Daelor's hunt

The tundra trudged along barely glancing at the path before his feet, trusting the small fae perched atop his head to warn of any true hazards. Instead, his pink tinged red eyes scoured the landscape around him for signs of what he was looking for. His fur had grown matted and deeply grimy from long hours covering some of the most inhospitable spots in the Scarred Wastelands. Daelor cared very little for his personal appearance even on normal basis, much less while his mind was solely occupied by the task of finding the perfect ingredients for his latest experiments.

Sylvanas rode on the tundra’s head, clinging to his horns and conveniently close to his ears, since he was well known for being selectively deaf at times. Her position also afforded her a reasonable amount of protection, since the tundra was rather large for his breed, and quite skilled as a mage. She did not lack for magical skill herself, but being a fae, her size was a great disadvantage if cornered in a physical fight.

Her stomach rumbled and she sighed, almost regretting the decision to accompany Daelor on his excursion. He was notoriously single minded when he was focused on something, and incredibly absent minded when it came to remembering things like stopping for a snack. She reached over and tugged on the tundra’s ear.

“Daelor, I’m hungry, we’ve been at this for ages and ages, can’t we stop and rest and find something to eat?”

Feeling the tug on his ear, Daelor’s attention was momentarily diverted to listening to his companion. He stopped walking for a moment, and tilted his head slightly, though not enough to unbalance the fae.

“Food time?”

“Yes, Daelor, we need a food time, please.”

The tundra promptly sat down on his haunches and rummaged in one of the satchels he carried. He smiled proudly as he held out a small jar of assorted grubs and wingless insects and offered it up to the fae on his head.

She trilled happily and took the jar and immediately opened it and stuffed a fat grub in her mouth. “Thank you!”

Daelor chuckled around a thick leaf he’d just stuffed in his own mouth. He was a tundra and as such could go quite a time between meals, however, he felt it was polite to eat something while his small companion did so. His eye ridges furrowed slightly as he reminded himself that faes were much smaller and thus had higher metabolisms which required more frequent meals to satisfy.

He swallowed his small snack and closed his satchel again. He was glad he remembered to pack the bug jars, though something prickled as his mind and he wondered if he’d forgotten something else he should have brought
.
Finally, Sylvanas tapped Daelor’s ear again and held the jar where he could reach it and patted her now satisfied stomach.  

“You always find the best bugs, Daelor. We can go on now, thank you.”

He nodded absently and put the jar away as he began walking again, his mind once more focused on its previous purpose. It had to be around here somewhere, he thought to himself, but where?

Running. That was the only thing on Renivis' mind as he made a mad dash out into the wilderness, the ground squishing beneath him. A faint yell of anger could be heard from the horizon as his fears glowered evermore with anxiety. Come on! All he did was shove a small hatchling down a small valley near the clan's cave. It was an accident, honest! He didn't mean to put the entire clan in debt! He stopped nearby a small pit, crusted with rotting flesh and a strong odor filled the air, more so than what usually stains the air around him, anyways. He ran a little further from it, making sure his footprints were as visible as ever, before taking to the air a bit and diving straight into the pits nasty maw.

He churned the waste around him as flesh stumbled and flew into a blanket of red debris. he dug in a bit and sat in waiting; anxiety biting into him like a wolf. Muffled movement came in a few moments later, as who he presumed was his mate Aniphi looking for him. She was extremely focused on strength and would beat him senseless, magic or no magic. He would be miffed if she hadn't demonstrated her mental strength, but not intellect, to the entire clan a few days ago, regardless of his ability to be strategic and calm in battle. Back at home? He was a little klutzy and a little insane. Maybe very insane.

Perhaps- "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU BLOODY IDIOT?!", Yelled a furious Aniphi as she dashed throughout the area, her emotions clearly on her mindset at the moment.

Renivis shuddered for a moment, footsteps got increasingly close and then far away in mere moments. Tch, look who's talking, he thought to himself. The steps stopped, and his breath got stuck midway, when the loudest and most furious shout of pure rage echoed throughout the Wasteland before a flurry of steps rushed towards the direction of the cave. Several minutes later, he rose up from the waste, a careful lookout on the environment. He slithered out and dashed even further from the cave, further into the putrid land beyond.

Moving, a thought struck him; how the hell was he going to pay off that debt? Asking another clan would put him in another debt! Lest he did a favor to them prior... He bounded over to a small hill and glanced throughout the bloody scenery. He noticed two dragons out in the distance. He gritted his teeth and ran over to them, past dirt, fallen trees, and broken bone. As he got closer they became more distinct. A perched fae on a tundra. The latter in which is in desperate need of a diseased bath. They seemed to be wandering the area, from what he could tell. Wouldn't hurt to try, he decided. He ran to them and stopped to skittering halt before them. His composure quickly took over.

"Hello. I just so happened to be in the area when I spotted you guys." He grinned a tad. "I am Renivis, who are you?"

Helock

"Dragon bones..." A low growl erupted from Helock's dry throat, "Dragon bones! She says so casually."

His quick pace caused the corrupted blight to slather onto his claws, darkening his discolored scales. In between steps, he flipped over rocks, dug a hole here, shoved aside exposed bones there, but in his frustration, found nothing resembling dragon remains. "If dragon graves were so easily found, I'd never have to worry about losing a limb again."

