Athexreh » Hibernal Den » Aelor

Aelor

(#8660820)

Level 25 Tundra

Familiar

Fragile Flutterbun

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.44 m

Wingspan

2.87 m

Weight

257.46 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Metallic

Silver
Sarcophagus

Black
Peacock

Hatchday

Dec 15, 2014
(9 years)

Breed

Adult
Tundra

Eye Type

Arcane
Multi-Gaze

Level 25 Tundra

Max Level

STR

117

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

Aelor The Mage

Patriarch | Warrior | Channeller

Quote:

Wolf coat donated by the
"FLHPA" or the Fix Aelor's Hair Problem Assosciation
Helping Aelor's all across the land get their fix!

Aelor rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the knot of tension. He wouldn’t be able to rest long, but he’d shaken his pursuers long enough to plan. He didn’t bother looking for shelter; in the arctic there were few shelters and fewer creatures willing to open their homes to a clear runaway. He settled among the gnarled roots of an ancient tree and tentatively reached out.

For a moment he felt nothing. Panic, bright and choking, settled across his mind before something reached back. Two small pulses of intent bridging the distance between them.

We’re here, they seemed to say, leave this to us. Anubis and Desolan were alive. It was more than he dared to hope. They were hunting. And, with that assurance, Aelor lost the battle to stay conscious. He drifted, caught between the crippling exhaustion and the blinding fury ping-ponging between the three of them.

The two mirrors worked well together- both having been raised in the wilds. Both prolific hunters. And both of them frothing at the mouth to be on a trail again. Actually hunting. Finally set lose. Barking out short observations to each other in a language that had no name, but one that carried across the miles between them as clear as words. It was a language comprised of feral intent and cruelty and wild instinct.

Aelor could swear he could taste the fear tainting the air- it was a bitter stench. A familiar tang. It was the dawning realization that the predator had become the prey. And Aelor reveled in it- in the thrill of the hunt- even as his limbs protested the very thought of moving. He was tired. But there was music in the air- in his blood- mirrored in his bondmates.

Desolan found them first. His surprise was short and sharp as he stumbled upon their ambush. A half dozen fully armored creatures stood guard at the narrow impasse of a bridge. There was a half erect barricade behind them; a testament to how quickly they’d been routed.

The moment lingered before one of them moved, a spear of lightning tearing across the distance.It missed, barely, and tore a furrow in his side. It should have stung- in any other creature it would have been a debilitating blow. Aelor felt the phantom ache in his own limbs- an echo from the receiving end of similar attacks, but Desolan didn’t react. He just stood there, at the edge of the clearing, panting as his gaze slid impassively over them all.

Desolan never could feel pain.

The runes along his side flared in a dazzling display of color as the magic churned in his veins, deep crimson bleeding out across the snow. He struck with cruel precision, a thousand hurts mirrored and reflected in that moment he let loose. His roar echoed in tandem, the gargantuan shadow of an unspeakable beast passed over them all.

Aelor flinched, the backlash across their bond thrumming a sour note. He was too exhausted to pull away and Desolan was too enraged to notice; the heat of it burned in Aelor’s chest. Alarm flared to life in Anubis’ mind and he spun so quickly that it left Aelor reeling.

They were too far away. Anubis and Aelor realized it at the same moment, their grim resolve mingling and solidifying into something more akin to heartache than anything else. Anubis was miles away from the self destructive maelstrom that was Desolan’s magic. And Aelor wouldn’t be able to do anything but fling himself against the fading, fraying connection between them.

Magic strained, grew thin, and the bond snapped with a crack like gunfire.

The silence that swooped in after that was cold and dark and quiet.

Aelor let out a growl, hackles raised. The entire “meeting” had been a waste of time, and, had it not been for his mate’s gentle murmuring, and less than gentle glares, he would have stormed out a long time ago. A distant part of him knew that Bosco had settled in the territory, but a bigger part of him stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

They lived in an exceptionally cruel spit of land- the long, frigid winters were practically a year long occurrence. They made due. They suffered in silent indignation and scrambled for supplies when the world thawed enough to carve sustenance from the ground. They were a hardy group. Convening was doing nothing but wasting time they didn’t have anymore.

