The Lightbringer
꧁ Gleeon Onyx ꧂
⚜ Former Billionaire ⚜ Warlock ⚜ Half human, half Draconic ⚜ Immortal ⚜
Occupation:
Gleeon has and still operates a safe haven for supernatural, beast-like, and other non-human-type beings, any entity that seeks refuge from mankind without the fear of being poached or persecuted. This can include everything from mages, to anomalous people, vampires, sentient creatures not of this world, and even dragons. All are welcomed if they are not a liability or a risk to his group. Not a place for murderous beings to hide.
This haven can be found his estate: A large property that sits on a lakefront, surrounded by woodland mountains and forests. Since a few members of his group consist of giant reptiles, it provides wide-open spaces with the terrain obscuring it from the sight of his neighbors.
Disposition:
Selfless is one way to describe him, more than willing to aid others in need. Regardless of what species, ethnicity, religion, or what world somebody is from, they’re always welcomed with open arms, no individual is antagonized for their background.
Gleeon is both kind-hearted & a warrior all in one, low-energy, and often seen as the voice of reason by those in his group. He's proactive in tending to those in need, also a good listener when somebody needs to get something off their chest. Can be a good mentor figure for younger individuals in his family of monsters.
When it comes to entertainment and hobbies, he's into a lot of Sci-Fi shows, reading, swimming (thanks to a certain Siren), and model-building.
Beware: He's a bad cook. So much that he burnt tea. Others in his group have banned him from making anything in their kitchen.
Appearance:
Skin Tone: Pale
Hair Color: Jet Black
Eye Color: Gold irises with black scleras
Feral Form
Skills/Attributes:
Long ago during his youth, he caught a fatal illness. Unable to bear the thought of losing a child, his adopted mother of a Dragoness injected him with her own blood. This process rewrote his DNA, which in turn gave him extremely high resistance to many diseases and viruses, with inhuman strength, and increased senses.
Due to the wish of a siren he courted, the man was bestowed with immortality. This does not mean invulnerability, only that dying of old age is no longer a risk.
Gleeon is well-versed in the use of Aeromancy: Wind magic. This enables him to manipulate the very air molecules, either by creating jetstreams of air, conjuring up tornados, use it for levitation/flight, or redirecting the wind. This can include the ability to make spheres of compressed atmosphere before launching them as explosive projectiles once the pressure is released. Since Gleeon can tap directly into oxygen molecules, he can cause a vacuum to instantly put out fires, or as a counter against pyromancy.
Sorcery aside, the Warlock also favors the use of modern firearms, useful for the sake of avoiding unwanted attention since magic can be quite destructive. His preferred ranged weapon is a Judge or Governor pistol, despite having a collection of rifles and many other items, many of which are unsurprisingly illegal.
Three decades ago...
Amazons, a large warrior tribe comprised of all women from ancient folklore that still exist to this day who live a life of isolation in the modern world, being nothing more than a shadow of the conquers they once were.
To sustain a consistent population, women of the tribe venture out of their territory to find and seduce men, where they intentionally impregnate themselves to later give birth to baby girls. However, doing so comes with an occasional problem: Sometimes they will receive a boy instead. Any male offspring are usually disposed of by dumping them off in the wild, typically in forests in hopes they’ll be mauled to death by predators or die from exposure.
However, there is one known case where one of these discarded children survived. Roughly thirty years ago, one Amazonian diverted from one of the usual dumping grounds and left the child by some ruins instead for unknown reasons.
Little did this cruel mother know that there was a Dragoness inhabiting the temple, an eastern one. Upon discovering the abandoned kid, she took him in and raised the boy. Gleeon, as she named him, would grow up under her guidance, learning how to wield air-based magic, and many other talents that would aid him in life. The two formed an inseparable bond.
Not long after he became of age, the young man was sent out by her for him to experience life and mingle with other humans. The first few years were rough, having to scavenge for food, find temporary shelter, avoid arrest while snatching leftover meals, and seek a job simultaneously. Eventually, his efforts paid off.
As for the specifics of what exactly happened and led his current situation in life, that is for you to find out, should you embark on that adventure.
