@sunwolf
At long last, here are your orders! Thank you for being patient with me. <3 Please let me know if you'd like any changes or edits.
At long last, here are your orders! Thank you for being patient with me. <3 Please let me know if you'd like any changes or edits.
Urbosa wrote:
The spear holder lunges. Urbosa dodges, just as her mentor taught her, stumbling on the slippery mud but keeping her footing. The rogue snarls, twisting in the rain, and as they charge again the crude blade wrapped to a stick snaps against the bulking iron of a shield. Urbosa backs away as her clanmate roots themself between Urbosa’s attacker and the next in line to chiefdom.
“What are you doing out here?” Lati barks down at the young chief. The guardsman looks furious, but Urbosa knows it comes from a place of caring. They’re afraid. Urbosa is too.
“I’m looking for mother.” She shouts back up, trying to be heard over the torrential downpour. “Did you see her out here?”
Lati slams their shield against another charging rogue, sending them flying back and into the mud, away from the to-be-chief. “I did not. Renit and Tevos should be guarding her, but I haven't heard a word from them after the attack started.”
Urbosa nods. She knows Lati won’t see the gesture, but she can’t say much else. Lati’s words say everything or nothing, and Urbosa does not want to hear what they mean, so she sprints past the gathering group of thieves. She splashes mud into their faces as she passes, allowing Lati to get more solid hits in. It’s a cheap tactic, but this isn’t a practice spar anymore.
“If you can’t find your mother, you need to run!” Lati calls to her as she plunges into the fray.
Over the roaring rain and the crackling of thunder, the shrill crash of battle floods over her. She doesn’t pay attention to the forms below her feet. She doesn’t flicker her eyes over to the movement swarming at the corners of her eyes. She dodges and weaves when they come close, barreling past falling debris and water-soaked fabrics of her clan.
It’s all falling apart.
She trained so hard for something like this. She’d prepared her whole life to pick up the mantle in these kinds of scenarios. But instead of picking up a weapon and leading her people, they were protecting her and she was running around looking for her mother like a terrified hatchling.
Someone screams.
She looks. She looks.
She watches the timeless temple of her clan collapse in a horrific heap.
She watches her mother, stuck with spears and ridden with claw-deep gouges, disappear under the crumbling reliquary.
She’s screaming too before she realizes it's her voice. Her entire body burns as she squeezes herself through the rubble, clawing away stone and wood and red soil.
She tears away a stone, and underneath she finds her mother’s head.
Her mother looks at her, a soft smile on her face. Water trickles on top of her broken horns as she takes in a wispy breath.
Frantic, Urbosa tries to dig her out, but the rubble groans and shifts as she tries to move a plank.
She can’t move her mother.
She can’t protect her clan.
Urbosa buries her head in the crook of her mother’s damp neck. Her tears mingle with the rainwater.
“I don’t know what to do!” She cries.
Her mother wrangles in a breath. The entire structure shifts.
“There’s nothing you can do, Little Spark.”
“But, I’m supposed to. It's what we do, right? ‘We fight at the front. We stand as leaders.’ That’s what you told me.”
She feels a shift, and her mother lies her head next to hers, circling her in fur and hints of warmth. “We did say that, didn’t we?”
She laughs, and the entire structure creeks. “Your father and I wanted the best for you, and when he passed on I wanted to make sure you were strong and powerful and more than I ever was.”
She breathes in again. It sounds like a whisper, and her words are softer this time. “You took to it like a bird to the sky. Every day you found a way to surprise me. You still did, digging all the way in here.”
“But I can’t get you out. I can’t protect my clan from this.”
“None of us could, sweetie. They have a storm on their side.”
“Then what do I do?”
Her question is left with silence and the pounding rain. She can’t hear her mother breathe, only the rumble of thunder overhead.
“What you need to do, Urbosa, is survive. Run away as fast as you can, live for another day, and the day after that, and keep living. You won’t forget us if you live, and we’ll be there to guide you.”
“But that’s not helping you. I’ll be leaving everyone behind. You told me there was no pride in running.”
“Oh. No, no, my precious Little Spark.” Urbosa can feel the rumble of her words with how deep she buries herself into her mother’s fur. The words are all around her. “There’s no pride in cowardice. That may be running for some, but you’ve never been a coward. Every day you looked towards danger and stood your ground, even now, and… Urbosa.”
