[center][size=7] [b][font=sylfaen]FORTUNE FOR THE DESTITUTE[/b][/size][/center]
[center][size=5] [b][font=sylfaen]A TALE FOR KOHARU[/b][/size][/center]
[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/87866209][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/878663/87866209_350.png[/img][/url][/center]
[center][size=3][i][font=sylfaen] Accused and awaiting execution, Koharu spends her last moments confiding in a mysterious voice, who promises to help her. With little left to lose, Koharu wonders if it's worth accepting the outstretched hand.
[/i]
[b][font=sylfaen][size=3]Content warnings: implied manipulation of consent (non-sexual). Reader discretion is advised. The author doesn’t condone any of the harmful behaviours in this work.[/b][/center]
------
[font=Garamond][size=6][i]"B[/i][/size][size=4][i]y the decree of the village mayor, I hereby sentence you to death for the crime of grave-robbing."[/i]
The memory of the trial was still fresh in her mind. She'd been pelted with refuse and rocks. Koharu had stood before the stand, morosely watching the accuser weep with rage.
[i]"How dare you!"[/i] They had shrieked, [i]"That was my mother's grave! You slug-sucker!"[/i]
She squeezed her eyes shut at the barrage of memories flooding her head. Yes... yes she had indeed dug up that dragon's grave, but the deceased was a wealthy one, laden with jewels even in death, and Koharu herself was a hungry soul. She just wanted something, a little bit from the rich, anything at all. A crust of bread would've sufficed, but all her life she'd fed on crumbs instead.
Koharu had begged. [i]"Mercy! I was hungry, I needed money for food, please-"[/i]
They had shut her down and dragged her into jail instead. And now she was sitting in a grimy cell, awaiting daybreak with dread: that was when they'd execute her.
There was nothing in her cell at all, not even a bed. The condemned were not afforded any luxury. Koharu felt herself deflate with that thought. She was used to it, having lived in poverty all her life, but it still stung. It always stung, every time she went to bed hungry, every time she received little for her work of digging holes, every time she'd been chased out of each village she went to for her marred appearance. This part of the Starwood Strand was a superstitious lot, and Koharu could do nothing but endure it.
Her claws brushed the pouch at her neck. It still contained the valuables she'd stolen, among them a silver mirror and a shrike figurine. The guards didn't take those from her in the hurry to lock her up. But feeling them now, they brought her no comfort. She was going to die anyways.
So she began to weep. Quietly, her tears dripped onto the concrete floor. Her stomach growled.
[i]Why me?[/i] Why was it so hard? Why couldn't she have anything? Why was she alone and sad and hungry and cold all the time? [i]Why? Why why why?[/i]
[i]"I just- I had to. I just had to."[/i] Koharu sobbed.
[i]"Be quiet!"[/i] The guard at the door banged on the bars. Koharu yelped and fell silent. She continued quietly sobbing in the dark.
[i]"Help me,"[/i] she murmured, [i]"Help me, Arcanist- someone- please."[/i]
[i]"I hear you."[/i]
Her head shot up. That didn't sound like the guard.
[i]"...Hello?"[/i] Koharu whispered.
[i]"The mirror, Koharu. Please pull it out."[/i]
[i]"What? I don't-"[/i] What was going on? The guard wasn't speaking to her - he had his back turned - and she was alone in the cell; who could possibly be talking? [i]"Where are you? Who are you?"[/i]
[i]"I cannot reveal myself to you in the real world, but I can speak to you through the mirror."[/i] The voice was soft, muffled. [i]"I implore you to pull it out, so that I may converse with you properly."[/i]
It felt like such a silly request, but Koharu didn't know what else to do. Dumbly, she took the mirror from her pouch, holding it up to the moonlight. When the light hit the surface, she gasped.
What stared out at her wasn't her reflection, but rather a massive, slender creature. It wouldn't have been right to call it a dog: its snout was too long, too distorted, and its eyes held a shrewdness that made Koharu shiver. Her mind unhelpfully suggested it was a dragon, but that didn't feel right. How could this eerie, elongated [i]thing[/i] be a dragon?
[i]"It's so nice to meet you, Koharu."[/i] The visage spoke, revealing rows of glittering teeth.
[i]"Who- what's going on?"[/i]
[i]"You need not whisper, dear. The guard cannot hear you, I made sure of it."[/i]
"W- how? And who are you?" She asked, her voice stronger. When the guard didn't react, Koharu realized the visage wasn't lying.
Another smile. [i]"I am Frideswide. I heard you crying. Is something wrong?"[/i]
At this, Koharu paused. Yes, something was wrong; [i]everything[/i] was wrong. She wanted to rail and scream and tell this stranger all the hardship she'd suffered, how she'd never been accepted for her appearance, all the names she'd been called. But she was cautious and kept her mouth shut.
Instead she replied: "I... I'm fine."
[i]"You are aching, I can tell."[/i]
"It's- it's the cold."
A pause. [i]"You need not lie. You have suffered."[/i]
Koharu was silent. When she didn't say anything, Frideswide continued, a kindly look in her eyes.
[i]"I watched them accuse you, I saw how they treated you like nothing more than dirt."[/i] The creature growled, [i]"Appalling. You don't deserve pain."[/i]
"...Maybe I do."
[i]"Do you? Do you want more hurt?"[/i]
Koharu's claws shook. "...N- no."
[i]"I am sorry for your pain."[/i]
[i]"No- no I- I don't,"[/i] she could feel herself cracking again. Before she knew it, it all came spilling out. "They- they chased me out of every town- threw [i]stones[/i] at me- I needed [i]money,[/i] I needed [i]food.[/i] I'm- I'm so [i]tired[/i] of this.
"They're going to [i]kill[/i] me, Frideswide- at dawn. They're going to [i]execute[/i] me."
Frideswide watched her gently. Then, she spoke:
[i]"Let me help you."[/i]
[i]"How?"[/i] You're- I don't even know where you [i]are."[/i]
[i]"You are alone. You have suffered. But that doesn't need to be the case."[/i] In the dark, Frideswide's eyes gleamed, shining, polished like the moon, so bright it seemed to consume the room. [i]"Say the word and I will take care of everything.[/i]
[i]"I only need you."[/i]
A shiver ran down Koharu's spine. Should she agree? It was tempting, the offer of safety; she felt compelled to agree. But something didn't seem quite right. She didn't know the whole picture. Her desperation and common sense warred in her mind.
[i]I don't want to die. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be hungry and tired. I don't want to be hated.
Why don't I deserve anything?
I want something. I want it all.
Give me anything.[/i]
She knew, in an hour, the sun would begin to rise, and they would come in and seize her in chains. They would drag her off to the gallows to be hung. In an hour, she would die destitute.
The thought seized her with terror.
"...Y- yes. Yes, help me, [i]please."[/i] Koharu begged. "I don't want to die."
Frideswide simply stared, and stared, and stared, and Koharu stared back. Those eyes of hers, they were wide, growing wider, larger and larger until they seemed to swallow her whole.
[i]"Thank you."[/i][/font][/size]
-----
[size=4][font=Garamond]When the guard went to fetch the prisoner, he found nothing but an empty cell and a mirror on the ground. Of course, the alarm had been sounded: frantic searches began all over town. When the authorities investigated the cell, they found no evidence of the criminal's escape. It was strange; how could she have possibly fled, when there were no signs of her leaving? The only clue they had was the silver mirror.
So they took that and stashed it in the town hall. As the day went on, it became more clear that indeed, the prisoner had simply [i]vanished.[/i] It was impossible. The relative of the robbed corpse was beside themselves with rage.
But no matter how hard they searched, there was nothing. Defeated, the patrols were reduced, and as the sun set the town prepared to sleep.
The next morning, the relative of the corpse was found dead in their bed.
It was pandemonium. The town was in shock. How could they have died? And right after their poor mother's grave had been desecrated- what a tragedy, what a horror. The investigation furthered the town's anxiety: nothing had been found of the assailant. The only evidence this time was a smashed mirror in the kitchen, its frame bent outwards, distended and broken.
