered things; but he didn't mind. He had weathered such storms many times before, and preferred the frigid wind to the intolerable heat of warmer days.

Skald adjusted his head on his paws, his shaggy coat brushing against the carpeted floor. This was a fierce one - he hadn't seen a snowstorm like this in three years at least, maybe more. It would be a pain to dig himself out of his den and to the surface, what with all the snow piling up outside. It couldn't be helped, though- such were the whims of nature. You couldn't really complain about a few storms now and again when she also provided you with water, food, and life.

He felt his eyelids growing heavy; the flames that he had stoked in his fireplace murmured, lulling him. Orange light danced across the walls, weaving with and within the shadows, both soothing and mysterious. The gaoler let out a contented sigh through his nose, settling into a more comfortable position. Ah... a nice evening for some rest...

He was on the edge of dreams, a sleepless yet restful place, when he heard the scream.

Skald jerked upright with a start, all of his senses snapping awake. He tilted his head in the direction the noise had come from, flicking his ears forward. The fire still danced merrily in the hearth, giving no indication that anything out of the ordinary was going on. Its warmth suffused Skald with reassurance, and he untensed a little, still listening. A moment passed... another...

It came again. The faintest of calls, desperate and fearful, pleading for help.

His shoulders set with determination, Skald grabbed supplies, moving quickly - a blanket, a lantern, an ice pick. He had done this before. It would be dangerous, but he was glad to risk his life for another. Turning to the door, he snatched goggles from a hook on the wall, strapping them on before grasping the frigid doorhandle and pulling it open.

A wave of snow cascaded inside, covering the gaoler in a matter of seconds. Undeterred, he spat out a mouthful of ice and started to dig his way through, tunneling up and forwards. His talons turned numb and his fur became plastered with sleet, but still he dug, powering through the packed drifts relentlessly. Scoop, push, step. Scoop, push step. Scoop, push, step. The rhythm engraved itself into his bones; a minute passed, then two, then three. He started to shiver, his coat soaked with freezing water.

At last, he broke through the surface.

Grey light filtered through the clouds above, barely illuminating the forest around him. He shook himself like a dog, chunks of congealed snow flying out in all directions. He could barely see-or hear- with the wind blowing the flurries almost sideways, but he planted his feet and listened, straining against the wind. Where are you, lost one? Where could you be?...

..."Is anyone there? I- can't... see! Hello? Help! Please!"

The yell emanated from his right; he turned, delving through mountains of crystallized white, flakes of ice pricking against his skin. He took a deep breath, preparing to shout back, before opening his mouth and roaring as loud as he could over the wind: "I AM HERE! COME TO ME!"

He couldn't tell if the lost dragon responded, but he kept plowing towards the direction its voice had come from. His muscles started to burn with exhaustion, but he ignored the ache to lie down and rest his limbs. He was almost there - he had to be. He could feel it. With a grunt of consternation, he adjusted the bundle of supplies on his back before preparing to call out again; but before he could, a tiny whimper emanated from a snowdrift directly in front of him. Eyes sharpening, Skald reached out a forepaw, plunging it into the whiteness.

His talons met scales, shivering and ice-cold.

Lowering himself onto his haunches, he dug his other forepaw into the drift, careful to avoid spearing the hapless dragon inside. It was small, with a thin and wiry build - a spiral. It was curled into a tight knot, and barely reacted when he touched it. With as much gentleness as he could muster, the gaoler wrapped his talons around the tiny dragon, pulling it out and immediately wrapping the blanket he had brought around its body. He pulled the bundled creature against his chest, brows furrowing with concern as shivers wracked its frame. He would have to get back inside as quick as he could.

Turning around and following the already half-buried path he had created, he made it back to the entrance of his lair within a matter of minutes. Careful not to jostle the spiral, he quickly delved his way through the suprisingly large amount of snow that had already piled up, using his shoulder to shove his way inside. The fire still danced cheerfully in the hearth, welcoming him home.

Skald worked quickly; still holding the trembling dragon to his chest, he unslung the icepick and the lantern- both unused- from his back, not bothering to take off his goggles. Grabbing some thick furs from his pallet in the corner, he trudged as close as he dared to the warmth of the fireplace, placing the spiral down gently. Assembling the furs into a nest, he picked the little bundle up and deposited it inside of the cocoon, tucking it in tight.

Letting out a deep sigh of relief, he settled down next to the other dragon, dusting the remaining snowflakes from his thick mane of fur. The little one would need time to recover, but it would be all right- especially if he made some nice, warm soup once it woke up. The thought made him smile. He was glad that he had found it in time. Turning his head, he watched as its shivers slowly subsided; it uncurled slightly from the tight knot it had woven itself into, but it still whimpered fearfully, caught in the throes of some nightmare.

"Ah," Skald rumbled sympathetically. "There is no need to fear anymore, little one. You are safe."

With a squeak of startlement, it awoke, opening its eyes. They were bright, vibrant blue, the color of cloudless afternoon skies. It blinked at him curiously. When it spoke, its voice was both small and hopeful. "Safe?"

"Safe."

