Quests & Challenges

@gaymiens Every dragon in the stories before loved someone: Mercury loved his master and the children who read his stories, Venus loved Milo, Gaia loved her clanmates, and Mars loved his father and Bruno. Jupiter, however, found he couldn't love anyone. He was immutably distant to his parents and reluctant to make new friends, let alone fall in love. His only companions were his books, the stars, and the giant celestial mobile he had hanging in his room. And everywhere he went, his trusty Dripcave Deputy, Newton, would follow. He loved the order in things, from his books that he had meticulously organized by color to the golden spiral of a galaxy. And he liked numbers, too; each night he'd count how many stars were out until he fell asleep. In the empty darkness of the Abiding Boneyard, all the stars could be seen, and he'd find himself staying out until midnight. "Five thousand six hundred eighty-seven... five thousand six hundred eighty eight... five thousand six hundred eighty-nine..." "What are you counting, sir?" came a small voice from a small coatl. [img]http://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=0&body=163&bodygene=9&breed=12&element=2&eyetype=6&gender=1&tert=85&tertgene=24&winggene=40&wings=139&auth=fe751e383108bcf24d75253b442ceec81ce10559&dummyext=prev.png[/img] "The stars, of course," Jupiter said with a slight chuckle. "What do they look like?" It was then that he looked into the little dragon's eyes and saw that they had been blinded by disease. She had probably never known the wonders of the stars. "Well, they're small... and white... have you ever seen white? Do you remember it?" The coatl smiled and clapped her talons. "Like the snow! Mama told me it was white when she took me to the Southern Icefield... and it tickled when it fell!" She paused a while. "Do the stars fall?" "Sometimes they do. And they leave little trails across the sky..." On and on he went, about shooting stars, about planets and how perfectly round they were, and how big the sky was. And for once, he felt a strange warmth in his heart, like a star just beginning to be born... "You never told me your name," he said as he patted her on the back with one big soft paw. "What is it? I'd like to know?" She paused before she finally answered: "Io." "Io..." he repeated. "Pale and bright, like a little moon. You seem to keep going around me like one too." From that day on, Jupiter and Io wandered the boneyards, with Jupiter acting as Io's eyes and telling her of what he saw, and Io always asking questions. Newton would follow too, acting as a seeing-eye familiar and leading her by his chain so she wouldn't fall into any danger. One fateful day, the hardest question arose. "When will I be able to see?" The question choked Jupiter. Plague Primal, as far as he knew, was a debilitating and deadly disease. She may not have survived in the next few days. Maybe she would never see the bright lights in the sky. "Excuse me, I need to go back to my lab. Want to come with?" She obliged, and as soon as they arrived, he flew into a frenzy searching for a cure. For three tireless days and nights, he studied the strain and its movements, never stopping to eat or sleep. Io and Newton stood by, worried of what would become of their dear friend. On the eve of the final day, Jupiter fell, fatigued, in front of his two companions. "It's done," he croaked out. "Drink." Io followed his orders, and the pulsating mass cleared from her eyes. She stood in awe at the research he had done: at the color-coded books, and the bubbling masses in his test tubes, and especially at the color-shifting metallic spheres hanging from the mobile. "Oh, Jupiter! Jupiter, I can see! Look at me!" But he didn't answer. Eyes wide open, still breathing, he lay unresponsive. No matter how much Io shook her big friend, he wouldn't wake up. She knew what she had to do. Under the glimmer of a billion stars and among a billion bones, she and Newton began their pilgrimage to the Boneyard, pulling Jupiter along. There he would be surrounded by the thing he loved the most. With his eyes never closing, there he would remain, as warden of the cosmos. Some say he is still there to this day: not dead, not sleeping, but watching. Io and Newton would drop by occasionally to offer him food, so he could continue to stay alive. Those who pass him by take care to be quiet, so as not to interrupt his endless reverie.

@ThePlasticTree, @Onceler, @shoujo, @Watercolour, @Pufferheart, @Disillusionist, @Nrogara, @LoversMasque, @Salteas

Chapter Six is now up! We're only one prompt away from the end of this competition (Ouranos and Neptune being a paired couple). Good luck!

@gaymiens
Saturn time!

She had known since she was little.

Saturn could remember her dragonet days, when she could take the claw of another dragon and foretell what their fate most likely would be; she remembered telling the dragonet who would become the Dreamer to beware of sleep.

She remembered what it was like before the whispers started.

