Creative Corner

[center]----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]Issyt's Journal: The Lifespan of a Gaoler[/size][size=3] Level 0 Clearance Documentation, Open Documentation[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/68381906][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/683820/68381906_350.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Mius[/b][/indent] The Gaoler! A fantastical, furred dragon that was once only heard of in myth. These large powerhouses originated in the Southern Icefield as the Icewarden's first children, and the Southern Icefield remains their breed's stronghold. As I spend time here in Frosthome with my brother Issyt, I decided to chronicle some of my musings, starting off with the lifespan of a Gaoler. You see, Gaolers are long-lived beings. A whelp only reaches physical maturity at eight years of age, and may be treated as a whelp for as long as seventeen years since their hatching. Below, I will make note of what I regard as the most important stages of development for a Gaoler, though like any other dragon breed, childhood is wholly important and should not be regarded as a checklist of milestones. [u]Hatchling: 0 Days - 2 Week[/u] At this stage, a Gaoler hatchling is helpless and entirely reliant upon their primary caregivers, which is normally their parents or singular parent. They are unable to see, hear, walk, and do other necessary things; as a pseudo-mammalian breed, they will require milk. They lack teeth but fascinatingly do not lack horns or claws. [u]Cub: 4 Weeks - 10 Months[/u] A Gaoler cub is quite similar to the youngsters of other breeds; they are rambunctious, eager to learn and have a simple zest for life that cannot be understated. They are able to walk, have begun and will finish teething, and have their full senses available to them. This is the age when Gaolers learn to speak, and this is lovingly referred to as their "bumper car stage" due to how they hold their short tails high in the air. [u]Fledgling: 1 Year - 2.5 Years[/u] This is the point when other breeds would learn to fly and perhaps pursue standardized education; I cannot speak to what Gaolers in other regions do, but I can assure you that the Gaolers of Frosthome use this age to prepare their fledglings to leave the nest, so to speak. Fledglings will seek out bonds with dragons outside of their immediate family, and will be asked what they want to be when they grow up. Physically, fledglings are still hundreds of kilograms away from their adult size but sport a thick winter coat and sizable mane. Their tail will have grown considerably, and they are beginning to grow into their large paws. A fledgling Gaoler, if smart and determined enough, is now old enough to be self-sufficient. [u]Whelp: 4 Years - 8 Years[/u] A Gaoler Whelp is much like an adult Gaoler, except smaller and less experienced. In Frosthome, a whelp will likely be living with their mentor full-time and spends very little time with their blood family; they are in training to prepare for their adult Order, which is very unlike the familial structures I've witnessed in other regions. While a Gaoler is fully physically mature by eight years, they will called and treated as a whelp until fifteen years of age; some may even be referred to as a whelp until their seventeenth year. This is possibly in reference to their lacking world knowledge, or simply a reminder of hierarchy. Physically, a whelp will sport a large, thick mane like their adult counterpart and will begin growing longer antlers. They will have a long tail and, if not for their small size, could be mistaken for an adult Gaoler. -----

[center]----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]Issyt's Journal: The Lifespan of an Imperial[/size][size=3] Level 0 Clearance Documentation, Open Documentation[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/68381908][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/683820/68381908_350.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Issyt[/b][/indent] The Lightweaver's first child, the Imperial! These beings of raw magic and might are a beautiful example of primordial energy meeting modern magic. They originated in the Lightbeam Ruins, and spread throughout the continents on vast wings. My brother, Mius, took it upon himself to begin writing entries into my journal. It's no issue! I like his ideas, and I will join him in chronicling. Imperials are known for aging in drastic and unpredictable ways, but after interviewing many of the imperials who live in Sector 42 I have begun to put together a rough overview of how they age. It centers around mental maturity in later stages, which I find very fascinating! [u]Hatchling: 0 Days - 5 Months[/u] At this stage, an Imperial hatchling is utterly helpless and dependent on its primary caretakers for survival. Some Imperials will grow out of this phase in as little as a week, while others may linger in this helpless phase for as long as eight months. Their caretakers will keep any Imperial hatchlings far from their home clan as a precaution. At this stage, Imperial hatchlings lack horns, claws, teeth and cannot see or hear yet. They require a steady stream of magic from their caretakers in lieu of physical food. [u]Brat: 5 Months - 3 Years[/u] Imperial Hatchlings reach the Brat stage typically around 5 months, though some may graduate from Hatchlings much earlier or much later. They are similar to youngsters of other breeds, and enjoy making trouble and exploring. Physically, these hatchlings are nearing the size of an adult Coatl and can weigh nearly 3000 pounds! Some Brats may grow incredibly fast, but will continue to be considered Brats until they are at least three years old and have mentally matured. Brats will learn to walk, speak, and will begin and finish teething. They are now able to digest physical food and no longer need a constant supply of magic from their caretakers to survive. They will begin growing longer tails and awkward mohawks that will turn into manes later in life; they will also begin growing horns, but these will likely not be full racks of antlers yet. Their caretakers may begin introducing them to their clan, and begin teaching their Brat how to harness magic. [u]Fledgling: 3 Years - 10 Years[/u] An Imperial Fledgling is now considered mentally and physically capable of taking care of themselves. Now they are learning to fly, pursuing standardized education, seeking out friendships and building a social circle. This is also a common age when the Fledgling may be exiled from their home clan, and are forced to find a new home. I know why Imperials do this, but to me as a Veilspun, it seems counterproductive to throw out mere children into the cold of the Southern Icefield. Fledglings are still a while away from true adult maturity, but some may have reached full physical maturity already and will tower over other dragons. They will have full antlers, full manes and their wings will likely no longer grow beyond this stage. In such a state of personal turmoil, many Fledglings become bullies and pick fights they think they can win, and usually don't. They are adequate flyers, though they lack the grace of experience. It's not uncommon to see small groups of Imperial Fledglings traveling together, either as childhood friends or clutchmates. [u]Whelp: 11 Years - 60 Years[/u] No Imperial can call itself a true adult until it reaches sixty years of age, so at this strange in-between phase many scholars simply call them Whelps. This is the stage when an Imperial finds a new, permanent home for itself and may pursue romantic inclinations; but as an Imperial Whelp lacks true emotional maturity, most of these romantic relationships fail. I would recommend against dating an Imperial Whelp, both for moral reasons and to avoid the heartbreak of a messy breakup. Imperial Whelps may find a profession, seek higher education, busy themselves with politics or even seek Exaltation. During this period, any late bloomers will reach full physical maturity and all Whelps will feel their magical abilities increase as they grow. -----

[center][item=Battered Book of Fables][item=Old Emptied Nest][item=Chimera Fangs] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]Emperor's Rest[/size][size=3] Level 5 Clearance Documentation, For Sentinel Use Only[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/70349068][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/703491/70349068_350.png[/img][/url][/center] [columns][color=transparent]xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/67894949][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/678950/67894949.png[/img][/url][nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/67894947][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/678950/67894947.png[/img][/url][nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/67894948][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/678950/67894948.png[/img][/url][/columns] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Fei[/b][/indent] Sector 42 is unlike any other place in the world. Namely, for the utter obliviousness of the populace; Fei would think any other highly populated area would be tearing itself apart with panic due to the random patches of too-much magic and areas of sparse, almost choking absences of magic. She flits through an empty valley, clipboard held tight in her claws as she observes a herd of Arctic Hippalectryons trot through the frigid snow. It is early autumn in the rest of the world, so therefore the mountainous regions of the Southern Icefield are celebrating an early harvest as they race to collect what can be collected before the snow freezes the crops entirely. From the air, Fei does not feel the tremor, but she sees the Hippalectryons kick up and begin to bolt across the field. She flies higher, not wanting to be the unwitting prey of a nearby wolf pack, but there is no predator racing from the tree line; there is only another tremor, and Fei witnesses the far-away trees shake and drop snow from their needles. Then, she hears it; a keening call, of three overlapping voices. Fei has witnessed the utter ruin of the Emperor's Wake, and she nearly drops out of the sky from fright. It surely couldn't be an Emperor, it surely couldn't be another Luminax; she'd been told this place was a disaster zone on the best of days, but an Emperor? Surely not... She needs to investigate. Sector 42 is her