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WilsonTurner AKA / OfWindAndRain
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7 yrs ago
The ocean passed swiftly beneath them...
...a glittering green-blue expanse that shone in the early sun's light, as important to the four Water dragons as walls were to a King- this is what kept them safe, and now they feel an eery fear settling into the pits of their stomachs, drawn by the knowledge that as land became clearer and clearer, the more likely armies will come to bring them down. Dragons rarely united, he knew, besides to mate. Indeed- only one of the four water dragons flying over the water was female, and not he nor the other two males even thought of mating with her- she was a self-proclaimed war-maiden, a concept stolen from human prisoners. It rankled Tenator, to the point where he might snap at her for using a *human* concept, but it kept the other two from vying for her attentions, and kept the group sound and stable. His thoughts wandered into trains like those as he flew- flew for an entire day already. The sun was rising to their right wing-tip, as it had when they first set off from their island refuge.
The dragon who delivered the message was smaller and a bit faster- as the day had worn on, they were slowly left behind. It didn't bother Tenator- he was gliding most of the time, occasionally diving into the water and then resting on its surface, wings outstretched with air caught between wing and water, holding him afloat. His three allied dragons had all practically sworn themselves to him- they had each seen more of their kind slaughtered against armies, and he managed to destroy an entire one without a single hole punched through the wingmembrane by an arrow.
When his thoughts snapped back to reality, it was to take in the sight of the coast rushing towards him. His wings angled; his tail twitched, and he rose into the air in a slight spiral, coming up parallel with the coast, flying higher. He couldn't resist; his maw opened and he let out a roar, shattering the morning's sky. He saw a village, far ahead and below, but left it alone- if he were to help rule this area, and eventually bring the entire continent to its knees once more, then it would be no use destroying a resource. One of his guards meant to do just that, but he swooped in front of him, warning him off with a telepathic vibe of warning and to persevere their peace for now. Then he lead the short way inland, to the land they were supposed to meet the one who called him, the one who called many. He lowered himself to the ground near a trade road, taking in the trade caravan that was traveling along it- and now thoroughly panicking- and blocking its forward path. Another of his own landed behind, and then the last two on either side.
Suddenly, a crossbow bolt flew out of one of the carts, striking Tenator's crest between his eyes, and he shook his head back and forth, aggravated from the eye-watering pressuring that had suddenly appeared. Now, thoroughly pissed, he lowered himself to the ground, keeping the soft belly protected and safe, and gathered himself up. His maw opened once more, and instead of a roar or flame coming out, several of the terrified caravaners rushed him, crossbows in hand. Two bolts fired and were lodged between his teeth, painfully close to his gums, to the point of drawing his blood. The last would've gone straight down his throat and impaled an artery, had his tongue not come up by reflex, and been penetrated.
Tenator shrieked, not even a roar, a higher-pitched cry of pain and anger and fury. The three before him fell the ground, dropping their crossbows to slam their hands to their ears, as Tenator darted forward and crushed them beneath tooth and claw. Another crossbow bolt flew out of the leading wagon, right as he bared his teeth, obviously trying to accomplish the same as the other three, and ricocheted off the side of his snout, missing worse than before. Tenator, fed up with them, gave the mental command; a moment later, the caravan lay burning, destroyed, all but two of the six wagons still intact.
The three survivors huddled inside, crying, as the sounds of scraping and clawing grew louder and louder, until one of them- the youngest, felt an odd flash of... power, outside. Unknowingly, he had the magical talent, and he had just sensed the four dragons turning into one heavily armored warrior, the other three in rogue-like assassin/theif-looking garments. The now-noble warrior strode up to one side of the wagon, brushing aside the curtain, and peering into the three terrified faces.
They were flooded with relief, mixed with confusion and fear- did the dragons leave? Were they coming back? This man looked like he could take them all himself, the little two thought, while their caretaker hoped for safety and to be away from the burning caravan. When she rushed forward to embrace him, already muttering her thanks, the warrior pulled out a knife, and jammed it through her ribs as she threw her arms around him. He gently pulled her out, as if still in embrace, and laid her out on the ground, just as the other two appeared, reaching for him.
Ten minutes later, one warrior and three rogues walked down the road from the burning caravan, anything gold looted, melted down by their inherent fire abilities into rough bars, and each riding a horse, two from each of the two surviving caravans.
It would be awhile before they reached their destination, and word will soon reach their destination that the caravan had not arrived- and that it had been found burned and the few survivors lain dead, between the two undamaged carts.GM
The morning was like any other morning. Autumn was here and that meant winter was coming soon. Arvon has woken from his slumber. Since Valhalla creation, more and more dragons come to the huge city built near the water front tucked away in the dense forest. If one were to look for the city off a huge cliff they could see it, but powerful magic messes with the senses of humans and they become lost within the forest. Only those with dragon blood within them are not affected by this magic. Arvon in his human form had just finishing clothing himself and walked over to the balcony to take a look outside. The city was alive and dragons in both human and dragon form roamed the street and flew threw the skies.
