Original post by Hraefin on November 27th 2007, copied from the forum (including comments from the poster). Nothing had been edited from its original state other than formatting like line breaks and italics, enjoy.
So, after reading all these nice stories, and as some are starting to learn of Hraefn's little secret, I was compelled to post this little saga unfolding behind Hraefn and some of her close family.
Just a little warning, there is a miniscule amount of profanity and some descriptive violence, but over all, it's safe.
And to get the credit stuff out of the way, this whole story was based off actual roleplay and was put into a story form by both Hrajiel/Croue's player and myself.
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Part I
“The scent of slaughter, some believe, can linger in a place for years.
They say it lodges in the soil and is slowly sucked though
Coiling roots so that in time all that grows there,
From the smallest lichen to the tallest tree,
Bears testimony. ”
– The Loop, Nicholas Evans
Life born upon death: such is the way of the worlds. As she stepped from the mouth of her den, the she-dragon breathed deeply the tainted aroma of the earth around her home. The meager plant-life that grew sparsely in the area always smelled metallic and heavy, like old, dry blood, and with the constant breeze from the bay, the air was never totally bereft of the faint scent. The broken battlements were left untouched by all, save the unusual adventurer who’d come for the sport of the golems that dwelled in the canyons. She could hear the silver golems now, the grinding of their metal joints much like the sound of the crystal chimes that hung from her caves’ entrance. Hraefn focused a single amber eye on the mobile and she couldn’t help but be fascinated by how beautiful it was in the dying light of the evening sun; barely moving in the gentle sea-breeze, but twirling just enough to send multi-colored beams of light dancing over the marked stone. It was in this moment that she felt, for once, happy with the life she had, lonely though it was.
But, lonely it would not stay, perhaps. Even now, she knew that another life lie sleeping within the depths of the caverns she carved herself from the very rock of the hillside. Two lives in fact, but one she feared for. Hraefn did her best to push the thought from her mind. Currently, she had no blood children. She’d often dreamed of raising a fine family alongside her mate but things had not turned out in such a way, even with as long as she thought they’d been together, she and her mate had not even had a proper bonding ceremony. She did not mind so much, and it wasn’t uncommon that she found herself thankful for being able to go about her life so carefree. But it was this that brought shadow upon her even now. Her free time was spent, these past few days, dappling in the dark arts of her previous life and the very cause of her first demise.
Sighing as her mind went on to replay history, the black dragoness settled on the soft earth just outside her home. She set her gaze toward the lapping waves of the bay that separated Selen and the sandy shore her lair was very near to. The sky was becoming purple and twilight, her favorite time of day, was now smothering the world like a murderer’s pillow. The last rays of the sun still made themselves known though, and as the wind lifted from the surface of the water a volley of larger waves, the beams of golden light that shot from their blue and white tops made her squint. In doing so, she cracked open a fresh wound and blood flowed freely from an eyeless socket on the left side of her head. The sharp pain reminded her of everything she wished to forget – everything that was her regret.
Recollection brought the events of the previous night to play again in her mind and she saw herself chanting over a violet fire and several of her favorite stones. The dark magic had gone too far and for even thinking of performing the rituals in her own lair was a source of great shame to her, but she was addicted to her own killer, as so often the case was. She had indeed pushed it too far and for this, she was little more than an agent of the Crimson Scourge in her own mind: corrupted and loathsome, twisted and disgusting. Something wonderful had been born of her deeds and her obsessions, something purely fantastic and, she knew, terrible all the same. Even if it was not terrible now, terrible it would become; and ultimately it would become her killer. And her killer would be her son.
Yes, from the violet fire she had created a young drake and in his chest, she imbued his heart with the three black gems that she had protected ever since she could remember. Even in death, her specter guarded them in their secret hiding. Again, as so often it seemed to reoccur in her lifetime, life was brought from a source of death. Within the gems she placed in his heart were thousands, millions, of captive souls – cruel souls – who in their lifetime sought nothing more than personal gain and in their search killed millions more. Her son, upon his birth, was a killer and a traitor to the whole of the dragon race. She didn’t even know if he had a soul of his own. She questioned killing him multiple times already, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Despite her better judgment, and knowing what terrible realities he might bring upon Istaria, she could not turn her fangs and claws upon her creation – her son.
To give him sight, she sacrificed one of her own eyes and gave him two. The magic cloned the precious donation and molded it into the new body’s skull along with the original. His body was graced in black, velveteen scales that almost mirrored his mother’s natural mail. In fact, he was every bit his mother, only he bore no markings, no color. Everything about him seemed to absorb the light of the fire he was born of, in fact, everything but the feral, golden, gem-like sparkle of the colored pools that were his eyes. He looked sinister, even in the first moments of his life, the evil that his heart contained shone through him like the light that shone through the crystal chimes that hung from mouth of his birthplace, his mother’s den.
As the fire subsided and the purple radiance of its flames died, only the blue light of the lair’s waterfalls and pools were left to illuminate the caverns. Both mother and son lay panting on the warm stone of the den. In a single exhausted breath, Hraefn dubbed her creation Hrajiel. Her face bloody and her entire being pained, she pulled his small body close to her own and together, in fitful sleep, they shared their first moments together in silence and dreams.