responsibility, yes, but an Emperor roaming the Southern Icefield? That took priority over everything. Fei flies forward, buoying her wings by grabbing fistfuls of magic to create a gust of wind for her to fly in. Fei reaches the tree line in an instant, and then begins soaring through the empty forests whilst dodging falling snow as the ground quakes. And then she sees it. There is no way to describe the Emperor as anything but an Emperor. Icy bodies, clearly of the same kin and likely from the same [i]clutch[/i], melt together into a monstrosity. It roars a keening call, the three blue eyes locked upon her; it scratches at its prison, and keens again, low and mournful. Fei has no question of the beast's mindlessness; it is starving, it is trapped, and it is undead. Fei is a Fae, and she has suffered endless jokes about her name, questions about her ability to serve the Icewarden, and eventual uneasy respect when she earned her first set of Blessings, then her second set of Blessings, then her third. In her long, harrowing life, she has never felt small. But now, now she felt small. Compared to the beast that could easily block out the sun - from underneath the avalanche of snow, ice, rock and trees, the Emperor's wings looked [i]intact[/i] - Fei felt so, so small. [b]"By the Icewarden,"[/b] Her words a mere whisper, Fei landed atop a tree and looked down at the Emperor. It was contained for now, but what happens when spring melts the snow trapping it? And who was powerful enough to kill three imperials, yet stupid enough to bury them together? She needs to figure this out, and she needs to warn Frosthome, Sleetstorm, the Fortress of Ends-- everyone! She needs to send messages to the other Flights to inform them of a second impending disaster. Fei turns and flees, her movements erratic as the monster howls in hunger behind her. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Lucdaiel[/b][/indent] They are hungry, they are trapped, and the little bird that'd nearly come close enough for brother-Siel to snap out of the air had flown away. Luc twists his only free limb, a forepaw, and scratches at the snow; he is so, so hungry, and he can feel his brother's hunger in their stomach's growling. Why has nobody come to help them? Why? Luc recalls going to sleep, and waking up to the horror of being trapped in an avalanche. Brother-Dafel keens louder, and Luc pressed his head into Dafel's neck to feel the vibrations; it is the only sensation that is not the sharpness of pain or the stabbing of hunger. Something walks out of the trees. She is smaller than them, and brother-Siel reaches forward to snap with his jaws in hunger. Brother-Dafel grabs brother-Siel by his mane and yanks him away, because brother-Dafel recognizes the something from the trees. Luc tilts his head, and rests it on the snow to observe the thing. It is moving, and it looks like a juicy caribou, or maybe even a Hippalectryon because-- yes, it has wings. Beautiful feathered wings. The Hippalectryon is small and so close but brother-Dafel waits eagerly, and so Luc does too. The little thing steps closer, and drops a twitching goat on the ground from its jaws. Brother-Siel is the fastest, and darts forward to snap up the goat and purrs with appreciation. The Hippalectryon leaves, and returns quickly with another animal that twitches and sometimes tries to stand to flee, but is never fast enough to escape the three hungry brothers. They do not decide when the Hippalectryon stops bringing food, but soon it does and brother-Dafel lays his head on the ground and the Hippalectryon steps forward to lay a claw on brother-Dafel's snout and his face drips with black tar. There is a looming sense of wrongness, and Luc whips his head up and snaps his jaws at the Hippalectryon, forcing it to leap backwards so it doesn't lose a wing to his teeth. There is something wrong with them, this Hippalectryon did something to brother-Dafel! Brother-Siel is angry too, and roars with renewed hunger and frustration. They claw at their prison with intensity, losing sight of the creature. They must've moved too much, because the mountain quaked and more snow, rock, and torn-up trees barrel down the mountainside, washing over their trapped bodies and freezing them to their core. Luc cannot raise his head now, the snow weighs too heavy on his neck. The Hippalectryon returns, watches them for what could've been eternity, and then leaves. -----

[center][item=Clay Fertility Statue][item=Rotting Leather][item=Stone Fertility Statue] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]The Apple and the Tree[/size][size=3] Level 3 Clearance Documentation, For Keeper and Higher Use Only[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/63945862][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/639459/63945862_350.png[/img][/url] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60400926][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/604010/60400926.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Eurydice[/b][/indent] It wakes to the throbbing hum of fire in its veins and the scent of family around it. Eurydice, named by its Mother but not by its Creator, opens bleary eyes to observe the world around it in quiet contemplation. It is inside, in a cave of some kind, and it is surrounded by dragons. There is a bat-like dragon with crystals inside her chest; a swamp-like Wildclaw; a Mirror with things that glow strapped to her hide; a gigantic Imperial adorned with goggles. Lastly, there is a dark-furred Gaoler with gnarled horns that watched it with blue eyes. Eurydice hears the calls, the whimpers and whispers of the Shade, lurking behind the stone walls that entrap it and it keens softly. The dragons draw nearer, and Eurydice bats its ragged wings and twists away, trying to escape. Something stops it, a chain wrapped around its right leg that attaches to a bolt in the floor. Eurydice leans down to bite at the cold metal, but its teeth are not strong enough to gnaw through the chain links. [b]"Ah, hello? Hello!"[/b] One of the dragons is speaking, snapping her talons in front of Eurydice's face. It recoils, teeth bared as it looks down at crystal-chest-bat-dragon. [b]"Can you understand me?"[/b] There is no reply, only silence. Eurydice has only ever spoken to Mother, to Harbinger and Herald. Eurydice wants Harbinger-Mother, it wants Mother. It asked Creator and Mayor and Others-Much-Better for Mother ever since she was taken away, but they never brought back Mother and it knew that more demands would be met with what Herald identified as pain. [b]"Hm,"[/b] The bat-dragon seemed upset with its silence, and it crooned sadly in response. [b]"I hope they weren't too badly damaged in the fight,"[/b] [b]"It took what it took to keep the creature down,"[/b] The dark-furred Gaoler snapped, and Eurydice cowered just a bit. The Not-Gaolers who smelt like ash and could not speak were good playmates, but Real-Gaolers were mean and violent and vile; Mayor said they had no emotions, mere automata worse than itself and the other Not-Dragons. [b]"If they're unable to communicate, we can't ask it questions about the rest of the Shadebound,"[/b] The Mirror snapped, and Eurydice perked up, shifting its spines slightly. It tilted its head, and pressed its wings close to its body. [b]"C-c-can ta-tal-talk,"[/b] Eurydice struggled over the words, its throat still feeling frozen and wrong. The room went quiet, and it prepared itself for the sensation known as pain but none came. The bat-dragon's eyes lit up in an emotion Eurydice couldn't place, and soon more words were filling the small space. [b]"You [i]can[/i] talk!?" "--Incredible discovery--" "--Mimicking, or does it have a proper vocabulary?"[/b] It stood to its full height, feeling more confident at the happiness of the dragons around it. [b]"Ca-can talk!"[/b] It reiterated, and the buzz in the air seemed to decrease at the words. Eurydice tilted its head, trying to figure out how words made the dragons happy, but the same words made them upset. [b]"Can you say anything but those words?"[/b] The Wildclaw coaxed, and Eurydice nodded vigorously. [b]"C-can say ma-ma-many words,"[/b] Eurydice puffed out its chest, muscles rattling inside its oil-slick body. [b]"Mother tau-taught many words,"[/b] [b]"We have so many questions for you,"[/b] The Imperial spoke with a rumbling, eager tone. Eurydice could answer questions, many questions! It let out a soft chirp for the dragons to continue, feeling fuzzy and light with so much positive attention. [b]"The Shadebound, do you know where they are?"[/b] The Gaoler questioned, and Eurydice paused to think. They were with the Avatar, right? They must all still be with the avatar... [b]"With the Avatar, the Consumer, the Shade,"[/b] It responded, and the Gaoler huffed. [b]"In the forest, where very dark. Why not here? Family here, can feel family here,"[/b] Eurydice raised their head, drinking in the presence of the Shade held back by stone and flesh and bone. [b]"That's what we want to know too,"[/b] The Mirror was quick to respond, nearly tripping over her words. [b]"They should be here, with their Family like you said, yes? We want to bring them here, but you need to help us bring them here,"[/b] Bring them here? Bring the Avatar, the Creator, the Mayor, the Others-Much-Better and the Not-Dragons? Eurydice keened at the thought, wanting nothing more than to surround itself with Family. It nodded, eager to bring the Others-Much-Better and the Not-Dragons into this wonderful place with the Not-Unkind-Dragons. [b]"Eurydice will help!"[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Niranye[/b][/indent] [b]"She's a child, Celozon,"[/b] Niranye was furious at the gaoler in front of her, not for her own imprisonment but-- but for this. Eurydice is a child, she might be a Shade Construct but she was barely a [i]yearling[/i] and Celozon was ready to use her. [b]"Head Keeper Celozon,"[/b] The gaoler growled, while shifting through the mess of paperwork he'd been working on when Niranye stormed into his office. Along with Salenor, Niranye had access to most of Sleetstorm and was free to wander as she liked because the guards knew they had no desire to leave the safety the prison gave them. [b]"It's cruel--" "It's necessary, prisoner. She is the only lead we have on potentially finding the Shadebound, and must I explain why that's an important venture to you?"[/b] Celozon fixed her with a glare, and Niranye wilted a bit under his gaze. [b]"Surely there must be another way, one that doesn't involve putting her at risk,"[/b] Niranye fretted and began to pace in Celozon's cramped office. She longed to stretch her wings and fly, but there was little room to do so in the subterranean complex of Sleetstorm. [b]"We use her, or we use you or the former Reeve. There is no-one else that Mayor Abran would risk herself trying to rescue; I'd much prefer to use the thing that isn't a dragon in the first place,"[/b] Celozon gruffly explained, and Niranye keened, high and distressed. Sal would never risk himself; he was terrified of Mayor Abran, and Eurydice truly didn't know what she was getting herself into.. [b]"Use me, I volunteer,"[/b] Niranye said, pausing her pacing to stare down the Keeper. [b]"It'll be better bait, since me and Abran knew each other personally,"[/b] Celozon contemplated her offer, and Niranye could practically see the cogs turning in the old gaoler's brain. He sighed and stood up, setting his paperwork down and not bothering to tidy his space. [b]"I'll speak to the Warden and the Council and give them your offer, but I can't guarantee they'll let you take the Shade Construct's place,"[/b] [b]"Thank you, Head Keeper. If there's anything I can do to help my daughter, I'll do it,"[/b] -----