But it didn't end there. For the next morning yielded another corpse, this one found in a home with broken windows. Horror, fear, shock, the village began to panic.
And then there was another. And another. And another. More and more, until the town fell asleep and never woke up again.[/font][/size]
-----
[size=4][font=Garamond]
It was dusk when Koharu came to.
Groaning, she sat up, shaking her head. Her whole body was dusty and grimy. She scratched her mane, dislodging bits of glass and twigs from it.
[i]What happened?[/i] Her memories were disjointed, stained with the emotion of terror. but she remembered the cell, and the mirror, and Frideswide. Aside from that, the past few days were fuzzy.
It was then that Koharu noticed she was outside. No longer was she in the cell, now she was at the edge of town, sheltered beneath the forest canopy. A strange feeling settled in her stomach. How did she get out here? She didn't escape, she knew that, so what... or who...
Cold fear stabbed her chest.
[i]I feel good.[/i]
She felt [i]too[/i] good, in fact. It was as if she'd been fed and rested her whole life: there was no niggling hunger in her belly, no weariness in her limbs. Nothing but sweet comfort. Nothing, except a strange weight in her bones, as if iron bars had been strung through them, holding her in a loving embrace.
And she remembered the eyes.
[i]Her[/i] eyes.
[i]Her[/i] claws.
[i]Her[/i] murders.
Terror gripped her heart. Her claws - no, [i]their[/i] claws - gripped her snout. This was [i]their[/i] body. This was [i]their[/i] doing. The town was dead, punished, because of [i]them.[/i]
[i]She's INSIDE me.[/i]
A voice echoed in Koharu's mind, sweet like oleander, warm like milk.
[i]From now on, I will always be with you,[/i] Frideswide said, [i]and you will never have to suffer again.[/i]
FORTUNE FOR THE DESTITUTE
A TALE FOR KOHARU
Accused and awaiting execution, Koharu spends her last moments confiding in a mysterious voice, who promises to help her. With little left to lose, Koharu wonders if it's worth accepting the outstretched hand.
Content warnings: implied manipulation of consent (non-sexual). Reader discretion is advised. The author doesn’t condone any of the harmful behaviours in this work.
"By the decree of the village mayor, I hereby sentence you to death for the crime of grave-robbing."
The memory of the trial was still fresh in her mind. She'd been pelted with refuse and rocks. Koharu had stood before the stand, morosely watching the accuser weep with rage.
"How dare you!" They had shrieked, "That was my mother's grave! You slug-sucker!"
She squeezed her eyes shut at the barrage of memories flooding her head. Yes... yes she had indeed dug up that dragon's grave, but the deceased was a wealthy one, laden with jewels even in death, and Koharu herself was a hungry soul. She just wanted something, a little bit from the rich, anything at all. A crust of bread would've sufficed, but all her life she'd fed on crumbs instead.
Koharu had begged. "Mercy! I was hungry, I needed money for food, please-"
They had shut her down and dragged her into jail instead. And now she was sitting in a grimy cell, awaiting daybreak with dread: that was when they'd execute her.
There was nothing in her cell at all, not even a bed. The condemned were not afforded any luxury. Koharu felt herself deflate with that thought. She was used to it, having lived in poverty all her life, but it still stung. It always stung, every time she went to bed hungry, every time she received little for her work of digging holes, every time she'd been chased out of each village she went to for her marred appearance. This part of the Starwood Strand was a superstitious lot, and Koharu could do nothing but endure it.
Her claws brushed the pouch at her neck. It still contained the valuables she'd stolen, among them a silver mirror and a shrike figurine. The guards didn't take those from her in the hurry to lock her up. But feeling them now, they brought her no comfort. She was going to die anyways.
So she began to weep. Quietly, her tears dripped onto the concrete floor. Her stomach growled.
Why me? Why was it so hard? Why couldn't she have anything? Why was she alone and sad and hungry and cold all the time? Why? Why why why?
"I just- I had to. I just had to." Koharu sobbed.
"Be quiet!" The guard at the door banged on the bars. Koharu yelped and fell silent. She continued quietly sobbing in the dark.
"Help me," she murmured, "Help me, Arcanist- someone- please."
"I hear you."
Her head shot up. That didn't sound like the guard.
"...Hello?" Koharu whispered.
"The mirror, Koharu. Please pull it out."
"What? I don't-" What was going on? The guard wasn't speaking to her - he had his back turned - and she was alone in the cell; who could possibly be talking? "Where are you? Who are you?"
"I cannot reveal myself to you in the real world, but I can speak to you through the mirror." The voice was soft, muffled. "I implore you to pull it out, so that I may converse with you properly."
It felt like such a silly request, but Koharu didn't know what else to do. Dumbly, she took the mirror from her pouch, holding it up to the moonlight. When the light hit the surface, she gasped.
What stared out at her wasn't her reflection, but rather a massive, slender creature. It wouldn't have been right to call it a dog: its snout was too long, too distorted, and its eyes held a shrewdness that made Koharu shiver. Her mind unhelpfully suggested it was a dragon, but that didn't feel right. How could this eerie, elongated thing be a dragon?
"It's so nice to meet you, Koharu." The visage spoke, revealing rows of glittering teeth.
"Who- what's going on?"
"You need not whisper, dear. The guard cannot hear you, I made sure of it."
"W- how? And who are you?" She asked, her voice stronger. When the guard didn't react, Koharu realized the visage wasn't lying.
Another smile. "I am Frideswide. I heard you crying. Is something wrong?"
At this, Koharu paused. Yes, something was wrong; everything was wrong. She wanted to rail and scream and tell this stranger all the hardship she'd suffered, how she'd never been accepted for her appearance, all the names she'd been called. But she was cautious and kept her mouth shut.
Instead she replied: "I... I'm fine."
"You are aching, I can tell."
"It's- it's the cold."
A pause. "You need not lie. You have suffered."
Koharu was silent. When she didn't say anything, Frideswide continued, a kindly look in her eyes.
"I watched them accuse you, I saw how they treated you like nothing more than dirt." The creature growled, "Appalling. You don't deserve pain."
"...Maybe I do."
"Do you? Do you want more hurt?"
Koharu's claws shook. "...N- no."
"I am sorry for your pain."
"No- no I- I don't," she could feel herself cracking again. Before she knew it, it all came spilling out. "They- they chased me out of every town- threw stones at me- I needed money, I needed food. I'm- I'm so tired of this.
"They're going to kill me, Frideswide- at dawn. They're going to execute me."
Frideswide watched her gently. Then, she spoke:
"Let me help you."
"How?" You're- I don't even know where you are."
"You are alone. You have suffered. But that doesn't need to be the case." In the dark, Frideswide's eyes gleamed, shining, polished like the moon, so bright it seemed to consume the room. "Say the word and I will take care of everything.
"I only need you."
A shiver ran down Koharu's spine. Should she agree? It was tempting, the offer of safety; she felt compelled to agree. But something didn't seem quite right. She didn't know the whole picture. Her desperation and common sense warred in her mind.
I don't want to die. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be hungry and tired. I don't want to be hated.
Why don't I deserve anything?
I want something. I want it all.
Give me anything.
She knew, in an hour, the sun would begin to rise, and they would come in and seize her in chains. They would drag her off to the gallows to be hung. In an hour, she would die destitute.
The thought seized her with terror.
"...Y- yes. Yes, help me, please." Koharu begged. "I don't want to die."
Frideswide simply stared, and stared, and stared, and Koharu stared back. Those eyes of hers, they were wide, growing wider, larger and larger until they seemed to swallow her whole.
"Thank you."
When the guard went to fetch the prisoner, he found nothing but an empty cell and a mirror on the ground. Of course, the alarm had been sounded: frantic searches began all over town. When the authorities investigated the cell, they found no evidence of the criminal's escape. It was strange; how could she have possibly fled, when there were no signs of her leaving? The only clue they had was the silver mirror.
So they took that and stashed it in the town hall. As the day went on, it became more clear that indeed, the prisoner had simply vanished. It was impossible. The relative of the robbed corpse was beside themselves with rage.
