Quests & Challenges

Allsight: She ducked out of sight, quickly snagging an arrow from her quiver, hastily loading it in her bow. She looked aorund slightly, then runs out and looses her arrow. It hits it's mark, and Allsight lets out a sigh. She slowly approaches the Toridae, who lay still. She chuckles slightly, reaching down and tapping it on the snout. "Sorry, friend." She whispers as she sheathes her bow, then wraps her arms around the massive gatorlike creature, lifting it off the ground. She brings it to her hiding place, then works on removing the arrow. Once it has been removed, she works on dressing the wound, wrapping it up once finished. "I apologize, again. All I had on me where my arrows." She puts her claws to it's throat, making sure it was alive. Once she felt that steady heartbeat she smiled. "I can't have you attacking me." She pets it's head, rubbing dirt off it's scales. "We're friends, ok? I'm sorry I had to tranq you. Your tail can hurt me, and I don't want that." She glances over at said tail. "In fact.." She takes the cloth she used to wrap it's wound and winds it carefully around the giant weapon. Once satisfied, she turns back to the Toridae, smiling softly. "I won't harm you. I promise." She stands back up, still caring the Toridae. After a few hard flaps of her wings, she takes to the sky, gliding barely above the treeline since the weight of the reptile was holding her down. She approached her treehome, on the fringes of Plague, right outside of the Wasteland's influence. She ducks into the carved out tree, placing the Toridae down carefully. Upon entering, several creatures approach her. A Winter Wolf walks up to the Toridae, nudging it with it's snout. "What do you think, Frost? What should I call this guy?" Frost looks up at her, tilting it's head and woofing slightly. "Hmm? You say I should name him Cyan? Good idea, Frost!" Frost gives her a canine grin and howls. Allsight grins. "Cyan, it is! Welcome home, bud."
Allsight is an unusual Wildclaw, an unusual dragon. For whatever reason, she can communicate with Familiars, understanding their speech perfectly. She likes to raise and gather Familiars, saving them from becoming food. She especially likes the more animal Familiars, and tends to avoid those like Serthi or Centaurs. She believes her ability comes from her special runes, which, in Old Dragon, spell out "Creature Whisperer" on her arms and legs. The ones above her eyes say different things- right says "All" while her left says "Sight", which is where her name comes from, while the runes along her body and tail say something rather negative, "Cursed to lack certain speech but blessed for others". She cannot understand New-Dragon, which is what most dragons speak, except for Ancients and a handful of Moderns. She's been recruited to the WC army, whose head-mage, Emrakul, can understand and speak Old-Dragon, and therefore can communicate with Allsight. Her name is rather strange, given that she can't really see all, isn't it? Perhaps there's a reason for her name..

ALt ver:
Allsight ducks out of sight, quickly snagging an arrow from her quiver and hastily loading it in her bow. She looks around slightly, then runs out and looses her arrow. It deftly hits its mark. A small shriek can be heard as Allsight lets out a sigh. She slowly approaches the Toridae, seeing it as it lay still.

She chuckles slightly, reaching down and tapping it on the snout. "Sorry, friend." Whispering as she sheathes her bow, she wraps her arms around the massive gator-like creature and lifts it off the ground. She brings it to her hiding place, swiftly working on removing the arrow. Once it's removed, she works on dressing the wound, wrapping it up as soon as it's finished.

"I apologize, again. All I had on me were my arrows." She puts her claws to its throat, making sure it is alive. Once she feels that steady heartbeat, she smiles. "I can't have you attacking me." She pets its head and rubs dirt off it's scales. "We're friends, okay? I'm sorry I had to tranquilize you. Your tail can hurt me, and I don't want that." She glances over at said tail. "In fact.."

Taking the cloth she used to wrap its wound, she winds it carefully around the giant weapon. Once satisfied, she turns back to the Toridae, smiling softly. "I won't harm you. I promise." She stands back up, still carrying the Toridae. After a few hard flaps of her wings, she takes to the sky, gliding barely above the treeline. The heft of the reptile was weighing her down.

Approaching her tree home, on the fringes of Plague and right outside the Wasteland's influence, she ducks into the carved out tree. She places the Toridae down carefully. Upon entering, several creatures approach her. A Winter Wolf walks up to the Toridae, nudging it with it's snout.

"What do you think, Frost? What should I call this guy?" Frost looks up at her, tilting its head and barking softly. "Hmm? You say I should name him Cyan? Good idea, Frost!" Frost gives her a canine grin and howls. Allsight grins. "Cyan, it is! Welcome home, bud."

