forum Oc roleplay with your host dani

Started August 13, 2021 by Dani Jean McGhee

tune

(Tearion) He bows again.

“Greetings to you, Celosia and Cyril.”

He straightens, scrutinizing Celosia curiously. He had rarely ever seen a blind creature.

“Might I ask where we are? This be drastically different from my home. Be this a trick of the Vanishers?”

(Phalakros) He smiles slightly at the mention of Cyril’s protectiveness. He then seems to become depressed again.

“I doubt Vanishers are involved, whatever they are. Nor can I properly answer your question, yet I believe this is a place outside of our realms.”

He shrugs.

(Tearion) He glances over at Phalakros, having no idea what he meant by ‘outside of our realms’.

(Phalakros) He notices the look and shrugs again.

“There is much more than one realm in our multiverse. There exists billions of realms, more even.”

(Tearion) He shakes his head and snorts.

(Phalakros) “How isolated are you? Where do you live?”

(Tearion) He sighs.

“I live on an island. The mainland be accessible only by… I know not what humans call them.”

(Phalakros) “Ships?”

(Tearion) He shrugs, unsure.

(Phalakros) “Well. You are far more isolated than I thought.”

(Tearion) He doesn’t seem to react. Instead, he turns to Celosia for an answer, hoping she would make more sense than Phalakros.

Celosia: Continues to slowly stroke the dragon's spine. It vocal growling quieted down, but is still audible, if barely. The small dragon remains vigilant, watching.

Her gaze remains facing forward, but despite being blind, the woman seems alert, listening intently to the world around her, sensing the vibrations of movement

Multiverses? I have only heard of stories

A slight frown crosses her features suddenly

One moment I was visiting Sylenrion, the major village of the Dragonkin, then I left, taking flight. Cyril was resting on my head guiding me, but then the air seemed to grow heavy. I have trained myself to sense a path back and forth from the village to Mount Draconis, but the air changed

Sighs softly

Whatever happened, it jumbled Cyril's senses, and confused him. As such, we were thrown around a bit in some rough winds before I finally managed to circle downwards, shift to human form, and now trying to determine where we are

A chirp sounds from the small dragon in response to her words

(Tearion) He sighs, shaking his head. He turns away to scan the area, but it was all so alien to him.

(Phalakros) “Worry not. From what I have seen, the danger of this place is in its visitors. I only wish Lucitius was here. He likely knew what this was, or had a better idea of it than me.”

(Tearion) He eyes Phalakros curiously, but turns away, his hand moving to cradle the pendant of his necklace. He wasn’t concerned of dangers, but the lingering traces of blood in the air kept distracting him.

(Phalakros) He turns away shyly from Tearion’s gaze, but quickly turns back, too curious to stop the conversation.

“Do I dare ask of your race?”

(Tearion) His eyes narrow.

“Why are you curious? You ask me questions, yet you have yet to answer them yourself.”

(Phalakros) He sputters, trailing off into stunned silence.

(Tearion) He shakes his head.

“Let us proceed this way. Since I have told my full name, you tell me yours, and Celosia tells us hers, unless neither of you have any additional names. Then, we answer your question of race. We continue like this.”

(Phalakros) He shakily nods.

“Phalakros is my full name.

He curls up, rocking back and forth. Clearly, whatever he had nearly said has spooked him.

(Tearion) He glances at Celosia as Phalakros answers, but immediately turns back to the youth when he stutters.

What had he missed? Did it have something to do with the battle that had ended shortly before his arrival?

Celosia: She had grown silent as the two males spoke to one another, continuing to pet the small dragon. Her head lifted as Tearion's voice was directed towards her

Celosia sir, Celosia Moonfang. I'm a silver dragon, a prophetess to be exact

Then you have met little Cyril here

Moves her hand, gently using a finger to rub her little companion between the horns on his head

(Me) I just noticed that I kind of repeated the name part a bit. Crap. Oh well.

(Tearion) He sighs, glancing at Celosia cautiously. He then turns to Phalakros.

“Enough with your fears. They are for another time. Tell me what your species and I shall say mind.”

(Phalakros) He glances at Celosia.

“A prophetess? I have met few. Though, Lucitius was a harbinger of chaos, and likely avoided prophets and prophetesses.”

He shakily turns to Tearion.

“Drāckonian. I am a strangeling, a half-breed. We are shapeshifters.”

He still seems shaken.

(Tearion) He snorts, chuckling.

“My son be a half-breed. A rarity for my species. I am. We are, quite obviously, insectile.”

He paused to raise his leg, showing off a long, beetle-like foot. He set it down and inhaled deeply, appraising the smell and sound of blood from his three companions.

(Phalakros) “What do you smell?”

