#wings of fire king canyon

[thepossumbat]

I love Tailwind's POV. The personality, the story, the way he just doesn't give a shit that his brother got murked in the arena.

C: Hey what if marry I Queen Scarlet

T: You're gonna die

C: Wedding is on better be there!!!

T: You're gonna die

KingC:* At the wedding* ... I'm gonna die

T: *Ignores*

KingC: *Fucking dies*

T: So Anyways...

[mothpawbs]

Tailwind or Canyon could be cool, so far as canon wings of fire characters go? They're both skywings and siblings. Canyon is Scarlet's... tragically deceased husband who uhhh suffered a truly, truly awful and unpreventable death... in her arena. Tailwind is the Guide to The Dargon World narrator we learn of Canyon from.

i drew both of them! tailwind has become one of my favorite random side characters in the series, i loved their entry in the guidebook XD. both of them have colors taken from pictures of the grand canyon, and tailwind is wearing blacksmith goggles!

that's it for my request queue, they're still open if anyone else has a dragon they'd like to see feel free to hit up my inbox!

[wof-headshots-daily]

I have checked through to identify the named skywings it looks like you have left to pick from! First off is King Canyon, Queen Scarlet's arena-murdered husband (leaving her a... tragically premediated widow).

Day 181- King canyon

[puzzled-pegasus]

Just read the one Guide To The Dragon World book for wof and Canyon and Scarlet being together is literally like if Mother Gothel got married to Gaston....prove me wrong

[premamelody]

jasper theoretical

queen firestorm + ex-king canyon references

firestorm is just based on the idea that scarlet probably looked a lot like her in order to be considered the prettiest and best daughter

canyon is from his talon in a guide to the dragon world. its his talons because it has the diamond ring tailwind says he always wears

[xnoctifers-eveningx]

Lucifer is divine Knowledge. He is the Morningstar who bore the rebellious torch of freedom and enlightenment. He is the fire-bringer who brought forbidden gifts to humanity. He is the thirst for Knowledge, the neverending quest for Wisdom. He a vast canyon with infinite depths far beyond our human reach.

Lucifer is divine Love. He is the protective embrace from the ones who you love most. He loves us wholly, he sees us for who we are with all of our supposed flaws. His unconditional love spreads far beyond his followers for he loves us all even if we are unknowing. The bright star of Venus who's eternal shine ignites the passionate soul.

Lucifer is the Lightbringer, who fights for freedom and equality. He is Divine Justice, The Challenger, The Adversary, the Infernal Lord, who spits in the face of self-prescribed masters and kings and cuts them down where they stand. He fights for those who cannot and inspires endurance through injustice.

He is Death, the decay that grips your body as your soul rises to The Hollow. He is the terrifying stillness of a corpse. He is the carer of all, taking each and every travelling soul under his wing. He is the world shattering transition, the tower crumbling, the life being sucked out from behind your eyes, the rot seeping into the crevasses of what once was.

He is harsh, the course ground on the forest floor that builds calluses on the soles of your feet. He is the loving light of Venus casting down upon his beautiful children. He will knock you to your knees and help you rebuild from the ground up.

Lucifer is liminal, he is everything and all. He is nature, life, death, and everything in between. He is Infernal and Divine. My Infernal Shepherd and divine mentor, I adore you with my whole being, I grow and thrive in your radiant light.

[cast-you-dxwn]

The earth quakes before them,

The heavens tremble;

The sun and moon grow dark,

And the stars diminish their brightness.

The LORD gives voice before His army,

For His camp is very great;

For strong is the One who executes His word.

For the day of the LORD is great and very terrible;

Who can endure it?

Joel 2: 10-11

The Heavens crack open. The sky shatters into pieces, Creation reflected in countless jagged fractals of the very fabric of its own reality.

The patience of the Lord has limits, and His wrath is mighty. That which has bathed nations in fire, which has filled the valleys and canyons of the earth with the dead, which has covered the lands in rushing water.

A finality in purification.

A Creation made clean.

A star falls, and the very pillars of the universe tremble with its terrible impact. Heat, pressure, and a light so terribly radiant that it threatens to eclipse the very rays of all the suns of all the realms.

Metal to slag and stone to magma, all to dust and ashes in the face of the crater that now dominates the battlefield, a destruction only seen in Creation as the humans had clumsily learned the power of splitting the atom. The very threads of reality weep and whimper, and from the largest celestial body and the smallest atom come the words that herald the final doom of all things.

Revelation.

Retribution.

Judgement.

Michael.

“Awake. Awake. Rise up, O Jerusalem.”

The words drift through the smoke and dust, and the haze parts with one swift movement, as though the very particulates are commanded to make way by the voice that drifts through them. Like the Red Sea to Moses, a corridor stands now clear between the center of the crater and its observers, with walls of dust and ashes.

“You, which hast drunk at the hand of the LORD the cup of his fury; thou hast drunken the dregs of the cup of trembling, and wrung them out.”

There stands an angel.

His armor gleaming, his robes white as snow, as though untouched utterly by the destruction that swirls about him. Dark-striped wings fully unfurled, their massive expanse touching from edge to edge the deep depression that his entrance has struck into the solid ground.

His helmeted head does little to hide the light that burns in his eyes, supernovae unto themselves, scything across the battlefield with judgement and intent of reprisal.

In his right hand rests the hilt of his blade. The Blade. That which has no name save for those given by its foes. Nay. Its victims.

Foebreaker.

Daemonsbane.

Anathema.

His left, so it seems, is empty. Raising slowly, pale and calloused fingers curling in to his palm save for one. Pointing. Accusing. Condemning. All at the three who dare to stand before him. To stand against him.

They who had once been the most beloved. Not just to their Father, no. But to himself. But what, pray tell, is love in the face of duty? How stands fondness in the face of bitter betrayal? A trajectory following of days long past, when the eldest son had been called to take into account his brother.

“O Brother of Mine. Merry in rebellion. What now, has it cost you?”

He does not look to Lucifer as he speaks. His words not only his, but of the many. Countless voices that rise up from his throat, the cries of the faithful accusing and damning, even as he takes in the two who stand at the Fallen Kings side.

“O High Women of Heaven. One so burdened by duty, as we all must be, why now have you shrugged your shoulders? Why now do you strain against the yoke? Another, light and love incarnate, such tenderness given flesh and feather. Do you not now understand the joy of destruction? The holy uplifting of a righteous cleansing?”

His lips curl bitterly, his teeth bared in anger, and he gestures widely. To the destruction that mars their home, to the blood that spatters the street. When he speaks, his words are an echo, the same as he had spoken when he had once driven his blade into an unruly siblings chest.

“What have you done?”

@high-seraphims @hells-greatestdad

[ave1dragon]

Wings of fire gender roles:

I notice in the guidebook in King Canyon’s story, not only did Scarlet propose to him, but he tried to make himself look pretty enough to get her attention, implying that male Skywings are not supposed to ask out their female crushes. So I decided to make some gender role headcanons

Non of the dragons have as strict roles as human societies do.

It depends on the tribe. The order from most to least traditional is Skywing, Seawing, Sandwings, Nightwing, Mudwing, Rainwing, Icewing.

Skywings are very into following traditions, so they’re the most strict on gender, Queen Coral makes the Seawings next, Sandwings and Nightwings aren’t strict on gender roles, but they are generally expected to follow them, Nightwings use to be more egalitarian, but the volcano stopped that, Mudwings don’t care either way, Rainwings believe anyone who can do a job should be able to, regardless of gender, and Icewings teach their children all they can on everything.