Helock continued grumbling to himself, his four eyes searching the ground in fervor. He didn't want to do this because he wanted to help; no, it was an unfortunate part of his life. If he wasn't hunting and gorging himself on some plump morsel, he was sent out to do errands for his "companion," Roslia. The thought of his humanoid curator gave him pause. What did she say she wanted these... bones for again? Surely she never had to use dragon bones specifically for his accidents. Perhaps it was that other mirror she's seen her with lately - that multi-colored eyed freak...

Before he could ponder any more about the matter, a loud screech echoed through the boneyard, startling Helock. He immediately shifted into a defensive stance facing the direction where the scream came from. There were words in that shout, but he couldn't make it out. Wary of whether or not he was in danger, he sprinted towards the noise. Sniffing the air as he ran, a greedy grin spread across his face. Surely, Roslia wouldn't mind if he had some fun with an outside clan first...

When the silhouettes of two... no, three dragons came into view, he crouched low to the ground, practically scraping his underbelly on the rancid ground. When he closed the distance, making sure they couldn't see him, he made out another mirror, a tundra, and a fae on top of said tundra. Deciding that he was too hungry for a single fae, or a mouth full of fur, he bounded at the mirror, wings and claws outstretched in a greeting of pure mania.

He laughed in midair, "PARDON THE INTRUSION!"

Daelor blinked as his nostrils flared in an attempt to identify the stranger’s scent. His eyes narrowed as his brain failed to find any hint of recognition of the mirror before him. His fur fluffed up a bit as he took a step backwards while he considered how best to react to this stranger.

The sudden appearance of yet another mirror frightened Sylvanas and she let out a startled shriek. Unfamiliar with either mirror and completely uncertain of the new mirror’s intended target of what she perceived as an attack, she tugged frantically on Daelor’s ear.

“Daelor, attack left, now!”

Having had battle commands driven into his often one track mind rather soundly by Unforgiven himself, the tundra recognized the words and reacted immediately on instinct. He whirled to his left, backing another step further back to keep the other mirror from flanking him, and let out a rather potent arcane bolt aimed at the charging mirror.

“Do not think, do not wonder. Do as you’re told, react quickly, or die a failure.” Unforgiven’s words echoed in the back of his mind as Daelor unleashed his attack. For him, time seemed to slow and a glimmer of recognition of the new mirror’s scent pricked at his senses, but now was not the time to think.

Sylvanas gripped the tundra’s horns tightly as he moved to keep from losing her balance. In case she would be needed, the tiny fae readied her own magic.

Renivis stared expectantly at the duo as his smile slowly eroded. The tundra and fae didn't seem very fond of him, it seemed. He looked at himself, turning a bit to check for anything depreciating. After a few small moments of inspection, he found nothing wrong with him. Turning back to them, he coughs a bit before resuming his smile.

"There is no need t-" A loud yell interrupted him as a mirror tried to pounce on him.

Eyes opening, Renivis swerved to the right before taking a fast step back. Jerking at the hungry mirror, he sets up a small barrier spell; a semitransparent wall formed in front of him, dazzling with yellow light. His mouth turned up into a snarl, he stared at the mutilated beast behind his wall of semi-protection. He takes a quick look at the other two, before smiling.

"Fellow mages? It's a small world after all! I like your style..." He chuckles before returning to the mirror. He sighs, then stands stiff as he feels a small voice kick in. A small, whispering, and mischievous voice; velvety and soft. His magic was encouraged by the Voices when he was young. And it would attract them whenever possible. Whispers only he could hear resonated through his mind; commands conjured throughout it. His shield wavered and his smile took a turn for the worse; slowly becoming that of a mad dragon. However, he quickly regains his senses and returns the shield to its former glory.

There was nothing but hunger on Helock's mind as he soared through the air; quick but accurate, his claws were aimed at the new obstacle between him and his next meal. He noticed a gloom settle over the mirror, and the barrier flickered. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he landed, there was a shatter like the breaking of glass, and his right arm was buried inches through the barrier, but not quite enough to reach his foe.

Before he continued his assault, however, a massive pressure pushed passed his shoulder, and the scent of burning flesh seeped into his nose. An aggressive rumble from his stomach countered his worries about what just happened, and he pulled out his claw. Helock was about to strike again, but he noticed the barrier regaining it's brilliant hue. He leaped backwards, still giving no mind to the tundra and fae, and directed a taunt at the mirror, "Such a frail barrier! I can't wait to see you crumble with it!"

Helock started to sprint to the side of the barrier, using it as a wall between him and the other two dragons. When he lined up the barrier with the other two however, he caught a glimpse of the tundra - he seemed familiar, but maybe he was a rare prey that got away from him. Without giving it another thought, he charged at the barrier again, but this time, intending to ram it with his full weight.

((Helock and Daelor know of one another, but Helock doesn't think before acting and Daelor wouldn't recognize Helock by scent easily because he smells different every time they meet due to his constant "surgeries."))

With the adrenaline rush of the initial attack fading, Daelor’s more rational portion of his brain kicked in and he paused to analyze the situation. One mirror had not done anything aggressive, thus may or may not yet be a threat to himself or his fae companion. The other mirror, now showing a bit more wear and tear since his arcane bolt had scored a significant impact, seemed somehow familiar.

Daelor sat back on his haunches, much to the startled disbelief of the fae atop his head. He ignored her tugging at his ear while he forced his often muddled memory to function. He looked long and hard at the big mirror, the strange, almost artificial construction of his body.

