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| Coup de Foudre; Bucha's Maiden Flight | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 30 2016, 08:52 PM (478 Views) | |
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Jul 30 2016, 08:52 PM Post #1 |
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Loves characters who write themselves
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[align=center]”It seemed that these were the best of times, and the worst of times. It was at once the season of Light, and the season of Darkness. It was the epoch of wisdom, the age of foolishness. In what was to be the Spring of hope, became instead a Winter of despair.”[/align] The pleasant rise and fall of her rider's voice was a balm beyond measure. The fluid, graceful tones of their shared second tongue filled the space around Bucha's nest with a much needed tranquility. The boldly colored female sat near, her paws folded neatly over one another, her ears trained on Damien's every word. Her Chosen paced the length of the aerie lazily, a book held in his right hand while his left gestured about aimlessly. The phrases he translated seemed almost prophetic in nature, their meaning keenly felt given the current circumstances. As if on cue, the Lightning's stomach twisted painfully. Bright, saturated claws soon came to scrape against the edge of her nest. Hunger was not a new sensation to her by any means. In the grand scheme of things it was only recently in her life that she had begun to acquire anything resembling frequent, adequate meals. She had grown used to the sensation of feeling full, so hunger's renewed presence in her life stirred an anger the likes of which Bucha had only known once in her life. It had been many years since that insidious shrapnel bomb had maimed Damien, but memories of it never failed to rouse a black anger within her heart. She had thought that had escaped from such machinations, that they had left their former struggles behind for a life free from poverty and loneliness. And yet, even in these alabaster halls the Taint made them suffer still. Was there no escape for them? Would she and Damien ever be free from their influence? How much more would they try to take from her? With a shake of her head small, violet tendrils of electricity arched their way down her neck and spine. Standing, she made to remove herself from the confines of her nest. Limbs once lean with muscle had grown thinner, and the outline of her ribcage could be seen against the shapely contours of her waist. Still, however, she bore herself proudly and as she waited for her rider to finish she absently began to preen a wing. Ruminating on the past would do little good for either of them, and at any rate there were far more important and pressing matters that they needed to attend to. As the selected passage came to a close, Bucha's pale, luminescent eyes focused in on her rider. There had been something off about his translation. The Lightning pondered it for a moment before she made a puzzled sound in her throat. “That sounded odd, the tense you used.” She described. The formerly Tainted man met her puzzlement with a smile. “Only a bit of wordplay, my dear. I was hoping you'd catch it.” The rider meandered over to her side easily, the tome closing shut in his hand. “Our current circumstances seem similar enough to the one in here, don't you think?” He asked, glancing down at the leather-bound volume. A breath of warm air ruffled Damien's dark hair in response. “Clever use of the imparfait,” she praised. “Used to describe actions that are still ongoing or repeated.” Bucha was proud that he had begun to diversify his tastes in regards to the Assarian tongue. Initially he had been adverse to the idea of stressing grammar, protesting that it didn't matter since he had long ago achieved fluency. But once she had pointed out the perils of that line of thinking he had relented. After all, if he didn't know the intricacies of the language how could he ever hope to teach it to someone else? “Speaking of actions that are still ongoing.” The rider began. “It's getting rather late Bucha, don't you think you should be heading out soon? Wouldn't want you to miss your pick of men because they're all asleep in their beds.” He chuckled. The concern elicited an amused rumble from the Lightning's throat. “Worry not Damien. Evening is the proper time for lovers. And I am sure there are those who still lie awake, pining this very moment for worthy companionship.” Her voice, smooth as silk, dropped into low, familiar tones. Wings as dark as night shuffled eagerly as the female began to make her way to the heavy curtain that partitioned off their ledge. She did not doubt that there were still available males for the taking. She had been completely transparent with her efforts, free to let any and all know the exact nature of her receptivity. Where hunger had hit hard and struck wide, rendering many either unwilling to go through the exertion of a mating flight or without the nutrients needed to support a pregnancy, Bucha had had a fractionally easier time of things. She had experience with such hardship, and as a smaller breed she would have an edge in terms of staying fed. The whole ordeal wouldn't be easy, she knew, but it would most certainly be worth it. Using her wing, she pushed aside the curtain and stepped out into the cool night air. The atmosphere was pleasantly balmy, and it brought a calming warmth to the Lightning's skin. Glancing upward, her luminescent eyes settled on the dark, velvety expanse of clouds that hung overhead. Some might have lamented at the sight, with its absence of starry skies and triple celestial bodies, but Bucha breathed a sigh of relief. Consulting with the Academy's meteorologists often proved to be a throw of the dice, but in this case their prediction had rung true. Now, unquestionably, this would be her night. Flexing her claws, the dark female could feel the heat and excitement begin to course through her veins in earnest. How many years had she resisted the urge to Rise? How long had she feared that she would condemn her child to go through the same hell she had? Well, the time for fear was over. This was not the Desolation, and this was not the Legion. Yes, her child would face challenges, but they, like her, would survive. Glancing down, Bucha came to see that Damien had taken a place by her side, his presence calm and reassuring. Rider and dragon shared a brief, knowing glance, and the Lightning nudged his shoulder with clear affection. Damien had looked forward to this moment almost as much as she did. He often said that a child would be good for her, and she didn't begrudge him the truth of that. A child would be more than good. It would be a fresh start, a new beginning, a chance to leave all that they'd done behind in service of something greater. And, if Bucha dared to hope, it was a chance at happiness. A chance at love. Breathing deep, Bucha spread her wings wide. The circles underneath pulsed and danced in excited waves, their rainbow hues casting off colored light all around her. Damien's hand came to rest reassuring on her shoulder for a moment before falling away. A gentle sendoff. “Go enjoy yourself,” he said. “You only get one maiden Flight, and I know you'll make them work for it.” “Oh, absolutely.” As her rider drew away, the cool north wind brushing against Bucha's back beckoned her into the waiting sky. With a powerful leap and a stroke of her wings she answered its call. A lustful cry sounded in her wake as she veered towards the green canopies of the waiting jungle. Her flight was languid and relaxed, completely devoid of any hint of urgency, at least for the moment. Once she travelled far enough into the jungle interior the Lightning female searched for a place to retire and await the arrival of her suitors. She passed several likely spots along the way, but settled on a tall outcropping of rock that offered a splendid view of the forest below. Touching down gently, she purred at the thought of impending delight. Welcome one and all to this most exciting of events! I cannot tell you how long I have wanted to host a Flight for Bucha, and finally it's here! @U@ Feel free to post your menfolk (NPCs are alright, as are Healed Taints). Having them arrive will do for now, and I'm planning on having my next post be somewhere around August 2nd. I hope you all have as much fun with this as I do! |
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| Kitsu | Aug 1 2016, 11:35 AM Post #2 |
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Hatchling