Before she cast her first dark prediction, her powers were a mere curiosity, something to be poked at and studied. And after she told the would-be general of his grisly fate, the curiosity stopped and was replaced by fear, by muttered curses and warnings.
Saturn made her peace with this, although she could see others’ fates with a crystalline clarity, her own was lost to her. All she could see of her own fate was ostracization, then contentment, and everything beyond that was covered by opaque glass.

It was no surprise to her, that soon, she was exalted to the Arcanist.

It was nice, she supposed, working as his oracle in the temples of chalcedony. She was still feared, but now, dragons sought her to learn their fates. They willingly came to her small temple, located in the crystalline tidepools of the Isles, and she in turn learned of their fates, both joyous and tragic.

She was confined to the temple, though, but on one of her trips through its halls, she came across a decorated rune pool filled with koi. The panels on the side of the pool showed images; images of the creation of the world, and of the subsequent eras.
Saturn traced an almost-reverent claw along the panels, and as she did, from the painted stone sprang a painted protobeast.


The oracle and her familiar grew and aged together, confined in the little world of their temple. Outside, wars raged and treaties were made, but they existed in a sort of time capsule, cut off from the world.

Not entirely, of course-dragons still came to her for prophecies, but even that outside light slowed to a trickle; soon, Saturn would stay at her oracle-bench for years on end before she met anyone new.

After fifty years, she saw a new dragon every month.
After one hundred years, she saw a new dragon every four months.
After two-hundred and forty-nine years, she saw a new dragon every ten years.

Now, Saturn did not consider herself a conversationalist, but she wished to at the very least see other dragons more than once a decade. So, she went to the Arcanist and asked,

“I tire of being an oracle; I wish to see more dragons. Is there any post I may take, that I will not fade away?”

The Arcanist hummed, then nodded, and beckoned for her to follow him.



The very next day, the Oracle disappeared from her post in her temple. No one remembered that she had lived, or even existed.
No one questioned the new appearance of a golden imperial statue in one of the Arcanist’s main temples, either.

@gaymiens

Long ago, before the time of even the Earthshaker, the whole world was pure white and unbroken, and two spirits called it home. One took the shape of a dragon clad in silks, who called herself Saturn. The other was a giant Protobeast in a floating bubble, and her name was Rhea. They would walk the marble plains together, talking about what was and what was to come.

"What do you think our land will look like, Saturn?"

And Saturn would close her eyes with a satisfied hum. "I think it will be green and lush. Or maybe there will be coral and crawling, swimming things. Or maybe..." She paused awhile, and Rhea did a curious loop-de-loop in her bubble.

"Maybe?"

"Maybe it will be dry and brown and dusty, and no one will live here but us."

"Ah," Rhea sighed, "but the stars will still be here, in the skies above us. And as long as there are stars, we will still have a happy future."

Many centuries passed, and the two friends watched as one by one, the deities emerged and quarreled. The fledgling planet they walked upon became everything Saturn had imagined, and more. Mountains rose, and the ground grew dry and rocky, but it was a good and quiet place to think, so there they remained. And the stars were there, like Rhea had thought of, and she and Saturn still remained friends, conversing with each other about the events to come.

"How many will die in this war, dear Saturn?"

Saturn clenched her face at the thought. "Too many to count, but the world will go on despite it. And the stars will still be here, and so will we."

"You're right, my friend. Light does not die. Light carries on, even after death. It will be there the morning after, even when all is lost. And as long as there is a morning, we will still have a happy future."

They watched as the eleven siblings snapped at each other's throats, fighting for dominance, even shattering the precious pillar that the Earth dragons had named their pride. But as Rhea had prognosticated, each day a new day dawned, pink and soft, upon the young Sornieth, and there she and Saturn remained.

"Dear Saturn," said Rhea, "you and I have successfully foretold the future together. It's almost like we're oracles!"

"Oracles... I like that!" Saturn replied with a smile. "But... where is your question?"

"Will we ever have to say goodbye?"

Silence, and then Rhea spoke, hanging her head. "Someday surely, Rhea, and I will miss you very much. But you will be there in the sky; you will be part of the stars and the sunlight in the morning, and I will smile every day as I look toward it."

"Before I go... can I tell you something?" Rhea gave Saturn a sweet little smile. "Do you know how wonderful it is to live? How rare and beautiful it is that we exist?"

