The horde

For artistic creations in text format.

Moderators: KingOfDoma, NebulaQueen

Kyton
 

The horde

Unread postby Kyton » Mon Dec 23, 2002 9:18 pm

Here is where I will be placing the information on my many characters. I have a list... and it's a long one! *Waves it threateningly*

It'll likely take me a fair while to get them up here though seeing as I'm going to be doing it one or two at a time every few days, ^_^


User avatar
pd Rydia
Moderator
 
Posts: 5269
Joined: Mon Apr 22, 2002 4:12 pm
Location: Temple of Fiends

Re: The horde

Unread postby pd Rydia » Mon Dec 23, 2002 10:25 pm

o.o

Are you going to write these, all fic-like, or is this something that better belongs in the OOC RP forum? <p><div style="text-align:center">
"On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...an F.N.W.C.!"
-- VampireJesterJinx (VA by...Dia! :D!)</div>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">Barge: *raises his sword* Game... *twirls it* Set... *smirk*
Big Fat Chocobo: *a big fat chocobo falls on the demon Barge* ^)-(^
Hakaril: .......Dia? Did YOU do that?
Rydia: *stares* o_O ...I think so.
Hakaril: ...that's great!
Richard: O.O WOAH. Remind me NEVER to get YOU mad, Dia. O.O;;;;
Raptre: HAAAAAAA HAAAAAAA!!!!!!
Idran: So remember everyone. Crushing works good on demons.</span></p>

Kyton
 

fic-like of course!

Unread postby Kyton » Tue Dec 24, 2002 1:56 am

They're going to be all fic-like ^_^ ... that's one of the reasons they'll be a while in coming. I'm hoping to get them described, and a little more *Vague hand-twist expression*. Sort of something to give back story, why they act the way they do, the reasons for their little twists and quirks (Or in at least one case... a big twist.)

I'm going to start with Drokaal, a young dragon. For a couple of reasons... the biggest naturally being that I've already written his back story >tee hee< ^_^''

Fair warning though... they'll be big posts... a couple pages worth on word for each. --you have been warned--


Kyton
 

Drokaal, dragon of the ice

Unread postby Kyton » Tue Dec 24, 2002 2:06 am

Here is my favorite character (ok... one of a few). I use him mainly when I am in a dramatic mood. He's very dramatic you see, lots of angst and all that good stuff ^_^
---------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------
Drokaal

A small rustle shifted the branches of a bush that sat nestled among the trees of a dark forest. As a second slight rustle flowed out a deer lifted its head in wariness. Then the forest exploded into a flurry of sticks and leaves as a small animal launched itself from the bush. But the lunge fell short and the timid deer bolted down a game trail, disappearing in mere moments.

The dislodged leaves settled to the forest floor, a dark shape cut through one of the few shafts of light that filtered down through the inter-woven branches overhead. An exasperated whoosh of air sounded, followed by a dull snap from the low brambles. A small-scaled foot slid into one of the pools of light. The curves of bronze talons were revealed as they cut into the soft forest floor in frustration. A small, violet and blue, serpent-like head slowly followed, turning left and right in search of its prey. No sign of the deer remained, save the loosened clods of dirt left by its passing.

The creature straightened, muscles rolling as its head craned out on its long neck, revealing the deep purple scales of its underside. Scaled nostrils flared, drawing in a new scent carried by the winds. It was familiar, but not food. It was dangerous. The creature bounded off the trail, settling low to the ground behind a thick copse of bramble. A voice began murmuring through the trees.

“Let furl the sail and man the oars… Duh du-du-du-…oop, almost missed that one.”

Through the trees the creature could see an old man bent over, inspecting a plant.

“Yep… it’ll do.”

When the man stood again, the creature finally recognized it as being part of a strange breed that he preferred out of his territory. The man placed the newly acquired plant into a small sack, and resumed his trek down the trail, heading directly towards the creature.

Sensing an opportunity to scare the intruder away, blue scale and small bronze horn flashed in the light as the creature leapt from the bushes with a bloodcurdling roar. As the creature landed it hid a smile, ready to chase the fleeing man to be sure it didn’t return for a good while. He so enjoyed that shrill screech they made as they ran.