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Sol tries to woo and is awkward as hell While night brought cooler temperatures the the heavy air of the jungle wrapped lightly around a resting healer pair. The two had ventured out just a few hours earlier when their duties had finished. Since the discovery of the plague and the food shortage the two had been searching for new sources. Deep within the jungles were countless plants and creatures to help support the hungry population of the academy. Solanaceae had managed better than most. Being both a Rosemary and a vegetarian meant he only had to eat a but less than usual. The one who suffered more was his rider. Her meat loving ways had to be put on hold for awhile. Raksha unhappily munched on her dinner of fruits and vegetables while the Rosemary watched her closely. Even hungry she had a bad habit of tossing them aside when he wasn't looking. Just as she took her last bites a lusty call went through the jungle. Antenna twitched in interest but the male did not move. In all his years he had never really chased a female. He had been far too busy during the war and after never had time thanks to his duties. Even now his time should be spent trying to stop the plague in its tracts. He yelped as a swift kick in the rear nearly sent him into the bushes. “Get yah ass in dah sky boy. It be time for yah tah catch some tail.” The Amazonian waggled her brows while shooing him away. Sol tried to protest as she began shoving him into a nearby clearing. “Hold on just a minute!” He flung his wings out to catch his balance as she continued to push and shove at him. “Don' give me dat yah over grown butterfly. Yah waited long enough. Get tah wooing!” The rosemary was beside himself. Underneath his dark scales his skin began to flush with a warmth he had ignored for so long. All his life he had been content with just taking care of his rider. He had never thought of bringing a child into the world while he had his claws full with her. Perhaps it was time to take that first step. There was always a chance for him to start a family. Why not now? Solanaceae shifted uncertainly back and forth as his wings unconsciously opened wider. “Oh um alright. But the second I feel something wrong on your end I am coming back.” Raksha rolled her eyes before giving the nervous dragon a good luck smack on his butt. She waved him off before returning to her spot by the fire. “Have some fun yah fuss butt.” With only a few dozen backward glances the small dragon launched himself into the cloud filled sky. It took him a moment to find the scent of the calling dragoness. He mumbled to himself as he soared over shadow filled tree tops. “Oh dear. What if I make a fool of myself.” He was so worried that he overshot the outcropping the Lightning had settled upon. Limbs flailed around as he spread his wings awkwardly to stop in midair. The Rosemary was more than a little flustered as he back winged toward the outcropping and settled just below. His head bobbed down with every word of apology. “Oh my I am terribly sorry!” His feathers all stood out as he tried to calm his nerves. Sol tried to gather his thoughts. This was a flight so he had to woo her. But how? He had never wooed anyone before and he only knew what his rider did when she wanted a mate. Perhaps that would work? “Uh um d-do you c-come here o-often? Oh my that didn't s-sound right at all.” If a dragon could blush his purple scales would be positively pink. “P-please forgive me I am not very used to this. I've um never really done this before.” His head bobbed down once more as his antenna twitched nervously. Oh why did Raksha insist he try this. He had no idea what he was doing. “Oh dear I have this all a mess. I was suppose to introduce myself first wasn't I?” Down went the head for a third time. “I am Rosemary Solanaceae. P-please permit me the chance to woo you.” The flustered dragon racked his brain for something more appropriate. It was common to remark on someones appearance. Perhaps that would be right? “Y-your eyes are like an Evening Primrose and your s-scales like the petals of a Lobelia.” Oh he did hope that was right. He really wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. |
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| SemperMemor | Aug 1 2016, 02:31 PM Post #3 |
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Majestic Space Duck
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A little hand pounded against the base of his neck. He swiveled his head around in time to see the small girl wrest herself free from the saddle and begin to scale up the length of his spine. Using his natural armor to steady herself, Anita deftly climbed and hooked a hand onto his right horn. Her free hand reached up toward the canopy of the jungle. Verglas rolled his eyes as he reared up to allow her lofty passage. “A please would be nice, you know.” Anita took care to drive the heel of her boot into one of his nostrils as she hopped up and over to a sturdy branch. “Not give sass, dragon,” she whispered. Verglas shot the girl a wounded look, wrinkling his nose. It hadn’t hurt, but he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. He flopped to his side with a heavy thud and moaned up at Anita, “Me? Oh, oh Anita, you hurt me. I would never do such a thing.” She tugged loose the bowstring strapped across her back and drew her fingers up to her lips. A low whistle rang out, and before a few moments passed a blur of black and gold rustled down through the canopy. A pair of gryphons landed on a branch above, beaks clacking and feathers ruffled with agitation. She whistled again, a different pitch this time, and they took off once more. When at last Anita addressed him, it was with a scowl. “Shut that mouth,” she grumbled. “Too loud for these strange woods. Need silence. Be off. Not get in trouble while I hunt.” That stung a little. He rolled his head up to look at her fully, but by the time he managed to pull a wry retort to the top of his tongue, she’d departed. Verglas watched his little girl slip silently through the trees. He strained for a moment to hear her. Only the sound of wind-brushed leaves met his ears. Verglas lie still for several minutes, quietly breathing. Thinking. Anita’s upbringing hadn’t failed her in these past few weeks. She returned with game each time she went out – though sometimes meager, her steady quarry was something. She fared better than most in this famine, subsisting off little and bringing home food for more than just herself and her dragon. She was used to it, she’d said. He was not, however. For the first time in his short life, Verglas was unable to evade and trick his way out of this situation. His belly ached throughout the night, waking him from restless sleep. His armor dulled, his color fading to matte, dark grey. There wasn’t enough food to sustain his body indefinitely. Even now, the strain of the evening hunt, he felt drained. Slow wingbeats approached. His head drew up from the lush detritus, peering up through the small gaps in vines above to the clouded sky just beyond. Bright, hypnotic colors soon passed overhead. He didn’t recognize the creature in that brief glimpse, but the delayed passage of pheromones left its wake was more than enough to entice him back onto his feet. A female. An excitement lit a fire in his belly. Anita’s disapproving voice yowled in the back of his head as he crept off in the direction he thought he saw the female fly. Anita had said no trouble. He wasn’t disobeying her – not that that had stopped him in the past. It wasn’t a far trek. Some twenty minutes passed before a chattering, anxious voice pulled him toward what appeared to be a small clearing. He slipped behind a set of boulders, eyes narrowed, watching. A violet Rosemary prostrated himself before an outcropping of rock. Verglas crouched, inching one paw forward at a time until he spotted what had captivated the other male’s attention. A deep blue Lightning lounged from her lofty position. Her wings sported the same brilliant pattern he’d seen from below, made as though an illusion that transfixed the eye. The colors on the ventral surface of her wings were unlike anything he’d ever seen. He found himself as frozen as his element in the moment, lost to the pulsating, vibrant colors that adorned her strange physique. The other male's words soon cut through his haze. A smooth grin split his teeth apart as the dark dragon prowled out of the jungle and slipped into visible moonlight. “Chill oooout,” Verglas whispered to Solanaceae. A glittering, white puff of air fell from his mouth as he spoke. Frost encircled his black heels as he continued his short path forward. The humidity of the jungle condensed around him and, with a little bit of ushered magic, began to coat his extremities with jagged sheets of frosted ice. His coated talons clacked against uneven stone, the tips sparking with small, crystalline shards. He brushed his clawed tail against the ground, like rapping knuckles, before sweeping his wings out in a light bow. “My name is Verglas, and I believe I've been mesmerized,” he said. He dipped his head in greeting to the Lightning perched above him. “May I know your name?” |
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| Chirpadee | Aug 2 2016, 06:24 AM Post #4 |
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behold her lovely plumage