How Arvon wished for the skies. He wanted to sore threw them as he once did before the human started hunting his kind. He wanted to be free to do as he pleased, but none of that would be possible until they deal with these pests. He turned and walked back inside, "Tas'Narva," He called out. And a Slender woman entered the room. Her eyes blue as the sky and her hair as white as the snow. "You called my lord?" looking down towards his feet, never making eye contact with him. It seemed that way threw out the cities. When ever he would walk down the roads no one would look at him in his eyes. It was strange because before he was lord everyone openly looked at him as if they were looking into his soul.
"Yes, Have the messager reached the other lords asking them for a council with me?" He walked over to a table which had food on it. He looked down and grabbed a chicken leg and took a bit. It was still hot, he figured it was brought just before he got up. He blew on it and it turned cold, very cold. "Yes, All of them should be arriving today, My Lord." Arvon finished eating the chicken leg and walked over to Tas'Narva. "Why do you play with me, calling me my lord. We have known each other since we were whelps. It's very unnerving." She continued to look down, "When we were kids, you was not Lord of Ice. You were Nighith, I cannot address you as anything other then the title given to you, My lord."
Arvon sighed, "Very well," He walked out the room and she followed him closing the doors behind them. As the walked threw the huge Villa like castle that he lived in he could not help but wonder what the other lords were like. He has only met them once a while back. Each clan was not really on the best of terms with each other so trust would be a huge issue. Still they were all in agreement that something needed to be done about the humans, and quite possibly the elves, orcs, dwarves, gnomes... and the list goes on and on. It made Arvon head hurt when he thought about it, and he still could not figure out why the human would turn after so many year of loyal services. And there is the magic they wield, its very close to elven magic and the machinery they used was close to the Dwarf and gnomes technology but not that same.
Curious and even more curious Arvon grew. He would talk this over with the other lords when they arrived but for now he would spend his time inside his garden. Waiting for word of their arrival.
Argetlam350 Do Glatem Live
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2 mos ago
Seamaeet traversed through the forest that bordered his and two guard's destination. The trip from their established territory to the city hadn't been an easy one, having to travel through several human cities which put his guards on edge, fearing that some misfortune would befall them with some human finding out what they were and impailing them while their backs were turned. They spent little time in these human filled cities and towns, even if they arrived at night, they remained outside them and slept out under the stars on the cold ground with one eye open, always being prepared to fight.
Sealameet still needed to get accustomed to his title as Lord. He had gained his title through dueling the previous Lord, an old stubborn dragon who would of drove them all to extinction if he hadn't but the transition wasn't smooth and for a time he had to work on keeping his own kind from turning on one another with those that supported the new Lord and the others who thought of him as a murderer. Eventually he had gotten them to not fight amongst themselves and ebb the tension but it was tiresome and now he had to aid the other Lords with the bigger problem.
His views of humans were somewhat odd compared to most. He did not particularly hate them for what they had done, indeed he understood the hate and reason that they had to be cautious about them but he also found them fascinating. He also saw part of the blame of the mass dragon hunting caused by the older generation of dragons. They placed themselves as lords and gods, seemingly seeing humans as servants. They grew lazy and careless, not listening to the whispers that no doubt started the revolts against them and eventual destruction of what they had accomplished. The tables had turned, what dragon's had viewed as being inferior had become the so called superior beings and they the inferior for the time.
He doubt his views though would be shared by most if any. He wished for peace not more killing. He wanted life not more genocide and destruction.
"My Lord, we will reach our destination soon," one of the guards said spotting the edge of the forest.
Lord Wyron Reclusive Giant Lord
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10 days ago
The village of Lothering had been experiencing terrible storms for the last few days now, each one seeming to be worse than the last. The skies grew darker to the point where some would swear that morning looked no different from night. Tendrils of lightning flashed across the sky like phantoms waging war against each other, clashing and booming with thunder to accompany them.
Lothering was by no means a large city, nor was it a tiny village either. It had its own guard station with regular patrols, and enough revenue and trade to keep it on the map, but with the Dragon War, very few felt the need to travel down the roads.
Though there were a few conspiracy thinkers out there who preached about how the lightning storms that raged over Lothering were part of something much larger, most just stuck to the agreement that it was bad weather, and didn't let it stop them....oh how they should have listened to the preachers.
On one particular morning when the storms were far more terrible than they had been before. So bad, in fact, that the guardsmen had prepared buckets of water should any lightning strikes start a fire. What they hadn't expected was something *far* worse.
As the afternoon turned into evening, many of the townsfolk were finishing up their work days and heading back to their hovels, ready for a hot meal and maybe a mug of ale at the Drinking Troll Inn before heading to bed for the night. So few were out and about, in fact, that they didn't notice the large gray shape fly above the village, a strike of lightning illuminating it for *just* a moment before it disappeared. The guards blamed the sight on a simple trick of the eyes, born of their fatigue, continuing their patrols without worry.
