February '15: Home, This Shall Have To Be

Raistas, the Godsend
Location: Cape Uireal, traveling east

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Any times were better than those spent in that bloody brick those ass holes had called a ship. Having called themselves the fastest ship in the west main, they had quickly fallen under the mantle of ‘fucking liar’ as the barbarian ship drew in so close. Add to that little misadventure the squall season, and the knowledge that the sailors knew nothing about how to travel far from the coast, and he felt like he had been borne into a special place in hell.

The constant swaying and pitching had made greenhorns out of the entire crew, each of the motley rabble taking their sweet fucking times traversing between their oar and the railing to feed the fish below. They might have been idiot sailors, but their compassion for fish was something of legend. So after a week with the stench of vomit proliferating below decks and the timbers of the boat creaking with each violent wake, Raistas was glad, in spite of the situation, to be on dry land again.

With most of his equipment tucked into a quartermaster’s compartments back on the mainland, and a majority of that which he had managed to pack now adorning the front yard of some unnamed and no-doubt wrathful sea god, it was a stroke of good fortune that he’d somehow retained a small bag of yeast, his sextant and a hodgepodge of other sundries, not the least of which included salt.

The only problem he currently lamented was the fact that somehow he’d faced the ultimate abandonment by his left shoe. Why the fuck was it always the left? So now not only did he walk with a limp worthy of a hunchback, he was alarmingly aware of each jagged rock resting beneath the ebbing waves.

Hopefully his sword had remained in the half of the husk of the vessel that found itself nicely wedged between two spires jutting some dozens of feet above the current. Some fifty feet beyond the shore, the wreck looked, for all its haggardness, like the rotting corpse of some vast whale, its ribs sticking morosely out of what remained of its woody flesh.

But, hey, at least the barbarians were gone.

The first thing Raistas naturally noticed as he calmed down from his adrenaline kick was how pure the air smelled. This area and its surroundings were absent of industrialization, which probably meant he was stuck in another temperate paradise in the middle of nowhere.

The second, was how quiet it was.

Oh—there was plenty of noise: the sound of the surf rolling upon the beach, the thunderous clamor of the waves as breakers smash into the rocks off shore, and birds there were of at least a dozen species, all crying out their shrill tweets.

The quietness that currently intrigued him was the absolute absence of thought. You see, the mind exudes its energy, not only inwardly, but also outwardly, amongst even the most base of creatures. Raistas expanded his mind, reaching outward and dispersing his conscious broadly. Such was his training, that he kept his mind devoid of any emotions or desires, using his psyche almost as an antenna, to search, stealthily, for anyone else.

And there was no one.

He fought with himself over this knowledge. He truly loved being alone, finding the rare instance of peace and solace in the quiet of his work. But he had his lands, which served as a halcyon enough when he needed a break from his Ever-War. If there was no one here, there was no one he could help. And the single reason he had initiated this particular sojourn was to help where he could.

Even so, his gut told him that this void would not remain his alone forever, and that soon there would come a conflict for which he had probably been sent.

The other reason for his perturbance was that he could not sense either his gods, or his family. Even in the most desperate of places they existed, like rogue thoughts tormenting the back of your mind. Here, he was severed from them entirely. It was the first time in at least five hundred years the comfort of their presence was missing.

“Hushasia, Father of the gods, here my prayer and send word of thy will. Let me know thy grace.” He paused from his intentful message, waiting to hear some reply in return. When none came, he continued, speaking into the strong coastal. “Voraghost, the swift footed, speaker of messages and conveyor of wisdom, pass unto our father the truth of my continued service.  Hail.”

Accepting the tranquility of his mind for what it was, Raistas turned his attention back to the land, memorizing its features and assuming several characteristics based on geography. Of course, who knew if the land did not lay on the back of some great turtle, as with Risoria— or a whale, as with Eteololian. Judging from the various forces he was able to feel, he decided that this land mass was indeed moving, likely as part of a crust, and so was probably one of several shelves moving across the surface of this world. The occasional thrum he felt from miles beneath his feet further instilled this belief.

Turning slowly, away from the tropical paradise splayed out lushly before him, he turned once again to regard the ocean. The climate was moderate, at least, relative to the foliage about him, with its palms and tall grasses. The temperature had already fallen a good five degrees in the waning light of the day.

Lifting one powerfully muscled arm, he extended a hand, his fingers, heavily calloused from years of farm and smith work, forming a bowl in front of him. Slowly, he drew from the surrounding atmosphere the abundant warmth, the drawing so gradual that his skin perceived no change. Almost immediately Raistas became aware of the difficulty of this act, his mind recoiling from the endeavor, and so he shifted his thoughts to a different variance of waves upon which to draw the element. There were multiple ways magic worked in every realm, and while he could possibly flex his will and insist on the flame, he opted instead for experimentation. He continued altering the frequency until a faint light began to glow in his hand. After that, it was only a matter of intensifying that one band. Within moments, the nerves of his hand began to tingle, and the pores thereof opened as he began to sweat.

When the orb of fire was powerful enough to draw upon the oxygen in the surrounding atmosphere, its interior so compressed that it drew in upon itself—similar to the fusion of a star, except at a much weaker level—he crushed it out.

And, there was magic.

But most importantly, he had water, with the tricking river winding its way into the ocean; he had an abundance of food, between the wildlife and plants, some of which he was sure were edible; he had fire, as was evident by his latest test. The last thing he needed was shelter.

So be it.

Here’s the part in the story where things fast forward a bit. You see, Raistas was something of a master craftsman and engineer. In his spare time, while not doting upon his massive gardens and orchards, the fruits of which he donates every year to various villages most in need, his attention turned to the creation of war machines. He may have once been born to a meager existence, his parents having left the capitol to raise him as a normal youth. But after his ascension—or enslavement, depending on who was telling the story—his existence had been honed towards war.

Of the however-many-thousands of years he’d been alive, only the first one hundred or so had been spent as a blind instrument of destruction. Eventually, the binding towards which he was destined eased, allowing the morbid and self-depreciating aspect of his conscious to grow. After another hundred years spent rushing into each battle with insane abandon in the hopes of attaining death, Raistas came to the anger phase.

Let’s get this out into the air right now—Raistas was no god, and it wasn't just his limited power that restricted him. He was capable of creating, and destroying absolutely, and eternal existence, and loving unconditionally—those things any human could attain with enough time and ability—but ever was there a clause in his strength that kept him under the boot of his gods. It had taken a half a dozen times, each outburst costing him some humiliation from the gods, but eventually, Raistas’s anger settled. And in the stark acceptance of what he was, he became capable of examining the multiverse around him in a wholly unselfish light. He had gone from freeman, to slave, to tool, to servant. It had taken a total of about a thousand years—and he was not alone in that, as many of the other Vishnoru took much longer—to appreciate what had been done to him.