Saturn nodded and waved goodbye as her friend floated higher, higher into the sky. Soon she was gone, but not truly gone. Her presence lingered with Saturn for as long as the dragon lived.

@gaymiens

I do not wish to see.

I realize that you are busy, but you are also, they tell me, a collector of curiosities, and among all of our gracious gods, The Arcanist is most keen to ever so often, lend some of his luck to one of the oddities of our world.
Perhaps I am one of them.
I do not mean to be so forward, I will not ask for your fondness outright, I shall never be that presumptuous.

Lend me only the time it takes to tell you only a little of my tale, and may you judge for yourself if I endear myself to you.

They call me The Oracle, in reverent tones.
When they have left my company, they whisper among themselves how I could be an Oracle and yet not see. They think that they are being kind, these words in hushed tones, far from my view.
They do not realize that whispers to me, are louder than screams.

This is how I have made my living, in part.
I have been from birth, unable to stand my own senses.
To me, this has been most natural. It was only at the arrival of others that I began to think perhaps it was a blessing as well as a curse.

They came to me first rarely, then as their courage and their need grew in equal amounts, in twos and threes, large groups, emissaries from clans.

I gave them their answers, their cures. They never asked me how, but I sensed in their words and the way their feelings glowed to me, that skepticism turned to ease, then familiarity.

Over time, this familiarity has led down a path of words, innocent enough to the speaker, but laid in thorns for me. I hear everything. Every small whisper, every rustle of discontent, each tiny scoff so low it might have been a bee's murmur, yet to me was an accusation shouted.

Painted Protobeasts are ugly, they say.
To me he is silk under the waves, an undulating breeze among the deep. How could this be ugly?
I am glad that he does not understand their feelings of him, hidden by a mask of cooing words upon each visit.

The oldest among them will find another target upon me to consider.
They will say, how could someone of the Earth Flight have such delicate wings? It isn't proper, they look as though they may shatter under the slightest breeze. Hardly fit for the dedication and work of Earth.
The first time I heard this, it hurt as much as I'd ever felt.
My wings were none of their concern, and I certainly was not about to tell them that indeed I was afraid to fly at all, I felt weakness upon all of my body, weighed down by the light, the rain, the air itself.
One time became several, then too many to count, each as sharp and painful as before.
I acquiesced. To quell these feelings within, I have added a set of strong metals to bolster my frail wings.
It may only be adding weight upon weight, though if I pretend I could fly at any time, I may have begun to believe it.

The youngest will comment graciously upon my colors, exclaim how lovely I am, how much of a credit I am to the Earthshaker in my duties and Earth itself in my visage.
Then, they will turn from the path, walk on with the overt lightness in their steps that is particular to one with something on their mind, and when they feel they are out of my reach, ask each other.
How can she see with that Sage outfit? How can someone ever be an Oracle without seeing?

Oh, my poor misguided, frustrated, cynical pilgrims.
I could see if I were to remove my cover, but the act of it would near destroy me, I am sure.
For I feel so much, so heavily, in all aspects already.
The wind may be pleasant, though to me the sensation of a gale is a raking pressure. I can stand it until it subsides, but the air weighs upon me so.
I can see your intentions as clear to me as they are muddled to yourself, every one of you that approaches.
Your moods and thoughts are a book in the language of colors, the slight shift of your limbs, a hesitation, a too bright tone of voice, claw tapped on rock impatiently, ever so briefly.
Each scrap that you give to me, no matter the origins, I can tell you what it is made of, where it is from, how much of the dye or metal has been lost to the ages, what kind of hands have held it before yours. Was the maker or owner someone soft and gentle? Is this the last evidence in a crime left so long without justice that it has hollowed your community from the inside out? I will tell you what features the culprit will have, by the sensing of these alone.

As for those who arrive in the middle of the night, they are fearful that they may be turned away, that I will not be able to attend to their task without the light of the sun paving the way to clarity.
They need not worry. The sunlight is a veil upon me as well, be it harsh to a feverish burning sensation, or in the lovely days of an overcast sky, just tolerable, a blanket of weight.
The sunlight is very well for all others who could stand to look upon the land under it's veil, but this thought terrifies me. Even under these layers of smooth and comforting clothing, I can see the light of my own lanterns burning steadily, a grounding force that guides me when I am uneasy, a welcome light without the overwhelming power to blind.