Caer instinctively pulled his old dagger from its sheath, spinning to defend himself. No attack presented itself, however after a moment of confusion, his aging eyes finally focused on the creature before him. His stance relaxed, it was nothing more than a single, small dragon. It was just standing there, its head slightly cocked, its sharp young eyes staring at him.

The young dragon was puzzled; he had never seen one that didn’t run. The man’s smile did little more than heighten his perplexion. The smile broadened, and the man’s head fell backwards as a strange, loud sound bubbled from it. The young dragon looked around nervously, fear that an alarm was being raised sinking into his mind. No help came.

After a while the noise quieted, and the man returned his gaze to the three-foot figure before him. His gaze soon wavered, and his aged head drooped and started wagging from side to side as his sides heaved in some sort of convulsion.

Grabbing his chest, Caer placed a hand against a nearby tree and sank to the ground in mirth. To be so scared by an infant dragon was just too much. After all he’d seen and fought and survived, it was just too much. He was returning the dagger to its sheath when the young dragon took a step towards what it must have deemed insane, and given his actions it would have been at least part right.

“I don’t suppose you’ve learned to understand our speech yet.” The man mumbled to himself as he gathered his wits. Then he spoke in a tone more audible to the youngster. “You have quite the bellow for one as small as yourself.” He wagged a finger for emphasis, chuckling as the young dragon’s head followed its motion exactly. “It’ll land you in trouble one day.”

The young dragon understood very little of what the man said, but the mocking tone in his voice was clear, and it still felt the sting of his words. The dragon reared up at the insult, letting loose another mighty roar and slamming the ground with its forepaws. Even for its diminutive size, the dragon was able to cause a slight ruffle in the trees. The desired effect, however, was denied him. He gained nothing more than another bought of that sound. Exasperated, he waited for it to come to a hiccuping stop. He then tried to form together a few of the words that he heard floating on the wind during his sole year of life.

“W…Whydo you no…go?”

Now Caer was surprised. He hadn’t expected the dragon to be able to speak yet, even in the muddled, mispronounced form it did. “W-What did you say?” It was the man’s turn to stare.

“Whydo you…n-no go?” The dragon gave an affirming nod to himself.

The young dragon’s words dashed Caer’s notion that the being had not been exposed to humans, or at least not ever long enough to have learned speech. Now the question of how to respond was raised. He had to think for a while on how to explain simply enough. The runes had told him it would be an interesting day…

“I,” Caer gestured towards himself, “do not go because I am not afr- scared. You are small…I am big. I would win.”

Caer could almost see the grindstones turning as the dragon fought to puzzle out the words. After a time the dragon took a pair of slow steps towards him, long neck craning forwards. His face was a mere three feet away, and still Caer sat contentedly, smiling to himself as he appraised the infant. The young dragon’s lips parted, exposing dagger-like teeth. It seemed the young dragon was changing its mind about the unimposing old man.
Just as Caer attempted to stand the dragon’s mouth closed, its teeth audibly snapping together. Turning, it swiftly stepped from the path into the building darkness of the wood. The last thing the aging healer saw was a glint of blue and bronze as the bladed tail flicked through a sunbeam, and was gone.

Caer Kingris met with the dragon often over the course of the next two years, and he was one of the few humans privy to the startlingly rapid development of an infant dragon. He was amazed at how quickly the young dragon learned to speak during their visits. The dragon was equally and constantly amazed by the tales of his travels across the continent. They walked together during the man’s herb-gathering sorties; Caer explaining precisely how to dry, store, and use each leaf or bit of bark he chose.

During the spring of their second year, their conversations still stayed near the old topics of healing and travel and adventure. Caer was being unusually aloof and mischievous for several weeks, and the dragon’s curiosity was getting piqued. Finally one day, as the pair passed through a small clearing they often frequented, he succumbed to the young dragon’s prodding.

“It’s time we figured out what your name should be my friend.” Caer gave the young dragon a knowing smile as he spoke. One he often flashed when about to say something profound.