The rest of his years had been spent in relative bliss. He got to travel a lot in his Ever-War against the Blackness’s spawn. And each new world had forced him to evolve somewhat, adapting to new environments and eventually mastering them.

And now, he was on Arauwiel.

He didn’t know the name. He wouldn’t, until someone spoke it. This world generally meant nothing to him, except as a challenge and a curiosity, until he found a reason to protect it. So far, it was about 0 and 2. So as he had so many times before, he set about his usual course. He would map the terrain. He’d catalogue the flowers and herbs, and work to discover their worth. He would work on his old magical abilities, and attempt to discover some new morsel to add to his collection. And maybe—hopefully—he’d even make a friend or two in the process.

      Alciel woke most unpleasantly. Snorting and coughing, salt water burned his nostrils. He threw his head back, in attempt to clear his airways. Once he could breath again his memory returned to him, the image of where he was and how he had arrived formed once more in his mind.

   The bloody battle between Lady Rozia and her son Killian, ending with the latter leaving the first mortally wounded. His own wild flight of escape with Rhaelin in tow and their pursuers following with blood on their claws. The storm that had captured them first and his fall into the sea. His stomach churned with the memories of it all. Though it could also have churned from his starving hunger and unquenchable thirst. It had been at least a week since their panicked departure from Ageos.

   The water surrounded him on all sides, reflecting the sun's hazy gleaming into nearly blinding brilliance.But at least the constant rain had taken a rest. The weight on his back shifted and relieved his mind. He had been afraid of her stillness. He turned to gaze at her. Rhaelin still slept, clinging to his back. The past few days had taken their toll on her young body. The shine in her obsidian scales had faded to nothing and could only be described as vapid. Salt covered her, and her eyes were crusted with tears. At first she was able to float on her own wings. After only a few days she had stopped speaking entirely. But now, having been cast a drift for more than a week, she could hardly even lift her head.  Alciel himself did not fare much better. His nearly drowning himself proved that. He needed to find land, and soon. If they did not drown the wretched weather would surely kill them. Though the rain had been their saving grace, giving them some fresh water. Again he searched around him, hoping to see anything. A shadow on the horizon gave him hope, for even the sight of it was a miracle in and of itself. For what poor soul lost at sea ever has a chance at seeing land again?

   The shadow on the horizon was far, but he had no other choice. Attempt to swim for the land or die in the process of reaching it. With the last of his energy draining he kicked his legs, flung his arms, and pulled his weight through the waves. His wing-arms he kept extended, the  thick velvet membrane of his wings trapping the air which kept him afloat even when he could not bear his limbs to swim. Luckily they were strong enough to remain extended for such a long time, even with Rhaelin clinging to him. Alciel swam for hours. His hide was coated thickly with white crust, and his skin beneath his scales was raw. It will ooze and weep no doubt. He thought to himself, though he had to survive the ordeal first. Rhaelin once again began showing signs of life as the dusk fell upon them. Even if her movements were as simple as adjusting her position. The shadow was no longer just a thin line on the horizon but a bold silhouette against the ever darkening sky. A strong current must be passing in the murky depths, for it carried them towards the shore at an alarming but welcomed rate. He only hoped the breakers were landing on soft beaches instead of rock.

   "Look" Alciel coughed, even his throat had torn raw from the salt and water. Regaining partial use of his voice he spoke as Rhaelin lifted her head. "Rhaelin, look there, we've found land."

   He had hoped the revelation would have stirred her more but Rhaelin's acknowledgement was to only rub the end of her snout against the back of his neck before laying down again. Her maltreatment gave Alciel renewed fervor, and he doubled his efforts. If he could not reach the shore, and fresh water, before the night was upon them then Rhaelin would not last till the dawn.
The clouds had again had gathered overhead as he took his first step onto the cold beach. He had truly been lucky to find it as the current did crush itself on many rocks  along the end of the land.  His legs trembled beneath his weight and threatened to give out from under him, but he did not care. If I have to drag my carcass across this god forsaken place by my tongue then so be it. He had to find water, water and a safe place to sleep.  

   How he managed to find it, he could not recall. His body simply did his bidding without command. The stream was small but clear as it trickled down the mossy stones. He had barely left the beach when he found it. Before he drank he laid down beside it, turning to grasp Rhaelin in his maw and softly pull her down onto the bank of the stream. She did not protest and pushed her snout into the water with no regard for the depth at which her nostrils were submerged. Alciel watched her blow bubbles while she drank before pulling her out of it.

     "I didn't get us out of the ocean for you to drown yourself in a puddle." His voice cracked as he spoke, but he was happy. They had survived. Rhaelin ignored his comment and drank again. This time without attempting to drown.  

         They remained by the stream for the night hidden in the underbrush. Their bodies too exhausted to carry them any further. Despite the drizzling rain both slept peacefully. Rhaelin hidden beneath Alciel's wing and his own head tucked under the cover it created.

Name: Valabrez
Location: Alaesia Peninsula (Thiadon Shrubsands), just arriving.

The sea. A vast body of water stretching for miles. Endless. At least that's what it appeared to be to the bored dragon as he soared high above it with some kin who had taken off with him. He had been airborne for hours now, not that it was strenuous for him, just extremely boring... At least when soaring over land there was the ground to look at. The waters surface was a beautiful sight, but after half a day or so it quickly lost its charm.

It was hours still before a sliver of land came into sight, and another few after to reach it. The winds became choppy as they approached the land, and the smooth ride they had enjoyed came to an abrupt end. The temperature began to drop as the dragons approached the landmass, clouds covering the sky in front of them. The group began to drift apart as they drew closer until it was just Valabrez drifting above the shrubland, heading North. Though he was glad for the company while fleeing, he had grown weary of his kin during the trip and was glad to be on his own. Most of all he did not feel like sharing any food he might find.

There hadn't been much time to eat before departing, and he was starting to feel the effects of flying on an empty stomach for so long. He hadn't seen much in terms of food since coming over land. There was some activity on the beaches when he had first flown over; seals or some kind of beach creature were coming ashore for the night, but there was little movement farther inland save for a few birds here and there. The sun was setting, illuminating the overcast sky in the last hour or so of light. Dipping his broad wing to the left, he turned to go back to the beach, looking for something to eat.

He hadn't given much thought as to where he would sleep tonight, he realized as he began looking for the animals he had seen earlier. The terrain had looked similar to what he was used to however, and his stomach growling helped put the thought out of his mind. Food first. It would be uncomfortable enough his first few nights regardless of where he slept anyway. Might as well try and rest on a full stomach.