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It was getting on towards evening and that meant the broad set forest had snuck himself away. Far from the prying eyes of his rider, far from the curious gazes of other dragons, and into the woods where no one would come looking for him. There the gruff beast had made his lair. Thick claws had allowed him to dig a den deep under the roots of the old, tall trees of the forest. A place that was only his. For the forest had his own way of dealing with the blight. Sure he hunted and prayed on the oversized insects of the forests, and on occasion stuck his nose into the den of other beasts. But mostly he filled his belly with heavy grain liquors. The bitter liquid did not fully take away the bite of hunger, but it did stop the pains. The bright buzz it left in its wake also made it easier to forget the biting sting of his empty belly, even if it did mean one hell of a headache in the morning. His matte greens had dulled from the rationed food, but he had never been a brightly colored beast anyways. He was an earthen tank, just a little on the small side. He had just crept into his burrow when a distant lusty siren called out into the night and it echoed down the tunnel and reverberated softly in his private space. His masked head turned and bright yellow eyes peered at the dim glow of fading light that penetrated his burrow. His tongue flashed out to scrape over the pristine white of his feline like face and he huffed. His claws had been on the top of a particularly old oak barrel, ready to rip the top clean off and to bury himself in the golden liquid. He had been saving this one for a cloudy night where he could claim he sought shelter and down the aged whisky like water. Instead something in him stirred. An unfamiliar sensation that rose every spike on his tail and left him feeling- well he didn’t really know what word to give it just yet. His tail flicked, brushing a good number of barrels. Gods only knows how he got them all down here, or where he had procured, or pilfered, them from. The scent of a rising female wafted into his private cave and he shot out of the burrow with all the ferocity of a badger. He paused at the entrance and shuffled back and forth, puffed up and ready to chase off whoever had come so close to his secret stash, but no one appeared to confront him. The great roots that hung over the gaping maw kept it mostly hidden, and while the occasional animal would wander in and take up residence—only to be quickly ousted, or eaten, by the forest—not many dragons could fit into such a cramped space. He hesitated there, torn between drowning the roar of his belly in foamy liquor, or following the scent. Instinct won out. He slunk through the trees, not bothering to be quiet of careful about his passage, until he could get a good shot at the sky. He had purposely made his private hide away hard to reach by wing. It was safer that way. He spread thick leathery sails and took to the skies. He was bothered that anyone could have such control over him, but curiosity and his body had the helm. Hadúr circled lazily until he caught the scent and then traced it to the source. The female he caught sight of was unlike any he had seen. Her dark hide made her blend smoothly with the darkening skies, but then her wings would stir and the swirling colors consumed the senses. He swelled with excitement, his young mind latching onto the meaning of all these signals, the smells, the sight, the call. This was a flight! His tail quivered sending every thick spine clattering like dry branches in a windstorm. He dipped lower only to find that two others had already arrived, one of which he scowled to see. His teeth shot from his gums and he growled softly in his throat. This was his chance to show the smug bastard up. The slippery prick needed a lesson or two in humility and the forest was more than happy to give it. The rosemary was just unfortunate collateral damage who happened to arrive to woo a female and ended up in the middle of a long standing feud. He landed squarely between the pair of males without any of that slinking or bashful nonsense that the others chose. None of this slipping in shadows and stuttering for the brash forest. He wasn’t that sort and if she was looking for groveling he wasn’t going to provide. It might not have been the best tactic, but he puffed up. He flared his wings in an attempt to make his form look larger than the ice, which was impossible, but he was convinced it worked. He swaggered a little closer to her rock and tipped his gold horned head to flash her a toothy grin. “These whelps botherin’ yew miss? Cuz I’m more than happy ta see them off fer yew.” He spat in the black ice’s direction, the projectile sizzling as it hit the ground somewhere near his feet. “Cuz a lady like yew should get the cream of the crop and I think these pups are out past their bedtime. I'm Hadúr by the way.” |
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| Kyariel | Aug 2 2016, 02:12 PM Post #5 |
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I GOT A JAR OF DIRT, I GOT A JAR OF DIRT, I GOT A JAR OF DIRT,
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Murtagh the Water - doesn't realize his attempt to woo sounds like a freaking bribe XD Murtagh once more wandered farther to gain some food, forging a path into the jungles to seek some form of sustenance he'd not be contesting with another dragon with. Around the same time he managed to snatch up a good sized tapir the cry of a rising female caused Murtagh's focus to snap up toward the sky, meal ignored for a moment. As soon as he realised what was going on however he was quick to gather up the whole meal and trundled through the woods deeper toward what he hoped was the female. It took some time and many false routes in the underbrush, but eventually the sunken -faced water made his own appearance. A second tapir slung across his back next to the first and held there by his wings. He paid no heed to the blood painting his shoulders and jaw carmine; but he did dip his head in weary greeting to the other three males before looking up to see who he was contesting with them for. Before now he might have been prickly about a healed tainted but Bucha was his second shot at being a father, to top off his being too bone-tired to care for now. Shown when he finally managed to speak "are you hungry milady? I have a dinner for two on my back if so". |
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Aug 3 2016, 05:49 PM Post #6 |
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Loves characters who write themselves
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And so they came to witness the Lightning who bestowed herself like a queen. Four valiant souls comprised her court in the jungle that served as their Hall. Moon bright eyes settled on each of them one after the next, careful and calculating. The first to arrive nearly missed her entirely. The dark female's wings flashed briefly green with her amusement at the spectacle. The poor dear was so nervous she wondered if he might jump out of his hide. How cute. His proposition, while halting in its delivery, was similarly endearing. Would his shyness abate if she chose him? Lowering herself to the ground, Bucha's dark wings came to mantle at her side as she regarded the Rosemary, premier among those who wished to court her. “An amateur poet,” she mused. “What a flattering composition. Though personally I fancy myself something of a Cereus.” A 'Queen of the Night' if you will, she thought with some humor. And like a monarch, her court was soon in possession of someone who could dispense that kind of entertainment. A jester. He was hidden at first, an enigma that emerged from the trees like a living shadow. Initially his element was lost to her, but as Bucha watched she saw the cold condensation of air around his body. The humidity of the surrounding jungle gave way to wisps of vapor that rolled off the male's slick, matte black hide. Tendrils of frost coated the Ice's path as he, like Solanaceae, came to supplicate himself before her. An edge of curiosity arose within the Lightning at the sight of this newcomer. “You'll be more than mesmerized by the end of this, I'm sure.” She crooned. Drifting clouds parted momentarily to allow the soft light of the moons to shine down. The rustling of trees was the only indication that a third contender had made himself know. From her lofty place Bucha purred with delight. What a splendid turnout this was shaping up to be. Pale eyes regarded the spectacle below with interest as the burly Forest claimed his space among the others. He did not bow before her, did not prostrate himself as the others had. Instead, he stood stalwart and vigorous, meeting her as an equal. In other Flights Hadúr's brazen behavior might have been cause for rejection, but here it was welcomed like any other. Who knew, being a bit rough around the edges might be a boon for her child in times like these. “This lady can more than take care of herself.” She asserted gently, “though, depending on how you fare assistance in a different matter might be appreciated.” The sensuous words left her lips as easily as any other. “I'm Bucha.” Flexing her claws, she drew herself up to stretch languidly. From her throne on high impressive wings splayed outward as she curved her frame in what was decidedly not a modest pose. The circles underneath her wings pulsed hypnotically, rouged reddish-pink with her desire. Whatever deities existed for dragons to pray to got Bucha's thanks that very moment. This Rising business was right up her alley. But, before she could continue luxuriating in her condition another arrival from the wilds beyond demanded her attention. At first, her eyes roamed the long, sleek form of the Water below, but soon her pale gaze was arrested not by his form but by the prizes he carried. The familiar scent of something that had been all too scarce of late filled her nostrils, setting her jaws to watering. Instantly, she was reminded of the vast emptiness in her stomach. Flaring her wings, Bucha decided that it was high time to grace her suitors with her presence. Aided by a single stroke of her wings she jumped down from her perch to land before