~Side Characters~
Abraham Sullivan:
Perhaps the last and only surviving World War One veteran still alive to this day, in addition to being David Sullivan's twin brother. Well over a century ago, Abe was drafted and enlisted, having become the driver of a Mark Five tank his crew nicknamed: Steelheart.
The final operation they would participate in was the siege of a weapons lab, under the control of another nation called the Dominion. He and his crew managed to break through enemy lines and enter the facility, only to discover a device capable of freezing time in its immediate vicinity called a Stasis Bomb. Rightfully fearful of what would happen to their fellow troops, Abraham and the others loaded it onto their vehicle before driving away in an effort to move it off-site. Unexpectedly- it went off, putting him and the surviving crew into suspended animation in time for the next hundred years.
Upon being released into the modern age from the stasis bomb deactivating, he was discovered by Gleeon's group and taken under his wing. With help from the family man himself and Cassella, Abe was brought up to speed for the most crucial things with the current era and history. Slowly but surely, they assisted him with integrating back into modern society, which felt like a whole new world to him.
Abraham is indifferent and welcoming to most newcomers, well-disciplined, along with not wanting to start emotional conflicts or participate in one. While not the most talkative person out there, he still attempts to socialize with others.
Personality aside, he has a few passions due to having some artistic skills: Sketching, aviation enthusiast, model trains, automobiles, naval architecture/history, and rail-fanning. (Due to him being a railroad engineer before the Great War.)
Being a man with no special powers, Abe is heavily experienced with firearms and operating large vehicles from driving a tank during his military career. Thanks to a number of other smaller conflicts on Gleeon's end, he became even more battle-hardened.
Valery Koslov:
Out in the wilderness of the city Pripyat in Ukraine, a young mage was growing up under the care of a witch, who had been orphaned at the time. The infamous Chernobyl nuclear disaster occurred, which unsurprisingly contaminated its surroundings.
Much of the radioactive smoke and particles came down on him. Valery had sustained a fatal dose and radiation burns, which left him bed-ridden in what was thought to be his last few days alive. Unexpectedly... A deity of some sort had entered his home. This mysterious being cast a number of powerful spells upon him before immediately leaving.
In a short time span, Koslov mustered enough strength to rise out of bed, no longer falling victim to cellular death across his body. The spells used gave him immediately to radiation, and the ability to absorb it at well. While this was a blessing, it did not undo the cosmetic damage: His face and skin were ruined far beyond recognition, making him resemble a charred zombie.
To hide his horrific appearance, he wears a cloak and covers his face/skin in white bandages. Valery wields a sharpened shovel as a melee weapon, which he dipped in damaged uranium fuel rods to make it volatile. This vile item can cause severe radiation burns to anyone struck by his shovel, or foolish enough to grab it. Any living being can expect to get cancer later on and experience radiation sickness in the short term. In addition, he uses pyromancy-based magic, often lacing it with radiation for more devastating effects.
While his methods for defending himself are highly questionable, Val is a cinnamon roll for the most part, one with a lot of energy. He tends to be an extrovert around anyone that won't judge or find his appearance suspicious. Currently, he travels the world in search of anything that could help him achieve his ultimate end goal: Reconstructing his face.
In the present, he's recently joined the Sullivan family and has developed a close friendship with Cassella.
Comments
It had happened much too fast, and the men, trained and hardened professionals as they were, had nonetheless been taken off guard when they suddenly and unexpectedly watched one of their own, known to them as Murdock, but a nameless face to Abraham, how the back of his skull blew wide open, and how his brains came splattering wetly onto their clothes, then falling in bits here, and there, onto the floor.
His body then fell backwards with a loud thud, and from all sides around his head came pooling a roseny red, which soon reached the front part of the men’s shoes.
They could not help then, as that happened, but to give in to their animalistic instincts, adrenaline rushing through their systems, evoking sensations of panic, of fight or flight.
But only for a heartbeats moment did they allow themselves to give in, as they steeled their nerves as they had prepared for, took their aim, and they shot off a spray of bullets after him, Abraham, who due to their momentary weakness had been given just enough time to quickly duck down for cover behind the tank.
Ting, tang, tong, sounded it then, as the old metal still held firm, effortlessly, and the bullets bounced off the old war machine like they were droplets of harmless rain.
