~The Beginning of The Fall~
Story 1
Main Character: Acacia Arvida
WARNING : Contains a bit of censored gore 
The wind whipped at my wings as I carried precious cargo across the seas, threatening to take away the only thing I had left to clutched against my stomach. A sea, testing me to see if it could shove me to the brink as I flew away. The clouds above began to accumulate and roll with ominous thunder. I could no longer hear him behind me. He was
gone.
I did as I was told, and never looked back. I couldn't, although I had tried. Black wings had taken away one of my only treasures, after so many years at picking at my hoard. They couldn't take everything though. They called themselves heroes, but they were only thieves, no better than the muck they claimed to clean up around Sornieth's for our sake. They were no cleaner than the darkness they swore to protect us from, and they certainly weren't about to protect me and what I carried with me. I didn't let tears stop me, fall as they may, for my wings, and my treasures, needed me more than I needed myself.
I flew on for ages, wings tired and sore, the clouds rumbling, rain falling. I hadn't slept for three days. The brink of a dragons' lost mind was three days in sleep torture methods. Three days maximum. Sometimes it took less than three days for a sleep deprived dragon to go mad, sometimes more if they were well rested before. Unfortunately I had the opportunities to learn how to prepare for it. So many times had I gotten to stay awake at night, fearing when I would be put in that ghastly chamber after all they had said to me, but I was free, and I got to pick my own poisons now.
I crashed to the floor, making sure to land on my side or my back and not my stomach, clutching the fragile treasures to my body as I felt grass, rock, and dirt grate against my spines. I skidded to a halt, limbs flying where they pleased, to finally rest at the base of a thick clutch of bamboo stalks, barely free enough to flow in the wind, bending as one. As soon as the fuzzy little pains stopped I took what felt like my first breath in ages, an exhale of relief. My body screamed for me to lie down and rest my aching muscles and tired mind, but I still had work to do. With what felt like would be the death of me, I heaved myself onto all three, my fourth limb clutching the treasures and feeling my aching stomach, as I limped towards the bamboo. There was a path just wide enough for me to see it, but I can already see that the earth was waiting for new stalks to grow, but it was shelter for now.
With tired limbs I clutched my cleaver and sliced the stalks out of the way, quietly thanking them for their time here on the earth for I felt bad for cutting down what had withstood so much already. My tired mind wanted to gripe and groan on every little thing, but I didn't let my grief take hold of me until I would have enough sleep to mourn, not for the plants... and not for him. Not yet at least.
I finally cut through the bamboo until I got to the stone structure behind, a cave just big enough for a den. One room, one home, one function. Shelter. I quickly stumbled towards it, trying not to go too fast for fear of hurting my cargo and quick enough to prevent me from collapsing right then and therein then as I felt safety brush the edges of my clawtips, for it was right there. I could not stress to you enough how important this was to me for this place was hidden from black wings and rotten corpses. I could no longer smell the rot on the wind for we were so high up. I hadn't felt this safe in weeks. I was so happy to find a home, no matter how temporary it would turn out to be.
I set the bag down, the rest of my cargo rocking against me. I stormed out with all the power I could must to get supplies and came back with dead grass and bamboo stalks and began to make a little nest of sorts to keep my cargo safe and hidden. I began crossing the stalks across the hole revealing the pathway outside, moving rocks until my bones wanted to break as I covered the entrance I had come from and carved away with my cleaver. I tied bamboo stalks together so they would bend over on their own time, so as they grew they would cross over the path once more to hide my tracks in due time. I took some of the palm like leaves of the bamboo and tried to hide the tracks I had left in the dirt by stuffing in dead grass I had dug up with my back and sweeping the muddy dirt to hide the scrape marks. I always looked to the skies at least every five minutes, knowing I was sluggish in my state and I would have to hide as soon as I saw wings if I wanted to recover properly, hidden away from the world.
By the time the outside was done I was seeing things, dizzy with exhaustion. I jumped into the air like a startled kitten at every rustle in the bushes and every sudden gust of wind that sounded like wings. I hid from shadows that looked like dragons and stalks that looked like rotten flesh behind rocks and trees until I got a hold of myself. Every time I thought I heard his voice, I would listen and I would rush towards the sound, sidetracked from my work, but no matter how much I thought and hoped he was there he was not singing for me.
