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shadowApocalypse
I think you'd enjoy this.
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Good characters are like geodes: To see their true beauty, you must break them.
-Let me write you a poem, maybe?-
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you are all fantastic,
if you see this have a very lovely day
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thank you for the feedback so far - it's much more than i expected for what i've written. here's some more:
His claws sink into rusty soil, clouds of dust floating in the wake of his sprint. There is nothing but adrenaline running through his silver body, ravenous hunger exchanged for undiluted fear. Those carnivorous dragons had promised him food, not that he would become food!
The Pearlcatcher’s legs burn with exhaustion – oh, how he wishes he could take to the skies and escape this hellish landscape! A glance past his ruined, tattered wings confirms his worst fears: those horrible crimson eyes still gleam mere paces behind him. Mirrors were made for sprinting and cornering prey, he quickly realized upon first meeting his “guides”, and their prowess over the land has never been clearer. His tail squeezes his sickly grey pearl – maybe he could throw it as distraction… but he may as well be dead without it.
He just continues to run.
Though desolate and windswept, the fields around his den are peppered with landmarks – the desiccated remains of a lost expedition party, half-opened treasure cases still filled with virulent goods, and… there they are! He follows pile after pile of rocks, small waypoints set long, long ago. Knowing he is close to home, the Pearlcatcher puts extra effort into his dash.
But the gnashing of teeth from behind brings dreadful realization crashing upon him – what is returning to his den supposed to accomplish?! There is no way his sickly mother could defend against these animals; they’d both be eaten alive!
But he is weak and tired and cowardly, and though he knows that he should run in any other direction – even into their eager maws – the dark entrance of his den provides him the slightest bit of comfort. Between the shadows and the labyrinth of the small cavern, he tries his luck at the Mirrors not finding their way into his home.
The Pearlcatcher navigates those nooks and crannies by memory alone, claws scraping through the tunnels. His litheness affords him the ability to slip through what grown dragons would struggle with, and after a minute he finds his way back.
His eyes fall upon his mother, a larger, sickly Pearlcatcher lying at the back of the room. Her coughs ring harsh and agonizing through the cave, snowy body heavy with each grating breath. She fails to open her eyes or acknowledge his presence.
He understands the implicit question nonetheless. He doesn’t know what to say in response – no, he doesn’t have food or medicine, he explains in faltering language; his expedition was foiled. What happened? He hasn’t the stomach to say anything more, but he doesn’t need to. The scratching and snarling emanating from the entrance from the cave are more than enough to tell both Pearlcatchers what is soon to come.
Her ruby eyes bolt open, and the mother acquires a stance with vigor he has only seen years ago as a hatchling. Her maw curls in a shape that reminds him of a Mirror’s, and though Pearlcatchers lack canines or any formidable teeth, she readies her beak with flourish unbecoming of her illness. The young dragon watches without a word, in awe of her transformation from sickly mother to defensive guardian, and gains some amount of courage from the presentation alone.
The next words shatter his bravado. She utters in a shaky tone to go upstairs, pointing to a ledge dug into the ceiling above. The small Pearlcatcher inquires about her tactics, as if the pair of them had a fighting chance against demons as proficient as Mirrors.
His small shoulders sink as she fails to respond with an actual reason. The only words he hears is that his mother loves him very, very much, and that he must be the light that brightens this dreary world. Unable to form a cogent response, the dragon lets out a tiny whine, tears forming anew at the edges of his eyes. Through a broken voice he suggests fighting together; without her, there is no him, and-
A wallop across his face brings him back to sanity. Their blood-red eyes lock for just an instant, and the dragon knows he must obey his mother. Without further resistance, he bundles up the power in his hind legs and bounds up to the small ledge. Were he a few years older, he probably wouldn’t fit in this little alcove, but the Pearlcatcher doesn’t appreciate his current fortune. Instead, he shudders and hugs his pearl tight under his chest.