Squawking noises below him attracted his attention, distracting him further. He had found the creatures from earlier. He surveyed the area a bit further, looking for a spot nearby to land in. Valabrez smiled to himself; the creatures seemed to be ignorant of his approach. It was becoming obvious to him that they didn't have any type of predators that attacked from the sky.

"Good" he thought "there's no one here. Finding a home and food should be easier with no dragons around." He mused about his kin that had accompanied him, but decided that there was plenty of space for them to spread out, unlike their previous home where they fought for space continuously. He began his decent onto the beach a distance from the animals. The sea air began to whip around him as he neared the ground. This was no good. He would need to move farther inland to rest for the night.
After food.

He was downwind from the animals, some sort of seal, as he had thought, based off of the scent. Gliding to the ground brought him in at a full run, which he kept up as he folded his wings to him. It felt good to stretch his legs after flying for so long. The seals began to bark and squirm in their piles as they saw him approach. Normally the dragon would poke some fun at his prey, but for the time being he was too tired to play. He quickly grabbed a cow from the harem, and dragged her off further inland as she thrashed. When he was among the shrubs away from the sea spray, he finished the now quiet seal, eating heartily.  

By the time he was done and the seal all but gone, the sun had been set for a few hours. It was now getting too dark to do much else. The seal was far from enough food, but it sated him enough for the time being. He began walking farther inland, looking for a place to settle for the night.

The ocean was infinite, never ceasing, and boundless. Despira thought she would never see land again. Each beat of her wings caused another ripple of pain to spasm across her sore muscles. Despira held back from the group of traveling dragons that sought refuge from their prior homes, which were now under turmoil and destruction. Such heartache and grief hung in the air as they continued their almost silent voyage, and the gathering storm clouds added to the tension. The tang of salt and ocean stung her nostrils and tongue, oh how she hated the wretched waters which spanned out below her, its perpetual currents raged on, spewing up and attempting to swallow anything that came too close. So, with a hiss of disgust Despira pulled herself higher into the air to avoid the black waves.

Her muscles ached, she knew her body wasn’t going to allow her to travel much further, but a sudden and quite unexpected aroma filled her sensitive nostrils, she took a deep breath in, it was land. Despira felt her heart flutter and tumble inside her chest cavity; a renewed strength taking hold as she managed to rapidly accelerate towards the sweet perfume which clung closely to her nose.

Soon the dark clouds which shrouded the skies began to give way, but now she could feel small trickles of rain gliding off her scales. The humidity along with the rain cooled her skin to the core, and she could feel her body longing for the warmth and heat once more. Despite the low visibility, Despira could make out a few of her fellow dragon companions branching off into different directions, finally their long journey had come to a bittersweet end. A small gust of icy wind caught Despira off guard and for a moment the garnet hued dragon believed she would never make it to the shoreline. She could feel the cold sapping any energy she had left. Struggling to keep afloat she curved her lithe body in the opposite direction, her facial features contorting at the effort. Taking a sharp intake of breath Despira made her way further south eluding the chilling currents of air, and leaving any signs of the dragons she had come with, in the distance.

At the first sight of a small outcrop of land jutting out into the sea Despira made a final attempt to be reunited with the ground. Descending rapidly, her wings wrapped tightly to her body to lose altitude with the least amount of energy possible. As the ground increasingly grew closer Despira extended her wings, unwrapping them at full length as they pulled taught against the air slowing her speed. Then as gracefully as possible she stretched her back legs forward, claws unsheathed as she approached impact. Upon hitting the earth below, Despira tumbled forward her wings bending inwardly at hard angles, the female bit back a snarl of pain, letting loose a string of ancient curses as she finally came to a slow stop. Panting heavily and regaining her composure, she took the time to glance around at the terrain she had immersed herself in, trying her best to ignore the aching which coursed throughout her body from the landing.

The landscape was elevated allowing her to gaze down at the alien lands below, rich gold sands blew across the ground in a silent dance of ballet. The sight was quite beautiful, and it lifted her spirits immensely. The warmth from the sand seeped into Despira’s tough hide and she closed her eyes briefly to finally feel the heat against her sodden red scales.
For now she would have to rest, and regain her vigor.

Despira traversed a bit further from her landing sight, her slender tail trailing behind leaving a small line in the sand. Extending her neck slightly she let her azure eyes travel across the landscape, no dragons seemed to be in the area and she would certainly smell them if they were. Soon she came upon a fairly steep edged cliff, finding refuge on higher ground would allow her to repose in safety from unfamiliar inhabitants of this unknown land. Digging her sharp claws into the rocks she began to climb hauling her body up the cliff. Steadily the crimson Wyvern made her way to a notch that had been engraved into the rock, most likely from the harsh breeze that picked up at the coastline. Tucking herself neatly away from the elements outside, she finally managed to let her muscles loosen and her electric eyes shut slowly, darkness enveloping her consciousness. The sounds of waves hitting the shore becoming a quiet lullaby.

The land was still wet with mist and dew when he awoke. But despite it the morning was alive with the sound of the forest. Few, if any , of the native animals seemed to fear the pair of dragons hidden in the thicket.  Songbirds played their music in the branches above their heads. Frogs croaked, crickets chirruped. And somewhere in the distance Alciel could hear the grunting of hogs as they rooted the soft wet soil. The blue flecked dragon remained where we was for a while, his head tucked beneath his own massive wing. Rhaelin was still curled against his side. Her own slumber as of yet undisturbed by the native sound. He did not particularly care to wake her from her sleep, in fact, he deeply pondered the possibility of returning to sleep himself.

    It was as he attempted to drift off that he became aware of the cold and the pain. His muscles and joints stung. His hide burned and itched. All of it proving impossible to ignore. Carefully he uncoiled himself. Wary of waking the princess. She shuddered as his warmth moved away from her, but curled her own wings more tightly about herself, not waking in the slightest. He was glad she was such a heavy sleeper. She would need all the rest she could get. He first relieved himself of excess fluids, moving much farther up and away from their makeshift den before doing so. On his way he searched for any signs or scents that could give him more information about the land around him. Finding nothing of great importance, he returned to the bank of the stream to quench his thirst. His most basic of needs fulfilled, he examined his own hide for the first time since falling into the ocean. His legs and underbelly had taken the most damage. The salty water had softened his scales to the point of uselessness, and had chafed his skin beneath them raw. Water-rot, as the illness was often called.