Battle training and fighting is a gender neutral thing for dragons.

Women are expected to propose to men. In more traditional tribes and families, men are expected to wait and not ask out women. Dragons seem to plan the wedding together though.

Only women can rule a dragon tribe, kings are consorts that have as much power as the Queen lets him.

Most dragons hope for a girl dragonet over a boy. Men and women raised dragonets equally.

No one cares about lgbtq dragons. Trans Skywings are expected to follow the roles of their gender identity, but there isn’t any discrimination.

Cooking and teaching would be seen as more male dominated jobs, while gladiators would be more feminine to dragons. Doctors and healers would be gender neutral.

Both men and women are expected care about their appearance and jewelry, but men even more so.

Dragon men are often thought to be softer and less aggressive than women.

Religious leader positions such as priests cannot be held by men in the Sky and Sea kingdoms. Sandwings men can be priests, but it is uncommon. Nightwings aren’t that religious anyway, and Mudwings, Rainwings and Icewings have both male and female priests equally.

[wings-of-scarlet-au]

DISCLAIMER: This blog has been abandoned due to the mod growing apart from Wings of Fire

Greetings, all! Welcome to the official Wings of Scarlet AU ask/RP blog! I am Vanity of @vanitythevantropist fame, but here, I will be known as Mod Snake and/or Ryn :3

What is Wings of Scarlet?

Wings of Scarlet is an AU where I have named and given personalities to every single Scarlet family member (that’s important). These characters are the most important to the story, even more so than the DoD. Many plot points have been reworked, as well

When is the story set currently?

Currently, the story is a few years after Scarlet’s 4th clutch. We follow Ruby as the main character but the others can be asked questions as well. On the rocks about if I want to include the sandwing war or not so it’s unimportant rn

Rules (and whatevs) of the Blog:

-The mod is a MINOR!! Keep suggestive themes as simply jokes and nothing more (flirting with the characters is fine, though)

-Please be respectful! No transphobia, homophobia, racism, etc.

-The responses (and everything lore-related) will be written like passages from a book from henceforth because I do not have enough sprites for all the characters and I never will :)

-Do not take control of any of the canon characters or my OCs, please. I prefer to keep control, here. Your OCs are fine!

-If you have an OC who is important, I will consider them a canon character to the blog (not the actual story)

Who are the characters featured?

There are many, many characters in Wings if Scarlet, so this one’s gonna be a tad long. Bare with me! I won’t add that much detail! Feel free to get to know them better through the blog :3

Scarlet’s Parents:

-Queen Firestorm: Canon, Scarlet’s mother, deceased (by Scarlet’s claws) (She/her)

-King Summit: OC, Scarlet’d father, also currently deceased (by execution) (He/him)

Scarlet and Siblings:

-Queen Scarlet: Canon, current queen of the skywing kingdom, basically the villain (She/her)

-Princess Burgundy: OC, rather gloomy, has no interest in becoming queen (She/her)

-Princess Cinnabar: OC, envy problems, wanted to become queen but Scarlet beat her to it, deceased (by Scarlet’s claws when she challenged her sister for the throne) (She/her)

-Princess Redwood: OC, passive but intimidating, has no interest in becoming queen (She/her)

Mountain Family:

-Ablaze: OC, Canyon and Tailwind’s father, rather grumpy and negative (He/him)

-Peregrine: OC, Canyon and Tailwind’s mother, attentive, threatening and judgemental (She/her)

-Canyon: Canon, Scarlet’s husband, vain and egotistical (He/him)

-Tailwind: Canon, neutral (is neither an ally nor an enemy of the rest) (They/them)

Scarlet’s 1st Clutch:

-Vermillion: Canon, Scarlet’s right-hand-dragon, terrified of her (He/him)

Scarlet’s 2nd Clutch:

-Princess Monsoon: OC, accepting and calm, goes with the flow (She/her)

-Princess Sirocco: OC, unpredictable, frequent mood swings (She/her)

-Princess Cerise: OC, pampered, vain, daddy’s girl (She/her)

-Prince Flycatcher: OC, loud and talkative, loves to tease siblings (He/him)

Scarlet’s 3rd Clutch:

-Princess Ruby: Canon, submissive, shy but rather intelligent and kind, the Main Character (She/her)

Scarlet’s 4th Clutch:

-Princess Claret: OC, sophisticated and slightly snobby but still a dragonet (She/her)

-Princess Chinook: OC, dry and disinterested, the clutch’s goth, also a dragonet (She/her)

-Princess Bora: OC, serene, calm but very persistent (She/her)

Other (dunno where to put em-):

-Peril: Canon, eager to please, still rather innocent, still a dragonet (She/her)

Characters will be added as the story progresses as, yes, there are more :3 Many, many more-

[axilarycobra]

[Wings of Fire] C Dragon Character Headcanons

Hey, guys! Back for the next letter (there are a lot of characters with C names so I decided to just do the letter C so it isn't too long because I think if it's too long, it's less likely to be read completely).

Quick note: if you like any of these, they're all okay to use! If they're super specific headcanons, like my headcanons for Armadillo's & Anaconda's backstory, then I would maybe like some kind of credit because those are more developed stories that do include original characters (Armadillo's father, Anaconda's mother, etc.). But most of them aren't really so specific that I think I have any right to own them, especially since they aren't my characters. Although if you ever do use a headcanon for anything, I'd love to see it so please feel free to tag me!

Also also, just want to point out because I've seen this before, but yeah, these aren't headcanons. I made this stuff up, but no one uses the word for that (I don't even remember it) and I don't like it so I'm calling these headcanons.

Cs

Cadelle - Cadelle is one of the greatest historians in the HiveWing tribe, but she kept her research a secret from the queen and ladies because she was not a fan of them; she enjoys Jewel better as queen than Wasp. She remained in the Hive Kingdom after Jewel became queen, but she lent her research to the universities in the LeafSilk Kingdom at Cricket’s request because she secretly doesn’t hate Cricket.

Camel - after the war, Camel settled down in the SandWing stronghold and worked in the mailroom which he enjoyed a lot more than being a soldier. Camel’s sister is Saguaro and their parents would always compare them, making Camel feel insecure since he wasn’t as strong or tough as her.

Canyon - Canyon never liked Scarlet, he just wanted to be king because it would make other dragons look at him more; he secretly cared how Tailwind viewed him and would go out of his way to interact with them because he wanted validation from them as their younger brother.

Capybara - Capybara is Thorn’s cousin.

Carabid - before Wasp learned about Carabid’s power, he was a nerdy HiveWing who spent all of his time in libraries, similar to Cricket; he was timid, shy, and tried to help out SilkWings when he could; after Wasp used him as a weapon against many dragons, he felt guilty, but eventually found a home in the LeafSilk Kingdom where he worked as the librarian, archivists, scientist, and journalist in Chrysalis University.

Cardinal - Cardinal is Cliff’s best friend; as Cliff grows older, Cardinal hangs out with him a lot. He is the dragonet of Jasper and a SkyWing who Jasper is now divorced from.

Caribou (bard’s daughter) - at JMA, Caribou is placed in the gold winglet and becomes friends with Sepia, Newt, Barracuda, Changbai, Alba, and Snail.

Caribou (bard’s friend’s sister) - Caribou is a jewelry maker and owns a shop in Village-of-the-Plentiful-Seals.