It stretched, thin muscles rippling, before wriggling a bit closer to the gaoler's snout. Curling up, it drifted off to sleep with a smile on its face, one minature paw resting on Skald's furry nose.

---

power: can turn invisible. nothing else magical or anything, just the power to turn invisible. good for sneakery into abandoned (seemingly) tombs and Seer Clan entrances n such

Fiona believes the smaller details are everything. It shows in her appearance with all those tiny little blue gems that she has swinging from her clothes and hanging off of her jewelry
This belief also carries over to her very observant nature. She's something of a tomb and treasure hunter, and a keen intellect and sharp eye for detail are needed to find clues for things like maps

she joined the Seer clan after she sensed a magical disturbance caused by Aintisar; she tracked it to the hidden entrance of the clan (which is VERY hard to find by the way) and snuck in because she is s t e a l t h, but noticed it was unusually quiet and then she suddenly gets slammed against the wall by Astraye who demands who she is while threatening her with a katana to her throat

and she explains why she is there but Astraye is still suspicious; when she asks what the disturbance was he says he didn't know, but ms. Seeker of Small Details here was able to tell he was lying from his expression and shifting posture. (Astraye isn't a very good liar anyway) so this makes her EVEN MORE determined to find out what it is, but astraye refuses to let her in and throws her out and seals the entrance with a magical spell (That had been already placed there, it's just present like a lock he doesn't have magic lol)

she fumes for a bit but then decides to hide in a tree and turn invisible all night and wait for the entrance to open

wait oh my gosh, she should sneak in when Astraye exits to go on a hunting run, and then tracks the faint trace of magic she can still sense (VERY keen senses remember) to the dining room... still invisible... right ok so there will only a few dishes but still some, but she literally climbs up on the dining table and creeps down it trying to find Aintisar, and she finally finds her and is so shocked by the appearance/power she senses that ahem she turns un-invisible
now this will be the third time a dragon has appeared on the dining table

Spiritcatcher is very mad


"Remember, only use 'I' statements for conflict resolution. Although I'm not sure 'I want to murder him' is helping the situation..." wheeze


fiona was not the most welcoming of sights, even if she was beautiful. A terrifying kind of beauty, the kind that drew you in before trapping you like a vice
use this for another bio
--adopted from strangetail will probably edit in future

---

~Her name is Yinthusa. She was born an abberation, and used to live in the depths of the Wyrmwound amoung all of her other abberation kin. But one day, she decided to seperate herself from them, as they no longer seemed like family to her. They had started to change, for the worse. They seemed to be going more and more insane as the days passed. So she fled to another part of the Wyrmwound, secluded and hidden from any other dragons. She lived there for several months, hunting for herself and trying to live her life independently. She grew to love flying in the mists and shadows that encompassed the tips of the highest of the Wyrmwound's teeth. She could stay there for hours on end, diving and playing in the fog, landing on the bonelike spires if she needed rest. She started to long for a friend after a while, but she refused to go back to her old birthplace.

~Because it had been ingrained in her to Not Be Discovered from when she was a tiny hatchling, it never occurred to her that another dragon species might be an ally, not an enemy. She barely had any knowledge of other dragon species anyway, and sometimes forgot they even existed. Life in the Wyrmwound was quiet and nearly uneventful; she was used to her ghastly surroundings, and it was never a surprise when she chanced upon a zombie stallion, or spooked a flock of skeletal, undead stormseekers. But she did know to hunt down and kill any sentinent being that caught sight of her, or that she caught sight of. Though she did not relish the idea of killing a living being other than her prey, she knew what she had to do.

So this brings us to the lore story I have written, of how Yinthusa came to be with the Seer Clan. Two of the spirals in my lair, Mantle and Astraye, are out by the Wyrmwound, on orders from the leader of the Seers. Pastwatcher had sensed a disturbance, and she wanted to send two dragons to investigate it. Yinthusa is playing in the mists surrounding one of the highest Wyrmwound spires when she sees Mantle and Astraye moving through the wastelands beneath her. Out of fear and a sense of duty to the instruction that was pounded into her mind again and again, she immediately dives toward the two dragons, intending to kill them.

---

"Why are we even here?" moaned Mantle miserably, wincing as a particularly loud bubble of Wyrmwound soup popped in the background. He drew his limbs even closer to himself, as if he could somehow manage to walk through the plaguelands and not touch anything diseased, dead, or slimy.

Astraye sighed irritably, sparing a glance over his shoulder and suppressing an eye roll at the sight of the moping spiral. "Vacation. We're taking a vacation, Mantle."

Mantle's eyes widened in outrage. "A VACATION?" He screeched. "This is NOT a vacation. This is pure SUFFERING. Every single thing in this cursed place either wants to eat you, poison you, cover you with toxic goop, dissolve you, or KILL YOU! WHAT is exactly is your defintion of VACATION, ASTRAYE?!" Another soup bubble popped (a quite large one, by the sound of it,) as if to punctuate his statement. Mantle shivered violently, his face a mask of pure disgust and germophobic terror.

Astraye groaned. "By the holy blinding Lightweaver, calm down. It was sarcasm. One hundred percent sarcasm."