She looks up. Her mother's eyes are shining at her. A smile like the sun, blazing with hope.
“I couldn’t be more proud.”
With those words her mother dies with a rattling breath. The light disappears. The rain pounds harder.
Urbosa stays buried in her mother’s fur long after it’s gone cold. She listens to the battle outside, screaming and roaring over the thunder.
When she hears it move past the temple she nuzzles her nose against her mother’s forehead, as she had done in ceremonies honoring warriors passed on, and then she runs with all her might.
Like a flash of lightning, she shoots past the rogues and thieves and barrels into the forest.
She doesn’t look back.
“What are you doing out here?” Lati barks down at the young chief. The guardsman looks furious, but Urbosa knows it comes from a place of caring. They’re afraid. Urbosa is too.
“I’m looking for mother.” She shouts back up, trying to be heard over the torrential downpour. “Did you see her out here?”
Lati slams their shield against another charging rogue, sending them flying back and into the mud, away from the to-be-chief. “I did not. Renit and Tevos should be guarding her, but I haven't heard a word from them after the attack started.”
Urbosa nods. She knows Lati won’t see the gesture, but she can’t say much else. Lati’s words say everything or nothing, and Urbosa does not want to hear what they mean, so she sprints past the gathering group of thieves. She splashes mud into their faces as she passes, allowing Lati to get more solid hits in. It’s a cheap tactic, but this isn’t a practice spar anymore.
“If you can’t find your mother, you need to run!” Lati calls to her as she plunges into the fray.
Over the roaring rain and the crackling of thunder, the shrill crash of battle floods over her. She doesn’t pay attention to the forms below her feet. She doesn’t flicker her eyes over to the movement swarming at the corners of her eyes. She dodges and weaves when they come close, barreling past falling debris and water-soaked fabrics of her clan.
It’s all falling apart.
She trained so hard for something like this. She’d prepared her whole life to pick up the mantle in these kinds of scenarios. But instead of picking up a weapon and leading her people, they were protecting her and she was running around looking for her mother like a terrified hatchling.
Someone screams.
She looks. She looks.
She watches the timeless temple of her clan collapse in a horrific heap.
She watches her mother, stuck with spears and ridden with claw-deep gouges, disappear under the crumbling reliquary.
She’s screaming too before she realizes it's her voice. Her entire body burns as she squeezes herself through the rubble, clawing away stone and wood and red soil.
She tears away a stone, and underneath she finds her mother’s head.
Her mother looks at her, a soft smile on her face. Water trickles on top of her broken horns as she takes in a wispy breath.
Frantic, Urbosa tries to dig her out, but the rubble groans and shifts as she tries to move a plank.
She can’t move her mother.
She can’t protect her clan.
Urbosa buries her head in the crook of her mother’s damp neck. Her tears mingle with the rainwater.
“I don’t know what to do!” She cries.
Her mother wrangles in a breath. The entire structure shifts.
“There’s nothing you can do, Little Spark.”
“But, I’m supposed to. It's what we do, right? ‘We fight at the front. We stand as leaders.’ That’s what you told me.”
She feels a shift, and her mother lies her head next to hers, circling her in fur and hints of warmth. “We did say that, didn’t we?”
She laughs, and the entire structure creeks. “Your father and I wanted the best for you, and when he passed on I wanted to make sure you were strong and powerful and more than I ever was.”
She breathes in again. It sounds like a whisper, and her words are softer this time. “You took to it like a bird to the sky. Every day you found a way to surprise me. You still did, digging all the way in here.”
“But I can’t get you out. I can’t protect my clan from this.”
“None of us could, sweetie. They have a storm on their side.”
“Then what do I do?”
Her question is left with silence and the pounding rain. She can’t hear her mother breathe, only the rumble of thunder overhead.
“What you need to do, Urbosa, is survive. Run away as fast as you can, live for another day, and the day after that, and keep living. You won’t forget us if you live, and we’ll be there to guide you.”
“But that’s not helping you. I’ll be leaving everyone behind. You told me there was no pride in running.”
“Oh. No, no, my precious Little Spark.” Urbosa can feel the rumble of her words with how deep she buries herself into her mother’s fur. The words are all around her. “There’s no pride in cowardice. That may be running for some, but you’ve never been a coward. Every day you looked towards danger and stood your ground, even now, and… Urbosa.”
