#tnotg lore

[withoutbounds-fr]

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“No.” Alphonse wasn’t taking this well “NO.” While Devi was detailing the situation, he’d started crying, but the smaller dragon sat there through the entire explanation until he was given the chance to speak. Well, yell, really. Al hadn’t done much yet than scream ‘no’ at her a few times, sobbing hysterically. And Devi was pretty sure he’d stopped listening about halfway through.

But she plunged out of her thoughts and back into reality as the sound of breaking glass rang out. More precisely, the sound of the window behind her shattering as Al’s magic slipped out of his control and lashed out in an explosion of colour, grabbing at anything it could touch. Books flew off the shelves, throwing themselves free the same way spooked birds would and the candles gasped out as if there was a strong wind in the room. Even when Alphonse's grip on his magic was loosened for the briefest of moments, chaos ensued. Blinking at the sight before her, Devi was stunned by what a mess her friend was. Tears leaked out of his eyes like rain off leaves and he was sobbing so hard he was curling into himself. Chest heaving and lips pulled back in a grimace, mouth agape to let the stuttering gulps of air through. He was sitting in the middle of his unfinished spell circle crying so much he was barely breathing. His eyes were clamped shut, and she knew then he would be dead to the world unless she intervened. So she needed to remedy the situation at hand, and fast. “Look, I know this must be hard -” “Hard?” His voice cracked, “Hard?” Al gave a sound similar to that of a wounded animal; high pitched and whining between clenched teeth. The Guardian got the idea. “This must be hard?” A crazed laugh spilled out from between Al’s jaws. For a moment the only sound in the room was laughter. The Spiral stood in the centre of the room, limbs akimbo and mouth open too wide to be natural as the noise greedily swallowed everything. She was frozen where she stood, claws scratching at the hardwood beneath her feet. The scritch-scritch-scritch following the thumping heartbeat in her ears. Her legs were crouched low to the ground - she was a trapped animal. The one functioning wing she had arched wildly, almost trying to take off without her. But Alphonse wasn’t quite finished with her. “Devi, I love you, but trust me when I say my patience has a limit and you,” he choked around a sob, “had the sheer audacity” a sniffle, “to come into my house and try to tell me...” His voice wobbled at that last word, and he let out another burst of bitter laughter, “That my husband - the only person who was there for me when Salem quite literally banned my existence...” He stopped, eyes glazing over, blinking away tears furiously. Devi leaned forward, raising a paw slightly, hoping for a chance to comfort the Spiral. With a jerking motion, he whipped around to face her again, still crying. “He was the only one!” Al was screaming now. “The - I was alone! He stayed! He stayed! He stayed!” He was shaking something vicious as he yelled at her, stamping his feet on the ground in time to the chant. “And to even suggest that now - after everything he’s done for me, everything he’s put up with - he’d go behind my back and -” The magician cut himself off with a quiet sob, and Devi tentatively moved to bring the smaller dragon into a hug, but she was roughly shoved away. Too soon, then. “You don’t know what the first few years down here were like…” the Spiral trailed off, moving away slightly. At least he was calmer now. “It was solitary isolation; we were the only ones down here… there’s a certain kind of loneliness that comes when you feel like the last two people alive. I couldn’t put words to it if I tried but...” he gasped, hugging himself tightly. Something in Devi told her he was more memory than lucid thought right now. “Have you ever discovered you're the only person in a house when you expected there to be other people? It’s searching for your friend, or your family, or even your roommate. It’s searching up and down and on all the floors and not finding anyone. The panic and shock… Because it’s just you. And the house. And it’s like that. Just that alone feeling��� it doesn’t stop.” Al’s voice cracked on the last word as he teetered on the edge between a full-blown breakdown and quiet sobs. “Al… I wouldn’t lie to you about this… You know that.” Devi was praying she hadn't just lost her closest friend, and softly placed a paw on his shoulder, right wing rubbing against her side anxiously. He friend flinched... but didn’t pull away. What he did do, however, was look directly into her eyes again. The Guardian resisted the urge to bob her head down and avoid eye contact, but her instincts said this was a test. And then Alphonse snarled - and Devi had never once in her life heard the magician snarl before - his next words into her face; “And I am telling you that my husband, who, instead of abandoning me for the glory of the Coliseum, came home every night and made my life worth living. Beachcomber went up only for his coliseum matches, he came back down only because he wanted to.” Her friend took in a shuddering breath, claws easing into fists as he shrugged off Devi’s paw, “At any moment Beach could have decided to stay in the Capital - as a battle mage he has the right to do whatever he pleases - but he didn’t. He went through hell with me because he loves me - because I love him...” There was a heavy silence. Al glared at the floor. Devi shifted uneasily on her feet, waiting for him to continue. Abruptly, he turned to face her and hissed, “So I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. And I expect you to listen.”

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9/?

What Did You Think?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Alphonse

[rk-xin]

What are their pronouns? If I remember correctly in chapter six at the part where dream was talking to Wilbur on the phone he used they/them at some point for Carys.

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED

astutia: he/him primarily but is okay with any other pronoun sets used on him

carys: any. doesn't really mind, gender is a a construct, but does have a preference for masculinity

aka yes nonbinary george carys is real! oftentimes I just use he/him for both, in the narrative, just so it doesn't get too confusing with switching pronoun sets :)

[rk-xin]

We got a list of characters that inspired carys, could we possibly get one for astutia :D?

you sure can!

introducing: a comprehensive list of characters that inspired dream astutia!

sengoku from horimiya

school president. a little bit of a wimp (but in an endearing way). tries his best at everything and concerns himself with students, helping them in any way he can :) a good guy.

asahi from haikyuu

beloved. kind. gentle. sweet. might be jesus

yukio - my oc

his story is a pretty convoluted one so I won't bore you with the details, but the basis is: he's a figure skater in college who lives in the constant shadow of his parents, and has trouble dealing with the pressure of always being perfect. he's seen by his peers as a golden boy, the picturesque son of his family. hes a responsible guy, maybe a little to uptight sometimes, but he means well

isaac - another oc lol

isaac is actually yukio's love interest! astutia may or may not be their love child lmao oops? anyway isaac is a really optimistic, bright, and overall cheerful lad. he slots himself into yukio's life and lets him know he doesn't have to be perfect all the time, etc. etc. isaac's the kinda guy you can trust with your drink at a party!

