Creative Corner

[right][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/2#post_44057696]previous dragon[/url] || [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073#post_43259105]characters a-m n-z[/url] || [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/2#post_44064784]next dragon[/url][/right] [Rule] [right][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/625573/62557201.png[/img] Profile • back to main post[/right] [Columns][item=grave dust][Nextcol][Size=7][b][color=#7186a8]Grave misfortunes.[/b][/Size] Written by ShadowWyvern15 1,264 words [/Columns] [i]They are so...fascinating up close..[/i] (Algecas,no!) [I]I've always wondered..what would happen if I broke this orb? What would happen if the spirits were able to roam on their own? What if I touch the orb? Kid, don't be stupid! Don't do this! [center][i]Algecas! Keep him away from it! You foolish dragon! You don't know what you are getting yourself into! Stay back! [/i][/center] [i]...So many voices, they all speak to me. [/i] The translucent stone orb stood meters away from him, the old abandoned shrine painted in gloomy light, local flora having taken over long ago. The support colums now covered in thorny vines and glowing mushrooms hanging from the ceiling. Their soft ghoulish glow much weaker than that of the object floating in the center of the altar at the end of the hallway. Algecas was slowly walking towards it, entranced and hypnotized by its energetic that pull him closer. The shrine was filled with ghostly figures of the past, from clans who lived in the shadow territory many years ago- warriors, monks and many other legends that he's heard about. Their energies were hectic, disturbed and restless with anger, desperation, and fear shining clearly. Some were more stable than others but ultimately they had one goal: to stop the young Banescale before something really bad happens. Otilmo could only stare wide eyed at the scene in front of him in horror-- watching the ghosts fly by in a race to halt his younger brother and prevent him from reaching the altar. The statue of the All mother Unyra. He thought that he wouldn't be scared of seeing an actual spirit in person, but this situation proves him wrong as he hurriedly jumps out of the way of another spectre, his heart racing and thundering in his ribcage, his heartbeat and shallow breathing the sounding in his ears along with the ghastly haunting calls. He feels lightheaded, as if he could lose consciousness right there and then. It wasn't like this five hours ago, when they first discovered the place and started exploring. Seeing a spirit up close in person wasn't as terrifying as it is now on the Night of the dead when they are solid and fully corporeal-- because they look just like the living. He couldn't see their bones,their eyes are normal and their voices aren't eerie cries or shrieks. But now he can, and worst of it is that he can get a good guess of how each of them died just by looking at their forms and the marks severed into them. And amidst all this chaos is his sibling who had triggered this by accidentally destroying the items that kept the ghastly creatures sealed by knocking them down with a swipe of his tail. It wasn't deliberate. What the orb does is preventing them from turning into smoke and be able to possess whether they intend to do so or not. Suddenly the older dragon dashed after the other, the ghosts trying to keep him back but to no avail-- they aren't corporeal enough to hold him off, instead acting as forces of strong winds, slowing the dark scaled reptilian down but unable to do anything more than that. "Algecas! Stop right there! No!" He shouted but it was too late. Otilmo froze in horror as the other drake got hold of the orb, the ancestral spirits freezing as well as if time has abruptly stopped, observing helplessly with varying horror as the adolescent lifts it up with his wings to examine in the moonlight sneaking through the cracks...everything moved so agonizingly slowly as if set in slow motion while the older knows that it's all actually occurring in a matter of seconds. And then. The orb ignites right before it slips out of the Banescale's wing grasp and plummets to the ground-- [b][i]Crash![/i][/b] ...millions of tiny glass shards are sent flying as it shatters, the sound cutting through the dreadful silence. Loud and clear enough to be deafening. In a flash the ghosts collapsed- lost their forms, a pained wail rumbling through the deserted corridor as they turn into translucent faintly glowing vapors of color that surged at the unfortunate victim. An agonized shrill shriek ripped out from Algecas' throat, his eyes aglow brightly when the mists hit him square in the chest, the sound unholy and heart wrenching. He couldn't breathe, he was suffocating, his mind was racing at crazy rapid speeds with thousands of thoughts and memories, and he could [i]swear[/i] that his heart is going to [i]burst[/i]. Visions, flashbacks, emotions, which ones are his? He can't discern, but his whole [i]being[/i] feels like it's [i]literally on fire[/i], he's panicking, no- freaking out- spiraling out of control, the world is spinning out of reach-- He crashes on the floor, his brother rushing to his side with a strangled yell. It feels like he's grown at least thousands of heads. His core unable to house more than one soul, more than his own essence. "Brother...Shouldn't have done this-- That's what you get for playing with things you don't understand. Sorry, so...sorry." The younger dragon chokes out weakly, his voice changing as someone else spoke and again when another scolded irritatibly. "Gods it hurts." He groans and tries to get up, trembling, limbs spasming uncontrollably. Otilmo stood silent for a long moment then prodded experimentally, calling out the name of the first spirit that came to his mind-- "Latoth? How can we reverse this?" A grim strained frown clouded Al's features, the voice that comes out of his jaws light and silky as the deceased monk replies to his inquiry, looking pensive and troubled, speaking carefully-- "I am not sure that it is possible...I'm afraid this out of my field of knowledge. I..doubt any of us are capable." It's like he's far away, his words echoing. The glower turns condescending and disapproving when he turns his eyes to him, expression twisting into a snarl. The voice that came out this time was rough and harsh, much deeper than the first- "What were ya rascals [i]thinking[/i] when showing up?! Didn't your clanmates tell ya not to come here? And you! As an older sibling you're responsible for him![i] Why the hell didn't ya stop him in the first place?[/i]" Otilmo flinched at the sharp tongue and vulgar manner of speaking as the war veteran chides him as if he's a hatchling again, guilt gnawing away. Rarszozs has a good point. Al would have listened to him, he could have prevented this from happening if only he had put his foot down and was firmer in his decision. 'Algecas' clicks his tongue disapprovingly, tail lashing back and forth. "Well we have to fix this!" The bones covered guard in training whines stubbornly, feeling small and desperate while the other held his determined gaze unimpressed by his antics. "This ain't a toy, genius. Odds for us to be stuck like this 'till he dies himself are far higher. Chances are that this can't be helped in any way. Though I guess your smart-arse pink deity could have something to offer. I dunno." Otilmo heaved a deep long suffering and careworn sigh, his body sagging in devastation and defeat, closing his eyes and covers them with his right wing. "Let's just...go back home. Our home and try something tomorrow." No response. Only the pitter patter of pouring rain can be heard from outside, thunder cracking every now and then in the distance. It was conflicting. "C'on Al. "

[right][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/2#post_44058252]previous dragon[/url] || [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/1#post_43259105]characters a-m n-z stories pt I[/url] || [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/3#post_44127784]next dragon[/url][/right] [center][size=2] Best read while listening to: Snow Owl lullaby for first part and Skye Cuillin for second or wood cabin fireplace and Howling blizzard for better atmosphere! [/center][rule] [right][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/305661/30566090.png[/img] Profile[/right] [Columns][Item=winter wolf pelt][Nextcol][Font=times new roman][Size=6]The blizzard hatchling[/size] Written by ShadowWyvern15 2,188 words [/Columns] It's..so cold, freezing. The winds bite him on the cheeks harshly with their icy fangs while hurtling snow in his light green eyes, making him fold his little wings even closer to his petite body. He can't feel anything- his own face feels numb, just like his arms, tail and feet. Looking around himself all he sees are snow covered pine trees, towering over him grimly and almost judging. The hatchling shivers and continues to trek through the mountains of snow, his clawed feet sinking deeply with each step it tries to make, slowing it down significantly as it struggles to lift it out. Above, the skies are grey and darkened with threatening clouds, the winds picking speed as the hours continue to go by. The little one's rich purple plume has long turned a worrying blue, the tips of his little feathers coated in frost and the feathers of his head are almost completely white. Only the hardened obsidian gems covering his body haven't been obscured by the snow. How many hours have passed by now? Ten? Fifteen? Just three? Rubellite can't tell, having lost track long ago. Yet the landscape still hasn't changed at all. He's been walking in a circle, lost and disoriented. His feet have become completely numb and unresponsive, refusing to carry him further no matter how desperately he willed them to move. Mockingly the snowstorm was laughing, glaring at his pathetic form. Hunger was piercing him and his stomach has started to hurt, whining and grumbling. But there's no prey- no food in sight. Not even a patch of measly grass. Only white spreads across his vision and exhaustion forces him to crumble. He can't forge onwards anymore. The small youth's eyes well with rapidly freezing tears as his heart with fear, as he opens his jaws and let out the loudest screeching wails that he can muster, his cries seemingly getting immediately swallowed by the howling storm that's raging furiously over the Tundra. Eventually the cries die out. Only the blizzard's merciless wails can be heard throughout the forest. Unbeknownst to the hatchling, however, his crying was heard and indeed have drawn the attention of someone: A Centaur hunter who had halted in his tracks back home when he heard them and has begun making his way toward the source cautiously. Ingjald Norbertsson was returning from his scouting duty when suddenly strangled screeching pierced the air, muffled by the howls of the freezing winds. He squinted his eyes at the large rock meters ahead of him, thick eyebrows furrowed in a stern suspicious frown as he carefully threads closer. Once he got close enough, the Beastclans member could see that the 'rock', is actually a dragon hatchling curled into itself in a tight shivering ball in the snow. It seems like a lost cause. A goner. His glower became confused and grim. What is such a young hatchling doing out here in a storm like this? He doesn't know much about dragons but he's learned one thing for sure- if there's a hatchling, then there has to be a mother nearby. Better leave. But..if that was truly the case, then this young wouldn't be here, freezing to death. Judging by its appearance, it has been out here for half a day or possibly two. Casting one wary look at his surroundings, the beast slowly crouched down in front of the curled dragon, placing two fingers on its neck where the artery is-- there was still pulse. It was weakening. Ingjald's expression became pensive as he lifts his head to look at the sky-- nightfall was approaching, the last faint sun rays slipping down the horizon. An internal conflict sparked, the hunter remaining where he is by the hatchling, spear