[Belf-RP] Thalassian Skyguard 🐲

[Devontae-argent-dawn]

“We live moment to moment on cold ashes that fall with the grace of snow, yet lies over everything living and dead. This world is a plague my Creature, it is only fitting that from the brink of the end, he is returned to us. And you… yes you. You will be the mother that birthed the vessel for our king.” Listen to them, the children of the night, what music they must make.

After heading out with Squad Zero through the gates of Tyr’s hand and to the cliffs, the horde soldiers found and located a monster like none they’d ever come across. Forced to retreat from the pressure of the mounting scourge, they sheltered for the night in the keep of Tyr’s hand, watching the morbid red rain fall. Now… they must go there once again. To finish what they started.

[Day two of Dead Rise in Plaguelands Campaign]

[Katyett-argent-dawn]

“Welcome, boys and girls to what I am sure will become a tale worthy of a place amongst the desiccated tomes of historic books. Our story begins, like many do, at a moment in time when our chosen soldiers marched to their voluntary deaths towards Seradane. I fear, I must tell you however, before we begin, that this story is not for the faint of heart and will challenge the chosen in ways of faith, sanity and power both body and mind. Expect the worst and it might just see you through to the end… Shall we begin?"

We move onto the last phase of the campaign in hinterlands!

[Erivana-argent-dawn]

Plaguelands/Hinterlands Campaign was super fun! Who doesn’t like kickin undead butt ? The events were super immersive and ended on a banger. Onto our next campaign!

[Yasmyr-argent-dawn (Yasmyr)]

… very rapidly onto our next campaign, in fact: we’re spending the next fortnight in the Blades’ Edge Mountains, hunting down some loyalists who’ve fled to Outlands with the rest of the Ashen Bulwark.

No rest for the stalwart defenders of the High Kingdom!

[Yokaiizu-argent-dawn]

My shadow hunter was too busy admiring the Skyguard’s dragonhawks during aerial combat, resulting in him being effectively burned and knocked off his bat.

I guess you could say I totally fell for this guild.

[Gaxxius-argent-dawn]

Returning Home

It was around midnight in the Hinterlands, it was a violent thunderstorm just above the Dreadstar Hold. The wind was howling and the rain was hitting the windows of the castle, the sound of the rain and thunder was the only thing that could be heard at night.

A portal opened a few yards in front of the great castle, Gaxxius stepped out, his raven hair and dark coat were already soaked with rainwater. His chainmail under the coat had been ripped open by something, or someone. The coat had several holes in it. He slowly made his way to the front door, he hung his head in defeat, the campaign had not gone as planned, not at all.

The servant Reed greeted the spellbreaker in the hallway, helping him with his armor and weapon. “Good trip, sir?” Gaxxius glanced at the elf for a moment and shook his head. “Not really, no… I need to get some sleep, thank you, Reed.” The servant bowed and quickly gathered Gaxxius’ items and disappeared into the laundry room.

Gaxxius slowly walked through the long hallway, each step echoing through the castle. He stopped for a moment and looked at the door leading down to the library. ‘Might as well get started… I’m going to need a new hand anyways…‘ He thought to himself as he looked down at his stump, his entire left hand was gone. Tal’reia helped him amputate what was left of the hand, the corruption was simply too dangerous to cleanse, so amputation was their best option.

Gaxxius sat down at his workbench, he started sketching some more simple designs for a metal hand. ‘I’ll have to have one that is just as strong as my right hand… Or… Perhaps a little stronger…‘ He chuckled at the thought, at first he felt sad that it had come to this, but the possibilities were almost endless. The fist sketch was of a metal hand, a simple design for more casual use, the shape was very regular look. Another was for more fancy occasions, the metal hand had fine floral engravings on the upside of the hand and fingers, polished silver and gold around the edges. Lastly he started making sketches for combat use, one that had three fingers instead of five, designed to break up doors and heavy use, clumsy but strong. One that with enchantments on the fingers, the fingernails could change shape into more claw looking nails, excellent for clawing at the enemy, his personal favorite. When he was satisfied with the sketches he made his way upstairs to get some much needed sleep.