Mantle scowled at Astraye's back. He was tempted to give a scathing retort, but he decided Astraye was not worthy of his attentions, so he subsided into grumpy silence, determined not to strike up any more conversation. Astraye was happy to oblige. The two spirals tramped on, trying their best not to trip and fall facefirst into any giant pustules or potholes filled with radioactive goo.

It was eerily silent by the Wyrmwound; nothing but the sound of the ghastly cauldron's contents stirred the quiet. It formed something of a muted bubble, suffocating and soupy, punctured only by the footsteps of the two dragons and the ocassional screaming calls of an unknown beast. Probably a zombie bat, or a skeleton vulture, or... well, something unfriendly. And undead. As the spirals continued to push their way through the barren landscapes, the pale teeth of the Wyrmwound looming over them, Mantle's apprehension increased. The black dragon wasn't the bravest lad out there; and he was certainly not suited to be worming through the depths of rot and disease for reasons unapparent. But Astraye had wanted him to come, and, after several hours of pained consideration, he had agreed. Very reluctantly. They left early the next morning, flying nonstop toward the land of the Plaguebringer.

Mantle started to regret his decision to come along as soon as the faint smell of the Wyrmwound reached his nostrils. He had wanted to turn tail and fly as fast as he could back to his cozy home with the Seers, but Astraye insisted he stay; and so here he was. Surrounded by potential death. On every side. Above and below.

But more than that, Mantle felt... odd. Not just because he was so close to the cauldron of the Plaguebringer, which was certainly a valid reason to feel off, but because... his head snapped up as another echoing call pierced the air, like the scream of a dying animal. Both he and Astraye shivered this time, and Mantle's companion scanned his surroundings cautiously, his talons inching closer to the hilt of his katana. The call echoed several times before the silence yet again enveloped the land.

It almost feels like... I'm being watched, thought Mantle nervously. He glanced up at the teeth of the Wyrmwound. The spikes loomed like giant, stained bones, their points towering into the dull sky. Thick mists swirled near the tops of the tallest ones, shrouding them in shadow. Flickers of giant, dark shapes moved jerkily through the sky, appearing for only seconds before vanishing again. It made him feel so small.

Small and vunerable.

Breaking his temporary vow of silence, Mantle looked back to Astraye, speaking softly. "Astraye? Do you feel a little... off? At all? Wrong, somehow?"

Astraye didn't say anything for a moment, his back stiff as he stepped over the bleached bones of some long-dead creature. As his tail trailed over the remains, they clacked together, and the sound seemed to echo in both of the dragons' ears like the screaming calls of the monsters in the distance. He stopped, stiffening even further, tipping his head to the side. Mantle didn't seem to be able to breathe as the thick silence closed over the sounds, submerging them into its shadowy depths. One second passed. Two... three...

Just as Mantle was about to let loose a sigh of relief, a horrifying scream pierced the air. It was a combination of a roar and a screech, terrifying in its closeness. The call of a hunter, it sounded almost layered, as if there were two creatures howling instead of one. But that couldn't be possible. Could it?

The sound came again, and as Mantle watched with no small amount of panic, a huge shape dived out of the mists above him, plunging from the tops of the Wyrmwound's teeth. It barreled towards the two spirals, and as it shot closer, Mantle gasped in disbelief. But before he could fully register what he was seeing, he felt the hard grip of Astraye on his arm. He turned, his heart ready to beat out of his chest, and looked into frantic eyes, which he was sure were a mirror of his own. Astraye's features were twisted with fear, which was an emotion rarely seen on his face; but his roar was the thing that jolted Mantle out of his shocked state and into panicked action.

"FLY, YOU FOOL!"

His chest constricted as he tried to let out a scream, but only a wheezing squeak escaped his mouth as Mantle whirled and launched himself into the sky, fleeing from the twisted monster. Astraye released his arm and shot up beside him, and then ahead of him, the beats of their wings whooshing through the air. Mantle's tail trailed behind him, and he wanted to snatch it up and gather it to his chest. It almost felt like a time long ago; when he had been a little hatchling, and had feared shadowy creatures in the dark. When the night arrived, and he was jumping into bed, he had always quickly whipped his tail onto the nest beside him, wary of lurking monsters snatching it and pulling him to his demise.

Except this monster was real. And if he didn't escape, he was probably as good as dead.

Yet another call screeched out from behind them. Mantle screamed in pain as it seemed to rip, vicious, through his ears. A shrill ringing sound started to echo inside his head, and he felt a trickle of warm liquid seep from his ear canal. Blood.

Fear all but clouded out his every sense, every instinct. This was something real, something dangerous, not his silly paranoia of creepy crawlies and dirty surfaces. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the dim sound of Astraye yelling ahead of him, of the beast roaring behind him. He could feel its hot, rancid breath on his tail; could vividly imagine what it would feel like when its teeth bit into his hide, when its claws raked across his scales.

This was the end, then.

If he was going to die now, so be it. But he would not die fleeing in fear, as he had done all his life.

With a rare surge of powerful, and debatably idiotic, bravery, Mantle stopped running. He took a gasping breath - perhaps his last - and turned to face his doom.

