"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
At this height, high above the overcast sky, it soars undetected, looking hardly more than a bird. Out of the reach of prying eyes and ears, far from the roaming tendrils of magic. There is freedom here, but also in its heart at it drums in its deep barrel chest. Each powerful stroke of its wings goes unheard by the world below, a quiet whisper lost in a hurricane.
Streamlined and silent, Castile remains undetected during the hours spent airborne, not even uttering a resonating bellow to announce himself.
Hollowed are his eyes as they peer down from underneath scaly brows, showing no former semblance to the softness that Castile often exhibited toward those dear to him. They are not thoughtful or considerate; blackened pools of terror searching only to sate his innermost needs. A monster is what he is, what he has truly become. The final threads of his memory fade with the faerie’s curse, damning him to a world of impulsiveness and selfishness. They twist, however, those fraying ends, merging together into their own tales and reasons for his actions.
In its solitude, the spit of land has done no wrong to Castile, but he reflects on Jesper being in Loess. A hostage. Rages glues together the relapse in memory, tying together a fable of war and treachery and misfortune. The island will collapse beneath him, he decides, and it will burn.
Hunger churns in his stomach – hunt, feed - , but it’s the relentless love of chaos in his heart and mind that eclipses all else.
The wind changes, a frigidity biting into his scales as he soars into the night. Hours have passed, the travel from Loess having been extensive even for his own immense size and speed. It looms, Icicle Isle. He can nearly taste it as his mouth opens to drink in a lungful of cold air. It burns down his throat initially, but the rolling inferno within him melts away the chill as it nips his heels. Excitedly, enthralled by what looms, Castile’s lips stretch back into a predatory grin as he shifts his weight and rapidly descends like a comet bursting from the clouds to make landfall.
He will cause near enough destruction here.
A torrent of fire blasts from his mouth just as he lifts his chest to break the dive and skims above the island’s autumnal southern tip. Pine trees combust from the fiery stream. They screech in their falls, snapping. Small claps of thunder punctuate the clash onto their frosted gravesites. Mayhem’s symphony tangoes with the rhythm of Castile’s wind thrusts. A boisterous rhapsody splitting the island’s peacefulness. Animals caught in the line of attack cry, trees groan in their uprooted plunges, a deafening roar unhinges the land’s serenity.
Castile does not falter in his blind rampage.
Beneath, they cannot see the emptiness of his eyes, how they’ve blacked with primal malice. Void of genuine emotion, he is a released monster thrusted into the world – a circus tiger set free on the awed and frightened audience.
They do not see his typical piebald pattern or the golden band strapped across his muzzle. A behemoth shrouded in darkness, Castile adopts the abysmal black of the looming night except for the spines racing down his crest and back that dance with colors of firelight.
Another quaking boom emits from his chest, an ear-splitting roar as he tilts northward still.
There lies the notable heart-shaped pond, frozen over and patrolled by a lonely tree. An image of solace, a monumental and notable piece of the territory. It flickers across his memory – when he first saw it, the plague – but in the second it takes to blink, a plume of raging inferno engulfs it all. The pond does not melt, nor do the icicles dangling from the tree branches above. What little magic stored in this land to preserve and pull it from the depths perseveres and combats Castile’s fire.
But he does not notice. He soars past and continues to burn all that he can – trees, snowy hills, anything – before amending his path again to trace down the untouched lanes of the island where more destruction explodes to life. Oblivious, Castile does not witness how his fire mingles with the island’s magical winter or how it encases the lonely tree – an eternal blaze of dragon ice – and hisses at the pond’s edge.
Lapping around the island, Castile mars every surface he can with torrents of fire that dance under the new moon. He admires it from above in the moments he takes a deep breath, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Mayhem tastes delectably sweet on his tongue; he swallows, savoring the flavor as he gains some altitude to better observe his work. Beneath him, angrily roaring, the firelight mingles with the starlight and watercolors of the aurora borealis, bringing to life a wasted land.
castile
SPARK NOTES:
- Castile is hardly himself due to the quest he is currently doing. He has tiny threads of memory, but is overall just a beast of a dragon going by instinct and impulse.
- Permission has been granted for him to destroy Icicle Island because of the quest and the leader not meeting activity requirements (prior to being stolen) but it will not be eradicated. The land will still be habitable but will take a long time to outgrow the fire and destruction.