Caribou (bard’s friend) - Caribou was from the circle rankings and the palace, but moved away due to the pressure, finding a home in Village-of-the-Plentiful-Seals. Their brother is Fjord, but they hadn’t seen their brother since they left and were informed after the war that he had died in Scarlet’s arena.

Caribou (bard’s grandmother) - Caribou was a scholar who worked as a traveling librarian before settling down permanently in Village-of-the-Plentiful-Seals.

Caribou (bard’s mother) - Caribou is one of the village scouts who protect the village from any dangers; this includes hunting polar bears, scouting for avalanches, and watching for other dragons.

Caribou (bard) - Caribou used to dream of meeting dragons from the other tribes, but when the war happened, they hid in their village, afraid to fight other dragons; while their daughter is at JMA, they plan to go on trips to the different kingdoms to meet other dragons.

Caribou (princess) - Caribou was considered one of the most beautiful IceWings in the kingdom while she was alive; many believed that she married Snowstorm, but she only had eggs with Snowstorm, which she raised with her wife; Caribou was the daughter of the IceWing queen, but she never wanted the throne, so her cousin, Queen Marble, challenged her aunt instead.

Carmine - Carmine did not have a close relationship with her daughters and only viewed them as being necessary for the throne, despite being upset that Sunset died, she just had another daughter to replace her.

Carnelian - Carnelian would have eventually warmed up to her winglet and become friends with them, especially Umber and Winter. She had a sister named Torch who she looked up to and was an elite soldier for Ruby which is why she hated being sent to JMA.

Cattail - after the war, Cattail and her siblings learned how to handle cattle and started a successful cattle farm in the Diamond Spray Delta; Cattail boasts that she laid the egg of the dragonet of destiny, but all of the MudWings she is around tell her that she doesn’t even care about him.

Cereus - Cereus becomes one of Blaze’s friends in the SandWing stronghold. During the war, her family pressured her to have eggs so she did with Camel; however, neither of them are in love, but they still raise the dragonets together.

Cerulean - Cerulean is one of Turtle’s meaner brothers, but he tries his best to be nice to Turtle ever since Turtle saved the world.

Chafer - Chafer is one of Lady Cicada’s sons, which is why he looks similar to her; it is also why he and Scarab knew each other and why Scarab was so okay with shutting his store down for a day.

Chameleon - after losing his scroll, Chameleon tried to find somewhere to go, and at the request of Kinkajou, returned to the Rainforest Kingdom where Glory apologized to him and welcomed him back to the Rainforest Kingdom; he apologized for his nasty behavior towards everyone and eventually started working with the other healers; the masks he made under different tribes somehow materialized into real dragons who had to figure out how to navigate the world themselves.

Changbai - Changbai is reserved and doesn’t often speak; they are in a relationship with Alba. They have an interest in history and geography. When they were a dragonet and lived in the Ice Kingdom, Changbai was told that their father died when they were very young, but this was a cover-up, as their father was Hvitur, an IceWing who had to flee due to his forbidden romance with Prince Narwhal.

Char - Char was a childhood friend of Oasis; when Oasis was pressured by her mother to find a dragon to marry, she just chose Char because she believed that it would be easy to marry him without actually having to love him, but she quickly found that spending time around Char was quite annoying and the two often had to spend time apart.

Cicada (AGttDW) - Cicada was the second queen of the HiveWings; she was respectful of the other tribes, but also ambitious, eager to expand her tribe.

Cicada (TLC) - Cicada loved art and before the Tree Wars, she used to make wood carvings as a dragonet; she is resentful of Wasp for making rules that censored trees.

Cinnabar - Cinnabar would become a member of the SilkWing Assembly, by request of Tau. Cinnabar eventually starts dating Io and Tau and is reunited with her grandmother Danaid.

Clay - Clay never liked to read because his eyes always hurt when he tried to read something; later in life, he would get glasses that would help him be able to read clearly without pain; Clay developed an interest in music and would go on to teach a music class at JMA.

Clearpool - as an adult, Clearpool returned to the Kingdom of the Sea where she inherited the throne from Pearl.

Clearsight - Clearsight never romantically loved Darkstalker, and just saw him as a close friend. On Pantala, she had dragonets with both Sunstreak and Maple, although it is commonly censored that she had LeafWing dragonets. She went on to have more dragonets with BeetleWings so the HiveWings became their own tribe, but her NightWing/LeafWing dragonets were so few, a new tribe wasn’t created from them.

Cliff - despite being a prince, when Cliff grows up, he becomes a trusted advisor to the SkyWing queen.

Clorinde - when the SilkWings were looking for staff members for Chrysalis University, Luna, Io, Swordtail, and Blue searched for their old art teacher so that they could bring them to be a professor at the university. They are the parent of Glider.

Clubtail - Clubtail fulfills his lifelong dream of owning a sweets store, where he uses his flamesilk to make baked sweets. He is the father of Grayling, who believed he was killed by Lady Bloodworm, but was actually taken to Wasp Hive to be returned to the flamesilk factory without Grayling’s knowledge.

Cobra - Cobra and Thorn knew each other as dragonets and after Cobra was thrown into Thorn’s dungeon, Thorn tried to convince her to become good so Cobra can be released. Cobra hasn’t committed yet, but Thorn keeps coming back to her every week to talk.

Cobra Lily - Cobra Lily becomes one of the soldiers in the LeafWing military, one of the military bodies that protects the LeafSilk Kingdom.

Cochineal - Cochineal was the younger of her and Scarab; she would constantly taunt her older sister and make fun of her; during her reign as queen, Scarab would try to suggest things to her, but Cochineal dismissed her every time. When Cochineal had lots of daughters, Wasp was her least favorite and she hoped Wasp wouldn’t be the one to become queen, but things didn’t turn out how she liked, as Wasp had figured out the secret of the Book of Clearsight, so Cochineal was forced to give her the throne so Wasp wouldn’t reveal it to the tribe.

Coconut - after returning from JMA, Coconut became a fruit gatherer in the Rainforest Kingdom; he works as an apprentice under Mangrove and Orchid, the two treat him like a son.

Comet - Comet was a fictional character who never actually existed; there exists ancient NightWing fanfiction between him and Mindhealer.

Commodore - Commodore was the youngest of Clearsight’s dragonets with Sunstreak; he loved telling stories and became an author, his mother would help him with printing his books.

Copperhead - Copperhead met his RainWing lover during a negotiation between the two tribes, the RainWing also being a prince; when they ran off, Copperhead was welcomed by the RainWing tribe.

Coral - Coral’s mother, Queen Conch, never paid attention to Coral when she was a dragonet. Because of this, Coral felt lonely and when she had dragonets, she coddled them because she believed that it would make them feel like they weren’t lonely.

Cowrie - Cowrie was very supportive of Clearpool and protected her when they returned to the Kingdom of the Sea.

Coypu - Coypu never knew that she wasn’t related to Sawgrass until she was elderly and had passed the throne on to her daughter.

Crane (L1) - Crane was one of the last ambitious MudWing queens in history; all of her siblings had died during skirmishes with the RainWings and SeaWings, causing her to make big military decisions since she had nothing else to lose.

Crane (TDP) - before her death, Crane had gotten into contact with the Talons of Peace and hoped to convince her siblings to join it.

Cricket - Cricket became a librarian and archivist at Sapling Academy, and later, Chrysalis University; she raised Bumblebee like a daughter to her and Blue, but the two didn’t date for a long time and just see each other as close friends after breaking up.