        Alciel grimaced. It was a painful affliction, the pain coming most strong during the healing of it. He would need to find a way to soothe it, though he did not know where to even begin searching. His thin tail wrapped itself around his form, twitching with his new irritability. The best he could do for the moment was clean himself. Bathe to remove as much of the salt and debris as he could, and keep himself dry as much as possible. He used the stream to rinse himself, taking care of the rest with his  rough tongue. It would take a few days for the rot to heal. But if he stayed dry, it would take no more than a week or so. His eyes turned to the clouds above. The sky was not threateningly dark, but the moist air and strong humidity concerned him. They would need to find shelter, sooner, rather than later.  

    "Alciel!! " Rhaelin woke abruptly, shaking herself upright in confusion. Her panic did not lesson as she looked around her, obviously recognizing nothing. Alciel stood, and he marked the pain of his legs, and came to sit beside her. The little black dragon rubbed her face into his chest.

    "It's alright now." He said, hoping he was being truthful. He wished he knew how to handle this better. He wasn't ever very good at that kind of thing. And the young princess had gone through more than enough trauma to shake her to the core. After a few moments Rhaelin had regained her composure, though she still sniffled for a while after. "I'm starving, lets find some food shall we?" He said.

    Rhaelin nodded vigorously. Apparently she was still not in a very talkative mood.   Before going, he had her too bathe in the fresh water, bringing back a fragment of her natural glow.
Alciel lead her back towards the beach. He didn't want to linger there long. If they were followed, the beaches would be the first areas their pursuers would investigate. However this place was all too new to him, and he did not know how far inland he would need to travel before finding anything. Searching the beach was the easiest option, and he wanted to make hunting as easy as possible. Otherwise he wasn't sure if his weakened body could accomplish a fresh kill.

   As it was though, they were in luck. A group of sea lions had come to sun themselves on the beach. It hurt to attack them, but Alciel managed to drag away two from the harem. He laid in the sand, the carcass of his seal untouched as he recovered. His arms had screamed in pain when he lifted the weight of them, and a long crack had formed down three of his scales. It was a product of the water rot constricting his skin.  The wound burned worse than fire, but he did his best to hide the pain from Rhaelin.

     She ate at her sea lion heartily, hardly stopping to rest. Unusual behavior for her, as she typically hated a raw meal. Much preferring a seasoned roast or brisket to a raw cut. Though after a week at sea, nearly anyone would eat with as much enthusiasm as she. He only hoped she remained this undemanding about her meals.

    While he picked at his own meal he considered their options. Which way would they travel? Would it be best to move along the shore? North or south? Or would it be best to move inland?  His decision would need to be made soon.  The day was still young, but there was no telling how long it would take for him to find adequate shelter.

Location: Cape Uireal
Traveling into the Northern Tiruan Expanse

It had been two weeks since Raistas had come to this land. Two. Fucking. Weeks.

And contrary to his last thoughts, this was nowhere near the best of times.

Of course, they weren’t the worst of times, either.

Truth be told, however, he’d much prefer the barbarians with their long ships and war songs to dragons. Honor and heathenry are more easy to appeal to than hunger and desperation. He still wondered whether the vikings that had hunted him, harrying the vessel he’d rented through the turbulent oceans, continued pursuit, or if their Elders had called off the chase. It was, he thought, just one princess.

Whether the Vikings arrived or not, Raistas had left enough of his ship wedged between the jagged rocks that it was clearly visible for what it was. The week following his casting onto this land, as the suns gravity drew the tide higher, he swam out to the ship, diving to the ocean’s floor to collect what tools and supplies he thought may be susceptible to corrosion. Raistas continued to gather until the tide withdrew, leaving in its wake a labyrinth of eddies and sharp rocks.

The water was not cold, and he suspected that the nearest oceanic current probably curved northward from the south, pulling with it the warmer, equatorial waters.

Once satisfied that his little hoard of supplies was safe, buried fifty yards from the shore and hidden beneath the same miscellaneous scattering of debris that graced the surrounding scape, he knew it was time. His logs and journal updated-- one such containing a fairly detailed map of the coastline in this area-- he left his shelter behind. It had been a masterwork of craftsmanship, and from 25 yards, even he could barely tell it was not just the flotsam it appeared to be.

20 miles inland Raistas climbed atop the highest precipice of the area, a small crag running a few hundred feet above the surrounding lands, serving as an ancient symbol of this land’s struggle in creation. His thick muscles, stiff from the sudden climb, were gradually worked out as he surveyed the cove his ship had crashed in. There was something harrowing about the land, with its bountiful beauty but treacherous shores.

A sudden grin rose over his tanned, weathered features, his emerald eyes shining with suppressed mirth. Lifting his arms skyward, he roared his fare well, his deep baritone trumpeting his whim.

“Oh wondrous-- treacherous land, ye that nestled me so within your crabby bosom! I name you after my bitch of an ex-wife, Uireal! May your turbulent and rugged countenance, filled with eddies and pitfalls, ensnare any other poor souls that find themselves lost on you. Or in you. Fucking whore…”

He stayed that night, making a fire within a natural cubby hidden behind some spruce trees growing from the side of the crag. He fastened a crude hammock from what remained of the sail of his ship. The next day, he’d turned his back to the shore, turning inland in search of further answers—and mysteries.

Later that day, the dragons had come, ravenous and dreadful, a thousand colors and a thousand species. They ruined what he’d hoped might be a nice private little summer home.

Now, the fun and games were over. The two times before he’d seen so many different types of dragons united by one cause, the worlds he was on were near destruction. Yet a fraction of these dragons killed others, destroying any semblance of that reality. Few actually acted with some semblance of decorum—Raistas had watched one mated pair pause, giving thanks to the earth for this haven, before they moved on.

For two days Raistas had hunkered down in an overgrown cave he’d accidentally stumbled upon. He used this time to continue testing the many species of plants and flowers he’d gathered during the trip. Raistas also went over the voluminous types of magic he had been required to master in the hundreds of worlds he’d visited.

His occasional forays into magic had thus far been miserable failures, by his standard. Raistas had none of his great weapons. His land was not yet anchored to this one. And his gods and their strength were absent to his call. Adventures were so much easier when at his usual strength. But this land was, elementally, incredibly dense. Daily, he rubbed the soil and mud into his hands and arms, as was his custom. Yet his body continued to reject the elements, no matter how similarly he attuned himself to the frequency of his surroundings.

As the sun rose, Raistas once again left a place that had served as a dependable, if quaint shelter.

What he needed was a place he could defend for a while as he worked his charms on this world. He had an idea of what he wanted, but did any exist? And could he find such a place before anyone else had a similar idea?