- interaction is open, whether with Castile, against him, or reaction
- the roof is on fire
- He is not his usual color. He is currently black with orange/red spines down his back and wings
- Thought it would be cool to do dragon ice for the tree and pond (his fire mixing with the ice here) but nothing is yet set in stone
- Have fun, if you want. No obligation.
- Cas is circling high up after torching everything so that he can look at his art
Beryl barely hears the raging fires around her when she sets foot back onto the melting Isle, barely registers the lost cause that roars around her. This is her home. She snarls, scanning the smoke-dark sky with red, stinging, eyes for a distant dark shape arcing through the smoke and fanning the flames he has made.
Anger like this is new for her, and as she lost herself to fear and hopelessness once, now she does to fury. Tears are streaming from her eyes, but she sees him - so, so, distant, but she can feel the wicked, feral, grin on his reptilian lips.
There.
She leaps, and when she lands, the air is cold again - so cold - and her claws catch harmlessly on the dragon's dark scales. Spines rise up on either side of her the color of the flames below and though the acrid burn of the smoke is less here, it smells no less strongly, the whipping winds unable to purge the dragon of his brimstone scent. He moves and the young lion gasps, ducking down, clinging to the space between his wings where he cannot easily reach, but her shock is washed away when she sees the true extent of the destruction he has wrought below them.
She knows from Leilan that her claws and teeth can do nothing to his scales, but not every place is protected and even as he begins to shifts, noticing her sudden weight between his shoulderblades, she leaps for the more delicate skin of one gigantic, outstretched, wing, seeking to tear the thin membrane, one of the few places she might be able to draw the dragon's blood.
Blind him!
The Shadows rush to cover the dragon's eyes in darkness.
It’s been quite some time since the mortals last did something interesting.
Djinni, quite content on her rocky island, has had no interest in the affairs of the rest of Beqanna for some time. Nayl has left Nerine, and with her any fondness the genie had for its residents. She is watching the sea today when she catches the smell of smoke. It drifts across the sea and is watered down by salt and spray, but she knows enough of this universe to recognize dragon-burn when she smells it.
In an instant she is on the Icicle Isle, though there are a rather unimpressive amount of icicles in sight. Instead, there is a black tundra. There should be several feet of snow this time of year, but instead there is scorched earth. She tilts her almost comically doll-like head, searching the clouds overhead for the dragon. Djinni knows him, but she is curious what else might come of this.
The possibility of an intriguing day spreads out in front of her.
She wishes away the winter winds that might carry burning debris to Nerine or the rest of the mainland, but otherwise only watches. There is a primal sort of delight to a bonfire, as long as it does spread too far.
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside could have so many ragged holes inside
Black, scorned earth covers the surface of the Isle, but the dragon soaring above it hardly notices. Ice follows where he passes, and the Isle is slowly getting covered in mist and steam when ice and fire collide. Steam rises and heat signals are found where somehow, someone has found shelter, or a way to dive into the sea, or perhaps, there is a tiny chance, perhaps someone found one his ice shelters still standing. And perhaps that gave them a shower when it melted, either hot or cold, but it might perhaps have saved them.
Once.
That trick won’t last a second time without reinforcements, and the silver-and-red dragon doesn’t take long to cover the world in anything that will help cool down. It’s like freezing lava streams though - soon, none on the surface may see where they're going.
It’s the sky that everyone looks to, anyway.
Leilan stops his repairing actions as soon as movement catches his attention; onward to the north he goes, to his home of not so long ago - the place melted down, because the tree and the heart-shaped lake may be fire resistant, a fire still roars there. The tree does look weird - blue flames erupt from it, though the tree itself (ah, but it had always been dead) doesn’t burn. The water in the pond does not evaporate; now, he understands why it never melted. It is a hot spring, or close to a hot spring source anyway.
Where fire got deeper into the earth, craters fill with steam - melted snow and ice on fire, erupt as geysers every now and then. The land will be reshaped, he notes...
An angry bellow follows - a challenge not unlike the one the fire dragon had outed. If this wasn’t Castile he might have instantly went for him - but it can’t be anyone else. He’d admitted he couldn’t shift back as part of a fairy’s doing not too long ago, and Ruinam certainly isn’t black - and unable to change color, a feature that the Loessian does have.