nick from heartstopper

nick was Not an original inspiration for astutia, i only started reading heartstopper recently. BUT! hes definitely one now. i like to think theyd be friends. they both try their best to make someone feel included and happy; a people-person yk?

kirishima from bnha

uh. we're gonna. . . swiftly move past this one

armand - NOT A CHARACTER! THIS IS A REAL LIFE PERSON LMAO found him from the YT channel "korean englishman"

how do i even begin to explain this one. uh. just... school president (kinda). he seems like a good, responsible guy, and charismatic to his peers. he's not necessarily an "inspiration" per se? but he's definitely someone I keep in mind whenever I write about astutia's character. just the way he presents himself; how he holds himself - its really something I think astutia would be like, if he were real

tadano from komi-san can't communicate

a really good guy who has the best in mind when it comes to other people. a mediator and definitely a peacemaker. cant handle romance (when directed at himself)

thats all i can remember rn! the bottom line is, astutia's a good guy who tries his best. he hasnt cracked under the pressure (yet).

[rk-xin]

hi hi hii very important question, is french mom minerva or weeb!mom, and please share additional mrs astutias lore thank you in advance

chapter 7 actually covers more about the astutia moms!! but since I'm lagging on that (lol) here's a run-down on the two gals :)

ma - minerva astutia

the (not-so-former) former party chick

white - aussie aussie aussie (ancestry probably from europe somewhere)

has dimple piercings

unpredictable before her morning coffee

mom - aissatou "aya" astutia-sene

the weeb. beloved.

french - from senegal

knits sweaters in her free time

the kind and caring one (that you shouldn't mess with)

[rk-xin]

if this isnt spoilers in any way, what do you think astutia and carys would major in? and also what would it look like 10 years down the line? like their career paths etc

or even, what was their childhood like? its probably spoiler zone on carys end so what was dre's like? what was his favorite toy or little habits he did, maybe even his grade/middle school life? is he adopted by the moms or is that not relevant enough to be stated

please ramble about the boys i love hearing them, they make me so happy and i may be mentally ill

if im gonna be completely honest with you i havent thought that much into their futures HAHAHHHSGHSDJ but !!!! theres the rough idea (thank shi) that they would room together in college. carys pulls some strings and gets it to happen - violence may or may not have been involved; who's to say?

as for their majors, i could not for the life of me come up with ones for ya. all i know is that astutia could probably go into either STEM, education, or business pathways (smth like that) while carys would probably either go the creative route or something like languages - he's not really looking to build his "job-seeking" skills per se, as he's got a job that pays well (which will be revealed in ch8!)

regarding their childhoods... again, not something ive done any major worldbuilding on (LMAO). the base line is that dream was adopted by his moms at a young age (too young for him to specifically remember). there's probably a deeper story there that i could make, but for now, that's all thats significant about his origin :) his childhood however! I'd like to think he's always been a mama's boy. attached to his moms - yk, the type of kid to cry at the first day of kindergarten bc he doesn't want his parents to leave. going through school, as his academic record stays impressive, i reckon he slowly forms into the responsible role he has now - he's a natural-born leader; he loves having a community to take care of. (he's still a mama's boy tho.)

meanwhile, carys is a,,, complex story i suppose. even i still havent gotten to the gist of it. too busy writing drabbles of them being gay lmao. but HIS base line is that he comes from a not-so-great household - the extent to which that household affected him, i havent figured out yet, but safe to assume its Pretty Bad - and walked away from it all a while ago. which led him to where he is now, with astutia. he doesn't associate with his family - hence why he claims he "has no parents": because as far as he's concerned, he really doesnt.

i could go on for way longer but that would a) require a lot of background information that i havent revealed yet bc spoilers lol and b) probably take way too much time kjhskdjhf. hope you enjoy this tho !!! thanks for the q it was fun to ramble :))

[rk-xin]

it's a complicated thing but I honestly wasn't going to spend time on the backstory I gave him. maybe I could through a side story or smth idk

did people forget carys is an orphan or

[withoutbounds-fr]

Trigger warning: panic described after cut. Skip the first chunk if you are sensitive to this content

Oh, he was cruel. He was so, so cruel. He had, of course, just left Devi alone with herself, and she was a fearful mistress. 