clutched in his other hand. Dragons are enemies, stupid lizards that only know how to wreak havoc and destruction, feasting on his people. Yet somehow he can't bring himself to either leave it to its impending demise nor kill it right here and now to end its miseries. His grandfather's wise words come to his mind-- [i]The two were out on a hunt and had stumbled upon a injured dragon, still a fledgling. The teenager lifting his spear over his head to deliver a fatal blow, glaring at the reptile with burning hatred when a steady hand landed on his shoulder. "Don't take its life, Ingjald. Let it live out its days. " -- His grandfather had said calmly, with him reluctantly lowering his weapon looking at him inquisitive and questioning. He was even more baffled when the elder started treating the dragon's wounds, murmuring soothingly whenever it would try to move. --"Why are you helping it?" --"This dragon also has a soul like us, has a clan and family that it belongs to. Killing it not only would bring their wrath upon us, but also tear apart the family. Dragons, never forget. " [/i]- Those words rang throughout the now adult centaur's head, echoing and repeating themselves like a mantra or prayer. Even when he didn't wanted to hear the elder, his words had still stuck with him. His dark brown eyes hardened with,some odd kind of determination, as he focuses back on the hatchling and with great efforts, managed to sling it over his back like a deer- struggling to rise back on his hooves without tipping down himself and collapsing on his side under the weight or his 'cargo'. Once he was steady, the white maned beast began trekking his way through the snow, back home. Allthewhile dark thoughts swirled in his head but he never tore his eyes from his path nor wavered and faltered. The leaders would surely cast him out for this. He could tell. They would see him as a traitor to the herd, and exile him. They didn't tolerate his grandfather much, seeing him as a lunatic and a nuisance. He was being stupid- carrying around a half dead dragon home. But at least he would give it a chance to get better, by providing some sort of shelter. He could and would save a life. Yes, but for what? When he gets casted out and the sole thing he has left, is a yapping little rascal- what would he do with it? It is still a resource drain, a mouth to feed. He can't afford it by himself. Shade! It can't even be a pet! It's clearly sentient! All the dragons he's seen are sentient! They all speak in a language that he has no clue about, have cultures and even towns for crying out loud! Towns! For a moment, Ingjald wanted to just shrug off the hatchling that's dangling limply across his back and continue on like nothing happened. Or exile himself, just to end things on his own terms. He wouldn't have to watch the others' disgusted faces that way. Not that it would wound him much, but it certainly is a hassle and a nuisance alone that he would much prefer to get out of his way early on if possible. But he can't really sever ties on his own and,skip along his merry way that easily, can he? No, of course not. Just because he's severed ties with them and has gone incognito doesn't mean that they have done the same. In other words, the herd would eventually go looking for him. And that, would create a whole other issue. When he stirred,he felt the pleasant warmth of a dancing fire, the storm no longer howling so loudly in his ears. No more biting winds and freezing coats of snow. He can feel his limbs again and he lifted his tail a bit experimentally-- it wasn't numb! Joy blazed through his veins and Rubellite could feel great excitement, snapping his wind aligned eyes wide open and darting them around his new environment. This isn't his home. There's a fireplace and the walls are made of stone...is he in a house? Looking up, the wooden ceiling is high and the whole room looks so spacious! A Guardian can easily curl up! The youngster noticed that he's laying on a makeshift bed of pelts and furs in the far corner of the room, a figure sitting on a low bed in the other next to a window, the shutters closed to prevent snow from getting in. He carefully stands up, looking around more curiously before turning his attention back to the Beastclans member, watching him stoke and prod the fire to keep it burning with a specifically designed tool from a dark metal. He should be afraid. He knows he should, from the stories he's heard before being unceremoniously ushered on the auction house or orphanage with a name tag for new clans to read before deciding on whether or not to take him in. Now he remembers, why and how he was caught up in the blizzard. He hated it there, at these places. Bitter and angry at his clan for callously tossing him there- as if he's nothing more than a moth eaten doll! So he found a way to slip past the gates and escape into the wilderness where the storm caught him off guard and unprepared. The youngling's wide eyes shone with nothing but interest, admiration and awe as he stands there, gawking at the centaur as if he's looking at the Icewarden himself. For a split second Rubellite could see an angelic halo around the sardonic centaur's white maned head, glowing brightly but that, was all in his fantasy. In reality, there was no holy halo. His eyes sparked and he almost jumped when he noticed that those firm callous eyes were looking back quizzically, wordlessly asking what he's gaping at. The voice rumbling in the other's throat made the little dragon flap his wings, startled slightly. It was gruff baritone almost dipping down to bass but not quite, strained and calm in a sense. There wasn't real hostility in the beast's tone. "Took you long enough. Hungry?" The draconian was off, and bit broken, muddled with native accent that only served to make his words sound harsher and rougher. There was no ill intent. At the question, the hatchling remembered about his gnawing hunger and looked at his belly dejectedly then back up at his savior with big pleading eyes. Ingjald observed the dragonet for a moment, not smitten by the puppy eyes it turned to him, like a pitiful mutt. "Right. " --He stood up and began making his way toward the door, Rubellite hurriedly leaping out of his path and pranced happily after him, entering the kitchen where the hunter was already waiting at a long wooden table with a plate of fresh salad and a chicken leg. He still hasn't started eating it. The dragon could see something akin to a fridge in on corner of the room, at the end of the line of cabinets that line the wall of the left side, shelves mounted next to the cooling facility with drief herbs, grasses and other plants. Above the cabinets were pantries, keeping the cooking utensils in perfect order. He waddled to the open fridge and stopped, looking at the beast with pleading eyes, whimpering a little. "The fridge is right in front of you, isn't it? Serve yourself and take a seat." Simple as that. So Rubellite did as he was told, helping himself to a little bit of chicken and leaving the rest of the other meat untouched then hopped onto the bench at the table, digging in. It appears that his friend hasn't eaten earlier today himself, though the hatchling felt bit embarrassed as he watches the Beastclans member use his fork and knife to eat his dinner and then looks back at his own plate. He had gobbled down most of his own meal so, he just, awkwardly got off and got himself a fork, the feeling strange as he's never held anything like that in his claws and returned back to his seat. That night Rubellite was proud of himself after figuring out how to use the tools in his claws and could also eat properly. Little did he know that the centaur had quietly observed his movements, watching him walk to one of the cabinets and pick the utensils and walk back, from his peripheral vision and had surveyed him 'eat properly' for a moment? Out of the corner of his eyes, the young Wildclaw could swear he saw an amused, near fatherly grin on the beast's square face. He nearly choked on his dinner that night. Since then he stuck around with the lone man, helping out on hunts and what else when needed, even though the spearman wouldn't admit it. Since that night, Rubellite not once looked back. It was for the best, and on top of that, he liked being around Ingjald-- that's his name, that only recently he got to learn though he has come up with a (in his opinion) better nickname. Aristote, because he always seems so serious, and so deep in thought despite his roguish appearance and rough attitude. [right]Fin[/right] [Rule] [right]previous dragon || characters a-m n-z stories pt I || next dragon[/right]

[Right][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/2#post_44064784]previous dragon[/url] || [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2839073/1#post_43259105]characters a-m n-z stories pt I[/url] || next dragon [/right] [Rule] [right][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/624309/62430857.png[/img] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/62430857]Biography[/url] • Profile [/right] [Columns][item=brilliant brass torc][Nextcol][size=6][color=#fcbb23]Now with the band, together she sings[/size] Written by ShadowWyvern15 1,396 words [/Columns] [Color=#ff810a] Her voice is like that of a Siren- heavenly sweet and melodious, powerful and enchanting. Now the whole Zephyr knows them two and their little band as The wave charmers- a band of elegantly dressed singers and dancers, entertainers for their audience with having at least ten albums recorded and released out into the vast world throughout the years. But it wasn't easy when they first started. In fact if they knew, one would be quite surprised at the band's beginnings-- She still remembers, that night when she and Faunnus fled from their falling kingdom, leaving it far behind along with the Viridian labyrinth without a second glance back. And when they ran, they ran and flew all the way, to the breathtaking Blooming grove. Her king had stepped forward proudly, and she by his side as he announced their presence to the land, projecting his voice and making it ring loud for all inhabitants to hear: "O luscious Grove! Hear us! We have not come to rob this land of its beauty! We have arrived with sincere peace! We would like to perform for you, to entertain! Let us pass! Let us stay!" ---He had long sold his crown on the market while passing by the Delta, donating the gold he got to the village inhabitants residing in the desert village through which they passed as kind generosity. A fond smile graces her lips as the memory plays out, looking at her fellow dancers as they practice for the next show, their movements elegant and filled with charming grace as they curve and make carefully practiced gestures- extending their arms slowly and lifting them up. Zalia remembers, when these two ladies have joined them: The skydancer and the Coatl were right at the borders of the village, exiting and far away when a timid voice called out behind their backs, making the pair turn to look at the young Serthis ladies trying to catch up with excitement shining in their eyes-- Ksahas and Azera, they introduced themselves. "We heard that you are recruiting members to form a band, is that right?" Azera has asked, her friend piping up after her joyously, unable to contain her enthusiasm any more- "If so we like to join!" The royal duo stayed quiet for a moment surprised at that, then Faunnus grinned widely as he answers with equal enthusiasm their inquiries, throwing his arms out as if to hug them with his head pinions lifted up high. "Why yes! You ladies are more than welcomed to travel along with us! And, the misters over there? Yes, you! Do you happen to be interested in joining?" --he asked, the two young men who were trying to sneakily slink back to the village stopping in their tracks. They seemed hesitant, apparently not as enthusiastic as their companions who were looking at them with almost baited breaths. "Do you have musical hobbies or talents, gentlemen? Know how to organize events? Have knowledge over technology? "- Inquired helpfully the gleaming dragon, seeing their uncertainty. They exchanged looks between each other before one of them spoke uncertainly, quickly averting his clear blue eyes as he admits-- "Well, I have taught myself to play an instrument called Shamisen.." The former king beamed and clapped his hands, exclaiming encouragingly a delighted "Very well! Very well!", turning his eyes curiously to the other, interested in his response. -"..I can make smoke bombs for effect? Harmless." -"Splendid! And you ladies? Can you sing or dance?" -"Yes." It was a reply said confidently in unison. -"Well, ladies and gentlemen, here are coordinates to our practicing place, and the time of meetings. Swing by and show us your talents and abilities!" Since then the two have been gathering other members from all over Sornienth to bring out the most variety to their public. But returning the tape of memories back to the Blooming Grove where the band really started coming together with the addition of three new members.