The Day After

Gaxxius woke up early in the morning as usual, he went downstairs where Reed waited with his freshly washed clothes. The servant helped the spellbreaker button his shirt and coat. “Feeling better, sir?” Gaxxius simply nodded as reply and patted the servant on the shoulder before walking out the door. The storm had passed and it was a clear sky once again. He turned his head towards the sun, closing his eyes momentarily, feeling the warmth, smelling the familiar smell of pine, the air blowed gently and it seemed to be good weather today, he had to visit a place he had not visited for many years. He turned to walk down a path leading into the woods behind the castle.

The old path was beautiful and the sounds of the forest and the birds singing and chirping was almost magical this time of year. The spellbreaker followed the path that led on further into the woods, it led to a clearing in it. It was a rather large area, the short green grass covered it, in the middle it was a pond with clear water, and beside it stood three gravestones.

He knew that his family had a crypt beneath the castle, but he didn’t want them to be ‘just some other dead Dreadstars‘ so he had made this place just for them. He knelt down in front of the tombstone in the middle, it belonged to his grandfather, Neldor. And the others were his two brothers that had passed away so long ago. He placed his right hand on the cold stone, taking a deep breath. “It’s been a while since I last came to visit, hasn’t it…” He chuckled softly, he carefully removed some of the moss that had started to grow on the old stones. “Not a day goes by without me missing you three, and if there is some kind of afterlife… I hope you’re watching, we still had so much to talk about.” He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and just listens as the trees rustle in the wind and the bird songs continue around him.

Gaxxius opened his eyes once again he looked between the tombstones as if he was talking to the elves in person. “A lot has happened, I lost my hand… That’s still pretty fresh. I’ve fought void creatures, undead, and much much more… And I’ve met a woman, well… I’m actually engaged to her now, wish you were alive to meet her, She would have loved your stories, Grandfather.” He smiled as he looked at the stone in the middle again before looking at the others. “And your knowledge of Arcane, Alaric… And perhaps even your bad jokes. And I think you and her would have been good friends, Jenico.” He chuckled softly and cleared his throat several times, fighting back tears. “She is quite incredible, I would even put away my sword and live a calm life, all she had to do is ask…” He sighed softly as he stood up and looked out over the pond. “Just wanted to update you on what I have been doing all these years, that’s all… Now, I’ll leave you to rest my Brothers… And you too, Grandfather. Perhaps I’ll bring her here to meet you one day.” He smiled fondly as he turned to walk home again.

[Coldsháde-argent-dawn (Coldsháde)]

What a cool guild! Did not interact with them often, but when I did it definitely was fun!

[Devontae-argent-dawn]

Thank you Coldshade! I hope we get to interact more in the future!

[Yasmyr-argent-dawn (Yasmyr)]

Back in the High Kingdom, dealing with an unwanted souvenir of their time in the Hinterlands. Thrilling aerial shenanigans are one thing, but the coming days will pose an entirely different set of challenges to the stalwart Skyguard.

Can the Light prevail? Should it? Only time will tell…

[Devontae-argent-dawn]

The Thalassian Skyguard successfully saved their Chaplain from the most morbid of fates, accepting the light! Having witnessed the dystopian world of what a life ran by the light would look like, they knew they could stop at nothing to bring him home and avoid this outcome.

Having witnessed the lives of the Eversong Irregulars and the unsung heroes of Suncrown such as Beanis and Talral Sparklight the baker brothers and Beanis’s fiancé Lentilly, our flight soldiers head to the inn to go allow the alcohol to burn away the mental images of the light infused world.

Next stop, the Skyguard return to normality and we can be found this Wednesday in the city for friendly sparring and walk up RP! Come on down!

[Erivana-argent-dawn]

Those darn Eversong Irregulars. Those darn DM’s giving us ETHICAL CHOICES. Super fun event, can’t wait for more this week!