Night had come when Hraefn found herself viewing the present once again. The last bits of warmth that came from the dieing sun were gone and now only the cool caress of the night’s breeze and the gentle gown of moonlight was all that was left to give some glimmer of light on the world. Looking up, the velvet black of the night sky was cloudless and freckled with stars. Staring upward, she squinted at a blotch of black that soared beneath the skies, trying to make out its shape and what exactly the object might be. As it descended, a knowing came to her and her figure relaxed. The figure was a drake, one she had known since her birth, one she would never forget. As deep black as she and striped just the same, as the male descended, Hraefn lifted herself to her feet. The beast landed only a few yards from where she stood and as he neared, he towered over her; height and gender was the only difference between the two.
With a shallow bow of his head, he offered a greeting.
Hraefn made no show of emotion but only spoke his name, “Croue.”
Part II
“So why did you call me here, Hraefn?” The male’s voice was as baritone as any dragon’s could get and the deep vibrations of the tone seemed to travel through his body, down his legs and into the very earth making the small stones and loose sand atop it tremble and jump. Hraefn was unfazed by his voice and his stern gaze. Where her eyes often portrayed her thoughtfulness, his portrayed constant question – though the flavor of the question often varied – it never left his gaze; for as long as she had known him, and had always been there. She hated it.
“Come Brother, surely you could wish well upon your sister and maybe offer some kind greeting.” A twisted smirk curled over her maw as her own amber eye laughed at Croue bitterly. She gave him no time to answer before she stepped forward, slamming her shoulder into his chest, then turned slightly and slipped into her lair. An echo of her voice called from the mouth of the cave and beckoned him to follow.
Croue knew he should never have stepped into the cavern. He knew he should have never even heeded her calling. She’d been so vague though, and that tricky mist of laughter in her voice had aroused his curiosity as it always had and he knew even before he came that he would only find trouble and despair. It was all he ever found when he followed it besides a bizarre topic or an abnormal sight. It went without saying however, that he was weak to it. For as little as he wanted to do with her, much less be related to her, Hraefn had a way of leashing him and dragging him to places he had no desire to visit. Perhaps it was still a remnant of their hatchling days together. Back then they were inseparable, but since that evening when he found her standing over them-
“Pay attention!” Hraefn hollered, that empty, blood encrusted socket of her missing eye staring over her shoulder and back at her brother. The sight made Croue cringe with distaste, but it made him realize that he was about to take a step off the ledge and fall a full level into the bottom of the tiered lair chamber. Her upper lip twitched in irritation with him, but she said nothing further. Instead, she only coiled her body a moment then slid from the upper ledge to the bottom level of the chamber, pooling at the base like a black and azure puddle of velvety, liquid-like scales. Croue mimicked her actions and continued to follow her deep into the tunnels of her lair until they reached a final tube-like setup through a corner spiral. The section was capped off by a storage chamber at either end and between them, on the left hand wall, was two doorways that were blocked by loose dirt and red crystal.
“Still working that grand hall, hm?” Croue asked, his voice reverberating within the corridors despite his effort to speak softly.
“Yes. I’m still gathering the rest of the violet azulyte and transmuting the adamantium.” Hraefn was padding to the furthest storage chamber were, for a moment, Croue could spy a large piece of hide covering something he assumed must be quite special to his sister. It was to this small mound that Hraefn went and behind her, Croue could hear her purr softly. The sound made him nostalgic for a moment before he saw her turn around to face him.
At first, he couldn’t make out what was wrong with her visage in the dim red light of the tunnel. It looked as if a piece of her skin had detached from somewhere on her neck face and was now dangling from her muzzle. He squinted, trying to make out the shapes and focus the light in his eyes. It took a moment, but when he saw what was there, he almost lost his breath. It was a small hatchling, black as pitch aside from the natural dark blue tinting most black dragons had. Hraefn had him by the shoulders and in this method, she carefully carried him back into the upper levels were there was more space to be shared. Croue was quick to follow, curious, as always, as to how the creature came about and if he was even hers, despite the undeniable likeness between them.
In the essence chamber, Hraefn set her bundle down gently and curled around him. At first, the young drake made no movement and Croue wondered if it was even alive. A murmur echoed from the hatchling’s throat though, and his eyes fluttered open shortly after. Croue was the first thing the hatchling laid his eyes on after seeing Hraefn’s tongue wash over his face and forehead. His eyes were exactly like Hraefn’s. In every aspect they mirrored Hraefn’s, held that same thoughtful look that took everything about everything into consideration. The hatchling’s eyes were so identical to Hraefn’s that they might as well have been hers! That was when he realized, all at once, why his sister had called him here. The elder drake made a hissing snarl, his scales bristling into small daggers all along his spine, chest, and limbs. His wings rose above him like black voids and before he lost himself in fury, he turned and left the chamber in haste.
Hraefn had become defensive when her brother threatened the hatchling and her in such a way. Had any other being seen the event, he might’ve felt as though he were watching the dragons threaten their reflection; the siblings were so alike in shape and action. Hraefn watched her brother leave the chamber, felt his footsteps through the floor of the essence chamber. She knew her home so well, mapped its every secret in her mind to such perfection, that she could nearly read off the coordinate at which he’d stopped in the two-storied lair. She could even tell that he sat down soon after he stopped to watch the main array of waterfalls.
Nearly an hour passed before Hraefn stepped into the lair to meet Croue. She left the hatchling in the essence chamber, nosed a wolf skin over him after he’d fallen back to sleep in the corner of the room. Croue met her with a furious gaze and she almost immediately sat down near the entrance way she’d come in by, shunned by his expression.