She’d backed herself into a corner. Stupid. She’d tried to count Beachcomber’s steps, to know when it was safe to- to… Gullible. Her vision blurred. God. Breathing came in ragged gasps. You’re being irrational. She fell to the ground, front paws scratching at her eyes. Stop this. A choked sob escaped into the air. She found herself outside Trinkets sooner than she expected and only barely remembered the walk over. Everything had been a blur and the word ‘disassociation’ buzzed up in her fog-drenched mind, A burning need sat heavy in the Guardian. An impulsive one, where she so desperately wanted to rip her chest apart and spill the secret she knew. To the world. To Al. To Transmutation. Al. He deserved to know the truth; deserved better than the mongrel that was his husband. But right now, what she wanted more than anything was someone who she could grieve with. Call her selfish for bringing her friend down with her, but she was going to tell him regardless. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity to be comforted by someone who could feel sympathy towards her, rather than just a false sense of pity. There was something to be had between two people feeling lied to. But you haven’t been. Lied to that is. You haven’t been. Beachcomber cannot be trusted and those books are nothing but brainwashing and propaganda and Salem. With a soft whine, she pushed open the door. Devi didn’t know what she’d do if she found Beachcomber waiting inside. Maybe she’d kill him. Trinkets was uncharacteristically dark and musty. The establishment, which was usually breathing with fresh life, hung still and motionless. It seemed as if the chill of the city had followed Devi in. Had it? "Al?" she whispered. The situation seemed to call for it. "Al?" louder this time, but still no response. She knew the Spiral was here; magic hung too heavy in the air for him to be anywhere else. Muttering under her breath she moved deeper into the belly of the beast. Buildings built out of pure magic like this one were, in the most literal sense, alive. They were not places you navigated without a guide, as each was equipped with a nasty arsenal of inlaid defensive spells. Not to mention an indulgent amount of dragon-like sentience. Steeling herself, she dove into the mess of halls and rooms and doors. She wandered deeper into the house. The corridors clenched around her like a swallowing throat, pulling her down and down and down. In this realm, there was a natural silence, and the calming quiet brought on comfort. Most days. Now, it just warped the gaping, winding, starving house. Footsteps followed her. They were hers. She'd checked. Though2 that knowledge didn't stop her from looking over her shoulder every few minutes. Each and every time she did Devo expected Al, or Beachcomber, or BloodMagic, or Barachiel, or some eldritch abomination summoned by Trinkets to be standing there, waiting to murder her. But each and every time Devi was only met with her reflection, painted against the glass of a window and glittering with stars. Trinkets had been built into an eternal night; the Spiral loved astronomy and stargazing with Beachcomber and built an observatory just to take advantage of the fake stars he'd put in a fake sky to watch with a fake mate. Stars whose constellations he already knew by heart because, after all, he'd put them in that sky himself. At least he'd known the stars were fakes. But her reflection wasn't fake. Here, it was still bound by the same physics as it would be in the capital. So they'd stare at one another for a bit, and then Devi would breathe, shuddering, and turn around. And be alone again. And carry on with her pilgrimage. She prayed the feeling wasn't an omen. Judging by the pulsing magic saturating the building, the magician had to be in the spell room so she headed there, and held the memory of it in her mind like a shield, desperately seeking its silk lined, white marble door. Alphonse had to be there, and if she became lost or too nervous the house would mark her as a stranger. And facing off against the dormant magic her friend had gifted the house was the last thing she wanted, because now, more than ever, she felt ill-equipped to go up against spells that powerful. Glancing the pale silhouette of the door from around the corner, she ran to it. Desperate but rejuvenated at the sight of it, she half forgot the grim reason she was visiting. Finally. Her legs drummed across the wooden floorboards for a moment and then - stopping, one set of claws resting on the doorknob. Anxiety had suddenly riddled her core. What if she interrupted an important spell and the magician hurt himself? What if he didn't believe her? What if he was dead and Beachcomber had killed him. Or maybe this pushed her friend over the edge. Devi would admit that she didn't know what kind of mental state he was in, but this could do anyone in. Or Beachcomber! He could be in there with Al and then she'd have a competitor - someone trying to sway her friend at the same time she was. Devi wasn't sure she could handle that. And maybe there'd- "Oh, Dev! I didn't hear you come in!" and... when did she open the door. "Is everything alright? You look rather pale, well, paler than usual I mean." The Spiral gave a quiet laugh at his own joke as he approached the Guardian, abandoning the intricate spell circle on the floor. "I..." she turned away from his gaze, gods, he knew she hated it when he made eye contact like that, "Yeah. Can we sit down?" Devi padded over to one of the window seats, praying Al would follow unquestioned. He did, which was a small blessing. "I need to tell you something, it's important... and..." the Guardian swallowed around her words. "Yes?" the poor Spiral looked so worried, so concerned. Oh, he thought this was about her. Again, his fatherly traits struck at Devi's heart. This time, however, they didn't bring to mind the happy memories of squeaking hatchlings she'd half considered her own, but just reminded her that Beachcomber's lies had brought up a family. Those kids had never properly been Al's. Devi wondered if they knew about the affair, about their heritage. She kneaded the fabric beneath her, sucked in a breath through her teeth and then, "It's about Beachcomber."

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8/?

What Did You Think?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Alphonse

[withoutbounds-fr]

The bar door clattered shut behind her and Devi stepped out from the doorframe, booze clutched possessively in her claw and left wing half spread, anxious. Wary with her steps, the dim light cast from behind the thick and agitated cloud layer masked her movements.