Dear Arcanist, all of these examples I have laid for you are but a sampling of my life and it's unusual qualities. Perhaps you would see fit to grant me some of your endearments, as I have been put to a task now unlike any other. There is a hatchling on her deathbed, and only I have the knowledge to read between each rattling breath for a cure. Her clan came to me last night, and the air itself was a mire of lamentation as far as I could reach. I would not refuse such a request.

I only ask one small favor of you in return. To reach this young dragon yet to live in time to save her, I must fly. In truth I do not know if I am able, though I think that my fear is not unfounded, and my intuition on this has not been false to me either. In this dire circumstance however, I must.

This is the reason that I have written to you this night. The next morning, at the sun's peak when all is blinding pressure, I must take my first flight. I can only hope against myself that it will not be my last.
If you have found something in my tale, please grant me your boon.

Soon, I will fly- or I will fall.
I do not wish to remove my cover, and I do not wish to see my own fate.
I have seen so many fates already, let mine be as it may, at your mercy.
If I fall, there will be nothing but to be shattered upon the rocks below.
If this is to be my fate, nothing else, I would wish that the pieces of me not lay upon the ground forever, but be lifted into flight, to circle the world itself and watch over all as stardust, in a flight forever above and beyond all of the pressures of the world above and below, that I could not achieve in life.

@ThePlasticTree, @Onceler, @shoujo, @Watercolour, @Pufferheart, @Disillusionist, @Nrogara, @LoversMasque, @Salteas

For the finale, we're doing a two-for-one! Write a story involving this mating pair of dragons. They're both XXX gem-gened Carribean dragons with matching cooldown periods, AND they've been checked to make sure that they're compatible for breeding. They have very common familiars and only three pieces of apparel each to make up for the double prize they present, though. Have fun! Prizes will be announced tomorrow.

@gaymiens oops I missed two entries! I went ahead and wrote them still since I'm trying to tie everything together:

Jupiter was considered old even by the time the Arcanist had met him, and he’d lived for quite a long time after that. The Arcanist had met this Gaoler dragon long before they began to leave their mountain stronghold - back then, very few knew his real name, calling him only “The Warden.” He was one of the buyers that Mercury would sell to - he was a collector, especially of weapons, though this was mostly to keep the powerful magical things that Mercury kept finding out of the hands of those who would abuse them. It was through Mercury that Jupiter had stumbled upon another knowledge, one that finally called him out of the mountain to the Arcanist’s door.

The Arcanist had heard of the Gaolers, but he’d never met one face to face, so he was quite willing to set aside his books for a few hours and hear out this dragon’s concerns over a cup of tea. He hadn’t been able to focus on what he was reading for a few days anyway - this was when Mars was still in the infirmary, sometimes doing better and sometimes doing worse. The Arcanist was in a state of nerves and sleep deprivation, thanks to his nightmares, so Jupiter’s visit was a welcome distraction.

He hadn’t come to exchange pleasantries, however. He informed the Arcanist that the Beastclan that had destroyed Mars’ army was not only unique in their organization - they had an item of power.

“Mercury was the first to inform me of their existence,” Jupiter said, leaning forward intently - he hadn’t even touched his tea. “I was a bit skeptical at first - what he was telling me sounded like rumors. He wasn’t in the possession of any of them at the time - though I think he must have one. Death follows these items wherever they go, either from being used incompetently, or being fought over, or being intentionally used. It was after his death that I began to wonder - I’d asked him to bring me back one. He hadn’t seemed confident that this was possible, which had seemed strange to me. Wasn’t everything possible for him? He’d been back several times, always with more reports, but still with no first hand stories to tell me. He seemed wary of them. When I heard of his death, I felt a small tingle of fear. It was as if I could finally feel the universe shift. Mercury was a cunning dragon, not easily caught unawares, not easy to find when he didn’t want to be found, and not easily killed. I began to seek out more knowledge about these items he spoke of. I have since not only found them to be real, but that there are six. They all have unique forms and equally unique powers.

“The Beastclan that your valiant warrior friend went up against is in possession of one of them.”

The Arcanist was so startled he almost dropped his tea. He’d been so engrossed in the story, that this revelation caught him off guard. “A- a Beastclan, in possession of a powerful magical item?” he stammered. “How is that even possible?” (he hadn’t been very well acquainted with Beastclans at that point - he knew better than to underestimate them now)

“Did I say magic?” Jupiter had said, a quick flash in his eye. “No, these are bigger than magic. They are ancient powers from before the universe. They are from the realms of space and time, and they need to be returned there, before they tear this realm apart.”