“How long has it been alive?” Croue asked. His voice was accusing and disgusted.
“He,” Hraefn corrected, “Was born last night.”
“Things like that aren’t born, you witless creature.”
There was silence between them for a few minutes. Croue’s gaze fixed dangerously on his sister while she starred at the ground. He could hardly believe that she still held herself so proudly, her head and her shoulders steady, her wings held primly on her back. She looked up to speak, but he gave her no time and instead used that loud, deep voice of his to firmly place his words over hers, “Who’s body did you use?”
“He was an orphan. I found him dead behind the lines of the Withered Aegis in the west.”
Croue gave her a crude look before he ripped his eyes off her and stared into the waterfalls, “What was his name?”
“Ahzriel,” the sister confessed.
“And that thing is the reason why you’ve lost an eye.”
“He,” she corrected again. “I gave it to Hrajiel.”
“Oh, so you’ve named it.”
“I’ve named him.”
“You’re a disgrace to the entire dragon race. You’re disgusting.”
“I-“ Hraefn made an effort to defend herself, but her brother’s voice smothered her own into silence as he cut her off yet again.
“Ever since you found those damned black gems and met up with that ethereal THING of a mate of yours. You’re no better than the very force that looks to conquer Istaria. You bring shame to what’s left of the Azuranous clan.”
Hraefn shook with anger as he poured out the insults. She would no longer be drowned out, “What, all two of you?!”
“There would be more had you not murdered our very parents, you slime! It was you who spilled their blood in the very place they hatched us! It was you who bit into their throats, severed their veins, drank of their blood! Do you not remember standing over the corpses, tearing them to pieces even when they were already dead? How could you forget your cannibalism? Murderer!” Croue could hardly believe his sister had such nerve. In his anger, he rose to his feet, scales spiking, wings flaring at his sides once again. Who did she think she was?
Hraefn was silenced, the bitter rage and regret swelled in her chest like too much blood. She feared she might bleed to death should her chest scales be penetrated that instant. She tried desperately to hold her brother’s gaze which was now searing holes in her mind. Despite the effort though, she looked away, unblinking, into the shallow pool of water beside her as tears started to cloud her one-eyed vision.
“Hrajiel will kill me in time. The justice will be served,” Hraefn said. Her voice was soft and frail.
“The apple does not fall far from the tree then. I think I would rather let you live and suffer your sins.”
“What do you mean?..”
“That thing, that living corpse you created, it must be destroyed,” answered Croue. His voice had eased, trying to soften the blow of what he said, but his combative stance remained. He knew she wasn’t going to take what he said lightly and despite his size advantage over her, Hraefn could still bring him down. And he was not gifted in the way she was, he could die and never come back. He knew this by his inability to bind to shrines.
~~~
((Yep. Not many have witnessed the more deranged part of Hraefn in action. But at least you get a taste of it from this ;3 On to part three. Be wary: the violence gets a little more gory here.))
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Part III
Hraefn’s eye flared with madness, an electric spark of gold and white zipped through the soft gelatin of the oculus and in that same instant she was standing, slowly pacing toward her brother with a grin only maniacs and magicians were capable of. From second to second, her teeth would bare themselves in white flashes as if a snarl bubbled with irritation just behind the mask of a smile she now wore.
“You mustn’t jest about such precious things, Croue. You know it isn’t responsible,” she purred. She was slowly closing the distance between them, steadily arcing around to his flank though instead of placing herself in front of his jaws.
Croue felt a chill tremble over his spine, he wasn’t sure if the feeling he had now was fright or just the bitter realization of what his sister was becoming. “Look at yourself,” he pleaded, “Look at what your magic has turned you into! How those gems and your grotesque rituals have poisoned you, can’t you see it?”
“Brother, Love, can you not see yourself how beautiful that young dragon is? He’ll do such great things in his time, things that could change this world!"
“Only terrible things can come from the spawn of a black art.”
“He may bring a shadow over Istaria, if that be his fate, but only then will dawn come and create a new age. As of now, this land is stuck in a monotonous haze of gray. A dragon can’t even breathe the air now without tasting the bitter fog that looms over us all. It’s disgusting.”
“It looms because the two fronts sit and stare at each other. The Empire can do little more than wait for the Aegis to make a strike.”
“Empire? HA. Even you have reduced yourself to little more than a servant for the two-legged. Not even a proper Helian would sink so low. And you called me slime.”
“It was only in effort to make you see what you had done.” Croue turned himself as he spoke, his head always facing his sister, teeth always ready to defend him, should she make a strike. Watching her now, she had lowered her entire frame, stalking around him like any creature might when sizing up an opponent. It was only a matter of time, he thought, the coming fray of teeth and talons was only waiting, coiled and poised like a viper.
“Don’t you think I know what I did? Don’t you see that I regret it with every ounce of my being? Croue, had I the power, I’d gladly let loose my own blood or have my peers do it for me. Ah, wait, they had tried. You had tried to kill me under our sister’s supervision, am I right?”
Croue made an effort to speak, but his voice cracked and nothing came from his throat afterward.
“If memory serves, such is how I discovered I was somehow gifted in a family of mortal dragons. Yes, after you killed me in your thirst for revenge I woke on” Hraefn seemed to focus her vision all over again on her brother and he could see in the deep whirlpool of her thoughts that she wondered if he was also as mortal as their parents.