“CEASE FIRE!” One shouted, and the men one after the other they stopped, and they each reloaded, one first, and then the next.
They then stood at attention, ready, whilst from the muzzles of their guns a line of gray smoke snaked its way outwards, and the last bullets fired fell to the floor, each clinking melodically as they made their light impact. Visibly now their tip lacked that point as the bullets lay all throughout, looking more like blunt stumps as they had tried their might and failed against inches of reinforced, thick steel.
One began to move in, but he was quickly halted by another to his right, grabbing him and pulling on the back of his suit and bringing him back to the others, back into the line.
“Fuck you doin’?” The man asks the one who had made his advance.
“I was just..-” He began as his response, but was robbed of his full sentence as the other cut him off, right then and there.
“NO! We are not here for him.” He says with determination. The man continues. “And Murdock, well he damn knew the risk of the job, didn’t he? So no use trying to get even.
No. No, we are here for a reason, so let’s just grab what we came for and go.” The man finishes, before he releases his hold of the other.
The other, in return, frowns. While he had wanted to get even, for daring to take out one of their own, and fully against letting such an act go with impunity, the man did understand what was at stake, should they fail to bring Robin in.
And so he nodded, moving forth to crouch down to hook under the arms of the vampire, then beginning to drag him outwards, leaving a snail trail of red that blended with the blood of their mate.
Meanwhile the other man held out one arm, his other still having a firm grip around the rifle.
“Look, no harm no foul alright?” He proclaims with a light chuckle to himself.
“All we wanted was this pretty little bastard, and I don’t know how ya know him, but he’s not worth dying for is he? So we go our way, you go your way, and nobody gets hurt? That sound good?”
Quite a good proposition, only…they weren’t snatching a corpse from the ground.
“I…I can’t move.” Robin mumbled to himself in definitive horror, as when he came to, opening his eyelids slowly, like the lifting of the drapes on a sunday morning, he could feel no sensation below his neck. He was lifeless, and as limp as a boned fish.
“H-help…help me…” He whimpered weakly, his voice now a mere mouse squeak at this point, barely audible, as he flickered in and out of darkness, a terrible thirst beginning to settle within, one that he was helpless to quench, unable as he was to move a single muscle.
“Vampires are freaking me out, you can cut them in half and they’ll still come after you.
It’s like on the show The Walking Dead, I swear.” One says jokingly as they sneer down at Robin, as they all now slowly begin to make their way towards the exit, pulling the leech’s near lifeless body along.
Robin nodded his head slowly as the other spoke his first piece, agreeing with this ‘experiment’ that the higher ups had supposedly orchestrated. This because he wasn’t at all opposed to the idea of women in combat, as he held the belief that they too should have the right to fight for king and country, if they so had the desire for it.
And that was a belief he held even way back during the war, as it was not some new modernity he had picked up just recently when the world truly had become more enlightened and progressive.
Now of course, as to the actual validity of this man’s entire claim at hand, well of course he couldn’t verify this way or the other, but this fellow, as Robin listened to him, he spoke with enough conviction that one really believed in what he was saying, and strangely enough he had a way with infusing, putting emotion into his words, and speaking with a solemn, sorrowful, almost reminiscent tone of voice, almost as if he’d been there himself.
It seemed to Robin that he actually missed this lady, whoever she had been, and had in fact known her in person, as well as the rest of the crew, as when they were spoken of by him it was very much in a tone of reverence.
Very odd, he thought, but in his mind he didn’t come to the immediate conclusion that Abraham had -actually- been there, in the flesh. No, instead he assumed Abraham as some sort of passionate historian, one who buried himself fully in his work. Well that is until he, when looking in the face of the other, noticed some glossiness shining on the surface of the eyes.
He, better than most perhaps, knew the first up and coming signs of tears, as he had seen them in person many times on the faces of his prey, as he had then robbed them of their lives.
This man was holding back tears, no doubt.
Nevertheless he faked the best that he could a facade of composure, and in doing so let Robin know that there really was more to the story, hiding beneath the surface, something he wasn’t letting on.
But the vampire didn’t pry, of course, and as Abraham introduced himself, extending a hand to shake, Robin immediately took it, and shook it ,eagerly, not showing on his face any sort of indication either way of his suspicion.