[Devontae-argent-dawn]

The day is being swallowed by the night; slowly eaten and digested slower still. The night’s mauve spittle is staining the marigold and medallion of the day, lines of Aegean blue teeth ripping at the seams of light. The night is a dark tiger, savouring its tasteful prey of the sun.

The land beneath the night is deserted, for with the tiger’s arrival comes threat. Long gone is the time when the denizens of Arathi watched as darkness devoured the light. The Skyguard’s Dragonhawks beat against the cold air, alone in the metallic anthracite of the skies, pressing against the weary war torn land of Arathi Highlands. There is an allure to the transition of the skies and the wonders it brings, the way it calls forward the creatures of the night. The fliers could not help but notice the most unnatural of natural things; its incomprehensible colours of the darkening blanket above and around them.

The night when it finally arrives rolls over bringing a threat of a storm, what light there had been now had rapidly fallen, slain by the arrival of the dark swelling black ocean. Shimmering stars illuminate the moonless, jet black sky, as if to remind them that even in darkness there is still light. The air is still and heavy, thick clouds covering half of the sky. A cool breeze sweeping in from the north sea. Owls sweep silently overhead joining the elves and their Dragonhawks into the sky. Even the shadows were being swallowed by the encroaching darkness.

The familiar trees and rocks of the daytime now take on a new and ominous form beneath the Skyguard. It is as if by stealing their colours the night also stole their friendly spirits and replaced them with malicious demons. The stars and mood could not make them seem any less threatening. The lack of bird song makes the scattered farms and trees seem eerie and those with vivid imaginations might easily mistake every leaf flutter or twig snap to announce the arrival of a dangerous man or beast. The Dragonhawks shiver in the inky darkness until the watery lantern light of their designated farm broke the malignant spell, the warm flickering of candle light had never looked so sweet slanting through the swell below and never been so welcome.

The farm grew up out of the pale grey hills as if it had always been part of the scenery. Upon the rolling fields grew potatoes, turnips and all the root vegetables that make for a good roast in the autumn. Behind the farm the stone mountains stood up against the sky. The farm buildings huddled like little clinging aphids on the mountain skirts, crouched low to the ground as though the wind might blow them into the sea. The little shack, the rattling, rotting barn were grey-bitten with sea salt, beaten by the damp wind until they had taken on the colour of the granite hills.

Mud lay in uneven patches, scattered over the sloped concrete farmyard. The smell of manure hangs thickly over the more subtle scent of tree blossom. A poorly constructed large gate of wooden planks and chicken wire that seems to flex and bow whenever it is opened or closed bars the bottom of the yard. Slightly further up and to the left there are two stables of rotting wood with a corrugated metal roofs that now house calves, bought at market to fatten up and sell on for their meat; Charolais and Frisians stand quivering on thin legs, braying gently. To the top lies an old hay barn with stables at the front with old half-doors to allow the occupants to see the view of the yard, those being a donkey and the riding horse. To the right is the pig pen with fresh mud allowing the pale pink bottomed creatures to wallow languidly.

Now, it was dark and the expectation would be that the occupants would be asleep, but that was not the case as the Dragonhawks swooped in closer. Instead individually carried lanterns could be seen searching through the fields uneven bobbing and weaving motions, casting pale drops of honey over the crops. The people of the farm, a family of humans with three Orc peons all called out with a mixture of worry and dumb founded loyalty “Billy! Billy where are you?” “BEE-LEE! WHY YOU HIDIN’ BEE-LEE?!” So ingrained in their task are the farmers, they do not pay heed to the passing of the silhouettes of the Skyguards Dragonhawks, giving them a perfect opening to land and hide their mounts.

The Thalassian Skyguard are currently in the middle of a plot deeper than they had ever imagined. Defending a village from an over zealous Lord, they did not dream in just a few short days they would fly over a farmland to find every single one of the Sanguis Ashguard mercenary flight team murdered - all save for their commander. What is it that could have done this? The human mercenaries, were they so jealous they had to murder the Sin’dorei? Or perhaps was it something deeper? It would seem that no matter their guarded opinions and theories, they would be finding out one way. Or another.

