Entering for Razvan! Lore will be in a bit of a mix between prose and bullet points. Thank you so much for the opportunity to own a Moroi kiddo, and best of luck to everybody who’s entering <3 I’m super excited!!
Oh and sending you a PM with my offer, titled “Moroi Kiddo Offer”! Again, thank you for the opportunity and sorry for such a last-minute entry aaaaaaaaa.
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… Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see two figures. One is taller than the other, and I can’t quite tell, but I think they’re facing each other, and they’re making sounds I can’t quite make out. I can feel something soft against my back, and although I know now that those sounds were words, I can never remember what they were saying.
I think about this memory a lot. I see it often in my dreams. And often I find myself reaching out to the figures, but the moment my claws close around them, they disappear, as if they were never there…
Maybe it’s because as he grew older, amongst the other younglings, training to become a great warrior of Ingheldin, he would see as some of the children would return to what he knew today to be “families.” It was sometimes only one dragon, sometimes two, sometimes more, but there was always something weird about the look in their eyes as they gazed upon the young ones that he could never really understand.
He knew that he had something that was supposedly part of this so-called “family”—three siblings—but something just never felt… Right. Compared to how those other “families” interacted.
And then there was the wildclaw, Andras. The look in
his eyes when he looked upon the imperials and the smaller sibling. He never knew what it was. It was a look that he didn’t know how to explain; it was similar to the look of those ‘parents’, but it was different. He didn’t have a word for it. He… Felt, like a ‘father’, but he also acted like a ‘teacher’. So he never knew if he was a Father or a Teacher… Could he be both? Or was he neither…?
He didn’t know. Maybe he would never know.
It was often that he had these thoughts, as they grew older, grew stronger, grew larger. Their power was fierce, it was big, it was… Terrifying, his and his siblings’. The others feared them, but for a reason that he didn’t quite understand, at least not at first. He thought that maybe it was only because they were so big compared to the rest of them, but one day as he made his way from practice, he overheard something about their antler-like horns, their long whiskers, their serpentine body… They called him and his elder sibling “imperials.” There was something about ‘Emperors,’ too, but did that… Mean they didn’t like, what was it, royalty?
He made a note to ask later.
“Imperials” were feared.
Because they could become ‘Emperors.’
And ‘Emperors’ were scary.
He asked, one day, and they said Emperors were indeed terrifying creatures, but that few Imperials were Emperors, and the only Emperor that the modern day knew was the one that ravaged the lands not far from the walls of Ingheldin.
… There was so much he didn’t know. So much that just didn’t make sense. But he trained. He trained and fought, because that’s what the other children did. That’s what Andras told him to do. That’s what his other siblings did.
But when he’d close his eyes and see those two figures, making sounds that he didn’t understand, and disappearing when he’d reach for them, he would quickly reopen his eyes because his heart fluttered, his throat felt dry, and it felt like there was something pressing behind his eyes. It was an unpleasant feeling, but he never told anybody about it, because he never knew how to say it. He never knew how to describe this. He didn’t even know if anybody cared. What if they were just dreams? What if this memory really wasn’t of any significance at all?
… And yet, it still hurt. Was it hurt? He wasn’t too sure. But he once heard another youngling describe the action of water leaking from their eyes as “pain,” as “hurt.” So… It had to be “hurt”, right?
… But why did he hurt?
It followed him to this day. No matter how strong he became, no matter how many foes he felled, how many opponents he beat, no matter how far he rose, something always felt like it wasn’t quite there. It wasn’t quite right.
So he would fell more foes, beat more opponents, and rise higher and higher—he just wanted something,
anything, to make this unpleasant feeling go away.
And what scared him most were the moments when he’d fell those foes. When he’d smell that metallic scent waft into the air, he could feel something inside him burn, he could feel his heart race, and he would go on full alert… And he wanted more.
And yet, it felt wrong. It felt
wrong. Not because it didn’t feel natural; on the contrary, it felt completely natural. But no matter how much more he wanted, part of him told him he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let that feeling take him over, because if he did, he would lose whatever it was that was holding him to this place, to this world.
He would lose what he knew to be
him. He would lose the self he knew to be as a training warrior of Ingheldin. And that if he did, he would give a reason to those who feared him, reason to fear him even more. He would become something else. He would become… What the world wanted him to become…
And he felt that if he let this happen, he would never really be…
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“Free.”
• At some point, Razvan travels to the Southern Icefields to further his training to be the best warrior he can be, but perhaps because a part of him wishes to flee from the unpleasant feeling that has been gnawing at him since childhood, a feeling that has only gotten worse as time went on.