(Tearion) “Depends on what I seek.”

(Phalakros) His eyes narrow a bit.

(Tearion) He snorts again.

“I have fed not in days. There be nothing appealing here.”

(Phalakros) “Days?”

(Tearion) “Nothing new.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“I have nearly ceased from starvation twice. The last thirty years have been particularly harsh for me.”

He caresses the pendant, a melancholy gleam breifly flashing in his eyes.

(Phalakros) His eyes widen.

Celosia: her head seems to turn, clearly listening intently to the voices around her

I will have to believe your words

The tip of her tail twitches ever so slightly

Chaos…visions depicting such things frighten me

Shudders, causing the small dragon in her lap to lift his head, giving a soft chirrup, lightly nuzzling her hand to comfort

(Phalakros) He turns to Celosia and chuckles shyly.

“Or the prophets avoided him. Lucitius was… unique.”

(Tearion) “Be Lucitius the demigod you had mentioned to the armored creatures?”

(Phalakros) He whirls around, shocked.

(Tearion) “Aye, I overheard.”

(Phalakros) “Y… yes.”

(Tearion) He shrugs.

“Another question? From either of you?”

(Phalakros) He hesitates.

(Tearion) He sighs and turns to Celosia curiously.

Celosia: Tilts her head slightly, the frown still upon her features

That shouldn't matter to a prophet or prophetess
I do not need to be in the same vicinity of someone to occasionally receive a vision
…or perhaps I'm not quite following what you mean…

She seems to grow silent again, then speaking up again

I honestly don't have much to ask, other than only wanting to rest for a bit before deciding the best method to seek a way back home

Lifts her hand, tucking a few strands of loose, silver hair behind her ear

I would prefer my father not coming to check up on me, and finding me nowhere in sight
Though I am in my 600's, still fairly young for a dragon, he does tend to worry about me

Sighs softly

Though I honestly do not blame his protectiveness…as I hatched from the egg blind, and I do have to admit, I have trouble from time to time

(Phalakros) He turns to Celosia again.

“Lucitius is hard to describe. Complex, if you will. He was unstable, yet had good intentions, and is likely the most powerful being I shall ever meet. He has saved mine life more times than I can count.”

He curls again.

(Tearion) “Six hundred. My sixth century was among the worst I have had. I am barely over thirteen centuries, a youth to my kin, and yet I have the experience of an elder. Damn my fool brethren, damn them all!”

He sighs, looking away.

(Phalakros) “Do I dare ask what happened?”

(Tearion) “I would rather speak of it not.”

(Phalakros) “Well, I doubt it can be much worse than being possessed by a demonic creature. One that desires only to change its victims into more of its own.”

(Tearion) He finally turns back to look at Phalakros, his eyebrow raising at his words.

(Phalakros) He chuckles shakily.

“I still have nightmares from it, despite it happening many millenia ago.”

(Tearion) He stares, unsure how to react.

Celosia: Silently pets Cyril, her tail twitching now and then, but remaining curled against her side. The woman slowly closes those milky blue eyes, letting the sounds and vibrations come to her. Her eyes flutter open again, looking in the general direction of Tearion, then shifting towards Phalakros. She is silent for several moments, then speaks softly

This 'desire to change a victim'…sounds an awful like the corruption where I am from

A grimace crosses her features

Parasitic creatures that hate any living thing…

(Phalakros) He tenses.

“Indeed. Feeding on the lives of their victims, mutating them, speaking to them…”

He stares ahead blankly, trembling. He then hides his face, a small whimper escaping him.

(Tearion) He crouches down next to Phalakros.

“Let the past speak only wisdom.”

(Phalakros) He glances at Tearion.

“I doubt you have whispering voices in your mind, constantly chanting, even when they should be gone.”

(Tearion) “Ignore them. Eventually, they shall fade.”

(Phalakros) “‘Tis been millenia!”

(Tearion) “Yet, you still acknowledge these voices. They will never fade unless you ignore every part of their existence.”

(Phalakros) He whimpers.

“You do not understand. They are not simply voices reaching into mine mind. They are mine mind. That is what I meant. That creature, whatever it did, has made me somehow a part of it. ‘Tis almost like a… collective. Two minds in one body. Yet, it should be gone. Why does it linger?”

He curls again, crying.

(Tearion) He sighs, shaking his head.

How could he help? He only vaguely understands the concept of a collective, yet only because he has known several Vanishers. Yet, a youth like Phalakros and a Vanisher were two completely different entities, in every way.

