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(takes place in the Wandering Contagion, closest to the Windswept Plateau border)
There was a sickly sour stench in the air. The smell of rot and stagnant water. To Scáthach, the lands of the Plague Flight were never something to be gazed upon for long. It was an ugly and disgusting place to her. She could never fathom why any sane dragon would live here voluntarily. The Scarred Wasteland was a desolate place, with seemingly no other colors other than the red, black, and grey of disease and death. It was nothing at all like the now seemingly lush Windswept Plateau. The sky there was the brightest blue and the land shone with the vibrant greens of highland grass and bamboo thickets. But the dead landscape in front of her had recently been altered. Instead of a dusty, cracked earth marked by tendrils of decay, a shallow sea of dirty water stretched out in front of the Skydancer. A thick, brown liquid expanding almost to the horizon, with dead tree limbs and carcasses floating in it. Even though Scáthach was flying well above the sea, the updrafts of stench were unbearable. She hoped she wouldn't be here for long.
Scáthach had only crossed into the Scarred Wasteland when she caught a troop of Water Flight dragons raiding her clan's orchard. It had been a nice day, the sun was shining strongly and a nice morning breeze was sifting through the fruit trees. Scáthach had some free time on her hand and had fancied a stroll in solitude when she discovered the thieves. A quick scuffle and the thieves had taken off, heading north. Perhaps they had believed she would not follow them to the Scarred Wasteland. But she kept the pursuit, harassing them the whole way. Being a Wind dragon, she easily out outmaneuvered them. But she had lost the trail when the vagrants had taken to water. She had been scanning for any signs of them, but there was no sight of them.
It had been a few weeks ago when the raids started. Unexpectedly, the dragons of the Sea of a Thousand Currents had started an unprovoked expansion siege. Their first victims were those of the Wasteland, it's natural lowlands being the perfect targets for severe flooding. Then came the raids. Small bands of Water pirates would ambush Wind Clans and steal most of their hoards. The Annwyn Clan, Scáthach's clan, had been lucky so far. She figured it probably had something to do with the large and imposing guard dog of the clan that was Cúchulainn. Though he was born of the Fire Flight, the Guardian was incredibly and fiercely loyal to the clan, and would not allow some Water vermin to harm it or its members.
An hour passed, and Scáthach grew weary of flying in the stink. She had already begun to feel nauseous. Her lungs craved the clean and crisp air of the Zephyr Steppes. She feared if she stayed in this vile air any longer, her beautiful black feathers would begin to wilt. With a huff, she did one last circle to survey the murky sea below her.
(takes place in the Wandering Contagion, closest to the Windswept Plateau border)
There was a sickly sour stench in the air. The smell of rot and stagnant water. To Scáthach, the lands of the Plague Flight were never something to be gazed upon for long. It was an ugly and disgusting place to her. She could never fathom why any sane dragon would live here voluntarily. The Scarred Wasteland was a desolate place, with seemingly no other colors other than the red, black, and grey of disease and death. It was nothing at all like the now seemingly lush Windswept Plateau. The sky there was the brightest blue and the land shone with the vibrant greens of highland grass and bamboo thickets. But the dead landscape in front of her had recently been altered. Instead of a dusty, cracked earth marked by tendrils of decay, a shallow sea of dirty water stretched out in front of the Skydancer. A thick, brown liquid expanding almost to the horizon, with dead tree limbs and carcasses floating in it. Even though Scáthach was flying well above the sea, the updrafts of stench were unbearable. She hoped she wouldn't be here for long.
Scáthach had only crossed into the Scarred Wasteland when she caught a troop of Water Flight dragons raiding her clan's orchard. It had been a nice day, the sun was shining strongly and a nice morning breeze was sifting through the fruit trees. Scáthach had some free time on her hand and had fancied a stroll in solitude when she discovered the thieves. A quick scuffle and the thieves had taken off, heading north. Perhaps they had believed she would not follow them to the Scarred Wasteland. But she kept the pursuit, harassing them the whole way. Being a Wind dragon, she easily out outmaneuvered them. But she had lost the trail when the vagrants had taken to water. She had been scanning for any signs of them, but there was no sight of them.
It had been a few weeks ago when the raids started. Unexpectedly, the dragons of the Sea of a Thousand Currents had started an unprovoked expansion siege. Their first victims were those of the Wasteland, it's natural lowlands being the perfect targets for severe flooding. Then came the raids. Small bands of Water pirates would ambush Wind Clans and steal most of their hoards. The Annwyn Clan, Scáthach's clan, had been lucky so far. She figured it probably had something to do with the large and imposing guard dog of the clan that was Cúchulainn. Though he was born of the Fire Flight, the Guardian was incredibly and fiercely loyal to the clan, and would not allow some Water vermin to harm it or its members.