“Why? Why do I need a name?” The dragon’s head turned on its long neck so he could see the healer as they came to a stop. “You know me good enough.”

Caer held up a hand to the young dragon’s side for balance as he mounted a fallen log. “That’s ‘well enough’. And you need a name because…well… everyone needs a name. It gives you a sense of identity…” the dragon flashed a confused look, and Caer scrambled to find a more suiting phrase. “…of who you are.”

Bronze horns glinted as his head nodded. “How do you get a name then?”

As the young dragon spoke, Caer bent over to get a closer look at a patch of mushrooms lying nestled in a broken section of the hollowed trunk. “Well…” The man grunted as he straightened himself again, revealing a handful of mushroom caps.

“These make an excellent reliever of pain,” Caer turned and hopped from the log, then displayed the fungi for inspection, “just be sure they are properly tinctured in the way I’ve taught you, or else they can be poisonous.”

The dragon leaned in closer, his scaled brow rising in impatience. “Umm, my name…?”

“Uh? Oh, yes yes… your name. I’ve been thinking about that for a long time now, and I finally think I have it.” Caer brought himself up as tall as his stooped, aged frame would allow. “I believe your name should be Drokaal.” After receiving a puzzled look he explained. “It means ‘life calling’ in the philosopher’s tongue and it refers to how every living being, from dryad to dragon, has a purpose to their life. Always remember that.”

“Drokaal… Drokaal,” a slow smile parted his scaled lips as he warmed to the name, and he stood just a little taller than before. “I like it. From now on, I will be Drokaal.”

Laughing, Caer laid a hand on Drokaal’s shoulder, which had grown a full two feet higher in the last pair of years. “Pleased to meet you, my friend! Pleased to meet you!”

Over the next seven years, Drokaal learned much about healing, and about himself. His muscles became well defined and round as his body matured at an astounding rate. He also discovered his natural ability to hurl spheres of ice from his maw. Caer, much to his disheartment, found one melting in his half-destroyed home. The young dragon also learned to fly, but that process was exceedingly slow, and frequently required the healing skills of his human friend.

Drokaal’s happiness was waning, because as he became stronger with each passing year, his friend Caer became weaker. Drokaal was often alone now during his herb-gathering treks, to return to the hut with a full satchel for drying. The man took little part in the making of the remedies any more, and had even begun declining calls to go to the nearby town. He was old; there was no way to deny it.

Their ninth winter together was harsh, and Drokaal had learned barely enough of the healing arts to help Caer see it through. The ordeal left the human weak, and he soon took ill. Drokaal knew it would be their last season together. That fall, when the leaves were just beginning to turn, Drokaal lay beside his friend’s bed. His dark blue scales reflected the light of the single flickering candle off his back like a thousand stars. The head of his now five-foot body hovered over the slumbering aged form, as he looked sadly at the care-formed wrinkles of the old man’s face, listening for his labored but even breathing. Caer’s breath caught a moment; then Drokaal felt the man’s cool hand against his scaled cheek.

“Why do you stay here, surely you have better things to do than watch an old man sleep.”

Drokaal’s head drooped, and he closed his eyes as he spoke. “You know why.” It was all the response he could muster.

“Come now, this is so unlike you. What burden lies so heavily on that heart of yours that it could silence such a large mouth?” A chuckle escaped from his aged lips, which quickly turned into a violent cough. It was over in only a few seconds, and Caer reached for the tea already held in Drokaal’s talons. He sat and silently stared at the steaming cup for a time, then took a long pull of the tinctured brew.

“It’s you.” Drokaal opened his eyes again, and turned to face Caer. “You’re dying.” Drokaal took the cup from his friend and replaced it on the nearby table. The young dragon did not turn back to face him. His eyes were already stinging. “It’s unjust to merely disappear, forgotten, with nothing left behind to be remembered by! What purpose is there to live a full life of service and duty only to be summarily put to the wayside?” Drokaal took hold of the corners of the table, and the old wood creaked as his talons crushed down on it.