After all, he had years of experience hiding his true intentions, from everything and everyone, and so he simply said; “Pleased to meet you.” And he answered the question. “And I’m a delivery man, by trade.”
He then let go, placing back his hands, tied, behind him.
He so wanted now to know, truly, just how Abraham could speak about these people in such a manner. Because he didn’t lie, and by his calm demeanor and speech pattern, he clearly wasn’t mad.
Robin however didn’t get the chance to ask, nor think about the matter further, because suddenly he heard the footsteps of four individuals, coming up behind them.
Now at first he didn’t think much of it, thinking them tourists eager to satisfy their curiosity of the past. But then he heard with that keen vampire hearing of his the unmistakable metallic sound of a safety lock being disengaged, and the gentle squeezing of the trigger.
Next he knew, hell; a cascade of fire, bullets, and smoke, coming from one singular firearm.
He acted, almost on instinct, and he placed himself as the literal meatshield between him and what he knew would kill Abraham, as bullets went flying, penetrating harshly into his flesh, burrowing into and by the pure impact shattering bone, and turning his innards into mush.
He didn’t know where, or when he was then, only that every single fiber of his being was wracked with pain that made every single synapse of his brain scream for relief.
He whimpered and he shrieked, but then even his undead body could take no more abuse, and all became dark for him as he lost consciousness and crashed forwards, bringing the other male with him as together they hit the floor hard, and Robin’s body slumped atop Abraham’s.
Now from every hole, as he lay there, gushed a river of blood, positively coating every single part of Abraham’s form as he lay on him, with his back almost looking entirely ripped open, with even parts of his spine showing in places where the merciless bullets had torn apart flesh.
Speaking of bullets…the gun was silent now, as the moment was over before any sense could have been made.
Abraham would now hear someone reload, and then saw four faces show up shortly after, towering above him as they stood all around him, as he lay pinned down by Robin’s weight.
"Fuck you doin'? We don't wanna kill him!" One of the guys said to the one who’s gun still ran hot with what he had done, showing a trail of smoke from the barrel, going upwards.
"Oh he'll be fine my friend.” He says. “Oh you act like you've never seen a leech before. He'll be just fine. A little rest, maybe a painkiller or two, and the boy will be just fine!”
"So I can tell the boss?" Another asks.
"If you wanna go ahead and disturb her while she's napping, go right ahead. But I'd like to keep my head.” The shooter replies.
"We wait then?"
"Smart choice, and you got to that conclusion all on yer own, I'm impressed." The gunman once again says, then crouches down, seeing Abraham.
"Now who do we have here?" He asks with a vicious, shit eating grin, as he then proceeds to place the barrel of his automatic rifle against Abe’s forehead.
“Robin, a friend of yours? Why were you with him?”
He listened to the other as he spoke, and here and there he looked back to the several ton behemoth in front of him, as images were added in his brain, and he thought back to the days of war and carnage, of suffering, and of acrid gunpowder smells and horrible human decay.
He imagined himself back in the muddy trenches, surrounded by his fellow countrymen, and in his mind’s eye he stared at their gaunt, strained faces. Some were wide eyed like terrified children, others were curled up with their eyes shut tight, as if they could will themselves into another place and time, if only they tried hard enough. Some still hid behind brave faces, yet Robin knew they’d rather be anyone but there.
And all across there was that deathly silence, which was punctuated only by stifled sobs and the occasional burst of gunfire. A flashback, if ever there was one, and only ended when the other mentioned the presence of a lady, or a Lady, he didn’t know which, in the other’s story.
“A Lady among them?” He asked, all confused like. He then continued, “Oh but sir, there must be some mistake, because no women were allowed to partake in the fighting, no less a Lady at that. Or was she American then, and just a ‘lady’?” Robin asked, a tad bit confused.
“I mean I remember….-” He was about to say, but realized he perhaps overstepped his place by correcting, or somehow doubting the man’s knowledge, because perhaps there were women allowed in the US military, and he just did not know. Either way, he thought it rather improper, and so stayed his tongue from further making a fool of himself in front of someone who very well might be more versed than him, despite Robin’s first hand experience.