But no matter how hard they searched, there was nothing. Defeated, the patrols were reduced, and as the sun set the town prepared to sleep.
The next morning, the relative of the corpse was found dead in their bed.
It was pandemonium. The town was in shock. How could they have died? And right after their poor mother's grave had been desecrated- what a tragedy, what a horror. The investigation furthered the town's anxiety: nothing had been found of the assailant. The only evidence this time was a smashed mirror in the kitchen, its frame bent outwards, distended and broken.
But it didn't end there. For the next morning yielded another corpse, this one found in a home with broken windows. Horror, fear, shock, the village began to panic.
And then there was another. And another. And another. More and more, until the town fell asleep and never woke up again.
It was dusk when Koharu came to.
Groaning, she sat up, shaking her head. Her whole body was dusty and grimy. She scratched her mane, dislodging bits of glass and twigs from it.
What happened? Her memories were disjointed, stained with the emotion of terror. but she remembered the cell, and the mirror, and Frideswide. Aside from that, the past few days were fuzzy.
It was then that Koharu noticed she was outside. No longer was she in the cell, now she was at the edge of town, sheltered beneath the forest canopy. A strange feeling settled in her stomach. How did she get out here? She didn't escape, she knew that, so what... or who...
Cold fear stabbed her chest.
I feel good.
She felt too good, in fact. It was as if she'd been fed and rested her whole life: there was no niggling hunger in her belly, no weariness in her limbs. Nothing but sweet comfort. Nothing, except a strange weight in her bones, as if iron bars had been strung through them, holding her in a loving embrace.
And she remembered the eyes.
Her eyes.
Her claws.
Her murders.
Terror gripped her heart. Her claws - no, their claws - gripped her snout. This was their body. This was their doing. The town was dead, punished, because of them.
She's INSIDE me.
A voice echoed in Koharu's mind, sweet like oleander, warm like milk.
From now on, I will always be with you, Frideswide said, and you will never have to suffer again.
[center][size=7] [b][font=sylfaen]BELOW BARREN STONE[/b][/size][/center]
[center][size=5] [b][font=sylfaen]A TALE FOR SAEMURA[/b][/size][/center]
[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/48629970][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/486300/48629970_350.png[/img][/url][/center]
[center][size=3][i][font=sylfaen] A creation of sand & clay, Saemura is a creature of the Lightweaver like any other, despite the whispers. Yet among the City of Dhune, she is a creature of contention. Still, she loves her City so, even as she bore witness to it's raise, and awoke in mourning to it's fall.
[/i][/center]
------
[font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he day the tiny imperial hatchling is born, is it made known, to the world before her, to her parents, and to the holy men that watch her hatch, that she is destined to fade. Least that is what is told, her body is small, far too small for a creature her size, her eyes are hollow, and her scales are pale, skin sullen. She is sickly, she is ill, and not even the most prized healers or doctors expect her to make through the next few days.
She was a tiny thing not meant to survive, that is how fate has been spun for her, yet her family, desperate and frantic, they do whatever it takes if it means the little girl could live.
Their last option is their most reckless option, terrible and urgent, but none can save her, none are able to fix the broken body she is born with. And it is their last attempt, they seek out the help of a solemn man by the title of Stonesewer. He is a shrewd, enigmatic figure, a man of both machinery and magic, an old light dragon who lives just near the outlines of the haunted Hewn City.
The process is not kind, nor without blood or tears, and the cost is something that cannot ever be truly back. Yet, the Stonesewer is, if not a dragon of his word, and it is with his craftsmanship, and perhaps with a few whispered pleads, he is able to remake the tiny imperial in a way that even the most clever and study of artisans, will never quite understand.
She is recreated from old runes and even older machinations, of old sandstone and moving, crumbling parts. She is a construct of rock and sewn magic given life, a young soul weaved into a body that feels more aged then she will ever be.
But she [i]lives[/i], by the heavens she [i]lives[/i], by the will of the Lightweaver, the child lives, and for now that is [i]all[/i] that matters.
------
[font=Garamond][size=4]Saemura O’Sana grows up in the arms of the church of the Lightweaver, and by every memory of her life, it is everything she has ever known. The City of Duskthorrow is nothing special, but it is home to the dragon. She knows its dusty pathways and suntouched walls like the back of her claws, and while it has taught her well, she knows there is more beyond its walls, more beyond its old ruins and ancient scrolls. But most importantly she grows tired of it all. She knows her prayers and her scriptures, and her magic billows and it pulses, but most of all, she knows of the whispers and the searing eyes that follow behind her.
She knows to most, she is not dragon but mere construct, least of some kind, a creature of woven stonework and old, lost magicraft. Even ever as a holy woman, she knows those who see nothing more than a machine, a soulless creature that runs on false magic, judging eyes and burning rumors, she is no fool. Perhaps she is a creature without a soul, without what makes a dragon, a proper dragon, but she moves and thinks, and knows.
And oh does she know, know when she is not no wanted, know when she is not welcome, and it is perhaps, without even a slightly heavy heart; does she leave.
------
[font=Garamond][size=4]The city of Dhune is one most unique to even a creature such as Saemura. A place without magic, and yet it still seems to thrive, despite its narrow ideals and rules, the imperial would find work there, and most of all, she seemed to find some newer purpose. Her first few jobs banked on things that came easy to her, helping deal with sick and the injured, collecting and archiving old relics and scriptures, teaching and recounting the ideals of the Lightweaver. Her reach as a woman of the church had gotten her far in her time in Dhune, as time went on, so did her self awareness.
As she grew to understand the city, she was quick to learn, eager even, but not naive. Never one to wear her heart on her sleeve, she would always traverse the streets, its buildings and its houses, always, with one eye open, and her head always down.
As much as she was a person, she was a creature built off magic, without it, she would be nothing; and in the eyes of the king, she could only imagine what he would do if she existed. And for all better purposes, it was best she didn’t exist to begin with.
Saemura would slowly see how the lack of magic would affect its people, a sense of frustration, anger even in how it all ran. But there was little she could do without the idea of putting her very existence in danger. It was in these later days, that she would meet a bright young man by the name of Salvador, a nature dragon by birth, she often saw him helping fellow healers and medics where he could. A herbalist and gardener by trade, he did his best to provide where he could, but often two found him restrained and bound by the laws of Dhune. She would often see the young drake around the steps of the church, and it was there that they developed a friendship of sorts. He would lend her a claw when she needed, and she would return the favor whenever possible.
They both learned of each other and their own stories with enough time. Salvador was the lone survivor of a horrid plague that had run rampant across his clan, and when he was all that was left, he would leave. It was Dhune that he found his calling, and his craft proved to be particularly useful especially when it came to caring for the poorer and less fortunate of the city itself. It was here he started a new life, and while he did his best to thrive, he two, found himself at odd ends with how Dhune, and it approached to the idea of magic.
[i]“How many sick? How many injured? How many could we save if we were just allowed to use the gifts that we were born with?”[/i] He’d argue again and again. And all she could do would just shake her head. She wanted to help, she truly did, but for all either of them where, they were just two people, and going against an entire city would be foolish, it was more than a confirmed death wish if anything else.
The talk of witches, of horrible curses and hexes wasn't lost on Saemura, she had heard of them, of the rumors and whispers spread by the cityfolk. Of what they’d do with such heretics, and the horrid fate they would usually before. It doesn’t silence either of them of course, and they talk among each other in secret as they always do. But it’s just always that? Isn’t it? Talk. Neither Saemura nor Salvador would ever be foolish enough to tread on the foot of the king and his orders? Least that's what Saemura had thought at first.
But her friend was as stubborn as he was kind, he always had been. Haunted by deaths of his own past, he would refuse to let those suffer while the blind arrogance of royalty did nothing to help temper their pain. But she would not stop him, he was her friend, and perhaps one of her only true friends among the Dhune itself.
All she could do was pray, she thought, pray and hope that whatever happened, Salvador would leave this city alive, or least, unharmed.