“Hraefn, that undead beast needs to die. It’s an abomination of dragon-kind and a disgrace to you! Nothing good will come of it, trust me on this.”
The blue-striped, black dragoness only cackled, “Trust you? I trusted you by showing you he existed and now you tell me to destroy him. I cannot trust you.” She had come almost full circle around him when they both heard to soft whimper of the hatchling.
Croue’s visage twisted into an expression of complete disgust and rage as he turned his head to face the black whelp. “Be rid of it Hraefn! Find some sense of decency and send it back to death where it came from!”
“Never!” Hraefn snarled, her eye never shifting from her brother. “Hrajiel, get back to lower level...now!”
The hatchling only cowered though, frozen in terror under the eyes of his uncle. So full of fear, he could make no move for what seemed like ages. In his chest though, swelled a massive amount of anger. Rage at what he’d heard. Why should he have to die because of how he was born? Why was he being condemned when his life had just begun? He was still a dragon, despite it all; he was still the same as the large drake in front of him and his mother not far away. Why did he have to die?
Hrajiel snarled, and in the depths of his bizarre heart, he found the courage to stand, look his uncle straight in the eye, and speak his mind. “But I want to live!” he shouted, his young voice seeming much older than his new life’s age, “I have just as much right to live as you do!"
The golden amber of Croue’s eyes was eaten away by the central blackness of his pupil as they dilated. Horror seeped into his lungs as the hatchling spoke and lashed his tail. “Abomination,” he whispered. “Creature of the lich king himself: that is what you are.” Jet black talons kneaded at the lair floor, his fury mixing into his veins and boiling in his heart. “I will kill him myself!” he roared. Croue ran forward at the whelp, jowls hanging open and spring loaded to close around the hatchlings spine as soon as scale touched fang.
Hrajiel, having gained his mother’s brave stupidity and courage somewhere in his creation, spread his stance and readied his smallish claws, preparing to fight back for all he was worth. But something happened that his eyes were not trained enough to see well. A blur of blue and black flashed between him and Croue. A sudden spray of blood and a bone chilling, gurgling wail echoed somewhere within Croue’s vocals, just after. The drake came crashing down to the stone floor and skidded to a halt just in front of the dragon pup. His mouth was open and his tongue lolled out limply as a pool of deep crimson started to surround his neck and chest, slowly spreading to eddy and puddle in slight dips further along the chamber’s floor. He was still breathing, still clinging to life, as Hrajiel looked over him, trying to understand what happened. As the juvenile’s eyes traveled over his uncle’s body, he noticed that Hraefn had come to be on the other side of the lair. Her spine was arched, wings were spread lightly and her head was lowered. He couldn’t see her face from where he stood, but Hrajiel could easily see the puddle of crimson that was accumulating beneath her maw.
Hraefn could hardly believe what she had done. In the same breath though, she was thankful that her instincts caused her actions. She simply did what any caring mother would, she thought, she defended her offspring. As she stood trembling, her chest heaving with the sudden adrenaline rush, she had to force herself to turn around and face her victim, her brother. There was a wheeze and a bubbling, a gentle, unstable hiss of breath coming from the gouge in his neck. A light steam hung heavily over the hot blood. The sister could feel the heat suddenly on her tongue and gums; the metallic taste of it only now came to her senses. Hraefn looked down on the dieing, his eyes rolled up to meet hers and when she saw them, she saw nothing of his usual inquisitiveness. There was no question in the amber orbs, only a single, pleading request. In spite of all the hate she thought she harbored for him, her heart sank.
The young drake had since stepped a few yards away from the murder scene. His mother’s eye and its clone were wide in shock. He’d never known the old law – the one which forbade dragon claws or fangs to take dragon life – but his heart knew it well. He knew that what he had witnessed was a terrible crime, but it all seemed so familiar. The heavy smell of his uncle’s blood seemed to stir something wicked and sleeping within him. Flashes of battle scenes and fields of death sped through his mind. He watched as his mother lowered her head, and in her final act of love for her brother, she took the base of his neck in her mouth. Hrajiel had seen it all before, but he couldn’t have; or so he thought. He’d only ever known the inside of his mother’s lair and the feathery, ginger spice smell of her scales. He was trying desperately to understand it all when a shattering crunch of scales, muscles, and bone sounded from between Hraefn’s teeth. Croue’s dieing roar came almost instantly after the killing bite, but ended just as soon, leaving the booming sound to echo unfinished through the corridors and chambers of the caverns.
“Get down to the lowest level, Hrajiel.”
The hatchling jerked suddenly to hear his mother’s voice so pained. He made a motion to come near to her for comfort, but he saw in the way she held herself that she could not be consoled. Seeing also the blood still dripping from her muzzle, he didn’t think he could be consoled by her for now, either. With one last look at the scene, he took his thought, and himself, back to the warmest, darkest coves of the lair.
~~~
Part IV
Between his fangs he held the Lunus phylactery. His forepaws were currently moving him out of the path of four massive talons, each belonging to the fabled Shadow Dragon. Small, juvenile wings were splayed slightly at his sides, helping him keep his balance, as was his tail, which swung sharply and whipped the air from time to time. His digits were spread, giving him optimal grip on the blighted turf; small ivory claws maimed the surface of the black land, tacking his body into place whenever they hit the earth.
