The Saga of Vitriol.   Posted by Narrator.Group: 0
Narrator
 GM, 257 posts
Sat 9 Apr 2016
at 13:55
The Saga of Vitriol.
Vitriol

Images cascade across the mind picking up in intensity as if there is just too much to remember. Diluted magic dances like a  weight that presses against the senses. It can be felt flowing over fresh wet scale.  The winds of magic behaving more like a force of ever shifting weather that sickens with each passing moment. There are eddies and flows but they feel weak as if choked.

Dragon Lives that have already been lived, roll in jumbled pictures. Those dragons take flight and fight in aerial spaces, with tooth and claw. Different gouts of hot or misty breath mingle in a multitude of colors. In that moment is an understanding of how to fight and breathe death. Inner organs twitch as if in readiness. Claws lightly scrape against the surface of something hard but breakable.

Visions collide into splintered memories of fabled treasures touched by dead Gods. Which now lay buried amidst ancient ruins of forgotten and fallen kingdoms. The signs of past glory captured in faded stone relief. These lost kingdoms speak of an inevitability that nothing is permanent. In that moment there is an understanding of mortality and the need for survival. Even Dragons can die.

The dreams of glory, dominion and devastation begin to fade. But the envisioned sights of hoards yet to be had remain. Some deep want stirs and the self begins to emerge. It starts with a name, then an awareness of a body curled up floating in warmth sealed within a shell.

There  is a forceful cracking as something chisels at the shell. Light pours in through the cracks. It is not time yet, but the chisel strikes again, a fresh seam of light appears. The chiseling sounds continue as the upper part of the egg is worked on. Some kind of tool punching through the protective shell.

Everything seemed to begin tipping and with a wet sloshing sound Vitriol found himself dumped on the  compacted dirt. The sudden light burned, everything was just a misty blur.

Many hands grabbed at Vitriol, he would feel the weight of knees pressing on him, pinning his newly released form to the ground until he was entirely immobilised. Others held his limbs exerting significant force. There was a sound of metal clinking.  Metal closed around his legs and arms.

(Gain Status Hobbled.)

There was the creak of leather. Something closed over his jaws and was cinched tight. Denying him the capacity to bite.

(Gain Status Breath & Bite suppression )

Someone was pushing on his wing, forcing it to spread. There was a terrible sound and a flare of severe pain along the wing membrane. The sensation was repeated with the other wing.

( Gain Status Flight suppression )

Amidst the pain came voices, that seemed to work in tandem as something else closed over his body and was pulled tight.  It felt like some kind of metal harness.

The first thing  Vitriol would get to see was a very tall ceiling made of metal bars. Around him were people, humans definitely. Their coarse language could be heard as they started to withdraw. Speedily exiting the area before the dragon could attempt to lash out.

Vitriol was surrounded by bars. There were gates of metal, and a cage that existed beyond the [Training Yard] Wooden buildings also lay beyond. One of them smelled of meat. The other smelled of old blood and something else that was unpleasant to the senses.

There were three smaller cages  two of them were occupied. One was home to a Gryphon. He looked weary his faded yellow pelt a tapestry of wounds. Its wings looked equally shabby. Deep blue eyes watched with empathy.

The other cage housed a pristine white Pegasus that seemed more occupied with eating.

The humans were now outside the training yard cage, simply watching in a kind of expectant silence.


Vitriol
 Player, 2 posts
Sun 10 Apr 2016
at 20:54
The Saga of Vitriol.
Vitriol tumbles from the interior of the egg, hitting the stone ground with a heavy thump.  It is the first sense he registers in his new mind, pain.  And it is sharp and uncomfortable, yet somehow familiar.  Instinct drawn from a thousand generations tense up in muscle groups never used yet.  He is ungainly, gawky, and uncoordinated. There are sudden cries of alarm around him.  Human cries.  How did he know that?   Light streams into irises, but only confusion is the result.  Everything is blurry and without form. Inner organs twitch in readiness.  Claws extend as sudden unbidden tension gathers. A familiar feeling, something that gnaws at his perception, a sense of danger overwhelms his being. It is a feeling that crosses the veils of time through evolution and ancestry. A sense that Vitriol will come to hone to a fine a sharpness, as sharp and cutting as instinct itself.