Water kicked up around her feet as she snaked through the throng of dragons, ankle-deep puddles further inhibiting her moves. She was too eager to get to a place with fewer people, so she could enjoy the spoils of her victory without the fear of being spotted. Devi forgot how loud the market was; the escapades to the Blind Owl were night-time things. Not many people about, then. In the day, chatter chased after her as she ducked into a side street. Scurrying like a street rat, she moved on all fours with a swiftness few possessed. The buildings shifted around her, changing from neatly laid stone to haphazard brick and murk. Thatch roofs heralded the darker part of town. In an ironic twist of fate, these had become her people. Sometimes, she’d miss the extravagance of her old life, the parties, the glory, the fame, the friends. Coliseum members were exalted citizens in Querevage. To think she’d been one, once. But on days like today, with a nice champagne in hand and the sun in tow, she didn't miss it as much. She began to settle, now. Far enough away from the centre of the capital that she was closer to the shack than the palace's shadow. A dusty nook between two decrepit houses was safe enough as anywhere to get wasted in. Flopping down onto the cobbled stretch of road, she palmed the neck of the bottle, enjoying the cooling effect the condensation had on her claw pads. No point trying to ration it, she thought, Can't keep it in the shack - the patrol comes around with their weekly check on Tuesday. What if they found it? What then?Huffing, Devi reached for the cap, intending to snap it off and chug. Then, a burst of movement flickered in the corner of her vision. Stopping herself, she peered out of the corner of her eye, searching for the intruder. A tail flickered down an alley. If they'd seen her with the champagne they could report her and she'd be chucked into the cells again. Devi would not stand for that. Jolting to her feet she darted after the intruder. She needed to see who they were first. If she had dirt on them she could bargain but if not... she'd just have to pray that by some miracle they hadn't seen her. Stuffing the bottle into a pocket she scrambled to her feet and darted after the intruder with more stealth than her crippled body normally allowed her. If the angrily throbbing wing was any indication, it didn’t thank her for it. Nonetheless, the hunt was on. Down winding alleys and between even progressively more rundown buildings, she tailed them. The quick pace at which they walked hampered her deduction. It was too fast to get any sense of colour beyond a blur of motion, however, their wings - held high and proud above their back - paired with a slender tail meant they were likely a Skydancer. Names began rattling off in her head; Gemini, Satyr, Beachcomber, Cricket, Oculus. Anyone of them could and would be perfectly fine with dragging her through the mud. Beachcomber, despite being Alphonse’s mate, had no loyalties to her, and all the rest were free game. The pace was picking up. A street and a turn. A right and then a left. A left again. Straight for three streets and then an alley and - they were finished. The climax was upon them. Devi’s opponent skittered into a small door was pressed into a distant wall, and she watched with impossible stillness as their tail skittered through it. Waiting, now. One. Two. She launched herself towards an empty space, slotting behind debris and peered into a grime-covered window. Whoever was in the abandoned shop obviously wanted the utmost secrecy. This part of town was full of nontalkers - criminals and dragons with secrets and those against the Salem and people who just knew how to mind their own business. None of them would go to the authorities, none of them were whistleblowers. If you wanted to make mischief, this was the place. So when she recognized the pair of unmistakable figures inside. She was surprised, to say the least. A brown Skydancer and a green Spiral. Beachcomber and Transmutation. The latter was his coworker. For a moment, relief flooded Devi. Whatever this was had nothing to do with her. These two people were definitely not meeting over how to plot her untimely demise. In this glowing realization, she cared very little for this clandestine meeting between the high-ranking citizens. But both were public figures and had no reason to meet in secret like this. They could talk plenty fine in the market. So what was the game here? Why go through all the trouble of hiding? Curiosity flushed something vivid in her, and a quiet voice in the Guardian promised a reward for her patience. So she remained where she was, barely daring to breathe. Hushed tones passed between the pair inside, followed by shuffling. The two moved closer to each other, just a hair’s width of space now, as Transmutation eagerly tugged on the Skydancer's collar. Their murmurs grew into a muffled but animated discussion as the pace of conversation picked up. He looked anxious, and his gaze flickered around the room before his eyes hit the window. Ducking down before she even registered his gaze, a fresh wave of anxiety pulsed in her Did he see me? Three painful seconds of deathly quiet until - “Come now, Beachboy, it’s just nerves getting to you,” Devi peaked up again. Just in time to see the Spiral put her hand on her partner’s face, and alarm bells started going off in her head, “No one’s around - we made sure of it.” The voice was hard to hear from Devi’s vantage point, but she was thankful the fighter was able to soothe the Skydancer. It bought her a little more time to figure out what was going on. Beachcomber relaxed, sighed, and then, for a moment, stillness. But it was only a moment. And it was with a banging and unhesitant motion that the two came together. Transmutation collided with Beachcomber in a flurry of wings and fur and moans. The large crashing from the shop only barely registered in Devi as the scene before her slowly began to click into place. There was a pause in her, between the moment of shock and the moment of realization, and the world slowed. Gears figuratively turned. The red-eyed crows cawed. A frigid breeze kicked up. Something in Devi... clicked. Reeling back now. She tried to muffle her indignant cry but to no use, it was something else that gave her away. All three of them startled like deers. The 'lovers' scrambling apart and going stiff. Their ears perked at the noise - at the sound of glass breaking.

6/?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Transmutation | Beachcomber

[withoutbounds-fr]

A creature of action rather than thought, the Guardian’s first impulse upon discovering the affair was to rip the door off its hinges and storm the coupled dragons with a hellish screech. 