Crocodile - Crocodile lost all of her siblings during the war, which is why she chose to work for Burn. She survived Glory’s venom and is held as a prisoner by Queen Coral.

Crystal - Crystal and Gharial have dragonets together; they decided to raise their dragonets not as royals, just having them be regular Sanctuary residents.

Current - after returning to the Kingdom of the Sea, Current decided to go into aquaculture, as he liked to make food, but couldn’t stand the sight of knives. He would go on to meet someone and raise dragonets away from the palace, but his dragonets were never considered part of the royal family.

[jedi-mindtrick]

Ash-Step Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Cold Roads and Old Cravings

“Even a burned path still leads somewhere. This one only hopes it is not in a circle.” - Khajiiti proverb

The smoke followed Ra’zirr into the trees.

It clung to his fur, soaked into his tongue, burned behind the eyes. Not just from the fire, no. From the shouts. From the wings.

He does not look back.

His hands are raw. The bindings rub deeper with every stride, and the rope pulls like it has teeth. But this one does not stop to cut it. Not yet. Not while the sky still groans.

The forest is thick here, not like the scrub near the border. These trees are older. Closer. And they do not care what he saw in the smoke.

Ra’zirr moves on habit. One paw, then the other. He counts roots by rhythm. Breathes in four steps, out in three. The same way he ran sugar through the canyon passes in Anequina. The same way he fled Rimmen.

His wrists throb. His shoulders burn. But the wounds are not deep. This one will survive.

He crests a ridge and the air is clearer here. No wings overhead. No screaming. Just the cold settling in again. A cat's cold. Quiet and cruel.

Ra’zirr leans against a tree and exhales slowly, through the teeth.

“This one told them,” he mutters, voice low and gravel-dry. “Wrong cart. Wrong cat.”

No one hears.

He closes his eyes, but the image claws through the dark behind the lids.

Black wings.Fire that breathed like a god.Stone breaking like old bone.

What was it? A trick? Some new war weapon? He has seen magic. He has run from it, clawed it, watched it tear men in half. But this, this was not a spell.

This was a creature.

Ra’zirr rubs his wrists against the bark, biting down as the rope scrapes fur and skin. Pain sharpens the moment, keeps the fear from taking root.

“Why now?” he asks the trees. “Why this one?”

He was supposed to be gone, vanished down the north roads before the border even noticed. No gods, no kings, no dragons. Just sugar. Just silence.

But fate has sharp claws. And no manners.

Ra’zirr opens his eyes again. Smoke still lingers on the breeze, far behind him. But the sky ahead is quiet.

He has questions. Too many. Why the dragon? Why him? But the forest does not answer, and the moons do not care.

“This one does not ask again,” he mutters.

And he moves on.

***

The trees thin just before dusk, and Ra’zirr finds the stone thing by scent first.

Blood.

Old, yes, but not forgotten. Still iron-sharp beneath the pine.

He climbs a low rise, paws quiet in the moss, and sees it: a shrine, cracked and overgrown, with bodies scattered like broken offerings. Four lie near the base, two face-down, one slumped against the stone, another sprawled mid-step. Their clothing is plain, simple travelers' garb, not armor. Their wounds are not.

And there, farther back, is the fifth. Robes black and gold. Thalmor. Dead.

Ra’zirr crouches in the shadow of a stump. He waits. Listens. No breathing. No twitch of limb. No drawn bow. Only flies.

He moves in.

The statue at the center is a tall man in carved mail and a horned helm, both hands resting on the pommel of a sword pointed downward. A great serpent coils beneath his feet, its neck crushed beneath one heavy boot. His cloak drapes back over shoulders squared like a war-banner. His name is not known to Ra’zirr. Probably one of the Empire’s sky-gods. Maybe Talos. Maybe not.

This one does not know the name of the stone man, Ra’zirr thinks, eyes flicking over the scene. But he did not save them.

He searches the closest body. A Nord, heavyset. The skooma itch flickers when Ra’zirr brushes the man’s coat, but there is nothing sweet, only rot. He finds a coin pouch with three septims and a bit of lint. Next to it, tucked beneath the man’s side, is a half-eaten heel of bread wrapped in cloth and a battered waterskin, still heavy.

He sniffs both. The bread is hard, but not moldy. The water smells of leather, not rot. Good enough.

It all goes into his satchel, which still smells like someone else’s blood.

Near the Justiciar’s hand, lies a dagger. Steel. Clean. A merciful thing.

Ra’zirr takes it quickly and turns the blade on his own bindings. The rope is tough, but he saws through it, wincing as blood rushes back into numbed fingers. The fur there is raw and matted, but the hands still work.

The Thalmor's body lies open, split low across the ribs. A worshiper must’ve gotten lucky. Or desperate.

Ra’zirr doesn’t offer thanks. He doesn’t pray. He cleans the dagger on the grass and steps away from the shrine without looking back.

The road is little more than packed dirt and old stone, carved through trees too stubborn to fall.

Ra’zirr walks it quietly, one paw in front of the other, ears twitching at every birdcall and broken branch. The dagger rides easy on his hip now, the bread and coin tucked beneath the flap of a threadbare satchel. The waterskin clinks once when he shifts it. Too loud.

He adjusts. Keeps moving.

The craving hums in the ribs again, not sharp, not screaming. Just present. 

He tells himself to listen for wolves, not want. Wolves can kill. Want only tries to.

Around the next bend, he sees a man approaching.

Alone. Ra’zirr knows him.

The quiet Imperial from the cart. Hair still neat, beard trimmed close. The same pale blue eyes, too pale for this world, like frost that hasn’t melted.

He walks like nothing happened.

Ra’zirr slows. Not enough to challenge, not enough to run. The man notices.

They pass each other with the weight of silence between them.

But the man speaks.

“You from Helgen?”

Ra’zirr considers lying. But something in the tone, tired, not curious, changes his mind.

“This one was near. Not by choice.”

The man nods once. That’s all. He keeps walking.

Ra’zirr watches him for a few steps.

“That one walks like he’s already seen his grave,” he mutters.

The road slopes downward as Ra’zirr travels east. The trees grow closer, and the cold seeps in again.

His claws ache. His legs burn. The taste in his mouth is old copper and ash.

He tells himself he is not hungry, even though the bread is gone. He tells himself he does not need sugar, even though the craving scratches like sand in the throat. He tells himself many things.

Most of them are not true.

Up ahead, the road bends around a cluster of rocks and root-split boulders. Ra’zirr hears voices, not close, but not far enough either.

He drops low, padding off the path through the underbrush until he can see without being seen.

A fire crackles just off the trail near a collapsed wooden wall. Two men sit beside it. One leans back against a crate, swigging from a bottle. The other jabs a stick into the flame and laughs like he’s half-drunk.

Their armor is mismatched. Bandits. Ra’zirr stays crouched and still.

Then he hears it.

“…another crate of skooma in the mine,” one says, voice slurred. “That’s the last of it ‘til Lark comes back from Riften.”

The words hit like a slap. Skooma. In the mine.

Ra’zirr closes his eyes, just for a breath.

He can already see it, thin-necked vials, sealed with wax and dust. He can already feel it burn behind his teeth.

The dagger is in his hand without thinking. One vial. Just one. He could sneak in. They’re drunk, loud. Sloppy. He presses his back to a tree and exhales.

“No,” he whispers. “No, this one knows how that story ends.”

His paws stay rooted. The craving screams. But his feet move away. He does not run. He walks.