-- Not long after his words escaped his mouth, did a coy voice speak back from the foliage. --" My, boisterous promises you dragon made. Can you keep them, however, I wonder? But do, by any means, entertain us- we would like to see. " Zalia peers at the brushes and shrubs, spotting a small hoof in the shadows before a spotted faun emerged with a flute held in hands, warm colored eyes looking up at her and her husband playfully- a knowing grin on lips. Faunnus smiled friendly at him and spoke in answer just as mirthful- "Then, piper, play your finest tune and we shall display our skills before your eyes." -"Very well." -And he started playing, the music joly and just as playful and energetic as the musician, the king getting enraptured in it and allows the tune to guide him in his movements, swaying along with the rhythm hidden, occasionally clapping along at some points and clicking. Zalia soon joined in the magical performance, humming along and using her voice to amplify the power of the melody, soon other inhabitants steadily coming out to either watch intrigued the show or join in. Soon a Grove piper couldn't resist and started playing along, adding a distinct but not jarring sound to the music, while a dryad added a subtle beat. The whole Grove seemed to sing that day. When it all ended, and all else retreated, satisfied and rejuvenated from the glorious spectacle, only the two fauns remained along with their dryad comrade. "You perform well. We appreciate your performance." "It was our utmost honor and pleasure. Say, you two play quite skillfully, would you be interested in joining our musical band? And, what are your names? " -"Pan." -"Satyros. And we wouldn't mind. " For months after the band was completed by recruiting musical and vocal repertoires, only technical members were needed and few more organizers. Between travels to recruit new members, the very first members- Faunnus, Zalia, Pan, Satyros, Ksahas and Azera along with Adhes made a schedule for the different groups. Musicians have to arrive earlier in order to set up their equipment and practice before beginning to practice their songs for the upcoming performance, followed by dancers and singers. For months the group practiced and performed before they got noticed and brought on an official real stage for all of the world to listen and see them live. Long, tiring months with ups and downs- sometimes it would get especially frustrating and draining, everyone feeling like giving up and quitting but still keeping their hope that one day their hard work and consistency would pay off. And it did, and they all were more than happy. True even now, with being on a real stage, it gets frustrating every now and then, but as long as everyone keeps their hope and sticks together, whatever the goal is- no doubt they will reach it as a collective team. As a band. Zalia smiles tenderly as a faint melody reaches her ears, the distinct song of the shamisen and its player-- Adhes is practicing his part for the night, Pan playing his flute along with Pyra playing the drums in tandem, hitting along the harmonious rhythm. She smiles at her husband as he comes back from the other room where the other band members are practicing their own parts, and opens his mouth to speak but the Queen shushes him. The dragoness motions for him something and carefully steps towards the room where the music is coming from, silently opening the door a little so to not disturb them on accident and motions with her head, an elegant nod in their direction- [i]look[/i]. And there they were, caught up in their [url=https://youtu.be/eJwHKrFX0Zc]second song[/url], before the Serthis noticed them peeking through the crack and smiles then stops playing the current tune, motioning something to his fellow musician-- Zathul, the other serpent grinning as he understands and the two started playing a [url=https://youtu.be/MgN_xIHqLUA]different song[/url], calling out occasionally. Fast paced, playful, cheeky almost and exciting. The dragons smiling in acknowledgement. Meanwhile unbeknownst to them Arabur had taken out his technological gadget and was recording the whole thing, beaming from ear to ear while Thyzar, Pash and Kai had stopped to look at him questioningly on their way out for a break then sat down to listen when they saw what their brother and friend was recording.

[right]previous dragon || characters a-m n-z pt I || next dragon[/right] [Rule] [Columns] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/62557200][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/625573/62557200_350.png[/img][/url][Nextcol][font=calibri][Size=5][b][color=#hex]Otilmo[/color][/b]| [/size][Size=4]Sentry[/size] [b]Bio:[/b] Not really. || [b]Lore:[/b] Not really. [size=2]||[b] Jump to:[/b] Dangerous endeavor ||[/size] [Size=4]Representative Items: [Columns] [item=night flame] [Item=ghostly aura][Nextcol] [Item=haunting houndskull] [item=spellwrought halo][/Columns] Impulsive || Stubborn || Ambitious || Devoted to his goals || Doesn't think about himself || Shortsighted [/Columns] [Rule] × He knows that the ancestral spirits will not agree to his plan, and he knows that they have a good point. × Despite all that he can't let them merge and fuse with the spirit of his dear brother. He should hurry to separate them, get them out before its too late. × Tries necromancy, tricks Avisa and Latoth into guiding him to the tomes. And gains information about spirits that he utilizes later. × Knows of a legend about a Nocturne who could build bodies out of her surroundings and make them become real flesh for ghosts to inhabit × Knows of project Rebirth and the Imperial scientist's crazy shenanigans at the lab × Goes there, the spirits observing him warily. They can sense something bad is on his mind. × After gathering all the pieces he thinks he needs, the older Banescale brother does a very dangerous ritual and creates a huge complicated mess. × Wants to bring them all back for a second chance.

[Right]Previous Dragon || characters a-m n-z stories pt I || next Dragon[/right] [Rule] [Columns] [Item=night flame][Nextcol][Font=times new roman][Size=5][b]Dangerious endeavour[/b][/size] Written by ShadowWyvern15 2,841 words [Sub][I]Continuation of Ghostly misfortune [/i][nextcol][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/625573/62557200.png[/img][/Columns][Columns] [Rule] After exiting the forgotten shrine at the ruins, a week has passed since their last descend there with no more troublesome events taking place. Except for the weird twitching the younger Banescale would do at random intervals as if glitching. Not wanting to cause him anymore misfortunes- Otilmo decided to actually get his butt up off the floor and do something other than staring in one point on the paper walls. Obviously sulking around and sobbing all day in his room won't help the circumstances. So, the older, darker colored dragon- none the wiser- decided to go snooping around his clan and listen to any old legends they might have. Because that's exactly what detectives do in his mind. Of course his little innocent trip would eventually lead him back to the ruins. Otilmo hurriedly jumped up from his seat, as if a firecracker was set off and threw the door open, startling Regina who was just heading back to her own room next to his. The vibrant Guardian leaped back in surprise with one of her hands flying to her chest as she falls on her haunches- crystal clear blue eyes widened comically while her eye ridges were knitted down into a light scowl, her intricate shawl swooshing with her sharp movements, followed by the clanking of cups and the frightened flapping of wings. --"Otilmo! You almost gave me a heart attack!"- She scolds harshly, voice high pitched making the adolescent shrink in on himself with embarrassment slightly. --"S-sorry Regina! Didn't know you would be passing." -The bone adorned sentry apologized with sheepish grin then charged his tone, yelling a "Swing later!" as he maneuvers around her and slips into the clan's common room, leaving the tea shop keeper to gaze after him baffled. Otilmo races in a straight zip line across the spacious dormitory, not pausing to properly greet his fellow lairmates and yelling out a hurried hello to everyone instead along with apologies as others had to flatten themselves against the walls in order to let him pass through, looking after him puzzled. A fiery python skinned Skydancer was making his way toward the steppes, bright sunset colored wings folded closed. Next to him was a bit lighter colored male, the two talking amongst themselves when Otilmo shot past them- or most likely would have. If the first haven't glanced in his direction irritatibly and tripped him, watching smugly the Banescale that's about twice his size ungraciously crash with loud shriek. —"Yo wat up, shrimp? Where ya goin' so fast? Got mail to catch? " The grape eyed reptilian rose back on his feet, using his wings to push himself off the ground- spitting the dirt out of his mouth with a disgusted grimace. He turns his head to glare at the fighter unamused. —"[i]Oh Bugger off Vulcan.[/i] That's none of your business."- Otilmo spat unhappily then fully turned to face him, expression going back to normal as he quizzes—"You guys seen Jaqckana anywhere?" Vulcan shrugs his wings and shoulders nonchalantly in response. —"Dunno. Why?" The ancient eyes the sassy hooded skydancer skeptically with a mildly unimpressed look, the other quirking his eye ridges in disdain, looking rather indifferent. Apparently the pointed glare doesn't come across to him. —"Look, I don't have time for this- just tell me where she is, k?"- he says finally with an exasperated sigh, screwing his eyes shut. A big headache is coming up, and he hasn't even set his plans into motion yet. Eventually Ajax chimes in impatiently, sounding tired. —"You know the outpost? Yea? Well candle delights is there. Ja is most likely stuck there, or at the small town on the coast at Fire. " Otilmo's eyes brightened at that and he grins joyously, bowing his spiked head in a quick thankful bow, exclaiming: —"Sweet! Thanks Aja! See ya 'round!" The spotted Skydancer waves him off dismissively with casual smile. —"Don't mention it. " With that the ancient beast bounds off to resume his search, leaving the two brothers to their devices once again. Vulcan stares after the Bane ironically, muttering a distasteful—"Weirdo."—as he watches him run in the distance. Ajax rolls his eyes and continues on walking, dragging Vulcan along by the wing- "C'on you donkey, we got work to do." [center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][emoji=gloom tile size=1][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][/center] Unfortunately it turned out as he dreaded, the little booth vaccant as the owner is out in the buzzing town down at the coasts of the fire territory. Dragons and beastfolk passed by him without much of a backward glance, caught up in their busy schedules like bees. His face fell. [i]My, the trading post really is buzzing today...