Dark had fallen, and with it so did the temperature. The slight sleet that was falling when she had first landed on this new frontier had started to turn into mostly flurries of white snowflakes. Her wings were pressed tightly to her bodice as she made her way forward walking over the land and leaving her prints behind in the freshly lain snow. The light emanating from her body danced across the terrain, and it caught sight of a rabbit scurrying about.

Aponariya extinguished the lightning within, crouching down low and still, she waited, watching and listening to the little hops of the snack she was eying. Slowly, her jaws parted and then quickly she darted forward, snapping down on the little being. Bones crushed between her teeth, and she swallowed the bit of meat. It was not enough to fill her belly, but it would lend her it's strength to continue on. She could already feel the slight warmth in her belly. Her head twisted, looking towards the mountains that with each step came closer.

Aponariya came across a river that crossed her path, and she looked up and down the stream as it collected snow flurries in it. There was even some small chunks of ice that must have broken up stream from where the snow storm was originating to make it's way down to where she was now. Taking one foot, she placed it in the chilly water, making a slight face when it immediately sent it's chill up her leg. Wading in deeper, she worked her way to quickly cross this water. Noticing that a chunk of ice was headed towards her legs, water started to splash up around her as she crossed over the bank of the far side of the river to avoid it. Ice chilled water was not great for how she was feeling now, but it did numb what lingering pain was left from her crash earlier.

A smile graced her lips, she could not wait to make those mountains her home. She had traveled most of the night, and the snow had started to let up into the rain again the closer she got inland toward the mountains. Aponariya's wings felt rested, she spread them to their full span lifting as she gave them a flap and launched herself up. Her claws dug into the rock as she landed, her wings not entirely up to supporting her weight just yet for long or strong flights, so she figured bursts to help her basically jump and scale her way up the mountain would work best.

Shards of rock started to rain down as her claws made contact with it yet again. Aponaryia eyed where she would land next, at least it had softer looking ground, noticing that there was some greenery growing in the dirt that had taken hold. She could feel weariness and fatigue starting to take hold in her muscles, having barely rested since she had landed on this land. The first shelter she could find she would curl up and sleep in.

Her sapphire blue eyes started to droop, and she stifled a yawn. She had managed to climb up several spots of the rock, and had come across a small over hang that foliage was spilling over, almost like a waterfall of green. However it did not completely cover the area from view, otherwise she might not have spotted it in her state. The bedding that had accumulated under the rock was mostly dead leaves, but she didn't care. Aponariya crawled into it, curling up her body and finally let her tired eyes close so she could rest. The day had not yet left, but she was too weary to care as she sighed and drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Part III: Ask And You Shall Receive
Location: Northern Tiruan Expanse

Sometimes life has a funny way of giving you what you ask for.

Raistas had asked for a place to live, and received it. He hadn’t expected to nearly lose half his body in the process.

He was feeling pretty good. That is, he was feeling well, but also good, as he had helped a number of dragons mend from their journey. There were, much to his surprise, many dragons who were of the elder or youthful variety, who had neither the strength nor endurance to master the journey they made. There were several talons of dragons, all of which had suffered some difficulty, if not a loss. Raistas had managed to piece together some semblance of the story of their coming during his time helping those he could.

Yes, his Dragon-hide cowl did little to win him over on initial contact, but Raistas leaned on his natural charisma and offer of aid to eventually win over these harried wyrms. The process with which he would establish himself was relatively simple. First, he intentionally welcomed several dragons as his assistants, offering them knowledge of the plants and other natural remedies. Second, he spent a good portion of his time answering all of their questions about the land, who he was, and here he came from. Though he had little to offer, it was still well accepted. Last, he spent the remainder of his time playing with the draklings, who swarmed over him and his sweets (derived from honey). Nothing, he knew, built trust faster than when parents saw the way their children acted around you.

Raistas had been a healer for as long as he could remember. Several thousand years before, he washed his hands of the blood-soaked warrior lifestyle. Since the subordination of his warrior path, healing and creation had become the core of his existence. It was only with reluctance that he killed any more. And when he did, his methods were far more precise. Even in his war against the spawn of Blackness, he approached the situation with surgical detachment. These days, he was a much more like a constant gardener, meticulously preening and pruning until his charges bore fruit.

As he moved from dragon to dragon, his opinion of this species slowly evolved. And though a couple dragons absolutely refused help from him, he assisted the dragons that performed the mending. This glade he had opened had become something of a haven, nestled within the forest which provided for their every need. Even if the dragons were fleeing genocide, something which chilled Raistas to his core, most of them adhered to the wisdom of their elders and accepted his hand in their healing.

Some, did not.

Raistas, after healing the first talon of dragons, set up a kind of campsite. Felling trees to provide an opening for all the masses, as well as a visible place for others passing by, he quickly set about gathering stores of herbs and various other remedies he’d come across in his travels. After gathering several handfuls, he’d charged some of the younger wyrms to find more—even offering rewards for those that gathered the most. Like most dragons, these, too, loved shiny things. Within a few hours there was an abundance of herbs, and many were already being mashed into paste or moistened into compresses. Within two days, Raistas had established a quaint little clinic. Other dragons had begun filtering in—and those that were healed and left were encouraged to spread word of the camp to any other dragons they came across.

Of course, Raistas—ever the opportunist—also took time to watch these dragons heal one another. As he suspected, many used magic for every day purposes. He could feel them, and understand the manner in which they applied their magic. When he asked about using magic, many of the dragons eyed him curiously. Few believed he was actually from another world.

Many dragons appeared to welcome this concept of community, and in between the hatchlings playing and youthful bantering, many of the elders resumed rituals. Several times, he overheard dragons crooning, humming some pleasant idolatry. Raistas listened, and made note, finding time to sneak away to listen to the various storytelling sessions.

It was in the midst of a beautiful dusk, the sky stained a brilliant orange, that his dreams were abruptly shattered. A single talon of dragons came only with the intent to eliminate the humans they heard had established the camp. It was Raistas’s bad luck to be the single object of their rage. The group, he noticed with a quick observation, consisted of two large and five medium sized dragons, each hued a different color. As each of the five dragons landed in the clearing, they scattered the other wyrms standing about, the downward thrust of their wings throwing up a terrible cloud of dirt.

“Where are ye, human filth?!” A massive red roared, lifting his head and bellowing to the sky. The shout echoed beneath the dense canopy of the forest. The other dragons all turned their heads, eyeing the throng intently.

