So, after reading all these nice stories, and as some are starting to learn of Hraefn's little secret, I was compelled to post this little saga unfolding behind Hraefn and some of her close family.
Just a little warning, there is a miniscule amount of profanity and some descriptive violence, but over all, it's safe.
And to get the credit stuff out of the way, this whole story was based off actual roleplay and was put into a story form by both Hrajiel/Croue's player and myself.
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Part I
“The scent of slaughter, some believe, can linger in a place for years.
They say it lodges in the soil and is slowly sucked though
Coiling roots so that in time all that grows there,
From the smallest lichen to the tallest tree,
Bears testimony. �
– The Loop, Nicholas Evans
Life born upon death: such is the way of the worlds. As she stepped from the mouth of her den, the she-dragon breathed deeply the tainted aroma of the earth around her home. The meager plant-life that grew sparsely in the area always smelled metallic and heavy, like old, dry blood, and with the constant breeze from the bay, the air was never totally bereft of the faint scent. The broken battlements were left untouched by all, save the unusual adventurer who’d come for the sport of the golems that dwelled in the canyons. She could hear the silver golems now, the grinding of their metal joints much like the sound of the crystal chimes that hung from her caves’ entrance. Hraefn focused a single amber eye on the mobile and she couldn’t help but be fascinated by how beautiful it was in the dying light of the evening sun; barely moving in the gentle sea-breeze, but twirling just enough to send multi-colored beams of light dancing over the marked stone. It was in this moment that she felt, for once, happy with the life she had, lonely though it was.
But, lonely it would not stay, perhaps. Even now, she knew that another life lie sleeping within the depths of the caverns she carved herself from the very rock of the hillside. Two lives in fact, but one she feared for. Hraefn did her best to push the thought from her mind. Currently, she had no blood children. She’d often dreamed of raising a fine family alongside her mate but things had not turned out in such a way, even with as long as she thought they’d been together, she and her mate had not even had a proper bonding ceremony. She did not mind so much, and it wasn’t uncommon that she found herself thankful for being able to go about her life so carefree. But it was this that brought shadow upon her even now. Her free time was spent, these past few days, dappling in the dark arts of her previous life and the very cause of her first demise.
Sighing as her mind went on to replay history, the black dragoness settled on the soft earth just outside her home. She set her gaze toward the lapping waves of the bay that separated Selen and the sandy shore her lair was very near to. The sky was becoming purple and twilight, her favorite time of day, was now smothering the world like a murderer’s pillow. The last rays of the sun still made themselves known though, and as the wind lifted from the surface of the water a volley of larger waves, the beams of golden light that shot from their blue and white tops made her squint. In doing so, she cracked open a fresh wound and blood flowed freely from an eyeless socket on the left side of her head. The sharp pain reminded her of everything she wished to forget – everything that was her regret.
Recollection brought the events of the previous night to play again in her mind and she saw herself chanting over a violet fire and several of her favorite stones. The dark magic had gone too far and for even thinking of performing the rituals in her own lair was a source of great shame to her, but she was addicted to her own killer, as so often the case was. She had indeed pushed it too far and for this, she was little more than an agent of the Crimson Scourge in her own mind: corrupted and loathsome, twisted and disgusting. Something wonderful had been born of her deeds and her obsessions, something purely fantastic and, she knew, terrible all the same. Even if it was not terrible now, terrible it would become; and ultimately it would become her killer. And her killer would be her son.
Yes, from the violet fire she had created a young drake and in his chest, she imbued his heart with the three black gems that she had protected ever since she could remember. Even in death, her specter guarded them in their secret hiding. Again, as so often it seemed to reoccur in her lifetime, life was brought from a source of death. Within the gems she placed in his heart were thousands, millions, of captive souls – cruel souls – who in their lifetime sought nothing more than personal gain and in their search killed millions more. Her son, upon his birth, was a killer and a traitor to the whole of the dragon race. She didn’t even know if he had a soul of his own. She questioned killing him multiple times already, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Despite her better judgment, and knowing what terrible realities he might bring upon Istaria, she could not turn her fangs and claws upon her creation – her son.
To give him sight, she sacrificed one of her own eyes and gave him two. The magic cloned the precious donation and molded it into the new body’s skull along with the original. His body was graced in black, velveteen scales that almost mirrored his mother’s natural mail. In fact, he was every bit his mother, only he bore no markings, no color. Everything about him seemed to absorb the light of the fire he was born of, in fact, everything but the feral, golden, gem-like sparkle of the colored pools that were his eyes. He looked sinister, even in the first moments of his life, the evil that his heart contained shone through him like the light that shone through the crystal chimes that hung from mouth of his birthplace, his mother’s den.
As the fire subsided and the purple radiance of its flames died, only the blue light of the lair’s waterfalls and pools were left to illuminate the caverns. Both mother and son lay panting on the warm stone of the den. In a single exhausted breath, Hraefn dubbed her creation Hrajiel. Her face bloody and her entire being pained, she pulled his small body close to her own and together, in fitful sleep, they shared their first moments together in silence and dreams.
Night had come when Hraefn found herself viewing the present once again. The last bits of warmth that came from the dieing sun were gone and now only the cool caress of the night’s breeze and the gentle gown of moonlight was all that was left to give some glimmer of light on the world. Looking up, the velvet black of the night sky was cloudless and freckled with stars. Staring upward, she squinted at a blotch of black that soared beneath the skies, trying to make out its shape and what exactly the object might be. As it descended, a knowing came to her and her figure relaxed. The figure was a drake, one she had known since her birth, one she would never forget. As deep black as she and striped just the same, as the male descended, Hraefn lifted herself to her feet. The beast landed only a few yards from where she stood and as he neared, he towered over her; height and gender was the only difference between the two.
With a shallow bow of his head, he offered a greeting.
Hraefn made no show of emotion but only spoke his name, “Croue.