He leapt sideways as a decaying tail swept through the air toward him, only its tip caught him in the shoulder, but it was enough to make the black hatchling grunt and the area that was struck to burn with pain. As the Shadow Dragon steadied himself on all fours, Hrajiel saw his chance to claim the last blow as his own. Rearing on his hind legs and spreading his wings in the signature spell-casting pose, he spat the phylactery into his forepaws and used its power to sap the gigantic foe of his last bit of health.
The undead beast made a bone-chilling shriek, lifted his head and gasped for breath, but his limbs buckled and he fell, heavy and still.
Hrajiel let loose the breath he had been holding during the last instant of the battle. A relieved sigh was its form, and with its exit, the Azuranous child smirked with malice, an expression almost as frightening as the dead creature lying before him. The hate that had fueled him during the fight had not gone; its chilling fires still flared in his amber eyes. He had come to love this permanent hate inside him, and looking at the corpse of his last obstacle to adulthood, he questioned why he had tended to this emotion with such care.
Shoving his nose into his victim’s scale pack, he took the item he found within it. A crystal was his loot; but he didn’t look closely at the specifics. He placed it in his pack for later inspection, along with his phylactery, which now swirled with shadows and whispered of future times spent in the skies. Leaving the undead dragon’s body to decompose – and eventually be resurrected – he descended a nearby slope that lead to a black beach. On its shores, he settled onto his stomach and began to lick at a long gash that crossed his chest. He had made it through the battle with relatively few wounds. His evasion was better than most, thanks to his mother’s training, and he managed to complete nearly every trial of the Rite of Passage entirely by himself.
The entombed soul had proven to be his worst experience of them all, but he even managed to claim victory over him. A feat he was most proud of. Even during that clash, though, the cold anger had seared through his body, willing him on and seducing cruel ideas into his mind that he could have never conjured on his own. He couldn’t remember when he had started to relish the hate. He couldn’t remember when its icy hold had become like an old friend. He couldn’t remember when the chill had settled into him.
Perhaps it had been there with him through everything, always sitting on his shoulder and whispering into his ear.
He knew how he’d been made; reborn, constructed... any term could fit the bill, really. He’d learned this fact only a month or so after he’d been born, he could still remember his mother sitting near him as she told the story. He could see her head hung low and the regret swathing her eyes in a misty, opaline shine. He wondered then if he had been such a mistake to her. Was he really such a stain on her life?
He loved her for the life she gave him, he had always appreciated the guidance she offered and the support she gave so willingly. Without her, he would not be half the dragon he was, and yet...
And yet, every time he came to her, her thoughtful, smiling eye would lose its luster, the joy in it would fade. Why? Why was his existence so painful for her? Was he such regret for her... such a pain to her soul...?
He had been alone through nearly all of his “childhood”. This fact alone, along with his mother’s teachings, had been nearly the sole reason his combat skill held a caliber many others lacked. He had died many times, of course, but Hraefn’s Gift must have duplicated within him; he could both bind his soul to shrines and awake after death. For this, he was glad – especially since Ahzriel (the previous owner of his body) had not been so fortunate. Even so, he had never truly felt lonely until he recognized the guilt and contrition in his mother’s remaining eye.
He thought at first, that the look had developed only after she had separated herself from her former mate-to-be. He knew they had never been truly bonded. But he could remember her being even more vigorous and energetic after their parting, hostile as it might have been. He had even managed to get her to confess being happy of their revoked proclamation in a round-about way. Certainly, Hrajiel was more than glad to be rid of his mother’s intended; he had never held any love for him.
Hrajiel’s mother seemed ecstatic to reclaim her clan name as well. Azuranous, he knew, was a name and title she had always bore with pride. She would often tell him stories of supreme warriors who’d been of the first of the Azuranous. She’d always boasted that the both of them were descendants of the some of the greatest combatants and artisans to have ever graced Istaria’s face. The Azuranous clan was no bunch to provoke, that was certain, she’d say. She’d say that if they couldn’t defeat you with their claws, they’d craft some wondrous device that would do the dirty work for them.
She had often proven what she bragged about, too. But then, she had the determination to do whatever she put her mind to.
Her headstrong demeanor was something he was proud of. It was something he was also proud to have acquired from her too. If he set a goal, he would meet it, or die trying – multiple times, if need be. But even with the stubborn personality, he could not bring himself to ask her why she always frowned inwardly at the sight of him. The answer he expected always turned his question away, even when the words tried to shove open his mouth, even when the words pried at his teeth, he could never release them. He didn’t want to know of what pain he might cause. He would rather be ignorant than know whatever truth there was.
It wasn’t until one of his lower fangs raked the tender flesh of the wound he was cleaning, that the heavy blanket of thoughts he’d crawled under was pushed aside. Cringing faintly, he ceased the grooming and looked out over the green-toned sea. A white flare of lightning struck the peak of a distant wave. With the following thunder, his rage swelled in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he fought the urge to rebel against everything he knew. Within the instant, he wished to challenge the very tempest he looked up to. But as the thunder passed, he calmed his anger and his hate, and the rebellious surge settled into a dull clamor within him, like the insistent patter of falling rain that sounded all around him.
The juvenile sat up and whispered the incantations of a breeze spell, and as the winds that were called gently lapped at his scales, the minor wounds on his body healed, as did the gash on his chest, leaving only the old scar upon the chest plate that covered his heart. There was only one thing left to do before he could leave this plagued terrain. Bowing his head, he inhaled softly, and began to whisper the words of a prayer to his god; the First of dragon-kind: Drulkar.
“Drulkar, First One,
You’re fallen child calls.