In a flurry of wings, noise shattered against her ears, and the world shook. Violence called after Devi’s paws as they thundered against the dirt floor like cannon fire. Transmutation, ever the quick thinker, leapt for the window. Scrambling out of it, the flurried sound of flapping wings filled the room. And Beachcomber attempted to follow it. A fast placed paw on his tail put a halt to that delusion. He hit the floor and lunged at the door - a desperate animal. But in the small space, Devi was able to block him with her size. Snarling, she reared and roared something wild, fury blinding rational thought. Trapped, the smaller dragon scampered to a breathless stop and gazed in shocked horror at the beast above him. The Skydancer panted, winded. Devi held his gaze, still raised above the ground, heaving herself. Beachcomber pawed the ground under him where he crouched in the dirt, feet dusty and darkened. For a moment, the world paused, and nothing existed but this damp room and their dust-soaked breathing and the air hanging heavy around their heads. Then, gently, Devi eased her front legs to the ground. Puffs of dust greeted her feet as they came to rest on the ground. “Just who the hell do you think you are,” she hissed, stopping for a moment to let a ragged breath pass through her teeth. Sliding up to the mage, she began again, “You have a husband at home who loves you more than the air he breathes, who would die for you and puts up with your arrogance and raised two children for you! You didn’t help. He- I’d know! You were in your precious coliseum all day. Too damn busy to care what your kids were doing -” “Like you have ground to stand on! Like you wouldn’t jump straight back into the thick of the coli if given half a chance!” leaping up to look Devi properly in the eyes, bringing to light the vindictive rage flashing in them. He was so upset. She wanted to laugh. The Skydancer thought he was the victim here. Not his husband, who was blissfully unaware of the whole affair. Not Transmutation, whom Beachcomber clearly didn’t love enough to commit to. Not Devi, now tasked with telling her friend the truth. But the fury in the Guardian had passed, the enemy had blinked first, and her charge’s need for battle had been appeased. Only a pitiful sorrow remained. And she was so exhausted from previous paranoia, and from the hunt here, and from her charge which had sapped her strength to pull this stunt. She wanted to cry. Her closest friend - who had raised two children for this dog - was married to this pathetic excuse for a dragon. The betrayal ran deep in her bones and she felt it as sharply as if it had been her own mate. Now fighting off tears, she half begged “Alphonse is the best thing to happen to me in years. To either of us. Why would you...” “Why? That’s what you want to know? Why do you think!?” something almost like pity passed over the drake’s features, “Alphonse... is a ball and chain to himself. I’d die before he takes me down with him. He’s stuck down there in those - in those rat tunnels. Judge all you like, I see it in your eyes - you’re disgusted with me. Ha! I don’t blame you. But I’m not sharing his fate. It’s claustrophobic. The same house. The same rooms. The same yard. The same view. There’s nothing different! Nothing to do! It’s solitary confinement. There’s a whole world up here - people up here. I need people and air. I need a life” the drake ran shaking claws through his crest, “I’d go crazy down there, trust me! I did try. I loved him, once. I swear I did...” it was Devi’s turn to feel pity. Of course she pitied this weak creature. A sneer crossed her features, “I’m sure you did.” She laughed. It was a humourless, quiet thing, pressed close to her chest where she hung her head, eyes drifting away. “Just like you love Zip, hmm?” Uncharacteristically, the mage growled in response. “Come on. Come on! You - you don’t get to act all high and mighty! You know what it’s like, don’t you? To feel trapped? And you. You were a pet to that mongrel, same as Platinum-Barachiel!” “This isn’t about me or BloodMagic, and definitely not that two-faced son of a-” the Guardian was quick to defend her former leader, and Beachcomber had some nerve in mentioning the Imperial. “Isn’t it!?” a wide, sweeping gesture followed the expression. “Look me dead in my eyes and tell me you were happy working under the necromancer. Tell me you didn’t want more! I’m not spending my life moping around in those tunnels with that Spiral,” he snarled, “Just like Barachiel couldn’t spend his acting as an attack dog!” Her temper snapped. A claw came down hard on Beachcomber’s pretty little face, “YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT BARACHIEL AND NOTHING ABOUT BLOODMAGIC!” Clutching his bleeding head the smaller dragon shot back, “I know enough! How good could he have been if the Platinum was willing to kill him!” “Barachiel and I loved him.” “Oh, yes, that’s why BloodMagic’s dead. Our patriarch ‘loved’ him so much he killed him.” “You don’t know anything.” She refused to meet his eye. “Barachiel was seduced by that beast - by Salem - she promised him every dream he’d never dared to hope for. He scoffed, “And why was that? Why couldn’t he hope to rule alongside the great and powerful BloodMagic?” A low growl rumbled out of Devi’s chest, “Oh don’t start that! The history books -” “Propaganda.” “The history books tell all. He was a ruler with an iron fist. He didn’t share and you know it. You and the Platinum were nothing but conveniences to him; things he could use. It’s hilarious, really, that you’re in the slums while he’s living it up in the palace. Poetic justice, I guess. Don’t get me wrong I hate Salem as much as the next guy, but you gotta admit, he was the only one smart enough to realize what a scam the pre-Salem era was.” Her posture wavered, but Devi clung to the door nonetheless, refusing to let the mage pass, “You never loved Al, did you. That’s why you dumped Gemini and Satyr on him. You were too busy slipping between Transmutation’s thighs. They’re her kids, aren’t they? I wouldn’t be surprised” “I’m going to pretend you’re not trying to change the subject and invite you to mull over something for me. I just want you - and this is just a,” he paused, leaning into the Guardian’s space, “personal little favour. Ask yourself this, why is it that it was only after he died that you thought of BloodMagic as a friend? I’ve heard you tell Alphonse about him. But did you ever bother to question it? It’s not like you didn’t know what a friend was,” his smile was a jagged thing sitting high on his face. “So,” he put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m going to leave you with that and you,” he hissed, “are going to move.” And she did.

7/?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Beachcomber

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**Note: mild panic attack occurs within work

In the morning - like every morning - consciousness reared its ugly head far too late into the day to be normal. A storm crouched outside shuttered windows and trickled through the leaky roof. 