------
[font=Garamond][size=4]The prayers of one simple woman, made of stone, and sand easily would go amiss.
She was not even sure when it had happened. One day she had been talking among her fellow churchgoers, and as always, Salvador had been among her company, and the next, he wasn’t. She had not even been sure when they had taken him- the inquisitors, those under the will of a great priest who served the king, and proudly so.
All she knew was one moment her friend had been there, and then he simply hadn't.
In the end, Saemura learned the worst part of watching someone burn among a pyre, wasn’t the billowing smoke, or the burning coals, or the horrid smell, no, no in the end, it was the screams, always the blood piercing screams.
And oh, [i]did what remain of Salvador screamed, until he could no longer.[/i]
It was all she could recall as she stood before the apparent executions of those deemed [i]“witches”[/i], and for once in her life all Saemura could feel, a creature of stone, and sand,[i] was unyielding rage.[/i]
------
[font=Garamond][size=4]The apparent death of Saemura O’Sana is nothing special, something that goes largely amiss amongst most of Dhune.
To most folk, she had simply a follower of the Lightweaver gone mad for reasons most couldn't even comprehend fully. To the church she'd been a simple woman of faith, quiet but content to do what came naturally to her, her friends few, but meaningful, and her work, just as important.
Yet to the inquisitors, she was a monster in the making.
Whatever had driven Saemura to attack the guardians of the city was left largely unknown to the public, but she had done so in an almost feral anger, unjust and incomprehensible to almost all who foresaw it. Fangs bared, claws sharp, her magic bright and burning like her rage, yet in the end, no matter what she was made of, she was one mad woman, against an army.
And perhaps in the end, she never intended on living to see the end of her bloodshed, merely to cause enough damage, to strike where it hurt, and hoped it mean something after all she'd done.
Which in the end had been [i]nothing.[/i]
How many had been truly been saved by her at all? All that talk, all those conversations of making a better, brighter future for the people of Dhune. All those times that Salvador had confided to her, his plans, his hopes, his dreams. Had awaited the day she would stand with him, and do was what clearly right, what was clearly just.
And yet Saemura kept her mouth shut, during the entirety of these people, of their suffering, and she had done nothing.
So it where she strikes, with anger, and sorrow, and grief, and hopes whatever is left to hear her, forgives her for all that had has happened.
------
[font=Garamond][size=4]The act of getting rid of a creature that had once been Saemura, whatever she truly was, was never easy.
She did not burn, not easy enough to make an example of, and her sheer construction is a danger to the city. Even unmoving, even no longer "living", in the way she once had been, her body hums with sums of magic that no one among the city knows quite what to do, what to make of.
And in the end, her hollow body is entombed far, far, out to the outskirts of Dhune's. The now thought-to-be empty shell, left to do nothing but fade away to sand. And while she does not stand to see the city, it's king, it's people, all of Dhune fall. It is through that small mercy of magic, does she somehow, [i]live.[/i]
------
[font=Garamond][size=4]The deserts of the The Shifting Expanse are anything but kind, even to the most wary of travelers. Xandra Goldstone is a woman who has seen much in her lifetime, but the intense heart, and moving sands of the Expanse never became easier for her, especially not when they near so close to the boiling point that is the Ashfall Waste.
Yet still, she is a stubborn drake, and she has no made it this far into her journey to merely give up now. She is a high lady of the Lightweaver, and she will not fail in her duties. Still knowing her location, she is not any more eager in the steps she takes forward.
She knows of the stories treasure hunters and travelers alike speak of Dhune, least what's left of it. But until she's seen anything by her own two eyes, it's nothing more then silly rumors and foolish folktales, people just trying to get a scare out of others, or maybe just to keep them away from the area for whatever reason.
But Xandra is a woman on a mission, she is all but another missionary of her Lady, and it has been asked of her to retrieve a very important relic from what remains of Dhune's ruins. And if it is what had been demanded of her, she will fit that it is done.
It does not make her any less cautious when she treks further into the city of course, for all the hogwash she assumes of others, it would be silly to just think this place completely safe. There could be raiders, monsters, maybe even old traps from eons ago. She keeps her claws ready, and her eyesight sharp as she goes in and out of buildings, poking and prodding, not even sure where she would start in a place as big, and as buried as this.
It is a good week or so before anything of worth shows up, and even then it's minimally nothing close to what she's looking for, still, she keeps pushing forward.
It is when she comes across a seemingly deeply buried, area long forgotten, that her interest is peak . It is built at what seems to be forever away from the main pathways of the city, yet still clearly of similar architecture, same build. Whatever is in here, they did not want it near Dhune, and perhaps even more so, they wanted no one to ever truly find it.
It's a rather depressingly small, cramped little excuse for catacombs, least for a guardian her size, but she manages. In the end she only finds one tomb, a heavy dusty thing, and while she is never one to usually disrespect the dead, there is an almost powerful, humming inside that pulls her closer. It takes almost her strength to wretch the old lid off, but when she does, what she expects is not even remotely what she sees.
She expects a skeleton, something ancient and largely worn, and while she does find something old and dusty, it is nothing she has ever seen the likes of before, not like this. It almost seems to be some kind of, life-sized doll? Yet craved and crafted from stone, very, very old of course, yet for the shape it's in, far two well kept.
And yet she can still feel that slight spark, of magic, of that [i]urge.[/i]
And almost, without complete awareness, Xandra would absentmindedly place one of her claws near this, creature's "core," and with a sparking shock of magic she would stumble back.
She feels, almost, slightly drained somehow, and it's both in awe, and shock, with the empowering of her own magic; the body begins to stutter and rumble awake.
And it's with this, that does Xandra Goldstone realize; [i]it is alive.[/i]
BELOW BARREN STONE
A TALE FOR SAEMURA
A creation of sand & clay, Saemura is a creature of the Lightweaver like any other, despite the whispers. Yet among the City of Dhune, she is a creature of contention. Still, she loves her City so, even as she bore witness to it's raise, and awoke in mourning to it's fall.
The day the tiny imperial hatchling is born, is it made known, to the world before her, to her parents, and to the holy men that watch her hatch, that she is destined to fade. Least that is what is told, her body is small, far too small for a creature her size, her eyes are hollow, and her scales are pale, skin sullen. She is sickly, she is ill, and not even the most prized healers or doctors expect her to make through the next few days.
She was a tiny thing not meant to survive, that is how fate has been spun for her, yet her family, desperate and frantic, they do whatever it takes if it means the little girl could live.
Their last option is their most reckless option, terrible and urgent, but none can save her, none are able to fix the broken body she is born with. And it is their last attempt, they seek out the help of a solemn man by the title of Stonesewer. He is a shrewd, enigmatic figure, a man of both machinery and magic, an old light dragon who lives just near the outlines of the haunted Hewn City.
The process is not kind, nor without blood or tears, and the cost is something that cannot ever be truly back. Yet, the Stonesewer is, if not a dragon of his word, and it is with his craftsmanship, and perhaps with a few whispered pleads, he is able to remake the tiny imperial in a way that even the most clever and study of artisans, will never quite understand.
She is recreated from old runes and even older machinations, of old sandstone and moving, crumbling parts. She is a construct of rock and sewn magic given life, a young soul weaved into a body that feels more aged then she will ever be.
But she lives, by the heavens she lives, by the will of the Lightweaver, the child lives, and for now that is all that matters.
Saemura O’Sana grows up in the arms of the church of the Lightweaver, and by every memory of her life, it is everything she has ever known. The City of Duskthorrow is nothing special, but it is home to the dragon. She knows its dusty pathways and suntouched walls like the back of her claws, and while it has taught her well, she knows there is more beyond its walls, more beyond its old ruins and ancient scrolls. But most importantly she grows tired of it all. She knows her prayers and her scriptures, and her magic billows and it pulses, but most of all, she knows of the whispers and the searing eyes that follow behind her.
She knows to most, she is not dragon but mere construct, least of some kind, a creature of woven stonework and old, lost magicraft. Even ever as a holy woman, she knows those who see nothing more than a machine, a soulless creature that runs on false magic, judging eyes and burning rumors, she is no fool. Perhaps she is a creature without a soul, without what makes a dragon, a proper dragon, but she moves and thinks, and knows.