(TBC)

If I get this wonderful abbie, I'll finish this story. My vague plans for it are:

~Yinthusa is confused when the tiny, seemingly unthreatening spiral turns from his running and faces her. She knows she looks terrifyingly ferocious, and certainly her intent to kill the trespassers had been made clear. They had been running, after all. So was the black, noodley dragon fearless, or simply a humongous idiot?

~Mantle lunges toward Yinthusa and starts scrabbling at her with his claws and hind legs, and attempts to bite at her neck. She's so shocked that she recieves several wounds before she comes back into her senses and starts grappling with Mantle. Epic fight scene here? Yes please! After a suitably descriptive paragraph (or three) of battle manuvers between poor unexperienced Mantle and ferocious two-headed Yinthusa, Astraye dives in (he had been waiting for an opening.) Astraye is a fighter and much more experienced in battle. With dramatic roars of rage he flashes around Yinthusa with his katana, inflicting even more slashes and scratches upon her body.

~Just as she's about to go down (she's really afraid and confused right about now), in an act of desperation, she yanks Mantle out of the air and holds her razor-sharp claws to his throat, and threatens to kill him if Astraye keeps attacking her. (Like, she actually says something.) Astraye is so shocked he freezes in place (both from the fact Mantle is inches from death and that the beast can actually talk.)

~Astraye says something like "you can TALK?" and then he has a moment of revelation where he realizes, YOU'RE A DRAGON? And then Yinthusa tells a bit of her story (after letting Mantle go, lol, poor thing) and in the end they decide to let her come back with them to the Seer Clan (Astraye figured the disturbance was the emergence/discovery of the ancients.)

~So she finally gets some friends, and unexpected ones at that. She can leave her old life behind with a happy heart and a hopeful outlook. (And maybe, in a few years, she can get Mantle to actually look at her without his eyes popping halfway out of his head and his little noodle body vibrating with alarm.)

---

-She's sympathetic, and very emotional, but she is very defensive of her beliefs.

-When she has the opportunity to make a friend, she'll make one. She longed for friends, that time in her life when she had nothing but the mists above the Wyrmwound to keep her company, and she has no intention of squandering any opportunities to meet new dragons!

-Her favorite colors are grey and green. She favors gray because it was the color of the mists that she played in when living in the Wyrmwound. She likes green (not pustule green, leafy green,) because to her, it represents a change from the dead and dry landscape of plague to the newer, more alive and thriving environment she now resides in.

-Even though she make look scary, with her glowy eyes and sharp teeth and two heads and all that, she's really a very kind and nurturing soul once you get to know her.

-I think she'd be great friends with my dragon Ibis. They have similar personalities (especially the kindness and sympatheticness part); and since Ibis is a healer and has a naturally maternal disposition, Ibis could be sort of a mother as well as a friend to Yinthusa, healing over the lingering sadness she might feel from leaving her family behind and providing her with unconditional love and support.

---

---

Blackness. Empty space, groping for purchase, stumbling-

The door creaked. She tumbled through.

It was bright; the room was well lit, and glass sconces shimmered upon the walls. There were no windows, but the storm roared in the distance, pounding against the bars of her prison.

Boom. Boom.

She stepped forward hesitantly, the keys in her small hand clattering to her feet. The sound of the metal echoed in time with her heartbeat, drilling a rhythmic pain into her skull.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

It was warm and inviting; elegantly carved cabinets lined the area, and a rich rug was laid out upon the floor. Several vibrant paintings hung upon the walls. Her hands trembled as she scanned for any signs of danger. A second passed. Two. Three.....

Nothing. There was …nothing.
Why was there nothing? It was… empty. So empty.
It had gone quiet.
Empty.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, but any sound she made would break the silence. It coated her like paint, suffocating and sticky, seeping through her skin and into her blood and staining it black, black like the shadows that lurked behind her eyes. She wanted to close them, shut out the strange stillness, float in the darkness and the safety. Close her eyes and block out the pain that surely lay ahead. But when would she stop running? She couldn’t. She opened her mouth, tried to breathe, clutched her chest as her lungs constricted. Air. She needed air.

The lights flickered.

She choked, her fingers digging bloody gouges into her skin as she forced herself to breathe because she needed to hide, needed to-

She heard it through the hurricane of blood in her ears. Him. Roaring in the distance, the shatter of glass, whirlwinds of malevolence coming for her, coming to devour her, coming to end her. The lights flickered again. Sobbing, falling to the ground; dragging herself forward. Closer. Closer. Another sound joined the Rush; static started to buzz, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Almost there. Almost safe. The static crackled and popped like a spent lightbulb, until-

"Psst."

Not him. Please not him.

"Pssssssst."

She whipped her head around, searching for the source of the voice, frantically scanning, but all she saw was black. The lights had shattered, glass glittering on the floor, edges sharp and jagged. She had to find him- if she could just look, he would run away, he would leave her alone. If she could just look him in the eyes- where- WHERE WAS HE-?!

Boom. Boom.

The thunder hammered like the beat of a drum, heralding her doom. She was out of time.