Allsight is an unusual Wildclaw, an unusual dragon. For whatever reason, she can communicate with Familiars- understanding them and their speech perfectly. She likes to raise and gather Familiars, often saving them from becoming food. She especially likes the more feral Familiars while tending to avoid those such as Serthi or Centaurs.

She believes her ability comes from her special runes, which, in Old Draconic, spell out "Creature Whisperer" on her arms and legs. The ones above her eyes say different things- above her right reads "All" while above her left reads "Sight". It's where her name comes from, while the runes along her body and tail say something rather negative. "Cursed to lack certain speech but blessed for others". She tends to hide these runes under her feathers.

She cannot understand New Draconic, which is what most dragons speak. However, there is thee exception of Ancients and a handful of Moderns. She's been recruited to the WC army, whose head-mage, Emrakul, can understand and speak Old Draconic, and therefore can communicate with Allsight.

Her name is rather strange, given that she can't really see all, isn't it? Perhaps there's a reason for her name... [/center]

Aquamarine: Aquamarine was always a bit shy. That is, until that horrible day when his family and crewmates were eradicated before his eyes. He was too young to fight back, and yet too young to give to the Tidelord. The opposing captain decided to snatch him off the sinking ship and take him under his wing, to raise him and take care of him. It's nothing personal, The captain had said, your mother was an enemy of mine. But you aren't. Aquamarine grew into this new crew, and was soon lifted to higher and higher ranks. Eventually he and the captain ruled side-by-side, creating a fearless and ruthless crew that no one dared face...except the Royal Guard. To this day he paces a Guard's cell, caught after a long and dangerous battle, where he almost lost his life. He still plans to escape, and now he may have an idea..

Pollux & Castor: Castor and Pollux never understood what this meant, and why their mother whispered it to them upon their hatching. They are identical in every wat y shape and form, except their eyes. They were named after stars, after a kind of star called 'Gemini'. Their mother says it's because the Gemini stars are like twins. Like you. They think and act in unison, and have been seen reacting to something the other said/felt/did. You won't ever get along with dragons outside of each other. You two are bonded closer then any dragon could possibly be. No one will understand you. You will be cursed to be lonely, but lonely together. Their father had growled, angered that they were alike. You two will throw a wrench in the possibility of new offspring! What if your children are cursed, just like you? Most dragons believe them to be cursed, some believe it's a blessing. As for what Castor and Pollux feel about it, they both have come to the same conclusion.

Dusk:What's your reason, Wildclaw? Why're you here? I'm curious, what's your reason?
I'm lost..I don't know where I am...
You're in the Wasteland, Wildclaw.
No, I know where I am, as in place...but I don't know as in time.
What do you mean by that?
I'm not in my own timezone..
Timezone? What do you mean?
I'm lost, Emrakul, You don't exist in my timeline. The Wasteland, it's...it's different.
Can you travel through time, Wildclaw?
Not through time, but I can jump through dimensions, I-I think..I've heard about this in Retten..but I didn't think it was real..
Retten? Nevermind that. Little Wildclaw, I understand your pain. I am similar to you, and so is Allsight, and other WC's in my clan, in my family. If you are willing, you may become part of our family.
But my home dimension, my actual family...
Don't worry, Wildclaw. What's your name?
I-I....Dusk. My name is Dusk..
Hmm...Dusk..forget your actual family.
W-what? I don't want to forget them-
You don't have a choice.
Emrakul approached Dusk, offering her a hood, the hood commonly used by rogues. Dusk takes it with shaking hands.
Put it on, Dusk.
Dusk listen, putting the hood on. Emrakul gives her a bow and arrow, and bandages.
Wh-what do I need these for?
Practice, Dusk. You need to learn how to fire a bow.
What's the bandages for?
You'll be hurt in practice. It's the only way to learn. True wisdom comes coupled with burning pain. Get yourself some apparel, then. No warrior of mine walks and flies without clothing or armor of some kind.
Dusk walks over to a stand, picking up various pieces of clothing. She settles for a shady vest. A jar sitting beside the stand catches her attention. It's filled with some odd light green substance.
What is this?
Do not touch it.
Dusk, despite the warning, does not heed Emrakul and touches the jar. The substance jolts, causing Dusk to jump. The jar flips over and crashes to the ground, shattering into thousands of small sharp pieces. The goo launces itself at Dusk and winds itself tightly around her legs. She screams and drops everything, attempting to remove the stuff. Spikes of bone start to grow on her leg, giving her pinky toe a vicious claw, and her ankles become covered in spines.
I told you not to touch it.
Wh-what is it?!
Plasm.
C-Can we get it off??
I'm afraid not. It's bonded with you.
H-huh?!
Take this.
Emrakul hands her a series of small bracelets, decorated with small tassels and amber.
Put it on your tail.
What does it do?
Marks you.
M-Marks me as what?
One of the Touched. One With Sight.

