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Artymas's Stories

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Artymas's Stories

Post by Artemise on Mon Aug 21, 2017 4:44 am

Chapter One, Part two

Etheiun's thrown into the wild.

Oh gods above, what is he going to do?

With fumbling claws, he unstraps the brown bag that's slung round his shoulders; it rests against his back, nestled between his wings - it's the only thing he's allowed to carry with him. They'd allowed him to pack a choice weapon into it, a map marking out the territory, a compass, but no water. He'll have to find that on his own. Though, he's sneakily hidden a small container of water into his bag when they hadn't been looking. His parents had pretended not to realise, the subtle smile glimmering at the edges of their lips the only indication that they'd seen.

Smiling, he lifts up the container, short and round. It's transparent, and he can see the clear water shimmering and sloshing within it - but he can't drink it now, he has to save it. It's like a beacon of hope for him, though. He keeps the thought I have water with me in his mind as he trudges on, the sand that his paws sink into eventually shifting into tufts of grass sprouting from the solid, brown earth - solid! This is the first time he's walked on a surface that doesn't give way underneath his feet.

He's heard of places like this, though. Not heard, actually, read; Etheiun spends his time reading (he enjoys reading, but doesn't love it the way the nerds at his village did), or pretending to hunt. Sometimes if he's lucky, his parents would bring him along on a trip and watch as he hunts down something - carefully planned out for him. Fat lot of good it's going to do him here; if they'd known about what he would be forced to do, why pamper him?

Anyway. Crying and cursing won't do him any good. The latter, actually, might help.

He releases a few choice words underneath his breath, and it feels nice; Etheiun's gaze swings from side to side as he troops forward, wariness shining in his wide eyes. Wonder soon takes over, though, battling with the wariness on his face. He has to be alert, to look out for the creatures that stalks the shadows of forests; but how can he not be amazed?

Trees unfurl from the ground, their stems tall and steady, branches lurching out from the body in wizened fingers that seem to grope for the sky. Leaves fan out around the brittle fingers, crying out for sunlight as the wind rustles and moves them in a gentle dance, one that he watches in awe. He returns his gaze to in front of him, though, lest he trip.

He trips the next moment by an unseen branch poking out of the moss that forms a layer over the earth, mingling with thin strands of grass that look like they'll break at any moment. Etheiun curses again, and wishes that a rogue would appear out of nowhere. A nice one that'll help him, like the one in stories.

He needs to stop putting so much faith in stories, though.

Etheiun continues walking, not knowing where he's going, but sometimes, with the sharp end of a fallen branch, poke at the map, stabbing holes that indicate where he's gone. Or where he thinks he's gone.

He sips his water and walks on. Wonder ebbs away, weariness rushing forward to take its place. Etheiun soon turns back. He doesn't want to get lost. Had that been their intention from the start? The more he thinks about it, the more likely he seems. He's a Beast, a monster, an outcast; who's going to want him?

He doesn't even know if he wants himself.

Just like that, he's sad, the feeling tearing at him from the inside like how a starving animal would rip at food. His vision blurs, heat gathering over it, then it breaks and forms tears that fall in a steady stream. Warm, reassuring, solid. He's... Normal. He cries and feels the way they do, so why is he considered a Beast?

He wants to tear out his wings and throw them away.

Etheiun falls to the ground, and has no will to get up, merely sobbs into the ground like a pathetic wimp.

"Are you okay?"

The voice floats out of nowhere, and his head snaps up, his tears still warm against his cheek.

He spots a tall male, perhaps around eighty feet tall. The male has a smile across his face, warm and inviting, though it's laced with concern at the moment. Etheiun wants to tell him about the situation he's in, but for some reason, the only thing that comes out is a breathy "no," to which the male responds with a worried hum, before picking him up.

His embrace is so warm! Etheiun sobs harder at the happiness that unfolds over him. He's found someone who cares! He's so happy, and the male makes soothing noises. For now, he will not ask this hatchling questions.

Etheiun chokes out, "What is your name?"

"It's Aratius."

"Oooh... It's such a cool name!" Etheiun manages to say through his closed-up throat. "Tell me about your family," he begs.

Arata smiles, and, sensing that it'll soothe the young one, begins softly about Emmeryn, talks about Alyn, his hatchlings. How they bicker and snap at each other all day long. (But he doesn't say that they're gone. Dead.)

Etheiun listens, and wants so badly to live with them, but he'll never truly be part of them, and he realises this with a horrible clarity. He can't have their life, no matter how he pretends to if he joins him.

He's so jealous.

Etheiun smiles and nods. "I-I'm okay now," he says even though he's not, even with the burden of the knowledge of what he's going to do, and Aratius nods, relief obvious on his face. Etheiun turns, pretends he's wiping his face as he opens his bag and takes out the dagger, hiding it underneath the folds of his bag.

Then he turns and swiftly slides it into Arata's chest. He doesn't expect it to work - but it does, wriggling its way through ribs. He drove it in further, scarlet spilling from the wound, warmth coating his face, his paws.

Aratius's face goes slack with shock.

The stream of tears begin again.


Last edited by Artemise on Fri Jan 05, 2018 3:33 am; edited 2 times in total
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Re: Artymas's Stories

Post by Artemise on Sat Oct 14, 2017 8:45 pm

His vision is filled with pain and anger and fear. His sister, his sister, his sister! One wing gone, she's helpless, what can Ventarros do, how long can he last against someone else if attacked? The older male can only help with Larkum's injuries, but not fully heal them; can Ventarros fight and patch up wounds at the same time? Ventarros, is he reliable? Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, will he hurt his sister, is he a traitor, but--

Ventarros had also slapped reason into him. Ventarros wouldn't betray them like that.