And oh does she know, know when she is not no wanted, know when she is not welcome, and it is perhaps, without even a slightly heavy heart; does she leave.
The city of Dhune is one most unique to even a creature such as Saemura. A place without magic, and yet it still seems to thrive, despite its narrow ideals and rules, the imperial would find work there, and most of all, she seemed to find some newer purpose. Her first few jobs banked on things that came easy to her, helping deal with sick and the injured, collecting and archiving old relics and scriptures, teaching and recounting the ideals of the Lightweaver. Her reach as a woman of the church had gotten her far in her time in Dhune, as time went on, so did her self awareness.
As she grew to understand the city, she was quick to learn, eager even, but not naive. Never one to wear her heart on her sleeve, she would always traverse the streets, its buildings and its houses, always, with one eye open, and her head always down.
As much as she was a person, she was a creature built off magic, without it, she would be nothing; and in the eyes of the king, she could only imagine what he would do if she existed. And for all better purposes, it was best she didn’t exist to begin with.
Saemura would slowly see how the lack of magic would affect its people, a sense of frustration, anger even in how it all ran. But there was little she could do without the idea of putting her very existence in danger. It was in these later days, that she would meet a bright young man by the name of Salvador, a nature dragon by birth, she often saw him helping fellow healers and medics where he could. A herbalist and gardener by trade, he did his best to provide where he could, but often two found him restrained and bound by the laws of Dhune. She would often see the young drake around the steps of the church, and it was there that they developed a friendship of sorts. He would lend her a claw when she needed, and she would return the favor whenever possible.
They both learned of each other and their own stories with enough time. Salvador was the lone survivor of a horrid plague that had run rampant across his clan, and when he was all that was left, he would leave. It was Dhune that he found his calling, and his craft proved to be particularly useful especially when it came to caring for the poorer and less fortunate of the city itself. It was here he started a new life, and while he did his best to thrive, he two, found himself at odd ends with how Dhune, and it approached to the idea of magic.
“How many sick? How many injured? How many could we save if we were just allowed to use the gifts that we were born with?” He’d argue again and again. And all she could do would just shake her head. She wanted to help, she truly did, but for all either of them where, they were just two people, and going against an entire city would be foolish, it was more than a confirmed death wish if anything else.
The talk of witches, of horrible curses and hexes wasn't lost on Saemura, she had heard of them, of the rumors and whispers spread by the cityfolk. Of what they’d do with such heretics, and the horrid fate they would usually before. It doesn’t silence either of them of course, and they talk among each other in secret as they always do. But it’s just always that? Isn’t it? Talk. Neither Saemura nor Salvador would ever be foolish enough to tread on the foot of the king and his orders? Least that's what Saemura had thought at first.
But her friend was as stubborn as he was kind, he always had been. Haunted by deaths of his own past, he would refuse to let those suffer while the blind arrogance of royalty did nothing to help temper their pain. But she would not stop him, he was her friend, and perhaps one of her only true friends among the Dhune itself.
All she could do was pray, she thought, pray and hope that whatever happened, Salvador would leave this city alive, or least, unharmed.
The prayers of one simple woman, made of stone, and sand easily would go amiss.
She was not even sure when it had happened. One day she had been talking among her fellow churchgoers, and as always, Salvador had been among her company, and the next, he wasn’t. She had not even been sure when they had taken him- the inquisitors, those under the will of a great priest who served the king, and proudly so.
All she knew was one moment her friend had been there, and then he simply hadn't.
In the end, Saemura learned the worst part of watching someone burn among a pyre, wasn’t the billowing smoke, or the burning coals, or the horrid smell, no, no in the end, it was the screams, always the blood piercing screams.
And oh, did what remain of Salvador screamed, until he could no longer.
It was all she could recall as she stood before the apparent executions of those deemed “witches”, and for once in her life all Saemura could feel, a creature of stone, and sand, was unyielding rage.
The apparent death of Saemura O’Sana is nothing special, something that goes largely amiss amongst most of Dhune.
To most folk, she had simply a follower of the Lightweaver gone mad for reasons most couldn't even comprehend fully. To the church she'd been a simple woman of faith, quiet but content to do what came naturally to her, her friends few, but meaningful, and her work, just as important.
Yet to the inquisitors, she was a monster in the making.
Whatever had driven Saemura to attack the guardians of the city was left largely unknown to the public, but she had done so in an almost feral anger, unjust and incomprehensible to almost all who foresaw it. Fangs bared, claws sharp, her magic bright and burning like her rage, yet in the end, no matter what she was made of, she was one mad woman, against an army.
And perhaps in the end, she never intended on living to see the end of her bloodshed, merely to cause enough damage, to strike where it hurt, and hoped it mean something after all she'd done.
Which in the end had been nothing.
How many had been truly been saved by her at all? All that talk, all those conversations of making a better, brighter future for the people of Dhune. All those times that Salvador had confided to her, his plans, his hopes, his dreams. Had awaited the day she would stand with him, and do was what clearly right, what was clearly just.
And yet Saemura kept her mouth shut, during the entirety of these people, of their suffering, and she had done nothing.
So it where she strikes, with anger, and sorrow, and grief, and hopes whatever is left to hear her, forgives her for all that had has happened.
The act of getting rid of a creature that had once been Saemura, whatever she truly was, was never easy.
She did not burn, not easy enough to make an example of, and her sheer construction is a danger to the city. Even unmoving, even no longer "living", in the way she once had been, her body hums with sums of magic that no one among the city knows quite what to do, what to make of.
And in the end, her hollow body is entombed far, far, out to the outskirts of Dhune's. The now thought-to-be empty shell, left to do nothing but fade away to sand. And while she does not stand to see the city, it's king, it's people, all of Dhune fall. It is through that small mercy of magic, does she somehow, live.
The deserts of the The Shifting Expanse are anything but kind, even to the most wary of travelers. Xandra Goldstone is a woman who has seen much in her lifetime, but the intense heart, and moving sands of the Expanse never became easier for her, especially not when they near so close to the boiling point that is the Ashfall Waste.
Yet still, she is a stubborn drake, and she has no made it this far into her journey to merely give up now. She is a high lady of the Lightweaver, and she will not fail in her duties. Still knowing her location, she is not any more eager in the steps she takes forward.
She knows of the stories treasure hunters and travelers alike speak of Dhune, least what's left of it. But until she's seen anything by her own two eyes, it's nothing more then silly rumors and foolish folktales, people just trying to get a scare out of others, or maybe just to keep them away from the area for whatever reason.
But Xandra is a woman on a mission, she is all but another missionary of her Lady, and it has been asked of her to retrieve a very important relic from what remains of Dhune's ruins. And if it is what had been demanded of her, she will fit that it is done.
It does not make her any less cautious when she treks further into the city of course, for all the hogwash she assumes of others, it would be silly to just think this place completely safe. There could be raiders, monsters, maybe even old traps from eons ago. She keeps her claws ready, and her eyesight sharp as she goes in and out of buildings, poking and prodding, not even sure where she would start in a place as big, and as buried as this.
It is a good week or so before anything of worth shows up, and even then it's minimally nothing close to what she's looking for, still, she keeps pushing forward.
It is when she comes across a seemingly deeply buried, area long forgotten, that her interest is peak . It is built at what seems to be forever away from the main pathways of the city, yet still clearly of similar architecture, same build. Whatever is in here, they did not want it near Dhune, and perhaps even more so, they wanted no one to ever truly find it.
It's a rather depressingly small, cramped little excuse for catacombs, least for a guardian her size, but she manages. In the end she only finds one tomb, a heavy dusty thing, and while she is never one to usually disrespect the dead, there is an almost powerful, humming inside that pulls her closer. It takes almost her strength to wretch the old lid off, but when she does, what she expects is not even remotely what she sees.
