Post by Dryrah on Dec 5, 2007 22:09:06 GMT -5
Deep in the heart of the Syranian mountains, the dragons waited. Dryrah sat there, in the largest cave, impressive in the dim light. Even though she was at a reasonable fifty feet long, the last dragon lord still towered over her kin. Her golden eyes glowed like beacons in the darkness, her nostrils twin dull red furnaces of flame. Curled up and lying down, she sat here, resting for the moment, thinking. The days ran together here, in the darkness of stone. Her ebony scales rustled as she shifted, repositioning her silvery wings. Closing her eyes, Dryrah listened. The deep rumble of the earth could be heard; the constant throb of living energy was always there for those who would listen. But now another sound could be heard as she sat there in the dark, listening. The telltale skidding and scratchy shifting that spoke of dragons came closer. Arching her neck, Dryrah watched the hole of darkness across from her, knowing she was wanted. The hatchlings never disturbed her here, in her solitude room, unless something dire happened. Tapping her silver claws, Dryrah's wise eyes lit upon the entering dragon.
The other dragon was a rusty red, though it was not obvious in the dark. His wings were folded tight, as they always were when they traveled through the mountain's catacombs, and his expression was nervous. This alerted Dryrah to the seriousness of whatever happened: this particular hatchling, Chazor, was bold and occasionally foolhardy. "Mother Dryrah," he growled, his dragon speech hissing over the stone walls as he addressed her informally, "come to the surface! There is a sign, a beacon of some kind, on the horizon!" Shifting from foot to foot, he waited to see what she would do. Rising, Dryrah's head bowed beneath the stone ceiling, her wings and tail filling the space. "Come hatchling," she rumbled back, "let us go see this." Ducking back in to the corridor, he let her pass by and lead the way. After countless twists, turns, and caverns, the two dragons reached the surface. The ten remaining dragons stood there, on the cliff overhang by the main entrance, nervously looking around. Upon her arrival they turned, relief stamped on their scaly faces. Dryrah would know what to do. Making room for her, they split, leaving the rock slab open. Her massive claws ticked on the stone as she strode to the edge, eight silver claws gleaming as they gripped the end of the shelf.
A beacon shone to the heavens, in the distance to the west. It was that strange vibrant purple that indicated high frequency light. Her golden eyes gazed upon it as a hush fell over the land, the only sound the whistle of wind through the caves. "It has come!" Dryrah finally declared, her bugle-like voice rolling over the foothills and echoing through the caverns, "The humans have released him!" The younger dragons shifted and muttered among themselves, knowing who she spoke of. All had heard the story of the fight against Gaelin, and all knew what it meant now that he was unleashed. But none knew quite so well as Dryrah. Her eyes were mere pinpoints of amber light, her wings flaring slightly. The youngest of the hatchlings, a silvery green female named Hartanna, spoke up, her voice soft for a dragon. "Shall we help them?" she asked timidly of the giant black warrior. "NO!" boomed the response of Dryrah, her triangular head whipping around to pin them in her gaze. Her body expanded and grew as she reached her full length, now as big as some of the surrounding mountains. "The humans released him; they can put him back! Never again shall we help such an ingrateful race!" she declared, her nostrils flaring with red flame. Then she launched herself off the cliff, her giant frame effortlessly rising under the steady beat of her gossamer wings. The black outline of the last dragon lord was striking against the rusty red sky as she circled. Dryrah flew over the plains, knowing that none of the young dragons would dare follow her. As her momentary anger receded, she shrunk herself to a relatively small twenty feet in length. It was time to see what damage the humans had invoked.
The time for war was upon them.
The other dragon was a rusty red, though it was not obvious in the dark. His wings were folded tight, as they always were when they traveled through the mountain's catacombs, and his expression was nervous. This alerted Dryrah to the seriousness of whatever happened: this particular hatchling, Chazor, was bold and occasionally foolhardy. "Mother Dryrah," he growled, his dragon speech hissing over the stone walls as he addressed her informally, "come to the surface! There is a sign, a beacon of some kind, on the horizon!" Shifting from foot to foot, he waited to see what she would do. Rising, Dryrah's head bowed beneath the stone ceiling, her wings and tail filling the space. "Come hatchling," she rumbled back, "let us go see this." Ducking back in to the corridor, he let her pass by and lead the way. After countless twists, turns, and caverns, the two dragons reached the surface. The ten remaining dragons stood there, on the cliff overhang by the main entrance, nervously looking around. Upon her arrival they turned, relief stamped on their scaly faces. Dryrah would know what to do. Making room for her, they split, leaving the rock slab open. Her massive claws ticked on the stone as she strode to the edge, eight silver claws gleaming as they gripped the end of the shelf.
A beacon shone to the heavens, in the distance to the west. It was that strange vibrant purple that indicated high frequency light. Her golden eyes gazed upon it as a hush fell over the land, the only sound the whistle of wind through the caves. "It has come!" Dryrah finally declared, her bugle-like voice rolling over the foothills and echoing through the caverns, "The humans have released him!" The younger dragons shifted and muttered among themselves, knowing who she spoke of. All had heard the story of the fight against Gaelin, and all knew what it meant now that he was unleashed. But none knew quite so well as Dryrah. Her eyes were mere pinpoints of amber light, her wings flaring slightly. The youngest of the hatchlings, a silvery green female named Hartanna, spoke up, her voice soft for a dragon. "Shall we help them?" she asked timidly of the giant black warrior. "NO!" boomed the response of Dryrah, her triangular head whipping around to pin them in her gaze. Her body expanded and grew as she reached her full length, now as big as some of the surrounding mountains. "The humans released him; they can put him back! Never again shall we help such an ingrateful race!" she declared, her nostrils flaring with red flame. Then she launched herself off the cliff, her giant frame effortlessly rising under the steady beat of her gossamer wings. The black outline of the last dragon lord was striking against the rusty red sky as she circled. Dryrah flew over the plains, knowing that none of the young dragons would dare follow her. As her momentary anger receded, she shrunk herself to a relatively small twenty feet in length. It was time to see what damage the humans had invoked.
The time for war was upon them.