“Nevermind, sir. Forgive me, I must be mistaken.” He says to the other man. “But I’m sure it was quite the scandal back then.” He said, allowing a short bubble of silence to grow between the two, before the temptation to burst it became irresistible, and he spoke, asking another question. “In any case whatever happened to this Steelheart? What became of it? Blown to bits, I gather?” He asked, turning to look upon the tank in front of him, then back to the man to give him all his attention, and remain courteous by not straying away with his gaze much more.
And, looking upon the man, and into his eyes fully, Robin felt a weird something with Abraham, something he couldn’t quite rightly place in his hall of feelings or recollections. Like a weird sense of connection, or familiarity? Robin didn’t know, but he did not like the sensation at all.
He realized though, as he did this and felt in such a manner, that he’d made another mistake, that he hadn’t properly introduced himself.
“And I’m sorry, sir, my name is Robin.” He says quickly, flashing a smile and exposing sharpened, and slightly lengthened upper canines, very briefly.
12 JULY 1959
19:57
LONDON, HIGHWAY CEMETERY…
How could things ever have come down to this, just how could things have spiralled into such a deep, dark abyss, of madness and despair? His house of cards, it’d fallen over. Though he didn’t quite know how, nor why, as it seemed to him only yesterday's memory that he was on the white shores of Whitby as a young child, standing on soft sandy plains.
Oh to be back there once more, to feel how with every motion forward there was some backward, and some down. Just like walking in freshly fallen snow. And then of course the waves they would roll in, spreading themselves like fine lace over the beach, accompanied by the smell of the sea, and the song of the gulls. And even now in this cesspit of utter loss he can still remember his dear mother from atop the cliff, calling for his attention as lunch stands ready, and how his father rustled the newspaper as he turned a fresh leaf.
He imagines himself with a red bucket and a spade along with his two siblings to play along with, with nothing ahead to worry himself with.
No fears, no responsibilities, just him and his family, on a nice and sunny summer day.
Yet of course the sight before him is quite different than all that, as Robin now sits 40 years later, perched atop a tall tree, well hidden behind the thick canopy, not unlike his namesake the robin bird.
And the view, as he looks down from there, well it is horrid, gut wrenching.
And above all...it is black.
Black was the clothes that the people wore, and black was the sky that loomed above, admitting tiny droplets and the occasional thunder. It was a funeral, his very own fathers funeral in fact, and he couldn’t attend.
This was because he feared, feared that they’d know the monster that he had become.
Because how could he ever hope to explain being back, his face as young looking now, as back then. He was frozen in time, seemingly forever, and hadn’t changed a bit, not outwardly anyway.
His family however, as they all stood gathered, they were all different, like strangers.
His own sweet, sweet dear mother, she looked old and frail by now, sitting in a wheelchair with her face covered by a thin dark veil. And by either her side was Charlotte and Graham, his siblings, looking mature, feigning strength for the sake of mama.
There were children present too, and aunts and uncles, and people he’d lost out on, that had joined the Harker family through the years that he had been away.
He wanted to cry, for it felt like a maggot was inside his chest, eating away at his being.
Yet he couldn’t, because the ability to feel, to truly feel, was out of his reach. And it frustrated him, being there and knowing he should feel more than he did.
He did feel something, but that life was like a shadow to him now, yet he longed for it all the same, and wanted nothing more than to go down there and hold his mama's hand, as the preacher finished.
“..---Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In sure and certain hope of resurrection of eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body that it may be unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working whereby He is able to subdue all things to Himself. AMEN.” He said, as the crowd joined in silence, stifling cries and sobs, and then it was all over.
“Goodbye father, may you rest in peace.” Robin said, moving to climb down the tree when suddenly he saw it, his mother’s head, turning upwards to look his way. But there was no way that she could see him, could there?
“Mother…?” He whispered, and he could have sworn just then that he saw his mama smile back at him, her glistening eyes filling momentarily with joy.
____________________________________________
MANY YEARS LATER….
He still didn’t know, still didn’t know whether his mother had seen him, that evening all those years ago. She couldn’t have, not through all those leaves, tree branches, and not through that thin dark veil obscuring her vision, if ever so slightly. Yet it was a thought, a sort of wondering that passed by in Robin’s head as he sat in the front seat of the car, as he and ‘his’ driver, drove onwards towards their destination. It’d been a long, long journey, and they still had plenty more to go.