When he is far enough to no longer hear their laughter, Ra’zirr breathes again.

He finds a flat patch of earth near a narrow stream, far enough from the road to feel forgotten. The trees watch, but do not speak.

Ra’zirr drinks from the waterskin, then refills it in silence.

The craving is still there, quiet, but sharp. Like a wound that never scabs.

This one is still Ash-Step. Still walking. But the fire inside is harder to leave behind than the ones in the trees.

Also available on AO3 → Ash-Step

Quiet story. Long road. Khajiit still walking.

[wei75631]

Mythos: If They Were Real

True Dragon: Survivor of the Permian

What if legendary monsters weren’t just fictional—what were they, really? And why do they leave behind such shared traces across human civilizations?

Mythos: If They Were Real is a novel-style mockumentary series centered around Dr. Nora Halberg, spanning evolutionary biology, mythology, and folk beliefs. It explores whether mythical creatures might have truly existed, and dares to ask: where does myth end, and science begin?

True Dragon: Survivor of the Permian

Prologue – Whispers at the Forest’s Edge Mist curled between the trees, the air so cold and damp it felt like it could seep into one’s bones. Dr. Nora Halberg stood before a cliff face, her eyes fixed on a segment of fossilized bone embedded in the rock. She knelt down, fingertips brushing the weathered structure—neither pterosaur nor dinosaur, but a flying creature difficult to categorize. “This isn’t an individual,” she murmured to her assistant. “It’s a bloodline. A survivor’s testimony.” From the shadows of the Permian-Triassic extinction, could some lifeform have chosen another path—one that quietly continued to this day? If these bones are genuine, perhaps the ‘dragons’ of myth never truly disappeared.

Chapter One – The Pale Glow of Coelurosauravus Back at the institute, Nora assembled her AI reconstruction team to create a 3D model of the fossil. The screen revealed an ancient reptile with membranous wings—more batlike than pterosaurian. Its bones were delicate, limbs elongated. It felt both familiar and eerily foreign. “Coelurosauravus,” she whispered the name. “Not a lizard. A dragon untouched by myth.” Through stratigraphic and sediment analysis, she proposed a hypothesis: when disaster struck the surface, these creatures may have retreated underground, shrunk in size, and become nocturnal. They chose survival—not resistance, nor escape.

Chapter Two – The Dawn of the Four-Limbed Dragon As Earth healed, the forests of the Mesozoic flourished. Nora simulated the evolutionary path of the Coelurosauravus descendants: fore- and hindlimbs began to specialize, claws became hooked, and they glided between canopy and cliffs. Their flight diverged from pterosaurs—more like folded-winged skimmers, drifting through shadows. To avoid aerial competition, they chose storm margins and fractured canyons as their flight paths. AI visualizations showed them darting like phantoms through lightning and clouds. “Not all aerial kings ruled by size,” she noted. “Some ruled by silence, and choosing the right wind.”

Chapter Three – Seeds Within Extinction At the end of the Cretaceous, an asteroid strike plunged the world into cold darkness. As the giant beasts met their end, the descendants of Coelurosauravus, already adapted to darkness, endured. They nestled in high mountain caves, entering prolonged torpor, surviving on underground insects and fungi. In a cave sealed by volcanic ash in the Caucasus Mountains, Nora uncovered a complete nest. The hatchling skeletons bore reflective scale patches, dorsal bone plates, and elongated neck spines—uncannily matching medieval dragon depictions. She whispered into her recorder: “This is more than coincidence. They may have evolved defensive biochemical traits—combustible sacs, oxygen glands in the mouth—mimicking fire-breathing. This may be the origin of the fire-dragon legend.”

Chapter Four – The Memory of Myth Medieval records from Europe and Central Asia contain vivid descriptions and drawings of massive winged reptiles: they emerged from mountains during storms, attacked shepherd villages, and were sometimes dubbed ‘disaster beasts’—other times, slain by heroes. Nora compared regional totems and carvings, noting striking similarities between these accounts and her reconstructed creature: neck horns, dorsal plates, membranous wings, and a saurian body—too consistent to be mere cultural coincidence. These were cross-cultural echoes of a shared sighting. “Perhaps,” she said at a press conference, “these weren’t fantasies—but displaced historical observations.” The last known record appeared during the onset of the Ice Age: “It lost its wings to the cold and fell silent in the snow.”

Epilogue – Still Flying in the Sky Standing atop a mountain ridge, wind tugged at Nora’s coat. She stared into the fog-draped distance, recalling a story her grandmother once told: of shimmering-scaled beasts circling the clouds, exhaling fire. She used to think it was just a dream. But now she knew—it was an echo of memory, a scar left by evolution in our culture. “Maybe dragons were never just myths. Maybe our ancestors truly saw them—before we had the words or the taxonomy.” She looked up to the heavens, as if catching the shadow of something gliding between the clouds. It wasn’t fantasy—it was the dim afterglow of a bloodline. The truth behind a forgotten tale.

[kiwi245]

Okay! :D

SolarWings are a fantribe of mine from my WoF au OFAF. They live in the sandstone canyons of the desert, north and east of the Scorpion Den, where they are ruled by King Helios and his mate, Queen Aurea. The SolarWing monarchy is a little different than most dragons in the fact that male or female dragons can rule, meaning that both of their heirs, Sol and Aliea have a chance to rule.

SolarWings are smaller than most tribes abd bipedal, with powerful rear legs armed with this claws and wings equipped with a strong thumb claw for gripping cliff walls. They can support their weight on their wings or stand upright. They lack front legs. Their wings have four flexible “wing-blades” on the tips, which are razor sharp.

SolarWings have scales the color of flames, sometimes with blue, purple or green accents. Their scales are covered in glowing markings, and can heat up to scalding temperatures. This ability is usually dependent on emotion. As a result, their scales are fireproof. It isn’t an infinite ability though- firescales tends to sap energy rapidly, leaving the dragon drained and fatigued. They have terrible night vision.

These dragons are powerful fire breathers and fierce fighters, proud and arrogant.

Names are typically based off of stars, solar events, and fire. (Flare, Zenith, Sol, Kindle etc)

In OFAF, SolarWings are the last organized tribe surviving, due to their unique abilities, numbers, and defensible location.

Spiritual dragons, SolarWings have ceremonies around the year to celebrate certain events like the summer solstice, eclipses, etc.

SolarWings are superstitious of the moon.

Uhhhh, I think that’s mostly it?

SolarWing appreciation post ⁉️

[swordofthreekings]

.

Clarus tried to stop him from going. He isn’t sure why. Things are going fine, he muses as he looks down at the body of the giant snake lying in the water. Water that shouldn’t have been that deep, but is nearly up to his knees. He hates being short. 

Without a second thought for the snake, or the undead warriors that try to stop him, he continues on his way. Voices whisper at him from nowhere, the souls of the dead. They tell him to go back, that he isn’t the Shield, that he isn’t worthy. He grits his teeth and ignores them. Fuck them! He’ll show them worthy. 

At the end of the path, he finds a stone-filled doorway, sealed by a sword bound with ropes and all kinds of strange writings he doesn’t recognize. He reaches for the sword, pulling it from the ground and it breaks into colorful light as the stones shifted away. 

“Turn back. You don’t belong here.”

Cor ignores them. He steps inside and sees the form of some kind of monster or daemon in the flickering light of fires in the braziers around the stone room. The thing looms over him, a twisting shape in robes. Cor grips his katana and dives in. 