Helock. The name finally formed in his mind, connecting the hungry mirror with a thread of recognition as someone he knew.

He stood up again and saw that Helock was preparing another fierce attack on the other mirror. He shook his head and with as much force and command as he could put into his voice he shouted, “STOP!”

Stepping forward a bit closer, he spoke again, “Wait, I recognize you. Clan friend, yes?”

Sylvanas peered over the tundra’s fluffy forelock and stared into one of his pinkish crimson eyes.

“Wait a minute, you know that thing?”

Daelor nodded, “Smell funny, but not funny, familiar, clan friend, yes.”

The fae sighed and regarded both mirrors, still not entirely convinced she was safe yet.

Everything was a mere blur. Between dislodging the Voices influence, and defending against the mirror before him, both were a most taxing job. He clenched his jaw as his focus pinpointed at the crazed beast before him. The thing was a monster alright. Hungry and as mad as a rabid dog from what he could tell.

He spat at the beasts taunts, "You seem to be crumbling already! You look like you have surgery regularly or something!" He stared at the beasts wounds and bandages, and wondered how it could even stand.

As the beast sped to the side and charged straight into his barrier of safety, he forced the voices out of his head briefly to invoke a speed spell on himself. When the mirror got close to his shield, he forced it down and sped even further back, some dirt and bone flew into the air as his claws dug into the pestilent earth, bringing him to a messy stop. His mind was strangled briefly by a small whirlwind of commands cracking his defense, but he managed to barely keep his head in the game.

He took notice of the tundra trying to preach peace, "Er, excuse me? I doubt any words are going to make it through to this guy; he's trying to kill me, damn it!" He shifted his view upon the fae perched on him, "What the hell is happening here?!"

Helock heard the command from the strange tundra mid charge, but his momentum carried him through where the barrier was. Taking all his strength to swivel his body around, he braked a few inches in front of the tundra and fae, kicking enough dust at their faces to cover them almost completely. Clan friend, the tundra had queried aloud - he snickered, recognizing the only dragon alive that spoke in such a manner. Without taking his eyes off his escaped prey, he declared a greeting, "Daelor. Pleasant meeting you here."

He observed the mirror who dashed several feet away from them, a look of horror present on his face. Helock stood still for several moments, pondering whether or not he should continue. Normally, he wouldn't have stopped, but Daelor's presence usually meant endless entertainment was ahead. Finally, he straightened himself, disappointment washing over him as he realized his list of escaped prey might have increased. He finally turned to eye Daelor and his fae companion, licking his lips especially at the sight of her, "Do you need this mirror, Daelor? Answer quick before I change my mind."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

((Roslia's PoV))

By some malign curiosity, Roslia brought herself out of her lair and traveled towards the Rotrock Rims. Her recent run ins with a new mirror dragon had gotten her hopeful, but she was very cautious of his behavior. The way he snickered at every silent thought he had simply added to his obvious insanity. His visits were very distinguishable since the very air around him seemed to bend from the arcane power that lived in him. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was definitely something ominous coursing through his veins.

As she trudged through the Boneyard, she took notice of her movements. It had been a long while since she paid any mind to her foreign body; her legs were heavy from bearing her entire weight, and her hands have become stiff from constant sewing and the occasional battles. In the end, she hoped it would be worth it, and there was no sense turning back now that she had come so far.

The sand dug between her clawed toes as she walked, and her breathing became laborious as she continued towards the center of the Wastelands, but her mind was made up. She was going to try; today was as good as any day to see how well she fared against the air of the Wyrmwound. A brief thought came across her mind and she wondered where Helock had run off to - she would definitely need him around if anything were to happen to her while going through her "experiment." Deciding that she'll run into him eventually, she quickened her pace and continued with renewed resolve.

Daelor grinned. One who didn’t know the tundra would almost have called his expression foolish. However, deep within those pink rimmed crimson eyes was a spark of devious brilliance, when he wanted to use it. Daelor reached into his satchel and pulled out a fish nearly twice the size of Helock’s head and offered it to the perpetually hungry dragon.

He knew it wouldn’t truly sate the mirror but would at least hopefully take the edge off his hunger so they could all talk without anyone getting eaten.

Sylvanas’ eyes bugged when she saw the size of the fish, and she fluttered down to Daelor’s side and peeked at the satchels strapped there. She tentatively reached toward one, and then glanced up at Daelor whose eyes had turned to her. She put her tiny paw down and then fluttered back up to his head, still astonished at how he could have fit that fish in there, much less anything else. She sighed, adding that to her growing list of the mysteries of Daelor. Unlike most of the rest of their clan, she enjoyed his company, even if he was a bit strange.

Daelor reached into his other satchel and pulled out a rough map. “Could use help. Clan friend want to come?” he addressed this to Helock, before turning his gaze to the other mirror. “Who you? Friend? Or not friend?”

Without really waiting for a reply he spread the map out in front of him and tapped one claw on the glowing green area that was the Wyrmwound. “Got to go there.” He nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and then stuffed the map back into his satchel. He stood back up and looked at the mirrors expectantly.

What the hell is happening, thought Renivis. The tundra offered a fish of an incredibly silly size to the mirror! Even after the thing just tried to eat him! It made sense, but he still stood wary of the beast. He edged closer to the odd trio, but his senses calmed, and so did the voices in his head.