Voltaire:
Voltaire, Voltaire wake up. You're dreaming. They're gone, remember? They've gone.
These voices..he keeps hearing them, speaking of things he doesn't understand. Who's gone? Am I dreaming? What's happening? These questions and many others spin around his head, forever taunting him during his travels.

He pushes himself upwards and stretches his wings. He twists around to check if his precious tome was still there, and finding it intact, he smiles. He turns back around and stretches his wings, flapping them once, twice, three times before taking flight. He glides across Dragonhome, watching the dragons and creatures below him. A group of hatchlings hop off of small pillars, attempting flight upon hatching. Some make it, laughing and flapping noisily. Others...are less lucky.

He makes it to Carinstone Rest, landing down on a rocky outcropping, watching the dragons from a distance. This place would make a good home.. He thinks to himself, If I ever get a mate, I may come back here and raise a family here. He looks up at the Pillar Of The World. Once his eyes connect with it he could feel overwhelming sorrow, like the land itself was sobbing. It made Voltaire feel horrible, like he were to blame for the land's tears. He takes his gaze abruptly away, sighing quietly and wiping tears from his eyes that threatened to fall. He shakes his head to clear it, and takes to the sky again.

Below him now was The Tangled Woods, a place he was a bit hesitant to enter, or even fly over. However he had to fly over it, if he wanted to avoid the Wasteland...which he wanted to do. He could see the twisted scar of the Wastelands, and could almost see the red smoke carrying disease writhing above the land. Even the air is unhealthy. He looks back at The Tangled Woods, deciding whether or not he wanted to stop. Well, he had to stop. He was exhausted and could barely stay aloft.

He touches down in a tree, wary of the land and other trees- well, he was wary of the tree he was in, too. He sighs hard, and gets as comfortable as he could get amongst the branches, but found he couldn't relax. He was on edge in this place, and decided he'd sleep with an eye open.

Morning comes, and yet Voltaire sleeps through it. It's impossible to tell the time beneath the trees, as the canopies black all light. Well, impossible for him, but perhaps Shadow dragons know a way. He didn't want to remain so long that he could start to tell the time, though. And he didn't want to encounter any Shadow dragons and ask. He probably wouldn't have time to say 'How' before his heart was in their claws and his life was seeping out with the waves of blood.

He opens his eyes, squinting in the perpetual dark. Something moves infront of him, and his eyes widen. He takes a minute to gauge whether or not to ask if anyone was there. He stays quiet, watching for any more movement. He sees nothing but shadows.

But we all know, the shadows in the Tangled Wood are alive.

~~~~~

Is he alive?
He doesn't seem alive.
No look, he's moving.
Should we take him in?
...Shadowbinder herself says to care for him.
Why?
I don't know. Pick him up. We're bringing him inside.
What's his name?
What's your name, Ridgeback?
...
...
No response. From here on out you'll be known as Voltaire.

Guy: Come one, come all! Welcome to my restaurant!
Guy's always been one for strange and fascinating cooking. Whatever he can get his paws on he can make into a dish. He most famous at the moment is his Stew made of Strangler seeds, Firebearers, Swamp rats, Bearded Squiggles and some other things that not even himself can name. "All natural!" He proclaims.
However odd his dishes are, they taste wonderful...as long as you're not told what's in it first.
"I once went to Guy's restaurant!" Local foodie named [redacted] says. "His dishes were delightful! The shark and spider dish, Surf n Turf, was delicious!"
His helped is a Sentinel Mith, who helps him carry around the heavier ingredients, like the hippos, elephants, and stuff akin to that size.
"There's so many Ashmane cats around," His Mith complains, "So we just grab any one that wanders by and toss it into the dish. Extra spicy flavor."

"Yes, I love to cook. It's my favorite pastime. And, Flamecaller approved of my cooking with fire method, as she gave me primal eyes! I can cook something by looking at it!" He bursts in raucous laughter. "Oh! Oh, look, taste this!" He holds up one of his herb bundles. "Said to taste like a different kind of meat to different dragons!"

Elliar:
You're supposed to love the Rot, not hide from it.
Are you sure he's a Plague Dragon?
He's a weakness in the clan. We should kill him.
No. Don't kill him. Banish him to the Wasteland. He'll die on his own.
No! None of you will lay a finger on my baby.
Woman, you do realize he's going to die, right?
Not if I can help it!

"Elliar, Elliar come here. Don't wander too close to the edge." The young Wildclaw obeys. "But mom, look. Look at those dragons playing out there. I want to play with them!"
"E, you do realize they don't like you, right?"
"I want to prove myself to them."
"No, Elliar. You're staying here."
"Fine." Elliar watches the dragons playing in the distance with a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's not fair." He looks up at his mother. "Why does Plaguebringer hate me?"
"She doesn't hate you. She made an accident."
Elliar shakes his head, clearly not satisfied.

Later that day, when his parent's backs were turned, he slowly crawls out of his lair, and explores. He's always found all things interesting, and loved to explore. In front of him sits a little dune beetle. He picks it up in his claws, carefully, a little wary of its possibility of carrying disease, but curious nonetheless. He delicately puts the little bug to his mouth and bites it, but spits it out quickly. "Gross!" He exclaims, rubbing his tongue with his claws, trying to get the taste off his tongue. He looks back at the little beetle, now squirming in it's death throes, it's head missing and little bug blood spewing onto the grimy dirt. Guilt washes over him, and he darts back home.

