Degorram

"So," the man growled, shifting through the papers on his desk. "I hear you survived your test." He glanced up at them through spectacles. Ire nodded. "I did, sir." Just using the word made her skin crawl, but she would have rather failed her test than seem disrespectful to the oldest dragon kin in the physical world, and one of her most trusted mentors. The man, named Gloom but usually called Gada, leaned back in his chair and scratched his goateed chin. A mane of bright blue feather-like hair fell to his waist. The knobby, curling horns that grew from the top of his head were made of a hard, silver substance. For an ancient one, he looked to be only in his thirties. His skin, both the smooth white of the human and the rough blue of the dragon, was flawless. The tail that curled around a leg of his desk was speckled with tiny scales, and his legs were draconian as well. "And you expect me to let you in, because of this achievement." He leaned forward and scrutinized her. "Why?" Ire didn't flinch. She knew very well that every single student received this question. "I work hard and strive for the freedom of the people," she recited, as was custom. "I have no other reason." Gada smiled understandingly. "Come now, Ire," he said, breaking off his ritualistic stern. "You and I both know that is not the only reason." Ire shifted on her feet uncomfortably. Was this a trick? Everyone in the village knew she wanted something more. When she was just a baby the feudal lord who governed their lands had had her parents murdered for growing extra food for themselves, breaking his strict code. She had been handed over to a different set of farmer who had raised her without love. The man on the hill was responsible for all this. Behind her, Greed coughed purposefully. She felt the hot touch of Vengeance's hand on her shoulder, the warmth giving her strength. "I want to justify the death of my parents," she replied firmly, lifting her chin. "Not only their deaths, but the deaths of countless others over the years. I want their murderer to pay." Gada smiled. "That, Ire, is a good answer." He smacked his palm on a sheet of paper, leaving behind black runes that were tattooed into his hand. "You do realize, however, that those who oppose you joining us will believe that I let you in for....unfortunate reasons." Ire nodded. Unlike her own story which was well known, only few knew that Gada too had suffered at the hands of the feudal lord. His three sons, all outstanding students and high officials of the elementals, had been taken by the lord and thrown carelessly into battle, where they had all died. Worse, their bodies had been desecrated by the enemy and then hidden. Gada had never found them, only receiving many mocking letters that slowly, bit by bit, described in detail what had befallen his sons. Those who knew in village would be the first to assume that Gada had let Ire into the elementals simply because she shared a common interest with the dragon man. "Good," Gada replied. "So long as you know. Now, if you three will leave me, I have more to attend to." The three bowed and left. On their way out it was difficult for Ire to hide her pleasure. "Yeah!" Greed yowled as they stepped into the streets. His feathery-gryphon ears wiggled happily. His own tail, black and gold brindled like his hair, whipped the air. "Calm yourself," Vengeance said. "We have not yet to celebrate. Ire still must stand before the town officials. Ire's spirits dropped. If she was lucky at all they would merely ridicule her for trying, not banash her entirely for breaking the code. "Yeah," she said. "No point in celebrating now." Greed drooped like a flower left in the sun too long. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, kicking at the pebbles in the street. A few unintelligable words escaped his lips in a mumble. Immidiately Ire felt sorry. Greed was so sensitive....how could she have crushed his happiness? With a smile she threw her arm around his shoulders. "Ah, don't be like that," she said. "Listen, you can help me get ready. That way they'll have to let me in, right?" Greed blushed. She had referred to his brilliance at study, one of his weak points. "Oh, stop it," he said, ducking his head. "Yeah, I'll help." Vengeance shrugged his shoulders. "So long as you two are optimistic," he said grumpily. "Personally I think the city council is a bunch of bufoons and cretins." "You're too uptight," Greed said, dancing away with his two friends in his cheerful wake. "After all, it's that bunch of bufoons and cretins that let you in as well!" He scooted away quickly as a tiny fireball blasted near his lion's tail. "Well, you certainly live up to your name, don't you?" Greed called from around a corner. "I'll meet you two at Ire's house." And with that he disappeared. "None of us really live up to our names," Vengeance growled after him. "Not a one." He turned to Ire and sighed. "I'll see you later." Ire watched as he walked away. Poor V, she thought gloomily. It's not his fault he got named after his parents 'crime'. But then again, it's none of our fault. Greed's parents were miserly. My parents were quick to anger. His parents tried to attack the feudal lord.... She didn't even bother to finish the long list of names the feudal lord had assigned to the children of the village, following an old tradition that had started with her mentor, Gloom. We all have our flaws, in the end. She turned to look up at the hill that the feudal lord's castle was sitting on. But only you keep a record.