She looks up. Her mother's eyes are shining at her. A smile like the sun, blazing with hope.
“I couldn’t be more proud.”
With those words her mother dies with a rattling breath. The light disappears. The rain pounds harder.
Urbosa stays buried in her mother’s fur long after it’s gone cold. She listens to the battle outside, screaming and roaring over the thunder.
When she hears it move past the temple she nuzzles her nose against her mother’s forehead, as she had done in ceremonies honoring warriors passed on, and then she runs with all her might.
Like a flash of lightning, she shoots past the rogues and thieves and barrels into the forest.
She doesn’t look back.
Prowler wrote:
He wakes to the overwhelming smell of smoke.
Jumping out of his bedding, sputtering as ash sticks to his tongue and throat, he scurries towards the den entrance and stops just before he runs into a wall of black.
It's unlike anything he’s ever seen. Nothing like the careful fog or the cool night. It’s warm, full of angry things, writhing and devouring everything. It pools out towards him. Tendrils lash out into his den and he scurries over the bedding and eggs in his path as he dashes deeper into the den.
Where’s mom and dad? He can’t smell them. Everything just smells like ash and heat.
But there is only one way to go. The smoke slithers closer, like a snake ready to devour.
He breathes in the clean air, squints his eyes, and dives into the darkness.
He doesn’t know where he’s going. In the deep dark, there are even darker things ambling, and he does his best to avoid them. They don’t spot him because he’s small, and they are towering like buildings. He weaves between feet and scurries behind crumbling things, and finally, his head breaks through the smoke.
With a gasp, he darts out into the open, breathing out the smoke until there’s none left in his lungs.
He looks around. His parents are nowhere in sight. He can’t smell them either.
They always said that if he couldn’t find them he should wait in the den, but he couldn’t stay in the den. He can’t go back into the smoke. Are his parents there?
He doesn’t know what to do.
He hears his mother’s voice in his mind, calming him after he’d gotten lost in the crowd. Reminding him that if they were ever separated, go into their den and wait.
Near the cliff face, he remembers a gap he and his friends used to play pretend in. He’s grown a bit larger since then, but it will do.
He charges across the open field, speeding towards the wall of rock, and down by some bushes and shrubs is a crack that trails halfway up. Between those bushes is a small opening, and it’s not as tight a fit as he expected. The hole in the wall goes deeper than he remembers, but he doesn’t want to explore it right now. He curls up at the entrance, looking out towards the smoke coiling over the land. His clan, everything he knows, is entirely hidden in it.
He’ll wait for them in here until it clears and he can return to his den. He knows the way back, at least.
Minutes pass into hours. The shadows tilt across the land and the smoke stays, billowing outwards steadily and slowly.
Something darker moves through the smoke. He backs away deeper into the hole when a head emerges from the cloud. It’s not someone he knows, but they are in full armor and the largest dragon he’s ever seen. They sniff the air, eyes trailing over the land.
A gust of wind swoops over, carrying away the heavy sea of smoke, and reveals the world that he knows on fire.
He wants to scream, but every instinct tells him not to. This dragon does not seem kind, and as they look toward the flames he presses himself as close to the ground as he can.
More dragons in armor emerge from the raging coils of fire. They’re commanding the flames, he realizes, holding weapons burning in that same fire. The largest of them holds their weapon high, and the rest bellow out a war cry. The flames rage higher as their voices echo over the hills. It sounds victorious.
But that isn’t the only sound echoing through the land. Behind him, he hears something hiss.
Slowly, he turns and sees a pair of eyes shining in the dark.
From the shadows inches out a hydra. Its purple scales pick up the limited light and shine. On its side, a head looks to be regrowing, a third not yet formed, and he remembers from someone in his clan that baby hydras form their heads over time.
That those who lose a head young are abandoned by their mothers.
At least he knows why the hole is larger than he remembers, this hydra must have dug it out. It looks wary, coiled, and ready to strike, but hesitant, eyes flickering behind him towards the light that’s beginning to fade. The army marches away, leaving the fire to continue to destroy his clan.
“Can you understand me?” He whispers to the hydra.