Rain pelted down and puddled on the floor, a crumbling backdrop of noise. Sometime in the night, a deep set cold leaked into the room. The Guardian had never hated anything more than this shack. At least the rain made the usually dusty air fresh again. Al must’ve brought her back to the misty-eyed building after she passed out. A shame, really. Devi wanted to talk to him about the memory. Stuttering to her feet, she lurched off the bed - more of a cot, really - and managed to stabilize herself before she hit the ground. The walls shuddered. Wood creaked. Lightning boomed. Devi wobbled. Lumbering forward on achy legs, she moved towards the kitchen, careful to avoid the clothes strewn across the wood in haphazard piles. Drowning out the smell of wet earth was the stench of rotting food coming from the sink. She couldn't remember the last time she cleaned but brushed the thought to the side. Right now, she needed something to fix the ache in her stomach, not the lingering pain in her bones. Sustenance was found in the form of an unopened, if slightly crumpled, bag of dried fruits. They were unopened for a reason. Sitting in the only empty nook of the house, she allowed her mind to wander to the mess around her. To the pots on the counter, to the clothes on the floor, to the rafters covered with dust, to the cracks in the windows. Maybe that was why she hated this place. It was a visual representation of her lack of control, showing just how far her life had spiralled out of her hands. She wanted to laugh and cry and shake and drink and burn this place to the ground. She couldn't clean it. Devi couldn't clean it. The Guardian settled on a drink. At least that'd get her out of this hell hole. The walk to the bar was a brisk one; she hated being out in the daylight. Too many dragons in the street - and even more of them flying above her head. Just another item on the list of hated things. At least she could put a why to this one; seeing the others hanging in the sky so easily made her oldest wounds feel fresh and red again. They were another reminder of how trapped she was without her wing, of the patheticness of her vulnerability. She stopped looking at them. Salem should’ve left her for dead, but the beast was too smart for that. Why slaughter Devi alongside BloodMagic when she was the perfect poster child for what happened if you tried to fight back? In the daylight, the alleys only seemed narrower. They skimmed her wing where she held it high, and wisped against the other, held close to her side. Turning the corner, she slipped into the crowd, surrounded by rolling noise and the general din of the market. Ahava’s clinic was along this stretch of road and sat there comfortably as an anomaly. But sitting opposite from The Blind Owl, not one dragon would ever argue against having the two facilities so close together. They were placed that way for a reason, after all. The number of dragons who enjoyed the pleasurable company of liquor and ended up injured was too great for the walk to be any farther. A drunken Quereven was still a Quereven - full of teeth and rage and spite. The tavern served all manner of customers, from street rats like herself to members of the High Court. Ethereal, the Head of the Royal Guard and Salem’s personal henchman was a notable frequent, probably because one of her adoptive children was the barkeep. Devi knew four people who wanted her dead and twelve who were angling for her position, but unless the offending party was inside, idle gossip about a government official had no place muddling her thinly-stretched mind. She pushed through the swamp of dragons to the door, enjoying the soft creak of hinges older than her. The bar was always a strange place to be. It seemed to exist outside of time itself, dark and dank and damp even while lightning lit the sky. No noise came through the roof, not the patter of rain or the roar of thunder. But as disconcerting as that was, it wasn’t wet, either. Chatter shifted through the air, as the patrons hummed like mayflies. Not one met her gaze. Clips of conversation fluttered against the Guardian's ears as the ancient floorboards fell soft under her feet. She moved towards the counter and a nostalgic sense of familiarity washed over Devi. Hoard, the bartender, blinked with a start and turned to watch her approach, scanning her over. They’d always been too perceptive for their own good, but it meant they knew what to do when she got in a state. Back facing Devi, they began to fuss over the bottles on the wall, trying to find her usual gin, and began to make light conversation, “Got into another fight?” they turned to her briefly, a somewhat mocking look lighting their features. “You care?” the jibe was probably unwarranted, but so was a judgy bartender. She didn’t have time for them. “Perhaps not. But you’re limping - more than’s usual for you, and,” they shot her a dirty look, “You’re in a mood,” A sneer crawled over their face, “Can’t have you starting anything, Bronze.” Bronze was an ugly word to be throwing around and another reminder of the class system in place. Tiered from bronze up to platinum, every hierarchical level had a specific prefix, each lovingly created by Salem. Bronze was the lowest, it marked her as a criminal and a delinquent. And god if she’d had a choice she’d still be up in the coliseum duking it out alongside Barachiel and BloodMagic. The ignorance in those days had been bliss. In short, it did nothing to better her mood. “Give me the booze, barkeep, before I get tired of waiting,” the Skydancer turned back to their work, huffing, but knowing better than to risk losing a customer. Devi had no such boundaries and sense of proper manned. “And to think I’ve heard you’re supposed to be fast.” That got their attention. The glass came down against with a hard thunk against the countertop, and she was almost proud of the deep-set glare on the barkeeper's face. She would’ve said they were fiery, but they were glacial and cold in a deep-set glare. “And may I ask,” they paused, for dramatic effect, tilting their head so it was illuminated by the fireplace, “Who exactly said that?” The kid had flare, she’d give them that, and the shift in tone told her they knew what kind of gossip they were speaking with. It was her turn to be a drama queen, and tilting her head, she responded, “I’m guessing someone doesn’t want one of the exes tattling to mommy? A real shame, this one had quite the mouth,” She took some time to smile at them, knowing she was holding all the cards. It was their fault, really, they shouldn’t have gone after her like that, “Why don’t you make it worth my while?” The Guardian loved it when she could play this part. They reached beneath the bar, muttering several unsavoury things under their breath before producing a good sized bottle of champagne - High Court level stuff. Now they were talking. Voice hushed, she told her story, “Undertow was by the Cognac last… Tuesday, was it? Late at the night, mind you -” “I take it you were heading home to lick your wounds, hmm?” This kid had been raised too high-class to know an ounce of respect. But no time for that, she had a tale and a bottle of booze on the line. Priorities must be set. Devi compromised and snarled rather than ripping their tongue out. “He was with Beachcomber and Sythys. Talk to them.” She beamed at Hoard, and they released her prize, setting it down on the table. Gathering it up she whipped around, moving to leave before someone of authority caught her with something beyond her ranking. The weather outside had turned pleasant, and she was just as pleased with that as she was to have something go right today. One last thing. She shot a glance over her shoulder, “And if you feel like dumping him in the river,” she laughed, “Be discrete with it, kid. I don’t want it pinned on me!” Hoard grimaced at that, “Well you know all dead bodies anyway!” They hollered at her retreating back.

5/?

What Did You Think?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Hoard

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Ready is a relative term. What was ready for them - ready for Alphonse - was the breaking point for Devi.