Raistas had enough experience that his intuition was screaming at him to run. Surrounded by elders and youth, he knew his exhausted host would stand no chance against this vigorous lot. Even so, Raistas watched with growing horror as two dragons who had been helping him, approached the talon to intercede. The largest of the dragons, a bronze brute, quickly swiped a claw out, striking one elderly female and clamping his jaws around her neck. Two other dragons, both of black hue surrounded and succeeded in pinning an ancient silver. Raistas cursed his luck, though did not pity himself this situation—the majority of his tools were lying with his hammock at the other end of the camp. Applying the poultice to the wing of a dragon badly sprained during the flight, he gently pushed himself away. Drawing from his side the dragon bone dagger he had been using to cut herbs, he turned away from the area and into the dense brush along the verge of the encampment. There was no reason to involve others in this hunt.

He was not thirty feet gone when the wyrms spotted him.

Location: Northern Tiruan Expanse. Nearing Lake Kisimir.

Raistas had become somewhat comfortable in the little camp that evolved into a clinic. He enjoyed the youthfulness of the draklings, and had relished debating with the elders on topics of wisdom and law. Of course, he wanted some heavily defended fortress to put his back against when in a pinch, but the thought that he might live in the middle of this host of “monsters” without need of defense appealed to his deeper self. He sought solace—even further, he sought peace.

Everyone could live together in bliss, he knew, if they’d quit being so god damned stupid.

After the third day, as routine had begun to form in the camp, a sense of comfort settled within him. He was well aware of his fate as a hopeless romantic, and thus, he was not in the least surprised when his pleasant lassitude was destroyed in one instant.

Now he ran as fast as his legs could carry him—which was faster than you might think. Behind him, he could hear the terrible talon of dragons that had destroyed his creation crashing through the brush, roaring their fury at the natural barrier. He judged, by the terrible pops and dull thuds that the dragons were tearing down each limb and tree that was in their way.

There were other roars from the dragons of the camp, and Raistas hoped desperately that some few of the seven would remain back to keep the other dragons at bay. Even more desperately, he hoped none were injured in defense of him.

As he thought these and other strategic thoughts, a shadow passed over him, and he glanced up to see sapphire. It was not the pleasant light blue of the sky, but the dark azure of dragon wings. The hair on his skin rose, as if the entire area was charged with static. Before him, something metallic and massive crashed into the trees, felling down the branches as it forced its way down through the canopy and in doing so forcing Raistas to stop and adjust his vector around. Just as he started, he felt a gust of wind pass strongly over his neck, followed by a furious howl. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, harmoniously agreeing with his instincts that he’d been that close to becoming a new chew toy.

Two more forms streaked overhead, one red—the other—was it black? Suddenly, the left half of his vision was ablaze in fire. To his right, another large tree grew stiff, and then burst in two with an explosion that darkened the bark as if struck by lightning. He spared a brief second of pity for the ancient trees that were being so pointlessly destroyed. To his right, he heard a huge intake of breath. Suddenly something was splashing all around him and the trees were sizzling as if on fire themselves. Acid struck his shoulder and thigh, and he quickly delved within himself, to the core of his being, to will away the pain he knew would come.

His skin, a deep bronze, soon grew steadily more crimson as the clear, mucus-like acid slowly burned away the outer layer of flesh. He quickly darted into a thicket of dense brush, pressing himself against the leaves to wipe off the substance. But that served only to slow him down.

He had once, in his past, fought four dragons at once. Of course, that had been inside a cave, with all his armor and magic intact. Had he had time to gather his dragon-string bow, he might have been able to take a shot or two. If he had his new cloak, the acid would have been like rain. But for some reason, his luck had given him the middle finger.

How in Hel was he supposed to take on five dragons while out in the open?

Another shattering above him, and a huge body struck the earth not ten feet behind him. Then pain hit him in the back of the legs. It was ‘just a graze’, but the claw had pierced his inner thigh and been drawn outward. He felt—yes, literally felt—the claw tug on his hamstring as if it were a string on a guitar. As he lost all balance, tumbling along the ground only to crash into a tree, he was inwardly grateful for his continued insistence on strengthening his body.

Before we go much further into this one-sided “misunderstanding,” I would be remiss not to share with you a morsel on Raistas.

This is a secret Raistas rarely shared with anyone— It just wasn’t their business to know. Raistas was strong. Not just the strong that came with years of training and weightlifting, though he was that, too. His body was just stronger—it was less… squishy than most humans. Shortly after he traveled to Rhy’din, the universe he had called home for a great portion of his life, the place he vacationed while waiting to be summoned by gods, he happened upon a singularly impressive healing technique. The old man who, would become his first mentor in Rhy’din, could heal by collecting small molecules of dirt and water and even the energy of heat, which he would tie together in intricate, gossamer, weaves to serve as a bridge between cuts or openings in flesh.

It took Raistas years to be able to control something so small. His mind, initially, could scarcely embrace the idea of something so tiny. As a human wrecking ball, it was the first time Raistas’s intent was turned to something smaller, and even smaller, and smaller still. Within years, he was able to simulate the knitting, if crudely, and it took a few years after that to learn the true art of the miraculous ability. Shortly after that, Raistas began experimenting further, wondering just how far this ability could stretch.

It started after he cut himself along the arm one day, using a rather sharp chef’s knife. Utilizing the microscopic tendrils as instructed, he not only patterned them in such a way as to heal the cut, but added a second, somewhat finer layer, reasoning that a double layer would naturally be stronger than a single. Years passed, as they do, and Raistas learned something interesting about his experiment—that flesh which he added in addition to the required was not dissolved or absorbed so quickly by the body. Instead, the grafted membrane was accepted and adjusted. It took several decades, but with steady implementation—and not always when cut or hurt—his skin toughened to the consistency of seal hide.

It was this trait that had saved his life.

Of course, with any bodily endeavors certain cells of his synthesized membrane eventually died and passed from him, requiring him to almost constantly draw more to maintain his shell. It was for that reason that he focused so readily on attuning himself to the elements of this world. For weeks, now, Raistas had worked the familiar ritual of absorption. Worked, and failed. Only in the last day had he become aware of the reason for his failing.

And now, it was almost too late.

Location: Northern Tiruan Expanse. Ending on the largest island in Lake Kisimir.

Annnnnd… Action.

The terrain had taken a turn for the worse, for Raistas. Forests were never easy to sprint through, with the dense brush and fallen trees forming the heart of the maze. Random boulders and large stones made tripping hazards when hiking, much less attempting to observe everything as it approached in a blur. The flat gradient of the land had been his friend, even so, allowing him to focus on the natural barriers. As he drew further inland, however, the foothills began, and too often Raistas found himself half falling down the steep back side of a hill he hadn’t realized he’d been sprinting up.