[/i] The Banescale muses to himself as he surveys them flit to and fro pensively before turning his eyes to the Tangled wood up north. He shivers as he feels multiple pairs of eyes on his back–some being intrigued gazes, others disapproving and silently judgemental whilst others were piting and sad or sympathetic. The eyes of the predeccessors watching warily restless. Still it has to be done. Otilmo shudders, chills running down his spine as two voices barely above a whisper speak to him. [i]...Don't do it child. You shall end like your brother. You will follow his fate?...[/i] It was difficult to discern which belongs to who but their concerned warning is clear, yet the ancient dragon pretends to be deaf to their words. Finally he leaps off the cliff and takes flight, the ghosts trailing after him like a shadow glued to his hide. During the flight he hears faint whispers echoing behind himself but hardly hears them, eyes fixated ahead...The sensation of a hand ghosting on his shoulder causes Otilmo to sharply snap out of his musings and pause midair as a translucent Mirror stands before him with faint white and black petals on her smooth skin. [i]"You can't reach the woods in a day, kid. Look–sun is leaving."[/i] True, Avisa is right, the sky has turned an inky blue. Had he left at evening? Flying out in the night isn't adviced and he looks down at the ground below his feet to see dots of bright bluish light. —"Are these more ghosts?" The ancient questions, nodding when someone answers. [i]"Lanterns."[/i] Who really is talking, he's stopped caring–too laser focused on his plan to separate his brother from the ghosts. His stomach grumbles. The older sentry ignores it, copiciously resuming his long flight over the water territory, thankful for being shadow aligned. [i]Something isn't right.[/i] The thought crosses his mind however got shunned back as well, the goal demanding and blinding. Meanwhile to avoid the gloomy silence, the Algecas' brother pipes up– asking questions to the only three spirits he knows the names of. Too many to remember. —"You know, I keep hearing on about some phantom Nocturne and a strange project." He begins absently, taking note of the shift in atmosphere and energies around him. Sardonic and interest. The banescale presses onward. —"Anyone can tell me about them?" His voice was barely audible, lowered enough for only the dead to hear. After a minute of quiet one of them finally responds, a new voice that Otilmo doesn't bother to describe in his head. [i]It's an old myth where once a pair of nocturnes used to delve into paranormal matters and magics. Their arts led to their demise and their family. One of their children could turn mud into flesh,and sticks and stones into bones–corpses long rotten back to starting phase where the body is whole. It's is believed that she also used to be a necromancer when alive, inviting ghosts to inhabbit the bodies she created or supposedly fixed. But such practice was taking away at her own life, corrupting her naive mind. Until she lost herself. [/i] Another, much deeper and rumbling continued on, changing the tale. It was the scientist whom had conducted the experiment. [i]"My observations could have been a majour breack in both necromancy and alchemy simultaneously, if allowed to develop to complete fruition. You see, I only wanted to give the poor man a second chance at life. [/i] Before the dragon–Otilmo assumes it to be a dragon because of how flawless the draconian is– he was cut off, speech dissolved into incoherent gurling and wheezing that unnerved the ancient reptallian. It got mixed into the cacaphony of haunting ghastly yells and hissing, equally difficult to understand. The sentry was certain that he would surely have nightmares. Apparently the others don't want to let him continue on, silencing him harshly. Too bad the skeletal Banescale already knows of the laboratory underground. He knows the rest of the story Bonsai was going to tell, like with the rest of the others. [center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][emoji=gloom tile size=1][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][/center] It took hours of wandering the tunnel maze but in the end he made it into the head scientist's office and the large chamber behind it. Otilmo stood at the tall mechanical door with the researchers' collective journal and heavy forbbiden tome cluthed to his chest, staring at the yellow and black caution tapes lining the sides of the rusty sliding gate. His heart was thundering in his ribcage,drowning out the ghosts. The banescale took a deep breath and flipped the journal to the last page, entering the code granting him access–then entered, the door sliding shut behind him. Inside, he flipped the switch next to the door and watched as the lights in the dusty vicinity flickered to life. It was completely bare, tall glass containers lining up the walls with cabbles strewn everywhere, forms floating within the tanks that seem vaguely familliar... Otilmo pauses in front of one of them and squints his eyes at the creature, inspecting it closely. The being inside the blue glass capsule-sheped tank eerily slowly rotated in the water, its face at last turning to face him– he flinches with a shrill alarmed shriek, backing up away from the container hurriedly until his back hits against glass. Jumping out of his skin, the dragon turns his head to look back sharply only to regret it immediately, the sight making the blood in his veins nearly still. Intense nausia grips at him as sheer horror gnaws at his heart. Oh gods! But those containers–he begins to realise with growing chilling dread–are not the only ones,there are more. The bodies...they're so many..! Mostly skeletons, but some were mummified and well preserved. The dark dragon leaped to his feet and bolted for the door, banging his wings against it, frantically looking for a machine to enter the code, eyes widening with terror as he sees it has been long since removed and replaced with a switch. He tried to move it up but soon found it was jammed. Magic. Dark corrupted magic was imbued into this very room. [i]Something is so horribly wrong. [/i] The place reeks of chemicals and death. But that was his least concern, for something, no [i]someone[/i] was watching him. It's not the spirits. It's far more sinister and wrong. And he feels it looming above him. Suddenly Bonsai became corporeal, materiallising from thin air, his towering form glowing as he stands before the largest two containers at the end of the room. Otilmo turns his head to face him with fear in his eyes. —"My dear! I am back! Come! Come to see me!" –the black striped Imperial booms triumphantly, maniacal grin on his lips, a slimey sound following his words as something climbs down from the ceiling. It looked like Serthis but something was off. His terror grew when a blade flew at his brother, a panicked shriek tearing itself from his throat as he threw himself at the younger dragon– knocking him to the side. Pain. He can't breathe, choking on his own blood as he tries to cry out for Algecas to watch out. He tried to get up and stop the scalpel from touching his sibling's throat. Otilmo was too weak. The ancient trainee could only watch with dispair. Bonsai was prepared with a scheme–directing his creation like a minnion to cast the spell. Luckily the Captain of the sunken ship was swift to parry and deflect it with her rusted cutlass. She must have snatched it from the old sanctuary on the way somehow. Everything was going so slowly...He watched as Avisa and a group of other dead necromancers formed a tight circle, the thick dusty tome flying out of Otilmo's bloodied wings, floating untill it stood in the center.. A counter spell was being chanted, one changing it to something different... The imperial convulsed sharply as a result, head popping off his neck and dangling like a broken spring toy whilst he lost shape with a shriek, instantly getting bound to his own creation of toxic chemical and old bones. It all became a horrible abomination. Voices fill his ears, someone barking out strict orders, others arguing and protesting, some remaining pensively quiet as they observe the debate. He notices how most looked saddened and sympathetic, empty glowing eyes directed at him. The ancient reptillian weakly lifts his head and turns around to face the withering amalgamation, gaze flicking around. His lids felt awfully heavy..it was due to the rapid bloodloss, the crimson liquid sticky against his skin. [Color=#6B7AA9][i]"There is no other way...it has to be done. Ferox? Can you press that button there?"[/i][/color] One of the many voices mutters gloomily, another– more squeaky and high-pitched yelps in worried disbelieving protest. It belongs to a white colored Rideback with reddish tylacine stipes, dresed in some kind of jester or clown attire, hugging his mate with his eyes wide. [Color=#5AB2BA][i]"But Avisa! We can't just?!" [/i][/color] An airy and authoritative feminine voice speaks, tone firm and strained. Otilmo turns his gaze to look at a taller, more imposing in appearance Ridgeback clad in ornament purple sage clothing, the shawl obscuring her eyes. But her chapped lips were taut like the rest of her body. In the circle stood another, bronze filligree cascading down her blood red skin, similar clothes. [Color=#8B678B][i]"Necromancer Avisa, I am afraid is right. All alternative exits are blocked out."[/i][/color] The Mirror nods to her in thanks and confirmation, Ferox directing his gaze to the elder Ridgeback, pleading. Desperation laced his voice, making it crack. For a second Otilmo idly wonders just how many Ridgebacks this clan had. [Color=#5AB2BA][i]"H-head priestess E-Eya! [b]P-please![/b] You don't also agree with Waraye and A-A-Avisa...right?"[/i][/color] The elder dragoness does not reply, only lowering her head. The black spotted lady in the jester's arms gently touches his wing, a wan understanding look in her dark royal purple eyes as her mate gasps and slumps down in defeat. The performer hiccups, stammering out a quiet "I can't do it." Avisa turns her gaze to the other spirits. Even Anduin and Nasar were quiet, solemnly watching the scene from their place in the corner alongside Rarszozs and Shercei. She raises her voice as she addresses the two warriors, giving them the directions and watching them give a tense nod in response before setting on carrying them out dutifully. He vaguely heard her murmur a faint "I'm sorry kiddos...", blinking up at her questioningly. Sorry for what? The sentry notices Latoth standing nearby. —"Why...why is sh-he...appologising..?" He inquires, or rather chokes out as much as he could manage, feeling his limbs grow even weaker than before. The former assasin winces at his garbled speaking, regarding him with a sorrowful gaze before casting his eyes to the side. A harsh voice answers his question instead and the ancient's eyes immediately dart to where the veteran was leaning against one of the glass containers with his arms crossed, eyes closed and bushy brows creased in a crotchety scowl. [Color=#C45238]—"They're gonna blow up the place, kid. This is it–game over for ya." [/color] He hears him mutter a sour, or rather bitter "lucky bas?ar?s" under his breath. It didn't make sense as to what exactly about dying in a explosion underground is lucky. A cold yet familliar body curls by his side, their head resting on his shoulder tiredly. Al. Otilmo lowers down, sitting on his haunches and envelops his younger brother in a hug. Tears were flowing down his cheeks like waterfalls, emotions clashing. Al, the only person who brings joy to him... The snake pipes up once again, voice uncharacteristically listless and faint, it was almost like he was talking or murmuring to himself. [Color=#C45238]"Ya know..I'm kinda envious of ya two morons. ..I...never got to see Anüng again. Not even after my death." [/color] Oh. Now his morose words make more sense, assuming this Anüng guy is his brother. Welp, that's a shame, Otilmo guesses. Honestly..maybe it won't be so bad after all. The distant echoes of a countdown informs him that all will soon finally come to an end. Both will be long gone before the timer hits zero. [center]. . . . . . 10... The failed experiment wails and thrashes about the vicinity, smashing all of its limbs into the containers and banging its tail on the stone floor. Somehow the thought of getting potentially hit or mauled didn't seem as scary as it did hours ago. Or maybe minutes. Who cares? He's exhausted and just wants to sleep. 