[Litlauss-argent-dawn]

Currently, the Thalassian Skyguard find themselves involved on a remote island campaign with the Ashen Bulwark community. In a campaign led by the Blood Howl (and supreme overlord Cacklespine), they find themselves on “Mongrel Isle”, as an initial response to a troubling gathering of Centaur, Gnolls, Kobolds and other vaguely humanoid creatures.

The boats had come to a standstill just away from the shore. The landing party had been met almost immediately with a strong resistance. With the Chieftain barking orders to the ground troops and the Skyguard already riding their Dragonhawks in formation, action was quick to arise.

The fighting was fierce. The Bulwark host numbered perhaps sixty or seventry troops, and the initial resistance force they met easily tripled that number. Telahn didn’t really have much time to sit down and come up with any feasible form of strategy. As a fresh-faced flyer, he had to focus almost everything on ensuring his Dragonhawk would be able to carry them both to the end of the conflict.

The host of Mongrel Isle had already established themselves a fortification and impressive siege weapons, with catapults all manned and ready to go. It took the Dragonhawks a bombing run (and Telahn rolling big!) to bring them down, as the Bulwark quickly dissected the remainders of the Mongrels.

With conflict coming to an end for the night, they took up what resting spots they could, knowing full well that the battle had only just begun, and their days on this island were only going to get worse as time went by.

Despite all of that, Telahn could not help but feel like he was about to be a part of something.

[Devontae-argent-dawn]

It is very hard to admit even to ourselves that we are lonely - it is far easier to “invent” a myriad of problems that we buy into and encourage others to do the same. Because “problems” would actually be simpler to solve for ourselves than admitting the truth behind the fabricated veil. It’s little wonder so many of our society is broken after the fall of Quel’thalas. De’vontae had thought his moment of being alone had passed him and that he had served his time with the cruel bite of destiny and fate; that was until a few days ago, on the evening before the Thalassian Skyguard were to depart to Kalimdor.

The Autumnvale home sat atop of an island and its hill like a tall cake on a caster sugared plate. The house had been standing longer than the concrete roads that wound away from it, longer than the trees which had grown up around it, longer than the boat at the dock which it stood just outside of. Its windows were covered in dust, and the sagging wooden floor was littered with bits of broken glass, edges smoothed and dulled by the rain and wind which whistled at the closed windows trying to whisper them open. The wall which wound all around it, where two children had once played months ago, was now covered in wild weeds and if any ragamuffin or curious person were brave enough to step on it, the wall would crumble beneath their feet, and they would tumble down to the weed-claimed ground below.

The house itself, like the glass on its floor and its wall, had been dulled and weakened by the stormy weather of the northern sea. The walls were smooth white stone, and were pitted like driftwood; soft and splinter-less, as if years of lightning, wind and rain had gradually taken all the splinters and force from it.

Nobody ever really cared about the fate of the house, or whatever came of the interior, the only value of the island was the hatchery that towered behind the building. The house stood on its little outcropping atop the mountainous hill, watching life go on, watching everyone gradually move away, watching the future come, and knowing it had been left behind.

Time passed, and slowly, all of the Sin’dorei in the little house had faded away, from cruel unimaginable deaths, to broken hearts and heated words. With only empty promises to keep anyone there, the house grew empty. And, one day, the house found itself looking down at an island. A place where time was meaningless, where the sun never penetrated, a place where the future could come and go as it pleased without having any effect. A lonely place, which missed the sound of children’s voices.

The island was too far out in the country for it to be of interest to travellers, hidden as it was against the hill it clung to, and it was slowly forgotten. The lonely house and the forgotten hill stood together, pretending to be content but knowing that there was something missing from their existence, something which they had no means of getting.

Time passed. A year could pass in the blink of an eye, a day could drag on for eternity. The fog was too thick now for night and day to be discernible from each other, and neither the house nor the little island cared. Time was not meant for them. They had overstayed their welcome.