Beckoned by the tundras words however, he responded, "...Why yes. I am a friend. An acquaintance at the very least..."

He eyed the giant fish, and decided not to question upon seeing the fae's futile attempts to understand. He smiled a bit. Insanity and schizophrenia came in a variety of ways, and the tundra had that odd feel about him, the way he spoke was short and he had an interesting way with words. If any, maybe a small mental disorder? No matter. His mind was cut short and drawn in by the tundra taking out a map. "Got to go there." Said the tundra, nodding to himself.

"Mm? Looking for something?" He grinned a bit, "I would be happy to help out." This could indeed be his chance to complete that debt!

...Assuming Aniphi doesn't find him beforehand. He takes a look towards the direction of his cave, a look of fear etched on his visage. If there was anything he was afraid of, it was her. He turned to the map and saw and knew that they were heading to the Wyrmwound. There could be worse places, he guessed. At least it's not near the clan or its members.

...Meanwhile, a rather finely dressed fae spies on him in the distance...

Helock's eyes and jaws widened at the sight of the gargantuan fish. He didn't even take a moment to wonder where it came from or how it came to Daelor's possession before pouncing onto it. In his attempt to consume it whole, he gagged slightly before shoving the rest of it down his throat with his claws. By the time Daelor pulled out his map, there was no trace of the fish except the excess of drool below Helock's maw.

Licking his lips in satisfaction, he finally took a look at the rugged tundra who was now putting away his map, "The Wyrmwound?" He had a realization - surely the Wyrmwound would have plenty of dragon bones. He wasn't fond of traveling with others, but it wasn't too far off and having not been to the Wyrmwound before, some extra bodies would help.

He gave the tasty fae dragon another glance, "I'll go, but I have my own errands once I get there. You'll help me if I help you." It wasn't much of a question, rather a declaration.

"And you." He turned to the mirror who had approached them, he sniffed then grunted, "You don't smell pleasant enough anyway..."

__________________________________________________________________________

After a long trek, Roslia stopped, shaking her legs in attempt to relieve its soreness. Weak humans... there's no way they survived such a long time in this type of body. She sighed, stretching her legs before continuing.

Uneventful moments passed before Roslia felt her next step sink slightly. She knelt down to touch the ground and traced the outline of a clawprint. Recognizing the missing digit of the paw, she grinned, "Ah, Helock, what brings you so far in this direction?"

After continuing in the same direction of the footprints, she heard the faint chatter of a few dragons up ahead. She recognized three of the voices immediately, Helock, Daelor, and his apprentice... what was that fae's name again...? There was also another unfamiliar voice among them. Curious as to why they all gathered here, she approached them as she heard Helock grumble, "You don't smell pleasant anyway..."

"Mind your manners, Helock." She smiled at the group, and then turned her blindfolded gaze at the unfamiliar mirror, "He means to apologize."

Before joining the group, she paused a safe distance away from Daelor. "Am I welcomed to approach, Daelor?"

Daelor’s head turned to face the sound of the approaching voice and his nostril’s flared as he snuffled at the scent coming from the new arrival. However, as his eyes focused on her, the fact that her scent also registered as familiar was a moot point. There was only one bipedal such creature he knew of, and he gave a toothy grin as he bobbed his head.

“Always welcome, Roslia.” He had never really put much thought in to why she wore the form she did, nor was he in the least bit disturbed by it. He’d long ago discovered how useful bipedal and smaller creatures could be, which in fact, was part of why he enjoyed the company of the tiny fae.
He didn’t bother digging his map out again, instead just pointed one claw to the north east, toward the Wyrmwound. “Going there. Must find it. Coming?”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes at Daelor as she scurried down his neck and across his back to perch on his rump to get a better look at the two legged form approaching. He hadn’t troubled himself to turn fully around, just his head, and she was too curious. She had heard him mention the two legged one before, and had even seen her from a distance once, but hadn’t really gotten this close to her. She also noticed this two legged one was one of the few Daelor would actually refer to by name.

“I’m Sylvanas.” She offered with a cheerful trill. Then she squeaked as she was jarred off balance and had to grab hold of the thick fur as Daelor started walking again. Why he insisted on walking instead of flying, he had yet to explain. However, she was sure he had some reason for it that would be revealed eventually. Sighing, she fluttered up and repositioned herself on his head again.

“Daelor you really can be so rude, warn me next time before you start moving?”
She gave his ear a half hearted swat.

The tundra merely chuckled and kept walking. They had delayed long enough. Whether or not the others would follow, was of little consequence to him now. They had to keep moving.

When another came into the group, Renivis couldn't help but sigh. He was beginning to have doubts about this whole idea. When he turned to meet the newcomer, he froze in his tracks. A bipedal thing with some connection to dragons, but not exactly a dragon. He couldn't help but gawk at the being as it and the tundra, Daelor apparently, traded words. Roslia, eh?

He shook his head; it was either this, or getting smashed into nothing by Aniphi and co. He listened in on the others, the fae was Sylvanas, and he was pretty sure that the other mirror was named Helock according to what Roslia said. Great, everyone knows each other but me, he thought soberly. Meanwhile, a small voice sneaked through his mental fort, forcing him to unwittingly obey and step forward and clumsily fall flat on his face. He quickly pushed himself back up, embarrassed.

