forum Power Isn't Always The Answer (ONE SPOT OPEN)

Started May 02, 2019 by @Painted-Iris group

tune

Can Mre get Peril?

(sorry loves, took some time to study for finals. I think Brom and Emberinth would go nicely together.
Also, iris, love the little summary you did for Brom. so perfect. Ready when y'all are!)

Emberinth grumbled to himself, already curled up in his 'home' as Brom called it. It sure felt nothing like home. Where was the freedom to fly? Where was the gentle touch of the grass beneath his claws? The ever changing sky he only had a small glimpse of. The only bright side was that he wasn't imprisoned in a tiny stall that prohibited movement. The crimson dragon despised his position either way. The name his rider called him by wasn't of his top pick either. Teothian. It was strange. At least Brom was kinder than some who even whipped their dragons. On other levels, the warmness of the human was almost suffocating. For crying out loud, all he longed for was to go home. And being with the humans wasn't home.

Brom threw his shield up just in time to deflect the whip. It lashed unforgivingly against the worn wood, sending chunks splintering around the field.
"Coward!" came from the voice behind the whip.
The whip struck again, this time to his unguarded abdomen. The boy jerked the crumbling wood down and just nearly avoided being sliced in half. What once was a shield snapped cleanly in two. Useless. Out of the corner of his eye, Brom saw the whip raising above his head for the thousandth time today. He rolled to the side with a grunt and stood, drawing the twin swords from his belt. Dirt splayed into the air.
"We are done!" the soon-to-be-warrior shouted. The woman scoffed in reply and switched positions.
The two circled one another in the same way predators closed in on a kill, the aged dragon wrangler dragging her whip in the grass like a serpent's tail.
The boy clanged his swords together, the Sage family matron smirked, "Surrender, scale hugger?"
Brom stopped and fixed his stance, "Never."
The woman lashed the whip out, intedning to strike him in the abdomen again, but Brom was prepared and twisted his sword so that the rope curled around the blade. With one arm the boy yanked the weapon out of the matron's hand, and with the other sliced it in two. The young Sage didn't give the enemy a moment to recover and closed in with one swift movement.
Weaponless, and with two swords at her throat, Brom's mother chuckled,"Practice Session over, my boy."
Brom Sage sighed with relief, exhaustion, and pride, sheathed his weapons, and began his trek downhill to his home.

Emberinth wished sleep would just overtake him at this point. He was bored with nothing useful to be doing either. His wings felt eager to fly, legs almost falling asleep. He let out an irritated huff, closing his eyes. The Sage boy who 'owned' him wasn't due back just yet. And to most, he was simply 'just an animal' so there wasn't much point in needing to socialize with an animal. Plus, Emberinth usually glared at Brom whenever he came close. In the wild, he might have attacked the male, but if he did such action in his current position, he was as good as dead.

As Matron of the Sage family, it was Brom's mother's responsibility to be nothing less of a queen. And may the gods take her earlier if she didn't fulfill that responsibility. To everyone else, including the majority of the Sage family, the woman was prideful, intimidating, and nearly as bloodthirsty as her own wyvern. Her personality didn't change the slightest with her children. To most people, the training sessions between Brom and his mother might as well be death battles if it weren't for the fact that the Matron possesed battle capability beyond that of what her son had learned thus far. With that being said, training sessions always ended in some form of pain for whatever unfortunate offspring she chose for battle. Brom lumbered into the family compound, the age old must of the blacksmithery present at every corner of the building. Upon finally reaching his room, the boy unclasped his belt and hung it on his beadstand with an audible clang. He began the process of winding down, which included a half-hour long soak in the tub and a change of clothes. The cuts and bruises ached. He was used to it. Brom took the time to seek one of his numerous younger brothers to help with the wounds. The young Sage boy fixed his older brother with disinfectants and wraps, which is the best an 11 year old practicing medicine in his spare time can do. Brom thanked his brother and made his way down to the family stables. The sun began its journey to rest behind the mountains.

Another day stuck in a pen. Emberinth's rest had been fitful, unable to wind down fully. It was darker now compared to the way it had been. No sign of Brom today. Perhaps today he got caught up in whatever he did during the day. Not that he particularly cared. The boy consistently tried to get him to warm up to being in captivity. Stockholm syndrome he thought it was called. As if. The dragon rolled his eyes before turning to peek at the setting sun. The other creatures in the stables either were asleep or making their individual calls for freedom. Some even called for their master. The latter had likely been in this place for years.
I just hope I never become like that. It frustrated him at the fact that humans thought this was right. At least the stiff reigns weren't stuck around his snout because the Sage boy felt like having a joy ride. His back was not meant to be sat on. Despite the sun not being fully behind the rolling hills, the dragon shut his eyes again. Nothing to do but sleep and follow orders. The boy never was able to hear his voice in his head when he tried speaking. Emberinth often wondered if he should try again one more time. Perhaps it would work, perhaps it wouldn't.