And it’d be longer still, he realized, when he saw something that made him turn his head.
It was a poster, one advertising for a World War I museum located some three miles from there.
He simply had to go, if only to pay his respects to the fallen. He then informed the driver of his wishes, who looked at him sourly, patting the wheel with fingers adorned with fake gold and silver rings, with skulls on some, and strange, unknown symbols on the others.
“Are you sure we have the time for you to fuck around?” The slightly overweight man asked.
“Drac’s gonna be pissed if this thing isn’t done properly. And I’m not gonna be dying because you wanted to go take a trip down memory lane or something. It’s a no from me my man, I ain’t doing it.”
Robin sighed. “Fine. I’ll pay fifty bucks if you’ll take us.” He replied, fishing out a 50 bill from his wallet.
The driver chuckled and tapped the dashboard, pursing his lips. “Make it a hundred and you are on. If I’m gonna die by that old bat's hand for being late, I ain’t gonna go for anyone lower than good ol’ BJ Franklin.” He says as a shit-eating grin spreads from ear to ear.
“Fine. Fine.” Robin says, fishing out another fifty and offering.
“You went deaf before you became a vampire or sum’? Cause I think I said I wanted good ol’ BJ Frankling. Oh yeah, that’s what I said, and that’s what I meant.” The fat man thundered comically, chuckling amusingly to himself as Robin begrudgingly chucks out a hundred dollar bill and hands it to the man, who pockets the thing and laughs, patting the vampire on the back.
“Alright, alright, let’s go then.” He says, stopping mid-road to change direction. And, luckily for him he didn’t hit any other cars, nor were there any cops around to withdraw his license.
The vehicle then turned and began down the road to the museum, unaware that a car was following….
“I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Robin said, some time later when they’d finally arrived and parked.
“Just don’t get crisped by the sun if these clouds decide to let up, because I’m not coming in there to dust up your ashes.” The driver says.
Robin doesn’t reply, as he knows the answer would be too long for the man’s interest to hold up anyway, and that he’d only ever get a sarcastic remark for it. No, instead he makes his way inside the museum, looking this way and that, trying to make sense of modern contemporary design.
He also notes how alone he is, how loud his steps are, as the noise bounces off the walls like some ping pong ball being thrown at it.
The one man in the room, well he does not react, and stands utterly still, not much unlike a pale mannequin, staring at the warmachine that Robin knew so very little of, and had seen ever only once, though long enough for him to have witnessed first hand, its devastating effects. And to think of what came after though, the tanks that he saw unleashed in the second World War, it was a chill, seeing the original.
But this man was more than fascinated, beyond even frightened. There was something more?
“Are..are you all well, sir?” He asked, joining the man by his side.
He was quiet through the entire duration of their trip and in a way she wondered what's going on through that head of his. Now that they were on air, he didn't seem to be so sad anymore. More like distracted… even. Perhaps that was the only thing that mattered to her at that moment. Recently the man has been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that work seemed to be like the only escape he has. At the end of the day, she can only help in a few ways, other than offering an ear to his dilemmas.
As soon as she felt the slightest knock on her side, she descended. The place seemed obscure enough, the skies clearing away as soon as she landed. There didn’t seem to be any sort of danger lingering around either, as far as what little scent around them can offer. With the man hopping off, she was left to look around, snaking her way in.
Gleeon seemed to be in a hurry to claim a spot, an adult man a little too giddy in hopping into the steaming water. She obviously didn't mind. Upon settling her massive meandering body amongst the rocks, she quickly morphed into a form that suited the moment better. A noirette that somehow looked human enough, clad in a loose, plain dress. Her son had always insisted for her to wear something more convenient over her old robes to fit in with the region where they are, and while she begrudgingly did so at first, perhaps this time the comfort finally settled in. Dark silks still seemed to be the main point of preference, but this one didn’t seem to be anything too conspicuous.