I stopped at the tree finally where I thought I heard his voice. I looked at the trunk expecting to see him, then looked down at the roots expecting to see claws... but they were just roots. He was not there. The tree was so much like the one he had lived in... Grand, curving towards the sky like a snake taking flight, letting branches grow from its scales and touch the sky as that snake sprouted wings. How could it be that it was the same shape as his home? It was at that moment that I felt a grieving sort of calm fall over me, my body no longer shivering in the cold or out of fear, and I just looked down at the ground... and I felt everything.
I could feel the wash of exhaustion as it gripped to my joints, wanting me to go home and sleep in a comfortable bed, or any where that would suffice.
I could feel tears wanting to fall, but never doing so, wailing from the insides like pleading, haunted spirits wanting to rest.
I could feel the treasures
tap, tap, tapping away at their walls.
I could feel the terror of the undead nearby, moaning and groaning as their hunger took over them like fear and exhaustion took hold of me.
I could feel the betrayal of what was supposed to be a family ripping away the only joys in life with black wings.
And most of all I could feel the reality of all this settling down inside of me....
And somehow that was fine with me...
I don't know how long I stood there, or what I did as I stood, but I was there for what felt like a long dream. By the time I had looked up from the insides of my mind I saw a tree, curving into the sky in front of me. I saw the sky, blue and wisping away winds the naked eye couldn't see as they carried grey clouds away from the Thousand Current Sea. I could see no one there in front of me.
I finally turned away and back to the den where I would call as my home. I finished decorating the den with the rest of the bamboo leaves to make my chopping look more natural. I dragged in the supplies I had left out on the grass, much to my surprise when I found it there, and I dragged it into the den.
With a final check all was in place I stood back and flopped down, letting my tired limbs go where they pleased and sleep take me in the most literal way. I didn't dream a thing.
I woke up in a cave unknown to me. A cold stone floor that had once been warm to me. I looked at my supplies and sighed seeing they were safe. I was still tired and sore, but at least I was rested. My head was back on, and I could tell the hallucinations were gone.
My bones creaked as I got up, joints popping. My internal clock told me it had been three days of sleeping, three days to make up for lost time. I stood up and looked out of the den at the messy camouflage I had installed, and least it hadn't needed to be used. I sighed.
"Windsinger, you were so kind to me," I thought to myself,
"If only the rest of the world could be..."
I shambled out of the den, stretching my aching wings, listening to joints pop as I revived my body. The wind was cold and setting in, melting away the warmth of sleep, and I liked it. The sweat on my body was hot and had dried mud clinging to it, each spine coated in a new shade of brown. I moved the spines around on my back as I stretched, letting some of the dirt knock off for me, before I went to search for a shower.
I rubbed away at my scales and fingered the dirt under each of the crevices as Singer's Brook let me get a clean wash and start my life all over again. Two major changes in my life style in less than two months. The world had indeed brought my hopes up only to crush them down. I hope it wouldn't do it again. I reapplied my apparel, cleaned off my cleaver, and stood back up. I had to return the den as soon as possible. I couldn't be outside alone for too long or else disaster would decide to strike again. Once it was all over... I would need help. But for now, I had to survive.
With a startle that rocked my soul I reared back as a zombie came thrusting out at me from the reeds, growling and moaning in a thrust of aggression. I roared at it in warning, brandishing my cleaver at it and knocking it away from my stomach. The abomination crashed to the ground, it almost useless wings flaring outwards and kicking up water. It got back up and growled at me in the moaning way they growl, gurgling as it spat out water and slime. The zombie was a mirror, freshly turned, and looking for an easy meal. I wasn't about to let it be the thing to take anymore from me. I still carried something precious and I wasn't going to let it have it. It waded in the shallow waters, stalking me with all those eyes of its. It looked me up and down, seeing my sheer size was not something it wanted to tangle with yet, but obviously torn by its own hunger telling it to do so. I moved in the air, pumping my tired wings as I flew around the edge of Singer's Brook. The creature followed me, curious and starving, not minding its step. I got an idea.
I slowly moved farther back, watching it follow me, looking for a weak point to exploit the second I looked away. I acted hesitant, trying to make it seem like I was afraid of it, baiting it even further. The creature gave a warning jump at me to see if it could startle me and throw me off balance. I played at its game and backed away in a hurry, but giving it no openings. It took the bait and continued to stalk and jump at me. I lead it closer... and closer... until....