The Arcanist stopped reading, his eyes glazing over instead of focusing on the page as his mind raced a mile a minute. Was this why he was so nervous about his children going to space? But they’d hunted all the items down and done away with them so long ago! Could they be re-found? The book in his hands disappeared without him even thinking it, replaced by another.
[inspired by The Infinity Gauntlet]

@gaymiens this is Saturn:
Saturn. The seer, the sage. Yes, this journal would be helpful, surely. She’d been involved in all of this, she was…

The Arcanist disappeared into the pages of journal. He lost all sense of the library. He was standing in the Shattered Plane, the wind gathering around him in hot gusts. He was with Saturn, and then he was Saturn, and then…

Saturn’s eyes popped open. She uncurled from her novering position in the air, lifting her Sage’s cover to squint at the sun, low on the horizon. She let if fall back over her face, and gathered her thoughts.

She’d been skrying for almost a full day. It was a dangerous thing to do, especially with no one to ground her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The universe was coming apart at the seams. The fabric of time was eating it’s own hands, the masses of space were spilling out of their places… she’d seen so many visions, in the last twenty four hours. She needed help sorting them out. She needed to go see Gaia. But she couldn’t yet, not just yet. Her visions had shown someone coming. Two persons, actually. A recluse and a god. Here they were now, glimmering in the heat at the edge of her vision. Her mental vision, that is. Saturn kept her eyes hidden most of the time. The physical world was too overwhelming, when you were so much involved with another realm. The spiritual realm. She walked, always, with at least one foot on the other side.

She started to make her way towards the strangers, though normally she’d make them come to her. This couldn’t wait. Her honor could be put aside. Her wings beat harder, faster. The dry air ripped at her throat. There was a drum beat in her head to the time signature of the end of the world.

The Arcanist skipped forward, the journal turning its own pages, taking him beyond the planes and into a jungle. Now they were a team - Saturn, Jupiter, and himself. Gaia continued to keep watch over her own clan, but she and Saturn would skry back and forth to exchange information.

At this point in time, they’d found two of the items: a puzzle box that spoke time, a glass eye that could see and remake space. Now they were after a third item - Saturn had seen it in her visions: a spear made of twisting, shark-like flesh. It reeked of death. It called for death. It’d caused three small wars already, where everyone had ended up killing each other in a hatred-craze, eyes turning red, fighting beyond bones breaking - they’d traced it to this jungle, uncomfortably close to Gaia’s clan. She was concerned - she had every right to be. They hadn’t even been sure how they were going to retrieve the item without being overcome by it. That was why the Arcanist was along, though - he’d spelled himself into a smaller form to be able to travel with them, and he’d been increasing the items they found in spells as well, to keep them dormant. He’d worked with the Icebringer to make a vault in Fortress of Ends, to keep the items safe in until they could reunite them all and dispel them forever from their realm.

They’d heard the drumbeat then. Someone else was preparing for war. They could smell the stink of the spear, hear it’s angry throbbing in their souls - Saturn had stopped so abruptly that the Arcanist had run into her. Jupiter turned back to look at her, his red eyes seeing everything.

“You need to stay behind,” he’d said. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a demand, it was just a statement. An understanding.

“I’m too vulnerable to it,” Saturn said, concern in her voice as she recoiled back. “I won’t be able to shut it out, I won’t be able to -”

“It’s ok,” Jupiter said, putting a huge taloned paw on her shoulder in comfort. “Stay here. Stay vigilant. Stay safe.”

So she had. She’d stayed behind. She saved their lives. Not because she wasn’t taken over by the spear, but because she saw them coming. The fourth item, manifesting in it’s self-made god of trickery - she hadn’t seen it coming because it wore a mask she couldn’t see past. Those that came in company with it were also seeking the spear, but she fought them off while her friends fought for the spear. She held them back, but at great cost.

The Arcanist and Gaia spelled her into a healing chamber. She’d stayed there for months. They’d had to go on seeking, as the items couldn’t wait, but they’d been handicapped without her.

The Arcanist pulled himself out of the journal, and gulped in the library air. What was going on here? The items weren’t the point, he was sure. So what was? He could still hear Saturn whispering in his head, words she’d often tease him with: “Silly Arcanist. Aren’t you a god? So where is your sight?” Oh Saturn, he thought to himself, if only I had you with me here now…