The Rush was upon her, slamming her against the walls, dragging her through the glass, up, down, sideways; her head spun, her scales throbbed. She tried to scream but it stole her voice, sucking it from her lungs like a vaccum. Helpless. She couldn't think, couldn't feel. Everything was numb. She wanted it to end, wished for the peace of oblivion, but still she flew; down, sideways, up. Bones snapped.

...and... all was still.

She lay there, splintered and senseless. Minutes passed.

When she awoke, she did not feel pain; rather, an odd sensation weighed down her limbs, a sort of sluggishness thrumming in her mind. The lights were back on, brighter than before, cheerfully glowing in their braziers. Blinking in confusion, she looked down.

Horror grasped her, and she scrambled away from the floor, trying to escape what she was seeing. As she moved, she saw her bones shift through what little was left of her flesh. Choking on disgust, trembling and terrified, she reached out a talon, groping along what had once been her leg. Her talons sank into the slimy substance, brushing against the bones beneath.

He had made her into a monster. Shaking, she lifted her face to the ceiling, black tears spilling down her oozing cheeks.

What have you done to me?

Hopeless and anguished, she let the darkness swallow her, collapsing to the floor in a broken heap.

---

---

Whoosh.
Wind howled over the churning sea, skating across white-topped waves. It hissed and roared like a living being, whipping the ocean into a frenzy.

Crackle.
Lightning flashed through the dark clouds above, illuminating the swirling shadows with ghostly light. It looped and spiraled in a deadly dance, weaving within the billows of the storm.

Boom.
Thunder roared, seeming to shake the very heavens themselves. It beat like a drum, heralding the arrival of something both magnificent and monstrous.

And Ril awoke.


It was unlike anything that Ril had ever seen before. The supercell was massive, dominating the sky with clouds as dark as pitch. They had a ghastly, pulsing tint to them... almost as if they were alive.

As he rose from the depths of the arctic ocean, the ice of his corporeal form cracking and flexing, Ril looked to the heavens with trepadation. Something was not right here. This was... unnatural. Unheard of. Such a storm could only be the result of magic - or a demon.
Or... a wight.

Ril had met one once before, in the outskirts surrounding the Source. It had been a long time ago- many years, in fact- but he still remembered her clearly: deep teal eyes flashing with electricity, barely restrained power struggling to release itself from the prison of her body. Lightning wights were ticking time bombs- captured storms contained in the bodies of dragons, confined there for the protection of Sornieth. However, only a few existed; wights were only created in times of great disaster, when a dragon sacrificed themselves when no other solution could be found.

But surely this... storm... couldn't be one. Wights, especially lightning wights, were simply too rare.

Right?

Ril narrowed his eyes as he burst through the surface of the water, dark droplets spraying in arcs around him. As soon as he emerged, the winds hit. Hard. He was buffeted back, forth, up and down, the currents of air ruthlessly yanking him in different directions. As he struggled to stay airborne, lightning once again crackled through the clouds. The resulting boom of thunder was immense... and painful. Ril gasped with shock, clapping his icy talons over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

As more lightning flickered through the darkness, Ril noticed something odd. The lightning... it looked familiar...

A downdraft tore Ril from his place in the air, plummeting him down towards the waves with terrifying speed. Just before he hit the water, an updraft took its place, shooting him up to the banks of clouds above just as quickly. His shout was lost amid another clap of thunder, blinding light flashing across his vision.

The light. The lightning. It was teal. Teal, just like her eyes had been.
Oh, no...
Not her.

He knew what he had to do.

With a roar, Ril tore himself from the grip of the strengthening updraft, his body crackling with icy power. The clouds around him seemed to press in, thick and suffocating; but Ril continued to fly inward and upward, battling towards the heart of the storm.

Numb now to the constant roll of the thunder, he grimly slogged through the darkness, his only illumination provided by the faded flickers of teal bolts. They seemed to dance around him, taunting him, singing to him in lilted voices.

Suddenly, Ril reared back as his vision flashed; searing pain ripped through his body, and when he opened his mouth to scream, his throat seized. All that came out was a strangled moan, absorbed by the deafening cacaphony of the wight. His limbs went limp, his magic the only thing keeping him from plummeting to the sea below.

Rage replaced his pain as he realized that he had been struck with a bolt. He struggled to move, to breathe.. but he was paralyzed, unable to twitch even a finger. He could do nothing but wait for the agony to subside.

Wind howled.
Rain poured.

He saw it coming before he even registered what it was.

A shadow dived through the blackness towards him, eyes glowing an electric blue. Its wings spasmed with sparks of electricity, flickering with seizure-inducing speed. It was screaming- a heart-rending sound, full of anger and hate and pain- but Ril could barely hear, could barely feel. He watched her approach with cold acceptance.

I will do what I must.

When she barreled into him, pain shredded through him once again. The agony was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Each of his nerves were tipped with hot sparks of fire, throbbing in time with the rapid beating of his heart. It was hard to think, to breathe, to see. But through the haze, he saw an opening. He saw his opportunity.

With a raw scream to rival the wight's, he plunged his talons into her ghostly chest. He twisted them into her form, digging them deep, reaching for her core. As her cry of dismay harmonized with the thunder, he pushed cold through his talons, sending tendrils of frost to cage around her heart...