As he nears, he sees the other from the distance at which dragons see enough - the gold marks too, indicate his… former? friend. He wings upwards, readying tooth, claw and ice - and spots the shadowy figure of his lion-daughter.
”CARNAGEFUCKINGDAMNIT BERYL! GET OUT OF THERE!”
Now, IF the other hadn’t noticed him yet, now he certainly will. Beneath them, ice and fire change the snowy tundra in a much greyer land, hot geysers erupting from formerly frozen creaks in the land with no real pattern to be found, and life has all but died.
The fucking idiot hadn’t even left him something for breakfast.
HTML Picture is not exactly what he looks like but close enough for now
OOC notes;
*tries to save some of the people/residents/visitors that aren’t fireproof by countering blazing fire with dragon ice to create “safe spots”. This creates steam all over and the Isle is shrouded in mist, yay. For all I care it lingers forever ^^
*I gave the tree and pond a little update - they will last because magic (like Aeris posted already) and also I had Leilan give it a little ice boost so now it’s blue flame surrounding a dead tree. I imagine the flames can be cold and magic and may be ever-burning because there can easily be an oil or gas pocket beneath this Isle.
*I just figured the pond is now a hot spring, very good for soaking your old bones if you can handle the current flames surrounding it xD This can last or fade by officer’s discretion
*I imagine this is going to be the (misty) BQ version of RL Iceland from now on? So I made up cracks and random geysers (maybe less random once the dragonfire is done raging past). I hope that’s okay with everyone/officers? I kinda liked the idea of granite with random-people-attacking cracks
*attempts to give Castile a cooldown but sees Beryl just in time and curses her instead
*not amused by the idiot who killed off all the prey
*Unicicled Isle probably smells really badly of sulfur by now, if you want to include such things
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
The isle had been a place of snow, silence, and stillness. It was not the fault of one single individual though, maybe it was just because of the swim it took to get to the isle that made it seem like a place locked in time and unwilling to move. The isle now though exploded with fire first and then was met with ice once more and from the two elements meeting steam over took the open places and of course that snaked into the sparsely forested areas even the darker places like caves of hollows. Sounds burst into life from the cracking fire to the snapping of the ice that met its primordial nemesis.
The old stag raised his head ears coming forward slowly and then those ice cold blue eyes opened. His ears swung around listening intently Ard gained his feet and shook a moment though there was no snow left to shake off his large frame. Ard would take a swift moment or as long as it would take to force his solid hooves into large cloven ones they seemed to aid in the snow covered lands. He swung his head around a couple more times before instinct would take over for the moment and he started off at a full gallop for safety. The white stag lowered his head letting those large dark colored horns of his clear the way of anything that might cause him trouble.
He trampled forward, moving from one safe area to call out, “ To the sea!!! Flee to the Sea!!” His voice was loud and thick, not at all like the silver tones it usually took. The need now though was to get attention and get the other residence moving and out of harm. Not that he had any right to offer aid now. He had slipped away into the mist some time ago. Ard could not think on that now he had to help and talk of where he had been and the shame of his disappearance was for later. The sounds of other voices came to him as he made his own galloping run to the sea where there might be more safety. He might have known one of them mingled with others but he could not be sure.
Out under the sky...
OOC notes:
*OL boy wakes up to a world of steam and fire.
*Gets a move on trying to find and help who he can.
*Will deal with who he has to deal with.
(sorry I poofed)
02-27-2020, 01:13 AM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2020, 01:14 AM by Ruinam.
Edit Reason: I am bad at writing
)
winter wonderland
The sandy beaches of the Resort preserve a gentle golden hue, cast down by the sun above, the grains of golden sand holds a certain kind of warmth, releasing it only to visitors traversing the Resort's elegant beaches, making them feel welcome and at home.
In the distance waves crash into one another, though the violence in the ocean creates a rather soothing hum, one that Ruinam enjoys, often finding himself stuck on the beach, listening to the ocean's stories.
Though today Ruinam decides that it is time to visit the icicle isle and finally reignite the idea of uniting the three islands, an idea that had almost cost him his role on the island before.
Quite abruptly, the male shifts into his draconic form, brilliantly white eyes suddenly replacing the once crimson glow that was there before.
Two large and twisted horns sprout from atop his head, spiralling like kudu horns. Smaller horns take shape below the dragon's cheekbone, while tiny crystals form just beneath his larger horns.