Wind. Water. Light. She did not hear the storm rage around her, did not feel the rain corse down her face and into her nose. Her eyes half open, she watched the lightning reach up to touch the ground, watched the rain fall upwards to pound into the soles of her feet, which pointed towards the sky. The sound of the storm came back to her in a wave as she gasped for breath. Her arms came down to brace herself, the concentration faltering. She wobbled; her neck ached. "Don't quit now!" a voice shouted at her above the storm. "Don't you dare let go! Don't....." the voice was lost in the roar of thunder. Flashes of lighting blinded her as she blew drops of rainwater from off her nose and out of her eyes. How she longed to rest her feet back on the ground. Her back and stomach muscles were stiff from the exertion of holding her weight directly over her head, of keeping the balance. The waves beneath her whirled, beating themselves frantically against the tall cliff on which she endured. All around her in a circle the statues of elementals lifted their arms to the storm, catching the lightning in their palms. The rain pounded. The lighting pranced. The thunder answered to it's flirtations. She lifted her arms back to their position at her sides. And all went dark. "Hey," a soft voice murmurred in her ear. "Ire, wake up." She opened her eyes to see the sky, pink and purple with the dawn. The storm clouds were roiling in the west, galloping through the air to continue their rage elsewhere. The ground beneath her was saturated with their tears. A face came into her vision. He was tan with golden eyes and black and gold hair. Two feathery ears protruded from his locks. The gryphon boy smiled at her gently. "Welcome back." Ire winced and rolled over onto her side. Her entire body ached and she felt like throwing up. She swallowed the bile and put her weight on her elbows, looking around wearily. The gryphon boy, called Greed, sat back and shook his shaggy bangs away from his eyes. "You made it," he said. "All night without stopping. You collapsed just after dawn." "I almost failed," Ire said, voice hoarse. Greed handed her a water bottle and she sipped at it, cooling her throat. "You held on." Ire looked up and saw a man leaning against one of the many cliffside statues. His red eyes and hair flickered like flames. The phoenix man dipped his head to her. "Vengeance," Ire said softly. "You were there, weren't you? I heard you." The phoenix man nodded again. "All night." Ire grinned. "They said I couldn't do it." Greed slapped her shoulder. "No human ever has, you know." Vengeance stepped forward, offering his hand to her. The fire tattoos on his palm undulated in color like his hair. He smiled, pale face twisting to accomodate the expression that it rarely felt. "Congratulations," he said. "Welcome to the elementals."

(By the way, these charachters are from one of my stories. In fact, the entire storyline is an idea that I may test one day.)

(I don't usually do super heros, but I'm in the mood. Let's do this thing! Holy leg-room, Bat Man!) Rakel stood at the edge of a lake and blew a puff of air through his pursed lips. The cool, summer winds blew against his face, pushing his long, black bangs around his face. A storm was coming. A big one. Already the enormous thunderheads were piling up like black whipped cream in the east. He shivered. Despite the heat of the summer evening, the wind still made him chilly. Wind. Storm wind. That had been his name once, in a different time, a different world. Storm-wind. He scuffed the ground with his boots and looked at himself in the lake's mirror-like surface. He was pale as a ghost, with sharp grey eyes staring out of their sunken sockets like coals. His hair, short in the back with the spiky bangs hanging down to his jaw, was also charcoal in color. A single black earing hung in his right ear. His nose and ears were small, and his mouth was a mear, colorless line on his face. The black tanktop and pants he wore were baggy: they shivered with the wind, just as he did. The trench coat he wore over them blew out behind him. As the wind changed to blow directly at him, the coat fluttered up behind him. Once again he saw himself with wings..... The lake became too distorted by the wind and he turned away, walking back up the hill towards the city. He didn't want to go back to his apartment, that bland, colorless abode where he was temporarily dwelling. What he really wanted was to go back to his old life: but that was impossible. He was miles away from that life, and his old friends had been the ones to exile him in the first place. No, he would never be able to go back. Not unless Spiro also came back, Vincent thought glumly. If that horror ever came back, they'd come running to my door.... The storm hit just a few blocks from the door to his apartment. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, breaking into a sprint as the thunder rumbled around him. He slammed into the door of the complex and rushed up the stairs, shaking water off his shoulders. He sighed, pushed his key into the door, walked in. Before him the single room dark. A bed lay against the wall, and some nice furniture surrounded a little table next to the wall-sized window. The kitchen huddled in a dark corner, the green light of his clock flashing ominously. 12:00......12:00 He flipped the light switch. The power had gone out. Lightning flashed and a shadow that suddenly appeared next to his window made him jump. The shadow turned and looked at him. "You're needed again, Storm-Wind....." (hooray for stories that randomly take over your computer. i should have posted this in the conservatory.....)