It isn’t a long fight, but it isn’t as easy as the other things there. The adrenaline rushes through his veins, exhilarating. He feels alive. He knew he could do this. 

He turns to approach the shrine at the side of the room. A blue fire burns in it. The power of the souls here. He’s beaten the trial- 

But as he reaches out, the fire burns him instead. 

“You are not a Shield.”

He clenches his fist and grits his teeth. He will prove he’s just as good as any Shield. He has to. He’ll show them all - the spirits, the Blademaster, his friends, even the King - that he doesn’t need their power to do this. He marches past the shrine to continue. 

The dead are restless there. Cor cuts his way through them, winding through the canyon. The second trial is a beast of wings and fire that attacks him on a worn bridge, with  the river far below. That one is a bit tricky. A good fight. He enjoys it, actually. There is something about fighting that had always felt right to him, and finding the weak points of a strong enemy was rewarding in a way few things were. Over the years he had been fighting in the war, it has dimmed from a brightly victorious feeling to one that was more grimly satisfied, but it was still there, after everything. 

Once more, the spirits of the shrine deny him, and he keeps walking. 

The path winds into the rocks and along the side of the canyon, sometimes stone, sometimes rickety wooden walkways. He doesn’t have the patience to spend any time looking at the sights around him, he just keeps going. Single minded. 

The third trial isn’t as satisfying, and when the lumbering mass of armor fell, Cor doesn’t even bother to stop at the shrine. He just walks right past it. 

There is nothing between him and the Blademaster now. 

.

He was in no way prepared for it. 

And it takes him far, far too long to realize that. 

“You  have failed the trial.”

His breath is hard enough to feel like fire in his lungs. He aches all over. Bleeds from several small cuts. Bleeds from ones that weren’t so small, too. He can’t find those weak points he’s so proud of anymore. Not on the Blademaster. He sees through the obvious bait ones, sure, but he can’t find the real ones. He can’t get a real  hit in. 

He’s going to die there. 

It’s a dawning realization in the back of his mind as he ducks back, loose rocks making his usual light steps unsteady. He doesn’t want to die. He has so few choices, he throws himself back in, the blade longer than his own small frame sweeping, whistling through the air. He gets backhanded, and only a quick yank on the blade intercepts some of the hit with the hilt. He goes flying back all the same. He hits the rock wall hard, and he’s sure he feels something crack in his side. Fuck it hurts. He tastes blood and realizes he’s bitten his tongue. 

He staggers to his feet again, the tip of the Genji blade drags along the ground. It takes him a second to find his balance, but as soon as he does, he throws himself in again. He ducks under an attack, reverses his momentum, swings his sword high, then around. 

There! An opening!

He takes half a second to brace himself, jumps, and swings the sword down as hard as he can. The feeling of cutting through something vibrates under his hands. And then it’s lodged into something. Cor pulls, and it takes him as second to realize what’s happened. 

His sword cut off the Blademaster’s arm. There’s no blood, no bone beneath the shorn armor. The arm lies on the ground. His sword’s swing had carried it into the side of Gilgamesh’s chest, cutting into the armor there, but it did not cut through. It was lodged there. Cor throws his weight into trying to pull it out, but it doesn’t work. 

A gauntleted hand closes over his own. Gilgamesh has released his own sword, and grabs on to the sword over top of Cor’s hand. His grip tightens, and Cor feels the bones in his hand grinding. It hurts. He panics and tries to let go of his sword, to pull his hand back, but the grip tightens even more. It’s no longer a grinding, there are several cracks. Cor screams before he can stop himself. The hand releases, and his own falls from his sword. Gilgamesh pushes him away and he trips, landing sprawled on his back. He cradles his bleeding hand to his chest. He’s shaking. 

“Your hubris has led you here, but you are not worthy of my power. Yours is not the path of a Shield.” 

Panting, shaking, he twists. It hurts so much to move, but he has to. He has to do something. 

“You have failed.”

He knows what happens to those who fail. 

He’s really going to die there. 

For the briefest second, his eyes flick to the stone ‘door’ he had come through. It was open. He can’t remember if it was before, but it is now, and that’s enough. If he can just maneuver that way a little more, maybe he can make a break for it. He doesn’t dare turn away from the Blademaster, who’s now making a patient advance toward him. 

At best, he can try to get away, at worst, he can at least die trying. 

There are plenty of swords around. He finds some Lucian broadsword. Too big for him. But he doesn’t have time to be picky. The Blademaster is still approaching. Cor grabs the sword with his left hand. He doesn’t know if he can use his left hand as well as his right, but he’s about to find out. 

He drags himself to his feet, takes a second to steady himself, and then lunges, sword first. The sword is batted out of his hand. A hand closes around his throat. A hand that shouldn’t be there. Ghostly magic holds him by the neck and pulls him off the ground. He scrabbles at it with both hands, too panicked to pay much mind to the pain in his broken hand. He’s lifted up until he’s eye to eye with the Blademaster. 

Gilgamesh says nothing. He just looks at Cor for a moment, stoic, those red eyes boring into him as he struggles, chokes and claws at the impossible hand. 

The next thing he knows, he’s flying through the air. He hits the ground with a jolt of pain, and rolls. Each time his left side touches the ground, there’s more pain from his broken ribs. A rock brings his tumbling to an end. 

He lays on his side, breathing hard, and realizes it very slowly. 

He’s outside the trial chamber. 

He’s lying on the cliff edge just outside the chamber, rocks at the edge of the landing had kept him from just tumbling right off. The ‘door’ of rock is already closing, ropes winding out to wrap around the katana that sealed the door once more. 

Had… Had Gilgamesh…?

He’d been tossed out on his face, a failure. 

But alive. 

…for now. 

.

Cor has no idea how long he lays there, panting, hurting, but eventually he rouses himself. If he wants to continue living, he needs to get out of there. One last trial to prove he deserved to live? Or did the Blademaster just not care enough about seeing him dead personally, and decided to leave it to his warriors? Either way, he needs to take care of himself before he can get moving.  He shifts onto his back and tries to take stock of himself. 

At least one rib, if not more on his left side is broken. He can’t do anything about those right now. His right hand is broken. His neck is throbbing, and his left ankle does too. He can’t tell if the ankle is broken or just sprained. What else? There’s a deep gash in the meat of his thigh, another across his chest, from his sternum to his right side. There’s a more shallow cut down his arm, from shoulder to elbow, and any number of bleeding scrapes from being thrown around. 

Okay. Bleeding first. 

He reaches into that little pocket of magic granted to him through Regis. He’s got a first aid kit in there. Wes had handed it to him a long, long time ago and he’d shoved it in there and forgotten about it. Thank gods for that. Pulling it out makes his head spin, and a wave of nausea run through him. 

Cor forces himself to sit up, leaning back against the rock, pulling out gauze and bandages from the first aid kit, layering them over the cut on his chest. He tugs off his jacket, then his shirt, and uses his left hand and his teeth to rip the shirt into strips. He winds them around his chest and ties them, screaming through gritted teeth as it squeezes his broken ribs. He takes a second and then keeps going. He has to. 

He doesn’t want to die. 

He wraps up his chest, his thigh, his arm, his hand. It’s all very clumsy, but it’s as good as he could do now. When he’s done, he slumps back against the rock, panting, letting himself rest. He remembered seeing potions around the ruin. They were old, though. Would they still work? He’d give them a shot, he didn’t have much to lose. 