It was easy then, to forget that with the house and with the ghosts sounds of little girl’s footsteps tapping on the cracked cement of memories past, an autumn haired elf still remained. He was young in age though his visage was haunted with the lines of worry and experience that had no right in being there. His expression when he was on the island always became sullen, avoiding the ray of sunlight that pierces the clouds and dances on the hatchery - still filled with the sound of new born Dragonhawks, and he avoided watching the glimpses of shooting stars that danced through the fog.

He stuck to a narrowed field of vision, moving through the increasingly run down looking house, ignoring the bolted doors that hid the perfectly kept rooms of the ghosts and memories. He no longer went to the roof garden to watch the greens sway against the blue sky and he no longer looked at the door, waiting for her to come home.

A picture rests upon the dusty mantle still, a picture of the autumn haired elf and a red haired shorter female with a blackened shawl and two little girls neither that looked alike to the adults. They must have been lonely for a long time, but in that picture somehow they were very happy.

Tonight; the autumn haired elf and his lonely house with its lonely island were visited by two official looking Sin’dorei Farstriders. Their visit was brief and upon their departure the autumn haired man did not move from the doorway for a very long time. Clutched in his hand, standing over the packed bags of armour and campaign packs, the elf began to sink back into himself. A new ghost watched him from within his webbed mind of guilt…

'Dear Captain.D.F.Autumnvale,

It is to the wish of Vianea Autmnvale, I write to inform you that she was wounded in battle at her most recent mission taken upon the request of the High Home. It is assumed thus, that she has died from her wounds in battle though due to the nature of the scene no body was able to be recovered. It is with great sorrow I relay this news to you and my sincerest apologies to her loved ones. -…’

“No-…”

[Litlauss-argent-dawn]

The last bit had me like Deja vu…

[Devontae-argent-dawn]

The Thalassian Skyguard finally make to leave the Monster Island with the Ashen Bulwark, in mixed spirits with the death of their Hawkrider Merina Rainstrider and Sky Warden Vianea Autumnvale. But with a future lighting their rainy path as Chieftan Cacklespine of the Blood Howl relays the promotion of I’len Lavelan and Vaelath Ashleaf to Lieutenant and Sergeant respectively.

[Litlauss-argent-dawn]

Telahn pondered. Their conflict on Mongrel Isle had drawn to a close, and he now had some time to reflect on his performance. He did better than he figured he might, but was certainly still critical of some of the decisions he had made.

He glanced over his shoulder, toward where Duskshimmer idled. He smiled, before looking back out to sea. He had obtained quite a hoard from the Vault, considering he didn’t loot any of it for himself.

Of Ranthos, he had asked for two rings. He had taken one for himself, letting it rest on his left hand. For the other, he would keep it for now. He wouldn’t wear it, no - but it rest within his satchel for when the time came. For when he would see her rest.

Of Felicia, he had asked for a new weapon. She hadn’t been able to find him anything within his usual taste, but had found him a greatsword. It’s design was a unique one, and it’s weighting was perplexing to say the least. He carried it with him however, perhaps a reminder of the journey taken, and hardships faced.

Now, all he could do was to think. Think of the future, and each step forward he would make toward the setting sun. For those steps were always the most crucial. He would leave Mongrel Isle a changed man. That much was certain.

[Syléstra-argent-dawn]

Droning. Dull words complemented by a lack of attention given to them filled the ears of a disinterested Firefury as she sat listening to the same given compliments to her sister. It seems now that they had their undesired failure, her parents were content with settling for a dear daughter they actually wanted.

Nothing seemed to change. With Firefury’s focus given to the Skyguard, her assignments from the estate and from the spire continued to be given with a lack of abundance. More and more it was simply waiting for the next letter or form of notice given to find her way into the city and wait in the same, stuffy, quiet room of the Farstriders.