WHOOSH! The thing took a warning leap into the wrong direction and plummtted into the water. The creature shrieked in shock as water began to fill its lungs, unable to cough and sputter with the virus crippling its body to keep its control over it. Weak limbs flailed about as it sank in deeper, falling into an underwater pit. I listened and watched as it shrieked in me in a way I could not understand it as it plunged into the water, writhing and squirming. I hovered there at the edge of the water, watching the creature squirm in the cold depths surrounding it, waiting for its spark of undead life to go out. Bubbles rose to the top as the body below flailed, unable to get a grasp of anything, until it finally fell still. It floated there underwater, sinking further with its already weakened lungs and empty stomach filled with fresh water. I landed, holding my cleaver just in case, not letting my guard down, and waited for a while until I could fish out the abomination and make sure it was truly dead.
Once I had felt the sun turn in the sky to the next hour mark, I took out my spear and sprung out its crossbow arms. I had modified it when I was still young so I could shoot bolts from it and use it as spear at the same time, and I still used it today. I must admit, it was pretty ingenious, and I had to keep it from the hands of the inventor, but it was well worth it. I used the crossbow arms to hook around the creatures neck and pull it out, the strings acting as a solid lasso in case the thing was faking. I held it above the water like a dead fish on a hook and pulled out my cleaver. I turned around and walked off carefully with the corpse to a place that was well off from the water before spilling its blood and guts onto the floor. With a rush of fresh water spilling from the throat and hideously green crimson a nest of maggots fell out. I wrinkled my nose at the mess and willed myself not to breathe the scent in. For who knows, the guts of a zombie could intoxicate the air, and you could become one yourself. I didn't want to be infected, especially not now when I was already in a critically fragile state.
I stepped away from the gory mess and released the nearly severed head, careful not to let any of it touch my scales and open wounds. I stormed away from the body as quickly as I could to properly gag at the sight. I had spilled guts before, but the way the sword had sliced through had felt too easy, and nobody carried an infestation of bugs in their throat like that. Nobody's guts should ever have something like that in them.
I turned away from the mess behind me and, after cleaning myself off once more and cleaning off my weaponry in a stream heading out to sea, I took off from the scene and flew home.
I landed on the cliff again and walked through the hidden pathway. I knew I would have to make another pathway soon to come in and out of, and another one just for a quick escape, for the first one was too obvious. Too out in the open. I needed to fortify my den, for although zombies couldn't fly, death would always find a way. I ducked under the ark of bamboo and into the path, walking down the clear dirt road where the sun couldn't shine very far in, and entered the den where I would camp for the night. I sat down again and began to go through my supply bags, chucking out what was broken or useless and keeping what was worth something. I would have to find more food and fresh water soon before I could run out, and I didn't want to drink the water in Singer's Brook at the moment....
As I was digging through, my claws hit something. Something cold, smooth, and curvy. My eyebrows raised, not expecting to find something like that there. I pulled out the object carefully and revealed a small blue and green vase. Smokey tendrils curled across the glossy surface as blue stained clay made almost a sky like pattern behind it. Dark greens and aqua blues made up the structure of the vase. I looked at it, holding it like it was the only thing left in the world, feeling its rim and handle, as I gazed upon the last shard of him. I exhaled as a feeling of heart ache and warmth washed over me as I touched the surface of the ceramic, and as I found one more thing to cling onto.
I looked to the nest hidden in the corner, and then the vase. There was no way I could travel again with both of these. They were just way too fragile. I would have to make this my home, in order to preserve the last bits of him I had. The last living pieces to a dragon I had once gotten to call my own.
I set it down on the outcropping of rock above me, looking at it one more time before leaving the den again to sit on the cliff's edge, looking out at the wasteland that was once filled with the magical music of the Wind flight. I looked out across the Reedcleft Ascent and the layers of cliffs that protected me from the zombies.
"The layers of cliffs that could protect us all."
The thought dawned on me as I looked across the landscape. Instantly my brain began to piece together structures and walls built around the cliffs and place them into my view and as I scanned the grass covered cliffs one more time. Bridges and tents that could carry dragons through the apocalypse. Families and friends who could be well fed and safe together. Eggs that would never be smashed for fear of infection. Lost souls who could find the rest of their kin without risking their own tails. Doctors who could cure and mend the wounded before it was too late, and an army to protect the walls surrounding the survivors. I began to see hope for me and my future once more.
"I can create a safe haven..." I realized out loud to the wind, so the gods could hear my next ambition and aid me once more in a fight for freedom. My words carried meaning for once in my life as my gravelly voice spoke words that sounded real to me.
"I can make Camp Curala."
~
~
Thanks for reading!