them. Once on the ground she gravitated towards the Water, or, more specifically, towards the catch that he had procured. Up close the sight of blood, rich and nearly black in the moonlight, echoed the vast nothingness she felt in her belly. How wasteful of him, to let such a good resource drip down his shoulders as if it were merely water. “I am feeling a bit peckish.” She admitted casually. As she sauntered over to Murtagh her ribboned tail came to brush up lightly against his neck. Snaking her head around, she neatly plucked one of the animals from his back. If he thought he was currying favor with such an offering, then he would find himself disappointed. Even in a famine it would take more than food to win her over. Anyone in their right mind would have taken the offering, she had just had the fortune to call when he had gotten lucky. Why shouldn't she help herself? As she got some distance between herself and the male Bucha felt the powerful urge to sink her teeth into the rich, fatty meat. She wanted to devour every last bite of it, to fill the void that grew bigger with every passing day, that no meager ration could ever hope to fill. But as the thick, salty tang of blood filled her mouth she knew she had to abstain. Meat would do nothing but weigh her down, and on this night of nights even sustenance came second to her desires. So she chose to drain the creature dry, drinking greedily of its vital fluid. Thin rivulets of crimson came to mar the yellow and blue-violet of her muzzle, but Bucha paid no heed as she composed herself. The feeling of liquid in her abdomen was less filling than that of flesh, but it was something, and it would do for now. “I am immensely pleased to see that I have roused so many despite the late hour,” she began as she turned to face the gathered males. Slowly, she began to make her way through their ranks. Her movements were deliberate and sensuous, allowing them every opportunity to drink in her scent. “I've wanted to find a mate for some years now, and I must say that you all are some handsome prospects.” Discreetly, Bucha glanced up at the evening sky. Thick, cumulonimbus clouds had gathered above, their heavy forms arriving to blot out all natural light. Reaching inward, she summoned forth her magic and cast it free to work her will. Breaking away from her crowd, thin tendrils of electricity crackled along Bucha's body as she made her way back to the foot of her outcropping. With a powerful leap and a single stroke of her wings she ascended to the top once more. “So commendable of us, to brave procreation in the face of disaster, don't you think? I myself have always looked forward to a child, but... unfavorable circumstances always seemed to prevent me from realizing that dream. And I understand, Rising during a famine might seem like a stupid decision, but I have survived worse things than hunger, and I will do so again. But the time to worry about that will come later. For now, I am going to enjoy myself and savor the delight of this most sacred and carnal of rites.” “Unfortunately, I can't say the same for all of you.” The female's pale, luminescent eyes took on a fierce glow as trails of electricity sparked to life around her cheeks. Above them, a violent flash of light rent the heavens, as if some god had decided to exact its retribution on them. In its wake sounded the deep, rolling crack of thunder. Massed clouds grew thick and dark, like monsters billowing to swallow them all whole. Their insides were illuminated with violet flashes that grew more and more frequent with every passing moment. “Some females like games, others contests of strength or beauty. Some like challenges that test the mind, so that they may have the most intelligent sire for their child. All of these qualities are valuable, but I seek one above all others. I want to see in you something that I already possess. I want to see your ability to survive.” Tinted sparks crackled to life around Bucha's mouth, and as her jaws parted it condensed into a sphere of wild, untamed energy. It grew and grew in size, until finally she tilted her head and released it upward. Unhindered, the lightning gravitated towards the clouds, forking and branching out in bright arcs across the dark skies. “Any who wish to leave may do so now. For those who remain, I ask you this: Are you willing to risk death for a chance at life? If so, then join me!” Flaring her wings wide, the dark female shot off into the wind like an arrow released from a bow. Her wings pumped hard against the heavy air, carrying her resolutely towards the cloud shelf that had formed in front of the storm. Hunger and chronic fatigue ensured that this would not be a long Flight, but while that was true Bucha had made certain that it would be one that she, and the males, would no doubt remember. They would soon find that was no loving queen who gave her favors without thought or discretion. All of her gifts came with a price. If they wished to know the depths of her affections, then they would first have to realize the brilliance of her cruelty. None of them would escape from this encounter unscathed. But, for one of them victory would be worth the struggle. With one last beckoning cry, Bucha led them into the waiting, dark abyss. [OOC] ALRIGHT BOYS IT'S TIME TO GIT GUD! Coup de Foudre is a French phrase which literally means "stroke of lightning" It can also be used to reference a sudden, unexpected event or instantaneous and overwhelming passion, like love at first sight. Your task is simple: Make it through the thunderstorm alive. Bucha has created it herself, and let me say this thing is not mild. It's dark out, so your boys are going to have to use some evasive maneuvers if they want to make it home. This challenge is meant to test speed, maneuverability, quick thinking, and adaptability. Please remember that this is a dangerous situation. Injuries will not be uncommon! |
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| Chirpadee | Aug 5 2016, 05:14 PM Post #7 |
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behold her lovely plumage
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The stout forest puffed up and widened his stance as she turned her attention to him. The others had gotten attention, but they could suck his tail. He had every intention of playing to win and nothing would stop him. His claws dug into the dirt at her name. A good name, a name he was going to commit to memory so he could remember to say it when they were done. Most he didn’t bother. Nicknames were fine, kept things easier for him. Not everyone liked their nickname but that was their damn problem. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to get noticed. It was then the fourth member showed up baring an offering. He would have bared his teeth had he the lips to do so, but the mask his father had gifted him prevented such emoting. So instead he spat another heaping wad of hissing yellow goop into the underbrush. It smoked and bubbled there, showing his obvious annoyance. When she took the offered kill he huffed and puffed up a little bigger, “Suck up.” He said, loud enough he knew everyone could hear him, but not so loud as to get himself thrown out. He wasn’t interested in leaving the game early. That would get him no end of ridicule from a certain slippery black puddle His tail lashed as she got her challenge ready. Her pulsating wings forcing him to look at the rising lightning and nothing else. The storm surged above, its great cacophony of thunder growing like a rising tide and then she brought a great strike down to meet her gaping jaws, or did she send it up? The forest couldn’t be sure. The resulting flash ionized the air and he could feel the power of the blast in the moisture of his mouth and in every fiber of his body. Instinctually his wings clasped to his sides and he lowered towards the ground. Adrenaline coursed through him and then she was soaring towards the skies. His jaw dropped in awe. A rare thing for the surly bastard. She was magnificent. He had to give chase. There was no other option. Recovering himself whooped with bravado. This was better than he could have expected or asked for. His wings unfurled like sails, even knowing he was throwing himself into a tempest. He was preparing to set off into the storm. Gold eyes flashed with excitement and he threw his gilded head. “Might as well give up now yew whelps. Yew ain’t got the chops for this kind of thing. That woman is going to destroy you!” He launched himself onto the rock she had previously been perched upon and scrambled up to the zenith. His wings stretched wide and he threw his low slung body off and propelled himself upwards towards the darkened sky. Thick wings pumped against the fighting currents, her mighty storm roaring around him, a villain in the sky keeping him from his target. The flashing of her wings appeared and disappeared through the swirling clouds of the heavens. His long claws raked the air and then tucked close to his body as he forced himself higher in the choppy air. The currents yanked him too and fro and the winds ripped him sideways forcing him to swerve hard. He was hungry, he was sober, and the effort was exhausting. Thunder roared, declaring itself his adversary, mocking his suffering, deafening him to anything but the storm. He could catch glimpses of the temptress, the goddess of the storm. He pushed harder, thick wings and