Xeryssa spared a moment to fold his discarded clothing, neatly placing this aside on dry land. "I won't be surprised. Places like these had always enamored people even in the past. Many of my people believed that it offered relief for a lot of things, and I can see why. " She simply took a seat down on the edge, unflinchingly dipping her bare feet into the steaming water. That was sufficient. A quiet exhale left her lips. "This place is quite hidden. How did you even find it?”
She didn't even say anything to that. It was never a strange occurrence that she was silent, only sparing him a lifelong stare until he finally heaved himself up upon her neck.
There was an ounce of nostalgia upon that movement. There were times that certain memories don't feel so distant. A memory of someone throwing themselves upon her neck for a ride, a small child excitedly clinging to this soft mane of feathers like flying was the safest thing there was. How many times he fell off and caught him on those earlier days, she can barely count.
At first there was only static. Xeryssa didn't waste any more time, however. As soon as he was settled, the dragoness lifted forth, towing herself headfirst into the heavens. The clouds that gathered were wisps of fleece at first, eventually gestating into something bigger. An enormous fluffy piece of it soon enough shielded her form from common eyes.
Off to the said cliffs they went, a rolling white cloud and an enormous sleek dragon skimming the skies. A low rumbling hum only escaped her as she heard him say something about a hot spring.
"A hot spring at this time? Interesting. You didn't even bring any other clothes with you."
"You already knew. And yet you persisted." A quiet rumble reverberated from that massive throat. It sounded like very distant rolling thunder. The dragon was obviously far from pleased, for so many times she had warned him. In fact, it wasn't just her. Many others also knew the risks and told him the same thing that it already grew redundant.
Ancient eyes have seen how it goes. The yearning. The obsession. And now, this.
Xeryssa gradually shifted her eyes into the sky. That uniform shade of the heavens and layers of white puffy clouds met her. The weather is clear-- a little too clear to be in the skies at the moment where anyone can simply look up and blow their cover, and in any other circumstance, she would have flat out refused or would tell him to wait.
And yet she repeatedly nudged him, as if trying to tip him over her head to climb on. The breeze and static rushed forth as she rose on her feet, bristling tinted feathers swirling out as she did. Massive coils straightened out, a low hiss resounding out with her scales brushing against each other. Her tail unfurled, the glint of gold catching from her scales becoming more prominent. From where she was coiled down to the very tip of her tail, that winding stretch of a body could already reach the edge of the large lake where they were presently located.
"Come along. Where are you planning to go? We can have some tea later when we return."
She has always been one to rise up so early out of habit. Sleeping in has always been far away from her options even when responsibility was no longer there to haunt her. Even when there's nothing left for her to watch over than the rest of the stars speckled above, fading away into light. Early to bed and early to head out, even though the distance from their now humble lakeside house was none too far.
The appeal of it was something that she cannot explain. Perhaps it was how easy everything was on the eyes, when the darkness cloaked the rest of the place. Perhaps it's just the silence, where she can hear her thoughts the loudest, when overthinking is what she can do best. This draconic entity stayed there until the first bits of sunrise, feeling its warmth coursing through her.
What that day will bring this time, she doesn't know. Life has been very uncertain ever since they fled the ship.
Eyes snapped open the moment she first heard the approaching footsteps. Seeing Gleeon exit this little home of theirs brought an odd sense of relief, and yet from a distance away, sharp eyes already noted the look on his face. Nothing was said as he drew close, only letting him be as he plopped right by her side.
The man was minuscule compared to that horned head, along with the adornments of billowing feathers damp from the morning dew, and yet she curled up, depositing her massive snout near his lap. Fiery gold eyes just gazed at him, unblinking. "You've been having those dreams several nights in a row. Those songs really got through your head." How many times did she warn him way back? Her voice was a quiet rumble, almost as quiet as that morning breeze. A quiet sigh was heaved, and yet she gently nudged him anyway, using her tail to press him closer. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Instinctively, Caelestra ducked when the deafening bang richeted through the air. Her hands wrapped around her head as her shoulders curled inward. THEY WERE SHOOTING AT HER NOW!?! A strained whimpered choked out of her throat. God damn it, what she did get into. The single shot made everything in her want to freeze and she stumbled over her feet as she tried to keep running. Adrenaline was the only thing to chase away the fatigue that threatened to consume her. When the lightning started to come for her though everything in her froze. Her whole body wired. Eyes widened to the size of saucers. Breath caught in her throat. It had to be a miracle it didn’t strike her. Slowly, she turned her head.