Ikuru's brain was wrapped in thick, soggy weariness. Faintly he felt himself being imprisoned.....faintly he heard Kaikushi, his brother and his friend, calling out to him. He tried to fight the guards on his heart; he tried to cry out to Kaikushi. But the fiery chains on his mind, body, and heart wighed down his limbs and his tongue. Meanwhile, Kaikushi was trapped in the same prison of fog. He wandered through it, dragging the heavy manacle that was strapped to his ankle. He sensed Ikuru was nearby....but no matter how far he went, he could not find him. Ikuru found himself lying on the ground, trapped by the weight of the leeches that suddenly were all over his body. He recognized the illusion with ease, but nothing could banish the blinding fear that came with the feeling of their slimy bodies, their sharp teeth, the poison seeping into his muscles and blood...... Kaikushi!!! he screamed, but no one answered. No one came. Kaikushi heard the horse's scream from far, far away. He began to run, ignoring the pain in his leg. Ikuru! he cried back. There was no more sound and he ran on, faster and faster. Ikuru tried to struggle, tried to escape. Then he stopped, as a man walked towards him. It was not Kaikushi, nor any person whom he recognized. The man was tall, robed in gauzy, flowing black robes. His face was shadowed by his long, black hair, but nothing hid the burning eyes that gazed out at him. The man reached to his waist and pulled out a katana. Therefore the beast dies before his master, he whispered, walking forward, deepening his hate and his sorrow and bringing me more pleasure. Kaikushi broke from the mists into a small area of clear thought. Before him was a shadowed man, holding a long, silver blade. And on the ground, eyes wide in fear and desperation, was Ikuru. The horse screamed his name as he saw his friend. The man turned at his cry, eyes landing on Kaikushi. You find me in your deepest dreams, where nothing comes to save you, he said smoothly, his poetic voice a meer whisper. I brandish steel and challenge thee, thy face a deathly hue... Kaikushi leapt forward, snarling. But suddenly the manacle seemed to bite into the ground and he was trapped, like an animal chained for the sacrifice. The man continued forward, his maddening rhymes drilling into Kaikushi's head. The fates and fortunes are too kind, to present me such a gift, that with swift and bloody execution, I may my spirits lift. He raised the blade to shoulder height and aimed it at Kaikushi's neck. "Who are you?!?" Kaikushi bellowed, straining to get at the man. The man chuckled softly. I dare not say, before thy time, for soon you will know, too. For when you die in my domain, you become one of my crew. Kaikushi's mind snapped: he leapt forward in a rage, pulling the manacle clear out of the ground. Just as his elbow was about to crush the man's face, he glimpsed the burning eyes widen in surprise, and then he was gone, vanished. His voice still echoed around Kaikushi's head as the fogs faded and he came back to the real world. You have succeeded, that much is true, I can't deny that fact. But be forwarned, my fiersome friend, there's something dear you've lacked. Kaikushi woke, sitting bolt upright. Had it all been a dream? The healers, the illusion, the man...... He looked around and realized that it was night. The bandage on his ankle was gone, as was the manacle. His leg felt strong and better than ever. But he knew that whoever or whatever had been casting his mind into illusions was powerful. He knew he would be back. He had to find Ikuru: the real Ikuru.

Kaikushi dragged himself to his feet and kept walking, grimacing against the pain. If he could get to a physician in time, not only his life would be saved but his brother's. Trying the same technique he had used on Ikuru would not work.....he had too little strength left to call the water and too little time to try it. His body could sustain the greedy leaches for only so long. His leg began to throb: the numbness turned to a sharp tingling. He gritted his teeth: he had to decide. He now knew that he would not make it to the city with leeches on his leg. He fell to his knees and clasped his hands together, pressing them into the ground. But as he feared, the water did not respond to him. He wavered.....and fell over. The day was ending: it was amazing how fast the time had gone. In one day it had all ended: he had failed in that both Ikuru and himself would die....and by leeches. Three shadows gathered around him. As they reached out to touch him, he faded from conciousness. Kaikushi woke slowly. Daylight shone from a window, falling across his face. He winced against the blinding light, but relished in the heat it cast upon his body. He was comfortable.....and the memory of that night on the plains came racing back to his brain. "Ikuru!" he cried out, bolting upright. He saw his leg, bandaged tightly, lifted by a piece of cloth that was hung from the ceiling. A man who had been sleeping in a chair beside him jumped and looked around. "Ah," he said. "You are awake. At first I thought you wouldn't make it, but when the leeches came off of their own accord (not very common for our marsh leeches) I knew you would make it." "Please," Kaikushi said desperately. "Where is Ikuru?" The man opened his mouth and frowned. "I'm sorry?? A friend of yours?" Kaikushi closed his eyes and tried to be calm. "A black horse," he said. "On the plains. He had leeches on him as well...." He calmed down as happy recognition filled the man's face. "Ah!" he cried. "Yes, your horse! I didn't think he would make it either, but around the time your leeches came off, he began to come around. Very strange goings on.....very strange." Kaikushi lay back. So everything was all right. He had failed yes, but now it would not result in his death. There was a reason he had been isolated from the other Samurai: it wasn't his way to kill needlessly, especially if there was hope that the failure could be ammended.

