ORIGIN

All events of this post preceding the break occurred roughly a month ago, during Cycle 92.

Those creatures deemed Lesser were intended to be no more than a food source— and perhaps a pale imitation of Natural Order, never cultivated and never domesticated; merely a familiar sight for those whose jaws slavered and talons hungered for more than the oiled blood of their compatriots. Some of them formed bonds and herd mentalities for the sake of their survival, but they were never cognizant without the aid of their Greater cousins. Not after five thousand years' time spent in the silence of this nest.

Much as they live and breathe and flourish, they are not meant to be pitied when they find themselves ailing and dying.

Yet, here is Tenzin, shaping a life to offer to what he's pulled from a nameless, unimportant Lesser lizard's carcass, and so carefully, too. It would have flowing, glimmering feathers painted in the same obsidian its scales once were; and it would carry light with it, settling against a warm breast whenever its armored and behorned crown was held high. The stone would lie with its organic companion, thrumming in their shared chest cavity— alive and well and bound to grow as it does.

As the opal devours magicka in excess, he holds it up with just the tip of his great beak. It's so small, even as it already begins to morph into its final shape.

Oh, how he hopes that they will grow and prosper as all their brethren have: In spite of the rising radiation, in spite of that scent of Chaos and Order that finds itself attaching to and leeching from every pore of this cave. He would pray that they live as they are and will be.

Perhaps it is not pity that carries him to plant life at the edge of his lagoon. But, is it a small piece of rebellion? Of hope? Unfair as it may be, young Raoshar may, in time, decide that for him.

Until then, Tenzin would watch over them and attend to their forming chrysalis.

—
And now, on this uneventful day, Tenzin could feel the first stirrings of that creation; of clouded lungs at last rejecting the raw, magical suspension that had nourished them for thirty long, long days and a neonate's first struggle into that which is called life.

He arrives at its side, silent as the fine mist that drifts from his feathers. Though the opal would not hear him, he croons gentle encouragement to them, "Waken, child of Pisces," and settles beside it, unobtrusive in his benevolence gaze.

@Raoshar

The drumming roar of Pisces's waterfall had been a permanent backdrop in the unconscious mind of the growing life. A constant storm that shaped the life within, twisting and forming new life into something brilliant. Forged by a Master's will, at long last, the creature within awoke. Life became aware-- not just of the distant sounds, but of itself.

The dragon's fire opal cracked as though to respond to Tenzin's words of encouragement, even if the being within was too freshly aware to have heard it. With a great push of limbs and talons, the stone would shatter with a thunderous effort, spilling the bundle of down on to solid stone.

The fresh experience of living was a sharp sensation, one that fired on all synapses. Each breath was a new sting of cold, lighting a flame deep within the beast that was rapidly, immediately, forming itself around the new chance at life. The waterfall's endless cacophony battered at the mind, and it fought back against the sensation, flexing claws and baring teeth. Internally, a sense of self splintered in a hundred directions, twisting and tangling as the sensory overload demanded it to live.

It was exhilarating.

Looking more like a soaked cottonball than a living creature, he shuttered against the cool mist, craning a slender neck upward toward the cavern lights. His gills and nostrils flared, greedily gulping down air. His fiery, gold-pricked eyes quickly focused upon Tenzin, the massive winged beast that made him look no bigger than a, well, cottonball in comparison.

If that was supposed to bother him, however, it clearly didn't. White wings flared out in an attempt to look larger, and with a wobbling effort, he managed to get his feet under him, standing up tall... ish. As his wet feathers made the courageous attempt to puff up, two golden lights burned at the end of his whiskers, and with a deep breath, the crimson marking on his chest swelled with effort. There were no words that jumped to his tongue, indeed not a single sound manifested from him.

But, if looks could kill, it certainly seemed like the fixated stare was at least a daring attempt.

@Game Master Bunny

tenzin

npc

If he were gauging--judging--his creation, as a good Master should, Tenzin showed no signs of it. Instead his gaze was gentle, his motions moreso. That motion was careful. Tentative. It came in a shift of pale feathers as a wing rose to shelter Raoshar, to shield him from the spray of the falls and from the broken-diamond flashing of light that glared past each droplet.

The phoenix's head tilted with nothing but compassion in a soft glance, a warmth there that did not penetrate the temperature of the icy waters or the stone beneath their feet. The fierce stare of golden eyes was met with only kindness in Tenzin's pale ones. "Be at peace," he urged, his every word careful and melodic. And as if to prove his good intentions, he shifted a little back, talons scraping quietly on rock. He meant this one no harm--but his child could not yet know that. "I am Tenzin. I am your father," he went on, pausing only for a moment before that final word. Alternatives had flitted through his mind. Creator. Maker. Life-giver. But none of those felt right--none felt true. This was his child, as Jampa was. Not a creation, to be given away. Not some anonymous designation. "This is Pisces. You are safe, here."

His chest felt filled to overflowing, yet the joy that came with seeing this new being so full of life--so much larger than that lost chip of opal he'd first found--brought with it some trickle of bittersweet sadness. Raoshar was not his first child. And one brought memories of another, long ago--reminders of what he'd lost. It would be unfair to dwell on these now, but even one so powerful as Tenzin could not banish them entirely.

@Raoshar

The behemoth that loomed over the newborn showed nothing but gentle kindess. His words rang true pure notes over the roar of the waterfall, and he took a step back before announcing himself.