She expects a skeleton, something ancient and largely worn, and while she does find something old and dusty, it is nothing she has ever seen the likes of before, not like this. It almost seems to be some kind of, life-sized doll? Yet craved and crafted from stone, very, very old of course, yet for the shape it's in, far two well kept.
And yet she can still feel that slight spark, of magic, of that urge.
And almost, without complete awareness, Xandra would absentmindedly place one of her claws near this, creature's "core," and with a sparking shock of magic she would stumble back.
She feels, almost, slightly drained somehow, and it's both in awe, and shock, with the empowering of her own magic; the body begins to stutter and rumble awake.
And it's with this, that does Xandra Goldstone realize; it is alive.
[center][size=7] [b][font=sylfaen]VITALITY EVERLASTING[/b][/size][/center]
[center][size=5] [b][font=sylfaen]| a tale for lazarus |[/b][/size][/center]
[center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/93273137][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/932732/93273137_350.png[/img][/url][/center]
[center][size=3] [b][font=sylfaen]| written by awaicu |[/center]
[center][size=3][i][font=sylfaen]A shapeshifter’s quest for immortality…
[/i][/center]
------
[font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]ransformation was not unfamiliar to Lazarus. She was from a lineage adept in altering their forms and speech, and she too had changed her appearance many times. Her scales would flicker with different patterns, her voice sometimes deep and masculine and other times hitting the highest of sopranos. Despite her shifting, however, she could never reverse the effects of time. Each day it aged her further, streaks of grey mottling her once ebony feathers. Certainly there were [i]scrolls[/i] that could bestow eternal youth, but this was not what Lazarus sought either. “I don’t want to be a [i]child[/i]” she hissed when one of her friends brought her the scroll as a gift. “I simply don’t want to age any further”. She was looking for something else. Something that came to her in the form of a story from long ago.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
[i] No one was certain where the grail came from. It appeared mysteriously in the hands of a mad Fae who clutched it greedily. At first, no one believed his false sermons. He stood before a town in the Hewn City, his eyes wild as he held the chalice high. “Drink! Drink of this everlasting ichor. Yes! Let it wash through you and cleanse your soul! I have seen its blessing, this offer of vitality everlasting!” [/i]
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
The old tavern door creaked in protest as Lazarus pressed it open, passing beneath a sign over the entrance that read ‘The Tumbleweed’. It was a befitting name for the air inside was thick with dust and smoke and muddy footprints stained the wooden floors. There were a number of dragons already inside, a group of miners with drying clay still caked onto their scales as they rallied over a round of drinks. The Coatl pulled her cowl tighter over her face as she took a seat at the bar.
“What can I do ya for?” The bartender was a gruff old Ridgeback who was currently cleaning the inside of a glass with an old rag. “Just water please”, the Coatl replied. The bartender eyed her curiously, turning to fill the glass with ice. “I’m curious, what brings a little thing like you all the way out here? We don’t get many visitors out this far in Dragonhome”.
“I’m searching for something.” The reply was muffled by the cloth over Lazarus’ face. “Hmm? Searching for gold? That’s what brings most of em around these parts.” The Ridgeback gestured to the group of miners before setting the glass down on the bar and lighting herself a cigarette. “Or maybe you’re here ‘bout the birds”.
Lazarus’ ears perked at that. She had indeed followed a rumor here. A rumor about swallows.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
[i]“Rumors! Lies!” The townsfolk muttered and shook their heads. Most of them brushed away the Fae’s words as nothing more than falsities spoken by a maddened mind. Still, there was one among them who stepped forth. A young Tundra grasped the goblet, drinking the golden ichor within. Only a few bore witness as the Fae beside him began to stagger - screaming as he slumped to the ground on brittle, broken limbs. His body continued to dissolve, his horrid cries echoing through the town as his form disintegrated into a pile of blackened ash.
The townsfolk stared in horror. “So much for vitality everlasting…” [/i]
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
“Best to stay away if ya ask me”. The Ridgeback grumbled as she pressed the fizzling end of her cigarette into an ash tray at the bar, “the desert out there’ll spirit you away. They say those birds are the restless souls of the dead. Eh, I ‘spose you’ll do what ya want. That’s just a piece of personal advice”. The Ridgeback grunted as she turned back to tend the bar, lifting the crumpled rag to clean another piece of glassware. “Can’t say ol’ Sil didn’t warn ya”.
It was getting dark. Lazarus tipped the barkeeper and sauntered back outside. She was staring into the sunset, a golden glow of rippling heat as it set over the horizon. She gripped her cowl tightly once more before she set off towards the desert.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
[i]“You look rather young for your age!” The townsfolk commented. They all complemented a Tundra who looked just as young as the day he drank from the golden chalice. Most thought he would succumb to the same fate as the strange Fae, but he remained young and beautiful even as the years ebbed on. Decades passed, centuries even, and the Tundra became an everlasting part of the town. He watched generation after generation roll by as he remained, perpetually trapped in time.
Although the Tundra was gentle and kind, rumor of his longevity spread and eventually it captured the attention of those with far more nefarious motives.
“Immortality!” They whispered, “it will be… mine”. [/i]
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
Lazarus shuddered. The desert air had grown cold, her breath visible as it floated up towards a brilliantly starlit sky. The small mining town had disappeared behind her, the desert opening like a great, barren ocean of dust and crumbling, fissured stone. She wandered until her feet were sore and her muscles ached, the bitter cold burning her lungs with every breath. Those intrusive thoughts tapped against her mind. Perhaps she would perish here, devoured by the desert where her remains would never be found. Perhaps she should turn back before it was. . . Or was it already too late? The path behind her was lost amidst the endless peaks of jagged rock.
Just as her hope wavered, the heavens seemed to flicker and the sky above her was suddenly filled with movement. They darted on nimble wings; the forms of a hundred thousand swallows interwoven against a backdrop of stars.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
[i]The townsfolk screamed, yet their cries were lost amidst the crackle of decimating flames. “Who is it?” A cloaked bandit threatened, “who here has acquired immortality?” The Tundra stepped forward, offering himself in exchange for peace. “It’s me”.
The bandits kept him in a tent for days and though his body still felt the horrible aches of thirst and hunger, he could not succumb to either. Nor did he perish from the injuries that the bandits inflicted on him. “Where is it? Where have you hidden the grail?” They questioned him again and again, yet the Tundra refused to speak.
Finally, he looked up to find a young Skydancer had been brought inside, her forearm gripped tightly between the bandit’s claws. “Don’t hurt her!” The Tundra pleaded, “I will tell you where the grail is…” [/i]
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
Lazarus stared in awe. Truly, the birds appeared to be weaving themselves together, their forms coalescing as they morphed into great pillars that settled into the sand. An entire city, bathed in ethereal starlight had formed around the Coatl. “So the rumors! The rumors are true!” She called out with a laugh. “The city exists!”
She reached out a hand, pressing it against a marble pillar. For a moment she thought that surely it must be a mirage, that her hand would fade through the stone like a ghost. A city woven from birds! How ludicrous! And yet, the marble was solid, cool and smooth beneath her fingertips.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
[i] The moment the bandits found the grail, they laughed triumphantly. “Finally! Immortality will be ours” they jeered. The first of them tipped the cup to their lips, taking in the golden ichor that forever flowed from the grail’s rim. At the same moment, the Tundra let out a pained cry. He was dissolving, his body disintegrating until nothing but a pile of blackened ash remained.
The bandits fought, each of them attempting to claim the grail as their own when they found it would only bestow its blessing onto one of them. One at a time. For the moment another drank from the chalice, it would siphon away its gifts, along with any life that remained in whoever had taken from it last.
In the end, the town was reduced to ashes and only one bandit remained. A red-scaled Imperial who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. “Such a tragedy” he muttered, extending a hand towards the now orphaned Skydancer. “Come with me”. He said softly. She shirked away at first, yet she was too young to fend for herself and eventually placed her hand against his crimson scales. “And where will we go?”
The imperial sighed. “Someplace no one will find this”. He looked down at the grail in his hands, its surface shining gold and those brilliant rubies flashing like eyes from where they were inlaid into the rim.