Man, this is the first thing I've written here since my application! I'm not beeing much of an initiate. Sorry guys. Anyway, I have a desperate need to write something sad, and none of the novels I am currently working on, numerous as the choices are, have the scene I need. So here is something I'm going to make up off the top of my scalp (ok, ok, so I wrote some it last night. Sheesh!) It was bitterly cold. The snow flakes floated from the sky gracefully. The wind blew his hair away from his face with a nipping, chilly breath. His sad eyes watched the grey land in wonder. He had never been able to call anywhere his home. But the only place he could say was his were these wildernesses that he stood in. His name was Kaikushi. He was the only lone Samurai in all the mainland of Japan. His robes fluttered in the wind like desperate birds trying to escape the winter's breath. His pale skin accepted the snowflakes as its brother. Kaikushi turned away from the cliff he stood on and turned back to his horse, his only companion. Stroking his black fur, he mounted. "Come, Ikuru. Let us go." Kaikushi rode slowly through the snow, head bowed against the wind. His horse whickered softly to him. The Samurai looked down at his horse. "I do not know, nisan. Perhaps we can find work somewhere in the north." The horse whickered again. "Do kanaj," he replied. "The south cannot offer us anything more." Ikuru stopped walking and lifted his head to smell the wind. He neighed harshly. "What is it nisan?" Kaikushu asked, patting the horse's neck. Ikuru turned himself around and faced south, pawing the ground. He tossed his wild mane and snorted stubbornly. Kaikushi paused and stared at the south. "But why?" he asked softly. "What do you see there?" Ikuru started walking, haltingly at first as Kaikushi looked back over his shoulder in doubt, then more exzuberantly. His smooth and musical voice whispered into Kaikushi's mind slowly. Trust me. I do nisan...... Kaikushi thought back, bowing his head once more against the frigid torrent of snow. That is why you must trust me. They rode on through the growing snow storm, leaning away from the wind that blew from the north. Often Kaikushi had to dismount and help Ikuru through the drifts. Even more often they had to stop to let the Samurai stand against the wind in remembrance. At these times Ikuru stood next to his friend, letting the winds blow his mane away from his face. The sun set, drowing out what little light the weak winter orb had been able to give. The temperature dropped and so did Kaikushi's morale. Ikuru pushed them on, further and further south. Sometime in the middle of the night they broke out of the rocky terrain of the mountains and faced the plains. The wind tore at them like knives, the snow turning into hail. They were forced to stop as the night grew cold, Ikuru guarding Kaikushi's body from the dagger-like drops of ice. Could you not turn the snow aside? Ikuru asked, voice peppered with little strained noises as the ice pelted his sides and back. Kaikushi raised a hand and the hail drops shifted around them, like a river goes around a boulder. He grabbed a few and pressed them between his palms. They melted quickly. The samurai pulled his hands apart and let the water slip between his fingers as he contorted its shape into that of a horse. He blew on it and it froze immidiately. A miniature, crystaline horse stood proudly on his hand. The sun rose, a fiery red color. The two friends rose, shaking the snow that had piled up around them. The storm was over. A breeze from the south brushed their faces. Kaikushi smelled salt. We've never been far from the sea, he thought. It is as if it haunts me. The day grew steadily warmer as they traveled across the open plains. The snows around them began to melt, trickling into burbling rivlettes. The frost bitten grasses turned into lush mosses and ferns. Ikuru had to raised his hooves high and hard to pull them from the sucking mud that was building up. Trees began to appear around them, one at a time, then in clumps. They had entered the swamps. We will be home soon! Ikuru said, tossing his head in anticipation. Kaikushi did not reply. Home. The word meant nothing to him. It never had. (oh dear! the piggies call, and I must cut this off. Enoy ending the story yourselves through imagination. I know you all have it, else you wouldnt be in this very imaginative forum)

Personally, I would like to see more action. It's hard to make friends on the forums alone. How about a few contests? Or, if not that, a few days where we just make a few boards ofr discussions on different types of writing: Sci-Fi Day, Mystery Day, Romance Day, Fantasy Day, blah blah blah. Overall, just more chances to get to know people. So far I've made virtually no friends. ~Dego

If anyone is interested in this rp, please come quickly. I cant stay long, and so I might not even be here after a while. Please forgive me if you want to do this and I end up not answering!

Names: Degorram, Dego, Deggy, Degobeast, Fallen Degorram is a Changeling -- and not the usual interpretation of 'changeling' that people have come to know as a faerie child swapped with a human one. Changelings are an ancient Fae race that have the ability to change their physical forms, and the forms of other objects, at will. They are generally adept at other kinds of magic and illusion, though there are individuals who branch out into other skills when magic is not as easily mastered. Their shape shifting is directly bound to knowledge. A Changeling cannot take the form of a creature it does not understand. Hence, Changelings spend a great deal of their childhood and young adult lives studying anatomy, biology, and other crafts that help them to better understand the structural organization of the world. To many of her friends Degorram goes as "Dego", and very rarely she will allow the pet name "Deggy" to stick. In her fouler moods, Degorram becomes what is