It was the not-so-distant roar, however, that roused the guard's attention. A sound that pierced through the night sky, sending shivers down spines and causing hairs to stand on end. Adrenaline pumped through the guardsmen as their eyes frantically looked up at the darkening sky, their eyes constantly blinking as they were pelted with raindrops that had increased in frequency since the sound of the roar.
"I'll be damned..."
"Where is it?!"
"Keep your eyes peeled."
"All of you, shut up!"
These were the terrified whispers of the guards, who, for all their training were not ready, physically or mentally to face a dragon. Before they could continue to think, however, a [voice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szMoqvy2I8g) rang out amidst the sky, harsh and terrible, **"Watch your breathing....I can *smell* your fear."** An ear-piercing **thud** resounded throughout the village as something *large* landed on the thatch roof of the city hall, the wooden construct groaning and creaking with the added weight, ready to collapse at any moment.
The streets soon *filled* with terrified townsfolk, screaming and practically trampling each other to run away from the terrible threat that was the dragon.
The guardsmen, shaking as their knees were, stood their ground, staring at the drake. "Wh-who are you, Beast?" One of them, braver than the rest, called out.
The dragon laughed cruelly, his terrible cackle booming into the night sky. **"I am Zevlassan, Lord of Lightning. The Herald of Thunder. And this...is Lothering. What a quaint little place."** The dragon added, a loud growl coming from deep within his throat. It was true, he remembered Lothering from his time as a human...but alas, that time was done.
The guards, stoically silent slowly raised their crossbows, Zevlassan just seeing the bolt aimed at him before a pull of the trigger sent it flying, the bolt grazing the side of his snout.
Letting out an angered roar that caused some's ears to bleed, Zevlassan took in a deep breath before unleashing a volley of lightning from his mouth; the torrent of blue, purple, and white was blinding as it shot out like a battering ram, colliding with the guardsmen who began to burn inside their own armor, overcome by the storm.
Zevlassan then began his reign of fury on the town, reducing every building in the village to rubble, and those who stood in his way to blackened bone.
The screams of the townspeople rang out, but all that answered, was a sound of thunder.
~~~
Flying high above the night sky with a full belly and his need for conquest sated, Zevlassan sought the land of Valhalla, answering a summons for all dragon lords to arrive, to work together to reclaim their home. There was a time when the Lightning Lord loved humanity as though they were his own, treated them with great respect. But they betrayed his kind, looked at him as nothing but a terrible monster....if it was terrible monster they would want; it was a terrible monster they would *get*.
Flying a good ways behind Zevlassan was his bodyguard, a single storm dragon smaller and sleeker than the rest, built for aerodynamics and speed. He willingly agreed to fly with his lord and protect him in the human land, lest the other lords become too greedy and ambitious...
WilsonTurner AKA / OfWindAndRain
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7 yrs ago
Tenator stalked along the road, having shifted into dragon form once he sensed the powerful wards that kept the castle hidden. His three guards were, as well, shifted, though they looked noticeably different from his distinctive figure. Unlike most dragons, he had three rows of rear-leaning spikes that trailed the top of his spine, and either side of it. Instead of the usual dragon snout, he had the somewhat distinctive, hard-point beak-ish mouth, without real teeth. The sides of his mouth did the cutting, with a sort of bone-scale hybrid making up the edges of his mouth. The acids in his stomach break down meat and bone faster than any other, another trait that goes hand-in-hand with his appearance differences.
But other than that, he was still a normal dragon. Being an aged dragon, at least compared to the current days' dragons, his size and bulk was enough to make the ground shudder slightly. Combined with three other, if smaller, dragons stepping in time to his own, the trees nearby kept up a constant, soft fall of leaves.
As he approached the gates, the draconian (Tenator's term for dragons in human form) guards signaled others, and the large, dragon-sized portcullis rose into the gatehouse, the gates behind it slowly being pulled open by more guards. Tenator was pleased; it appeared that the oh-so-great king-of-dragons took security seriously. Dragons in human form were, no doubt, formidable opponents, when compared to regular human soldiers. Inside, Tenator couldn't help but be impressed- such a large collection of buildings and people, the primary roads all being large enough to fit himself and his three guards without any trouble.
His distinctive features recognized, many dragons- draconian or dragon form alike- turned to watch him stride through into their city. He kept his head high; his wings slightly unfurled, just enough to give his wings some breathing room, and to make himself appear somewhat larger and more impressive. A dragon had to keep up with his ego, after all, and his gleaming, thick scale certainly spoke of wealth.
Turning to one of the gate guards, he motioned towards the castle, and ordered him, voice rumbling, "Alert the Dragon King that the Water Lord has arrived." He watched the draconian hurry towards the castle, after bowing and responding with a "Right away, sir."
It seemed human customs had come over into their people. The thought made his scales shift uneasily, and a growl to jump from his chest. Letting the draconian have a head start, he continued on his way through the main road. He could have flown, of course, or come from the water, but he wanted all the dragons to know he had arrived. As was the way of the dragon- keep the ego high and pillage all the inferior biped races.
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