“Remember what I told you when I gave you your name?” Drokaal turned back around as Caer pushed himself up. “From dryad to dragon every life has a purpose. So long as that purpose is met there is no-waste-in-life!” The last few words were emphasized with several pokes to Drokaal’s scaled chest. “My purpose was to heal, and to teach. I have done both for fifty-two years, the most fulfilling with you. I taught you to look on other beings with respect, and I have warned you against people and their fears, and I have taught you my craft.” The healer paused for a moment to take a shuddering breath and drink more tea. “If you use what I have taught you to save a single life, then mine has had purpose. Then all these years I’ve spent will have been worthwhile.”

“But I…I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be left all alone again. It hurts too much already.” As he spoke, a line of wetness drew itself from the corner of his eye, darkening a narrow path down his scales. Silently, Caer offered the young dragon his knowing smile as a hand traced down Drokaal’s jaw-line. His old, wrinkled skin felt soft against the cool, flexible scales.

“Drokaal… Despite your form, you are still very much the child I never had. I wish I could say the pain would go away. Oh… I wish so many things for you… so, so many.”

The herbs in the tea were finally beginning to take effect, and once again Drokaal retrieved the cup before Caer slid down in his bed and drifted back into slumber. As the man’s words worked their way into Drokaal’s consciousness he stood and gazed at the sleeping form of his friend and mentor. On occasion, he could tell when someone was about to die. He could see it in the air around them as they were brought to the healer, a half-seen shimmer, like heat waves from hot rocks. He saw the same shimmer come to life around his friend and he turned away, clamping his eyes shut against the sight.

The house began to close in on him, he could smell the sweat of labor unrecognized, of herbs carefully picked and dried. The sensation became overwhelming, he had to leave, he had to get out. The young dragon bolted through the long ago widened doorway, spread his wings with sounds like the snapping of canvas, and took flight.

He didn’t know why he was drawn, but within moments his beating wings took him to a sharp rocky hill that sprouted from near a sleeping town deeper in the valley. He landed on the darkened patch of land where life refused to grow, his mind filled with thoughts of betrayal, misery, anger, and loneliness. The image of Caer flooded back his mind, that strange shimmer around him. He felt a welling in his throat, he couldn’t breathe. He turned towards the heavens, spread his blue wings, and let loose a bellow of rage and anguish that sent the birds from their nighttime roosts.

When he had expelled the last of his breath his head turned downwards, and he dropped down on his haunches as he wrapped his tail around his feet. Lying on his back in the little thatch home, a small smile played at Caer’s lips. Then his breathing slowed.

Drokaal returned to a silent hut and sat by his mentor, his friend, his father throughout the night. The first rays of dawn were met with a winged silhouette moving towards the horizon. When the villagers came to soothe their woes that day all they found was an empty hut and a mound of freshly turned soil. At the head was a block of ice carved into the likeness of the healer, his hand held towards a timid small dragon. No one understood the sculpture, no one knew that it had been made of Drokaal’s tears, and carved of his sorrow. In its place a single Oak tree took root, the only one to find life within the small valley.


Kyton
 

oops... heh

Unread postby Kyton » Tue Dec 24, 2002 2:11 am

Now that your eyes hurt... I guess I should let you know that comments, critiques, questions etc are all welcome ^_^


Sobe Dragon
 

Re: oops... heh

Unread postby Sobe Dragon » Wed Feb 12, 2003 3:10 pm

hey I liked it, bring more on. I wish I had some developed characters to do this with, it would be fun, as is though I think this is about my fourth post in here. I haven't even done a RP yet, but I'm sure that I'll get into one eventually, I have some decent ideas about some characters, and trust me, they definitely aren't godlike. Anyways I liked this description of Drokall and hopefully you'll get a few more characters up here.


viator22
 

Re: oops... heh

Unread postby viator22 » Thu Feb 13, 2003 5:11 pm

*Wonders why this was revived*


Image <p>-------
EbilRyuuzoku: SLEEP IS FOR THE DUTCH

DWSage008: owes the chat gumballs?</p>Edited by: [url=http://p068.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=pdrydia>pd]&nbsp; Image at: 6/10/05 18:16


Return to Fanfiction and Other Writings

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 11 guests

cron

Yalogank