known as the Degobeast - a more unpredictable and savage version of herself. While Degobeast is generally unpleasant to be around, and can sometimes be dangerous, Degorram is still ultimately in control of her actions in this form. The same cannot be said for the Fallen -- an entity that consumes Degorram and causes her to lose control over her mind, emotions, and body. When a Changeling matures and grows into their shapeshifting powers, each individual chooses a "heart" -- an entity with which they associate a deep, emotional connection. It is to this entity that all Changelings can attribute control. No Changeling can continue to function normally without it, and if it is removed from their person or placed in danger, they transform into terrible and feral versions of themselves that prove a danger to both friend and foe. Since a Changeling is blessed, and cursed, with great power, such objects are necessary for them to retain focus, often providing them with a meditative outlet, or acting similarly to what humans might call a 'security blanket'. It is often encouraged for a Changeling to choose an object as their "heart", one that is easy to protect and will not break easily. It is possible, however, for a Changeling to accidentally, and even unknowingly, transfer their "heart" from one object to another, and in some cases, an inexperienced Changeling may make the mistake of claiming another person as their "heart". It should be obvious why this is a dangerous move with inevitably tragic consequences. Individuals fail each other, people die or become wounded, and a Changeling without control, set loose on the world, is difficult to calm when the object holding them together has a will of its own. However, in very rare cases, the choice of a Changeling's "heart" can occur long before they reach the traditional age. Such was the case of Degorram, who, before she even manifested her shapeshifting powers, had developed a bond so close with her twin sister that she was forever after destined to be the guardian of Degorram's powers. Degorram, however, had many years to nurture, examine, and understand this bond, and so it is possible for the two sisters to be separated without Degorram losing control. Nevertheless, when Kikuyu is put in danger, or is removed from Degorram's presence by anything other than her own will, the Changeling becomes the Fallen, and cannot be stopped or tamed until her sister is restored to safety. Before arriving at the Pen, Degorram traveled the wildernesses, gathering anatomical information on creatures of all sorts for her shifting powers. No one knows where she was born or what happened to her family, whom she never speaks of except for her twin sister, Kikuyu, a Fae warrior who accompanies her almost everywhere. Degorram and Kikuyu traveled together for the majority of their youth. Occasionally they took different roads to cover more ground, always meeting up at the same destination. They traded information and experiences via courier using a hawk that Degorram had befriended and a small black-footed fox that had begun to shadow Kikuyu in her early childhood. Degorram earned enough money for supplies by performing at villages that they came upon, playing a small guitar-like instrument that she could shrink to fit in her pocket. By and large, however, the two kept their Fae nature a secret, for one is never sure what prejudices one might find in the world of men. After years of living a nomadic lifestyle, they traveled deeper into a particularly massive forest than planned and found a large oak tree, rich with memory and magic. Muses sparked, they turned the tree into their first real home and lived there quite peacefully for several years. However, the combination of an ancient tree and the magic of two Fae sisters eventually drew the attention of less than friendly magical powers, and they were forced to leave their home in search of safer ground. When they stumbled upon the Pen Keep, Degorram and Kikuyu settled in immediately. Though at first uncertain, they quickly found that magic was no stranger to the walls of the complex, and gradually they claimed space for themselves in the Far Eastern Tower of the Keep. They passed their time peacefully at the Pen complex, excepting for an incident with a rather disruptive Necromancer, the same evil being who had tracked them to their forest home and had since followed them all the way to the Pen Keep. The mighty battle that followed left the Keep in a less-than-pretty state of affairs. When she is not employed otherwise, her favorite pastimes include going on walks in the forests, reading, playing music, writing, star gazing, and occasionally meditating in a quiet place. Most of the time she dresses herself in a form-fitting body suit made out of a black, leather-like material crafted by her people, designed and enchanted to retain its durability in any form. She very often makes an attempt to wear 'non-magical' clothing, but frequently ruins it by changing her shape without remembering that her outfit will not change with her. As a result, her favorite sweater has been mended to within an inch of its life. She plays several games of Solitaire a day with an old deck of cards she carries in one of the many pockets in the unfortunate sweater. Many things can be found in these mysterious compartments, which seem to hold far more than any normal pockets should, such as dice, origami stars, hair ties, random bits of leaf or acorn that struck her fancy, interesting items that she finds around the Pen complex, bottlecaps, brightly colored lint, and scraps of notes and sketches from her studies. The items always vary, but the few things that Degorram never parts with, indeed flies into a rage if parted from, are a small black pen, a length of silken teal ribbon, and a pendent of a fox carved from black stone, which she wears next to her own necklace -- a silver pendant of swirls.

Feedback please. How is it?