[center][item=Mangled Zeeba Carcass][item=Omen Seeker][item=Shredded Rambra Carcass] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]Blackbird Season[/size][size=3] [s]Level 5 Clearance Documentation, For Sentinel Use Only[/s] Level 7 Clearance Documentation, for Exalted Use Only[/font][/center] [columns][color=transparent]xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/67160930][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/671610/67160930.png[/img][/url][nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/70349068][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/703491/70349068.png[/img][/url][/columns] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Dominic[/b][/indent] There is little else like the feeling of the Shade. Truly, if Dominic were a poet, he would be able to put to words the unique feeling of controlled chaos flowing through his veins, the true inevitability of [i]disarray[/i]. But Dominic is a hunter, not a poet - unlike that putrid Plague Wildclaw, Iorkir - and his purpose is to hunt. Today, he is hunting blackbirds. A sharp whistle brings Lavrenti to his side, the hound-like Pearlcatcher construct obeying his every command with exhaustless focus. Dominic commands Lavrenti to stay by his side, and he sets out from camp to track his prey. The forests are dipping into fall, though the winds have turned icily cold; Dominic shares Abran's distaste for the Icewarden's domain, feeling nothing but contempt for the cold and the chains his lands created. The guardian longed for the endless sands of his home, but for now his master had urged him to help Abran. The forests are open, eerily so. There is little movement, but the woods are alive with the scent of creatures gouging themselves on the last of the warm season's bounties before winter forced them into hibernation and starvation again. It took a mere hour for Dominic to find the first sign of his quarry; a few shed, black feathers. Dominic picks them up, holding the inky feathers up to the sky and examining them closely. They are far too large to be from a normal blackbird, which excites the guardian more than anything else. Yes, a truly magnificent hunt this would be. He called Lavrenti to him and the construct sniffed at the feather, whimpering in barely contained eagerness. [b]"Find it, girl,"[/b] Dominic commanded, and the construct took off; wings flapping eagerly as she took to the sky, following the scent. Dominic stayed on the ground, hesitant to announce his presence by taking flight; no, he would wait for Lavrenti to find his quarry first. The snow is cold and wet as he wades through it, the draconic magic that thawed the frozen landscape not extending so far into the wilderness. He thanks the Shade silently that Abran hadn't insisted on camping deeper into the mountains, because he was loathe to imagine how he'd handle the snow if it came up higher than his elbows. It takes little time for him to hear the baying of Lavrenti, the construct barking and howling; Dominic then took to the air, the wind catching his four wings with barely a stumble as he soared out of the forest. Above the canopy, the glare of the snow was almost blinding; yet still he saw in the sky, a blackbird and his hound. Magic swirled around the blackbird as it flew higher and higher, trying to strike down his hound that dripped with golden ichor from a dozen wounds. Dominic is a skilled hunter, and no skilled hunter would ignore the necessity of using a bow while airborne. He drew the bow quickly, notching an arrow and letting it loose with mere moments to aim. The arrow nearly struck true, but the blackbird sent a blast of frost magic to knock the arrow away at the last second. There is something exhilarating about that; his prey, so small and outnumbered, still fights. He notches and shoots another arrow, this time clipping one of the blackbird's many flapping wings and sending the bird on a fatal dive towards the canopy below. Dominic presses his wings to his sides and dives after it, intent on not letting the bird escape through the branches; a flick of his powerful limbs is enough to break through the twiggy canopy, and he slams into the ground and sends a wave of snow to all sides. The blackbird is nowhere to be seen; he blinked, and it disappeared. A lesser hunter may give up, but Dominic simply waits and keeps his eyes on Lavrenti as she dives below the canopy, slamming against the ground in her rush to race to one of the twisting cedars. Dominic approaches his excited hound as Lavrenti's claws tear at the frozen dirt and roots underneath the tree, the construct whining and slavering. [b]"Good girl,"[/b] Dominic pats the hound and Lavrenti merely whimpers more, desperate to find the blackbird and shake the animal until it's reduced to unmoving meat. Magic slams into Lavrenti's chest, sending the hound flying across the forest and slamming into the ground, dazed. Dominic draws his bow, backing away from the cedar roots where the blackbird hid and wove its magic; he notched an arrow and aimed at the spot where the magic had came from, and waited. There is something to be said of the Icewarden's magic. The Shade is disarray, meaning turned into meaninglessness, whereas the Icewarden is order, meaninglessness contained and given meaning. As Dominic watches, shards of ice begin shooting up from the ground around the roots, much like smaller versions of the iceberg-like structures near the Fortress of Ends. The guardian pauses, waiting for something to happen, and then a shard of ice shoots out of the snow and into his stomach. The pain is like nothing he's ever felt before; the burn of frostbite that sets in immediately in his punctured hide, the warmth of blood compared to the numb cold, there is nothing like it. Dominic tries to move, but his limbs are heavy and his grip loosens on his bow, his weapon falling to the ground and nearly disappearing into the snow. He manages to draw back, shattering the ice shard and stumbling away from the blackbird that crawled out of the roots of the cedar. Just in time for Lavrenti to leap from behind a tree, her jaws snapping down onto the blackbird's tiny body. The construct shook the bird, who cried out and slammed spell after spell into Lavrenti's hide, ichor flying and staining the area, until the bird fell silent. [b]"Such a good girl,"[/b] Dominic croaked, fishing for his bow in the snow and hooking it onto his belt. He approached his loyal hound, and Lavrenti presented the bird with a self-satisfied wiggle. He reached down, pressing a single talon against the blackbird's throat; a pulse still exists in the little bird's body, but it's thoroughly knocked out. [b]"Give the birdie to me,"[/b] Dominic commanded, and Lavrenti dropped the blackbird into his waiting hands. He cradled the many-winged bird to his chest, trying and failing to ignore the sharp hum of magic just underneath the blackbird's hide. He lifted a small, pale wing that was nearly hidden by her darker wings; the feathers felt soft and precious, perfect for arrows or pillow filling. [b]"I hope Abran lets me have you, birdie. She wants a songbird, but you're worth so much more than a few songs,"[/b] Dominic murmured to his prey as he began the slow task of limping back to camp. -----

[center][item=Contaminated Featherback Pelt][item=Discarded Nest Material][item=Cracked Blackened Ribcage] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]The Red Guard[/size][size=3] Level 5 Clearance Documentation, For Sentinel Use Only[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/73419738][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/734198/73419738_350.png[/img][/url] [columns][color=transparent]xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[/color][nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/74080739][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/740808/74080739.png[/img][/url][nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/73827417][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/738275/73827417.png[/img][/url][nextcol][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/71479610][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/714797/71479610.png[/img][/url][/columns][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Tymora[/b][/indent] There is a visitor coming today. The Blue Scout can smell her on the wind; she smells of ash and sulfur, an ugly mix that suits the beast that will soon darken their doorstep. The Imperial picks his way through the snowy landscape, growling all the way; to the Windsinger, for blessing him with a lean body suited for sustained flight that meant he shivered in the endless cold of the Southern Icefield, and to his Red Guard for calling upon him as winter continued to set in, as Tymora himself prepared to settle down and clutch. He takes to the air, gilded scales glinting in the moonlight; the sun will soon set for many months, on the day of the Winter Solstice. It is soon and Tymora's body aches for his mate, his beautiful Talos, because the best season to raise new hatchlings is when the Icewarden cannot see through the eternal darkness of winter. Reaching the Accursed Vista takes little time, and as Tymora settles down he lifts his eyes to see himself surrounded by dragons; so many imperials stand, and Tymora shakes off the instinctual panic of the possibility of an Emperor being created. There is no need to worry, not with the sharp-eyed Calypso amongst the crowd, ready to burn any fallen allies if the need arises. [b]"My Scout, what did you learn?"