Drulkar, Flame Father,
He calls to you for guidance.
Drulkar, Lava Sculptor,
He calls to you in need,
In need, but never in fear.”
Such was his prayer. It was a small thing, but it was a verse that he had always found a strange attraction to. His mother had taught it to him, of course. Apparently, it was an ancient verse that the Azuranous had passed on to their young for countless generations. Keeping with tradition, as Hraefn was apt to do, she taught it to her son as well.
He kept his head bowed for a minute longer and allowed his mind to clear. The time was nearing when the curtain of his first stage of life would draw closed. And, as if in a final applaud of his hatchling days, the sky lit up with lightning and bellowed with thunder. Smirking, he lifted his eyes to watch the cacophony of sound and light, and then nodded when the roaring clatter of the atmosphere became nothing but a soft rumble.
Wasting not a second more, he cast Recall and began his last trek to Valkoth, and then to the Hermit, and finally to the Peak of Storms: where he would take his new form and conquer the skies in completion of his Rites.
----------------------------
Check that out. The story was actually UPDATED!
After most of those in the story came back from their hiatus and Hraj did his RoP, he finally wrote a nice chapter's end. Kudos to Hraj for such a nice story. Now if we could just convince him to get his own forum account so I don't have to post these for him xDBut yeah, this is the last bit of this part of the story. The others and I will throw the interesting tidbits up here as they come. But don't expect that to be any time soon with the log-in patterns as they are
Part IV
"Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence."
-The Sound of Silence, Simon & Garfunkel
And so her foresight had been correct. Everything she’d prophesized to happen had now come to pass as she lay broken and twisted on the grassy valley of the small island, the last of her life’s water draining from her chest and throat. She’d died plenty of times before. One could say that it was a customary way of life, but this one was different. With this passing, she could feel her essence, her soul, was not departing to it’s checkpoint in order to be thrown back into the body. She couldn’t even get the recall magic to bring her body back to the shrine to carry through with its purpose. The purple haze and blue smoke would only fizzle at her paws and cause her limps to fade, but then it gave out.
With the last of her energy, she turned her remaining eye toward her murderer, her son. Silhouetted by the bright moon behind him, he looked to be only a black void shaped into a dragon’s outline. Standing on his haunches, he was massive and with his giant wings splayed behind him, he could’ve passed off as the Sleeper’s younger brother. The sight was both awesome and frightening.
And she was so proud of him.
Focusing her vision, Hraefn could tell he was channeling the last of her soul past his chest and into his dark, crystalline heart. The opaque and colorful sphere of her soul churned just a few inches away from her body before streaming through the triangle shape Hrajiel formed with his digits to finally plunge past dark chest plates. As it continued, his form grew; she knew he was taking her ancient form in this grizzly rite. Consuming what power she had in her elder age, he took an ancient body – with or without the blessings of their god.
Absently, she questioned what Drulkar would have to say about it. He would likely be furious. She imagined all the different sorts of punishments the First One could dole out and found she was thankful that her soul would not return to him. No, it would stay safe and useful inside her son’s artificial heart. It was a good death, she’d prefer to die by no other weapon than a dragon’s talons and teeth and she was even happier that those talons had been born of her blood and effort.
As the land shook and the sky grew red with his ascension, the dying dragoness managed to form a smile on her maw. Glad to see her son’s final ascension; contented to be a part of it. It was a good way to die. And death took her as soon as her single amber eye closed, the last of her soul being sipped away by Hrajiel’s black heart, leaving him to stand alone over her corpse. The last bright white beams of energy where still fading back into the ground, the energy of them too great to just fizzle into the atmosphere.
Hrajiel tipped the front portion of his body forward, his forelimbs crashing against the earth and crushing the blades of grass beneath the course calluses of his paws. Small rivers of steaming blood coursed through maze of small green leaves. The liquid was appeared black in the ghastly light of the moon. It scorched and burned every blade it touched, its heat like liquid dragon’s fire. Even the dirt beneath it began to blacken then glow.
The male’s visage was hardened; cruelness ruled his gaze while looking over the corpse of his creator. To anyone that knew him well, the expression might be surprising. Even the lines of his face seemed to strain under it. It was a foreign mask for him to wear and all his facial muscles cried out as they contorted to the uncomfortable fitting. And the woes of his face only made the look appear all the more frightening; furthering the tense and ready air it already held.
His wide, forked tongue ran over the side of his maw, taking in one last image of the ripped and tattered corpse before beating his wings once, twice, thrice, then jumping into the air, leaving the body to its fate under the moon.
-----------------------------------
There's your next bit. xD I know it's incredibly far behind compared to where the plot currently stands, but enjoy it it none the less. Even if the writing does cripple eyesight and cause you to cringe mentally! 8D
Part V - Revised and edited for my own peace of mind! xD
"Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence."
-The Sound of Silence, Simon & Garfunkel
And so her foresight had been correct. Everything she’d prophesized to happen had now come to pass as she lay broken and twisted on the grassy valley of the small island, the last of her life’s water draining from her chest and throat. She’d died plenty of times before. One could say that it was a customary way of life, but this one was different. With this passing, she could feel her essence, was not departing to it’s checkpoint in order to be thrown back into the body. Not even the magic of Recall could bring her body back to the shrine. The purple haze and blue smoke would only fizzle at her paws and cause her limps to fade, but then it gave out.