Celosia: Her head lifts again

The way you speak, of these 'things' and 'voices'. As I mentioned, it does sound like the corruption, and the more you speak of it, the more you remind me of a wyvern back in my world
…She was infected by the corruption
Amazingly, it was stopped before it fully infected her, but I know she still suffers from them

Lightly pets Cyril's spine

The wyvern I speak of always has to be vigilant. One misstep and she could undo what had been done to cure her
If that were to happen, she would become a full corrupted…

(Phalakros) He shakily looks up, fresh maroon tears streaking his face.

“Mine situation is not as delicate, yet it is as constant. I was also possessed, not infected. What has been done cannot be undone, yet I am ‘cured’.”

He snorts, shaking his head.

(Tearion) “These voices. Can you understand them?”

(Phalakros) “Not… consciously. It is more instinctual, like I was born to the language, yet never learned it. ‘Tis strange.”

(Tearion) “What be their words?”

(Phalakros) He shudders.

“Right now, they mourn for their lost home. I can tell by their tones. They…they also say I… am one of the last. Last of what?”

He whimpers.

Celosia: Grows silent again. Her pale blue eyes remained trained, looking ahead at nothing

A soft chirrup seems to gain her attention. Cyril, the small dragon on her lap, lifted his horned head, looking back and up towards her. He gives another questionable chirp

Patience Cyril, my wings are still tired after that treacherous flight through those storm winds
Besides, we still need to try and have you find something familiar to find our way back home…the scents here are not familiar at all to me, so I have no way of 'seeing' the path back

(Tearion) “If you manage to find a path, might I follow you to see if I may find a path home as well. I am no reptile, yet I have wings.”

(Phalakros) “You have wings?”

His expression hinted that he was glad to have something else to think about.

(Tearion) “All my kin have wings. Yet, we are better at gliding than flying, primarily because of training. We are Forestfolk, as are many other creatures, and thus rarely need true flight.”

(Phalakros) “Yet, you are going to dare actual flight by flying through storm winds and possible clouds or fog?”

(Tearion) He shrugs.

“I would rather die seeking home than cease from despair. Mercy has been kind to me before, despite being a bitch most of the time.”

(Phalakros) Tearion’s words seem to hit a nerve, but he composes himself quickly.

“Mercy?”

(Tearion) “Mercy be Fate.”

(Phalakros) His eyebrow rose.

“Fate? Truly?”

(Tearion) “My kin are as shamanic as we are militaristic. That be why I am willing to follow a blind prophetess through a storm. Shamans are far stronger than they often appear.”

(Phalakros) He looks at Celosia, then Cyril. The little dragon reminds him so much of Eilander, and so much of himself. Did Fate actually exist, or were Tearion’s kin just superstitious?

“May I follow as well? I have no path home, yet I am used to travel. Though, I doubt you, or any other would be pleased of having a newcomer from another multiverse arriving with you.”

He sighs.

Celosia: A soft smile graces her features

Whatever that storm was that I had flown through, I have a feeling must've been what tripped our senses, and ending up in this strange place
I am hopping it has passed though

Her head seems to tilt, tail twitching

I am willing to carry you both upon my back if it is needed
For I will most certainly shift to my true form before taking off

The woman's head seems to shift, looking in the general direction of Phalakros

As long as you don't try anything that could upset the balance
Though it will most certainly peak the interest of the higher beings
So I would not be too surprised if a Godly Servant is sent to investigate

She slowly stands up. The small dragon, Cyril, gives a chirrup, flapping his wings and flying upwards to hover next to her shoulder

(Tearion) “No need to carry me. If I must, I can morph as well. I simply need a trail to follow… or a heartbeat, yet that be when I hunt.”

(Phalakros) “I can morph into a bird, yet I cannot fly in strong winds.”

He pauses at the mention of Godly Servants, and again at Tearion’s words.

“I hope these Servants are understanding. Lucitius knew the ways home better than I ever have. I also have not seen any portals, excluding the foul one that old man had made earlier.”

(Tearion) “See portals?”

(Phalakros) “‘Tis an ability of mine race. We can see portals.”

He stands with Celosia, nervously swaying side to side.

(Tearion) He nodded, silently noting the youth’s anxiety.

Celosia: gives a slight nod

That I am still of unsure, but no use of finding anything if one is to sit still

A chirp sounds from Cyril. Though despite the more friendly approach of Phalakros and Tearion, the small dragon sends them both a glare as if daring them to try anything, despite his small stature

Gates, portals, such strange things that don't seem to like to be found when you want to find them
Then they have the bad habit of appearing…especially at the worse of times

Her form suddenly shimmers, starting to grow larger, taking shape. It isn't long before that shimmering light dies down, now revealing a large, yet slim, silver dragonelle now standing and hovering over both males. The small dragon Cyril flits over, coming to rest on the dragonelle's head, just between her horns and above a most prominent feature, a bright blue gemstone that appeared to be embedded in her forehead between her horns. Yet, much like her human form, her eyes remain milky white with barely a hint of blue underneath. The beast's nostrils flare, a forked tongue slipping out of her muzzle

Cyril, is there a faint scent? I'm having a hard time picking up anything…it smells like…nothing…nothing at all here…which is unsettling to me…

A chirp sounds from above. The silver dragonelle seems to exhale a cloud of purple mist form her nostrils, rustling her wings

So strange, having heightened senses to make up for having no sight, to only have that become useless now…

(Tearion) He circles Celosia, admiring her silver body.