Bosco brushed himself off, concern plastered onto his face. “I think we could all benefit from a more permanent arrangement,” he started. It was no secret that Bosco headed the largest faction and, unlike the others, was mostly unaffected by the uncommonly harsh winter. They were a peaceful clan- a ragtag group of farmers and artisans and priests that sought out the quiet voices of the Divine. They wove magic into the ground and coaxed life from a dead earth. It was, admittedly, and impressive sight.

“That’s not happening,” Aelor spat out, ignoring his mate’s attempts to quiet him.

Bosco paused, tilting his head, “You’d rather see your clan starve than accept my-”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Aelor’s reply. He wasn’t about to be stuck in Bosco’s debt. Not again.

“There’s no need to be so proud; accepting help is not the same as admitting your failure. You’re an exceptional leader, friend, but it’s time to set aside our personal disagreements. Now it’s about the survival of our people. In fact,” his expression was a perfect mask of concern, “denying help would be exceptionally foolish, wouldn’t it?”

Aelor knew there was no way he could win this. Not with the collective hunger pains of his clan weighing on his soul. Not with the spectral beings haunting his steps, waiting to sink their claws into his clan. Not with his own demons breathing down his neck.

“What do you want?” he hissed in such a low tone that he wasn’t sure Bosco had heard at all. Then the pale dragon grinned, a satisfied hum rattling in his chest.

Bosco turned to the other tundra, “How many are in your clan, Miasma?”

She sagged against Aelor’s side, relief radiating from her body. “At last count, twenty-three.”

“We’ll send enough for the rest of the month,” Bosco assured, expression softened into something almost kind. Something dangerous.

“Thank you,” Miasma murmured.

Aelor, on the other hand, said nothing. Even as Bosco made a small series of scribbles in his notes. He could feel the pale eyes watching him, could feel the satisfaction rolling off the other’s frame. He’d lost. That much was clear.

Miasma nuzzled against his side and told him not to stay too long. He didn’t blame her excitement: for the first time in a very long time there was good news to bring home. However, he couldn’t share her enthusiasm.

Ears flattened against the side of his head, Aelor bit back a growl.

“Oh knock it off, would you,” Bosco grumbled, stretching out the soreness in his limbs, “I thought we were past this. You’re not a hatchling anymore; stop acting like one.”

Aelor’s tail coiled tightly around his paws. “What do you want?”

The other’s expression softened. “What would you say to... business partners?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have much of a choice.”

Bosco let out a low, trilling laugh. “Come now, it’s not that bad of an arrangement. You’ve managed to make a name for yourself. That's admirable. I'm just asking for a few favors here and there. Maybe use that reputation to get results. Just like the good old days, hmm?”

Aelor shivered, eyes widening as he scrambled back. “There was nothing good about that and you know it. Don’t you dare. Let's get one thing straight. I’m not your personal assassin. I’m not a hatchling. It’s too much hassle to kill you or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Got it?”

Bosco padded closer. His expression was nearly manic, bright and hungry and impossibly toothy. “I told you what to expect. I told you what was going to happen if you came with me. I told you you wouldn’t be the same. You wanted to be remade.”

Reeling, Aelor took a step back. It was familiar- a thinly veiled threat, a promise of pain. It was the culmination of his youth. Aelor could almost feel the ripping of flesh and the harsh burn of his own blood. He felt small. Helpless. The divine retribution that Bosco wore like a mantle was a very real presence. He’d seen first hand what that wrath could do- he’d felt it burn and threaten to unravel his very being. He'd felt it claw into the fracture of his soul and dig deep. And there was a time he'd looked forward to it. There was a time that all he would look forward to was the purging fire.

It had been impossible to forget. The ash and dust caked into his fur was all he was. It defined him. It plagued his waking moments and bleed into his nightmares. He scrubbed at his fur with tiny, blunted claws until his flesh was raw and there was nothing he could do but curl up and wail, hoping that divine retribution would finally erase him.

It never did.

Paws, impossibly gentle and resolved, would cradle him- ground him- until he’d cried himself out and there was nothing left but the emptiness. Nothing but the hollowed eyed stare of something impossibly broken.

And those same paws began to fill in the cracks with a new purpose. A new resolve. With dust and mud and a single-minded purpose.

Bosco took a deep breath. “We’ve been keeping tabs on your... family, if they even deserved to be called that. They’ve finally stopped looking for you. But-”

“They found a replacement, didn’t they?” The lack of a reply was enough of an answer. “For the love of… When?”

“At the next equinox. Four months.”

Aelor let out a low curse. “Still up for that business partnership?”