Tell them... The last words of Kaladana's teacher ran through her head, around and around in a merciless game of chasing its own tail. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, against the sudden shift of responsibility, of destiny, her heart banging around in her rib cage as she struggled to catch her breath. It was not supposed to have happened like this, not at least for many years yet. Here she was, a half trained Y'oljhar, barely out of her teens, no food, water, or home, and the weight of the care over millions of lives was depending on her already. It was just too soon. Living as a renegade on the cold planet of Ursa Minor-Beta was already a risk for Kaladana. Enslaved by the fearsome alien creatures, the Umdanas, Kaladana and her people had been dragged over half the galaxy to be trained for either their ruthless gladiatorial games or as a common house slave. Kaladana had been living in the horrid conditions of an Umdana's home since she was nine, alone since all her family had died on the trip over. A man named Ambarr had watched out for her, having been placed in the same house, and had caught her shifting imagination with legends of the Kahtuma: special organizations of rebellious slaves that had developed every time the Y'oljhar had been enslaved in one way or another. Alas, many of the Y’oljhar had recently died in the gladiatorial arena, beaten down under the inhumane treatment that was reserved for the Y'oljhar. Not even dogs on this planet, the lowest of the low, were treated so horribly, and it was not uncommon to see dead dogs in the gutter, either beaten or starved to death, or worse. The Umdanas were as creative as they were cruel to all life and they exploited this characteristic with proud relish. And now Ambarr had died under the cruel lash of their master, punishment for sneaking extra food to Kaladana. They had both been part of the Kahtuma, and Ambarr's last words were to take a message to the leaders of the Kahtuma that very night. She had tucked it in her belt and had run like fire, the fear of being seen pushing her on to new speeds. As Kaladana fingered that message she remembered that the night was only growing older. She would have to move, and quickly, if she wanted to make it to the forest and back tonight. Kaladana took a deep breath and glanced around at her surroundings. She was alone, sitting against the brick wall of someone's garden. Roses poked their head over the top of the walls. Looking up at them, Kaladana shivered. Umdanas only grew roses where blood had been spilled, usually the blood of their slaves. They grew all over whipping posts and execution areas, a constant reminder that if the roses died, the Umdanas would slaughter someone just so they could grow them once again. The distant moon of Ursa-Minor Beta seemed to follow her movements like a massive eye. The stars seemed far-off and shivered behind the foul black clouds of the night. Kaladana made her way out to the street and glanced around. There was no one in sight. Creeping as silently as she could, she turned left, clutching at the wall. She tripped over something and barely stifled a moan as she realized she had stepped in the week old carcass of a dead mutt. Her tracks would be bloodied now, easy to follow. Peeling off her thin shoes she tossed them into the gutter and moved on, one eye on the street, one eye on the path before her. A flashlight twinkled in the distance and she dropped into a crouch, shaking in her fear. An eternity she waited until the flashlight dimmed and went away. A sigh of relief tore her throat. She counted to ten and then continued her journey. A siren split the air around her and red lights lit up her section of the street. A sob of terror broke from her mouth and she ran. Kaladana knew she had been seen, was being followed, by the heavy and numerous footsteps behind her. She clung to the shadows, trying desperately to outrun the night watch for the second time that night. The sirens behind her grew softer until they stopped altogether. The lights dimmed, flickering in different directions. Kaladana stopped to catch her breath underneath the protective shadow of a trashcan. Hearing the comforting sound of an 'all clear', she stood again and turned the corner. Only to run right into the biggest, strongest, and all too familiar Umdana standing there. His scaly face broke into a sharp toothed grin as he caught her wrists. She struggled, crying out in surprise. "Got you," he snarled. "This isn't the first time, is it, that I've caught you out after hours?" His breath was foul with the scent of rotting meat and his claws scratched her wrists, drawing small trickles of blood. "What can we do to break that nasty habit, eh pretty one?" "Get off!" she shrieked desperately, knowing full well that the Umdana would do nothing of the sort. He chuckled. "Of course pretty one, of course." And he let her go. He waved his hands in a shooing motion, a sadistic smile on his lips. "Run along. You won't get far." Blinded by fear, Kaladana took her chances and fled past the Umdana. He turned and watched her go, chuckling. True to the guard's word, Kaladana didn't get far. Surrounded by the night watch, Kaladana crouched in the middle, waiting, shivering. They only laughed at her. The same Umdana as before walked forward and wrenched her to her feet. One of his fellows behind him called out instructions to search her, and he did. Claws scratching at her, he ripped off her belt and searched its contents, pulling out the letter that Ambarr had given her to deliver. A smile lit his features once again. "She's got it alright," he growled. "And this time," he looked back at her, eyes malignant, "you won't get away." He smiled and gripped her arm as the other Umdanas walked forward. "The roses will like you, pretty one."