The entire time he’s resting there, he’s staring across the ledge at the door. At the sword binding it. He doesn’t even think about it as he drags himself to his feet, shuffling over to it. 

It’s just sitting there, almost innocently, despite what it hides behind it. Cor looks at it for a second, scowls, and then reaches out, grabbing it. 

He needs a sword, after all. 

It remains in place, stuck. Cor turns and leans all his weight into pulling, trying to drag it away with him as he takes one step, then another. It comes free abruptly enough to make him stumble, and he twists to look back. The door is still closed. The sword is in his hand. He feels a little bit of vindictive satisfaction. 

The only ‘fuck you’ he manages to give the Blademaster. 

It’ll keep anyone else from being dumb like he’s been, too. No more people need to die down here in this godsforsaken hole. It’s been enough. 

He takes the sword with him to a haven nearby, where he lets himself lay down, safe near the ever-burning fire. He wonders how they work. Who made them. Why did they put some here? It’s all rambling, half delirious thoughts. He’s exhausted and still bleeding. He knows he shouldn’t, but he lets himself fall asleep there. 

.

When he wakes up, whatever magic it is in the haven has done some work on him. His wounds are a little better. He feels less like he’s going to die, though that’s not saying much. He needs to get out. The longer he stays, the more chance he won’t make it out at all. 

He pulls himself to his feet and heads out along the rickety wooden catwalk, making his way back up. Down was definitely easier, he thinks sadly. He should have enjoyed going down while he had the chance.

He finds a potion. He’s got no idea how old the damn thing is. It could be bad for all he knows, but he’s got little to lose, so he takes it anyway, opens it and downs the whole thing in one gulp. It tastes horrible. He wrinkles his nose, and coughs, and that makes his chest and ribs hurt. But when he continues walking, he thinks he feels a little better. It may be a placebo effect, but he’s not going to argue with it. 

There is one small mercy in all of this - the undead warriors stay dead this time. They are a part of the trial, to test the mettle of the challenger. Since Cor has already failed, they don’t bother him. Unfortunately, they’re not the only thing there, and while he scrambles up the steep, rocky path back, he finds himself trying to creep close to walls so the more earthly inhabitants of the ruins don’t notice him. He’s not always successful, and his new sword gets a taste of action as they’re scrambling back through the trial. He has to stop to rest far more often than he’d like. His fight with Gilgamesh had taken hours, and then he’d lost more time to his dazed state, and then yet more to sleeping. At this point, he has no idea what day it even is any longer. His friends are probably thinking the worst has happened. 

All he can think is that he needs to get back to them. He’ll even endure whatever lecture Clarus has for him. 

No wonder no one gets out alive. Bastard’s so far down, people’ll die of boredom before they get in and out, he thinks petulantly at one point, then lets himself huff a little bit of a smile, imagining that being part of Gilgamesh’s reasoning. 

.

He thought the trek back had been bad enough, but now Cor realizes he has a big problem. 

He stands in the center of a chamber that the stream runs through, water up to his knees. It splits into two behind him, falling down the cliffs. Ahead of him is a steep incline, slick with water. He remembers slipping on it, and riding it down like a slide when he’d come in. And now he’s got no idea how he’s supposed to get up it again. 

Frustrated tears spring to his eyes. He’s so close. So fucking close! It’s not fair! He’s dragged himself this far only to be stuck!

He forces the tears back, stubborn. That is one thing that has survived the trials fully intact - his stubbornness. Even if it’s just to spite Gilgamesh, he will make it out of here alive. He will make it back to Regis and Clarus, and get back to Insomnia. He refuses to even consider any other outcome. He just has to figure this out somehow. 

He moves back to where the rivers split around dry ground, the path back down to the trial stretching down into the dark that way, sits, and turns back to glare at the river. He’s exhausted and thirsty and hungry, and he’s pretty sure he isn’t thinking straight, but he will figure this out. He will. 

The thirst is easy enough to take care of. The water’s quick moving, so it’s less likely to make him sick. There’s still the chance, of course, but, as with so many things right now, it’s one of the lesser of his worries at the moment. He cups water in his hand and drinks. Drinks and drinks until he’s finally satisfied with that, at least.  And then he looks back to the river. The rocks are slick, even where the stream isn’t flowing. He’ll need something to help him hold on. A blade, maybe. Pulling himself to his feet, he starts to search around. There’s an ax, surprisingly decent condition considering it had probably been down there for hundreds of years. He picks it up and tests it, swinging it hard into the rocks of the cavern. The strike vibrates through it and into him, jarring all his wounds. But the ax holds strong, and so he will, too. As he’s about to leave, he sees something else from the corner of his eyes. He kneels to look. 

A wakizashi. It’s the last thing he expects to see here. But here it is. The scabbard is covered in dirt, the wrappings on the handle need replaced but when he pulls it free, the blade is bright and sharp. Well made. It’s a shame to leave it here. He picks it up and wedges it into the waistband of his pants. Hopefully, he won’t lose it. 

Exhausted as he is, he doesn’t even think to put either of the new weapons he has into his armory. 

He pries a length of bandage off his chest instead. Dried blood keeps the gauze in place even without it. Which isn’t something he should be thankful for, but he is all the same. He ties the bandage to the top and bottom of the katana’s sheath, and hangs it over his shoulders. 

Ready as he’ll ever be, he faces the river. 

He makes his way slowly and carefully, stepping up the slick rocks alongside the river, digging the ax deep into the rocks and using it to pull himself up. The first time he slips, he’s certain it will pull free and he’s going to tumble down and be swept off the cliffs. But it doesn’t. It holds his weight and he scrambles upright again, ignoring the fresh scrapes to his legs as he does. It’s not the last time he slips, but he manages to make progress, slow and carefully. 

And when he reaches the top, he drops the ax and throws himself onto the ground, panting, trembling, and aching. The sound of the river lulls him to sleep. 

He has no idea how long later it is when he wakes up. It’s dark, but he’s in a cave, so there’s no surprise there. He’s almost there, he reminds himself, over and over, urging himself to his feet again. His thigh is bleeding again. His chest might be, too. Just standing up makes him feel dizzy, and he takes a second to steady himself. Breathe in. Breathe out. He’s alive. And he’s going to stay alive. 

.

It’s hours later when he stumbles out of the crack in the rock that leads down to the trial. It’s daytime. The light is harshly bright as he squints up into it. The air smells clearer. 

He’s made it out. Alive. 

“Take that,” he whispers into the air. He’s not sure if it’s directed at Gilgamesh, the trial as a whole, or himself. That part of him that had been so sure he’d die down there, that started whispering as he faced down Gilgamesh. 

He’d failed. He’s not fit to be Shield. But he’s still alive. And as long as he’s still alive, he can be of use. To his friends. To his kingdom. 

If he can’t be the King’s Shield, maybe he can be his Sword.

He keeps that thought in mind as he starts to shuffle off toward the nearest haven.

[puzzled-pegasus]

WoF tribe specific curses/exclaimations (some used in a sentence so you get a better sense of the impact lol)

*some of these are morbid so be warned*

SkyWings

"Flaming feathers, you scared the smoke out of me!"

"Holy fireballs, that's a lot of treasure!"

"Leaping sheep, how long have you been standing there?"

"Smoke and fire, what happened to all my deer jerky?"

"Moons on fire, what in Pyrrhia's peaks were you thinking?"

"Corpses in a canyon, what happened to your arm?"

"SeaWing's salty scales, what did you put in this drink?"

SandWings

"Snakes on a rock, why do we still have that horrible thing?"