The Mirrors come soon enough, satanic eyes glinting from the lanterns lining the walls. For the first time, he is able to observe them for what they truly are: spots of drool dampen the floor, matching the spirit of their visible ribcages. Their hides are sickly brown, discolored from malnutrition and disease – the Plaguebringer’s gift, as his mother uttered so long ago.
But she was lost from the stage. His eyes dart around the shadows of the den, and the child quickly panics. Did she have a means of escape she never told him about? What if she abandoned him?
The glint of a pearl down in the dark recesses below dispels his concerns. Her tail winds around her most valued possession, and the Pearlcatcher’s forward, crouched stance suggests that she intends to attack. It is the first time he becomes conscious of just how muscled her tail is, and he blinks – there’s no way she will-
Her pearl goes flying at speeds his eyes cannot register. In a fraction of a second, one of the Mirrors is suddenly missing a head, cloud of red mist floating above its torso. Nestled within the fragmented skull is a pearl as white as snow, and it falls to the ground along with the corpse of its victim.
The child watches with wonder as the other Mirror hisses with apprehension. Its four eyes search the shadows as it backs up, tail swishing back and forth. The Pearlcatcher watches as that uncertain retreat brings the dragon right under his perch, and remembers how he considered throwing his pearl in cowardice while on the run.
He gropes it, seeing his vague reflection in its sheen. Would this kill the Mirror or just anger him more? What would happen if he missed? What would happen if he cracked his pearl? Could pearls shatter?
Then he remembers his mother’s life is at stake, and quickly cobbles together his courage. With all the might his frail frame can muster, the youngling picks up the pearl and hurls it down at the dragon below.
A solid thonk echoes through the room. The Pearlcatcher watches his target sway back and forth before keeling over, and he’s both disappointed and relieved that he failed to kill the dragon. He leaps down from his ledge and circles around the brown Mirror. The beast is as terrifying up-close as from three paces behind, and he finds it difficult to believe that they share the same language, let alone intelligence.
But maybe the Mirror knows more about these awful lands – he promised to teach him how to scavenge, after all. He calls to his mother, watching as she finally emerges from the shadows. It’s possible to shackle this dragon until he awakens and learns of his predicament, the small dragon excitedly explains. He probably knows how to escape the Scarred Wasteland, or-
His mother picks the dragon up by the head and drives her horn right into its neck.
He cannot see through the blood caking his vision, but the sounds are all too familiar. With a horrid cry he stumbles back, frantically wiping his face with a claw. As the warmth flows down his hide, he is witness to a moment that he dares not ever embed into his pearl.
Pearlcatchers are supposed to be gentle creatures! They eat only plants and insects, never daring to consume meat, let alone another dragon – but he now stares at his mother digging into the breast of her freshly claimed kill. She roots out the heartiest, freshest portions and swallows without the least bit of decorum, blood splattering all over her pure whiskers. This was – this was just…!
He screams.
She responds with the sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bones.
So he fails to do anything but cover his eyes, shuddering and crying and wishing he could forget the scene playing before him. That reaction is enough to stymie her feeding, the gentle dragon raising her head to stare down at her child. Her muzzle drips blood as red as her eyes, the compassion in her gaze betraying how callously she tore into the Mirror.
“This is our struggle,” she says. He can see how her attention is divided between him and the dragon carcass, and only now understands the ravenous hunger that drives her actions. “This is how we grow stronger… by any means necessary. Nothing is immune from your will to live. Now, son… will you starve, or will you survive?”
His stomach lurches, and the pearlcatcher hurls not the remains of his meal, but black, tarry mucus. The ichor falls past his pearl and stains the ground below: he dares not keep these memories with him.
A sob erupts from the frail dragon as he crumples, not caring how the fluid stains his bloated underside. Alas – he needs not coat his pearl to remember what he so dearly wishes to forget.
thank you for the feedback so far - it's much more than i expected for what i've written. here's some more:
His claws sink into rusty soil, clouds of dust floating in the wake of his sprint. There is nothing but adrenaline running through his silver body, ravenous hunger exchanged for undiluted fear. Those carnivorous dragons had promised him food, not that he would become food!