Whether it was showing herself at the estate for formalities, or looking after the cat she was gifted in what feels like an eternity ago. Even that is warped and tainted with sameyness. Her lover, abnormally caring to her and committed to seeing them both happy seems to be tainted with the feeling of sameness. Their focus is taken elsewhere, and what few interactions they have in such a busy feeling as hollow as them all.

Words sound more like flat tunes now. Dull, toneless and distant. The next mission was to be an assault with different horde forces on an island with varying unstable conditions. Another rush into battle, to see if fate will keep her alive. So it would happen, it did.

Some were not so fortunate. Sky Warden Autumnvale seemed to have perished elsewhere. Another fool of an elf in the eyes of Firefury had run off in a fit of shallow emotion and gotten themselves killed. How do they do it? It is a question that troubles Firefury. No matter the danger, no matter the risk. She is always spared. What is it about Autumnvale and the careless fool of a Skyguard that took them from this world? What spares me?

Such are impossible questions that rest on the mind of Firefury before the eve of the final battle. One she moves into, again, and surviving. There was just this… dull simplicity to the life of one who simply runs headfirst into battle. No espionage. No infiltration or having to spend days miles behind the lines of the enemy by yourself. Just… charge. You live, or they live.

Short-lived celebrations were to take place. Firefury found herself sitting, waiting for the whole thing to pass by like the wind before the grating voice of the Captain forced her down to join the malformed line of the Skyguard mixed in with the ranks of the filth covered horde.

One by one, meaningless tokens and trinkets were awarded to the brave to encourage them to do it again. Tokens that will soon decorate their graves. They only serve to embolden the foolhardy, giving them a tokenistic pat on the head to keep them satisfied so they will continue throwing their bodies willingly into battle.

Something kept catching the eye of Firefury as the ceremonies droned on in her ears. Three, four turns of her body to look in the direction of the distant south. There was nothing. Not a stir in the air or a fitful breeze in the trees. It was as if everything had just slowed down. She fought the urges to move to it. But she was occupied already with this ceremony. But then… she wasn’t.

Instinct saw her slip away from the group, who were so caught up in what they were doing, they didn’t notice Firefury leave. And so, it was as such that Firefury disappeared. She had the personal capabilities to slip away without being noticed anyway of course, but she did so anyway effortlessly.

Suddenly, there was nothing but an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar threats or dangers. There was not an annoying sound in her ear or anybody else to slow her down. There was just… the walk. Nothing seemed to get in her way. No wildlife, no roaming monster or enemy. Just her, alone with her thoughts.

She walked and walked, climbed, and she climbed. Eventually, she stumbled upon a small grassy area, surrounded in all directions by natural walls and one open sea view ahead of her. The sound of the sea was all she had. It was the same nothing she sat with. But somehow this time, it was different. There were no lecturing eyes as she sat elevated in the lodge. There were no expectations of a proper attitude and the sickening sound of overwhelming love she never got, delivered to her sister. There was no need to fend off the loving attention of an odd man who required dousing more times with ice water than a building burning. Untill…

Irritating sounds came through the communications device of Firefury, forcibly breaking her thoughts. Her body surged with violent anger, but then a ominous calmness came over her. Instead of hurling the device into the great beyond, she calmly switched it off.

The hill was where she remained for the next few hours. The sky grew dark and the cool breeze coupled with the sound of the sea was all to stimulate her senses now. She rose next to the edge she had sat. Then something strange happened.

Standing next to the blackened drop, the used ground under her feet started to crumble. She noticed right away, her instincts kicked in and she was more than ready to move out of the way. But she didn’t. She stood there, curious. The ground broke way, casting her body into the great dark beyond that the night sky had obscured from her, and sharp pains filled her body as she crashed down the dull stones. There was a strange calmness, right before the precipitous fall.

Hours passed, the cold body of Firefury lay cast across the rocks, battered and bruised by sharp rocks and gravity. However, her burning eyes flickered open once more. Fate had spared her once again. Without thinking, she made her way back to camp, seemingly done with her unusual journey.

The camp she found was empty, the ships had left and there was nobody left for her to find, or anyone she wanted to find.