Giant wings grow out from just above his shoulders and end just past his shoulder blades, taking on an almost scythe-like shape, except slightly thicker and fuller, they match his body as a stark white colour.
With no time to waste, the dragon uses its large wings to lift himself into the air, swiftly rising into the clouds that threaten the resort with a violent downpour.
Just as always the male feels most free in the air, in love with the possibility of flying anywhere he chooses and seeing anything he might want to see.
Though even in the sky the male is not exempt to danger, as he flies he starts to come across large volumes of ash rising into the air, turning the sky a smooth grey that slowly plunges into darkness as he flies closer to the frozen island.
The island is barely recognizable as he starts to circle it, fire replaces every inch of snow that the island was known for, the male starts to feel as if his diplomatic visit may be a little more complicated than he had hoped for.
As he moves through the air, his attention is caught by a couple of others moving below him, he sees who he hopes might be Leilan and what looks like a lion repelling the attacker.
Though he doesn't wait to observe the details of the burning island, quickly diving through the upswing of steam, a thunderous howl ringing in his chest as he makes his descent.
As the male nears the dark dragon, his wings suddenly unfold casting a steady draft as he glides toward them, he hopes that he will be able to wrap himself around both the dragon and the valiant lion trying to repel him, and softly bring them both down to the ground.
The white dragon leaps out of the steam toward who he thinks is Castile. His wings stretch out to his side as he nears them, trying to make sure he has the best chance at wrapping himself around them, his claws aiming to encase the lion, hoping that he might be able to protect it from impact.
Ruinam
Hi there
Ruinam has arrived from the Resort on a diplomatic visit, but obviously that isn't going to happen atm
He is currently in his dragon form, once he arrives he sees what's going on and decides not to waste any time, launching at the dragon, lion duo and hoping to wrap himself around them, crashing into the ground with them both (Lion hopefully protected by his claws)
Feel free to block/attack back in any way ya want!
Here's a sort of reference to what he currently looks like as I don't have art done yet! From a D&D wiki, I can't actually find the artist? https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/White_dragon
02-28-2020, 09:49 AM (This post was last modified: 02-28-2020, 11:11 AM by Popinjay.)
The chaos attracted her attention, the smoke and flames and the roaring of dragons clashing together in the air. Lightning flashes above the Isle as ash and ice meet, makes the air as dangerous as the earth, but it is not her doing, though it does draw her near, a great feathered bird in black and red. She is as large as the dragons and unafraid of them, even the black one gone feral - if anything, she likes him most, though she knows her family will not approve of the destruction he is causing. Glittering eyes catch the yellow lion clinging to his back and Popinjay laughs - though in this form, it does not sound like one, her throat not being made for such sounds - amused by the audacity of it. Inside, in the dark place of Popinjay-the-Bird that is still Poppy-the-Horse, she grins delightedly, approvingly, because she admires audacity and recklessness, and nothing else can describe what must drive a lioness to attack a dragon. Popinjay trills softly and turns away from the cat, settling her eyes instead on the other two dragons.
There is less audacity in them, and two against one is not very fair! Popinjay screeches, banking hard. She cannot compete with the heavy beasts in strength, and so she simply soars around and high above them, but there is an anger brewing in her chest born of this perceived unfairness, no matter how mistaken she may be. Another flash of light, this time far closer to the trio than before, and a bolt shimmers harmlessly over her dark feathers. It sizzles in her ear and soothes building tension from her hollow bones. Thunder follows in its wake, rumbling, menacing, as loud as the dragons roaring within the wide lazy circle she creates around them.
The cold dragon shouts and the white one dives, claws extended, for the shadowy beast. A bolt of lightning arcs between them, tearing its way through the air as though aimed directly for the attacking dragon, so blinding white that even he looks dull and drab against it. Smaller bolts flash around the frost-dragon, but only the largest seeks a target in Ruinam.
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
Hello, Poppy is helping Cas because she likes his style. Aten and Lethy will likely not be pleased if they find out, please do not tell them. Feel free to add any and all lightning effects to your posts, however she hasn't used this ability much so may not be very good at it, and could cause more or less damage than she means to cause to anybody/anything in the sky OR on the ground.
the secret of walking on water is knowing where the rocks lie
She walks on water.
Of course, it’s not truly water-walking like it is her magical gift or something of the like: Eurwen creates a disk of stone where she goes; slow at first then faster, one for each step.