stocky build making him not as agile as some of the others in the flight, but he was powerful and he was determined. The air changed, a pocket heated and ionized, there was a sharp taste in his mouth and then a flash so blinding he had to swerve hard to the right and spiraled into a thick swath of cloud. He could feel the burning along his wingtip where electricity had singed the sensitive webbing. It wasn’t aiming for him, he was higher resistance then the air, but it was too close for comfort. There was a sharp tingling numbness that spread through the very edges of the membrane. He wanted to shake the limb but given how high he was into the air, that was not an option. His ears rang with the deafening stroke of thunder. It took a moment for his vision to clear from the vivid blast. All around him lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, mocking him. His quarry was nowhere in sight. He had, in that moment of blindness and self-preservation, lost her. His head yanked back and forth as the wind howled around him. “Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. Pain and adrenaline kept him focused, determination to win drove him back to the hunt. He took a deep breath each time the wind shifted, he flapped hard to keep in motion, and then it hit him. A gust from his left brought with it her scent and he swung about. Another bolt blew past him, singing the skin along his tail and blackening the nearest scales. A downdraft yanked him towards the ground and he let out a roar of frustration and forced himself upwards and out of the heavy pull of air. He turned and forced himself upwards. If he was lucky he would come up beneath her. Lightning flashed again and thunder rattled the spines on his tail. The air became thick again and he knew this time what that meant. He could feel the electricity in his mouth and he tucked his wings and dove forward and out of the way of the coming blast. This time he managed to avoid it. His muscles burned. He did not have much energy left to keep this up. “This dame is lucky I’m not dead” He cursed under his breath and began climbing again. Each powerful wingstroke drove him higher. The gusts forced him to swerve to maintain his course but he could smell her and in the distance he thought he might just have seen a flash of ever shifting wing. It was then a strike leapt from the clouds to his left and arched right in front of him, grasping fingers of electricity reaching for the cloud on the other side. He was moving too fast and it was too quick to fully avoid. The bright flaring light blinded him and his mask hit the very tail end of the blast. Pain lanced through his body. It seered across the bony exterior, burning under the mask and leaving branching patterns along the surface as it arched across his horns and left him. He was very lucky it had been the tail end of the shock, the last moments of its coursing so less current flowed through his form. There was no grounding when you were hundreds of feet in the air. For a moment his heart skipped and danced in his chest, trying to refine its rhythm. His whole body ached with the energy that had passed through him and when he regained awareness he realized he was plummeting. The world spun end over end as he dropped towards the ground. No. He told his body. Not this way. His wings spread wide and he forced them to pump. It took a few flips to regain control and he righted himself and began to ascend again. Every stroke was agonizing. The heat seared scars on his mask and that had branched down onto his thick neck would be lasting. He didn’t care. He was so close. He forced himself towards where he had last caught sight of the ghost in the storm. He could lick his wounds and regain feeling in his mouth later. For now, he was alive and he was not down and out yet. It would take more than that to take him out. It would take ten taints at least—a figure he had decided on himself—to rip him from the skies. |
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| SemperMemor | Aug 5 2016, 06:29 PM Post #8 |
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Majestic Space Duck
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So enamored by pulsating lights, Verglas was slow to notice the approach of another male. A muscled beast dropped beside him without grace, shaking the earth and puffing himself up with self-assured bravado as he gathered himself for presentation. The Ice tore his eyes away from the Lightning to glare at his abrasive clutchbrother. Months of forced proximity to Hadúr had made interactions with the Forest more like a game than a dreadful experience. He was easy to provoke, to goad to irritation and explosive outbursts - most of which he enjoyed, but the rude interruption and challenge made his empty belly churn with ire. Acid splashed at his feet. He took a step back from the acrid spray, though not in time to entirely escape the sizzling projectile. Green droplets flecked against his forearms and bore into his armor with sizzling hisses. He shook his hand to dispel the smell of burned keratin. It wasn’t enough to pain him, but the insult was clear. “Whelp?” he chuckled, the momentary anger rolling off his scales like water over duck feathers. He switched to the guttural language of their riders and invoked their familial nickname. “Maybe your ego blinds you, shortstop, but the only pup here is you.” The arrival of yet another male distracted him, but for a different reason than his predecessor. He bore with him two beasts of edible merit – a rare prize in their current circumstances. The fresh scent gnawed at his aching stomach, clouding his vision momentarily. He wasn’t a particularly vile sort of dragon, he believed, but he certainly felt ire toward the Water then. Hadúr was none too quiet in his outburst – for once, had to agree. He jolted beneath Bucha’s challenge with an eager twitch. The sudden drop in temperature and display electrified the air, calling for them with a deafening siren song. He’d have been lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel terrified at the idea. Flying head-on into an anvil cloud wasn’t high on his bucket list. He’d never tried it. They were warned against it from wyrmlinghood – it was the realm of Lightnings to call upon and weave through such charged, dangerous monstrosities, not Ices. Survival wasn’t something he’d expected from a mating flight, but it made enough sense. He was adaptable, wasn’t he? He glanced up at the rolling thunderhead and clicked his talons against loosened rock. There was only one way to find out. He jumped in chase. Black wings unfurled at the peak of his leap, cupping the air and forcing down upon it with enough lift to bring about that wonderful, fleeting sensation of weightlessness. The axis of the world shifted as he flapped again – and he was swiftly airborne. Verglas darted up toward the rumbling tempest. A grey so dark it bordered on purple, the rolling, low shelf was easy to meet. Every instinct shrieked at him to avoid it. Memories of ripped, bloody bodies of unfortunate dragons caught in storms leapt to his eyes and for a moment, he felt himself balking at the ludicrous task he was about to undertake. He glanced up in time to watch the figure overhead disappearing from sight, her woven, radiant sails proudly rising to meet her called creation. In a blink, she was gone. It would be a great feat to come out alive. He could claim to have done something remarkable, something daring, even if he didn’t win. Anita's scathing voice filled his head with disappointment and ridicule. Stupid, he was. A dumb Ice Spirit, a meddlesome, sly creature without boundaries. But basal desire claimed victory over the vision of a fist-shaking child - his nethers tugged him forward, and, definitely against better judgement, Verglas tightened his jaw and sped up. He plunged into misty darkness. Immediately, his visibility was wrenched crudely from him and his wings were pulled in seven directions as callous winds squabbled for control. He was tossed like a wet napkin up into the heart of the anvil. Directions were meaningless. Where had the earth gone? It was impossible to tell. So disoriented, he felt the acrid bile in his stomach rise up to the back of his throat. Light lashed out in forked whips. He narrowly avoided it’s lecherous grasp as it split the sky apart. As the remnant charge bristled his scales, Verglas saw the silhouettes of his challengers briefly outlined beyond planes of dense, heavy clouds. He caught a glimpse of pulsating lights overhead. Shapely wings darted swiftly through the turmoil with practiced maneuvers. Jealousy ripped through him. She moved with such ease – though he knew it was experience and element that lent her such feats, it was a sight to behold. Verglas pulled his wings close into his side to steady his floundering and set the temptress as a mark in the tumultuous chaos. For each beat up, two more were needed to clear the height he fell. It was an uphill battle that would allow no victor. He wheezed, and before long the taste of blood coated the back of his tongue. Exertion would take him long before he could master this storm. It was a hopeless desire. He was no Lightning. This was her domain, and there was no room for trickery. Saturated air congealed across his frosted scales, beading solidly and glittering in the incandescent flashes of brilliant lightning. Verglas paid it little mind as