[/b] The Red Guard steps out of the shadows, his hide sparkling like someone ripped a piece out of the night sky itself and formed a gargantuan imperial. Tymora bows, his fluttering thoughts quieted immediately upon the sight of his King. [b]"Our visitor is an imperial, or perhaps once was an imperial. She is unlike anything I have seen before; not truly a dragon,"[/b] Tymora reports, without lifting his head from his deep bow. His chest presses against the snow, the cold seeping through his scales and into his muscles, flesh, and bone. [b]"Does she wish us ill?" "I do not know, sire,"[/b] The Red Guard laughs, just a short, almost gentle thing. Tymora's scales heat up, and if it weren't for his professional poise he would've gladly stuck his head into the snow. Thankfully, none - except Calypso, who cackled - laughed too loudly at Tymora's small slipup. [b]"Quiet your restlessness, my close-blooded kin,"[/b] The Red Guard leans closer, to tilt Tymora's head up with a single claw. The crowd of kin-blooded dragons went silent, awaiting the Red Guard's words. [b]"I know you are tired, and long for your mate's embrace,"[/b] Tymora looked away, unable to meet the eyes of his King, who calls himself a Guard despite the power flowing through his veins. [b]"I must protect the clan,"[/b] Tymora protested, and the Red Guard sighed. [b]"Leave the protection to your far-blooded kin, Tymora. I will deal with the Mayor myself,"[/b] [b]"Um, if I might interrupt,"[/b] Tymora jerked his head up, eyes searching until he caught onto a tiny fae, perched on Gond's nose. The Red Guard let go of Tymora, and stalked to Gond; stalked was perhaps not the right word, it did not encompass the regal gait of the King. Though, they were all cold, apart from the Ice-born Far-bloods. [b]"My name is Airy, but you don't need to feel compelled to remember that,"[/b] Airy chuckled to himself, and something sparked in Tymora's mind. A memory, albeit hazy, of a Far-blood living in this place before the rest of them arrived. Was this perhaps that dragon? [b]"I lived here while Abran was Mayor of Wickerfrost, and I saw the destruction she wrought upon that town, and how she treats Frosthome's citizenry now.. Well, I can't imagine anything [i]she[/i] wants is going to be in our best interest,"[/b] Airy explained, er, was his name Airy? Tymora struggled to recall, but the little fae continued to talk. [b]"We must turn her away, for the sake of all of us! Icewarden be willing that she's still licking too many wounds to retaliate,"[/b] [b]"You make an excellent point, small one,"[/b] The Red Guard tilted his head down, and the fae leapt from Gond's head to the Red Guard's antlers, entangling himself quite happily. [b]"We should not put our support behind someone with such a reputation, but we are still a clan, so we must vote on whether to turn the Mayor away or not,"[/b] The court grumbled, but settled in for the vote. Seventeen dragons, not including their consorts who they did not risk at these meetings. Ten of seventeen voted to turn Mayor Abran away, while seven voted to hear her out; Tymora was amongst those to turn her away, recalling her disquieting scent. The Red Guard affirmed the vote, and it was decided they would turn Mayor Abran away. That is, if she ever deigned to [i]show up[/i]. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Heracles[/b][/indent] Heracles was having a bit of rough start, to be honest. Last night's emergency meeting at the Vista had exhausted him, and he returned to his father's small hut yawning and half-asleep on his feet. The obelisk was quick to head to bed, and rose in the early afternoon of the next morning; his father, Ibias, had left him a note mentioning that he would be out chopping firewood and preparing for the onset of the endless night. There was little food in the house that wasn't being saved for the harsher parts of winter, so the young obelisk went outside to hunt. The cold rarely made a difference to him; he's Ice-born, and thick layers of fabric and fur keep him from ever shivering unless he was standing outside in a blizzard. He headed deeper into the woods, sniffing around for prey, but all he could catch is the faint scent of ash. Perhaps someone had burnt something? It wouldn't be the first time one of the Fire-born kin visited and set something, predictably, on fire. Worried now at the potential of a forest fire, Heracles followed the scent deeper into the woods; he didn't realize he'd gotten lost until he paused to look around and realized he recognized nothing, and the sky was darkening quickly. The smell of ash was overpowering, and now he noticed a faint undertone of sulfur. Heracles didn't know what that meant, until it quite literally smacked him in the face in the form of a giant, hulking beast. He was slammed into the ground, giant claws digging into his wings as the many-winged creature stood over him; with the face of a lion, the antlers of an imperial, and the wings of a Blessed, Heracles didn't know how to react except with panicked screams. He could feel the beast's hot breath on his neck as it leaned closer, teeth long enough to snap through his skull with a single bite. [b]"Cursed one,"[/b] It whispered in a growly voice, and Heracles trembled and nodded. [b]"What is your curse, far-blood?"[/b] The beast asked, and Heracles shook his head and whimpered. The beast pressed one claw down on his throat, and the whelp whined and tried to push the beast away but he was unable to; he couldn't even breathe. [b]"Cursed whelp!"[/b] The creature roars, releasing his throat only to pick him up like a doll and throw him; his back slammed into a tree, a crack that could be both heard and felt echoing across the barren stretch of forest. [b]"I have no patience for chattel, you will tell me or you will die,"[/b] Heracles gasped, crying out and whimpering. [b]"M-my curse, I-- I am not cursed, my blood is too thin,"[/b] He spat it out like a weakness, although he knew many of his kin wished for such an existence. [b]"Useless!"[/b] Heracles only saw teeth, and then nothing. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Kelemvor[/b][/indent] The Mayor had made herself a danger to his flock, and the Red Guard did not take kindly to such dangers. Heracles had been recovered earlier this morning, deeply injured and blinded, and Kelemvor knew deep in his soul the whelp had only been spared to send a message to the rest of them; Mayor Abran would not be dismissed. So it was, that Kelemvor went deep into the Everfrozen Woods, following the scent of ash and sulfur. He would destroy this threat once and for all, and perhaps even the people of Frosthome would rejoice along with his own flock; the thought was nice, though unlikely. Such a show of power would frighten weaker dragons, but it would be necessary to kill the bestial monstrosity that haunts this mournful place. The night is long and cold. Kelemvor was born into the eternal heat of the Scarred Wasteland, though he had to leave the safety of his mother's wings and venture into the world; his travels brought him to the Southern Icefield, where the darkness of their winters and the remote locations would lend itself well to building a clan of cursed kinsfolk. Kelemvor did not regret his decisions, even if they led him here; into the clutches of a frenzied, dangerous dragon like Abran. She did not make him wait long. Soon, what little light the moon gave was blocked out in favor of numerous flapping wings. Kelemvor watched as Abran landed, only mere yards away, and the imperial dragoness raised her head to stare him down. She is significantly larger than him, making even the Red Guard look small and whelp-like in comparison. [b]"Cursed one,"[/b] Abran smiled, her stained teeth glinting in the dim moonlight. Something deep and primal within himself, something the cursed dragon thought he did not have due to his lineage, sparked as Abran's fiery eyes sized him up; panic nipped at the edges of his vision, his heart speeding up. A single antler from Abran's head is longer than his entire skull, and Kelemvor knows the Mayor's mauling of Heracles was somehow gentle compared to what she could truly do. [b]"My curse is lighter than the sentence you've given yourself,"[/b] Kelemvor shook his head, disappointment lingering beyond the veil of panic. [b]"You have hurt my flock, and for that I must put you down. Perhaps the Icewarden will reward me for removing such a blight from his lands,"[/b] Abran laughed, and Kelemvor lashed out with magic. Sickness blankets the large imperial, and her laughter turns to wet coughing; Kelemvor knows that this spell will have Abran on the ground, immobile and feeble, within moments, but she does not fall. No, Abran's breathing levels out and she looks up at him, manic hate glinting in her eyes. [b]"Is that all you've got? The rumors said you're powerful, and that felt like such a weak showing,"[/b] Abran flexes her claws. [b]"I suppose I need to give you a reason to fight, don't it?"[/b] Abran lunges. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Gond[/b][/indent] The Wildclaw feels like he can't run fast enough. He knew he should've never let Kelemvor go off on his own to face Abran, but Gond-- well, he thought Kelemvor invincible. But he was wrong, so utterly wrong. The sky is black with smoke, the undeniable scent of rot and sulfur blanketing the mountains; even outside of Sector 42, clans from all throughout the region would be noticing the battle. Gond knows he is young, too young to face such a threat, but there is no choice; it must be him. If there is anything left of Kelemvor to save... It would be a stain upon all of them if Gond did not retrieve him. So the Wildclaw ran through the dark forests, leaping over downed branches as the world itself rumbled with anger. The only light came from his sparking magic, held in his palms to prevent the wind from extinguishing it entirely. What he found was worse than he thought. The world is bathed in an unnatural light, fiery orange and blood red light painting the destroyed valley - no, not a valley; a section of forest so vast and yet utterly decimated down to the churned, slushy ground - in a wild array of color. Kelemvor crouched on the ground, eyes glowing with unholy light, while Abran stood over him. Gond had never seen a dragon so gigantic, and he hoped he never saw a dragon larger than Abran. Something that Gond will realize, in the moments after the fight, is that he won due to opportunity. He fires off a spell, deadly to any mortal dragon, and it strikes true; Abran rears back, wounds opening in her hide as she screeches in surprised, wings flapping. Gond felt a wave of wind wash over him, nearly sending him tumbling away, but he dug his claws in and stood his ground. Realizing she was outmatched, Abran unleashed a primal roar that shook the earth and flew into the air, climbing higher and higher on Blessed wings until she blocked out the moon. But she did not return to strike, she fled; leaving a shaken Gond and an injured, exhausted Kelemvor. Gond ran to Kelemvor's side, leaping onto the imperial's snout and hugging Kelemvor's temple with all his might. The imperial let out a soft, gentle huff of gratitude, careful not to destabilize the tiny whelp. [b]"You're hurt!"[/b] Gond cried out, climbing up Kelemvor's head and racing down his back to weave magic and scar Kelemvor's injuries closed. The imperial merely breathed, too tired to speak or move beyond the slow rise and fall of his chest. Gond finished his work, and raced back to Kelemvor's head. [b]"We must get you home--" "My faithful Gond,"[/b] The Wildclaw paused, one foot on Kelemvor's antlers as if to climb them. He wasn't sure what he was doing, beyond the general panic of finding the Red Guard bleeding into the snow like an elk chased down by a pack of cruel mirrors. [b]"We must.. We must hide. The Mayor wants magic, to feed her Beast. We must keep the unprepared away from her,"[/b] Kelemvor explained through gritted teeth. [b]"Lest she make an Emperor out of our kin and clan,"[/b] A shiver ran up Gond's back, the reality of the situation hitting him at once. By the Plaguebringer, what was Abran doing? -----

[center][item=Blackworm][item=Picked-Over Bones][item=Blow Fly] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]The First Testimony[/size][size=3] Level 5 Clearance Documentation, For Sentinel Use Only[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/57149135][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/571492/57149135_350.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] The sunlight is harsh, after months of being trapped underground, and longer still if the Stockade's endless twilight counted. Taking a deep breath, Salenor stretched his neck to the sky and closed his eyes, the cold biting into his hide and thin, emaciated body. The gaolers sent to guard him were blessedly silent - as if Salenor had any rights to blessings, anymore - and let him just.. Feel, for a few minutes. Opening his eyes once more, Salenor was able to properly see the town in the distance; Frosthome, the result of a merger between Wickerfrost's survivors and Sleetstorm's guards. The world smells like dead leaves and snow, instead of ash and sulfur with the sweet undertone of rot. The gaolers always said they could track the Shade's influence by the smell of smoke, but Salenor knew the cloying scent of rot and infection better than he knew his own body. It was a secret he kept; everything touched by the Shade is dying. But today, Salenor is living first and dying second. He let the gaolers lead him out and away from Sleetstorm, shivering as he trudged through a light layer of snow and the wind growled and pushed at what little insulation he had. There is panic in the back of his mind, barely hidden by Salenor's silence and shaking; he had no friends here, but enemies lurked around every corner. He couldn't taste Abran's malice on the wind, but he knew there was always a possibility of her stalking the small party, waiting for her chance. Walking through the city feels like a death sentence, but Salenor has faced worse than the tempered interest of so many dragons; some familiar, many unfamiliar. Newcomers, or children, watched him with wide eyes as the gaolers escorted him straight to the Town Hall. Salenor has tasted death and chaos and yet, his chest seizes and his breath becomes weak by the time they reach the grand hall; the gaolers push the doors open and Salenor stumbles in, vision blurring. There were so many dragons, and yet not enough. He presses a clawed hand against the nearest wall and wheezes, forcing oxygen through his pitiful lungs as his mind gave way to blind panic. Who had been killed by the Abomination? By Abran, and Rhoslyn? By the beasts Rhoslyn made, to hunt and rend? Salenor felt brief relief at the destruction of Wickerfrost, because his crimes went unpunished and uninvestigated; but now all he could think about was Euna's kindly chuckle, and the fact she was dead. [b]"You've seen better days,"[/b] Salenor looked up, bristling at the voice. Councilwoman Labyrinth looked back at him, her magic a far cry from the inescapable buzzing of Wickerfrost. Instead, Labyrinth's presence felt like a warm summer's breeze, soothing yet irritating. Her feathered second wings were folded against her body, mostly hidden by orange, leathery wings. [b]"Hhnhh,"[/b] Salenor wheezed, not able to properly talk while in the middle of a panic attack. The gaolers had left him, presumably to guard the front doors and all exits while he was here; the Council inside the Town Hall was enough to keep a tiny wildclaw from making a ruckus, anyways. Salenor looked away from Labyrinth, keeping his eyes on the ground as his legs sought to collapse out from under him. It's a cruel thing to think about, but he'd never felt this faint in Mayor Abran's presence before. [b]"Oh, poor thing,"[/b] And suddenly there was another dragon, all dark fur and horns and size. Salenor was swept into a hug and it was blind panic that froze him in place, unable to fight back as his mind shut down for a brief few seconds. The dragon hugging him didn't let him go, and instead carried him towards the large wooden table in the middle of the hall, where the rest of the Council sat. [b]"Hurry it up, Warden,"[/b] A bored voice huffed, and Salenor tried to bury himself in the dark fur. [b]"Head Sentinel, I think it's quite imperative that we aren't actively retraumatizing our key witnesses,"[/b] Salenor heard the voice, but he also felt it; the deep rumble of a gentle but firm voice. And suddenly he felt [i]her[/i] presence, the presence of the Warden, pressing down on him and it was... Nice. Calming, to be sure; like a weighted blanket. It was that presence that helped him come back to himself fully, though he wasn't sure how long he'd been in the midst of his panic. He untangled himself from dark grey fur, and shook himself out. Magic that smelt like rot clung to his clawtips, and Salenor did not acknowledge it beyond his stomach rolling at the scent. He glanced around the room, picking out Councilwoman Labyrinth, Councilwoman Sycamore, Councilwoman Equinox, the Warden, and presumably the Head Sentinel-- wait, Sentinel Holm? They'd spoken before, a lifetime ago. The Warden murmured questioningly, asking if he was alright, and Salenor nodded vigorously. Best to get things over with quickly. [b]"Today, we are joined by ex-Reeve Salenor, to give testimony on ex-Mayor Abran's crimes,"[/b] The Warden announced, and Salenor tried to shake any lingering nervousness out through his hands. He hopped onto an open chair left for him, though it was much too big for him - made for a gaoler, certainly - and took a deep breath of air. [b]"Where do you want me to start?"[/b] Salenor asked, wringing his claws nervously. [b]"How about you tell us about the previous Seasonal Council?" "Ah, okay..."[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] Mayor Abran had asked him to look for something her niece had lost after work one day; she'd brought him into the forest behind her little home, shoved a shovel into his hands and told him where to dig. It took hours, until the hole was as large as him and he had to crawl out of the black mud. Afterwards, she sent him inside and Salenor cleaned himself off, though Abran didn't join him until much later. Quietly, Salenor had taken it upon himself to brew some tea as he waited for Abran to return and cook a promised dinner. It'd been at least an hour since he'd come inside, and the imperial hadn't returned; though he could see movement in the dark forest, only because of his eyes honed from living in the Tangled Woods for so long. Midnight had passed by the time Mayor Abran returned, her underbelly coated in black mud and blood flecks clinging to her face. Salenor jumped from his place in the kitchen, teacup thankfully still grasped in his now-shaking hands. The imperial smiled at him, and he saw a scrap of familiar fabric caught between her bloodstained teeth. He recognized the fabric from Councilman Eclipse's overcoat. [b]"I-I made tea,"[/b] Salenor squeaked out, caught between fight and flight in the worst possible response; freeze. [b]"You're covered in-- in mud! Let me go grab a rag for you,"[/b] He set his teacup down and tried to flee, but a twist of Abran's body and a feathered wing was blocking his path. He could feel Abran's breath on him, her mouth big enough to snap him up and swallow him whole. [b]"It's quite alright, Reeve. You must be tired after spending all this time waiting up for me,"[/b] Abran's voice sounded like a purr and Salenor felt like he was going to dissolve if he kept shaking this bad. [b]"Go to bed, I'll wake you up when dinner's ready in a bit,"[/b] He nodded, gritting his teeth when he noticed the promise of Abran checking on him later. She allowed Salenor to rush to her guest bedroom, and slam the door behind him. There's no lock and he's not sure if he could even move any of the heavy furniture to blockade the door. He climbs up to the window, but it's frozen shut and he'd need to smash the thick glass to escape. Well and truly trapped, Salenor climbed into the overly soft bed and hoped he wouldn't be waking up in a grave. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] The ex-Reeve was shaking now after reliving the first instance of the Mayor involving him in her illegal activities. He opened his mouth, but instead of words the only sound he could make was a high-pitched, terrified whine. He'd dug Councilman Eclipse's grave; there was no doubt in his mind of that. The Council was talking, likely discussing his story, but Salenor couldn't focus on them. Inside him, the rot and power and ash that eats at his body, it's all a gift from the Mayor; his very soul is infected by her wrath. He cannot make the connection that the Mayor was ever loyal to him, or ever loved him, because that is somehow worse than thinking she was always malicious. [s]Perhaps it was both.[/s] [b]"Salenor?"[/b] It was Councilwoman Sycamore's voice that snapped him out of his stupor, and he blinked and looked up. The Council was watching him, judging him, and Salenor bristled at the attention but stayed silent as Sycamore continued to speak. [b]"You are accusing ex-Mayor Abran of murdering Councilman Eclipse, yes?"[/b] [b]"Yes! She killed him,"[/b] Salenor snarled out. [b]"Councilman Eclipse knew it was coming too, he'd always joke about how much the Mayor didn't like him. She made me dig his grave for Shadowbinder's sake!"[/b] Head Sentinel Holm sighed, and grabbed a small folder from below his chair and dropped it onto the table. [b]"The Shadebound's report is validated by his earlier report of ex-Mayor Abran's behavior. However, he failed to mention ex-Mayor Abran returning with blood on her teeth and a scrap of Councilman Eclipse's clothes, but I am willing to chalk that up to immediate fear for his life,"[/b] Councilwoman Equinox is staring at him, and Salenor shrinks back. Equinox was Eclipse's Herald, his apprentice; there is no doubt the two were deeply bonded before Eclipse's death. Sycamore reaches over to lay a hand on Equinox's shoulder, and the wildclaw growls and shakes it off. [b]"Councilwoman Equinox, are you okay?" "I'm fine,"[/b] Equinox's response is curt, and Salenor prepares for the potentiality that his former coworker is going to launch herself over the table and attack him. With her mask blocking her face, he has no idea what the other wildclaw is expressing; but her body is tense, her claws tapping against the table. [b]"As the Head Sentinel said, ex-Reeve Salenor was in fear for his life. I do not forgive him for allowing ex-Mayor Abran's actions to go unanswered back then, but I understand why he felt the necessity to do so,"[/b] Equinox drawled, and Salenor flinched. Leave it to Equinox to destroy him with just a few sentences. Suddenly, a pressure fell upon the hall and Salenor nearly collapsed from the weight of it. [b]"I think it's best if we call for a recess to allow time for investigation into the claims made today, and to allow deliberation on this information. Ex-Reeve Salenor, you will be escorted back to Sleetstorm for the time being for your safety; we will call upon you soon for more testimony,"[/b] The Warden announced. [b]"Meeting adjourned,"[/b] -----

[center]----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]Issyt's Journal: The Lifespan of a Tundra[/size][size=3] Level 0 Clearance Documentation, Open Documentation[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/68381906][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/683820/68381906_350.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Mius[/b][/indent] The Icewarden's youngest child, the Tundra! These hardy, vegetable-loving dragons are native to the Snowsquall Tundra, though they've quickly proliferated on every corner of Sornieth. Though many rumor the Tundras to be dull-witted, ignorant, forgetful, and cowardly. I can say for certain that, after living amongst them in Frosthome, Tundras are none of those things. They are a surprisingly fascinating breed of dragon, and their heightened olfactory sense results in a unique perspective! I have put together a rough guide to the lifespan of a Tundra, though it has been studied many times before, but with no such diligence as to dissuade the grisly mythos around Tundras forgetting nests full of eggs or leaving behind hatchlings. [u]Hatchling: 0 Days - 1 Week[/u] A Tundra hatchling is small, weak, and hairless. They only have a singular egg-tooth to aid in cracking their eggs upon hatchling, which is quickly shed once the Tundra starts nursing. As a pseudo-mammalian breed much like the Gaoler, a Tundra hatchling requires milk. Many Tundra hatchlings in the Southern Icefield are traditionally born early in spring, to allow them ample time to nurse and become strong before summer brings a bounty of food. In warmer places around Sornieth, Tundras are able to reproduce all year round. [u]Pup: 3 Weeks - 3 Months[/u] At this stage, a Tundra is delightfully bumbling and eager to explore. Their appetites are voracious and they rely primarily on their sense of smell to know which plants are edible; surprisingly, their parents need to do very little to teach their Pups to avoid poisonous plants or foods that will make them sick. Physically, Pups will have grown a medium-length coat of soft downy fur, and are in the middle of growing a thick undercoat. Their horn nubs have become visible, and their traditional scruffy beard has begun to develop. They are able to walk, they are learning how to speak, and their parents may have begun to give them a basic education. This is also the phase when Pups teethe, and are weaned. [u]Fledgling: 4 Months - 2 Years[/u] This long stage of life is denoted by a Tundra becoming more self sufficient, learning how to fly, beginning to carve out a place within their given clan, and getting a standard education when available. At this stage of life, a Fledgling Tundra will be physically and emotionally capable of fending for themselves in an emergency situation. Many physical changes develop through this stage. Fledglings will have fully grown wings by the end of their first year, their beard will be full and their coat will mimic their adult counterparts. They have also begun growing the signature "mohawk" mane, and their antlers will have fully matured. They are still smaller in stature, with shorter tails and smaller manes. [u]Whelp: 2 - 4 Years[/u] Ah, the short road to adulthood. The Whelping stage for Tundras is notably short, denoted by a Tundra choosing where they will spend their adult life, perhaps striking out on their own by this point. Physically a Whelp Tundra is a fully mature adult, though they still have some growing to do when it comes to emotional maturity. Many Whelp Tundras seek Exaltation, wishing to spend the rest of their comparatively long lives serving their deities. The most notable aspect of a Whelp Tundra is not physical appearance, or level of independence, but an overreliance on their olfactory sense to guide them through the world. It is correct that young Tundras have an overreliance on scent-memory, often happy to forget "unimportant" things under the impression they will recognize smells. After a few seasons, a Whelp Tundra will mature out of this phase. -----

[center][item=Chipped Blackened Legbones][item=Celestine Geode][item=Cracked Blackened Ribcage] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]The Second Testimony[/size][size=3] Level 5 Clearance Documentation, For Sentinel Use Only[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/41489719][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/414898/41489719_350.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] It's a beautiful city, Nox knows that much. She trudges through the streets, flanked on either side by hulking Gaolers, the taste of ash in her mouth ever-present. She holds her head high, her mask hiding the worst of the corruption; the corruption that cannot be denied, like the breeze cannot be denied. The aftereffects of the Stockade still hang heavy on her shoulders, and she knows that without the former Reeve's help she would've lost her mind quickly to the Shade; she simply has no energy to fight, anymore. But the townsfolk don't know that; they see her head held high, and her armor, and the way the cold breeze follows her wherever she goes. So many unfamiliar faces, alongside an unfamiliar city.. The world has changed without her, and it's a bittersweet reminder. She longs for the open plains of her birth flight; the way the sun always seemed so much brighter there, and the knowledge that was always underneath her feet. The town hall rises in front of them, built with the massive gaolers in mind; Nox is dwarfed by the heavy wooden doors, which her guards push open. She is struck with no nostalgia as she enters Frosthome's town hall; Wickerfrost's town hall had been cramped and dominated with offices and the bullpen, never enough room to have a proper meeting indoors. Sometimes, Nox wonders if the Mayor had planned it that way. This town hall is built more like a courthouse; a small entryroom, leading to a massive meeting room. Nox follows in step with her guards as they lead her to a seat, and climbs up with some effort on her part; her winter coat is heavy, and she's lost muscle mass from starvation in the Stockade and then the monotony of Sleetstorm's prisons. The Frosthome Council is already settled and waiting on her; she notes her former coworkers from the Council of Seasons, plus two gaolers from Sleetstorm. [b]"Nox--"[/b] Sycamore started, her voice breaking, and Nox held up a claw to silence the younger dragoness. Sycamore shifted in her seat uncomfortably, but stayed silent. [b]"I was told you wanted my testimony regarding Mayor Abran's behavior during the disappearances of the former Council of Seasons?"[/b] Nox asked, tilting her head and watching Frosthome's leaders glance amongst each other. [b]"Yes, that is what we called you here for, Spirit Nox,"[/b] The Warden confirmed, twisting her head and letting her gnarled, oversized horns tap against the crude wooden table. As Nox examines her surroundings, she realizes the entire building is crudely built; as though it was put up in a hurry. [i]It probably was[/i], she realizes. [b]"Please start with Councilwoman Cloudberry's disappearance,"[/b] The dark-furred gaoler asked, as he shuffled through papers in front of him. Why Cloudberry, and not Eclipse? Well.. Nox would find out, sooner or later. Perhaps they'd already solved Eclipse's death. [b]"There was no warning beforehand. She went home one day, and never came back..."