9... It has gotten so quiet here...It's almost eerie. Otilmo happily accepts the silence hanging between them all. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift to slumber.. Al doesn't budge. 8... 7... 6... 5.. As the timer ticks down closer and closer, the ghosts of the ancestors grimly watching the number change and the flashing red lights, a memory plays out in the dragons' mind. 4.. [i]...They were always curious about the planes invisible to the living. Every time the elders spoke of the three realms and retold the story of the past, the two never missed the opportunity to ask questions related to them. They were so young at the time, their seemingly innocent childish interest appearing rather morbid in the eyes of their older lairmates. But the progenitors weren't fazed, well not Bloodclaw at least. "There are realms invisible to us living, where the passed away go according to their deeds commited during their days on Sornienth. The Land of the resting, where most spirits dwel, the eternal battlefield...there they go for punished. They are forced to relive their fears, death and fight until their soul tires out and they forever fade.. The higher one goes, the more difficult it becomes to bring them back." –the chieftess explains calmly with a fond smile, as if telling a bedtime story instead of worlds inhabitted by ghosts. Yet the young ancients hung on her every word with wide innocent eyes and baited breaths.[/i] 3.. [i]"What does a spirit look like??" The two inquire in almost perfect unison, the elderly dragoness chuckling at their curiousity. "They bear scars of their deaths. A ghost never ages like a mortal..." [/i] 2. [i]A young soul always appears youthful, even when they had assumed a much older form of themselves, whereas an older spirit would seem slightly older. Most young spirits have much to still learn, so they have the option to move on or be reborn to live again until their lesson is learned. An old soul only has to move to the other side. They have learned what they need. There is nothing more to linger for. Usually...[/i] 1.. [b][i]BOOOM[/i][/b] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img][emoji=gloom tile size=1][img]https://i.postimg.cc/ZnjS9ckX/1596113968079.png[/img] To be continued....

[Columns][item=expertly-crafted spear] [Color=transparent]=[/color][Size=4][Font=times new roman][color=#A0522D]B O O K XXII [Color=transparent]====[/color][Font=times new roman][size=2][color=#CD853F]Prehistory [Nextcol] [Font=times new roman][color=A9A9A9]During one of her many hunts for her herd, Raivoisa caught glimpse of bright shining feathers. When she challenged the mysterious intruder, the huntress didn't expect to begin falling in love with him. Yet she did. And so a fierce new warrior was born into the world- mischievous as her father and feisty as her mother, a skilled fighter whom was named Kaleise. A beacon of hope and a tiny bundle of joy for Raivoisa's beastly family. The young one was taught the ways of a Centaur and combat alongside hunting and tarot card reading in between spars.[/Columns] ------- [center][Size=6][Font=times new roman]Chapter I[/font][/Size][Size=5] Unusual hunt, mysterious intruder... [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/511108/51110766_350.png[/img][/center] The air is humid and the sun is glaring angrily down at the dry meadow of tall glass, the stalks swaying leisurely in the weak breeze- crunching softly under the clawed feet of a silent hunter prowling unsuspecting prey. The Lightweaver looking down idly from her spot high within the Beacon of Radiant eye. The dragon pauses, arcane pink eyes locked onto the silver-laced rooster and other meandering wildlife nearby in the clearing. A herd of deer catches her attention and she mentally calculates the distance while tightening the grasp around the ebony spear in her other hand. Not too far out of reach. After spending years travelling along with the herd of centaurs that steadily became her family, Raivoisa has gradually taken to using bows, arrows and a trusty spear as a means of hunting, improving as she practices. She has come to learn that sometimes just chasing her prey isn't going to do the trick, so the raptor adapted quickly. One took a step forward, ears perked in alert whilst standing completely still, its left eye facing her direction- the others blissfully grazing. A quick glance to her side and a smile appeared on her snout as she licks her lips in anticipation, listening to the very faint sound of strings drawing back and taking aim. Her hunting comrades are close, ever so carefully closing in on the deer with her advancing in tandem and matching patience. Only the lake two meters behind the herd is burbling from time to time. And behind, around the lake, is a small forest of pine trees with yellowing leaves. If the herd notices them and runs into the cornucopia, they can count themselves unfortunate. And starving. Slowly, the runed Wildclaw and her fellow hunters advance on their prey a little more, steadily closing the gap between them and reading their weapons. This is only the beginning of their hunting. After that each will break off into small trios or pairs to find more and cover more territory, hunt, scavenge and scout around the perimeter- run back to 'base' or camp to warn the rest of the possible threats. If any of the pairs spot anything or anyone potentially dangerous. It's a bit quirky strategy that the Veiðimaður herd has developed. They are well within both much more comfortable firing range and leaping range now, waiting for the prey to relax completely before attacking. The reptilian begins to feel her patience run thin and a displeased hiss bubbling up her throat but suppresses it determinedly. They're so close, she's not going to ruin everything. Not now. The deer graze calmly on the stems of dried grass, body language relaxed. Still, the stagg, the leader of the herd- he's not lowering his caution and guard as easily as the elks he watches over. But he's in no position to prevent the inevitable. He seems weak, though his long and branching prongs speak of peak strength and health. One more tiny, careful, measured step. Nigidya, her oak long bow drawn- the arrow already positioned and aimed at one of the animals' head- lets go, releasing it. The first arrow, the signal to attack. After that five more shots follow, cutting through the still air and injuring some of the deer who scatter startled. The very first that was targeted dropping on the ground, others limping hastily away but in futile attempt with Dawa and Eldur giving chase relentlessly, the sole thing the poor wounded animals see before their swift demise being the metallic shine of the two centaurs' spears. The Wildclaw joins in on the chasing, leaping at the first deer that crossed her field of vision and knocking it down, cutting its throat easily and leaving it for another hunter to drag it away back 'home'. Or to the spot where everyone gathers their catch. Out of ten deers, five to six were successful catches with four managing to escape narrowly- only one giving out and spraining its its ankle in its desperate rush to not be left alone. Thus ending as another victim. So seven deers in the bag in total. An unusually fortunate hunt. But that's not enough for roughly thirty or so people to feed. The dragon is snatched out from her reveries by a playful happy voice, the Beastclans member patting her on the shoulder sympathetically and she grins at them in kind. "Great job, Raivoisa. With your help we'll be all set for the upcoming weeks in no time, eh?" She nods her head with a shake, her feathers swaying with her movement then makes a pleased clicking noise with her teeth- playfully shoving at the other by butting them with her left wing. A real bummer really, to be still unable to speak any language after all this time. Still, her body language, eyes, expressions and actions speak much louder to them. And her energy alone is enough for them to tell her mood. So they language isn't much of a barrier. Besides, she may be unable to speak, but she can perfectly understand what they say. Another teammate quips teasingly, feigning offense as they question- "Only the dragon's help? What about us, mate? Are you saying we can't get things done?" A painted centaur warrior, his fur having big black spots and smaller white ones with white fading at his feet, his eyes a near white blue color. Ah yes, Irutan, ever the sarcastic teasing type. Light-footed, agile and with remarkable durability. His recurve maplewood bow slung across his chest as he stands calmly, his catch dangling over his back. The younger fellow turns to flash him a cheeky smile in response while trying to defend himself from the leathery wing batting at him. "What did ya do? You barely did any damage to 'em, had Dawa and Eldur to take them down. You only shot a couple of arrows." He teases back, earning a dubious look from the older hunter. Their little exchange was cut off however by the bowman in question who was calling out for everyone to return to checkpoint where a group is waiting to transport the hunt back camp. So second hunt will begin. Couple minutes later the female is walking briskly through the tall stalks of grass, briefly casting her eyes up at the sun to determine that afternoon would be lolling into evening. In other words they don't have a lot of time to waste. The forest should provide more food. Raivoisa looks over her shoulder behind to see her companion trotting after her. Poor gal isn't very fast and is tiring out quickly. Kind of a runt of the herd. But she certainly does make up for it with good strength and long distance accuracy. Turning back to the path, she snifs the air and pauses, wings spreading out a little, toe claws hitting against the soil a few times rapidly as she stares out into the woods suspiciously with her eyes narrowed. Not beast. Not at all, the scent carrying over the wind hinting at the intruder not even being one of her own breed. Raivoisa sniffs once again, a deep menacing growl vibrating through her throat while she stomps forward with tail lashing, ignoring the concerned calls of her companion to wait up. With a ferocious roar she charges right in, whooshing past the trees and jumping over fallen logs and other obstacles like rocks and twigs. Whoever this idiot is, they've made a huge mistake coming on hunting territory. And the dragoness will absolutely make sure they pay for it. Soon a glimpse of bright shimmering feathers catches her eye and she pivoted to the right after it, chasing the darn thing that keeps bouncing and taunting her as the other dragon seems to be ahead of her whenever she turns- right round the corner. With another frustrated hiss she turns another corner sharply, almost smashing against a nearby tree in doing so. This time she saw a curled carapace tail and the back of the intruder. With a huff the huntress speeds up to catch up with the Coatl only to abruptly hit the brakes and dig her feet firmly into the soil, almost falling forward as a result. What was she thinking? She has to go back to her herd. Now. They're probably worried sick about her. So, the dragon watches the other reptilian skip away through the trees and disappear out of sight like smoke. She snaps back to reality and slowly turns her body around to backtrack her steps and return to her family before night catches her. One question was temptingly swirling and twirling in her mind the whole run back, that was soon joined by another question equally tempting and then another, all revolving around the same stranger. [i]Who is he? From where is he? Will I cross paths with him again?[/i] Thoughts of the mysterious intruder spun and danced, bugged her mind. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh at that more, or stomp down a tree in frustration. These damned things were seriously getting in her way! And are driving her crazy! Somehow, between the confusion and ire, laid curiosity and hope. Hope that the questions would be answered.