She has no incentive to get involved with the thunder, the fire, the ice, or anything at all. All she is here for is to create safe passage.
When she reaches the Isle, she witnesses destruction but most of all mist and smoke. A strong breeze is created with a northward direction, and then she just hopes it will continue to blow the smoke and ash towards the open ocean. She can’t control a wind anyway, her element is much sturdier.
She calls out once to whomever may hear; then she starts on the way back. This time, the stone disks she creates get to be supported by stone pillars, and they melt together.
It is much slower work, and if she were to be attacked by anything at all, then she’ll have her stone-shield ready; but really she doesn’t expect to be noticed by any of the ones far above her head.
She’s only here to offer a temporary bridge - won’t otherwise get involved. It’ll probably break soon because it wasn’t built to last, but if anyone on the Isle would rather flee than fight, here is your way out.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Fire illuminates the southern half of the island. Trees scream as the heat sucks every ounce of moisture and cracks their bark.
In the northern half, snow melts and thick clouds of steam rise and minimize ground visual.
Everywhere, plant life is dying and burning to ash.
Castile soars high above, a vulture circling its meal. His eyes flicker with sick conquest as the island writhes underneath his hellfire. A toothy grin stretches across his muzzle, but only for a cluster of heartbeats before tilting his body and descending toward the mayhem once more.
(Burn it all)
(A living Hell)
A bone-chilling bellow pierces the night sky as the dragon emerges from a thick layer of black smoke, his body perfectly matching their burning world. Another torrent of fire shoots from his mouth, combusting another knot of pine trees in passing. There’s more in him – hunger to destroy – and his mind funnels on the concept until a noise pierces his concentration like a polished knife sinking into flesh. It pulls him out of the darkness shrouding his thoughts, but Castile – the true man lost in it all – is still unable to surface. Beryl’s appearance gives pause to the destruction as the dragon glances back to see her. As a lion, her balance is impeccable as she steadies herself on his back while searching for means to hinder him. A hiss, snake-like and threatening, stings the air between them as he regards the feline distastefully before abruptly swerving to try unseating her. It’s during this motion that she manages to slice the nearest, and narrowest, section of his wing closest to his shoulder blade.
The pain nips at him, an agitation as he thrusts his wings to rapidly ascend. Much to his luck, the air is open enough that even as her shadows mask his face, Castile continues to climb higher where the air is thin and depriving. His other senses desperately compensate for his lost vision, but just as he levels himself, there is a familiar voice shouting above the fray. Leilan. Instinctively, Castile rotates away from the sound of the stallion’s voice, no longer regarding Beryl and whether she remains latched on or not. Her shadows still badger him and blot out his sight, but he doesn’t stop. He cannot stop. Flames burst from his muzzle, lacking aim, but still attempt to combat this quieted world. A hunger for chaos has manifested inside him in the last months, and finally, it comes to fruition.
We must stop.
(No. We mustn't)
This isn’t right.
(We belong in our own Hell. Destroy everything)
Castile’s grip on himself slips further and further beneath the waves, but he continues feverishly treading water in attempt to remain present and formidable. He wants to steer away, but the creature has clapped shackles on his ankles in its valiant march for power. Primal instincts eclipse all else. Nothing matter except its innermost wants, needs, and attack mechanisms.
As he turns southward again, the overpowering stench of everything burning playing as a beacon, Castile prepares to resume the onslaught, but there is another trumpeting roar looming near him. Even without his vision, he can hear and feel the wind from the heavy beating of his opponents wings. A resounding bellow vibrates through his core in response, and just as he prepares to emit a plume of fire, there is an odd tingling in the air followed by an unfamiliar chatter from a bird.
An odd sense of electricity brushes across the Loessian, and he shies from the contact reflexively. Spiraling upward with labored wingbeats, he almost entirely eludes Ruinam’s attack due to the Popinjay’s crackling warning, but his tail is caught in the madness. A grunt escapes him in defiance, as his entire body yanks downward by Ruinam’s relentless grip. They fall like comets from the sky. The island beneath rises toward them quickly, but just as time works against him, Castile adjusts his wings to catch the air and jerk him from Ruinam’s grip. It’s then that Popinjay’s electricity shoots outward to the other dragons, but still, the Loessian king is unaware as his world remains cloaked in abysmal blackness.