“Somewhere that no magic is allowed”. [/i]
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
“Hirondelle” Lazarus breathed the city’s name. It was not where the grail had been brought initially, but it was where the rumors led her. That red Imperial had taken the grail to Dhune, a city of commerce that once stood proudly in the Shifting Expanse. It was a city that forbid magic from entering its gates and the grail was confiscated and presumably thrown into a great vault beneath the palace. “Where did it go after that?” Lazarus had asked fervently. There were a few explorers who found Dhune’s ruins and claimed that by some inexplicable magic, the vault had been moved.
It had settled here. In this mythical city crafted long ago by elvish magic.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
Lazarus crept towards the palace that rested at the center of Hirondelle. She was silent as she moved, a technique she had learned through years of theft and treachery. All of those stories and information about the grail were not tales she’d come across freely. She had taken them. Countless scrolls, tomes, journals, and letters she had stolen in her search for the grail, and now, it was finally within reach!
Excitedly, she slid inside and down a tunnel bored into one of the palace walls. It was so dark, she could only navigate by pressing a hand against the stone walls. Unlike the refined marble that filled the rest of Hirondelle, these tunnels were crude and rough, Lazarus’ hands rushing over carvings in the stone. Perhaps they were… eyes? She thought for a moment, but without her own vision she couldn’t tell for certain.
Finally, a light flickered in the distance. A single torch mounted beside a great, circular door with a surface marred by intricate runes. She pressed a hand against it, finding no lock to pick. Yet, a memory trickled forth. One of those countless artifacts she’d stolen…
[i]Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate[/i]
She spoke and the door slid open. Behind it rested a nest of whispering darkness. It would be enough to turn most explorers away. Who would willingly step into the undulating grasp of the Shade? Yet Lazarus had already come too far to give up now and without more than a moment’s thought, she leapt through the door.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
What the Coatl found inside was a great archive, its countless dust-ridden shelves stacked high with strange and bizarre artifacts. The more she wandered, the more that Lazarus found the vault to be unfathomably large. There was no end to the dusky corridors, the shelves, and the strange items that sat upon them. She searched and searched, past endless stacks of dusty scrolls and books, past totems and statues that seemed to whisper as she ventured by. How many hours had she searched? How many days? She wasn’t sure. She saw something flickering in the periphery of her vision, as if those dark tendrils of Shade were stalking her, constantly twisting and moving the corridors so she could never reach her destination.
Those hours ebbed on, bringing with them cruel thirst and hunger. She began to search for an exit, though that proved just as fruitless as finding the grail. Dark thoughts crept into her mind as she slumped in exhaustion beneath a stack of shelves. “This is where I’ll perish” she muttered tiredly. “So close and yet…”. In a moment of anguish, she brought her hands together in a prayer that she might find the grail still and acquire immortality. Perhaps the Coatl drifted to sleep after that, as when she righted herself, she was sitting upon a wooden pew. The cathedral around her was illuminated by a pale light cast through a massive stained glass window.
A voice came then. “Why do you cry?” It echoed through the cathedral. “I have heard your prayers. If I tell you the location of the grail you seek, what will you do then?” The Coatl’s eyes widened, “please” she begged, prostrating herself upon the floor “I’ll do anything for the grail, I only seek it to cure my ailing sister! Just a sip! That is all I desire”.
There was silence for a moment before the voice came again. “I see. Then come forth, and take what you desire”. In a flicker of light, the golden chalice appeared, rubies sparkling darkly as its rim overflowed with that golden ichor. Lazarus rushed forth, grasping the cup greedily. “At last!” She cried just as the glass window behind her began to crack and shift into the form of some great beast.
------[font=Garamond][size=4]
Lazarus backed away slowly, yet the grail never dropped from her hands. From the window, a six-winged creature stepped forth into the cathedral, scales patterned in black and white streaks like the stained glass and silver fodder from which he came.
“So you want to be ageless? As permanent and timeless as this grail? Then so be it” the beast sneered. He glared down at Lazarus with a snarl, his teeth flashing like glass in the paling light. “Liar”. As he spoke, the grail in Lazarus’ hands began to smolder, the metal glowing molten hot before bubbling and melting onto the Coatl’s scales. She screeched and tried to drop it, but it was too late. The metal was already creeping up her arms, replacing skin and bone with gold. “Please” the Coatl begged, “not like this”. She groveled before the beast, pulling herself across the cold stone floor of the cathedral as the grail swallowed her whole.
That voice echoed from somewhere above her. “What’s wrong?” It called, “I’m only answering your prayers…”
[center][size=5] [b][font=sylfaen]| featured characters |[/b][/size][/center]
[center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/93272263][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/932723/93272263.png[/img][/url] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/63528328][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/635284/63528328.png[/img][/url]
VITALITY EVERLASTING
| a tale for lazarus |
| written by awaicu |
A shapeshifter’s quest for immortality…
Transformation was not unfamiliar to Lazarus. She was from a lineage adept in altering their forms and speech, and she too had changed her appearance many times. Her scales would flicker with different patterns, her voice sometimes deep and masculine and other times hitting the highest of sopranos. Despite her shifting, however, she could never reverse the effects of time. Each day it aged her further, streaks of grey mottling her once ebony feathers. Certainly there were scrolls that could bestow eternal youth, but this was not what Lazarus sought either. “I don’t want to be a child” she hissed when one of her friends brought her the scroll as a gift. “I simply don’t want to age any further”. She was looking for something else. Something that came to her in the form of a story from long ago.
No one was certain where the grail came from. It appeared mysteriously in the hands of a mad Fae who clutched it greedily. At first, no one believed his false sermons. He stood before a town in the Hewn City, his eyes wild as he held the chalice high. “Drink! Drink of this everlasting ichor. Yes! Let it wash through you and cleanse your soul! I have seen its blessing, this offer of vitality everlasting!”
The old tavern door creaked in protest as Lazarus pressed it open, passing beneath a sign over the entrance that read ‘The Tumbleweed’. It was a befitting name for the air inside was thick with dust and smoke and muddy footprints stained the wooden floors. There were a number of dragons already inside, a group of miners with drying clay still caked onto their scales as they rallied over a round of drinks. The Coatl pulled her cowl tighter over her face as she took a seat at the bar.
“What can I do ya for?” The bartender was a gruff old Ridgeback who was currently cleaning the inside of a glass with an old rag. “Just water please”, the Coatl replied. The bartender eyed her curiously, turning to fill the glass with ice. “I’m curious, what brings a little thing like you all the way out here? We don’t get many visitors out this far in Dragonhome”.
“I’m searching for something.” The reply was muffled by the cloth over Lazarus’ face. “Hmm? Searching for gold? That’s what brings most of em around these parts.” The Ridgeback gestured to the group of miners before setting the glass down on the bar and lighting herself a cigarette. “Or maybe you’re here ‘bout the birds”.
Lazarus’ ears perked at that. She had indeed followed a rumor here. A rumor about swallows.
“Rumors! Lies!” The townsfolk muttered and shook their heads. Most of them brushed away the Fae’s words as nothing more than falsities spoken by a maddened mind. Still, there was one among them who stepped forth. A young Tundra grasped the goblet, drinking the golden ichor within. Only a few bore witness as the Fae beside him began to stagger - screaming as he slumped to the ground on brittle, broken limbs. His body continued to dissolve, his horrid cries echoing through the town as his form disintegrated into a pile of blackened ash.
The townsfolk stared in horror. “So much for vitality everlasting…”
“Best to stay away if ya ask me”. The Ridgeback grumbled as she pressed the fizzling end of her cigarette into an ash tray at the bar, “the desert out there’ll spirit you away. They say those birds are the restless souls of the dead. Eh, I ‘spose you’ll do what ya want. That’s just a piece of personal advice”. The Ridgeback grunted as she turned back to tend the bar, lifting the crumpled rag to clean another piece of glassware. “Can’t say ol’ Sil didn’t warn ya”.
It was getting dark. Lazarus tipped the barkeeper and sauntered back outside. She was staring into the sunset, a golden glow of rippling heat as it set over the horizon. She gripped her cowl tightly once more before she set off towards the desert.