This part of the procedure was consistently and thoroughly terrifying. The Spiral was a surgeon with a scalpel. He had total control over every aspect of her being with this much magic rippling through her. With the amount of influence the Spiral had over her in these moments, he would barely have to think and her body would be dead on the floor. Her heartbeat was more his than hers, such was the completeness of the spell. In the space they created between them, he became God. And such trust and the sheer unfamiliarity of it brought on a paranoia she’d rather not think about. Trust was not easy for Devi, but perhaps that was the tradeoff. Faith for wellbeing, a tunnelling vision for health. And when the floor began to sway - buffeted by the wild will of her friend - she wouldn’t scream. Then, she was plunged into a darkness so smothering she couldn’t breathe. Sinking further and further into the dark, bubbles spiralling up around her. Liquid night. Her jaw snapped open. This wasn't normal - this was another world. A world within a world. Beyond both the capital and the underground; it was a shimmering black expanse, thick and luxurious in the way it rippled against her form. Legs kicked with a survivor’s desperation and the current tore through her, dragging and pushing, shoving and pulling. Her body thrashed. Bubbles escaped into the space above her. Another attempt at screaming. Why wasn't Al doing anything!? Something burned in her lungs. Her vision lunged, and ears popped. She could see again. This... was familiar. She was back in Trinkets, the spell room, and not the living room she'd been in previously. Devi recognized the memory for what it was immediately. Before her stood herself and Al, huddled around a half-drawn magic circle, with their outlines so smudged they may as well be glowing. Here, Alphonse had tried to teach her the fundamentals of magic. Tried being the key word. While the practice never really caught on, she'd needed the company, especially with BloodMagic's death so fresh in your mind. Their friendship was only possible because of their circumstances in those early years. The Guardian had just lost her title, her friend, and the other had just been forced underground. Both had been lonely beyond compare, both sought out the comfort of another outcast. Neither would've given the other a second glance just months before. Was the Spiral showing her this? "I'm not sure I'm cut out for this. Run it by me again, Alphonse?" Her own voice sounded distorted - far away - as if Devi were sitting at the bottom of a pool, listening to what was going on above her. She was still in the black, then. It would explain the distant sound of rushing water. "You're getting there," Al smiled at memory-her, "It's really no different than writing." It seemed the pair couldn't see Devi. So carefully assuming this was some strange side-effect of being magically bound to the other dragon, she sat down and waited. "No good at that either," she barked. The smaller dragon looked mildly frustrated and tried again. "Then think of it like circuitry. The runes are the components of the circuit and the lines, the wiring," he looked up to check that the Guardian was understanding. She seemed to be, so he continued, "The bigger the rune, the more energy it takes up, and the more heavily it influences the spell. You need to connect them directly to the battery." He patted the star in the centre of the inner circle, specifically where one point of the star met a bubbled rune. Devi nodded blearily, "And it's in it's own mini circle because...?" "You don't leave a live wire exposed - it seals the excess magic. The little ones," he placed a claw on the symbols layered between the inner and outer circles 'shells' he had called them, "Tell the circuit what to do with the big ones." "Okay... okay." She was still clearly confused, and Al, teacher-mode engaged, was not having it. "So, say you have three major runes. One's for healing, the other's for limbs, and the third's for bone. That's all fine and dandy, but something so broad - it's going to really drain you. If you only need to heal a broken bone, it's inefficient. What the little ones do is tell it that - oh - the femur in the right hind leg has been broken in two places. Much simpler." Devi didn't think so, but said nothing - whether too eager to learn or not wanting to offend the Spiral, she couldn't remember. "What if I want to hurt someone." The magician jumped back at this, eyes wide and somewhat fearful. Devi didn't know when her past self's eyes had lit up so strangely, but they dimmed now, and she was left with no small amount of horror herself. "I'm not teaching you that." The Guardian said something else, but for some reason, it sounded just as sinister, "What if someone wants to hurt me?" "That's," Alphonse hesitated, not quite sure he should trust the Guardian after her previous inquiry, "Well, that's easy. You just break the circuit." For effect, he dragged his claws through the shells of the circle, leaving three stark, white lines in his wake. There was a tug on Devi’s neck, and suddenly something pulled her above water, the rushing sound echoing around her. And gasping, she breached.

4/?

What Did You Think?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Alphonse

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Alleys were the only real way to travel in Querevage, even before Salem. Devi, cramming her way through one, should know.

 For better or for worse, the Guardian had become particularly acquainted with the nooks and crannies of the capital. Cool walls draped themselves along the passageway, bricks wet with the night ran against her vision as she moved, glinting silver in the moonlight spilling against her back. Puffs of soot stained her claws black as even blacker crows with empty eyes hung vivid in the sky like painted toys. Their gentle spiralling only kept her on edge. They had changed with Salem. They watched, now. Soft whispered words were the only thing Devi found trustable. They were traceable - a few questions here, and a vague interrogation there, and a source was easily acquired. And that source could be beaten to a pulp until they answered. Only some small part of Devi would cry out in frustration, cry out at the wrongness of it all. The Guardian knew how to silence that voice up. It'd be suicide to follow it, and death to let it tempt her. And the images of BloodMagic's fall were still as fresh as they were the day it happened. She refused to die. The only remaining thing she'd ever been truly thankful for was that the heart of the city had stayed the same. Still made of blood and battle, only further confirmed by the distant roar of two dragons duking it out in the distance. Even if it made her bandaged wounds ache at the sound of it, it was one of the few things still familiar about this place. She kept moving. Sometimes, she’d look up at the moon and be reminded of the sun. Of better times. Of the bright yellow and the gold and the too-red blood. Of Salem. The imperial was a scourge if you asked any self-respecting dragon; the beast had taken this clan between her jaws back with The Fall, and Devi’s home had become unfamiliar. Changes came in the rapid fire of legislation and government and anti-magic laws. Once so vivid with magic, everything had become desaturated with the new-found dictatorship. To think BloodMagic’s legacy had been reduced to this. Appalling. Worse was to think of Barachiel. That backstabbing fiend had been a friend to them both. The price of his ambition had been the freedom and safety of half the Quereven population, and he didn't even regret it. Admittedly, she might not have either if she'd gotten rule of the clan for it. But that would've been before she'd met Alphonse, and realised that BloodMagic had been a lot more than a coliseum partner to her. Too little, too late on that last one. Now, there was a night patrol to watch for, and an Archivist with a neat set of instructions to burn books of magic - after recording all the countermeasures, of course. A whole generation had grown up under their rule, not one knowing the true beauty of the forbidden craft. Not even Alphonse's spawn - children raised in and of and around magic. The Guardian’s moonlit form was a stark white against the walls of the back street. Haloed and aglow in the night, she forged onward. There was a destination in mind, a definite course set for her senseless wandering, but not the place she’d led Ahava to believe. Ahava was a friend, yes, but the Skydancer was too lawful-neutral to be trusted with the secrets of the black market magicians. They could help the way the shelves of a clinic could not. In the state she was in she'd be unable to move the next morning, and she'd have to be dragged back to her den before she unnecessarily spent time there. They could help. The hut was for sleeping and storage. Sometimes, not even that. But right now, her priority wasn't ignoring her current life situation. It was healing. They could help. Trinkets - the small magic shop she wasn’t supposed to know about - was easy to find, if you knew where to look. And the Spiral's enchantments were old friends. Alphonse could help. It was Port street, west side. By the bar. The tunnel would be open (if you were welcome). It's a winding thing, a living being that breathes and pulses. She couldn't tell you if it physically pulsed or magically pulsed, because there was, after all, a difference. Just not one she was sensitive to. Trinkets was the third tunnel to the right - the purple one. Devi knew not to go down the one bright black. (They needed a place to bury the bodies they couldn't above.) And to Not Make Eye Contact with the yellow one. (They didn't talk about that one.) Trinkets was beautiful in a surrealistic way. A countryside manor warped to just this side of recognisable and sheds floated about in and it's west wing crawled up the side of the house, climbing. It had been drip-dyed saturated. A shade of not-purple, flickering between red, and blue and violet like a broken television. There was a garden; Alphonse liked plants and Beachcomber had told the story of Alphonse's insistence for it several times over. It curled around the top of the enclave - a green sky - as the shop sat in its own puddle of mist. Parts of the house flickered in and out of vision like a dying flame. Windows shifted with visions of others. Worst would be the walk over. A pooling sky impossibly opaque would cut her feet off by the ankles, and she'd lose them wherever she placed her step, and half the time spent inside would be put towards convincing her they were still there. But inside were Beachcomber and Alphonse, who made quite the pair. Each quirky and sporadic in their own right, they got on like a house on fire. Universes would bend under their determination, and this sanctuary proved just that. Trinkets was private, and Trinkets was Alphonse’s, and Trinkets was Beachcomber’s. The Spiral was like Devi, a criminal by law, but Beach was a beast of a different kind. As a battle mage, he had power in this system. Traditionally, coliseum members were always renowned amongst the populace, and Salem could only uproot so much of Querevage's history. In the shop, shelving waited in line in once-open spaces. Warm maple wood spread beneath her feet and candles bobbed lazily in the air. Al, always one for dramatic entrances, dropped down from the air like a bat, and upside down he spoke, tone matching the glint in his eye and "If it isn't the great and powerful Devi," his smile spread bright, "You're home!" And she was.