Alone.

Stranded on the desolate island, Firefury decided she would roam even further. Her comms piece was destroyed in the fall. Yet another inevitably broken under her care. She was not worried, however. She was trained in critical situations like these. She rounded up what supplies she could and built a raft. She purified what seawater she could and departed.

For days, she remained adrift at sea. Eventually, however, her emergency beacon activated once more as she drifted outside of the unstable leylines of the island. She activated it, and the magic imbued in the beacon by her estate’s master transmuters tore a hole where she was, bringing her back to her estate.

Her violent injuries were explained as minor wounds from battle. Once treated by her estate, she visits the Skyguard base, avoiding anyone present before relieving the storage of another communicator before disappearing into the Ghostlands. Again, alone and unseen.

[Cacklespine-argent-dawn (Cacklespine)]

Having spent more time roleplaying with these flyboys lately, I can pretty confidently say they are a great bunch! I love the flying brigade theme and how it lends itself to a brand of Roleplay I don’t normally come across.

[Fatalistic-argent-dawn]

Litlauss: Horizons

As Telahn found himself resting by the Skyguard rookery, he could not prevent himself from reflecting on recent events. He had experienced turbulence in the days since their return from Mongrel Isle and would need to reflect on it all. He settled himself beside Vesperal, and began tending to her. His mind already absent, as his brain drew upon recent memories.

He had received a summons from Captain Autumnvale, to join alongside the Skyguard at their base of operations in Mistbrook. Upon arrival, they had gathered in the courtyard by the fountain. An ornate and beautifully designed piece, depicting a small, wonderlust girl riding freely atop a dragonhawk. She held in her hand an orb from which the water flowed freely into the font. With delicate, inlaid designs of gold and bronze, the fountain itself was a true spectacle. Beneath the towering display, several stone slabs. Many of which were bare – though the lefternmost committed and detailed the names of each of the falled Fliers and Hawks alike, as a memorial – ode to their accomplishments and service alike.

The service started with a speech from the Captain and the recently promoted Lieutenant and Sergeant respectively, paying respect and homage to the Captain’s wife, of whom Telahn had sadly never met – and then to the passing of Merina Rainstrider. The words rang true and were heartfelt to the very core. Each resonant vibration of a vocal chord bearing with it the gravitas and grief of each of the Skyguard. The collective were called upon to share their thoughts and perhaps a few words.

Mal’thadian Spineblade was the first to answer that, planting down a banner and expressing himself in a way that, even now, seemed uncharacteristic and far more caring than Telahn had ever presumed the man to be. If nothing else, Spineblade proved with his brief speech that everyone, regardless of their exterior, was affected by this loss – and just how close this bond had been.

He had himself answered the call next. Not being a fraction of the wordsmith that the Captain was, he could only truly speak to Rainstrider, and how they stood together in their grief. But that Merina would not have wished to see them in such a state. Despite the Captain’s efforts, he still felt like he carried much of the burden on his shoulders – but advised that the Skyguard was a family, that much he could see. And that this was the time for them to fly together. He remembered how much his heart thumped in his chest when he spoke back then. How hard it had been.

Ranthos Firescar was the last to offer up any words, speaking moreso to Lady Autumnvale’s departure, but still finding it within his charisma to keep a smile on his face and try to bring some lighthearted positivity to the group. It was an appreciated gesture, even if everyone knew he was grieving with them.

As the memorial service was called to a close, and the group saught to relocate for the Medal and Bonding ceremonies, Telahn opted to stay behind for a brief time. He had walked to the memorial and placed down a frame – a project he had worked on during the Mongrel Isles, despite the hardships he had faced with Merina at the time.

The frame he had left behind was a multi-layered wooden carved piece, depicting (artistically, though perhaps not perfectly) the painting that Merina had done in the Lodge a week prior. Each of the Dragonhawks dangles from the top of the frame by string, allowing additional depth to the depiction. Around the waist of the figure that was supposed to depict Merina, is an azerite-embezzled ring, having been manually worked into the frame. Ranthos’ unknowing gift would rest with Merina, to remember her.