Suddenly, a blur moves across his vision, giving evidence he was in fact not alone in this blurry existence. In his confusion, he forgot the humans.  What did they want? They were the ones that broke the shell, he realizes. Muscles tense even further and the dragon rolls onto its side awkwardly.  More cries of alarm... or was that more of a command structure the human was using? He is unsure for the time being. His thoughts are a jumbled mess.  As more primeval feelings and unbidden knowledge from a slippery veil of ancient memory begin flooding the young wyrmling's brain, he makes and attempt to sit up.  His wings go wide. This is not right, his brain screams in warning!

Suddenly he understood the feelings. Someone was pressing against his nerves in such a way as to extend them involuntarily.  A sharp pain erupts from one side, then the other.  Something closed over his snout, drawing tightly and he feels sharp pain as some of his fangs puncture his lip line.  A moment later, another cinching and he feels his body compressed around him. He cannot draw in a full breath. Now... the new feeling erupts in intensity and spreads through his body like a ripple across a pond's surface.  Danger! He feels the overwhelming sense of self preservation build, but he cannot take a full breath, now he feels the metal around his arms and legs and cries in frustration.  It is muffled, of course.  He cannot spread or furl his wings, in fact, he can't feel them at all at the moment.

Ungainly, Vitriol stands, feeling the shackles scrape against his legs and arms. Anger boils to the surface from a very hot pit from deep inside and the smell of the human speicies is forever burned into his senses.  He lashes out with the only weapon he has left to him, his tail.  It whips forward, striking one of the small moving blurs in front of him.  His vision seems to be clearing now since most of that fluid has dried and fell away from his eyes.  A loud thumpf is heard an then there were true cries of alarm.  Vitriol associates it with success and it tickles a pleasure center deep within his mind!  His first action of his own and voluntary!  He lashes back and whips around to the right, turning his torso at the same time.  Another thummpf resounds with a grunt and the sound of things falling over.  His adrenaline is now pumping ferociously through a mostly restrained body.  He lashes again, and this time trikes something hard, yet breakable. The reward is still as good.  A splintering crash is followed by more screams and cries.  Vitriol feels jubilant! THIS!  This is life!

The jubilation is fleeting though.  A rapid succession of commands and the humans have lassoed the wyrmling's tail and bend it back upon his back. With a loud snick, minutes later, the device was attached. The tail was let loose and their was a cinching around its base. He lashes out and a pain sears through him.  It comes from the base of his tail. He cries with that of thousands of those tortured similarly in past times.  The pain is so great that he falls into an unconsciousness.

The smell of dirt, metal, hay, rotten meat, blood, feathers, humans and many types of dung all suffuse the dragon's senses as consciousness returns.  He finds himself in a large pen. A cage, if you like.

There were other cages, not of this size.  The others were smaller, and two of those were occupied by other creatures. Long dead thoughts boil from some deep well and he knows of them. A vague memory.  A flier! A fierce fighter known among the dragons as gryphon. The other contains, a pegasus.  Vitriol's eyes narrow as his stomach suddenly lurches.  Something about that creature would satisfy some urge. An urge filled with the taste of fresh blood. Without realizing it, Vitriol rumbles a low growl that is muffled into an almost comedic sound- a humiliating sound to Vitriol's ears.  He quiets, and turns his attention back to the gryphon.

With shallow, controlled breaths, Vitriol stares for a moment.  He was here for a purpose he knows.  He also knows deep down that this purpose is not a part of his destiny. He shakes his head.  Sounds...not, not sounds, more like.. thoughts come to him. Thoughts that are not his own.  They are not of the nether or are they?  There are no humans here, but wait, perhaps this was not human... it is... a sensory perception.  But of what?

Vitriol watches the gryphon very carefully, concentrating on this new awareness of a dragon's mind link ability.  He glances at a small crowd of humans standing some ways away. How he wants to lash out at them all. He feels a tingle along his body and between his scales that comes with that thought, but turns his intensely brooding orange eyes back to the gyphon.

This message was last edited by the player at 23:38, Sun 10 Apr 2016.