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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 1:37 am
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(Dark, you drew Asiril's image? Could you do one for Bakher as well? I've used him enough that I probably should have a image done for him, but I cannot find anyone willing to)
Bakher twitched his ears as he heard the others pad off, too busy with trying to get a particularly troublesome clot of blood out of the feathering on his chest. He finally managed to pluck it out, and spat it onto the ground, then looked around, to find he was alone in front of the Den. He laid his ears back; no one around to admire him!
He sighed; life was different here. Life back home had been harsh, but it had been what he had grown up with, he knew the rules, the ways to survive. Back home, he had grown up amongst the short lived humans, who were always happy to admire him; he was stunning, even amongst the vibrant plumage of his Clan and desert-dwelling kind.
His feathers drooped as he remembered the screeches, the calls and the death-cries of his kind fighting against the foreign invaders from the East- Dragons. Big, powerful, and all too hard to kill, they had come like a plague of scarlet and blue locusts bigger than the elephants the Gryphons hunted. The Dragons had proven to be poor aerial combatants, but their sheer size and power, not to mention their heavy natural armor and their ability to breath fire, meant that they could merely walk to the Gryphons Aeries and attack on the ground, as Gryphons usually did poorly fighting on the ground. Baker rubbed at a greenish streak of feathers on his chest and belly, the only visible evidence of a blow from a Dragons paw that had nearly killed him. Many of his fellow Gryphons, creatures he had fully expected to greet the centuries with, had perished under the Dragons might.
He had fought them, tooth and claw and diamond hard beak. Many Dragons now lay, their smashed bones bleaching in the harsh sun of his homeland, lay dead by his hands, his rage, his power. But their had been too many of the foreigners, and the Gryphons had concluded the war was lost, and had began to flee.
Bakher grimly grinned as he remembered the last days of that conflict, as his kind fled for their lives and the victorious Dragons flew the deserts burning everything they could find that was not theirs or made by the humans, for the Dragons wisely concluded that the impressionable humans were more useful as slaves and servants. it had been for them, them and the tens of thousands of Gryphonic dead, that he had hatched a insane plot to penetrate the invaders main den, and kill all the Matriarchs and Patriarchs, the leaders and instigators of the invasion that they could find. He had led a force of dozens of other veteran Gryphons, as well as many humans who were not willing to bow to the invaders; the Gryphons may seem like gods to them, but they were helpful, benevolent gods, unlike the Dragons.
Against all odds, they had done it. He remembered the shimmering blue-green stripes of the invaders High Matriarch, the architect of the invasion and the leader of the foreigners, her laughter as he had challenged her, the clinking of the gold she wore, looted from the dead. she had thought him pathetic, weak. She had changed her opinion after he and his warriors had cut her guards and vassals down, had screamed for mercy after he had spent long hours torturing her, breaking her wings, ripping her scales off, his anger at what she had wrought making him do things he normally would have killed to prevent. She had screamed for him to spare her, as his warriors had held her down, their lust for revenge as strong as his, and had screamed fro him to grant her a clean death. He had been tempted, his talons had been at her throat as her maroon blood had stained his fur and feathers, but he had not done it. He had remembered the Dragons main advantage over the Gryphons and the humans, and he had smiled sadistically. They had left her, broken and bloody, and had sealed off the den, but not before pulling several wounded but still living Dragons from the den. He had made sure they saw what was happening, then told the humans to torch the den. The prisoners had roared in grief and horror as the place went up in flames, the weapon they used now used against them. The Dragons had retreated, unwilling to risk losing more leaders, and the Gryphons rejoiced.
He had not. He had taken to the winds and left as soon as he had given the order to burn the Matriarch alive, sickened by what he had done, and sickened by death. He had let the winds take him where they willed, and had never looked back.
Bakher came out of his memories to find he was now laying on his belly beside the entrance to the den, and found that the soft feathers around his eyes were damp with tears; he had been crying, silently. He tried to curse himself for being weak, but failed; as strong as he was physically, he was not strong enough to escape the horror and the grief of his past. His eyes watered again as the floodgates of memory opened wide, and the memories of what happened played in his mind again. He lay his head on scaled forearms, and wept silently, for his kind, for what he had done, and for all he had lost to the Dragons.
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 1:53 am
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 2:00 am
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 10:25 am
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 10:29 am
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 10:41 am
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 6:54 pm
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Dimly, he sensed the presence of others, and forced the floodgates of his past to close with a effort. His vision cleared, the flashbacks fading, and he found himself in the present again. He raised his head, and saw the two newcomers; one tall and maned, the other small and delicate. The taller one had asked him something, as well as the smaller....what had they said?
-Ahhh... the taller one wishes to know were the fox is... and the other--
He cleared his throat, and pulled himself into a more comfortable sitting position. "The one you seek, Healer, is inside the cave..." He turned his head from the small hyena, his emerald eyes still wet, and sighed. He had talked to few about why he was here, and fewer still knew the full story. He swung his head back to look her in the eyes, and lay his head on crossed forearms.
"What is wrong is the past...suffice it to say, I have endured much for my short span of years, and done things no creature should have..." He closed his eyes as the faces of the dead flashed past; Alkino, the talented one of the Clan, She'tira, the huntress of the winds, Talnir, the artisan... all dead. All his closest friends, all the talented ones, and all of them had died, while he, the peacock warrior of the Clan, had survived when no one else had. He opened his eyes, and spread his massive wings out, the better to gather the warm sunlight. He clicked his beak several times as he thought, then decided.
"Do you truly wish to know what is wrong with me? truly? it is not a pleasant or short tale I warn you... but if you wish to know, I will tell."
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 7:28 pm
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 7:30 pm
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 8:15 pm
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Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 12:02 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 12:22 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 12:43 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 12:46 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 12:57 am
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