With the last of her energy, she turned her remaining eye toward her murderer, her son. Silhouetted by the bright moon behind him, he looked to be only a black void shaped into a dragon’s outline. Standing on his haunches, he was massive and with his giant wings splayed behind him, he could’ve passed off as the Sleeper’s younger brother. The sight was both awesome and frightening.
And she was so proud of him.
Focusing her vision, Hraefn could tell he was channeling the last of her soul past his chest and into his dark, crystalline heart. The opaque and colorful sphere of it churned just a few inches away from her body before streaming through the triangle shape Hrajiel formed with his digits to finally plunge past dark chest plates. As the process continued, his form grew; she knew he was taking her ancient form in this grizzly rite. Consuming what power she had in her elder age, he took an ancient body – with or without the blessings of their god.
Absently, she questioned what Drulkar would have to say about it. He would likely be furious. She imagined all the different sorts of punishments the First One could dole out and found she was thankful that her soul would not return to him. No, it would stay safe and useful inside her son’s artificial heart. It was a good death, she’d prefer to die by no other weapon than a dragon’s talons and teeth and she was even happier that those talons had been born of her blood and effort.
As the land shook and the sky grew red with his ascension, the dying dragoness managed to form a smile on her maw. Glad to see her son take his final form; contented to be a part of it. It was a good way to die. And death took her as soon as her single amber eye closed, the last of her soul being sipped away by Hrajiel’s black heart, leaving him to stand alone over her corpse. The last bright white beams of energy where still fading back into the ground, the energy of them too great to just fizzle into the atmosphere.
Hrajiel tipped the front portion of his body forward. His forelimbs crashed against the earth and crushed the blades of grass beneath the course calluses of his paws. Small rivers of steaming blood coursed through the maze of small green leaves. The liquid appeared black in the ghastly light of the moon. It scorched and burned every blade it touched, its heat like liquid dragon’s fire. Even the dirt beneath it began to blacken then glow.
The male’s visage was hardened; cruelness ruled his gaze while looking over the corpse of his creator. To anyone that knew him well, the expression might be surprising. Even the lines of his face seemed to strain under it. It was a foreign mask for him to wear and all his facial muscles cried out as they contorted to the uncomfortable fitting. And the woes of his face only made the look appear all the more frightening; furthering the tense and ready air it already held.
His wide, forked tongue ran over the side of his maw, committing one last image of the ripped and tattered corpse to memory before beating his wings once, twice, thrice, then jumping into the air, leaving the body to its fate under the moon.
~~~
Part VI
Hrajiel woke to the dim light of his essence chamber. Groggy and sore, he thought the suffocating smell and taste of blood was just a figment of his throbbing mind; a mere remnant of those consistent nightmares. He bent his neck and reached up with a paw, sliding its rough pads down from his cheek to end of his muzzle. He felt comparable to how an arbutus looked: disgusting. The black drake forced himself to his feet and took what some might call a bow. With his rump in the air and his forelegs stretched in front of him far enough to bring his elbows to the ground, he looked very much like an odd cat. He watched his claws grip at the stone of the chamber floor and noticed something flaking off the ebony colored daggers.
He reclined to his haunches and lifted a claw for inspection. It was blood and some of it was still faintly wet. Apparently the kill had been somewhat recent. It smelled familiar. Like spices and cinnamon. Like Hraefn.
Panic poured into the drake’s chest. It left him gasping as he hurried to his feet. What had happened to her? Was she alright? Why the blood? Worry festered within him as his brain concocted horrible scenarios for his mind’s eye to gaze upon. Setting his paw firmly back onto the ground, Hrajiel made haste to exit his makeshift sleeping chamber.
He made his way up the incline of the craft chamber, ramming through purplish wisps of magic and wasting no time to turn toward the door. But, when he reached the corridor’s frame, his head struck the upper portion of the arch. The sudden stop sent him straight to his haunches and his eyelids squeezed tightly together as the startling pain flowed from his brow into his neck.
Since when was he tall enough to strike the top of the passageway? He was on the tall side, but even a large adult had trouble unintentionally hitting his head on ceilings of lair ways. Confused and irritated, Hrajiel scanned his body quickly, noticing only now the changes in size and shape of his figure. His neck was longer, as were his legs. The bright, black scales of his tail were now more closely interlocked with themselves over an extensive tail; which had become thinner and more whip-like. His wings...they were vast and strong with sturdy muscles now.
Just what happened while he slept? Had he triggered his rune of ascension by allowing it to tumble freely in his scale pack? It seemed ridiculously unlikely and the mere presence of the thought in his mind gave him a subtle feeling of embarrassment, but what else could have happened?
There were too many questions with no answers in sight. Perhaps he could learn something from his maker. He sighed as he got to his feet again and lowered his head to clear the corridor arch. Clawed feet carried him swiftly through the caverns of his home and propelled him easily into the air whence his wings took on the burden of his weight and carried him forward.
His senses told him that Hraefn was not far from their home land; only a short distance to the east of Selen. His new wings made short work of the flight; he used the thermals for the majority of his travel and simply glided effortlessly through the skies. In the bright noon sun, his scales absorbed every joule of heat that touched his large figure. He had to part his jaws to exhale the excess warmth that was building up within him.