Sliding gave him one advantage, at least, for it was much quicker than walking. Thick layers of loam broke free with a misstep, sending him sliding ungracefully down assisted by the insistent gravity. Thankfully, the rocks and trees broke his fall, and mercifully only required deep bruises and sprains as payment. To his dismay, the slides became longer and longer.

And then there were the dragons to deal with.

Raistas was a mess. Aside from the initial gash on the back of his thigh, the blood flow from which had been somewhat stoppered by sanitary dirt, moss and undergrowth, Raistas bled from four other wounds. Ten minutes into his flight, the blue and black dragon each fell a massive pine tree four feet in diameter. Their high boughs crashed through the forest, smashing the trees and effectively funneling Raistas into a central area, where, for an instant, he had a chance to negotiate the terms of his surrender.

“No!”

The enormous red stood before him on its hind legs, poised with all his malice like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse, claws pressed forward, talons angled right to his heart. Raistas had been courted many times—his heart was something of a prize to win—but something told him this suitor didn’t give a damn about his feelings. Apparently he didn’t feel like discussing a compromise, either. Raistas launched himself to his right just as blood red palms struck the earth, throwing himself into the upper reaches of one of the fallen great trees.

Without pausing, he scrambled to his feet, his arms and legs churning madly, thoughts furiously spurring him ever onward. He knew what was coming next.

Raistas felt sweat burst from the pores of his back, felt his hair begin to curl against his back and skull, and only then registered the heat as it rolled over him. It came in three distinct bursts, the first, a pleasant warmth, like stepping into a field on an early summer afternoon. The second burned uncomfortably, reminding him of the feeling of your face as you blow into a fire to get it ablaze.

Instantly his sweat was whisked away, just in time for his skin to blister in response to the third wave of heat. As quickly as Raistas once again dove to the side, this time striking his shoulder into a tree, he had not the spring of before, owing to his weakened hamstring. Raistas screamed.

He experienced each blister, those that did not burst immediately as he rolled on the ground, as needles piercing his muscles, feeling his charred skin sizzle as it continued to cook for many moments afterwards. Had he been a fashionista, he would have appreciated this red dragon taking care to make sure his back looked like his acid-burned front. Clinically, Raistas considered this body of his, and just how much more he could get out of it. Truth be told, he was none the worse for wear—his muscles were majorly intact, and his skin still whole, except for an area on his arm where the acid had begun to auger through muscle. Thankfully, it was in the center of the muscle, and not the edge, near any tendons or cartilage, where it could do massive damage.

At this rate, the catalyzing effect would diminish roughly by the time the liquid reached in inch into the tissue. Oddly enough, Raistas was somewhat disappointed at the weakness of the acid—disappointed, but thankful all the same.

It required every fiber of control Raistas had to keep running, while maintaining his vigil for any possible cave or ravine where he could single out the beasts. He noticed, much to his relief, that after the initial furor in which the monsters had attacked him, they seemed half-bored with the prospect of continuing to chase a quarry that had no interest in attacking back.

Raistas knew that it was a fairly common for the dragon hunters to employ baiting as a measure to hunt dragons, attacking with listless abandon and then fleeing in fake terror—only to draw the wyrm out of its protective area where it could be surrounded. By now, surely to the gods, they did not mistake him for trying that. He had tried all of the clichés, “I come in peace!” and “I mean you no harm!” He had shouted in fifteen different languages, four of which were draconic. Nothing was working—and he was very nearly fed up with the whole ordeal.

His lungs burned like the fire of his forge, stretched and strained like the great dwarven billows of Ushaat To’or. What little flesh remained intact exhumed sweat, which rolled into his wounds, reminding him that he still lived. The good thing about burns and other charring effects was that wounds were cauterized as soon as made. Just as the beginning pang of exhaustion swept through him, he fell one last time. As he fell, toppling head over heels at such a speed that not even trees or stones could stop him, he caught a glimpse of light ahead.

Why were the dragons roaring in rage behind him? Or were they laughing?

He lifted an arm in time to be a pillow, protecting his skull from whipping into an outcropping of rock—shattering a few bones of his wrist in the process. All in a day’s work.

Why were there so many rocks so suddenly?

The trees were thinning. And he was still falling. His mind worked furiously to understand the situation he was being drawn to. Why did this feel so familiar? And then it dawned on him.

And he flew. I should say, after he hit the last outcropping, he flew. Now there were two options left to him. Either there was a beach of boulders, rocks and flotsam beneath him, where he would have a few moments to enjoy the sound of water lapping up onto the shore before he was crushed by dragons.

Or, which so happened to be the case, he thanked the old gods, there would be water. And, of course, it hurt, when he at last struck the surface. Raistas had counted for several seconds, and realized that the cliff off which he fell was at least one hundred, if not two hundred feet. Diving at all from such heights was a bad idea, but those that did always landed with their feet. With barely the wherewithal to realize he was falling, Raistas could only make himself into the smallest object possible. He curved into a meatball and tensed his muscles just as he struck the water.

He couldn’t help but notice, in the distance some ten miles, a rather pleasant looking island. Well well… that was exactly what he was looking for.

After he mastered his stressed limbs, forcing his dimming awareness away from the black hole that was unconsciousness, he began to kick. It hurt. And his arms bridged over him in slow strokes. It hurt. He craned his neck to the side, breathing in the humid chill air that hovered over the water. That hurt, too.

But in his current state he knew-- pain meant life. Gradually, painfully, and eventually, Raistas swam to his new home.

Name: Valabrez
Location: Alaesia Peninsula (Thiadon Shrubsands), just arriving.

The night had not been good to Valabrez. Scattered storms through the night had drenched the ground, making burrowing a difficult and messy process. The damp mixture of soil and sand was starting to cause his underscales to crack and abrade, but he had found little in the ways of shelter aside from a handful of sparse brush. To make things even more uncomfortable, a cool sea breeze persisted between the showers, making the night seem even colder. At some point before dawn he had simply sat upright and stayed that way, muddied and cold, nodding in and out of sleep. Now, as the first light of sun peaked over the horizon, he moaned to himself realizing that there wasn't going to be much sleep for him until the storms passed and ground dried.

He shook himself, trying to get some of the wet muck off of him, to little success. It was plastering itself to his fur and hide as it dried. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to clean himself off somehow. Taking a quick breath he attempted to warm himself and cake the mud off with his fire, but he could hardly sputter out a flame. The lack of sleep and growing hunger had taken its toll on him in that. All the more aggravating. Slowly stumbling to his feet he stretched and looked around the unfamiliar landscape.

The sands had reminded him of his previous home, though in no way as wet as this, or as flat. There was little difference between the terrain during the day and night. The footprints he had left from the night before were still visible, pointing towards the sea. It wasn't the most agreeable option, but it would work in the short term. Retracing his steps he slowly began wandering back to where he had landed the night before.