...and everything shattered around him.

Ice exploded out from the two beings, absorbing and freezing the storm, encasing it in a crystalline prison. The wight writhed in agony as they began to plummet, the wind seizing and the rain turning to hail. The wight's storm fell with them, roiling clouds and flickering lightning trapped in the depths of Ril's magic.

He watched her fracture as they fell, her crackling teal eyes staring straight into his. But something seemed... off. The wight started to grin at him, dark mouth agape with glee. Before Ril realized what was happening, she snapped out her jagged wings and pulled up into the sky, ice and lightning dancing around her. As she wheeled around, her tail clipped Ril in the face, and his world flashed white, then black.

The ocean rushed towards him, frenzied from the impacts of the frozen storm... and when he hit the water, it enveloped him in welcoming arms, gathering him to its chest like a long-lost friend.

---

Logan sighed, shifting slightly as he stared at his talons. The air in the den was stale and hot, and he struggled to breathe even when he wasn't moving. He had a headache, and he just wanted to rest; but his parents had called him into the room, and he had to wait until they decided to address him. It had already been ten minutes, and the little ridgeback was still standing in the middle of the small space. The ticking of the little clock on the wooden mantle and the breathing of his parents were the only sounds that filled the room. The clock seemed to echo inside of his brain, worsening the headache and making him want to scream as he stood, head bowed, waiting. Waiting.

Tick, tick, tick. Tick, tick, tick.

He gritted his teeth despairingly. How long would he have to wait until his parents deemed him worthy enough to address him? They had called him in here, for what he did not know; but they were making him wait. Why? Probably to prove a point. That he was worthless. That they didn't care about him. That he was nothing, just a small, weak, fearful -

"Boy. Stop looking so miserable."

Logan's head snapped up. He blinked his eyes free of the beginnings of tears and tried to school his expression into something happier, but his features didn't seem to be cooperating. His father didn't seem to mind, though. He was the one who had spoken, but he was back to reading his scroll, and didn't spare Logan so much as a glance. Logan's mother, however, was examining her hatchling with cold eyes, one of her talons tapping against the cover of her leather-bound volume. The little ridgeback felt as if he was freezing under his mother's gaze. If looks could cause frostbite, he thought, I surely would have lost all my limbs by now.

She was colored deep red, and her eyes matched her scales. Those eyes... such an angry red, glittering like cursed rubies in the dim light of the den. They were somehow darker and lighter at the same time. Darker with cruelty. Darker with anger; but brighter with greed, and a keen, cold intellect. But the main thing about his mother's eyes that stood out to Logan was that they were utterly devoid of any love for him. No, she barely even knew he existed. And when she did decide to acknowledge him, it was usually to make him do some menial task she didn't feel like doing herself.

Logan startled as she shifted her position, leaning a bit closer and tipping her head to the side. He had to restrain himself from wincing as her rancid scent wafted nearer. She smelled so rotten. He kept his face placid, struggling valiantly not to wrinkle his snout or lean backwards. After another moment of silence, she spoke. Her voice seemed to slither over his body and down his spine, tickling down his back like the legs of a spider. However, it was not the voice of a dragon about to inflict an act of suffering. It was cruel, yes, but more than that... flat. Smooth. Indifferent.

Uncaring.

"Go take out the scraps, boy. Make sure you don't leave them right outside of the den, for Plaguebringer's sake." She eyed Logan with some disdain before continuing. "And then fetch us dinner. Kill something, would you? Something undead, preferably. I have an appetite for rotten meat." She cleared her throat, wrinkled her snout, and waved her talons at Logan. "Shoo."

And with that, she went back to reading her book, not sparing even a glance as Logan grabbed the bags of stinking meal scraps from by the den entrance and slunk out of the den. The dry, musty, open air of the Skullhome seemed only a slight change from the atmosphere inside the den, but at least he was free from the bonechilling, indifferent gaze of his mother. His mother. Weren't mothers supposed to be loving, supposed to be caring? In the young ridgeback's heart raged a storm of both anger and sadness as he dragged the bags over to the edge of the deep ravine several yards away from the lair entrance. The pit in the land was thin but deep. Deep and long. As Logan peered over the edge, he wasn't able to make out the bottom - it descended into the deep depths of darkness, pitch black and hungry. Logan shivered as he looked for one more moment into that darkness; and then, with a heave, threw the bags into the ravine. They plummeted for several seconds before vanishing into the murk, never to be seen again.

He stood, rooted in place, staring at the emptiness. His mind was a roiling mass of emotions and thoughts. Who even was he? He didn't matter at all, that much was apparent. Nothing - nobody - needed him. Logan blinked as he realized this. Nobody needs me... including my parents. They can do their stupid chores themselves. And if nobody needs me, and nobody cares, that means that... that they won't notice me if I'm gone.