The Pearlcatcher’s legs burn with exhaustion – oh, how he wishes he could take to the skies and escape this hellish landscape! A glance past his ruined, tattered wings confirms his worst fears: those horrible crimson eyes still gleam mere paces behind him. Mirrors were made for sprinting and cornering prey, he quickly realized upon first meeting his “guides”, and their prowess over the land has never been clearer. His tail squeezes his sickly grey pearl – maybe he could throw it as distraction… but he may as well be dead without it.
He just continues to run.
Though desolate and windswept, the fields around his den are peppered with landmarks – the desiccated remains of a lost expedition party, half-opened treasure cases still filled with virulent goods, and… there they are! He follows pile after pile of rocks, small waypoints set long, long ago. Knowing he is close to home, the Pearlcatcher puts extra effort into his dash.
But the gnashing of teeth from behind brings dreadful realization crashing upon him – what is returning to his den supposed to accomplish?! There is no way his sickly mother could defend against these animals; they’d both be eaten alive!
But he is weak and tired and cowardly, and though he knows that he should run in any other direction – even into their eager maws – the dark entrance of his den provides him the slightest bit of comfort. Between the shadows and the labyrinth of the small cavern, he tries his luck at the Mirrors not finding their way into his home.
The Pearlcatcher navigates those nooks and crannies by memory alone, claws scraping through the tunnels. His litheness affords him the ability to slip through what grown dragons would struggle with, and after a minute he finds his way back.
His eyes fall upon his mother, a larger, sickly Pearlcatcher lying at the back of the room. Her coughs ring harsh and agonizing through the cave, snowy body heavy with each grating breath. She fails to open her eyes or acknowledge his presence.
He understands the implicit question nonetheless. He doesn’t know what to say in response – no, he doesn’t have food or medicine, he explains in faltering language; his expedition was foiled. What happened? He hasn’t the stomach to say anything more, but he doesn’t need to. The scratching and snarling emanating from the entrance from the cave are more than enough to tell both Pearlcatchers what is soon to come.
Her ruby eyes bolt open, and the mother acquires a stance with vigor he has only seen years ago as a hatchling. Her maw curls in a shape that reminds him of a Mirror’s, and though Pearlcatchers lack canines or any formidable teeth, she readies her beak with flourish unbecoming of her illness. The young dragon watches without a word, in awe of her transformation from sickly mother to defensive guardian, and gains some amount of courage from the presentation alone.
The next words shatter his bravado. She utters in a shaky tone to go upstairs, pointing to a ledge dug into the ceiling above. The small Pearlcatcher inquires about her tactics, as if the pair of them had a fighting chance against demons as proficient as Mirrors.
His small shoulders sink as she fails to respond with an actual reason. The only words he hears is that his mother loves him very, very much, and that he must be the light that brightens this dreary world. Unable to form a cogent response, the dragon lets out a tiny whine, tears forming anew at the edges of his eyes. Through a broken voice he suggests fighting together; without her, there is no him, and-
A wallop across his face brings him back to sanity. Their blood-red eyes lock for just an instant, and the dragon knows he must obey his mother. Without further resistance, he bundles up the power in his hind legs and bounds up to the small ledge. Were he a few years older, he probably wouldn’t fit in this little alcove, but the Pearlcatcher doesn’t appreciate his current fortune. Instead, he shudders and hugs his pearl tight under his chest.
The Mirrors come soon enough, satanic eyes glinting from the lanterns lining the walls. For the first time, he is able to observe them for what they truly are: spots of drool dampen the floor, matching the spirit of their visible ribcages. Their hides are sickly brown, discolored from malnutrition and disease – the Plaguebringer’s gift, as his mother uttered so long ago.