[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] Wickerfrost is having a sleepy morning; Nox knows it, judging by the way Maize flits about between cubicles with her eyes closed, and Reeve Salenor has taken to napping beneath his desk in the bullpen. Cloudberry hasn't arrived to work yet, but there's no rush; she's likely taking care of something spring-related, given the seasons had just changed. She sips on a mug of warm cocoa and goes over the plans for the next Midwinter Migration. Sure, it'll be almost an entire year until the migration, but Nox likes to have things planned early; it'll give her mind something to linger on, apart from Councilman Eclipse's disappearance.. Like clockwork, there she is; the door slams open, startling the Reeve and making Maize dart for the ceiling on instinct, and the newest Councilwoman stomps in. Councilwoman Equinox is someone Nox thinks she knows well; Equinox was the Herald of Autumn for two years before becoming Councilwoman, and though she's still in the throes of grief, Nox knows she'll be an excellent Councilwoman. [b]"Where's Councilwoman Cloudberry?"[/b] Equinox asks, to nobody in particular. [b]"She hasn't come in yet,"[/b] Nox answered, as she scribbled down notes for the next Midwinter Migration. The parade last season had been a bust, maybe a bonfire for this year? Cookouts tended to do better, and everyone liked the light of a nice big fire in the middle of a sunless Southern Icefield winter. [b]"Ugh, she's been avoiding me,"[/b] Equinox growled, and made her way over to where the Reeve was trying to act as though he hadn't just been napping a second ago. He freezes up as Equinox approaches, and taps his claws on the table; Nox slowly blinks and sets her work to the side, ready to intervene if they started shouting. [b]"Any news on the Councilman's whereabouts?"[/b] Equinox asked-- demanded, really. The Reeve hissed under his breath and shook his head in response. [b]"No, of course not. He's been missing for eight months now,"[/b] Reeve Salenor growled out. [b]"The search parties stopped six months ago, we're not going to know anything else unless he shows up of his own accord,"[/b] [b]"Strange that he went missing the day after [i]you[/i] arrived,"[/b] Equinox reached over the desk and hooked a claw around Reeve Salenor's garland, and at that point Nox stood up and headed towards the wildclaws to mediate. Both of them are glaring, and Nox shoves between them, letting her magic coalesce into cold air around her that had both Equinox and Salenor backing off. [b]"That's enough,"[/b] Nox huffed, and suddenly Equinox lunges, going around Nox towards the Reeve. She reacts accordingly by headbutting Equinox out of the way, nearly sending the wildclaw to the floor as Equinox tried to keep her balance. [b]"I said enough. Councilwoman, come with me,"[/b] Equinox looked like she was about to argue, but another bitingly-cold gust of wind kept the wildclaw silent. Nox led her outside, and to one of the benches outside of town hall. She sat, and patted the bench until Equinox sat next to her. Dragons bustled by, going to and fro from shops, homes, and other businesses; the air is fresh and crisp, with only the slight hum of Spring magic. The birds fly by overhead, and Nox lounges and tries to identify them. Her eyes aren't so good without her glasses though, and she left her glasses inside; it's quite alright though, she still feels peaceful out here. [b]"There's nothing quite like a spring morning,"[/b] Nox gestured towards the sky, and Equinox grumbled something that wasn't quite words in response. [b]"Cloudberry's done a good job of it,"[/b] [b]"Could be wetter. She's setting up Councilwoman Maize for drought conditions,"[/b] Equinox growls out, after a minute of Nox's waiting. [b]"It's like he doesn't [i]exist[/i] anymore,"[/b] [b]"He does. I don't know what happened to him, but I know he still exists in our hearts no matter where he is now,"[/b] Nox runs her claws through her fur, gently tugging out shedding fur from her heavy winter coat. [b]"I grew all this fur at great cost to myself, and it helped me survive through the winter. But in spring, it sheds,"[/b] [b]"Eclipse isn't some [i]fur[/i] to [i]shed[/i]," "Wait, I'm not done,"[/b] Nox puts her loose fur into a small clump, and tosses it to the ground. [b]"It's not like I go bald when I shed; I change. And what happens to the fur? Well, birds take it; they build nests, and rear their young, and when it's time for winter again, I'll grow something new,"[/b] Equinox is silent, and she's twisting her foreclaws together; to anyone else, it's a nervous tick, but Nox can see that Equinox is thinking. [b]"What if I can't change? What if losing him-- what if nothing comes from it? What if I'm worse off?"[/b] Equinox asks, softly, and Nox bumps the wildclaw and encourages Equinox to lean on her. [b]"You got through the winter, didn't you? Eclipse prepared you as best as he could. I miss him more than life itself sometimes, but I know he'd never want me to change for the worse in his absence; who knows, he could be out there, helping someone else,"[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] [b]"Was all that necessary, Spirit?"[/b] The dark-furred gaoler asked, looking supremely uncomfortable. Nox nodded, and moved forward so she was sitting on the very edge of her seat. Her fur metaphor hadn't been her best work, but she'd been young back then; young, and naïve. She knows better, now. "Yes, unfortunately," Equinox responds curtly, an undertone of emotion that Nox can no longer place in her voice. [b]"Spirit Nox knows I am an open book; I did grieve my mentor, [i]as any dragon would have[/i],"[/b] [b]"...Yes, of course. Continue, Spirit Nox,"[/b] The Warden said through a sigh, and gestured for Nox to continue. [b]"When we got the news, I knew I had to keep Councilwoman Equinox away..."[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] Councilwoman Maize's Herald, Captain Labyrinth, isn't an uncommon sight at the town hall; what's more uncommon is Labyrinth showing up on official townsguard business. Nox knew as soon as the mirror entered the door that something was wrong; her head is hung, her claws dragging along the floor. Nox is up and heading to Labyrinth before she can think, and she then notices Councilwoman Maize has darted towards her apprentice. [b]"What's going on?"[/b] Maize asked, and Nox tipped her head towards her fellow Councilwoman. Labyrinth huffed and shut her eyes, as though trying to repress the memory of something. Equinox had appeared then, her claws flexing as she stared down the Captain. [b]"Maize, we need to talk. Councilwoman Eclipse, [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/scrying/predict?morph=2555703]Townsguard Tikiv[/url] is outside; please accompany him and do what he says,"[/b] Labyrinth gestured towards the door. [b]"For what?"[/b] Nox intercepted Equinox as she tried to leave, and glared daggers at Labyrinth until the mirror cracked and explained. [b]"A body was found, we need someone from the Council to identify it," "I'll go then,"[/b] Without waiting for Equinox to protest, Nox raced outside and went straight for the obelisk, and dipped her head in greeting. Tikiv looks exhausted. [b]"Councilwoman, please come with me,"[/b] Tikiv explains, and Nox follows with a shove to his shoulder. They need to get to the station before Equinox can catch up; Nox knows Eclipse well enough to.. To identify him, if need be, and Equinox is too fragile to see such a thing right now. They reach the guard station in record time, and Tikiv brings her straight to the morgue, past sickened-looking townsguards. He opens the door, and brings her in. Her immediate thought is, that can't be Eclipse. The tarp is too large; Eclipse is a pearlcatcher. Then, Tikiv pulls back the tarp and she sees them. Councilwoman Cloudberry. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] Nox presses her hand to her mouth, and shuts her eyes, trying to shut out the memory of Cloudberry. Cloudberry had been her [i]friend[/i], and then-- and then she'd been murdered. Nox hadn't known when they'd spoken right after leaving the town hall would be the [i]last time[/i] she'd hear Cloudberry's voice. It's been years since, and like Eclipse, the pain had never truly gone away. Unlike Eclipse, Nox [i]knows[/i] Cloudberry is dead. She saw it with her own eyes. [b]"Was there anything of note? Anything that indicated who Councilwoman Cloudberry's killer was?"[/b] Nox was broken out of her thoughts by the dark-furred male gaoler, and she tried to compose herself enough to speak. [b]"It.. It looked like she'd been attacked by multiple dragons,"[/b] Nox dipped her head and stared at the table. [b]"As I'm sure Councilwoman Labyrinth told you, there was nothing conclusive found. It was declared she was killed by travelers who left the area,"[/b] [b]"But there's something you're not telling us,"[/b] The Warden rumbles, and Nox shivers as pure power presses down on her. [b]"You know something else,"[/b] [b]"I.. I went out to where they said they'd found the body..."[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] The clearing is quiet, and empty. It smells like fresh spring; the snow is melted, making room for new growth to poke out from the muddy ground. Nox can still see the signs of a struggle; clawmarks gouged in the ground, in the trees, and displaced foliage everywhere. Yet, as she sniffs at the air, there is no trace of increased levels of magic. In fact, the magic here is lower, as though it'd been drained. Nox knows powerful spellcasting can drain ambient levels of magic, but as she explores around the forest, she sees no traces of casting; not even the defensive spells Cloudberry used whenever she was under attack by aggressive beasts. That's when she finds it, nearly hidden underneath the new foliage; a footprint in the mud, distinct. A wildclaw's footprint. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Nox[/b][/indent] [b]"You found a footprint and didn't tell anyone?!"[/b] Labyrinth screeched, slamming her foreclaws on the table and flaring her wings. [b]"That could've been a crucial break in the case!"[/b] [b]"I did it to protect Councilwoman Equinox!"[/b] Nox growled back, unfurling her own wings. [b]"Councilwoman Cloudberry and Councilwoman Equinox had been fighting for weeks. I knew she'd be suspected, perhaps even convicted, and the true killer would go free,"[/b] [b]"You didn't need to protect me,"[/b] Equinox snapped, and Nox recoiled. [b]"We had disagreements, but I didn't want Councilwoman Cloudberry [i]dead[/i],"[/b] [b]"Enough!"[/b] Sycamore cried out, flapping her wings and letting sparks of spring magic wash over them; but it's not like the warmth that Sycamore usually summons, it's the harshness of a hailstorm in the middle of April. [b]"Nox did what she thought was best, and there's no point in arguing about it now. We know whose footprints those were, anyways,"[/b] The hall went silent, as Sycamore's chest heaved and the rest of them tried to re-center. Nox tried to catch Equinox's gaze, but the younger dragoness snarled and looked away, disgusted. It hurts something deep in Nox's chest to see one of her friends so horrified with her. [i]I only did it to protect you[/i]. [b]"I suppose we'll need to bring the former Reeve back to the stand,"[/b] The dark-furred gaoler huffed quietly. [b]"Warden, are we dismissed? I believe that is all the testimony we need from Spirit Nox,"[/b] [b]"Yes, I think that's all we need from her right now. Thank you, Spirit Nox, we will deliberate and we may call you to testify again in the future. Meeting adjourned,"[/b] -----