“You look rather young for your age!” The townsfolk commented. They all complemented a Tundra who looked just as young as the day he drank from the golden chalice. Most thought he would succumb to the same fate as the strange Fae, but he remained young and beautiful even as the years ebbed on. Decades passed, centuries even, and the Tundra became an everlasting part of the town. He watched generation after generation roll by as he remained, perpetually trapped in time.
Although the Tundra was gentle and kind, rumor of his longevity spread and eventually it captured the attention of those with far more nefarious motives.
“Immortality!” They whispered, “it will be… mine”.
Lazarus shuddered. The desert air had grown cold, her breath visible as it floated up towards a brilliantly starlit sky. The small mining town had disappeared behind her, the desert opening like a great, barren ocean of dust and crumbling, fissured stone. She wandered until her feet were sore and her muscles ached, the bitter cold burning her lungs with every breath. Those intrusive thoughts tapped against her mind. Perhaps she would perish here, devoured by the desert where her remains would never be found. Perhaps she should turn back before it was. . . Or was it already too late? The path behind her was lost amidst the endless peaks of jagged rock.
Just as her hope wavered, the heavens seemed to flicker and the sky above her was suddenly filled with movement. They darted on nimble wings; the forms of a hundred thousand swallows interwoven against a backdrop of stars.
The townsfolk screamed, yet their cries were lost amidst the crackle of decimating flames. “Who is it?” A cloaked bandit threatened, “who here has acquired immortality?” The Tundra stepped forward, offering himself in exchange for peace. “It’s me”.
The bandits kept him in a tent for days and though his body still felt the horrible aches of thirst and hunger, he could not succumb to either. Nor did he perish from the injuries that the bandits inflicted on him. “Where is it? Where have you hidden the grail?” They questioned him again and again, yet the Tundra refused to speak.
Finally, he looked up to find a young Skydancer had been brought inside, her forearm gripped tightly between the bandit’s claws. “Don’t hurt her!” The Tundra pleaded, “I will tell you where the grail is…”
Lazarus stared in awe. Truly, the birds appeared to be weaving themselves together, their forms coalescing as they morphed into great pillars that settled into the sand. An entire city, bathed in ethereal starlight had formed around the Coatl. “So the rumors! The rumors are true!” She called out with a laugh. “The city exists!”
She reached out a hand, pressing it against a marble pillar. For a moment she thought that surely it must be a mirage, that her hand would fade through the stone like a ghost. A city woven from birds! How ludicrous! And yet, the marble was solid, cool and smooth beneath her fingertips.
The moment the bandits found the grail, they laughed triumphantly. “Finally! Immortality will be ours” they jeered. The first of them tipped the cup to their lips, taking in the golden ichor that forever flowed from the grail’s rim. At the same moment, the Tundra let out a pained cry. He was dissolving, his body disintegrating until nothing but a pile of blackened ash remained.
The bandits fought, each of them attempting to claim the grail as their own when they found it would only bestow its blessing onto one of them. One at a time. For the moment another drank from the chalice, it would siphon away its gifts, along with any life that remained in whoever had taken from it last.
In the end, the town was reduced to ashes and only one bandit remained. A red-scaled Imperial who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. “Such a tragedy” he muttered, extending a hand towards the now orphaned Skydancer. “Come with me”. He said softly. She shirked away at first, yet she was too young to fend for herself and eventually placed her hand against his crimson scales. “And where will we go?”
The imperial sighed. “Someplace no one will find this”. He looked down at the grail in his hands, its surface shining gold and those brilliant rubies flashing like eyes from where they were inlaid into the rim.
“Somewhere that no magic is allowed”.
“Hirondelle” Lazarus breathed the city’s name. It was not where the grail had been brought initially, but it was where the rumors led her. That red Imperial had taken the grail to Dhune, a city of commerce that once stood proudly in the Shifting Expanse. It was a city that forbid magic from entering its gates and the grail was confiscated and presumably thrown into a great vault beneath the palace. “Where did it go after that?” Lazarus had asked fervently. There were a few explorers who found Dhune’s ruins and claimed that by some inexplicable magic, the vault had been moved.
It had settled here. In this mythical city crafted long ago by elvish magic.
Lazarus crept towards the palace that rested at the center of Hirondelle. She was silent as she moved, a technique she had learned through years of theft and treachery. All of those stories and information about the grail were not tales she’d come across freely. She had taken them. Countless scrolls, tomes, journals, and letters she had stolen in her search for the grail, and now, it was finally within reach!
Excitedly, she slid inside and down a tunnel bored into one of the palace walls. It was so dark, she could only navigate by pressing a hand against the stone walls. Unlike the refined marble that filled the rest of Hirondelle, these tunnels were crude and rough, Lazarus’ hands rushing over carvings in the stone. Perhaps they were… eyes? She thought for a moment, but without her own vision she couldn’t tell for certain.
Finally, a light flickered in the distance. A single torch mounted beside a great, circular door with a surface marred by intricate runes. She pressed a hand against it, finding no lock to pick. Yet, a memory trickled forth. One of those countless artifacts she’d stolen…
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate
She spoke and the door slid open. Behind it rested a nest of whispering darkness. It would be enough to turn most explorers away. Who would willingly step into the undulating grasp of the Shade? Yet Lazarus had already come too far to give up now and without more than a moment’s thought, she leapt through the door.
What the Coatl found inside was a great archive, its countless dust-ridden shelves stacked high with strange and bizarre artifacts. The more she wandered, the more that Lazarus found the vault to be unfathomably large. There was no end to the dusky corridors, the shelves, and the strange items that sat upon them. She searched and searched, past endless stacks of dusty scrolls and books, past totems and statues that seemed to whisper as she ventured by. How many hours had she searched? How many days? She wasn’t sure. She saw something flickering in the periphery of her vision, as if those dark tendrils of Shade were stalking her, constantly twisting and moving the corridors so she could never reach her destination.
Those hours ebbed on, bringing with them cruel thirst and hunger. She began to search for an exit, though that proved just as fruitless as finding the grail. Dark thoughts crept into her mind as she slumped in exhaustion beneath a stack of shelves. “This is where I’ll perish” she muttered tiredly. “So close and yet…”. In a moment of anguish, she brought her hands together in a prayer that she might find the grail still and acquire immortality. Perhaps the Coatl drifted to sleep after that, as when she righted herself, she was sitting upon a wooden pew. The cathedral around her was illuminated by a pale light cast through a massive stained glass window.
A voice came then. “Why do you cry?” It echoed through the cathedral. “I have heard your prayers. If I tell you the location of the grail you seek, what will you do then?” The Coatl’s eyes widened, “please” she begged, prostrating herself upon the floor “I’ll do anything for the grail, I only seek it to cure my ailing sister! Just a sip! That is all I desire”.
There was silence for a moment before the voice came again. “I see. Then come forth, and take what you desire”. In a flicker of light, the golden chalice appeared, rubies sparkling darkly as its rim overflowed with that golden ichor. Lazarus rushed forth, grasping the cup greedily. “At last!” She cried just as the glass window behind her began to crack and shift into the form of some great beast.
Lazarus backed away slowly, yet the grail never dropped from her hands. From the window, a six-winged creature stepped forth into the cathedral, scales patterned in black and white streaks like the stained glass and silver fodder from which he came.
“So you want to be ageless? As permanent and timeless as this grail? Then so be it” the beast sneered. He glared down at Lazarus with a snarl, his teeth flashing like glass in the paling light. “Liar”. As he spoke, the grail in Lazarus’ hands began to smolder, the metal glowing molten hot before bubbling and melting onto the Coatl’s scales. She screeched and tried to drop it, but it was too late. The metal was already creeping up her arms, replacing skin and bone with gold. “Please” the Coatl begged, “not like this”. She groveled before the beast, pulling herself across the cold stone floor of the cathedral as the grail swallowed her whole.
That voice echoed from somewhere above her. “What’s wrong?” It called, “I’m only answering your prayers…”
| featured characters |