"Ravens and crows, what am I going to do with you?"

"Son of a one legged camel! Argh, I thought I told you to close the window screen!!"

"Oh, sweet prickly pears."

"King Cobra's teeth."

"Blister's burning tail, it's hot out here even for me!"

"Blue desert sky, I hate when he does that."

"Queen's cloaca, next you're going to tell me it's wrong to steal other dragons' purses if they leave them unattended."

SeaWings

"Jellyfish sting, have some tact for reef's sake!"

"Oysters on the half shell, you need a breath mint."

"Woo, slippery sardines, you make a good margarita!"

"Cuttlefish guts, what a thing to say to someone!"

"Mullet down my gullet, why is it always me that has to take care of things?"

"Sweet Prince Albatross, what the herring is going on here?"

"What in the Mariana Trench?"

NightWings

"By all the stars!"

"Darkstalker's teeth, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Falling stars, that's a big fruit!"

"Moons curse it!"

"Venomous vultures...what happened here?"

"Queen's fire, be careful with that!"

"Burning IceWings, I thought I told you not to touch my notes!"

MudWings

"Well, cut off my wings and call me a crocodile, I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Oh, catfish whiskers, I can't believe I let it burn!"

"Now, where in Pyrrhia's green swamps did I put those onions?"

"Peas and carrots, darlin', what happened to you?"

"Cattails in the clay, what are you doing aggravating my poor bees?"

"Oh, for goose's sake!"

RainWings

"Ow, green and orange, that hurt!"

"Vipers and anacondas!"

"Sky full of spiders, you NightWings are bummers."

"Howling monkeys, stop that horrible noise!"

"Great green sloths, what could you possibly need so badly that I have to stop my sun time?"

"Sweet tangerine."

IceWings

"What in the name of the Great Ice Dragon?"

"Freezing moons."

"Frosted flames, is that a firescales?"

"Blue ice."

"Beluga's blubber, you dragonets ask too many questions."

"Silver horns, that's a big polar bear."

"Darkstalker's dagger!"

HiveWings

"Son of a bee!"

"If I see one more STINGING pen where it's not supposed to be, I swear to STINGING CLEARSIGHT---!"

"Bloodsucking flies, this place looks awful!"

"Oh, for Wasp's sake!"

"Royal jelly on bee bread toast, I can't believe you."

"Clearsight's book!"

LeafWings

"Coca leaf salad, you've all gone nuts."

"Holy tomato!"

"Dragon blood sap..."

"Jolly jaguars, that can't be good."

"Murderous mushrooms, where did she go?"

SilkWings

SilkWings don't curse, silly! :)

[thevivification]

Mercy And Shelter To Those Longing For Home

A Tale of Boatem, the land that grew beside the Void, mountains raised by the gods and structures built by mortal hands.

Cross-posted on Ao3!

~~~

Long ago, before the gods had pulled mountains with their hands, a group of five dug deep into the land. At bottom they did not find bedrock, but instead a gateway to another plane known as the ‘Void’. The people avoided it, fearful of it, only feeding it sacrifices when one of them had done wrong.

They had fed this ‘Void’ many things: a smirking man with eyes that had a tint of blue, a pig made of amethyst, magical through and through. And at times they would feed themselves, as a precaution in case it was hungry.

One day it was said to have grown false bedrock, an attempt to lure in those unwise to think otherwise. However that had been taken care of, when after it had been fed the false bedrock faded away, falling into the Void.

The group of people had grown used to it. They had grown used to it’s calls of satiation, to it’s lure and to it’s whispers. They lived on the mountains the gods grew, building grand structures and forming a community around it.

They had made business in this town, playing pranks and games with their neighbours on occasion. They had started a business, built monuments to their wealth, and even relished in life beside the Void.

They held gatherings by the Void, stepping their toes into it’s ocean of emptiness. They played with chance, and while they weren’t always lucky, they surely had satiated the Void a good amount.

They were joyous. They celebrated and danced and had done good for the Void.

Until it seems, a week or few before the Great Lunar Arrival, when it had first been noticed

Two of the townsfolk, a man described to have had a mustache and, at one point, spud-like skin and the other, the conductor and many-winged man from the Hidden Alley, had noticed the moon had gotten bigger. It wasn’t long before word spread far and wide of this big moon.

Some had blamed the goat dressed in creeper’s skin, others claimed it was them getting smaller. However Boatem had their own scapegoat, that the Moon is angry they did not worship her as much as she’d like. And so with this knowledge, the spud-skinned man built a shrine.

It was a crescent moon, floating above a bed of fire, surrounded by statues possessed by crying souls. By day, the souls would wail and weep, but by night they celebrated at the moon’s mere appearance. He was satisfied, and as he threw his bed into the fire he thought the Moon would be too.

However it seems the Moon was never pleased. It whispered to him to bring in more people to worship. He didn’t hesitate to follow her, not one single bit.

And so he brought to her more followers. The conductor, the candyman, the hatter, the Moon’s sister, and their neighbour, the canyon dweller. Him and the conductor shared a delusion of laughter from the sky, their features flipping and their souls getting worse and worse by the day. Anything for the Moon, they said to themselves.

However one follower went a little further. In his lust for the Moon’s praise he went over to the once-prince of Time, the King of Time, the man who took the Moon’s daughter’s home. He brought him over to the shrine, lulling him to rest on a faulty bed and breaking it just as he slept. He fell into the fire, his screams heard by the Moon.

However when the moon didn’t decrease he grew angry. He stopped his worship, and the Moon too grew angry.

Overtime, the moon only approached faster and faster. When her worshippers saw their worship meant nothing to the Moon, they stopped. And of course, the Moon grew angry.

She started to rip the lands from their ground, bringing the dirt and stone the gods used to build mountains to her instead. The people started floating, and they’d land minutes later. It was only a matter of time before they’d start to panic.

On the day we’d know as the Moon’s arrival, the world had gone still. The hatter had built a metal machine that would bring them elsewhere. He invited the townsfolk to join him, and even their neighbours wished to come. However it was only Boatem that went along.

With their things packed, they kissed this world goodbye. The hatter launched the machine, but instead of bringing them up, it brought them down.

Straight down into the Void.

They panicked, at least at first they did. Then after a while they fell into relative peace. The Moon was still making them fall slowly, but with that they said goodbye. They said their final goodbye to each other and their final goodbye to this world. For once, the Void felt peaceful, and it’s cold was welcoming.

However, minutes later, they woke up. They were surrounded by darkness, splashes of purple and blue and twinkling lights intertwined to make it feel less empty. First they wondered, fearful for each other’s health. But then when they realized they were safe, they stopped their panic.

They wondered what they could do, what happened to them, what’s happening up above. But when they came to realize they were safe in this shelter, they gave their thanks and began their rest.

They had fed the Void for long, and in return it gave them shelter from the Moon. And for that they are thankful, feeling peace to rest their heads after countless sleepless nights.

They wake up again, still in the same Void they landed in. It takes a bit of convincing, but when they discover it’s safe without the helmets, they start playing little games to pass the time. It’s the only thing they have, asides from each other.

Now, they simply wonder when they can return, if they can return. And what world they will return to.

When wandering close to the Void, they say you can hear the hushed whispers of the townsfolk. You may hear them talk of projects, of friends, of memories. You may hear them shout and laugh and sing. You may hear them ask the Void questions you can tell they don’t want the answers to. And if you’re lucky, you can hear the Void answer back.