He hadn't realized just how far inland he had gone the previous night trying to get away from the sea breeze. Though there was some variation to the land, it was mostly flat in the interior, which did not help at all in waylaying any wind. As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the land grew warmer; thick, scattered clouds arresting this change in climate every so often as they floated by. Valabrez tried again to shake the drying mud from himself, but despite some debris shaken loose, he was still covered. He looked up to the heavily laden clouds looking for rain to fall, but they seemed uninterested in releasing the rest of their load. It would have to be the sea.

Walking back there were still very few creatures to be seen. Occasionally a crab or small lizard would skitter away from Valabrez as he passed. The largest that he had seen so far was barely bigger than a mouse. Seals would be on the menu again today, and for the foreseeable future until he could leave. When he had passed the stain from his previous meal he knew he was close to the water, and shortly after he again began to feel the breeze from the sea. A familiar squabbling could be heard in the distance.

As he came to the beach the seals were still resting on the shore, though much more alert than the night before. They watched the strange creature with cautious interest as he came fully onto the wet sand. A few of them began to retreat into the water, possibly present to what had gone on the previous night, or just jittery. Valabrez took notice of the stares as he quietly made his way into the surf, letting the lapping waves do most of the initial cleaning while he reflected the cold stares of the seals, taking in their number.

There were more than he had thought there were. A huge pile of them amassed mostly on the beach with even more entering and exiting the waves. There were a few larger ones, but they were more towards the center of the pile, away from an easy target like what was available before. With himself mostly clean, he began to scrape loose the last remains of mud from his wings. Valabrez sat in the surf for a few minutes picking the dirt out of some of the more difficult spots before he had had enough of the waves slapping his face. Now completely drenched, but clean, he slowly began walking back onto the beach feeling heavier than before from the waters buoyancy. The difference in weight nearly knocking the tired dragon over.

He shook himself for a good minute, spraying his once dry surroundings with sprays of saltwater. The seals, he noticed, were still watching him, though appeared not as startled as when he had first appeared. What a mistake... Valabrez began scanning the edges of the pile for the best target as he finished shaking off his wings and legs. There was a small outcropping of rock and plants behind the center of the seals, and a few, he assumed sleeping, or otherwise unaware beasts laying below it on the sands. A good place to sneak, considering the little cover that the short beach grasses and shrubs provided.

The dragon began walking back into the drier ground to circle back on the pile of seals, shaking himself to help the drying process as he looped out of sight. He could hear the animals becoming louder as they thought he had left them. All to his advantage. As he approached the outcropping from the other side of the beach and began to climb over it he found the reason for the noise. Sticking his head over the top of the rocks, he looked down quickly to see one of the larger seals from before, a male he now assumed, atop of one of the smaller, and presumably female, animals. He dropped back behind the rocks and chuckled to himself. How easy was this going to be?

Waiting for a particularly loud noise to cover his attack, he lunged over the rock diving straight into the now two large blobs of rutting seal and a smaller one behind them. It was too late to abort the attack however, regardless of the situation at hand. The males did not at first recognize the danger, furiously biting and head bashing each other. At the last moment Valabrez changed his strategy of going in with a bite to jumping on the back of one of the nearer male. The bull cried out, in more confusion than anything else, and swung his head backwards, twisting to see what had jumped on him as Valabrez attempted to dig into the animals tougher hide with his claws.

A few successful swipes into the blubber and Valabrez found himself toppling off of the seal as it squirmed and rolled out from under him, sending himself rolling toward the ever shrinking pile of retreating female seals. A few of the nearer ones still waiting to escape the fray bellowed and snapped their teeth at the dragon as he stumbled in the sand. The male he had jumped on was not faring much better, with his original opponent undeterred in killing off the rival. Valabrez looked back in time to see the other male seal take a particularly vicious grasp of the injured male, pinning his neck to the sand at an angle while his flippers flailed about trying to twist out of the grasp.

Realizing this was about the best chance he could get at killing the large beast Valabrez lept onto its stomach claws extended to swipe, and slid again onto the sand as it rolled, though this time on his haunches. He quickly sat up again and began to claw into its side as it tried to squirm away from both dragon and seal. The sand grew more and more red with blood and chunks of hucked blubber as the struggling animal began to slow. It would never patrol the beaches again, but would be a tasty meal for both Valabrez and the various scavengers to come after.

Regaining some breath knocked loose from his tumble with the bull, Valabrez looked over to the remaining male only to see it in time to headbutt him. Hard. In the face. And continue headbutting him as he tried to scramble to his feet and away from the persistent animal. The bull even hobbling after him, bellowing, as he retreated back down the now mostly vacant beach and into the some dunes on what was the far side of the once pile. Valabrez looked back incredulous, he couldn't believe how much trouble these beasts were giving him. He laughed to himself out of exhaustion and a bit sore from the fight, laying down to catch his breath and wait for the other male to leave his now dead rival.

He considered simply killing the other male, but as tired and hungry as he was he decided to let the lucky victor swagger around the beach, attempting to regain his new harem with his calls. There was more than enough to eat off of the one dead male, and with no other large predators in the area that he had seen or sensed otherwise as of yet, he could afford a rest before eating.

They call me Aponariya.
Located near the Morderiths.
See me below.

The sudden explosion above her head rained shards of glass down over the no longer sleeping head of Aponariya. It was like tiny diamonds dancing in the air, but this dragon was not admiring the beauty to the ice, instead her own blue eyes snapped open and narrowed as she looked around her. She spotted what looked like the culprit as she forced the sleepiness from her eyes and focused her gaze on the white dragon standing before her. A snarl started to form on her lips as blue light started to eminent from her throat, snaking lines beneath her scales as her power came awake as she did.

"Why would you do that?" She growled at Az'ryiak as she got to her feet, however the overhang didn't let her stretch to her full height even if she wanted to. Aponariya shook her head, letting the shards that had rested on her scaly hide crash to the ground. It echoed slightly like small pebbles scattered across the stony surface. She wondered why the dragon had followed to her little niche, and wondered why he didn't find one himself. She didn't think there was enough room for them to share so only one thought was crossing her mind as she eyed him.

Aponariya wanted to repay the favor of her rude awakening, opening her mouth and turning her head upward, a small streak of lightning escaped her mouth, striking the dirt packed earth above their heads that had nested between rock trenches.

"That's for waking me!" Aponariya stated, her tone of vice carrying the irritation she felt coming from her lack of sleep. It had felt like she had only just laid her head to rest mere minutes from when the white dragon Az'ryiak had startled her awake.