[Columns][item=expertly-crafted spear] [Color=transparent]=[/color][Size=4][Font=times new roman][color=#A0522D]B O O K XXII [Color=transparent]====[/color][Font=times new roman][size=2][color=#CD853F]Prehistory [Nextcol] [Font=times new roman][color=A9A9A9]During one of her many hunts for her herd, Raivoisa caught glimpse of bright shining feathers. When she challenged the mysterious intruder, the huntress didn't expect to begin falling in love with him. Yet she did. And so a fierce new warrior was born into the world- mischievous as her father and feisty as her mother, a skilled fighter whom was named Kaleise. A beacon of hope and a tiny bundle of joy for Raivoisa's beastly family. The young one was taught the ways of a Centaur and combat alongside hunting and tarot card reading in between spars.[/Columns] ------- ------ [Center][Size=6][Font=times new roman] Chapter II[/size] [size=5]Around the campfire, new dawn- looking for you[/size][/center] When she arrived back into the grassy clearing, the sun was long below the horizon, the deep blue night sky blinking with countless stars. Raivoisa grimaced, pulling her lips back and exposing her sharp teeth a little as she looks around worriedly. Tonight, is a moonless night. A chilly wind blows, ruffling up her purple head pinions and making her shiver at the cool, fluttering her eyes shut for a second before snapping them open again. Voices. She's not alone. The grayish dragon stands on high alert, standing straighter on her strong legs with her head lifted up, straining her hearing. Blurs of warm orange hues move to and fro, some closer than others, the glow of torches. And with the flames familiar voices echo, some making a specific call while others call her name. Her head whips in the lights' direction, squinting her gaze at the faint outline of the wandering figures on the other side of the lake. One of them stands out in the darkness: A bowman- her coat pristine white with a subtle grayish-blue tint and reddish-brown cow spots, the torchlight reflecting off of her plated armor. There's a black star shaped marking on her forehead. Features that Raivoisa can't mistake. Dawa. A few meters to her side is another individual the dragon would recognize from miles-Alfarin. He's part of the harvesting team, charismatic and kind natured, he and his family had volunteered to take her under their wing after she was first introduced to the centaur herd. Auleria and Hraffun are nowhere in sight,however. For the best, they're still children. Too young to permitted to leave camp. The Wildclaw cringes-she was out for too long and they got worried. [i]Well, of course, they would get worried! Talona knows what could happen to anyone while alone! It wouldn't make sense if none of them weren't. [/i] Mentally scolds herself Raivoisa as she watches the torches move for a moment, subconsciously counting them and who is who. Dawa, Alfarin, Eldur, Tauru and Irutan- five people. With a bold step toward the searching party, the huntress opens her jaws and emits a deep barking cry akin to that of a steller's sea eagle that catches their attention, ears perked up. So she did it again whilst quickly approaching the light closest to her. A specific voice shouting her name not too far away drew her, belonging to Irutan-his black and white coat tinged warm orange from the torchlight as he looks around the woods. "Raivoisa? Where are you?" When Irutan turned his head to scan around the forest, he was met with the sight of a dragon running right in his direction, still making the same call- racing through the trees and nearly tackled him. It looks like she found them. He was seriously beginning to fear for the worst. It wasn't uncommon for Raivoisa to bolt into a direction and disappear for long periods of time due to having gotten lost- especially in wooded areas. So he was really relieved when the reptilian showed up, stopping right on time before she could knock him off balance, opting for wrapping her wings around his torso instead then drawing back quickly. ---"What are you doing here?" The beastly individual questions apprehensive, his on his torch tight while looking the other hunter over for injuries, resisting the urge to sigh when he saw nothing. She seems alright. At his question, the female lowers her chin, averting her eyes to her clawed feet in guilt. The centaur glances back at the others, then returns his blue eyes back to the winged creature in a wordless motion for her to come along back to the group- stepping back and turning around with the dragon following closely as they begin to walk towards the others. ---"Dawa, I found her!"- The white manned hunter calls out, the creature in question chirping in confirmation, both receiving an answering call back in response from the team leader. ---"Bring her over, we will travel back camp!" The walk back to campsite was mostly quiet, the Beastclans members sauntering as a group with the bowman leading and the feathered dragon walking in step, flanked by two others- Tauru and Irutan on each side while Alfarin walked a little ahead. Looking up, Raivoisa saw dark stormy clouds leisurely gathering overhead, threatening to pour rain down on the land. The other members also noticed and hurried their walk, owls and other nightly birds shrieking from treetops while crickets sung their songs in the tranquil atmosphere- droplets of rain pattering and trying to smother the flames. Good thing they were close. Over the small hill and through the old ruins of Hewn city outskirts, where a dragon's foot rarely sets, burbles and pops a comforting campfire- sitting innocently a little ways before a small 'village' of tents, the 'residents' settled around the dancing embers. Some were talking animatedly about their gathering and others listened, nodding occasionally or piping up to ask questions, or add something to the easily flowing conversation. And some preferring to stay in their tents, watching the rain pour outside or are already asleep. The group exchanged greetings with the ones gathered around the fire, receiving the same gesture in kind. Dawa was already drained from the day's endeavors and adventures, so she excused herself and retreated into her own shelter in the back. Her husband chose to stick around for a little bit, see how everyone's doing before having to call quits for the night. Raivoisa stood and watched him quietly. The painted centaur casually makes his way towards the other herd members already settled down, looking for a free spot for a second but finding none. --"Scoot aside folks, this ole man gotta lay down his tired bones. Mind if I join ye in te natter fer a wee?" He says in a friendly easygoing manner, the closest obliging. A few people piped up playfully, eyes shining with mirth as they answer. -"Sure thing, ol' man. Nigidya, move to the side, will ya?" -Said one voice, nudging said member lightly, making her move a little bit with displeased halfhearted grumbles. -"Hey! You ain't old! What is this nonsense?"- asked another to the left, the owner scowling in confusion as they peer up at him. -"Friya, move over a smidge, you're nearly sitting in my lap." Huffed another feminine one, sounding strained and slightly peeved, earning an awkward 'sorry..' in reply, the other younger beast fixing her position. It wasn't difficult for the chat to resume once again after the newcomer has settled and was attentively listening, joining in from time to time. A light nudge snapped the dragoness out of her thoughts, causing her to turn her head to the one centaur left standing beside her with a bemused expression, becoming even more baffled by the simple smile that was offered. -"What are you standing like an outcast,Rai? Do you want to sit by the fire?" It was Irutan. The runed reptilian smiled back weakly then shook her head in answer, chirping quietly. To be honest, it's been a long day and she's fairly gassed out. Maybe she'll hang out tomorrow night. Her friend observed her body language shook his head subtly in return, grin still fond as he murmurs a soft 'okay.' It was both cute and silly. In a sense. After a second of silence she pats his shoulder with one clawed hand, careful not to nick him, even though she knows he wouldn't mind, and heads toward one of the tents. Morning comes and she's risen with the sun, before everyone else. They would wake soon. Her wings flared to their full span and her joints popping loudly as she stretches, jaws opened wide in a careless yawn. Today, she can explore a bit and- Raivoisa's idle planning was interrupted by the sight of a draconian silhouette standing amidst the lake, floating above it with their legs tucked into a lotus position, hands resting on knees calmly. Slowly and cautiously, the adult female stalks her way through the tall glass, sneaking silently closer towards the seemingly unsuspecting male meditating, studying his features. The stranger's face is mostly obscured by a clay white mask, polished and topped off with a complex headpiece with horns curved like those of a bull, a gleaming purple oval gem resting between them snugly while three ribbons hang from the sides of the headdress, more odd gems dangling from their ends. A matted blue shawl hugging his back like a mantle, paired with a matching pair of pants...or maybe shorts? Both having some kind of oriental pattern on them. And yet she could still see the translucent flesh of his stomach and throat, filled with a glittering brownish liquid.. What is that? Blood? Acids? Poison? Something else? The rest of his exposed skin is a deep pink and carapace, and long bright feathers on each side of the other dragon's head being lowered down. A sign of calmness. The Wildclaw narrows her eyes at him as she further inspects him, not being aware that he's watching her curiously from under the mask, his tarot cards drifting around his form lazily in a loopy circle. A minute pass, then one more. A warm fluttering sensation spurs within the huntress' chest, a realization drawing on her mind as he seems weirdly familiar. As if they've already met. And then it clicked- this is the Coatl that she was trying to chase yesterday! Her arcane pink eyes widened at the notion and she almost yelped startled when the other dragon finally spoke up, voice dreamy and soft. -"A curious huntress I see, yes, hellow." Raivoisa waves a hand in greetings without making a sound, the other's emotions totally unknown to her, hidden well under the phantom mask. It makes her wonder why he wears it, what happened to him, what element he is aligned with...somehow there's a different feel about him. Like he isn't really a dragon like she first thought perceived him to be. It's just that, now that she's close enough to clearly survey his movements... They're awfully stiff and..mechanic, unnatural, inorganic. [i]Robotic.