he forced his way through the clapping storm, but it was a foolish oversight – the innate coldness he surrounded himself with drew in static, his own magic making him an easy target for the supercharged height of the storm. Stray arms of eager bolts reached out for him, lovingly, almost, if it weren’t an embrace of death. He darted around the strikes, delayed as impact preceded reaction time, but it was a lost battle. Caged, they came for him as he tried and failed to keep up with his quarry. An unseen gust buffeted him across his right side then, catching his sails and careening him far, far left and out of control into a spiraling fall. Pronounced jolts static danced up the length of his spine and he scrambled for purchase, for a single wingbeat, for direction, for anything, before light filled his vision and his senses were knocked offline. The bolt rent through his wing, striking the side of his ribcage and splitting his armor into fractals. What ice he had encased himself with prior immediately shattered, ripping skin and scale as it the unwary flesh was electrocuted and wrenched apart. He felt himself falling, tumbling, wings twisted into knots as muscle control left him stunned and paralyzed. Smoke trailed from his body. Control returned to him with a great, sucking gasp of air. He struggled to catch his wind. Delayed though it was, he was alive – if a bit worse for wear. Each breath coaxed a fresh, sharp twang of pain across his ribs and wing. Verglas righted himself after a tumbling struggle and spat at his wound. Tender, weeping flesh froze beneath the ice that formed upon impact. A squeal leapt through his throat before he could stop it, but the damage was done. The bleeding was staunched. The cry deepened into a groan, a roar. If he couldn’t fight the bolts, he could try something else. Concentration was difficult in the tumultuous anvil cloud. Great, shuddering roars of wakened thunder rattled his fangs and filled his ears with a shrill ringing. His wings bent and cupped and twisted as strength fading with the passing minutes. Foam gathered at the corners of his jaws. He wouldn’t last much longer. When some semblance of height was at last achieved, he dipped his neck toward gravity. His body followed with little coaxing; again, he fell, but in a more controlled manner. The black Ice dropped like a cast stone. Riotous wind pushed him, reached, grasping, trying to part his sails and send him careening once more into the path of a bolt, but he kept his wing arms locked tightly against his sides. Below, far below, a pulsing light raced along. He steeled himself, and angled toward her. His magic sapped heat from the air around him, drawing it inward. He felt an uncomfortable warmth spread across his belly with the exchange. Though it was nowhere near as powerful as any practiced, aged Ice, the desired external effect was palpable. The temperature dropped with his fall. Crystals formed once more along his armor, and he soon felt the warning crackle of static creep across his charred body. Verglas released his failing concentration as he darted past Bucha, leaving behind a pocket of frigid air. The coaxed strike exploded behind him. But it was too unpracticed a maneuver, and too close. An eager fork reached out and touched him with a cacophonous blast. Verglas saw, rather than registered, a six-foot chunk of charred, membranous flesh fall out of the sky below him. It was a delayed moment before he realized it was his own wing that now sported a sizable gash. Verglas dipped beneath Bucha, unable to keep himself from gaining any altitude. Smoke trailed from his body. A pulsing, hypnotic field of light filled his vision like a balm as he looked up toward her. “You were right,” he croaked. “But oh, what a sight.” |
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| Kitsu | Aug 6 2016, 01:31 AM Post #9 |
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Hatchling
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Antenna twitched at the female's choice of words. Interesting that she knew the meaning of the flower. Though was she truly the same, would she bloom only on this night or would her petals always show so beautifully? The sound of approaching steps drew his attention from the female. The rosemary jerked when the chilly voice of the Ice reached his ears. Oh no. He knew of this Ice. While he was seldom in the infirmary there were plenty who ended up there thanks to his pranks. He along with the other healers had had to fix up more than a few busted tailbones. Though he wasn't as bad as long as the other on-....oh dear. Before he could finish his thoughts the other half of the troublesome pair arrived. The Rosemary took a worried step to the side as the Forest strode forward. A great glob of acid was tossed in the direction of the Ice. Solanaceae worriedly watched the two fling words at each other. When the two came together there was always a mess to clean up. A fourth suitor quickly drew all their attention. While the bellies of the others grumbled Sol's tightened up. He look absolutely green at the sight of the tapirs. The strictly vegetarian dragon quickly averted his gaze lest he loose the contents of his stomach. It would be a most inappropriate thing to do at his first flight. He kept his head turned away as he heard teeth rip into flesh. No doubt the female was taking what she could for her flight. Ugh why must he become so ill at another's feeding? He was perfectly fine dealing with a grizzly wound but the second someone munches something he was out for the count. The Rosemary kept his mind on the duties he needed to perform in the next few days to distract himself. Thankfully he didn't have to do that for very long. The Lightning was becoming impatient herself. Sparks of electricity caressed her midnight form. She was filled with the magnificence and danger of the storm she birthed. The heavens above roared in hunger, eager to devour the hopeful suitors. Thunder rolled as lighting flashed through the sky. This flight would be anything but easy. By the end of the night they would all bare the marks of this female's first flight one way or another. With her challenge came a question. Would they risk their lives at a chance of bringing forth new life. Sol watched as the younger female threw herself into the raging storm. Two of the other suitors quickly followed suit. The Rosemary however stayed for the moment. His gaze turned back toward the trees in the direction of his camp. Through their bond he could already feel his rider's irritation at the sudden storm. He sent feelings of apology and reassurance. He hoped she was sheltered enough in the campsite. A wave of confidence slammed into him harder than any storm. He could almost hear the Amazonian cheering him on. Muscles bunched as the smaller dragon thrust himself into the waiting arms of the storm. Winds whipped and tore at his feathers as he pushed himself higher. Instead of fighting the winds he left them take him. While he had not the flying skills of an Air he had been flying longer than many of the others here had been alive. Solanaceae had lived through war. He would live through this. His body was small and agile, filled with years of experience. Now was the time to put it to good use. As the winds pushed and pulled at him lighting flashed all around. His ears with the long antenna on each twitched this way and that. He waited for the telltale tingle before pumping his wings. Sol let the storm have him but never let it fully catch him. Lighting danced on all sides setting his body ablaze when the ends touched him. Cuts and burns adorned his body, some lasting while others began to close on themselves. He furrowed his brows in concentration as he tried to force his magic to obey. Since its strengthening it had gotten harder to control. He would gain control of it in time but for now his body struggled to heal itself as he fought to survive the storm. He hissed through his teeth as he veered to the side once more. Sparks danced across his scales leaving burning marks. He wouldn't be able to keep this up forever. With most his mind on navigating the storm he couldn't fully heal himself. It was only a matter of time until his luck ran out. Most of the fluff on his back was scorched black. It would grow back but for now it was a painful remind of his time running out. Once more the telltale tingle of his antenna alerted him. The split second warning had given him enough time to avoid the worst damage so far. What happened next stole that precious time he needed. Through those flashes of light he saw another of the males fall. Unsure of which it was it still captured the Healer's attention. Like a striking snake lightning bit into his shoulder and down his back. Sol choked on a cry of pain as his wings locked up on him. His flesh sizzled as he struggled to keep airborne. He couldn't keep flying this way and heal himself. So he didn't. Solanaceae retched his wings closed and let himself drop like a stone. In those few flashes of light he had noticed a river down below. If his eyes weren't deceiving him then what he had just passed over would make his plan possible. Wind rushed passed his body as he put all his concentration on his magic. Like a living wild thing it fought him. It was like being struck by lighting all over again. He tried to force his wounds closed. The magic constantly slipped out of his grasp though, healing