Logan's anger and sadness started to fade as he realized what had been there, hidden but obvious, all along. He knew how to survive on his own; he had hunted enough in the past that he had developed fast instincts and reflexes when it came to catching food. He personally preferred to catch himself little fish and crabs in the small lake he had discovered a few months ago - he would eat his own meal, and then bring back something for his parents. Because of this, he almost never ate with them. Just the smell of the rotten carrion he had to carry back to the den made him want to vomit. He couldn't imagine eating it. A caring, loving mother might notice that he wasn't with them at dinner. She might bring him food he liked, and get it herself instead of making her son do it. She might even change what she ate for the sake of his health. But Logan's mother? She had never remarked on his absence from nightly meals. Not once. Ever.

His resolve only started to harden as he considered the facts. If he could hunt his own food, and find his own water, he could survive. His parents provided nothing for him but a stuffy shelter. If he couldn't find a place to sleep... well, he would have to sleep out in the open. Logan was a light sleeper, anyway; if a plague beast tried to sneak up on him, his remarkable ears would pick up the shuffling of paws, the dragging of claws, or the rustling of wings, and he would be off and away in an instant.

He would be free at last. Free of his mother's indifference, that cold, brilliant gaze. Free of his father's laziness, his cruelty, his frigid silences. Free from his life filled with sadness, loneliness, rejection - and the simmering layer of anger underneath it all. He would be alone, yes, but being alone was better than being suffocated by the two dragons who had brought him into the world.

Logan finally looked away from the depths of the ravine. Seconds ago, he had felt just as empty as that plummeting darkness; his heart broken, hollowed out, tired. But now, as he looked out upon the vast landscape of the Skullhome, that holllowness inside him started to fill with something. Hope? Happiness? Anticipation? Whatever it was, it brought a little smile to the ridgeback's face. I guess mother will have to catch her own dinner tonight, he thought. Tucking his wings close to his sides, taking a deep breath, and setting his gaze ahead, he took his first step forward. One step out of his prison, and one step into freedom. Any remaining reluctance harbored in him started to fade completely as he took another step, and another. Soon, he was running, the wind blowing against his face, that strange emotion filling, filling, filling the holes and cracks inside. Free! He was free!

The barren expanse of the Plaguebringer's domain blurred as Logan ran faster, harder. His feet kicked up clouds of dirt behind him that floated through the air. They swirled in the slight breeze, rising higher and higher, until they dissapated and vanished from sight. Logan looked over his shoulder, slowing slightly as he watched the dust in the sky. It seemed almost as free as he now felt; no boundaries, no limits, free to fly wherever it pleased. Suddenly, he felt a ridiculous urge tickle his mind. At first, he immediately shunned it, thinking of how his mother would disapprove. But with a stern voice, he reminded himself aloud: "She's not here. She never really was. She doesn't matter anymore."

His voice seemed to echo in the silence. Nothing but the sounds of his breathing and his words stirred the quiet, broken only ocasionally by the screech of some distant beast. He looked up to the sky. It was huge, a full expanse of deep gray and indigo. Usually, he thought the colors quite dreary and depressing; but right then, it seemed to have an ethereal beauty of its own. With a deep breath, Logan spread his wings. He wobbled for a moment, off-balance as a gust of wind suddenly kicked up from behind him. Blinking in surprise, and then laughing out loud, he flexed his legs experimentally. They held him steady as the unexpected wind billowed in his wings like sails. Not giving himself a moment longer to think through what he was doing, he jumped.

Logan flew up into the sky, the strength of the breeze beneath him buoying him higher. He flapped his wings, testing; then, he leaned to the right. Without the support of the air current directly under him, he nearly plummeted straight back to the ground, but with a yelp and a few more frantic wingbeats, he was on a steady course forward. The grin on his face only grew as he whizzed past a small flock of sparrows - these ones were alive, not undead - and passed through a misty cloud. It coated him in hundreds of little dewdrops that glittered in the red-tinged light, creating the illusion of beautiful, pale pink diamonds.

His joyful laughter rang through the sky, the silence banished by pure happiness. Logan dived and whooped, twirled and danced in the air. He frolicked in the heavens for hours, relishing the pure, ecstatic feeling that this wonder called flying bestowed upon him. His heart yearned with a mixture of sadness and triumph. Triumph, because he had overcome the bonds that had been holding him down. He had broken away from the remainders of his chains, and had casted them away forever. Sadness... sadness, because Logan had never flown before in his life, until now. No, flying had been forbidden to Logan, ever since the first day he stepped foot into the open air of the Skullhome. He had not even considered trying to fly before, anyway; the sky in the land of the Plaguebringer was a dangerous place. But now that he looked back, he saw that the restriction on flying was not to keep him safe, not really. No, it had just been another chain, binding him down, shackling him to the ground.

After a long while, Logan began to grow tired. He reluctantly glided toward the ground as the fiery ball of the sun started to descend toward the horizon. Alighting with a small poof of dust, the ridgeback heaved out a breath. As soon as his feet touched the dirt, his exhaustion seemed to crash down upon him, fuzzing his mind and senses with the caressing promise of sleep. His eyes growing heavier by the second, Logan glanced around and took quick stock of his surroundings. He had landed by a rocky outcrop; it jutted from the ground, the stone craggy and shadowed against the sunset. It curved slightly to create a small hollow near its base, just big enough to fit a young ridgeback. Perfect, thought Logan. What luck I have landed in a good spot - I might have fallen asleep in the middle of searching for one otherwise! With a stifled yawn, Logan stumbled over the the sheltering outcrop. He snuggled to the ground, pressing his back to the surprisingly comfortable hollow. Wrapping his wings around himself, he shifted his position slightly so he could have a good view of the stars.

