The Shadow from the Rifts

Ghosts passed through Istaria often. They were defeated, or defended. One had been seen phasing through the dragon's lands, incorporeal and unreal. A similar sight and a warning to those who knew the consequences of the Rift. The lost and transitioned rarely returned. One did, and it had haunted the lands for weeks. Months.

That shadow drifted through the hot stones of Dralk. Distantly he wandered, quietly he thought, and deliriously he mumbled. Black scales now corporeal, covered the large, ancient dragon. His eyes were dark and lost, unable to truly seize the reality before him.

The tactility of the world was to him alien now. He had been denied tangibility for... he didn't know. He didn't know how long he had been gone, or if where he had returned was where he had searched for.

Glimpses of a life once before flashed through his mind, reminding him that he had once seen these structures. The crude sign that read Welcome to Dralk, the bubbling moat of lava that sat beyond the gates, and the chained, floating rocks were all things that he had experienced. All things that he, in a life before, had forged memories of. Memories with those who may have long passed.

How long had it been? There was no telling. The dragons and naka-duskael were unfamiliar to him. Every single one of them was new. The friends and family he once knew were likely, as he kept reminding himself, no more. They would not be there to remember him, but if they were, would be unlikely to recognise him.

He was no longer the creature that had entered the Rifts; the one who had fiercely warned the ancient-to-be not to remain with the dragons who had volunteered to help their rights. The one who's wing had been broken by some foul creature and was hurled into the depths below. The one who had transitioned into a Primal being if only to save himself from destruction.

But that dragon had disappeared.

He returned with two things to remind himself of his prior self: a blighted claw tool of lively energy and a mask. The latter was of no use, if only to further distinguish himself from those around him. The former was inscribed with the words: I will protect you as you have protected me.

The shadow had concluded that he had once had someone dear to him and had a thing for gaudy masks.

The shadow stopped before the Dralk's obelisk shrine. He felt a connection, visceral and primal. A feeling of safety and recollection. Something that he had been denied during his time as one of the lost. It was a comfort to know that he would one day return here.

He turned as another dragon approached. A young, handsome dragon of purple. It was a colour he hadn't seen in a long time. The dragon looked the shadow up and down with a curious tilt of his head and a flattening of the ridge of spines and fins along his head.

"You don't look well. Do you need help?" The dragon asked.

The shadow regarded the dragon, searching for words within him. He hadn't spoken words for years, outside of the screams for help that visitors to the Rift never seemed to hear. "I... do not..." he felt a pain in his chest. A pain? He hadn't felt pain, "know."

A look of concern crossed the dragon's face. He approached closer and inspected the shadow's face. "Your eyes are glassy. Can you focus on me? Do you know where you are?"

Too many questions. The shadow's mind stalled and returned. "Dralk. I can see... Dralk. You. I see you."

"Do you have any one I could bring? Children, or friends?" The dragon asked, now inspecting the shadow's toothy mouth.
"No." He paused. "Do I? I do... not know."

"We need to--"

"Kristelle." The name rushed through the shadow, burning its way through his body and soul. A flash of a violet dragoness passing him a gift. A claw, filthy but brimming with magical essence.

"Stay safe, *****." she said, the last word muffled as the memory snapped and hissed.

"Remember who you're talking to." A young voice responded. His?

"Who is Kristelle?" The shadow asked.

"I don't recognise the name. I'll ask around. Don't go anywhere, okay?" The dragon sounded concerned. "What's your name?"

The shadow paused again. He searched inside himself. The last name still reverberated inside his mind, echoing through every fibre. That was not his name. He had a name. Everyone had a name. But his had been lost in the Rift.

If his body had returned from those depths, then a name would have followed. It was part of him.

"My keir'meo forgot us," Kristelle had said. "He can't remember any of us. He just..." She had been quiet for a moment after that. She sniffed. "Is he still there?"

"He's still alive," the shadow-once-before had responded.

"No. Is he still... himself. If he can't remember." Kristelle looked scared.

"Probably," he had responded. "It's sad, though."

"Promise me once thing?" Kristelle asked. "Don't forget us. Don't forget you're *****."

Don't forget you're... don't forget you're... the shadow's chest seized again. A burning crawled through his veins. Don't forget you're...

"Daeza. My name is Daeza."

[[Hello everyone!

Consider this my reintroduction to the server. While initially a player from 2003-2004, I started on Order in 2007-2008 with Daeza.

Much like this old fellow, I don't remember too much about the game or its world. Especially since a lot of things had changed. (Like my Mahagra lair being culled in the revamp. >: )

Looking forward to getting into the game with people at some point. This shadow will see you around!]]

Welcome home
!!!Rwr!!!