• There, he meets a large
green ridgeback, by the name of Moyolehuani, who is simply standing there quietly in the snow, gazing at him silently.
• He doesn’t call out to this strange green ridgeback and instead remains cautious because he’s still a strange dragon, until the ridgeback begins to approach him. This startles the imperial, who has always been cautious his entire life, and he takes a step backwards, but something about the ridgeback feels off. It feels… Familiar. He starts to say something about asking if he’s not cold or anything, but Razvan simply shakes his head and asks why he cares.
• “Is it not natural to care for one another?” This response leaves Razvan confused, but he says nothing.
• Razvan turns to move away and leave the presence of this strange ridgeback, and he somewhat hopes he doesn’t see him again. And yet… Part of him does.
• Over the next few days, he finds little trinkets and even snacks piled up around where he was resting, andwildly enough, these trinkets are useful in surviving the Southern Icefield wilds. What he
didn’t care for, though, was that they smelled unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. It had the scent of another dragon he had not yet met, but as he examined them carefully, he caught a whiff of the strange green ridgeback from earlier.
• He eats the snacks, anyway.
• A few days later, as he’s coming back from a hunt that’s leaving him fighting back the instinct in him that flares up whenever he catches the scent of iron, and sees the ridgeback again, except this time he’s accompanied by a
blue imperial. He asks what they’re doing here, and why there’s more of them, and the ridgeback answers that the blue imperial, an imperial named Bisbigliando, or Bisbig for short, insisted on making sure this wild visitor was doing fine. Apparently the ridgeback had let the dragons of the clan nearby know that there was a strange imperial nearby, and Bisbig volunteered to make sure he was doing okay.
• Razvan finds it strange that apparently this is a normal occurrence amongst the dragons of the nearby clan, but he pays it no heed and when he begins to walk away, Bisbig approaches him, almost getting into his face to ask if he’s doing okay. As he was already pretty wired up, the earth-toned imperial snaps at Bisbig, to mind his space, and the ridgeback pulls the blue imperial away before any harm can be done.
• “Why are you here? What are you doing? Why have you been leaving me things?” Razvan asks, and Bisbig answers “Because I want to.” This answer is not satisfactory for the earth-toned imperial, and he quickly huffs and begins to walk away. Apparently the ridgeback stops the blue imperial from following after Razvan, and they both watch as the imperial disappears back into the snowy forest.
• A few days pass, and he’s preparing to return back home, and he catches sight of the green ridgeback once again. Against his better judgment, he approaches the ridgeback to ask what all of this was about, and the ridgeback explains that the dragons of the clan up ahead are all a bunch of softies at heart, the biggest pushovers you’d ever meet. That it’s a surprise that they’re surviving in the Fortress of Ends at all. This baffles the imperial, and he asks how anybody could be like that…
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“Because they’re free,” Moyolehuani answers, looking back at the imperial with a look that looks so far past him that it feels like he isn’t even talking to him. Like he’s talking to something, somebody else, maybe from yesterday, maybe from today, possibly even from tomorrow… But it is a look that leaves him confused and baffled.
“What do you mean?” he replies, giving the ridgeback an inquisitive look.
“They’re free from their past, they’re free from the blood that runs in their veins that is supposed to define who they are. They’re free from all that binds them to a path. They may have clawed and ripped their way through those chains, but they did it, somehow. None of them did it alone, and because they didn’t, they are all free.”
The imperial stands there, digesting the words from the ridgeback, and he shakes his head slowly, furrowing his brows as he thinks. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what this ridgeback is talking about.
“You’re bound by something, aren’t you?” the ridgeback asks. And he looks up, meeting the same light-hued eyes as his own. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes dozens, hundreds, thousands of times, across many faces. They’re the look from somebody who’s bound by something and they simply cannot let go…”
“How do you know this?” he responds, to which the ridgeback tilts his head curiously. “How do you know? Aren’t you just projecting?” he begins to feel his heart race, and he can see that image that haunts his memory again. The two figures standing far away, his thirst for the smell of iron–he can see it, and it feels like there’s a stone in his throat. But doesn’t this ridgeback have an equally void look in his eyes? The look of somebody who’s bound by something and simply cannot let go? That’s what it looks like to him! “Me? Bound? That is absolutely ridiculous! I’m a warrior of Ingheldin, and my path is set, but I’m not
bound! I chose to follow this path, so I will protect, as that is my duty, and all this nonsense about being “free” and being “bound-,” bah!” he scowls, shaking his head and spreading his wings to take flight. “You know nothing of me! You know nothing of my path! Of my spirit! I am who I am of my own choosing!”