An hour passed, and Scáthach grew weary of flying in the stink. She had already begun to feel nauseous. Her lungs craved the clean and crisp air of the Zephyr Steppes. She feared if she stayed in this vile air any longer, her beautiful black feathers would begin to wilt. With a huff, she did one last circle to survey the murky sea below her.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=442210]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/4423/442210_350.png[/img]
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He was in a sour mood because his tunnels were flooded. He was accustomed to this, it happened every time the skies opened and rain fell. The only problem was that it hadn't rained in several days, and the water had a guilty scent to it - that of the ocean. Gaheris now awoke every morning on one of the many pulsing tendrils that streaked the land he lived in, making him as unhappy as a Ridgeback ever could be. Not naturally being of the Plague flight, being under the scabbed earth prevented much of the stench from reaching his sensitive nostrils. The soil was a familiar smell, a comfort that Gaheris relied on. Now all the hard work he put into his tunnels had turned into an underground swamp fit only for the scum of the Sea of a Thousand Currents.
The lightning-born male rose with aching limbs, his scales dull from the lack of comfort as well as food. The flooding had not only affected his tunnels, but had taken the lives of the countless creatures who could not swim. Carrion floated throughout the Wasteland, bodies so rotten that many Plague dragons wouldn't dare even touch them. He surveyed the area, the water sitting stagnant. The smell of it permeated everywhere, invading his nose and making his days even more unpleasant. He would have to find food today, to feed not only himself but his mate Stormfire and the rest of his clan, including the numerous new young dragons that had emerged from their eggs over the past few eggs. The clan had cleared plenty of space for themselves, but had not anticipated so much water intake.
He stretched his wings, taking to the air. The stench of the stagnant water lessened as he rose above the muddy earth, his massive wings churning the air and catching the slight currents. He didn't know where he was headed, anywhere really. He needed clean water to fish in, clean land to hunt on, and clean vegetation to forage. He needed to provide for his family and for his clan, and perhaps happen across the deviants who were responsible for his slight uprooting.
The nearby sound of wings caught his attention, and a growl rose in his throat. If this was one of the intruders, they would have a piece of his mind today. He spotted the black being in the near distance, circling and seemingly ready to head out of the land. Good, but not before he had a word. He approached quickly, his fangs bared as he steered himself towards the figure. [b]"State your name and purpose Intruder, before I turn you into a playtoy for the Plaguebringer!"[/b] he snarled, twisting his wings to hover precariously before the opposing dragon. He cursed his heavy frame for the hardship this gave him, wishing that he had the agility of a fae gracing him while facing this dragon.
He was in a sour mood because his tunnels were flooded. He was accustomed to this, it happened every time the skies opened and rain fell. The only problem was that it hadn't rained in several days, and the water had a guilty scent to it - that of the ocean. Gaheris now awoke every morning on one of the many pulsing tendrils that streaked the land he lived in, making him as unhappy as a Ridgeback ever could be. Not naturally being of the Plague flight, being under the scabbed earth prevented much of the stench from reaching his sensitive nostrils. The soil was a familiar smell, a comfort that Gaheris relied on. Now all the hard work he put into his tunnels had turned into an underground swamp fit only for the scum of the Sea of a Thousand Currents.
The lightning-born male rose with aching limbs, his scales dull from the lack of comfort as well as food. The flooding had not only affected his tunnels, but had taken the lives of the countless creatures who could not swim. Carrion floated throughout the Wasteland, bodies so rotten that many Plague dragons wouldn't dare even touch them. He surveyed the area, the water sitting stagnant. The smell of it permeated everywhere, invading his nose and making his days even more unpleasant. He would have to find food today, to feed not only himself but his mate Stormfire and the rest of his clan, including the numerous new young dragons that had emerged from their eggs over the past few eggs. The clan had cleared plenty of space for themselves, but had not anticipated so much water intake.
He stretched his wings, taking to the air. The stench of the stagnant water lessened as he rose above the muddy earth, his massive wings churning the air and catching the slight currents. He didn't know where he was headed, anywhere really. He needed clean water to fish in, clean land to hunt on, and clean vegetation to forage. He needed to provide for his family and for his clan, and perhaps happen across the deviants who were responsible for his slight uprooting.
The nearby sound of wings caught his attention, and a growl rose in his throat. If this was one of the intruders, they would have a piece of his mind today. He spotted the black being in the near distance, circling and seemingly ready to head out of the land. Good, but not before he had a word. He approached quickly, his fangs bared as he steered himself towards the figure.
"State your name and purpose Intruder, before I turn you into a playtoy for the Plaguebringer!" he snarled, twisting his wings to hover precariously before the opposing dragon. He cursed his heavy frame for the hardship this gave him, wishing that he had the agility of a fae gracing him while facing this dragon.