He idly thumbed at the chain around his neck, where the prized amulet was the paired ring to the one left with his gift. To keep her close to his heart.

The Medal ceremony itself had passed by relatively briefly. He was still caught up in the thoughts of what had just transpired, but had eagerly congratulated each of his allies as their names were called forth, to be recognised for their recent efforts and contributions. He had been the most shocked when his own name had been called up. He had been bestowed the Bronze Tectrix Feather, which was to provide recognition for a significant act of support – namely his contributed efforts throughout the Mongrel Isle campaign. He had accepted it meekly at the time, but even now felt his hand idly reach to the sash to fiddle with it, a brief swelling of pride pulsing in his chest.

The true meat of the gathering was of course, the Bonding Ceremony. Several Cadets were to be called up, offer up an item of significance, and be brought together with the Dragonhawk they would share the skies with from there on. The Cadets that were called up were Irielle Sunspyre, himself, and one Aelevie Dawnsong. All the while, Vanra Dawnfeather – one of the newest Cadets, played music to accompany the ceremonious event.

Sunspyre was the first to be called up. She briefly talked about the item she would be sacrificing in order to initiate the bonding process. She had four seperate Dragonhawks scout her and show keen interest in her, though she herself seemed like a timid flier – a reassuring sign for her, no doubt. The one that she seemed to settle with the most was quick to disperse a jettison of flame toward her offering – Specter would be her partner. Specter was blue-bodied, the same blue the sky would turn as snow would proceed to fall, though riddled with some parts of an offish-white. Her eyes were opalesque, and her tail showed some scarring, perhaps from a previous encounter.

Telahn had been up next. He had offered up his Sunfury signet ring, explaining that he carried his past with him and it bore down on him greatly. But by sacrificing this, he hoped he could find closure, by releasing the past and working toward the future – and being the best version of himself that he could strive to be. He had received interest from two sibling Dragonhawks – Boreal and Vesperal. These were Eclipsion-Blue crossbreeds, and were the children of Austral – of whom was the bonded of his mentor Ranthos. Boreal was quick to showboat, whereas Vesperal seemed much more reserved than her brother did. He had taken more to Vesperal, perhaps feeling he could relate to her own process of handling the situation. She shimmered around him, and marked one of his spellscrolls, before melting away at the signet ring. He had been chosen by Vesperal .

She was a beautiful creature to behold. Her body was a deep purplish-blue and her eyes an enchanting yellow. With her wingfeathers spanning a body of dark violets, and a streak of a pale blue – like an aurora one might expect to find over a tundra. Finally, her tailfeathers had been that of an almost marble white, creating this brilliant display of colour and personality for him to enjoy. He had chosen for his Dragonmark to rest on his left lumbar – a tender spot, where he would be more sensitive to her pain or distress. He could only hope that this newfound kinship would be the start of a better turn in his life and career.

Finally, it came the time for Dawnsong . She herself seemed to be a bookish sort, quiet and reserved – yet well spoken and articulate. Her conversation, if antsy – was still a calculated matter. She had reached out and had attracted the attention of Fineas – A large, royal-blue breed, with a gloss finish to his carapace and feathers. He seemed a very regal and dignified sort, as if practically courting Dawnsong from the moment he came down to the perch. Every part a debonair gentleman, just without the finery and suit.

After the ceremonies had come to a close, he had gone to the Rookery to spend the evening alongside Vesperal, in an attempt to get to know his newfound companion. All he really accomplished was a thankful, awkward bow that she had accepted him. He had a long ways to go, still.

(Sorry this piece is quite long. It’s only around half of what I wrote for it, but the rest wasn’t wholly relevant to the forum thread itself. I hope you all enjoy the read regardless. Art for Vesperal is available on request).

I’d further like to apologise for posting this on Wiskerville and not Litlauss. Forums apparently won’t allow me to post more than 3x a thread on him for some reason, or include links. Sorry for any confusion this may cause!