[/i] A very quiet low whirring noise can be heard whenever the dragon, no, thing, moves any of its joints. A static buzz faintly fills his voice, giving it a more...automatic sound. What's even crazier is that it also sounds convincingly like that of any other normal dragon, thus utterly bewildering the Wildclaw. So, this creature is both a robot and a dragon, huh? All of these key tiny little details are incredibly easy to miss unless one is really,really, really looking for them. Otherwise it looks more than convincing. The creature cocks its head to the side. -"What is your name, dear lady? Allow me to guess. Raivoisa, is it, yes?" Another thing that puzzles her. Why does pretty much every sentence of his end with a 'yes' exactly? What is he confirming all the time and to whom? More importantly, how does he know her name??! She doesn't remember having the chance to properly talk with this fellow, let alone say her name. And here he is, already knowing it. Stunned, the huntress nods. Because what else can she really do? She's stumped and kind of at a loss of words. The cards drift towards her and circle around her frame, the shadowy magic reaching out and making her senses tingle before looping back to the dragon-robot-thing. Three hovered in front of his snout and the rest of the cards neatly stacked themselves flatly against...nothing. It's like there's an invisible table or something on which they set themselves but no, it's just thin air. And the card deck is floating flat. -[i]"Your past..it appears to be refusing to reveal itself. Your present, is humble and intriguing...yes,yes..quite curious."[/i] The Coatl frowns at the third card that he plucks slowly from midair, inspecting it for a very long moment, the energies around him making Raivoisa feel uneasy and restless. -[i]"Your future..it is against you and the souls whom you hold most dear. True, a ray of joy shall shine, but..a great storm looms overhead, shall smother the ray...tragic. Tragic. None can stall nor delay or evade. Tower is upright, warning of the disaster arising..."[/i] His tone holds sympathy and sadness as he speaks, his words making the runed dragon's blood suddenly run cold. So why the warning? What's the point if nothing can be done about this disaster? ---------

[Rule] [right]previous dragon || characters a-m n-z • stories pt I || next dragon[/right] ------- [Columns] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/30779398][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/307794/30779398_350.png[/img][/url] [Nextcol][font=calibri][Size=6] Bloodclaw[/size]| [Size=5][i]Progenitor[/i][/size] [b]Bio[/b]: No | [b]Lore?[/b] No?? Yes?? [b]Jump to lore:[/b] None? Yet? [img]https://www1.flightrising.com/static/cms/familiar/art/16260.png[/img] Familiar: 'Anhell' [/Columns] × Honestly I hardly even remember much of her actual lore. I mean, she's mentioned in the chronicles a.k.a clan history, but I don't think I actually had any ideas for her. Now that I think about it. × But the few key things that have struck with me lore wise is that she's really ferocious and savagely, and has quite often been seen as a villain and a cruel vicious thing. And that she's absolute trash in the Coliseum, like she literally keeps getting her butt kicked in the Scorched forest! I remember being really frustrated and impatient with her until eventually just deciding to leave her. × I think that she had more of a tribe rather than a real clan. So anyway, doesn't fancy Beastclans of any kind regardless of how friendly or hostile they are. × Is a really cranky grandma who keeps judging beastfolk for supposedly bringing the Curse. Nobody knows where she comes from exactly other than the Arcane flight. × Her mate is the only one trying to keep her civil and gets embarrassed whenever she would crack a particularly nasty comment and winces. Though her sons were probably both fierce and less offensive in behavior. ------- [i]× Has a serious bone to pick with Seraph, that's understandable considering their history- the Ridgeback literally took her family from her. She will never forget that. She's back and everyone is cringing internally, don't really want to be around her for longer than absolutely necessary. But she's changed, feels a little lonely. [/i] For future lore!! --------------------

[right]|| characters a-m n-z • stories pt I || next dragon[/right] [Rule] [Columns][item=pronghorn hunter][nextcol][size=6][font=times new roman][color=#74442C]Hunter prince,eldest son[/size] [Size=4][color=#A86340]Written by ShadowWyvern15[/size] [Size=2]Words[nextcol][right][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30915431][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/309155/30915431.png[/img][/url][/right][/columns] [Center][font=times new roman][color=#A17159] ...Darkness and warmth surrounds all around, strong magical energies softly rocking the sticky walls curled, enveloping him in a protective soothing embrace. Sleepyness drapes like a blanket but the desire, urge and instinct to break free of the straining walls calls stronger–more insistent. Curious he listens, kicking and shoving at the slippery confides untill one of his paws finally punches a hole in the curved thin walls... He yelps as clear blue abruptly enters his view, after a blinding light. But the urge still persistently demands to continue. With his other paw, he punches another hole, knocking off the gap between the two holes clumsily and grapples at the cool air flowing from outside. He can breathe. A soft murmur and a low rumbling makes him poke his tiny, sludge-covered head, chirping weakly in response to the melody. They are very warm...he's getting cold. And he finally opens his four mauve colored eyes, a world of colors and temperatures greeting him and overwhelming the newly hatched. So many smells, things! A startled yip escapes the brown skinned dragonet as he slips on the slime of his egg and falls out, flapping his little wings in vain, closing his eyes as horror stabs his heart. He's going to crash and die! The hit never came– instead two hands catch him, holding his small frame with a firm but tender grip without squeezing his belly, two larger bright yellow wings steadily lowering him down until his little hind paws touch the grass. He opens his eyes cautiously to be met with the sight of a dark Mirror leaning over him, pink eyes gazing down at him lovingly, a somewhat familliar scent... Has he seen this kind of smell before? Her presence feels calming, patronizing and welcomed. Something is telling him that she is here to keep him safe, that she is a friend instead of enemy. A fond purring chuckle vibrates in Bloodclaw's throat as she lowers her head, sniffing the young Mirror before nuzzling it with her snout, the hatchling doing the same. Greytail glides down, walking toward his mate and child while keeping a close eye on the other two eggs in the nest still suspended in the air. And the stumbling serpenta foal that was clumsily making its way to them. Soon the sound of cracking informs him of the hatching of the other two eggs.. The Fae gently rests one hand on his love's shoulder, looking up fondly with hardly restrained happiness. This is a memorable moment, a miracle. He couldn't help the way his arcane aligned eyes welled up with hot tears of pure joy and affection as he whispers quietly with a shaky voice: —"Look, love. They are leaving their shells..our, children. I can't!" –the shcolar chokes out between sniffles, unable to suppress his emotions and breaks down into joyful sobs while hugging his son and wife. This is the happiest day in his entire life! A faint amused laugh slips from the fiery winged dragoness, finding her husband's crying rather funny. She can't really blame him, honestly, the little rascals are adorable. The Arcanist has trully blessed them generously with such an incredible miracle. [i]A day to forever remember. [/i] —"Thereh, thereh. It is ok." –Bloodclaw reassures, voice tinged with barely contained mirth, gingerly patting the smaller dragon on the back whilst observing her familliar playing with her newborn son. A tiny finned hickory head pokes out of the round purple egg, dangling upside down–crests flared up and hands gripping at the shell's wall. The youngster inquisitively rotated its head on it long neck, eyes darting everywhere in interest, making the mother chuckle. It seems like it's more content with surveying the world around it from the egg rather than coming down to greet the other two squabbling and playfully wrestling on the ground below. Anhell is actively participating as well, until the pair of magenta eyes caused him to turn his feathered head up. The foal stomps over on wobbly long legs, standing under the floating egg and curiously looking at the secondborne, craning his thin neck upward but unable to reach. The terracotta winged Fae turns around and cranes her neck to look down at the scarlet serpenta, staring it dead in the eyes for a good minute, reaching out with one hand and...slapping the creature on the nose, albeit unintentionally. It was endearing and entertaining to watch, the serpenta recoiling its neck from the impact and backing up with a slightly displeased hiss. Having calmed down,the father was fondly watching his children before turning to look at his daughter, turning to his mate? —"What do you think we should call them?" She shrugs her pointy shoulders in answer, offering a simple honest reply. —"Somethinh memorahble,easy on defining thinhs." The banna winged reptillian raises one greyish crest whilst lowering the other in question, turning his big rounded eyes to her, offering a set of name options that the other dismisses. —"Cinamus, Saletum and Hickarya?" His love turns her head, shooting him an incredulous quizzical look then scowls lightly in distaste as she shoots down the options dourly. —"[i]What?[/i] No. Don't want to summonh theh Shade on accidenh when talkinh to my chilhdren." —"Then what?" –Grey inquires softly, observing Anhell, crests flaring up in anxiety when he watches him saunter toward the egg and his daughter. The smug answer Blood gives him makes him swivel his head sharply to look up at her incredulous. —"Darkskull, Crimsonwing and Browncrest." He creases his eye ridges together a bit in a bemused frown, stammering out meekly in protest. —"But dear! Our youngest son doesn't [i]have[/i] brown crests at all!" The last plain response from his beloved just confused him even more, failing to comprehend her train of logic. —"Thaht's exactly what will be memorahble. Theh reversed names." The mother looks down at her two sons only for her smile to fade a little when she doesn't see them where they were mere minutes ago. A hiss from her familliar and a duet of cheerful yips made her look up to see the two younger Mirrors standing on Anhell's back, readying to leap.. Nope, not gonna let this happen. With an unimpressed sounding snort, Bloodclaw rose up from her sitting position and calmly strides to her heirs, intent on stopping them before the two could do something stupid. The darker brown crested male was standing up on his hind legs, arms and wings stretched out in attempt to grab onto the egg's shell, his brother trying to climb over him, kicking and pressing him in the process. Both whining in displeasure when their mother picks them up by the scruff of their necks and places them back down, turning to her third child and doing the same– lowering the little one on the grass.