Not sure what to say, he started, "Er... Well, we all seem well acquainted. It is a pleasure to meet most of you," He glares at Helock before following Daelor, "I am Renivis, by the way." He took a long look at the direction where he came from, wary of who might start pursuing him at any moment. He was probably just being too paranoid, but he was sure that he didn't want to stick around and find out himself.

He turned to the others, "R-right, let's get moving. The Wyrmwound awaits..."

High in the sky, and ways off from Renivis, Bali watched from a distance. She wasn't sure what to say, a healthy medley of characters. Aniphi told her to find and report where he was to her, but this looked like something interesting. Eager to continue watching, she abandoned her duty and kept an eye on the assortment, far away and safe. She took out a long parchment from her tux, the price the clan had to pay. She opened it curiously.

Her bright red eyes flew wide open.

As Roslia stood, she took in the scents and voices of her new companions. When the scent of burning flesh reached her, she furrowed her brows. "You seem well, Daelor, and it's a pleasure to meet you Sylvanas. You too, Renivis, I hope Helock didn't startle you too much." Before she joined them, she spoke to Helock, her head still gazing at the trio who were leaving, "Helock, do you smell that?"

The mirror tilted his head, "Smell what? I don't smell anything." He twisted his tongue at Roslia, and turned around, "Look, if you're here, I can go right? I was going to join them to look for your bones, but was sorely deprived of a good meal."

Roslia started, "No, Helock, I'm going to..." before she finished, she felt a strong gust push against her, a sign that Helock was starting to take off. What followed after though wasn't the sound of him flying away, but a loud thud, and his tail whooshed in front of Roslia, nearly whipping her.

"Aah!" Helock yelled in surprise and as he flailed, his eyes caught a glimpse of where his wing was replaced with charred skin tissue, "When did...!" He shot an angry glare at Daelor and hastily got onto his feet. He growled lowly and stiffened himself for an attack.

Roslia smacked the top of his head, "Don't be stupid. You can't take Daelor." She finally headed off to join the others, "You're coming with me, I'm going to need your help."

Helock sighed heavily, "Fine, but only because you'll die without me."

Roslia merely grinned, and thought to herself, I could say the same about you. After reaching the trio of dragons, she steadied her pace and listened to Renivis finish. He had an odd tone to his voice as if he was very uncertain about something. She didn't question it however, lest they questioned her about her own insecurities. Instead, she turned to Daelor, "What could you be looking for all the way out here?"

Daelor glanced up at the putrid tinted sky above them, as though considering how much to tell his new traveling companions. Turning his gaze back towards the distant Wyrmwound, his thoughts chased themselves around in circles and tumbled over each other. Finally, he spread his wings, and spoke.

“Something big. Something old.” He glanced over his shoulder at Roslia. “Found in book. Must find real thing, not just book thing.”

Sylvanas shook her head. The tundra never was known for being wordy. However, his odd speech pattern tended to cause more confusion than not to those unfamiliar with him. She slid down his furry neck to be more at a height to speak easily with Roslia.

“One of the new dragons in the clan had a few books with them that Daelor hadn’t seen before so he… borrowed… them. I’m not sure what he found mentioned in one, but he thinks it’s important, and he’s determined to find it. He wouldn’t let me see the books though, said it was too dangerous.”

The little fae twisted herself around and tucked into the thick fur of the tundra’s back. Just the thought of going to the Wyrmwound made her nervous, she’d heard dragons talking of the horrors that lived there, things that made guardians nervous. Someone so small as she had no business out here, but she didn’t feel right letting Daelor go alone once he’d made up his mind to go. His one track mindedness would undoubtedly get him in trouble without someone to keep an eye on him. Her ear fins wiggled rapidly and she put her wings over her head. The further away from home they got, the more nervous she got.

Daelor glanced backwards, and tilted his head at the fae. “Is not sleep time.”

“I’m not sleeping Daelor, hiding. There are things out here that can eat me.”

He shook his head, “You are not food thing.”

As if those words would guarantee her safety, he nodded to himself and returned his gaze forward to the path ahead of them.

Sylvanas couldn’t help but smile weakly, “Not to you, I’m not a plant.” She just sighed deeply and wriggled up to settle in the thickest part of his fur between his wings and shoulder blades.

Renivis walked monotonously, his strides about as boring as the last. He wasn't quite sure what to think at the moment, following some stranger he just met, apparently looking for something from a book. It wasn't precisely the most invigorating activity to him. Listening in, he took note of Sylvanas' reluctance to danger. He guessed that her fears weren't entirely unfounded. Given that what could thrive near that cesspool must be deadly and fearsome.

Likely not as fearsome as someone he knew, however. So he gave it little thought. His stomach growled suddenly in protest. He grumbled a little at the belittling rumbling before looking at the wasteland around. Dead stuff. Dead trees. Living abominations. To him, the bones and flesh of the very earth itself serves as a basic reminder. Survive and adapt or die. Damn, did the place and its denizens adapt. Rotting tendrils, pestilent membranes dart the land. It wouldn't be long till they reached to Wyrmwound, a home for the Plaguebringer and her diseases. Where not even the strongest dragons could survive taking a dip. He couldn't help but giggle at the thought.

Renivis took pride in it. In everything. Much better than the world of the Nature Flight, obviously. He breathed in a small breath of the putrid air. Releasing, he shifted his attention to Sylvanas.