But she was lost from the stage. His eyes dart around the shadows of the den, and the child quickly panics. Did she have a means of escape she never told him about? What if she abandoned him?
The glint of a pearl down in the dark recesses below dispels his concerns. Her tail winds around her most valued possession, and the Pearlcatcher’s forward, crouched stance suggests that she intends to attack. It is the first time he becomes conscious of just how muscled her tail is, and he blinks – there’s no way she will-
Her pearl goes flying at speeds his eyes cannot register. In a fraction of a second, one of the Mirrors is suddenly missing a head, cloud of red mist floating above its torso. Nestled within the fragmented skull is a pearl as white as snow, and it falls to the ground along with the corpse of its victim.
The child watches with wonder as the other Mirror hisses with apprehension. Its four eyes search the shadows as it backs up, tail swishing back and forth. The Pearlcatcher watches as that uncertain retreat brings the dragon right under his perch, and remembers how he considered throwing his pearl in cowardice while on the run.
He gropes it, seeing his vague reflection in its sheen. Would this kill the Mirror or just anger him more? What would happen if he missed? What would happen if he cracked his pearl? Could pearls shatter?
Then he remembers his mother’s life is at stake, and quickly cobbles together his courage. With all the might his frail frame can muster, the youngling picks up the pearl and hurls it down at the dragon below.
A solid thonk echoes through the room. The Pearlcatcher watches his target sway back and forth before keeling over, and he’s both disappointed and relieved that he failed to kill the dragon. He leaps down from his ledge and circles around the brown Mirror. The beast is as terrifying up-close as from three paces behind, and he finds it difficult to believe that they share the same language, let alone intelligence.
But maybe the Mirror knows more about these awful lands – he promised to teach him how to scavenge, after all. He calls to his mother, watching as she finally emerges from the shadows. It’s possible to shackle this dragon until he awakens and learns of his predicament, the small dragon excitedly explains. He probably knows how to escape the Scarred Wasteland, or-
His mother picks the dragon up by the head and drives her horn right into its neck.
He cannot see through the blood caking his vision, but the sounds are all too familiar. With a horrid cry he stumbles back, frantically wiping his face with a claw. As the warmth flows down his hide, he is witness to a moment that he dares not ever embed into his pearl.
Pearlcatchers are supposed to be gentle creatures! They eat only plants and insects, never daring to consume meat, let alone another dragon – but he now stares at his mother digging into the breast of her freshly claimed kill. She roots out the heartiest, freshest portions and swallows without the least bit of decorum, blood splattering all over her pure whiskers. This was – this was just…!
He screams.
She responds with the sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bones.
So he fails to do anything but cover his eyes, shuddering and crying and wishing he could forget the scene playing before him. That reaction is enough to stymie her feeding, the gentle dragon raising her head to stare down at her child. Her muzzle drips blood as red as her eyes, the compassion in her gaze betraying how callously she tore into the Mirror.
“This is our struggle,” she says. He can see how her attention is divided between him and the dragon carcass, and only now understands the ravenous hunger that drives her actions. “This is how we grow stronger… by any means necessary. Nothing is immune from your will to live. Now, son… will you starve, or will you survive?”
His stomach lurches, and the pearlcatcher hurls not the remains of his meal, but black, tarry mucus. The ichor falls past his pearl and stains the ground below: he dares not keep these memories with him.
A sob erupts from the frail dragon as he crumples, not caring how the fluid stains his bloated underside. Alas – he needs not coat his pearl to remember what he so dearly wishes to forget.
@
StrangeStorm
don think of this as me hating on your flight, think of this as cool dark lore :U (plus plauge is cool, i just hate the idea of being sick)
@
StrangeStorm
don think of this as me hating on your flight, think of this as cool dark lore :U (plus plauge is cool, i just hate the idea of being sick)
TBD
I'm not crying you're crying
I'm not crying you're crying
Wow! The story was beautifully written. It was a very dismal story but amazing.
Wow! The story was beautifully written. It was a very dismal story but amazing.