[Columns] [Item=ceremonial scythe] [size=1][center][Font=times new roman] Fall of the Tainted shadows -------- [Nextcol][Size=3][font=cursive]The day the now adult Serthis feared most came, leaving him scrambling frantically for resources and hasty attempts to help his developing clan. For years he's heard of the Curse and never believed the elders still left alive from previous generations, thinking their words to be old fables..until it came for him. It struck out of nowhere, leaving him to watch in horror helplessly and powerless as the thing he once thought to be a myth devours all. And he wasn't spared, for whilst fighting vigorously to save his people from the lethal illness, Arryon himself was also grappling desperately for his own life- warring with the virus on his own with weakening efforts. -------- [Nextcol] [item=sharpened scythe] [Color=transparent]===[/color][Size=4][Font=times new roman]Chapter I [Color=transparent]===[/color][Size=2][Font=times new roman]Bedridden ------- [/Columns] [center][Size=4][Font=times new roman]June 13th, [Size=2][Font=times new roman]year 1313 [/center] [Font=cursive][Size=4] [Left][Font=cursive][Size=4][b]13/06/Nighttime Entry 100 [/b][/left] [Center][Font=cursive][Size=4][i]"It was peaceful. For a very long time. We genuinely thought that everything is at long last, finally over once and for all, after all the years spent developing rituals and techniques to stop the cruel virus... We thought that we are safe...How,laughably [u]wrong[/u] we were, and how naive to believe this. Turns out ,it was all just mere calm before a storm- one that none of us will ever forget. Right when we least expected it, the damned Curse rose out of nowhere- claiming life after another mercilessly, still does. ...I never thought that the elders were right when warning me, describing what horrors had transpired in the past...When Bloodflame, whilst he was still alive, warned me of the Curse's return and the devastation it will bring...I didn't believe him, thought his prophecy to be yet another fable. When Pfezhaseph told me the exact same prophecy, her bad feeling that great danger it looming above us, I dismissed it as a joke- a silly strange coincidence. Now I see what Nassar, Daenerys and many others have been speaking of. And it's both terrifying and frustrating. As of writing this, I'm stuck in the infirmary with a..an IV machine stuck in my right arm. I have been loosing fluids at concerning speed...But I will get out soon and continue with my work. I have to! I cannot just lay around and do nothing! It irritates me, to be here in a hospital, utterly useless while my people are suffering. Earlier this day I tried to "weasel my way out" how the healers put it, but it didn't work. So I wasn't allowed to get up, even when I expressed that I feel no pain and that I am in pristine condition with just a few scratches. All I got was an unimpressed look from Atasna, and medicine. I really meant it! Well, okay, my head hurts every now and then but that's nothing! Really! To top it all off she assigned Thymeth to keep an eye on me! Ridiculous! Well..it's late. Write tomorrow. [/font] Arryon heaves one last drawn out sigh, gasping for air and wrinkles his lips into a displeased grimace, eyebrows furrowing together and eyes screwed shut as the action sends a sharp stab of pain through his chest. Like someone quickly slashes at it with a blade. At this rate he might have to use a breathing mask. His throat is parched and he grits his teeth tightly as a strip of skin begins to peel away on his left shoulder. He fears that he might run out of time before he could tell Herzea anything...His love and partner. They've been together for about two years, although none of the clan members know that..There are many things he hasn't told them. She's about his age, or maybe a year older, a friend of Henna's. The Serthis stiffens and pauses, stubbornly refusing to make a peep even though more and more strips follow slowly, different patches of his body darkened. He forces himself to open his eyes again and look around, still grimacing. The infirmary was packed to the brim with patients, the medics rushing to and fro and trying their utmost best to save them. Most ended up being added to the morgue, as Atasna noted grimly when one of her colleagues informed her. What she told him scares him to no end: Almost half, if not all of the clan populus is either already in the intensive care ward or is rapidly going there as the disease progresses. It didn't help when some of the staff got too squamish and called in sick as a stupid excuse to not come. Thankfully most of her team has enough sense to not follow their example and stayed to help, and, with all the masks- he might have thought that someone has decided to set a masquerade in the hospital for some reason. If, the predicament hadn't required them. From what Elias has said,the Gray mists are hurriedly running one experiment on resurrection and revival after another, praying for whatever deity out there listening, for this to not escalate even further than it is already as of the moment. Arryon looks down at his tail solemnly,and let his eyes close once again. Lyth and her children were the first to fall, followed by Solaryh and his siblings along with Regal and many others. It's a pity that Atasna can hardly be of help physically, only able to guide them with wisdom and knowledge as a spirit. She's really thankful to Latoth for channeling her, will definitely find a way to thank the boy...She can certainly imagine to be quite intrusive having another take hold of your body while you yourself are left floating. Her time is running out. The clan is steadily dying out..Yet Avisa is still trying to find a way to stop it. Stop the virus...Her research did yield some results but the means that the necromancer used to get to these particular results are dark. How does he know? Henna has ran into her few weeks ago and found out, informed him a day later. The chief shakes his head lightly. He would be lying if he says that he hasn't seen it coming from a mile away, that Mirror was never one to give up. Not even with the steaks rised high to the ceiling and higher. Even when her sisters and brother were still alive she still chased vehemently after the Curse, scoured all of the clan libraries and sections on history of clans prior, scientist records...restricted,forbidden, available for the public- all of them. Not a single historical tome and record was left unred. But in the process of her vigorous research to find the answers and unravel the secret, she not once took notice of her surroundings, never noticed the passing of her siblings. Far too engulfed in her relentless pursuit. It's been a month since the incident in Raff circus, where Verian was heavily injured. Still coma,in the far northern wing of the intensive ward. Couple of weeks after he and Sabine departed, their journey over. Glancing to his right, he catches glimpse of a silhouette sitting on guard by his side dutifully. The centaur hasn't budged to go anywhere, aside from the occasional quick trips to the restroom located down the hallway and around a corner, or whenever asked to bring something. He looks to be still awake, and, miserable. "You look miserable, Tym." The serpentine leader remarks, dead-panning,making the other look up from the spear in his large hands with a slightly confused look before snorting with humourless laughter. "So do you, mate. That beard of yours is seriously threatening to reach your tail." The brown eyed beast remarks back, tone a little more playful and teasing, cracking a goofy smile that simply lifted the oppressive atmosphere. That's better. "Looks like both of us are in dire need of shaving our growing beards,huh?" He jokes back, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. "Heh,you bet. It's a wee late, need help?" Ah. That. Looking down at the cannula taped to his hand, the serpent swishes his tail awkwardly, pausing for a second before answering hesitantly. "I..wouldn't mind." With a casual grin Tymeth stands up from his spot on the tiled floor and walks over to his side, reaching for the mechanism to lower the top part of the hospital bed. He tensed when his chocolate brown eyes caught sight of the peeling skin strips. "I'm gonna get a doc. Will come back." The former guesthouse and defense counselor says sternly, leaving no room for arguments or protests as he steps back and marches out the door- deaf to the leader's calls. -----------[/center][Columns] [Font=cursive][Size=4] The sickness continues to rampage, the clan elites stoically holding off the advances of roguish bandits and other hostile enemies while the rest scramble for survival. But you may be wondering- Why are you seeing these events unfold through the lens of the chief? Why are you as the reader, walking by his side and watching things from his perspective? Well, to better tell the unfurling story. As the chapter goes, the perspective changes as different characters take the stage with the ones who were once main, perhaps becoming secondary and vice versa. After all, history,is a long story itself- isn't it? And while the Chronicles give a more distant, detached view...this book tries to aim for the opposite. Furthermore, I'm the lore master here and I have full control and power over how something is told in this book. And I just so happen to much enjoy telling tales than detached records. If you wish to listen to the clan historians- go to the chronicles. However, if you also enjoy listening to my storytelling, stick around for the next chapter- it would be a pleasure for me to reveal it. Either way, I sincerely hope that you enjoy the experience. [Br][B]---Wyvern of shadows [emoji=shadow rune size=1][Nextcol][item=haunting houndskull] [Item=scary storybook] [Item=stardust sap lamp]