Tenzin. Father. These words washed over the child, who's eyes narrowed and then blinked. Son, the little one silently made the connection. That was who he was: a son of Tenzin. But these words, this title that was offered him, it was too confining. It did not speak of the torrent just beneath the surface. Downy, damp feathers tried to ruffle, his throat swelling as he puffed out his chest.

Pisces. Another word, another name. Where was his name? Who was he, the world seemed to demand?

What right did they have to know him and his name, the child considered, golden gaze flicking across the glistening feathers of the phoenix that sheltered him from the mist of Pisces's relentless waterfall.

Despite this-- or perhaps in spite of it-- the babe opened his jaws, pearly white baby teeth flashing as he flicked his dangling whiskers. Bright red light flashed from their ends, the light reflecting in the molten glare of his eyes.

He looked to the ceiling, and spread his own wings: two small, wimpy limbs that flapped against the cold air. The motion shook the damp from him a fair bit, and his form was beginning, barely, to fluff up.

The voice that he found was only a touch squeaky, but he did not push his vocal cords and so the words came out clear and crisp. He simply spoke in the way a toddler does when it knows the answer to a question: simple, direct, and with all the confidence in the world.

"Roashar. Son of Tenzin." His eyes flicked, appraising, back to Tenzin. Expectantly-- though, of what he expected, he did not know. Whatever it was, he hoped he would not be disappointed.

tenzin

npc

It was one thing to create a life. To design its every intricacy, the threads of colors woven across a living tapestry. It was another altogether to see that life emerge, blinking up at its parent and assuming the mantle of a new and independent creature. It was not as though creation were new to him. But the independence--the confidence in Raoshar's answer--drew a strange note of sorrow from somewhere deep in Tenzin's chest. It was as a child leaving the nest, but only the first stirrings of such a pain. This one... he felt that perhaps this one would not belong to him, not in the way he'd imagined. Or even... maybe hoped. Tenzin studied the child for a moment, his own expression soft. There was that confidence, yes. A surety. But there was also the wet, bedraggled child with dripping wings. Time would tell as to whether Raoshar proved to be family. But the here-and-now demanded a father's care.

Tenzin bowed his head. "Raoshar," he fluted, then rose up and drew closer. The wing with which he was sheltering this one from the water's spray, he arched closer: a gentle brush, should the child allow it, to free some of his body from the residue.

"I think," he offered, voice still soft with kind amazement, "it is a good name. It suits you."

...now what?

He cleared his throat carefully, and gestured to himself. "If you are cold, you might come closer." His feathers would warm, even if he himself were so often steeped in ice.

Ahh... speaking of ice. He turned, talons grasping for the water; and from there he withdrew an Orion's Scale, dead but kept fresh by a sheathe of glittering, frozen water. This he cracked away. The fish was then offered carefully out, transferred to his beak and then laid before Raoshar. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

That seemed a safe place to begin.

@Raoshar

if he's an herbivore lmk and I'll edit that to be a clump of watergrass or some such-

Tenzin brushed some of the moisture from his small body, offering soft agreement to his name. Raoshar continued to stare expectantly at Tenzin, with neither disappointment or satisfaction. The only change came in the amused wrinkle of his nostrils. There was something funny about the moment, despite how serious he seemed to be taking it all.

His father cleared his throat, and then offered him warmth. The delicate touch that Tenzin treated him with, the careful way he extended his offers, seemed only to amplify the mirth in the dragon child's eyes. A private joke, one that he didn't feel like sharing.

For now, he would humor his father. He shuffled forward, accepting the generous offer of warmth. He shivered against the feathery breast of warmth, and let out a quiet chuff. It was comforting, certainly, and he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Quietly, the world slid a few more temporary definitions into place. Tenzin, his father, was a cautious creature of patience and calm. These were good traits, though he did not feel any obligation to accept them wholeheartedly into his own being. He could appreciate them, however...

... Same as he could appreciate the fish that was presented to him. He eyed it curiously, before he reached out and chomped down on the cold flesh. The taste left something to be desired, certainly, but he made not a single complaint. Not only because he was quite hungry, and certainly not because he didn't want to be rude, but it would have been a waste, at the very least.

Scarfing down the fish, delicate bones and all with crushing teeth, he shook himself out, scattering a scarce few more drops from his own feathers. Then, he craned his head up to peer up at Tenzin, looking thoughtful.

"Do you think I will break?" He asked, eyes gleaming in that mischievous way. It was his way of asking, in so few words, why Tenzin was so delicate with him. Among a thousand other thoughts that crackled just beneath the surface of his thoughts.

tenzin

npc

The question shook him from his indulgent kindness with the faint shock of ice water thrown over feathers. For a moment, he studied his small ball of fluff.

...Inscrutable, was what he settled on, and even the thought was gentle. This child was inscrutable. A mystery at one minute old. Self-assured and private. And that question--it threw Tenzin back, for a moment. Threatened to drown him in old melancholy.

A child, swathed in soft cloth. The slightest movement eliciting a cry of pain. Cooing reassurance.

He drew himself up from those depths before they could threaten to claim him, and squint-smiled down at Raoshar. "No," he answered quietly, "but you are very young. At least--I hope you will not come to harm. I will protect you," he added, in reassurance--"but this place is safe." A wing extended out to indicate the crystalline pools, the silver flick of fish, the rolling moss beyond.

He pondered how to engage this child. To hold a conversation-... "Do you think you will break?" he asked, a lilting mellowness to the question. It was only that, conversation; nothing hidden, only a wish to learn his child's mind.

To bond, somehow.

@Raoshar

Game Master Bunny

Raoshar

Game Master Dark

Raoshar

Game Master Dark

Raoshar

Game Master Dark