"Getting comfortable, in there?" He strode a little faster than before, his tail now moving at a fast pace. "There's nothing wrong with the Wyrmwound, it's going to be glorious!" He let out a loud laugh, which came with a series of coughs. He gave a glance behind them, before continuing onward.

Covering her mouth with her clawed hand, Roslia suppressed a snicker. She didn't mean to laugh at the fae dragon's motions for she understood very well how fearful it was to be so small in this world, but her actions were highly entertaining, "Sometimes, it is a great advantage to be small." Roslia nodded as she attempted to relieve the worried Sylvanas. She thought to herself the many times she escaped a large enemy without a fight thanks to her small form.

As she gave it more thought, she swallowed, suddenly realizing how onerous the environment became. I lie to myself. She pursed her lips, If I were in my previous form...

She exhaled quietly to not let anyone notice and turned her attention back to traveling. The wind that blew against them swirled around their forms, and she could sense the area around her. She walked cautiously; stepping over the rocks that could trip her, avoiding tendrils that attempted to slither onto her foot. Anyone that didn't see her blindfolds wouldn't have guess she was sightless. The more she concentrated though, the more the Wastelands taunted her. With her eyeless sight, she could "see" the large powerful forms of her companions, even the fae dragon who would complain wasn't as small as she may think.

Before she could continue in her self wallowing, something tingled her senses. There were moments when the wind would blow by her and it had picked up a powerful stench, a fetor far more grotesque than the bones and corpses lining the Boneyard. The closer they approached the Wyrmwound, the more anxious she became. But as if that wasn't enough to make her anxious, something else loomed in the distance. A powerful aura was approaching them, and judging by the bending of the horizon, it was a powerful pressure of magic. She stayed silent however, and finally remembered why Helock was so far from their lair.

"Helock, did you ever complete your errand?" She grinned, knowing he had not.

Helock grunted, completely ignored her, and instead turned to Daelor, "How much further? Your companion is starting to look like a good snack."

((Roslia is sensing Iferit, but does not tell the group. Additionally, I give a description of her echolocation ability, but again, no one is certain about how she "sees" yet.))

…hunger… that’s all Iferit felt walking through the wastes for so long. Such a lovely garden of disaster where so many squirming critters moved about the infected utopia. But so hungry… so many tasty morsel spread out and none to eat. But not because they couldn’t be caught or that any of them where any less appetizing than the last. Iferit just couldn’t seem to swallow… Each potential pray he hunted would be too tempting to reanimate that he couldn’t consume them. After the thirtyish or so corpse he had vindicated from its meaningless life and gave purpose among his family, he decided it was time to eat. Well, less that he decided, and more that he got too caught up in killing.

The poor clown charger had no chance. Iferit had taken it by surprise, pouncing on it as it picked at something on the ground. His teeth ripped into its flesh and out came the beautiful sounds of agony - so poetic and harmonious. He sank his teeth deeper and deeper, ripping through muscles and arteries until its wind pipe was punctured, and the music silenced. For a moment, the charger lay limp, but it wasn’t enough. Iferit brought it back as he chewed on its spine. The crunching sounds of bone splitting was only accompanied by the cries or the now undead pray. It cried in agony as Iferit carefully consumed all the none-vital parts of the beast. Once done toying with it, he left it, a half mangled torso attached to a spine and head, squirming about like a worm…

The rest of his accompanying abominations devoured what was left of the creature without hesitation as soon as Iferit started to walk away. He walked for a time longer, staying close to the festering wildlife, staying close to Roslia, but out of sight. He had been following her since earlier that day and found her curious enough to ponder. Such strange properties for a creature, and most splendid- one that has touched death and risen again. Such a wondrous existence.

Iferit watched intently as the group continued to move onward. He kept a close watch but stayed far back as not to be spotted, occasionally getting distracted by anything that festered or grew close to death…

Daelor walked on for awhile in silence, his thoughts completely consumed by going back over the passage he’d read in that book. They had to find it, it would be valuable to the clan, even Unforgiven would be pleased by that. It wouldn’t be easy though, he was sure of that. Finally, Helock’s words sank through the jumbled haze of thoughts.

Snack.

He turned his head, taking in the odd little group. “Food time?”

Sylvanas stirred from her hiding spot, climbing back up to Daelor’s head. “I wouldn’t mind another snack.” She bravely tried to ignore the hungry look on Helock’s face when he looked at her, as well as his statement.

Daelor nodded, and pulled two more of the enormous fish from his satchel, offering one to Helock, and the other to Renivis. Then he dug out another jar filled with fat bugs and grubs for Sylvanas which she trilled happily over as she opened it and stuffed one in her mouth. He reached into his satchel again, bringing out two odd looking fruits. He offered one to Roslia before shoving the other in his own mouth.

While he munched, Daelor didn’t seem to notice the traces of juice that dribbled down his chin. He’d pulled out his journal and was going over his cryptic charts and notes. Sylvanas peeked over his head to look at it, but even she couldn’t understand anything he had written down. Shrugging, she went back to eating her bugs.

Daelor absently reached into his satchel again and pulled out a few odd looking instruments, and his map again. Sylvanas finished her bugs and handed him the empty jar which disappeared back in the satchels. She peered over his head, fussing at the one bit of his forelock that kept getting in her way while she tried to see what he was up to.