Bosco laughed, the resolve in his eyes hardening. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The howls that tore through the night made his blood run cold. Wings flapping uselessly at his sides, he scrambled back into his cave, coiling through the narrow passageways until he was far back in the cavern, rousing his mate with his barked concern.

The dark she dragon blinked up at him, the eggs she was coiled around equally undisturbed. She graciously accepted his apology and tightened around the half dozen ice-coated eggs.

For a moment, Aelor sat, his pulse easing back to normal. His tongue lapped at the top of her forehead before he eased his way back to the mouth of the cave. Again he heard the yowl, fainter than it had been at first.

And, as he peered out over the moonlight bathed valley, he froze.

The lake was covered in a thick layer of ice, a myriad of writing shapes clawing at the frozen surface.

But, what rooted him in place were the half dozen spectral dragons dancing just under the surface. They glowed a pale blue, cruelty and hatred pouring of their glowing frames. Already it was too late; lives had been lost.

He snapped into motion, a silent snarl fixed on his face. Each step kicked up loose stones and he slipped and skidded down the mountainside in a barely controlled tumble. His wings flared out to stabilize his descent- a kind of frenzied flight in its own right- until he came to the cold, sick mud at the bottom. The air was bitterly cold, each breath hanging in the air, ghosting along the unusually bright night.

He scampered towards the nearest dragon, letting out a sigh of relief at the familiar face. That it came out as more of a whimper barely crossed his mind.

“What happened?” he asked, fur bristled and standing on end. There was a palpable wave of static electricity in the air and a building ripple underfoot. It was magic. Undeniable. Hostile. And far too familiar.

The guardian snarled, claws scraping at the unyielding ice. “Ambushed,” Crystal spat out, “They're still down there.”

“We need to move,” Aelor yelped, slamming his body against her leg. The larger dragon barely seemed to notice. He'd never before curse so vehemently at his small size as he did in that moment.

Her eyes were fixed on the ice, or, more accurately, the churning water below it. Claws and tails scraped against the underside of the ice, flashes of bright scale and pulses of desperate magic shifting like the northern lights. The translucent ice held firm.

There was a barely perceptible shift, and for a moment everything seemed to stop. The panic raging in his head stilled. The screech of claws on ice faded into a low ringing. Aelor spun around, his thoughts thick and syrupy.

On the lake shore stood a dark dragon. It was a familiar shape; one he'd seen hovering in the corner of his eye since he was a hatchling. It was far more solid than it had any right to be, the hum of a very real enchantment vortexing around his frame. For a single moment the cold magic illuminated the dead-eyed state of the Harbinger before it took hold, bleeding into the world like a wound.

Aelor was sent reeling, winded and fur singed. There was a coppery taste in his mouth. A ringing in his ears. At some point his knees had buckled. ~~Had he been running? He had to move.~~ A dark smear stretched behind him and, for a moment, the whole world spun in disjointed images as he struggled to catch up.

The Harbinger stalked closer, tattered wings dragging limply at his sides. His claws were nearly transparent; a thick mist coiled around his legs that left Aelor feeling nauseous: it carried the stench of death.

We've waited long for this moment the dragon hissed, voice a grating cacophony of shrieks. It didn't move its mouth. It just stood there, frozen, eyes staring at nothing.

It's presence in his mind was oily and sickly, a cesspool of barely contained wrongness that Aelor was scrambling away before he got his bearings back. It was pure instinct. Fight or flight. His legs refused to hold his weight and the staticy fear crescendoed into a scream. He lashed out with a spur of magic, but it died in the back of his throat, fizzing out with a sour gurgle.

It was the first time his magic had failed him. And, in its grim absence, he was frozen, eyes wide and chest heaving. The bright spectral beings that coiled under the surface of the water were gone, the murky darkness an impenetrable void. Even the Harbinger was less solid than it had been, each passing moment rendering it more transparent. The void was closing to him. Ichor oozed from his maw. He had already lost.

In that moment, he ran. Each stumble was an impossibility, but the alternative was unimaginable. The dull scrape of claws on ice and snow yielded to stone and hard packed snow- tree branches scraping against his face and tangled into his fur. The whispered voices that had followed him all his life were silent, the dark solitude impossibly heavy.

The Harbinger watched his retreat, a savage grin stretching across his face. There was no where left for him to hide.

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Aelor to the service of the Icewarden will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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