And Tophi had to get rid of the rest.

Two burst apart in an explosion of raging fire, and he felt most of his strength disappear, his rage abruptly dimming as his energy vanished. Still enough to keep him moving, though, and he tackled the remaining male, who flipped him over easily, so easily, Tophi's breath being knocked out of him, sand puffing up around them--

He screamed, arching upwards, as pain fizzled across his vulnerable eyes, the light around him winking out. He screamed in horror, feeling warmth slip down his cheeks, a mocking imitation of tears. His vision, he can't see...!

The male on top of him rolled off, presumably thanks to Amalyn, but his vision, where, black it's all black!

"Larkum, Larkum, I can't see you, is this normal?"


Last edited by Artemise on Fri Jan 05, 2018 3:35 am; edited 1 time in total
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Re: Artymas's Stories

Post by Artemise on Thu Nov 30, 2017 7:57 pm

Cunning. Watchful.

Those were the traits that she often saw in other Xoyans, though she would hardly assume the whole of the Xoya tribe would be like that. Perhaps it was just the area she lived in.

Caramina stood out, not only lacking the two traits that other Xoyan children her age used to battle with, but also having the tendency to speak her opinions freely, regardless of whether it might be considered an offense against the current Kommadant. Furthermore, she was a shocking white colour that stood out against the darker, more beautiful hues of the Xoyans, resembling the cool nighttime she liked.

(We want what we cannot have.)

As such she was often ostracised, but she didn't really care, because she had a whole family undivided by death — and to her, that was the only thing that mattered.

Even if the family was rather lacking of two parents: Her father frequently engrossing himself in the books he loved so, often spending nights in a library, and her mother busy working several jobs to earn a living for them all.

The rare time her mother was at home, she almost never spoke, though you could feel her presence. And when she did, her words were uttered in a clipped, emotionless voice, leading Caramina to think that she disliked her. The young dragoness despaired of this, wondering what she had done to be cursed with a mother who held no love for her child.

But as years passed, Caramina grew used to her mother's behaviour. Maybe she was naturally like that, she reassured herself, and on one fateful day she discovered the truth of what had happened to her maternal grandparents and the generations before.

Her clan had always been coveted for their almost otherworldly beauty, and had not originated from Xoya, making them seem foreign and rare. But they all shared one weakness: That they were especially susceptible to disease, which could easily wipe them all out.

Her mother's name was Izara.

A fiery dragoness she'd once been. She was sold off to a particularly lustful male — sold off? Caramina read with growing horror. Izara had refused to let him take her to bed, and the male had given her one chance: To have children with him or to doom her clan.

What could one dragon do? her mother had written in the diary.

She once more refused him, and in a burst of rage, he forced a poisoned drink down her throat. Izara would be immune to the disease that would spread, but others would die. And when she had children, they would discover her selfishness that had taken their relatives away. They would hate her and they would leave her.

Then she would be alone.

The male said, "You had a choice."

That was perhaps why Izara had been so distant, Caramina thought as she cried, grieving for the family she never had yet wanted to know, the sorrow of her mother's story.

Her brother Rihzome rubbed her back and wrapped his warm wings around her in a reassuring hug, letting her cry.

Izara at the door turned away, smiling softly.

They forgave her.
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Re: Artymas's Stories

Post by Artemise on Sat Dec 02, 2017 10:13 pm

"Where is he!?" Caramina demanded, frenzied eyes sweeping across the cave. Rihzome's possessions were still there, but the owner was gone, gone, gone!

Izara and her mate both shrugged, expressions downcast. "They say," she began, "that he was missing in action. Perhaps killed."

"That's bullcrap," Caramina spat, true anger leaking into her voice, into her disbelieving face. Her limbs were held tight by the stiff grip of her emotions. "Rihzome, killed in action? His mission was to slaughter the young draconiformes of a small village. He's skilled and not easily taken out, I know it. Stop lying to me!" Her words fell from her lips, harsh and accusing, and she regretted it when her father spoke, "You think we like to believe that?" hurt evident in his tone, his words.

"No. Yes. Maybe." Her heart pounding, she rushed into the room Rihzome had occupied, as if she would find him there.

"The head of spions is coming over in a few minutes to offer his condolences and what they could find of Rihzome," came her mother's voice from behind her, but she didn't lay a single paw on her daughter: Izara knew better than to touch Caramina when she was upset.

"Their condolences are worth as much as rat's droppings, and no more sincere than a hyena offering help," Cara hissed in response, swinging her head round to glare at her mother, who looked resigned as she said, "If you say so, dear," and was already beginning to leave the room to give Cara some space, "but I beg of you not to repeat this to anyone else."

Cara ripped out her diary and tore her emotions into it:

Rihzome, my brother, they say he's gone missing in combat or killed. But I don't believe that.

I'm so angry, I don't know at who. Is this what they call the blind pain of loss?

Am I not supposed to be grieving quietly? Why is it that book characters weep, while I want to tear rock with my claws? Is this normal?



...

The head of spions is coming over to 'offer his condolences,' they say.

I've seen him. His hard eyes.

And I can tell he is going to tell a lie.



I don't trust him. Would never.

Hurriedly she inscribed Rihzome's information, her memories with him. I feel like he's going to try something.

She slid the worn book under Rihzome's desk, then went out to meet the head of spion.
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