[center][item=Broken Wagon Wheel][item=White Queen][item=Blackened Warninghorn] ----- [font=Palatino Linotype][size=5]The Third Testimony[/size][size=3] Level 5 Clearance Documentation, For Sentinel Use Only[/font] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/57149135][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/571492/57149135_350.png[/img][/url][/center] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] [b]"You killed her, didn't you?"[/b] Salenor flinched. He'd gotten settled back into the roomy seats of the Town Hall, and just as soon as he's settled, Councilwoman Equinox's scathing words strike him. He growls, tapping his claws against the worn wooden table, and doesn't meet the eyes of any of the Frosthome Council. SLAM, the table vibrates as Equinox stands up and pounds a fist onto the wood. [b]"You murdered Councilwoman Cloudberry!"[/b] [b]"Councilwoman Equinox, that's [i]enough[/i]," "She was [i]your[/i] predecessor! How are you not furious?"[/b] Sycamore and Equinox had already begun fighting, and Salenor sunk into the cushion of the gaoler-sized chair he'd been given. When he'd admitted to omitting key evidence of Councilman Eclipse's murder, Equinox had certainly been angry; but she'd kept her temper in check, for the most part. Now the other wildclaw wouldn't even pretend to be amicable towards him. [b]"Councilwoman Equinox, you will calm down or you will leave this building until the ex-Reeve's testimony is finished,"[/b] The Warden's voice booms over the room, and Salenor sinks further. He presses his hands against his ears, trying to block out the ringing as he recalls the sound of buildings being devoured and their ruins crashing to the ground. He can still smell rot, closer than ever. Salenor doesn't know if the scent comes from him, or somewhere else; it doesn't really matter though, does it? Head Sentinel Holm also drips with corruption. A small, ugly, hopelessly weak part of him wishes for Mayor Abran, just because he knows how to deal with her brand of malice. When he looks up, disoriented and still clutching his ears, he catches Councilwoman Equinox slamming the doors behind her on her way out. He flinches at the sound and taps his dewclaws against the cushion beneath him, making small puncture holes in the fabric. [b]"Salenor? Are you alright to begin your testimony?"[/b] The Warden is watching him, her eyes gentle, while the rest of the remaining Council watches him with faint interest and annoyance. He snarls, shakes his wings out, and sits up. [b]"Of course. Lets get this whole thing over with,"[/b] ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] There are many stereotypes about Shadow dragons; that they're all bark and no bite, just gaudy performers from the Tangled Wood who survive on trickery and not much else. Plenty of dragons scoff at the skills and trades that dragons from the Tangled Wood often specialize in, despite dragons from every Flight gathering together to watch a Shadow circus whenever one rolls into town. Salenor knows he's playing into those stereotypes as he shoves his meager belongings into a bag, slings it over his back, and prepares to cut and run. It's been eight months since Councilman Eclipse's disappearance, and for the most part, things have been normal! He's pretty sure what he saw of Mayor Abran that night was.. Just a coincidence. It had to be, because cold-blooded murderers don't act like regular bosses the next day. The problem comes from this; yesterday, after Councilwoman Equinox and Councilwoman Cloudberry spent half the day arguing over nothing, Councilwoman Cloudberry got called into Mayor Abran's office. The good news is that he saw Councilwoman Cloudberry leaving Town Hall just later that day, the bad news is that Mayor Abran called him in, and asked her to help him find something else her niece had lost in the forest. So all that time he'd spent convincing himself Mayor Abran hadn't murdered Councilman Eclipse? Out the window! Mayor Abran is fully unhinged, and he's getting out of here before he's enlisted in covering up another murder. This evening, he's supposed to meet with Abran to look for what her niece lost. Salenor will have flown to the next town over by that point, and he won't stop until he's gotten to the Starfall Isles. He stuffs his meager earnings from his position as Reeve into his bag, makes sure it's secured to him, and then leaves his house. His front lawn is bathed in shadow. Standing tall, curled like a spiral overhead, is a multi-winged imperial. Abran smiled, and he noted how her teeth were as long as his legs. [b]"Reeve,"[/b] Abran greeted, and Salenor could only nod while his entire body shook. [b]"You look alarmed. Did something scare you?"[/b] Salenor shakes his head as the imperial leans down, hooking one claw under the strap of his bag. Her claw feels cold and solid against his hide, and he doesn't know whether to lean away or stay still. He ends up leaning away, and then freezing when he realizes she might snap his bag's strap. [b]"Planning a trip? You haven't submitted a request for vacation days yet,"[/b] Abran tuts, and in a quick motion she snaps the strap and rips the bag off of him. Salenor makes an aborted lunge for his bag, but Abran is able to easily hold it out of reach. His heart thuds painfully in his chest when Abran turns her fiery gaze onto him, and he freezes, like a butterfly pinned against a corkboard. [b]"We must be going. We'll discuss your vacation days at a later date,"[/b] Abran flicked her wrist, and swallowed the bag whole. He's both very glad that he didn't pack anything poisonous, and deeply disturbed at the thought of eating clothes and spare change. With no other choice, he follows Mayor Abran towards the woods. ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] They don't need to wander far until they find their quarry. Or rather, until Salenor finds their quarry; as Mayor Abran has disappeared into the skies to search from above, confident in her abilities to find him. It's not like he can run, what with all his supplies resting in Abran's stomach. Cloudberry is in a small clearing, tending to the roots of a grand fir tree. Salenor pauses in the shadows, and keeps himself hidden amongst the dark mud and dappled sunlight. He's not sure what to do, or that he [i]wants[/i] to do anything; he doesn't particularly care for Cloudberry, but he doesn't want her dead. ...Abran still isn't around... A plan sparks in his mind, and he leaps from the shadows and barrels into Cloudberry. Cloudberry lets out an [i]oomf[/i], and turns, a spell half-formed in her palms, but it dissipates when she sees the small wildclaw clinging to her and hiding beneath her wings. Cloudberry's pale eyes soften, and she extends her wing to completely cover Salenor's body. [b]"Reeve, what're you...? You're shaking--" "The Mayor is going to--"[/b] Cloudberry's body jerks and slams against the ground, pinning Salenor beneath. He struggles, as Cloudberry shouts and begins screaming. Her wings beat against the ground, pinning him further, and he claws at the ground. He can feel Cloudberry twitching and fighting, but whatever has her pinned isn't letting up. He's only able to escape after digging small trenches into the ground with his talons when Cloudberry's body goes still. His back is wet and warm, and he scrambles out from underneath Cloudberry's wing, and turns to see-- ----- [font=System][size=4][indent][b]POV: Salenor[/b][/indent] His voice fails him, and he's jolted back to the present. Salenor breathes heavily, his hands twitching and his frail, rotting body shaking. Abran's gift of ash and spores cling to the interior of his lungs, blocking the oxygen, and he wheezes. He can feel the Shade underneath his skin, eating away at his body, furious it can't also eat away at his mind. People are talking, and yet he can't hear them beyond the sound of rushing water in his ears. Salenor's vision goes fuzzy, and he stumbles, nearly falling over -- [i]when'd he stand up?[/i] -- but he catches himself at the last minute. He presses the heel of his hand into his eyes, and presses his wings around him to shield how badly he's shaking. [b]"She hired a mercenary for Councilwoman Maize. I-I know it was her, because the night after Maize's body was found, she brought me back to her home so neither of us were mourning alone and she just-- [i]she stared at me[/i], and told me [i]it was finally going to stop[/i],"[/b] Salenor held back the sob that threatened to wrench itself out of him. [b]"She never told me why, she never-- but I think they knew. I think Councilwoman Maize knew, because she'd never look me in the eye after Cloudberry was gone,"[/b] At that point, his voice failed him again, and he was left trembling and half-terrified. This had to be everything, this had to be [i]it[/i]. Mayor Abran's crimes laid out neatly, and now he could stop. Salenor looks up, while blinking away moisture, to see that the Council had been quietly discussing his words while he gathered himself. The Warden notices his gaze, and turns her attention to him. [b]"Ex-Reeve.. Thank you, for your testimony. We may have future questions, but for now, you may return to Sleetstorm,"[/b] The Warden dipped her head, and Salenor leapt off his chair and bolted for the door. Even that cold, lifeless prison is better than this place. He smells ash and sweet rot on the wind as two hulking gaoler guards escort him back to Sleetstorm. Salenor is fairly sure the smell isn't coming from him. -----