The blue water lapping Selen’s eastern shore was inviting, and Hrajiel did not delay to descend into its embrace. For a short while, he skimmed the surface, entertaining himself with the that were left behind until finally, he allowed himself to splash against the glassy surface, like a mallard into a pond. Shark-like scales bristled and allowed the liquid to wash over his skin, hauling away the heat and cleansing scale and skin alike. The experience was relaxing to both the physical and mental aspects of the dragon. It eased the growing worries and dulled the incredible warmth that managed to build up. The sickening grip of questions unanswered was soothed some and even the way he held his body told of an easing mind.
That didn’t last long though. As he stepped onto the shore of the smallest island in the channel between Lerena and Selen, a ghastly seen unfolded before him.
The first thing he noticed was the twisted, broken body of a black and sea-blue dragon. Then he saw the dry and cracked pools of deep red surrounding it and unconsciously, his eyes back tracked the blood’s path to the gaping wounds in the dragon’s body. Most were so deep that the inner meat was still wet with the crimson juice. Then he saw the empty eye socket and all his growing suspicions were confirmed.
Hrajiel’s stomach convulsed and he felt its acid infiltrate his throat. Grimacing, he swallowed it back down and stepped forward.
The wounds on Hraefn’s body held the signature shape of dragon claws. There was no mistaking that. Puncture wounds were shaped and patterned perfectly to fit his teeth. Rends in the earth, they told the story of a thrashing; were talons scored its face and heavy bodies formed noticeable indents in the soft soil. He placed a forepaw in one of the larger prints and nearly wept when he saw how well the two fit together. All the evidence was there, yet he had no recollection of the event.
Suddenly weary and stricken with grief, he found a place near his maker’s body. The end of his maw touched her shoulder and to coolness of her figure sent a chill along his spine. He couldn’t risk turning to anyone, he could trust himself near nothing. What would he do if he turned his claws on a hatchling, for Drulkar’s sake, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever scratched Vhazshyn’s scales with a fang.
A memory from his childhood surfaced in his mind and with it came the image of Croue standing over him, his lips pulled back in an awful snarl, his eyes piercing and disgusted.
“Abomination,” Croue whispered. “Creature of the lich king himself: that is what you are.”
~~~
Part VII
She could already smell the stench of decay in Selen. With her feline nose tilted upwards, Synth was able to pick out the faint smell of rotting meat betwixt salt water, sand, and wood. Hrajiel wasn’t lieing. Not that she expected him to lie, but he was prone to being impatient and Synth assumed this was just a nice way of being hurried along. She gave an irritated snort as she stepped off the portal pad and resettled her backpack with a quick tug.
She was on her way to the island where Hraefn’s corpse lay. As she began the trek, the saris remembered how she got herself wound up in this mess. Hrajiel had come to her first with his plight and somehow convinced her to solve the problem. It took a great many explanations from him before she finally agreed and she was curious now why she never asked for payment. She should have. At least all this trouble would have been worth something.
The sound of beating wings high above made her head turn skyward. It was Hrajiel. In the setting sun, he looked reddish and the sight reminded her of another dragon who’d asked for assistance. Of course, it wasn’t really a dragon, it was a demon in dragon’s scales, but it seemed there was hardly any difference anymore between demons and drakes. Malestryx was his name. He hid his true identity with talent, but Synth managed to piece together the clues and figure out who and what he really was.
Demon or not, she liked Malestryx as an individual. It seemed that his time in the Prime had turned him to the side of the living. He wasn’t massacring at least, and maybe he would aid the Empire; a turn-coat agent of the blight would be a wonderful asset in the war against the Aegis. However... he was responsible for Siivyra’s ‘death’. But who wasn’t a murderer these days?
It was amazing how similar Malestryx and Hrajiel’s problems were. Each had trapped the soul of a loved one within a vessel and sought to place the soul back into its proper body.
With the stench of rot growing more obvious with each pawstep, Synth decided that she was becoming too soft. Her rough skinned, black nose twitched its discomfort and her dark furred ears pressed to her skull as that ever familiar, yet subtle hate surfaced in her mind. Dragons were the bane of her existence.
In the distance, the black saris could make out three silhouettes. Two were of ancient dragons sitting on their haunches and the other was a shapeless, twisted mound. It could only be assumed that the third figure was Hraefn’s decaying corpse. Vhazshyn had to be the second dragon. She played a vital role in this ceremony. For as much as Synth held a sharp edge toward Vhazshyn, she respected the female beast. Her loyalty to her mate was astounding and inspiring, despite being questionable at times. Synth wondered when that loyalty would get the silver draka hurt.
Once she reached the island, the desire to vomit was strong. She resisted it with some hefty willpower, but nothing beat back the disgust that writhed in her gut. Hraefn’s mangled body would have put the vilest of aegrors to shame. The dead ancient’s innards were falling from their cavity through three large gashes in her gut and a long stretch of her exposed throat was dry and cracking from days of solar abuse. The body was surrounded by a puddle of red-tinted, slimy gelatin that steamed even in the coolness of evening. Her eye had been pecked out by birds and there was no telling how many different types of larvae were dwelling within the corpse.
Synth’s body convulsed and it took a worthy amount of self-control to retain a respectful posture. She was all too willing to turn her gaze from Hraefn to the Hrajiel and Vhazshyn. Even though her stomach churned, her lips formed a smirk as she laid teal eyes on Hrajiel’s visage. He was calm and distant, but in his pretty amber eyes, she could see the nervousness that chewed at his mind.
And, ooh, he had every right to be...
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There! D8 Update! You can sop hounding me now-- for a little while. xD So incredibly behind on this...
Cliffhanger. I know.