2/?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Alphonse | Salem

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It was two past midnight (and no later) when the devil walked in. These trips to the clinic were unavoidable. Devi’s profession would simply not allow it. The affair was a usual one, same wounds and injuries as the night before, and the night before that, and all the nights that would follow this one. 

Inside, clay pots covered every space not occupied by a box, or a bottle, or a book. Inscriptions ran along their sides, dates and ingredients - and occasionally names. Forgotten bundles of herbs dangled from the ceiling in bunches. The medic would claim they were drying. But tonight sat strange in Devi - something was different. Perhaps it was in the people. A full moon always brought out the worst of these dragons. Twilight was soft as it settled into the Capital. A god all it's own in the way it claimed the city. Its winds were smooth against the cutting edge of the fiend's form. Was... maybe that was it. Tenderness was a rare commodity that unsettled the bones. Ahava’s clinic was untidy the way a vulture was; untamed and unnatural, yet not unkempt. Sitting on the edge of the city centre, it was the only thing someone like Devi could truly call a hospital for four square miles. But now, the normally buzzing waiting room gaped with the emptiness brought on by the late hour. Moonlight filtered through decrepit shutters and cracked glass. Floorboards creaked as the Guardian paced. Waiting for the Skydancer to appear was never an easy task, and a sinking silence choked out the room. Regardless, the patient knew she was there; Ahava was never far from death, and Devi - bleeding, gasping, and limping - stunk of it. So when the good doctor emerged from the side room and fixed her with the exasperated gaze so typical of all this, the only thing she’d ever quip was, “You shoulda seen the other guy.” It was a routine. And Ahava, the blessed thing, had long since learned to stop criticising the gashes that painted themselves along her side each night. Her only job was to treat them, after all. The following dance was a familiar one. Ahava would lunge for the salves running along a shelf in a neat little row. It would be up to Devi to duck behind the swoop of the medic’s wings as they skimmed over her head. Devi was then expected to lumber to the door, watching the swish of her tail, and it’s proximity to her companion’s head. Ahava was a delicate thing compared to the battle-hardened beast, and neither could afford for her to be out with a concussion. Devi ducked down to fit through the doorway, the beads hanging there clinking like chimes as she rattled through them. If she took a few with her where they caught against her horns, they wouldn't mention it till morning. Her companion remained outside, materials shifting as she pawed her way through the mess, seeking out the package made for this occasion. But a blood-coated cough shook Devi something terrible, and anyone could tell that the wet noise it made was not a good sign. Swaying on her feet now, Devi was barely able to look up when the Skydancer spoke, “I’ll be with you in a minute, lie down and stay there.” Comforting words, despite the harsh tone. Ahava was new to the whole friend thing. Shortly after, the medic carried the familiar stack of ointments and oils into the room. Devi quit her pained, and perhaps overly dramatic, grunting, and a comfortable silence fell. Their work began. The cot was small, her work was slow, and the time was late, but with twilight came the anonymity Ahava’s patient so desperately sought. So stitches went in and a rhythm was created, in time to the quiet tune Devi hummed. Despite her ragged breathing, the melody was no less soothing. An ancient song taught to her decades ago; it was another private memory. Light began to settle into the room. In the morning would come the crowds, and the Guardian's spines itched at the thought of it. (At least the anxious thoughts were a distraction from the push and pull of the needle and the rattle in her ribs.) The sultry masses would give her no privacy - each desperate for an easy target. The fighter’s fall from grace had been a public spectacle that none were keen to let her forget. As the sky faded like an old dye, Devi left with the moon, skulking off to the withering shack she still refused to call home. A painful endeavour in the state she was in - Ahava could only do so much for her aching bones without magic - but the medic knew there was nothing more to be done. Her companion would tear the stars from the skies before she gave up this fix. An addict she was, but the call of her charge was too great to be denied. In theory, Ahava could detach herself from the situation entirely, reign in her emotions and just mend the wounds she was presented with - if she chose to mend them at all. She was a doctor. A Quereven one. Professionalism was the first rule of the trade, too many died to get attached. However, That didn't stop something like pity from stooping in the doctor's heart whenever she watched the dragon leave. Sympathy and grief - the perils of befriending a thing like Devi. They would croon against her heart in a twisted symphony; She’ll die, you’ll see, they always do, ever calling her to do more. The feeling raged and raged against her - but the Skydancer knew better than to follow those impulses. She'd left with scars last time. But what of it. In this place, not even the newborn hatchlings were without scars. Such was the way of Querevage.

1/?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Ahava

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So I just came across your post looking for inspiration (other clan lore) in the Flight Rising Lore tag and I like the idea of reblogging lore posts of other clans??? Do you have a tag for your clan lore and what is your clan's name so I can be like hey this is what clan it belongs to (also I'm an organizing hobo)

My lore tag is #TNOTG and my clan is called Clan Quervage or just Querevage :) Thanks!