Her mouth went dry as she gaped. Dead. Holy shit he was dead. Fried like a damn charred turkey leg at the state Fair and 100 times less appealing. Acid rose in her throat and her stomach churned. She starred so hard she entirely missed Gleeon appearing next to her until those thundering shots resounded in her ears. Flinching with every shot. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “He’s dead.” she looked at him, at the gun, and at another dropping corpse. “Oh my god,” she gave a painful whine in the back of her throat.
Stumbling steps followed him against her will. Or rather, it was the only thing he gave her to focus on so she did it. “You k-killed h-him,” she muttered. A hand went to her stomach and before she could stop it all contents in her stomach were hurled into the alleyway with her and at her feet. Thank the gods for rain boots. Precious air rasped through her lips as she tried to get her bearings. “Deal with them?” she growled, half shaking her head as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Her stomach rolling again. She gagged again as she curled around.
Adrenaline was the only thing that made her stay present. The only thing that prevented her from curling into a ball and giving herself up right there. Energy rippled through her sinewy muscles. Thunder crackled overhead the force of it rattled her bones. Caelestra felt itchy and like she had to keep moving. Everything in her felt like it was colliding and ready to storm the way the clouds did over head. “Y-you w-want to d-deal with them?” she sputtered trying to keep her teeth from rattling endlessly in her jaw.
“YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!” Wild, frantic eyes turned on Gleeon. Blue strands of hair clung to her head the more it rained on her. She ripped her hand from his grasp. “I asked for HELP! Not,” she waved her hands furiously in the air. “NOT WHATEVER THIS IS!” A crackling wire over the street, crackled louder and louder until finally it burst with her final yell. The wire snapped. Electric currents rippled through the air, crackling through the storm. Drawn to it, a roaring bolt of lightning struck the street below. The crackle of it ruptured through the air louder than any thunder clap. Nature’s bomb went over. Overloaded street lamps burst any light in them snuffed out by the storm around them and growing in her, rippling off her in waves.
She staggered back with her hands raised to shield her from the rain shower of glass on the street. Their little alleyway was fairly protected, but the men on the street weren’t. Those that were unable to duck for cover were pelted with glass shards. A few delivered the fatal blow while others delayed them. Thankfully she couldn’t see the ripple of destruction directly. “I didn’t want this,” she mumbled. “I didn’t want them dead. I didn’t. I didn’tIdidn’t,” her presence of mind was slowly beginning to fracture as she lost her sense of control. Eyes wide and feral. Hands shaking and teeth clattering together. Salty tears spill from her eyes like a waterfall. And though everything in her told her to run, even from Gleeon she looked at him through weeping eyes. Wordlessly pleading for the help she’d originally sought.
Thunderclouds hung over Manhattan on that humid mid-afternoon, darkening the streets and threatening to rain. Moments later, the rain came down all at once, pelting the asphalt of the streets that hadn't seen rain in days. Street lights and shop signs became hazy under the foggy mist hovering over the sidewalks, cars passing by only brought more mist into the air. Then, commotion was heard coming from inside of a bar, followed by a drunk man being swiftly kicked out of the door and into the rain ass-first. He stumbled to his wobbly feet and drifted away, mumbling profanities in a drunken stupor, attempting to hail a cab. On the door of the bar were the words 'Sundown'.
Inside, the bar was low-lit, the lights coming from the shelf of booze behind the bar table and lamps at every table and booth. The walls were black, as well as the seating, the tables were a dark wood and the bar table had a marble-top. There were a few people situated in the booths, but only one at the bar itself, as if the distance was intentional, there was cold silence for a few moments depending on how quickly the stranger had entered. Despite how tense those in the booths were, the one on the stools to the stranger's left seemed to mind her own business. Raven black, wavy hair spilled just past her shoulders, and was pale as a ghost. The grey tank top and black leggings she wore hugged her swimmer-like frame, the tank exposed the tattoo on her left shoulder to her elbow of roses and an upside-down compass. She seemed occupied with a crossword puzzle, a rum and coke was settled on a coaster just by her puzzle.
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