other bits of his body or nothing at all. Sol did his best to pay the world rushing up to meet him no mind. He just needed a little more time. Flesh slowly stitched itself back up as trees came back into view. The leaves on them starting to become clear to see even in the scattered light. His shoulder burned as he forced all his magic into it as the waterfall he had notice before came up to meet him. Water splashed his underside and cooled the burns he had yet to heal. Talons scraped the rushing water as he flew down the front of the rushing waterfall. Down below water crashed against ink black rocks. With his wings as healed as he could manage he let them fly open. The Rosemary curved away from the rapids that wished for his flesh just as much as the storm above. He pumped his sore wings before gliding over the river for a moment. He cast his tri-colored skyward for a light display different from the storm. Through the dark clouds a faint shimmer of color called. The radiant colors of Bucha's wings pulsed, her siren's lure to pull the boys to their doom. He watched the storm rage on overhead. No matter how dangerous and deadly it was it was still a magnificent sight to behold. Teal wings scorched by the Lighting's doing began to pump once more. The small form of the Rosemary began to rise higher and higher to meet the storm again. Even with her wings so bright Bucha had once more slipped out of sight. Sol had no way of knowing which way she had flown. So he did the only thing he could do. The Rosemary steadied himself the best he could and let the storm take him once more. |
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| Kyariel | Aug 7 2016, 10:52 AM Post #10 |
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I GOT A JAR OF DIRT, I GOT A JAR OF DIRT, I GOT A JAR OF DIRT,
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Murtagh - Trying to keep up The long male didn't argue when one of the pair were lifted from himself, he had offered to be kind not bribe. Then Bucha made her challenge known. The idea he'd have to fly up in that maelstrom made Murtagh internally wince but he slid the other tapir off his back as the first three went aloft to follow Bucha and bunched himself up as much as possible tensing his leg muscles for a good kick off. In a manner of speaking once he managed to get his front end up and away from the ground he was able to get flying. If you could call being yanked skyward by the vicious wind flying anyway. Shoulders wrenched painfully as Murtagh worked to right himself; doubly so when a sizeable bolt of the skies fury crackled right for him just as he managed to enter the core of the storm. The water dragon tried to fold his wings and drop like a stone but the winds were too strong, all he succeeded in doing was avoiding a killing blow as the lightning danced painfully along his tail. Assuredly leaving a scar in his wake if the pain that made him bellow out was any indication. Then the wind forced him to open his wings once more as it dragged him along like an over-excited child pulling a kite through the sky. This time it was hauling him in a spiralling pattern for a good span. Leaving him wondering if he'd gotten back to the outer edge of the thunderhead since it was just darkness and the howling winds to all sides. The 'calm' was not to last however, as a second bolt arced from the clouds and this time nearly paralysed his wings as it struck him along the end of one wingtip to claw all the way across the other leaving the trailing edge of both fin-style wings bloody and ragged. This should have made him drop out; hell the pain alone should have. But Murtagh was nothing if not stubborn, if he chickened out too soon he felt he'd not even gain a second look from Bucha. So it was only after he finally managed to roll out of the path of a much larger bolt than the first two that he spotted Bucha's colors in the storm and pumped his sore wings for all they were worth as he roared out in wordless exhilaration to prove himself to the female Lightning. |
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Aug 8 2016, 10:19 AM Post #11 |
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Loves characters who write themselves
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All around them rung the sound and fury of heaven. Like mortals defying gods her quartet of suitors had done as she asked. They offered themselves up whole to the tempest knowing full well that they might be torn asunder. By the grace of her element she alone was spared, allowed to fly freely and unafraid of the next strike or powerful wind that sought to take hold of her. Each tingle of electricity was like a fleeting touch from an old friend. And strong, thickly sailed wings conquered the riotous wind as easily as if it were nothing more than a stray summer breeze. Bright, ribboned sails flashed vividly as she spearheaded the movement through the tempest. She was an anchoring point of light, a living beacon of color amidst the darkness she had summoned. She gave herself freely to the whims of the air, letting its long currents bear her in whichever direction it saw fit to take her. To fight would have been meaningless, and it would have wasted valuable energy. Instead, Bucha kept her wings steady and felt for any shift, however subtle, that would suggest a change in the current pattern. Off to her right, a warm draft spoke of a rising thermal. As she rolled into its direction she could taste the tell-tale saturation of ozone on her tongue. A long, sharp edged bolt flashed in front of her a moment later, its eager fingertips coming to caress her dark hide. A thrill unlike any other sang through the Lightning's veins as the wild strike coursed through her. Acclimatized nerves carried the surge through her body like it was simply air from her lungs. The remnants projected out from her wingtips to flow easily through the static filled air. Spreading her wings out to their fullest extent, heated air cupped beneath the broad membranes and bore the Lightning high from her original position. She sought the chance to conceal herself within the cloud's embrace, and as she was enveloped by the thick swathe of shadows her hypnotic impulses dimmed in response. A hide of deepest blue and violet would ensure that she and her vantage point would remain safe from detection. From high above Bucha watched with keen, discerning eyes as her suitors fought desperately to defend themselves from the onslaught. Thick arcs of electricity traveled the path of least resistance, often striking near, or within close proximity of the males. Cruel and indifferent, the ionized air rent sail and flesh alike. Like an oracle, the Lightning watched impassively as her suitor's reacted. A moon bright gaze shifted downward, ready to parse out meaning and intent from the slightest of maneuvers, the most minute of gestures. She had asked much of them, but her challenge would pale in comparison to what they would need to do in the coming months. In these trying times whoever sired her child would need to be steadfast and loyal. They would need endurance and fortitude to see that she and their egg were provided for. Regardless of whichever male it was, she was certain they would prove themselves shortly enough. First among them, Hadúr charged fearlessly into the heart of her creation. Even hungry and tired he displayed a tenacity that many would envy. Such grit served him well when a glancing strike sent him tumbling into a nearby cloud. While it would have been nothing for her, the Forest had emerged visibly shaken and it was clear that his reactions had become hampered by the blow. But even then he continued to fight on, clawing his way tooth and nail back to where he thought she was. Certainly a praiseworthy effort. But it quickly became apparent that the storm was not through with him yet. The Forest male was quickly made to endeavor once more when a wisp of superheated air connected with his Ruin-gifted helm. Morbid curiosity saw to bind Bucha's eyes to the unfolding scene. Would such a blow drive him to leave her Flight? A strike to the face was no laughing matter, and at such a close range it would no doubt etch lasting marks onto his hide. Swinging towards another shaded pocket of air, the Lightning temptress soon focused in on her chilliest admirer. A seemingly bitter rival to the surly Forest, Verglas proved to be just as determined, if not a bit more excited to meet her demands. As one of the larger competitors on the playing field his elemental alignment posed considerable risk. Static was generated through the interaction of cooled water droplets and icy crystals within the air. Discounting her, that made him the most attractive target in the skies. She wanted to know how he would fare given that limitation. Angling her wings slightly, Bucha descended to a lower point within the cloud cover in hopes of getting a closer observation. Initially, the Ice male showed great maneuverability, weaving in and out of the strikes as best he could. But, like Hadúr, he too was soon struck and brought low. No doubt enticed by the cold air around him, the white hot lance saw an opportunity to extend its brief lifespan by connecting to the static that pooled around him. She couldn't see the extent of his injuries, but she more than heard the low, aching call that resounded across the skies. It took her a moment of searching before she could