~~~~~
Time has passed. He's now officially a young dragon, no longer a hatchling. That quick escape from home all those years ago leaves him feeling exhilarated every time he thinks about it. The Wasteland had been horrid towards his clan, leaving his parents bitter to each other and their kid. More often then not, Elliar found himself feeling like he was responsible, thinking the arguments tearing apart his family were his fault. After some time, he decided that he had had enough of the guilt and blame. He started to sneak out at night, mapping the safe ways to escape his home and the Wasteland. He knew it was risky, and yet he couldn't help himself.

One night, he decided the path he had walked many times was the safest. He slipped out at night, guilt gripping his heart, but at the same time, all the weight on his shoulders was lifted. He travelled along, through the Wasteland with surprisingly little difficulty, until he reached the fringes, where the ground broke into rocky pieces. He knew he had reached Dragonhome, although he knew almost nothing about it, except little snippets from his mother's dusty books. He wandered through Dragonhome until the heat and lack of sun forced him to his knees. Kneeling there, panting, wondering if this was a poor idea and the end, he starts to close his eyes, until he heard a soft rumbling noise. From his left erupted a bunch of squat quadruped dragons, who jogged up to him. "You look sick, little fella! Here, have some water." The dragon before him offered him a waterskin, which he took in weak hands and sipped from. "Ohh, red eyes! You've wandered far from home. You're in the middle of Dragonhome now! No wonder you look so exhausted. Do you need help? Somewhere to stay as you regain energy?" Elliar nods weakly. "Well, come on, then! Drink all that water, too. Sorry if it tastes weird to you." Elliar squints into the waterskin. "Why would it taste weird..?" The Snapper smiles. "It's clean water! Your water is polluted, right?" She glances around the other dragons. "Right? Am I crazy?"
"No..it is..and this tastes much better.." Elliar says as he stands up shakily, sipping from the skin. "Much better..."
"Come, stay with us. We'll treat you well, take care of you, 'til you're healthy enough to go back home." Elliar shakes his head. "I don't want to go home."
The Snapper looks at him quizzically. "Why not?"
Elliar looks at her. "I'm broken..I'm a broken dragon. I...the Rot, it hurts me. I can't live in it."
"Huh...that's...strange..well, you can stay with us, in our clan, until you find somewhere else to be. Unless you want to stay here, then you can stay here! We'd love to have you with us."
Elliar nods. "I will think on it.."

He liked these odd dragons, but he didn't feel at home here. He hated that feeling of over protection, and here those dragons did the same to him. They protected him, like he needed it. Perhaps he did, but he didn't like it.

"What's your name? Do you have one?"
"Elliar."
"Elliar! Hello! My name's Illaria."
"That's a pretty name."
"Thank you."
"Do you have a lair?"
"No, we walk the trails carved by ancient dragons, here. We are nomads, you might say. We walk forever, using the trails to gather knowledge and secrets."
"Oh. That's interesting."
"Indeed. We find many fascinating dragons in our travels." She looks up at Elliar, so they make eye contact. "You will be remembered by this clan, as an peculiar Wildclaw, a friend, a Strange One. Elliar, the Plague who succumbs to Rot. The Plague who feels more at home in Dragonhome then The Wasteland." She smiles. "There are no goodbyes in this clan, you know that? Wherever you are, you will always be in our hearts."