The tundra didn’t seem to notice the fae’s attempts to see what he was doing. He was too focused on checking their direction, and he hoped the reading from one of his newer instruments was wrong. He had to admit the instrument hadn’t fully been tested, so there was a chance its calibrations could be off. Given what the initial reading indicated, he would be happy to be wrong this time. However, it would do little to prematurely mention the indications to the group. No sense causing anyone to panic, particularly his tiny companion.

He looked upwards, though he couldn’t see her where she sat on his head, but he smiled fondly. “Time to go.” With that, he swept everything back up and shoved it all back in the satchels and began walking at a much quicker pace.

******

Far enough away that none of the group could see her, a guardian crouched, watching. Her fushia eyes betraying her arcane heritage as she followed the group’s progress. The putrid green shades of her scales blended well with the rotting landscape around her.

What is that crazy tundra up to, and who are those… things traveling with him?

She muttered darkly, her feet ached, unaccustomed to doing so much walking, but to take wing would give her presence away to the group who would no doubt be alert for any airborne threats. Slowly she began moving again, lest the group get too far ahead of her.

One second he was moving, another second a giant fish was coming in his general direction. Needless to say, he was quickly engrossed; consuming the large meal he was given. Skin and flesh flew everywhere as his greedy hunger briefly took over. He gnawed vigorously into the fish when he noticed Daelor take out and study a journal. He tried to see what he had written only to see a shamble of characters that were completely incomprehensible to him. He tried to ignore it, but the tundra had just removed an odd group of instruments and the map itself.

Obviously, he didn't understand what those were or what they did, either. Curiosity gnashed into him, much like how the he had just ravaged the fish. The tundra is likely not to reveal anything about what he was looking for, or what those things were. He bit into the remnants of the fish, trying to clear away the temptation. He knew he looked a bit like a fool, but it didn't really matter. A thought struck him, and he took off his hat for a parchment to come out almost immediately onto the rotten floor.

Coughing, and making sure no one was looking, he peered into his contents. His eyes opened. No matter how many times he saw it, the debt was simply awful and painful to look at when he was at the receiving end of it. His mind now stained with worry, he placed the parchment back into his hat, only to see Daelor get up and move at a faster pace. He sighed, got up, and followed him.

...

This was a bad plan, thought Bali. She was in the air for so long, and she had yet to land in ages. Fatigue hit her hard as she descended into the diseased landscape below. Staying far from the moving group, she lies down near a group of rotting trees, figuring that she could always catch up to them later. Before long, she was out cold. Not knowing her white color put her in plain sight of others near her...

Distracted by Daelor's sudden presentation of a shared meal, Roslia decided to question Helock about his duty later. Despite focusing on the object the tundra offered to her, Roslia couldn't make out quite what it was. She took it nonetheless, and began nibbling on it tentatively, noting her self-conscious about eating with others. Not to mention she really didn't like taking food from others, let alone eating with them.

"Thank you, Daelor." Roslia spoke before taking a bite. She nearly choked on the fruit however; it was extremely potent and she wondered about the tundra's preferred tastes.

Helock was eyeing Roslia instead of Sylvanas, mindful of his behavior now that his curator was in his presence. He took the fish in his mouth and give it two chomps before swallowing. Helock's attention diverted from his previous question to Daelor, as he stared at the odd contraptions the tundra set out in front of him. When Renivis made an observation of his list, Helock narrowed his eyes, sensing the mirror dragon's temperature drop. He quickly lost interest in either and started pacing, speaking to Roslia, "You never told me why you're here."

"I'm here because you're here." Roslia raised her eyebrow, as if stating something obvious, and then turned her attention back to the curious sounds Daelor's instruments were making.

Helock snarled, "That's not what I meant..."

He trotted away from Roslia as Daelor continued ahead. Roslia crossed her arms as they continued, pondering why she was here indeed. Was she really ready for this? No matter how many infections she had exposed herself to, nothing could compare to the contagion in the Wyrmwound. She supposed there was only one way to tell. Still wary of the changes in her environment, she turned her head to set her gaze at the bend in the horizon. It was still there, and coming closer. Has there been someone following them...?

Iferit quickly found himself bored of the group he had been following. They now found themselves stopped once more to gorge themselves. Iferit picked up a grub from the infested ground and mindlessly shoved it into his mouth and chewed on it for a while.

“What are they doing now?” He spoke to himself, his voice raspy as though speaking from the back of his throat. “They need a little spark to their lives, so very boring… ”

Countless corpses gathered around Iferit, small grubs and larger serpents glowing with arcane plague, a splendorous red glow beneath the cracks in their flesh. Anything reanimated by Iferit covered a long distance behind him, lighting a trail in his wake and continued gathering towards him. Some dragged their almost severed limbs, and others their dangling bodies behind them. Weak shells of their former life but still capable in un-life of carrying out simple attacks. He became more and more amused as the idea mustered in the fridge of his mind. With a smirk he proclaimed with a satisfied tone, ”Yeeesssss…”

And with that thought, the horde of undead wildlife twitched and began to move towards the group ahead, they hissed and snarled at their painful conditions but obeyed the silent command of their master.

As they marched on, Iferit stood and let out a sinister laugh before walking off in another direction… “Now this should be amusing.”