The hydra pauses. After a moment of silence, he asks the question again, swapping his draconian language for a butchered Common Beastclan. The change in language has its immediate effect, and the hydra looks a lot more at ease and surprised.
“You speak the common tongue of my kind?” The hydra asks in awe.
“Only a little bit,” he admits. “My clan is half Beastclan after all, so we learn from each other. Sorry for disturbing your home.”
“Do not apologize. This is not my home, just a place of refuge. I could smell death in the air long before it arrived, and I can clearly smell you now. Are you hiding?”
“I’m waiting. Once the fire ends I need to go back to my den. My parents will be worried.”
The hydra’s head tilts to the side, some emotion flickering on their face he can’t describe.
“I don’t smell anything out there that matches your scent, I’m afraid.”
“Then they went away to avoid the army, like you.” He says. “They’ll come back for me.”
The hydra is quiet for some time. The sun begins to set, and he peeks his head out of the hole in the wall. The army is in the distance, a blur of white and yellow against a sandy landscape, and the fire has died down to ashes and coils of sputtering orange.
“I’m going to wait in my den.” He says, determined. “If you’d like, you can come with me. I’m sure my parents will not mind, and it’s much more spacious and warm than this place.”
The emotion is still there on the hydra’s face as they slither closer to the entrance. They sniff the air deeply before they emerge, turning back to him.
“I’ll take your offer, but if we are to be living under the same roof, we should know our titles. What’s yours.”
“Well.” He hesitates, embarrassed. “I don’t have one yet. I’ll be initiated in a few years.”
The hydra nods. “I see.”
The two of them make their way toward the ashes. The ground is warm even as the sun sets.
“What’s yours?” He asks.
“My pit called me ‘Useless’.”
He stops in his tracks. The hydra looks at him in confusion.
“That’s… really mean.”
“Is it?” The hydra asks.
“Yes. It’s an insult, and I won’t call anyone that.”
The hydra hisses in thought. He walks again, treading lightly over the debris.
“Hm, then I think it would be best if we named each other. I think ‘Prowler’ suits you well.”
“Does it?” He knows Beastclan names are different from Dragonkind, that they symbolize something deeper than he could ever understand.
“Indeed. You tread sneakily, and your eyes hold something powerful in them.”
“Oh, well thank you.” Prowler smiles at the hydra, flicking his tongue in thought. He’s never been the best at names, even for toys, and he really wants to make it good. Something meaningful.
“For you, what about… Tibbles?”
This time the hydra stops, looking up at him. For a moment, he thinks he’s doomed.
“I love it.” The hydra says at last.
Jumping out of his bedding, sputtering as ash sticks to his tongue and throat, he scurries towards the den entrance and stops just before he runs into a wall of black.
It's unlike anything he’s ever seen. Nothing like the careful fog or the cool night. It’s warm, full of angry things, writhing and devouring everything. It pools out towards him. Tendrils lash out into his den and he scurries over the bedding and eggs in his path as he dashes deeper into the den.
Where’s mom and dad? He can’t smell them. Everything just smells like ash and heat.
But there is only one way to go. The smoke slithers closer, like a snake ready to devour.
He breathes in the clean air, squints his eyes, and dives into the darkness.
He doesn’t know where he’s going. In the deep dark, there are even darker things ambling, and he does his best to avoid them. They don’t spot him because he’s small, and they are towering like buildings. He weaves between feet and scurries behind crumbling things, and finally, his head breaks through the smoke.
With a gasp, he darts out into the open, breathing out the smoke until there’s none left in his lungs.
He looks around. His parents are nowhere in sight. He can’t smell them either.
They always said that if he couldn’t find them he should wait in the den, but he couldn’t stay in the den. He can’t go back into the smoke. Are his parents there?
He doesn’t know what to do.
He hears his mother’s voice in his mind, calming him after he’d gotten lost in the crowd. Reminding him that if they were ever separated, go into their den and wait.
Near the cliff face, he remembers a gap he and his friends used to play pretend in. He’s grown a bit larger since then, but it will do.
He charges across the open field, speeding towards the wall of rock, and down by some bushes and shrubs is a crack that trails halfway up. Between those bushes is a small opening, and it’s not as tight a fit as he expected. The hole in the wall goes deeper than he remembers, but he doesn’t want to explore it right now. He curls up at the entrance, looking out towards the smoke coiling over the land. His clan, everything he knows, is entirely hidden in it.