Ascara bowed her head as the raindrops ran down her face, dripping off her nose and lips. She stood in front of a great forest, shivering, watching the trees be tossed by the wind. Her short, silver hair grew stringy as they water washed it free of the silver blood that had previously matted it. The blood was also on her face and arms, and as the water touched it, it began to run again, causing her to look streaked with it. Storm clouds rumbled in the east as they charged towards her, bringing with them more rain and torrential winds. Taking in a shuddering breath, Ascara turned away and headed for the cliffs that lead to the ocean. She was leaving everything she knew behind her. Every step she took lead her further and further away from all she knew, all she had loved. Her eyes, an exotic mixture of blue and green, reflected her anguish as the thoughts chased around in her head, and painful memories brought a torrent of tears and sobs from her. She stopped and crouched fighting off the outburst, her body racked with the intensity of her sorrow. She stayed there for many minutes, fighting off the pain. Gathering her strength once again she stood, swaying on her feet. Her sorrow was draining her of energy, making her sick. She took a steadying step towards the cliffs again, followed by another, then another. Finally she was walking, and as she went she refused to think of what lay behind her, especially of what lay dead in the middle of the forest. Her black leggings clung to her legs as the rain soaked through her. Her black shirt stuck to her skin likewise. The leather trench coat she wore, along with her boots, was the only thing keeping her remotely dry, though in the torrent of rain and tears, it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.... The crash of thunder made her jump, her hands flying up to her ears. She shivered and continued on, eyes squinted against the rain that stung her face. Stopping for a moment she dropped her hands to fasten her coat tightly around her waist. Another roar of thunder had her jumping and hastening her fingers. Rubbing her shoulders and leaning into the rage of wind that pushed her back, she stumbled the last few feet towards the cliffs. Standing at the very edge she shivered and closed her eyes, teeth chattering. Every time she opened her eyes, she was forced to look down into the depths of the sea, laid open by the massive whirlpool that churned the waters only a few miles out to see. A heavy mist rose above its open maw, concealing it cleverly to ships that could be swallowed by it. Within the whirlpool, Ascara knew, was her only hope to make things right. Her voice wavering, she called out softly: "Gedogem....." Her voice did not carry over the rage of wind however, so she tried again, louder. "Gedogem!" She received no answer. Leaning into her cry, she poured her emotions into a scream of sorrow that she knew would reach him. "GEDOGEM!!!" The whirlpool seemed to heave, and a spout of water and wind shot out of its center. A howl ripped the air and a silver dragon pulled itself from the maw. His long, lithe body twisting and spiraling as he moved towards her, the dragon seemed to float over the waters. Instead of scales, his body was covered in fur, and his face was like a great wolf. Two horns, like a stags, poked out of his head near his ears, and spines lined his back. Tendrils poked through his skin near his nostrils, waving wildly in the wind he rode upon. Ascara closed her eyes as he rushed towards her and curled his long body around her in a swift movement. His green eyes were concerned as he brought his huge face towards hers. "What are you doing out in the storm?" he asked, his voice melodic and young. He raised a great wing over his head, blocking out the rain as it tore at their bodies. "Why are you not in the forest?" Ascara shook her head and sobbed again. "Denota is dead..." she cried, lifting her hands, showing him the last drops of silver blood that clung to them. "She was murdered by someone I did not recognize." Gedogem's eyes hardened and his hackles rose threateningly. "She is dead?" he asked, his voice taking on a terrible tone. Ascara raised her hands again, eyes pleading. "It wasn't my fault! We were playing hide and seek and she was hiding! I heard screams and laughter......" But Gedogem had backed away, uncoiling, eyes wild. "Denota," he said in a growl, "last of the Pegasi clan, princess of the mountains, our only hope, is DEAD?!?" Ascara shivered and shook her head, tears streaming down her face again. "It wasn't my fault," she whispered. Gedogem's eyes softened and he curled back around Ascara in a dragon hug. "I know little one," he said in a whisper. "The pain is as great for you as any others. But my brothers will not understand that. As guardian of the east wind, I am the youngest and weakest of the Four Dragons. You know I cannot protect you from their wrath." Ascara raised her eyes. "Can you do nothing?" she whispered in terror. "Nothing at all?" Gedogem raised his head and regarded the coming storm. Ignoring the question, he spoke again. "You should not be out in the storm. You could be killed." Ascara defiantly shook her head. "Don't change the subject. A little thunder will not kill me, no matter how sensitive I am." Gedogem was about to argue when a shout of thunder sent Ascara to the ground. She curled into the fetal position, shaking violently, her hands over her head. In the distance she heard Gedogem cry out to her. His words, however, were masked by the terrible noise in her head, the pain that racked her body. Vaguely she felt the sensation of being carried, vaguely felt the days go by. Only vaguely did she sense Gedogem arguing with someone. Not at all did she realize who he was arguing with. Ascara awoke slowly, head still aching, ears still ringing. Sunlight pooled in the room like liquid gold: it was mid morning. Sitting up slowly, Ascara looked around. Scratched into the wall by a dragons claw was a new carving of days, Gedogem's way of telling her how long she had been out. She winced as she counted the scratches, their number too high for her to dare finish counting. She stopped after the first week and then stepped gingerly out of bed, stretching her sore muscles. She reached slowly for her clothes, which had been washed and folded. Pausing, she smelled them and tears sprang to her eyes as she realized that they still held the fresh smell of pegasi feathers. For the first time, anger shadowed that despair, and her eyes burned with hate. Ascara jumped as the door opened. Glancing over she blushed as she saw her friend Yegtholien walk in. He quickly averted his eyes and turned towards the wall. "I beg your pardon," he said in his murmuring voice, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Ascara turned the other direction and shrugged off her nightgown. "It's alright..." she said softly. She quickly pulled on her clothes, strapping the leather buckles up and down her legs and arms quickly so that they would cling tightly to her body and not flap around as she moved. Looking down at herself she realized how thin she had gotten, lying in bed for almost a week and a half. "They say you collapsed in a storm," Yegtholien said softly, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. His long black hair hung to his waist, and his bangs poked sharply over the red cloth he had tied around his forehead. His pointed ears revealed his elven heritage, as did his angular and almost femininely beautiful features. He wore brown clothes and a red cape that was severely tattered at its edges. "They fear there may be permanent damage." Ascara frowned as she turned to regard her friend. "The only thing damaged here was Denota. She is dead you