Sylvanas with her keen ears was the first to notice the cacophony of terror moving toward them. She fluttered up a few feet above Daelor and looked toward where the sound was coming from and nearly fainted. Swooping quickly back down she bit Daelor’s ear and squeaked loudly.

“Something’s coming, that way, it doesn’t look good. Do something!”

Daelor blinked, wiggled his offended ear and turned to look at what the frantic fae was pointing at. He took a deep breath, and muttered a short incantation that allowed him to see farther than normal. As his vision sharpened and his sight zoomed in on the looming danger, he swallowed hard. A quick glance at the various stages decomposition and signs of severe physical damage to some of the beasts coming their way, he knew it could only be necromancy, an art he was also familiar with. However, he’d never encountered something on this scale. There had to be dozens of things of varying sizes, and he had no intention of letting them get too close to himself or his companions.

First instinct was to fly; he doubted that many of those things would be able to follow in the air. However he glanced at Helock’s severely injured wing, and shook his head. No, they’d have to make a stand, but carefully. The odd red glow surrounding these corpses troubled him.

“Follow, quickly!” he shouted as he veered off his intended path and headed for a rather large rock outcropping. It was higher ground and would give them some advantage in a fight against so many foes.

He perched himself at the highest point of the outcrop and reached into his satchel and pulled out a small crystal.

“Little one, take this.”

Sylvanas fluttered around to take the offered stone. Her eyes bugged as she recognized it. “But…”

The tundra’s face grew stern and his tone serious. Gone was the carefree pretense he normally wore. “Go, now. Find her.”

Sylvanas nodded, and focused her energy on the crystal until it glowed. In a pop of sound, she vanished.

************

Moments later she reappeared back outside Daelor’s den at the edge of the Clan land. She shivered at the momentary overload of energy, before tucking the stone away in a safe place. There was no doubt what “her” Daelor had meant. Valthyra- First Broodmother of the Clan, and now Daelor’s mate. She was the only other dragon who Daelor had allowed into his personal life and space.

Sylvanas rushed off to find the big guardian. She slowed her near frantic flight when she noticed the weight of Unforgiven’s vigilant crimson gaze fall upon her. The imperial said nothing, nor did he stop her, so she continued on looking around for the guardian. Finally she spotted Valthyra and landed on her head.

“Val you have to come quick, Daelor’s in trouble.”

The guardian’s ruby eyes snapped open. “What? Where is he? What’s happened?”

“No time to explain, lots of things coming, dangerous things, and he can’t fly, he won’t leave the others behind.”

“Where?”

Sylvanas fluttered down level with Valthyra’s eyes and opened her mind enough for the guardian to see the landmarks, to see the horde approaching, and to see where Daelor had chosen to make a stand.

The guardian blinked to break the contact. “Enough, I know the place.”

She took the small fae in her talons and launched herself in the air. There were some who would claim to be faster, but for Sylvanas, she could only close her eyes and hang on tight as the guardian’s flight picked up speed. She was as fast as she was huge, and that made for a lethal combination when Valthyra was angry.

********
Daelor launched a massive fireball of arcane energy at the leading edge of the seething horde and sighed when the hole quickly filled itself with even more bodies. He’d warned his companions to keep well away from any of the things approaching, but since the fight had actually begun in earnest he had only the occasional thought to spare.

Growling in frustration, he changed spells and through another type of firebolt at the creatures. A glimmer of a smile formed as he saw some of the bodies topple over and stay dead. Encouraged, he began raining another wave of firebolts down on the dangerously close line of foes.

A sudden deep roar from above followed by a vicious stream of toxic green fire sweeping across the ranks of reanimated enemies cheered him even more. He closed his eyes briefly as he breathed a sigh of relief, and then returned to his defensive attacks as some of the creatures not reduced to ashes continued to move toward him and his companions.

Well, this is new, thought Renivis. A horde of the living dead! Who could have known? He wasn't particularly sure how to react to this, fear seeping through his visage in the process. All he could do was follow Daelor towards a rocky outcropping, and knew what he had to do. Steeling his mental barrier, he prepared for the slew of commands that will inevitably try to reach him.

He turns to everyone, "Time to kill the dead!"

He paid no heed to Sylvanas' disappearance as he gazed at the many living cadavers below, blood and gore stained their being, and some organs hung out as well from what he could tell. Not that he had the mind to care. He breathed in heavily and his neck pulsed slightly, before firing several blasts of concentrated kinetic energy at some of the closest undead. The blasts sent debris and rotting bones flying into the air, forcing some undead back at dangerous velocities, and some even smashing into others into glorious gore; small bits and pieces being flung into the air. He groaned in annoyance when only a batch of his targets "died" from the blasts.

He felt his will erode when otherwordly desires flew into his head once more, and he rubbed his temples trying to keep it back. He couldn't be TOO creative with kinetic energy, lest some enemies were flown into their general direction. In tandem with Daelors incandescent balls of fire, he released a few more blasts on the burning corpses, launching them into the endless crowd to spread the fire. More temple rubbing and more focusing, he was surprised when a blast of toxic green fire suddenly rained down on the living dead.

His head filled with nauseating demands, he sluggishly turns to the others, "T-there haz to be some zource of these things! The question is who or what!" He stares madly at the horde and releases a surging, transparent wave of kinetic energy towards the horde, the force spread out only strong enough to delay a good chunk of them. With that, Renivis collapses, "N-n-no! NO! Get out... o... of my head!"