He’ll wait for them in here until it clears and he can return to his den. He knows the way back, at least.
Minutes pass into hours. The shadows tilt across the land and the smoke stays, billowing outwards steadily and slowly.
Something darker moves through the smoke. He backs away deeper into the hole when a head emerges from the cloud. It’s not someone he knows, but they are in full armor and the largest dragon he’s ever seen. They sniff the air, eyes trailing over the land.
A gust of wind swoops over, carrying away the heavy sea of smoke, and reveals the world that he knows on fire.
He wants to scream, but every instinct tells him not to. This dragon does not seem kind, and as they look toward the flames he presses himself as close to the ground as he can.
More dragons in armor emerge from the raging coils of fire. They’re commanding the flames, he realizes, holding weapons burning in that same fire. The largest of them holds their weapon high, and the rest bellow out a war cry. The flames rage higher as their voices echo over the hills. It sounds victorious.
But that isn’t the only sound echoing through the land. Behind him, he hears something hiss.
Slowly, he turns and sees a pair of eyes shining in the dark.
From the shadows inches out a hydra. Its purple scales pick up the limited light and shine. On its side, a head looks to be regrowing, a third not yet formed, and he remembers from someone in his clan that baby hydras form their heads over time.
That those who lose a head young are abandoned by their mothers.
At least he knows why the hole is larger than he remembers, this hydra must have dug it out. It looks wary, coiled, and ready to strike, but hesitant, eyes flickering behind him towards the light that’s beginning to fade. The army marches away, leaving the fire to continue to destroy his clan.
“Can you understand me?” He whispers to the hydra.
The hydra pauses. After a moment of silence, he asks the question again, swapping his draconian language for a butchered Common Beastclan. The change in language has its immediate effect, and the hydra looks a lot more at ease and surprised.
“You speak the common tongue of my kind?” The hydra asks in awe.
“Only a little bit,” he admits. “My clan is half Beastclan after all, so we learn from each other. Sorry for disturbing your home.”
“Do not apologize. This is not my home, just a place of refuge. I could smell death in the air long before it arrived, and I can clearly smell you now. Are you hiding?”
“I’m waiting. Once the fire ends I need to go back to my den. My parents will be worried.”
The hydra’s head tilts to the side, some emotion flickering on their face he can’t describe.
“I don’t smell anything out there that matches your scent, I’m afraid.”
“Then they went away to avoid the army, like you.” He says. “They’ll come back for me.”
The hydra is quiet for some time. The sun begins to set, and he peeks his head out of the hole in the wall. The army is in the distance, a blur of white and yellow against a sandy landscape, and the fire has died down to ashes and coils of sputtering orange.
“I’m going to wait in my den.” He says, determined. “If you’d like, you can come with me. I’m sure my parents will not mind, and it’s much more spacious and warm than this place.”
The emotion is still there on the hydra’s face as they slither closer to the entrance. They sniff the air deeply before they emerge, turning back to him.
“I’ll take your offer, but if we are to be living under the same roof, we should know our titles. What’s yours.”
“Well.” He hesitates, embarrassed. “I don’t have one yet. I’ll be initiated in a few years.”
The hydra nods. “I see.”
The two of them make their way toward the ashes. The ground is warm even as the sun sets.
“What’s yours?” He asks.
“My pit called me ‘Useless’.”
He stops in his tracks. The hydra looks at him in confusion.
“That’s… really mean.”
“Is it?” The hydra asks.
“Yes. It’s an insult, and I won’t call anyone that.”
The hydra hisses in thought. He walks again, treading lightly over the debris.
“Hm, then I think it would be best if we named each other. I think ‘Prowler’ suits you well.”
“Does it?” He knows Beastclan names are different from Dragonkind, that they symbolize something deeper than he could ever understand.
“Indeed. You tread sneakily, and your eyes hold something powerful in them.”
“Oh, well thank you.” Prowler smiles at the hydra, flicking his tongue in thought. He’s never been the best at names, even for toys, and he really wants to make it good. Something meaningful.
“For you, what about… Tibbles?”
This time the hydra stops, looking up at him. For a moment, he thinks he’s doomed.
“I love it.” The hydra says at last.