“I have never seen a dragon before. Such a fascinating creature.”

Despite Celosia’s concerning words, he seems quite calm.

(Phalakros) “Does this mean we will never leave? Are we condemned here?”

He whimpers, looking around cautiously.

(Tearion) “Phalakros, you must first relax. Sometimes patience be the key to everything.”

(Phalakros) “Patience? How can I be patient when I have voices constantly chanting in my head? How can I be patient when I am trapped in this place of nothingness?”

(Tearion) He continues circling until he was near Phalakros, then he moves straight for the youth and catches him by the chin. Phalakros yelps, but is held fast by Tearion’s grip.

“If your will breaks and you become feral, I will kill and eat you with no remorse.”

His calm expression and tone never wavered as he spoke.

(Phalakros) He freezes.

“You… are a cannibal?”

(Tearion) He snorts.

“No, I am a predator. However, my meals are usually more… human. Yet, I am picky not, especially in my current predicament. Thus, I suggest you calm yourself before you piss me off.”

He releases Phalakros and resumes circling Celosia, acting as though he had never spoken to Phalakros.

(Phalakros) He shudders a moment, then takes a deep breath and sits down. He slowly starts wiping off his tear-streaked face.

“Lucitius was a cannibal, in a way. He only fed on his enemies,”he mumbles.

He chuckles nervously.

(Tearion) He glances over at Phalakros, but says nothing.

(Me) How is it that I can always reflect the story of my characters? I keep getting the vibe that Phalakros is slowly, or maybe not so slowly, going psycho, and the messed up part, in my stories he actually does go insane. Of all of my characters, he’s the one innocent guy that suffers for crimes/sins that he never committed. It’s kind of fucked, honestly.
—Don’t mind me, I may be rambling a little.

Celosia: Her horned head doesn't seem to acknowledge as Tearion seems to be circling around her, though she can hear his footsteps and feel the slight vibrations of movement. The most she does is slowly tap a single claw on the floor.
Unlike the blind dragonelle, Cyril is constantly watching and alert. The small dragon glares after Tearion for several moments, before finally seeming satisfied that he truly wasn't going to harm his large perch

Oh, dragons back in my world come in all shapes, sizes, and each has their own set of abilities
I'm actually on the smaller end of dragons. I am young, and still have some growing to do, but I'll still be rather small, even though I was a single chick

The dragonelle's head seems to lift higher, forked tongue flicking in and out of her muzzle now and then

Aye, patience is indeed needed please.

Celosia seems to grow silent at the mention of 'cannibalism', though it was not foreign to her
Cyril gives a soft growl, though his head suddenly perks up, giving an alert chirrup. The small dragon stands up on the dragonelle's head, paws lightly resting on the gemstone between her horns

Ah, I can sense it too Cyril…faint, but perhaps an exit out of this place yes? Better to investigate than remain here

Without a second thought, Celosia slowly starts to walk forward. Now and then she seems to tap her single claw on the floor, being careful as she moves. All the while, Cyril chirps now and then, as if giving directions to her as she wanders forward

(Tearion) He slowly follows Celosia, still admiring her silver body. He memorizes every part of her, from head to toe, in case he never sees another dragon.

“You may be smaller than other dragons, yet my home has none at all. Unless they live in the caves, a place I shall never go.”

He becomes silent, allowing Celosia to concentrate on her task.

(Phalakros) He watches the three wander away. He stands there a moment, trembling. When he finally decides to move, he follows at a distance.

Tearion glances back as he starts to move and he hurries his pace until he was flanking Celosia. He never says a word.

(Tearion) He sighs at the sight of Phalakros, then turns away to inhale deeply. Despite his hopes of helping Celosia, he isn’t surprised that all he can smell is the blood from three hearts near him. He was a hunter, not a seeker.

He takes a deep breath to soothe his frustration, then decides to listen to those same three hearts. As he listens, he particularly appreciates the strong thumps from Celosia. It was simply fascinating to meet a creature he had long thought a myth.

Me: Life, and recently smashed my finger, so hard to type

(Me) Oh damn, I hope your finger heals. I hate it when I smash my fingers.

(Me) If you’re on, you still want to do this? I hope your finger is doing alright.