Fire aimlessly pours from his mouth as he tries to streamline away from his opposition, marring and destroying all that he can.
Little does he know how blue flames rise from the secluded tree in the north.
He does not see the geysers erupting or the world cracking.
He only tastes the sulfur and smoke in his lungs, noting its amount in blind recognition of his efforts.
And he feels the blood dribbling from his tail and left wing with realization.
I’ve done something wrong.
(Not at all)
Remorse… You don’t have it, but I do. I need it.
(You need only me)
Banking, Castile heavily alights on a small granite overhang, crumbling the edges of it beneath his titanic weight. Arching his neck and lifting his head, he roars, trembling the ground underfoot.
castile
-Castile has some small tears in his left wing near the shoulder blade from Beryl, and is blinded by her shadows, but he isn't stopping his rampage for that.
-Since Popinjay is sending out electricity, Cas got wind of the crackling air and started flying away from the source and Ruinam. Alas, Ruinam still snagged Castile's tail and pulled him down toward the ground.
-At nearly the last minute, Castile got away from Ruinam and ascende . His tail is bloodied up from it all.
-Castile is all like ohhh shiiit what did I do? And perched himself on a granite overhang ad the world burns around him.
Either more fighting can ensue, or we can taper off and Castile flees since the damage has been done. Open to whatever!
Mint gaze catches the glow from the southern tip. Jesla stands near the center of the Isle with eyes and ears trained upon the growing light. At first, the spotted mare believes the display to be a reflection of the Isle's own lights. As the fury unfurls across the tundra and, the light grows brighter, she is able to make out a shadow that cuts silently through the darkness. It travels with a deft speed and dives and cuts with precision (she would never know that he could not see).
A group of arctic hares frantically scurry past her. Now, Jesla begins to realize that these flames intend to touch every corner of her home. A shrill whistle emits from her parted maw to rally her mother and those nearby. The young female feels a resolute tension set in her mandible as she pivots on her haunches and lunges into a canter. Springy strides soon settle into a trot as her mother draws alongside. Jesla does not hear Beryl's attack though, Leilan's familiar voice, panic stricken, reaches her ears with his warning. The maiden keeps her focus on driving the residents to the shoreline. She remains silent though her heart is a flutter with fear and, her brain is alive with rage. Her gaze notes the large white stag who joins the charge and ushers everyone to the shoreline.
As they draw closer, Jesla feels a pang of guilt. She was fleeing her only home. The place that had supported her since birth. She shouldn't leave. She couldn't abandon her home. She keeps up with those seeking to flee to the mainland until they reach the coastline. Sliding to a halt, she glances back over her shoulder. She could make out another winged creature, this one nearly as white as the snow that usually blankets the ground. He, too, had joined the defense and, had taken to the skies. Pulses of electricity appear to ricochet through the smoke and steam rising from the burning land.
The sound of hooves on stone draw Jesla's gaze back to the coastline. Here she sees a mare, her palette as white as snow and, splattered with soft pink dots, building a stepping stone bridge. Jesla waits until their eyes meet before she mouthes the words, "Thank you" to her. The mostly black mare watches as her friends and family take refuge across the path and, reach the Nerine shore safely.
She considers falling in line behind them but her guilt stops her from taking the first step. A mere second later, the stone pillars crumble back into the water. Jesla draws her strong onyx limb back under her and turns to face the mayhem. Her home burns brightly from the fire spewed by the shadow demon. All able-bodied and able-minded creatures have moved out of harm's way. Jesla studies the brave warriors who attempt to thwart the menace. She has nothing to offer them but, she cannot bring herself to abandon this place.
With a sigh, her soft green gaze shifts. It is now that she notes the difference in the color of the fire that laps at the lone tree next to the heart-shaped pond. The pond itself remains, unevaporated and, as liquid as ever. Instinctively, Jesla moves towards this landmark. Her gait is a sluggish shuffle at first. Then, her strides are fueled by determination. She reaches the shoreline but does not stop there. She marches in until the soothing water envelops her limbs and, licks at her barrel. Standing in its midst, Jesla hopes that the magic within will shield her and, protect the Isle from being completely destroyed. From here, Jesla watches the shadow perch where his vantage point allows him to admire his destruction. The spotted mare remains silent though, a rampant fire burns inside of her once innocent heart.
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