“Running away will not free you from those chains.”
“Shut up!” he shouts, snapping at the ridgeback, teeth bared, and growl rolling up from his throat, but the ridgeback doesn’t move an inch. “Shut up!”
“I
know because to this day I’m running away from the same thing. But I returned to the place where my chains begin, so that I may one day free myself from this torment. Don’t let yourself be swallowed up by your pain… I was skeptical of the dragons that reside here, now, but they… They have good hearts, and you have a smell and a look in your eye that many of the dragons here have and had… If the monarch of this clan were here, she would immediately tell you to ‘stay a while.’”
“Quiet. My time here has ended and I must return. I have a duty to fulfill, and your nonsense is nothing but that—nonsense.” So he spreads his wings and takes to the skies.
“If you find your duty is to return, then we will be waiting,” he heard from afar.
‘Free.’
…
‘Free…’
Free from the painful blood that ran through his veins. Things that he had never once questioned, things that he had never once wondered were now flooding his brain as he flew. He had only ever thought about that memory, he had only ever suppressed the urge when exposed to that distinct scent of iron… But now he wanted to know
why. Why was he always thinking about that memory? Why was he always running away and forcing himself to ignore this scent and ignore that feeling that bubbled in his chest?
… Why?
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• The rest of the story would involve a journey of self-discovery, of hoping to find the answers of the questions that he never once let himself ask. He wants to know more about those figures in his memories, and if he is to have the chance to come to my clan, he will see the different family units and how they work and wonder why his feels so different. He’ll wonder about Andras, he’ll wonder if he really is just an orphan that had been abandoned long ago, and for a long time he will be lost. But eventually, although he may never find the exact answers, he will know enough to be able to let go.
• As for the bloodlust, he will learn to stop suppressing it and instead to control it after learning where it comes from. My lair has many Ignis descendants, especially those of mixed generations, and of course there is also Vianturea, my G3 Naomi, whose entire lore revolves around the journey of discovering who one is. Of finding answers to things one may not want, and doing things that may not work out simply because they want to know if it finally answers their many questions. Whilst they won’t be able to pinpoint just where this bloodlust and this immense power may come from, they’ll likely have an inkling that Razvan is a descendant of one of the powerful, notorious dragons of Sornieth.
• As a note, Moyolehuani is the oldest dragon in my clan and a dragon I canonically have written to be hundreds of thousands of years old, a dragon known as a “true immortal,” the only hatchling from a progen pair from the light lands, who was immediately abandoned because he was born during a wartime era. He has seen wars that have ended civilizations, been at the centerpoint of some experimentations to grant immortality to other dragons, and has died thousands of times in a wide variety of ways. The reason he feels connected to Razvan and Razvan felt connected to him was because they both shared a very similar beginning—neither of them know why they are the way they are, and neither of them know their parents. And they may never know.
• Perhaps, over time, he may also send letters to Andras about how he’s doing, once he leaves the clan. Although he doesn’t know the exact reason the wildclaw always watched over him and his siblings, he will always feel some sort of debt to this man, some sort of connection that he will never quite know how to describe.
• Equally so, if the other new owners of his siblings are cool with it, I’d like to see if maybe we can set up some sort of cross-lair lore and sort of pass ideas around as to how the different siblings grew up, how they think, and where their future leads. As I’m an absolute total sucker for siblings, this is probably the one thing I’m most looking forward to if the others are also willing. Incorporating each other’s lore and finding a way to keep the siblings connected even if they’re spread across Sornieth. Though of course, I’m perfectly fine with keeping the lore self-contained if the others would rather not mix lore.
• Overall, I want the main theme of Razvan to be “self-discovery.” Growing up knowing there’s something different about him, listening to those whispers around him, seeing the eyes of those who feared him, and never really knowing where he’s going or where he’s come from, of not knowing who he is, I want him to eventually find peace. To come to terms with the fact that there are some things he may never know, and come to still be thankful for the things he does have. He will discover who he is, not because of his blood, not because of his path or his training, but because it’s who he wants to be. And maybe then, he’ll finally be free.
• I am a scatter addict, as well, so he will most likely be scattered until something feels "just right." I'm not quite sure what that is, but I think I'll probably write a story for every scatter, as well, to keep myself from going scatter crazy without thinking about the meaning of every color and potential genes. That said, I’ve resisted scrying too much, so I may end up loving a combo anyways. Or just end up keeping his current look, I’m honestly not too sure TTvTT He’s beautiful the way he is, but the scatter itch is strong, hahaha.
Also apologies for any grammar or spelling errors. I have work early in the morning and wanted to post this before RO ;u;