Only a few sparkled in the clouded sky, but it was enough to bring one last smile to Logan's face as he drifted into the deep, deep sea of dreams. He almost felt as if he was still floating in the sky, laughing and twirling among the clouds, dancing upon wings light as feathers. One single thought murmured inside his mind, whispering quietly as darkness took him.

That... that was truly incredible. I have been missing out on so, so much...


~

Logan writhed and struggled against his bonds, frantic and terrified. The ropes dug into his scales, leaving bloody gashes where they chafed angrily against his wrist and ankles. The pain was a hot, burning sensation; nearly unbearable. But he had to escape. He had to.

The spiral never stopped moving, dragging him ruthlessly along the dusty, craggy ground. Logan was only able to catch slight glimpses of her back and head as he bounced on the dirt; but she never looked at him, even when he screamed and cried and yelled, snapped his teeth and whipped his tail. Why had he trusted her? He should have known she wasn't as kind, as friendly as she had seemed. This was the land of the Plaguebringer, after all. The dragons here were not nice. They did what they liked, and didn't spare a thought any dragon other than themselves.

Logan cried out as a particularly sharp rock jabbed into his side. The pain of the new bruise only added to his agony. By now, he was sure, his body was a throbbing mess of scratches, scrapes, and lesions. Another surge of hopelessness washed over him, and he felt the burn of tears threaten behind his eyes. What had he done to deserve this?

By now, his struggling had reduced to nearly nothing. The occasional weak bouts of thrashing that he attempted did nothing besides dig his bonds further into his abused scales. The spiral continued to trudge on, her lithe body dark agains the pale teeth of the Wyrmwound. It loomed ahead of the two dragons, casting a sickly glow over their bodies. The silence that he had reveled in earlier now seemed soupy, thick, suffocating. This time, the quiet was not broken by his joyful yells. It was broken by the sound of his whimpers, his cries, his struggling. Broken by the sound of the sound of the insane spiral's muttering, and her hysterical laughter as she listened to Logan suffer behind her. Broken by the bubbling of the ghastly Wyrmwound, growing closer with each passing moment.

The scream of some terrible creature echoed through the air. The spiral didn't even flinch; but poor Logan was so startled, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He looked wildly around, but he wasn't able to see anything besides flashes of the dull sky and flickers of the Wyrmwound ahead of him. The tears that had been burning behind his eyes began to cascade, hot, down his face. The spiral let out a yet another hysterical laugh, cackling and snapping her teeth together, spurring on Logan's anguish. The little ridgeback sobbed harder, the weight of his emotions crushing him, shattering him. He had just wanted to be free, to have a life where he was not trapped and bound by his own parents. Logan yelped through his tears as yet another sharp object jabbed into his side. This one left a long scrape; it was deep, and should have been more painful than it felt. But he already had so many wounds that he could barely tell the difference of one more gash added to his vast collection.

Suddenly, the spiral spoke. Not her past jumbled mutters; her voice was clear and smooth. Cold, calculated... and indifferent. She sounded exactly like his mother. The only difference was the note of insanity that edged her voice, the underlying layer of hysteria and glee that seeped through the cracks of her words like slime.

--- new content (unpaid) (wip) - 3/24/22 ---

"Little dragon, I have chosssen you for the highessst honor. Yesss, indeed. Honored, honored, honored you should be, little dragon." She clicked her teeth, making a smacking sound with her lips before continuing with a little giggle. "You have heard of the monsssters, yesss? The aberrationsss to dragonkind? They have emerged, from the cauldron of the great Mother, the One who rulesss us all, Plaguebringer." Logan's eyes widened through his pain. He had started to automatically tune out her voice, but... what was she telling him? What did it mean? What monsters? But before he could say anything, she screeched with yet another bout of feral laughter before resuming her speech. "AHA! HA! Ah, yesss, they have emerged, little one.

"Please," gasped Logan. The fear was overwhelming, taking over his every sense, his every thought. His panicked heart beat in his throat as more tears dribbled from the corners of his eyes. "Please, please! Don't do this! Please!" He tried to struggle, but he had no more strength left. He fell limp, lungs heaving. His ears started to ring as shock and terror fully crashed over him, blotting out everything but the image of the Wyrmwound burned into his mind, its terrible teeth towering high into the sky.

He barely heard the cackling of the spiral as she heaved him closer to his doom.

Her laughing grew more and more hysterical with each second that passed; she seemed overjoyed at the prospect of throwing an innocent, young dragon into the Wyrmwound. The ground grew softer as she and Logan approached the rim of the Plaguebringer's cauldron. A light green slime seemed to coat Logan's body, and shudders of revulsion wracked his body along with his fear. The rank smell was horrible. It was almost like the carrion Logan had had to bring back for his mother - only ten times worse.