spot the form of her smallest suitor. Possessed of more years than the rest of them combined, Solanaceae had struck her as a bit of a surprise contender. Where the other two had been bold and boisterous, he was shy and clearly flustered in regards to this particular aspect of life. But in terms of survival the odds were ever in his favor. He was small and more compact than the others, but by far his greatest asset would be his experience during the War. The dark female watched carefully as the Rosemary relented to the power of the storm. A smart move. None of them were strong enough to fight the currents that dictated the path of the thunderhead. The only reason she maneuvered so easily was because she was born to chase the tempest, to live within it. Sol, however, wasn't designed for such punishment and in place of that he employed ingenuity and clever tactics to make up for his shortcoming. He used his magic and turned it on himself, healing the wounds that her storm had caused. But he failed to keep it up forever, and she saw him duck below the clouds, out and away from the storm. Had it become too much for him? She didn't have the time to dwell on such a thought. Even as comfortable as she was within the gale she could feel her strength waning. A dull ache began to emanate from her shoulders, radiating into her neck and forelimbs. Her breaths grew heavier as massive lungs fought to supply her body with needed oxygen amidst the exertion. The tiring female swung below the clouds so that she could regard the last of her potential mates. The final challenger, the male who had so graciously allowed her part of his meal – a near altruistic act in these days when all forms of sustenance were precious. Like his comrades he was in no way immune to the powers of the storm, and was soon thrashed soundly by the combination of vicious wind shears and lethal discharges. But, amazingly, he managed to right himself despite the damage his wings had taken in the blast. Somehow he had managed to find the strength to keep going. A fighter for sure. Tipping her leading edges downward, Bucha let gravity return her to the forefront of the chase. Streaks of clouds followed in her wake as her wings pulsed back into life, colored with an enticing hue. She had seen enough. Lively sparks began to flare along her spine, flowing rhythmically down her back in time with the flashing of her wings. At first the stray impulses dissipated harmlessly into the air, but as she banked to gain height they were suddenly attracted to a larger, more concentrated source near her. Cold air came to envelope her momentarily, and all her pale eyes saw was a flash of black in her peripheries before the blinding gleam of lightning colored her immediate vicinity. The blast petered out almost as soon as it had been created. In the aftermath, a hoarse voice from below drew her attention. Bucha turned to regard the battered, smoking for of Verglas with appreciative surprise. That had been a bold, dangerous thing for him to do, attracting a bolt like that. Sweeping close, her paw came to trail along the line of his spine. “Hopefully you'll get to see more of me.” She whispered. Pulling away, Bucha gave voice to a clear, ringing note as she burst through the edge of the clouds, signifying the end of her challenge. The clear skies above were as velvety dark as her hide, pelted all across with the light of thousands of stars. Heavy wingbeats slowed as exhaustion began to settle deep in her bones. With some effort the Lightning female managed to set herself equidistant between her two hopeful mates. Murtagh and Solanaceae, while brave and ingenious, were not what she was looking for. Her child wouldn't always be able to heal themselves in the middle of a crisis, nor would they always have luck on their side. Sometimes, they would simply have to face hardship head-on and carry on despite the pain. She wanted, needed someone who could give them the best chance at doing that. With what little remained of her strength, the bright Lightning tilted her wings and drifted over towards her mate. Her croon of relief filled the space around them as her wingtips brushed up against his seared, storm-torn membranes. “I think I might need that help now Hadúr.” She whispered, her words intended for his ears alone. You guys made this so difficult! Seriously, this choice was agonizing ;A; Your boys were all wonderful, and in the end I narrowed it down to Verglas and Hadúr. Honestly, if things were different Bucha would have chosen both of them. But, in the interests of keeping the egg count down I had to settle for one. So, without further ado congratulations to Chirp ;U; And thank you all for participating! I had such a wonderful time writing this Flight, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did <3 |
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| Chirpadee | Aug 18 2016, 11:53 AM Post #12 |
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behold her lovely plumage
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The sharp ringing in his ears was drowning out the deafening peals of thunder as he gave in and locked his wings temporarily, letting the gusts buffet him as he tried to catch his breath. The wind tossed him like a toy ship in a storm, he held himself upright, but it had its wicked way with him while he recovered. His breathing was ragged and his muscles were screaming with every wingbeat. He was quickly flagging now he had been struck with the full force of the blow. He could feel blood seeping down his neck, rendered cold by the ferocity of the storm. The pain blurred his vision, but in the distance he saw her. His albatross, guiding him from the darkness. He pitched his wings and followed her, beating them against the storm which still grasped him tightly. In the distance she dipped low to touch the other suitors, gracing them with her presence and what he assumed were words. The wind stole them far from his ringing ears. He felt anger boiling in him, thinking they had been chosen. She was a great specter of light and shadow, dancing out of his claws. He desired, he craved. She reached out to his hatch brother, the suave black shape of Verglas and his teeth extended so he could grind them in his frustration. He was so close. He forced his wings to beat the air harder, he fought the winds with all his might. With an abruptness enough to steal the air from his lungs, he burst free of the gray murk and into the open heavens. The winds released him like a jealous lover, unwilling to relent to his departure and he had to fight desperately to not be dragged back into blackness. Then all at once there was nothing, but the distant vibration of thunder and the sharp ringing in his right ear. The air was all at once still and filled with the remaining thermals of evening. He took stock of himself, ensuring he still had all his bits now that he had a moment of calm. Everything burned. His neck screamed with the agony of fresh burns. His head pounded with exhaustion and stress. He was going to regret his choices tomorrow. He was lucky, very lucky, that he was alive. His legs trembled with the residual spasms of energy which lodged in his muscles and he considered that landing might be a bit of a challenge. Then there she was, coasting towards him from beyond the storm. Her pulsating wings drew him from his self reflection. It was strangely silent beyond the ringing, no wingbeats, no breath, just her form against the darkened sky, beckoning. She was whole and untouched by her own gale. She was the siren in the storm and she came for him. He relented like a sailor to her pull. He straightened his wings and glided, watching her lips form words he was having trouble making out above the sharp unending ring of his ruptured eardrum. It was as if she was still far away, but he grasped at their meaning until he found it, drifting and distant to him as they were. Her touch was a different sort of electricity that surged through his muscles giving him a third wind. Exhaustion left him in a new burst of adrenaline. He let out a roar of success, too excited to be compassionate to the feelings of those who had not made it. Victory was upon him. He was chosen. His head snapped around to his “brother” and smugness settled in like an old friend coming home. He would gloat later. For now, he had business to attend to. Oh he had done it. Bucha had seen that he would combat anything head on, be it boulders like in his lessons, or lightning. Though in hind sight he should probably avoid the later in the years ahead. He didn’t know if he could handle a second bolt to the dome. This lightning bolt of a female had proven beyond a reasonable doubt she could take care of herself and he was wildly impressed by the gauntlet she had run them through. Yet he had been the best of the best. Of course he had known that all along, but she had seen it. His shocking gold eyes swung back to Bucha and he flicked his tongue over his heat scared mask. He spoke far louder then he should have due to the damage to his hearing from her storm, “Ah well I would like to see a lot more of ya. Lead me away Bucha, queen of the storm. I gotta a lot of somethin’ to show you. I suggest we take to the ground to do the doing.” Big talk for such a small dragon, but he seemed self-satisfied that he would please her further once they landed. |
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