know." Yegtholien bowed his head and turned slightly, straightening when he saw she was fully dressed. "I know. The brothers are not pleased." His eyes flickered and they darted around the room, trying to look at anything but the girl in front of him. Ascara blanched. "They are not here, are they? What did they do to Gedogem?" Yegtholien shrugged. "He has not been seen. They had an argument and Gedogem went into the forest after it to find Denota. It has been two days. Perhaps he is in mourning." Ascara nodded, eyes tearing up again and threatening to spill over. Rubbing her arms and taking a deep breath, she shook them away and walked forward. "What now?" Yegtholien motioned with an arm towards the door. "The brothers wish to speak to you." He raised his soft, brown eyes to hers and a flash of red assaulted her eyes. She blinked hard to remove it without alerting Yegtholien. He noticed, however, and grimaced. "I beg your pardon," he said again, averting his eyes. "I have not fully learned to control it yet." Ascara shook her head. "It's fine. You'll get it. At least flames are not jumping from your eyes anymore." Yegtholien smiled softly. "Not if I don't want them to." They walked into the adjoining room and the happy morning disappeared as Ascara realized what was in the middle of the room. Standing before them was a portal, shaped like a mirror and swirling like the great whirlpool that Gedogem lived in. Her stomach dropped and she took a step back. "Forgive me," Yegtholien said mournfully. "I forgot to tell you that the brothers are not here." "We have....to travel.....to the mountain?" Ascara asked, gulping. "To the home of the winds?" Yegtholien nodded. "To that dreadful mountain slope where all winds come from. I am afraid so." He raised an arm and motioned towards the portal. "If you remember, the brothers do not enjoy waiting." Ascara nodded, walking forward into the swirling portal. Not for the first time she was whisked away into oblivion as the portal threw her into another dimension. Her stomach lurched as she was twisted this way and that. She fell to her knees as she came out on the other side of the portal. Portal etiquette kicked in and she stepped aside just in time to witness Yegtholien step through, upright and un-phased. Raising her eyes, she glanced around the massive cavern into which they had been thrown. The walls were a mixture of colors; like a dancing flame they shifted from blue to silver to red to brown to orange to yellow and back to blue in waves of color. Torches were lit every few feet along the walls; larger than any human torches, Ascara knew she could never fit her arms completely around one. The flames danced and growled softly, licking at the oxygen that fed their insatiable hunger. Further down the hall were stairs that lead to a huge doorway. Ascara took a deep breath and walked towards it, Yegtholien right behind her. Knocking on the doors before her, Ascara waited. As expected, the doors simply blew inward, sucked in by the largest of the three dragons Ascara knew was sitting beyond the doors. The doors opened to reveal a throne room. Four thrones stood on a raised platform, only three of them filled. Ascara recognized them all with increasing fear and displeasure. The second youngest, Havdemthi, was like Gedogem in body build. His fur was blue and his yellow eyes glinted coldly. The north wind brother watched the two approach with a cold dignity that he reserved for everyone. The second oldest of the four, Lazgdebben, was quite different: a scaly, lizard like creature. His red scales shone in the torch light and his sinister red eyes glittered like rubies. The two horns that spiked out of his brow, unlike the two younger brothers' stag-like horns, were smooth and swept back, two simple horns that spoke of age more than anything on the dragon's body. His tail lashed back ond forth like a great cats, and he twitched his claws eagerly as the two young humanoids walked forward. He was fiery, like the southern wind he governed. The eldest of the four brothers, Savagedek, lord of the west wind that brought all storms, was like his brother Lazgdebben, except that he was a shimmering black color. His scintillating lavender eyes captured the imagination so completely they were almost hypnotizing. Ascara kept her eyes away from the cruel gaze of Savagedek so that she would not be captured. "The triumphant return," Savgedek snarled. "Eight years ago we sent you to that forest to protect Denota, and we find that because of your carelessness, she is now dead." "It was not Ascara's fault," Yegtholien said softly without raising his eyes, although his hand did move to the sword belted to his slender waist. "Perhaps you should concentrate on finding the murderer instead of pointing fingers." He then raised his eyes and connected them with Savagedek's gaze, his own eyes reflecting a sharp fire that neither Ascara, nor the dragons, had ever seen before in the usually soft-spoken, mellow elf. A spark leapt into the air from Yegtholien's hands, igniting his form into flame. His eyes hardened as the dragons stared, impassive. Ascara gasped as she saw the pyro elf's power leap into a raging blaze that whipped around his body. A few minutes later the flames extinguished with a hiss of smoke that rose off the top of Yegtholien's head. He relaxed and sat back on his heels, watching the dragons. The winds did not respond to the show of power, nor did they seem to care. However, Ascara sensed that they were very well shaken. Either that or impressed. Savagedek shook his head and turned to Ascara again, this time speaking in a buisness-like tone. "Finding the murderer is exactly what we need to do. You and you fiery friend are to set off at once tracking down this killer. Bring him to us when you have found him, alive or dead. If you can do this you, human, will be redeemed and will be allowed to go back into protective works. If you cannot, then expect to be banished from this organization, your title stripped, your place in this council diminished. Go!" Ascara, though fear was again gnawing at her, knew better than to reply or argue. She merely bowed, then turned and stepped back through the portal, feeling the piercing gaze of not only those three powerful dragons, but also her pyro elf friend as he followed her steps. ~To Be Continued~ sorry it is so long. i couldnt find a way to break it off and now it's gone on and on and on! i hope it's not too long. Degorram

It's my first time here. I learned of the site from a friend at school, fellow writer, and only now am getting around to looking into the mighty pen. So, here I am, and I have not a clue what to do first. Any suggestions? And a question that needs answering: what are the responsibilities of a member? Degorram