#gaea firestone

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GAEA: Ummmm, no. I mean, not unless it’s really bad, dark magic, but usually that’d kill a dragon outright. Cores are kinda like our soul, and even if a dragon doesn’t have elemental magic, they still have some kind of a Core. It just works funny, if at all. 

GAEA: My clan is mostly made up of Earth Dragons, I think, yeah. Grandma--er, I mean, the Matriarch, leads all of us, and she says that to keep the lines pure, they need to be Earth dragons. There are three lines. And a....fourth.

Melchior:1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? MOD: I’ll answer this one: All of five seconds. If ADHD were a thing in this universe, Mel has it. (Which, it is. Mental illnesses/learning disabilities are definitely present in this universe, they just don’t have those terms to identify them.)11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? TW: Mild Gore/Vomit MentionBefore him lay the eggshell. Instead of in shards, it lay in wet, rubbery ribbons, with the rotten remains of yolk and half-formed creature in a sticky heap between his claws. Frowning deeply, he gathered up one of the dirty rags he’d pilfered over the months from the compost heaps in the capitol, his nostrils clamping shut as he carefully scraped his would-be creation and folding it into the cloth.

His journey from the temple where he lived with his Sire down to the docks was usually a quick one, but with rotting egg and reptile guts swinging just under his chin, it seemed three times as long. He resisted the urge to vomit right up until he reached the docks, tossing the rags and remains out before yesterday’s lunch came up with it and into the waters below. The chuckle beside him was the only warning he received before something wet and solid knocked him off the boards and into the water.

Spluttering as he flailed about, Melchior quickly resurfaced, staring about wildly with his teeth bared and a bit of eggshell across his muzzle. Green eyes peered at him from under the docks, and the young Kuros let out a frustrated sound as he swatted water in his uncle Hahona’s direction.

“Evening, Scar-bringer,” the markings along the side of Hahona’s head flashed in greeting. Mel huffed as the jagged black marks along his cheeks lit up in response, “Well-met, Dam’s Brother,” before he swam closer to the former Patriarch of his birth-School.

“I just don’t understand, Uncle,” Melchior huffed as he climbed up onto Hahona’s back. The long, graceful undulating of his uncle’s body took them out from under the dock as they cleaned up Mel’s mess, taking the meat and shell-leavings closer to the fishers’ nets. “I thought I was so close. The last ones hatched, but didn’t live past a few months. These were the right size, temperature, from strong parents….I know I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“How?”

“Because I just do,” Mel said, climbing up Hahona’s neck so he could look down into one of his eyes. He held onto one of his horns as he spoke, “The books say these two species have bred before, and that their offspring have been recorded as far back as Queen Map’s reign. Even served as her guard’s guards! If they say so, then I know so!”

“You’d trust written words instead of the intelligence of blood?” Hahona’s words brought Mel’s thoughts to a screeching halt as he watched the older Ibarntang cast out the bait. Soon the water began to froth as if set to boiling, and with precision that still shocked the young dragon, Hahona speared a fish along the end of his finned tail. “You think too much, lad. It’s why these scars exist. Thinking is not the same as feeling. My Sister-Matron felt you’d be better off with your Sire, and so you are, much as she feels hurt over the waters and the land between you. You’ve too much of a scholarly Allus hooked into you, son-of-my-blood; when your questions go unanswered, look not for words, but within yourself.”

Gaea:8. What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?The fires danced through the gaps between the trees, far beyond them in the Deep Vale’s clan gather-clearing. Bright oranges and yellows, flashes of white. She could smell the smoke, the burning wood from there, from anywhere. It mattered not how far away.

She took one hop-step towards them when she felt pressure on the tip of her tail. Bright pink eyes pleaded with her silently as Fionnuala gestured for her to keep moving. They only had so many hours before their prey woke for the day; the fires, much as they called to her, mocked her, had to wait. For how long, she was not sure; but sneaking close enough to the dying embers when the clan were deep asleep to see what they sang to her wasn’t worth both of them going hungry another day.

Someday, she’d get that close again. Someday….15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?Standing before her, veritably towering in his golden statuesque glory, was her grand-sire. Aethenea’s mate. Staring back with the same gold eyes that she had, the older dragon remained silent, as terrified silence deafened all of her thoughts.

And out of that fear, she ran.

Steinhart did not move to stop her. She didn’t even hear the snapping of jaws, or feel the air stirring behind her of his claws. Her lungs burned as she clutched the dust-coated tooth in her jaws, but she didn’t care as she reached the edge of the treeline. No sooner had her paws landed in the shadows was the silence broken, as Steinhart called out after her,

“So you found the brute I killed, eh?” Small trenches in the undergrowth and dirt were dug as her heels dug in to stop herself. The tooth in her jaws dropped with a dull thud, and her eyes fell to it with dawning horror and….wonder. Twisting her body so she could look back at him, she felt as if there was no distance between them at all, despite the fact that he hadn’t chased after her.

Wait....he hadn’t chased after her.

His smile was slow, his movements unhurried as he lowered himself onto his belly. Gaea stared from just beyond the line of trees, turning fully with the tooth still on the forest floor. Thoughts ran wild in her head as the idea of her grandsire killing something that seemed about as big, if not bigger, than himself dominated her imagination. Maybe because Fionnuala wasn’t there to stop her, but those thoughts kept her from staying cautious and hidden, as she plucked the tooth back up in her teeth and scrambled back out into the clearing.

“What was that thing?!” she blurted out, skidding to a halt just out of the larger, older dragon’s reach; instinctively, at least, she felt the need to stay away. But everything else, all thought of keeping quiet and away from the eyes of her elders was gone. “It it was so big! And so many teeth, and it didn’t have forelegs like me! But it looked like it had big giant wings, how did you kill it?! Was it asleep? Did you hunt it? Did it hunt you?”

“Salaah, tifil,” the old dragon said, smiling still and making an odd sound. Gaea had heard similar sounds from her would-be clutch mates, after they beat and terrorized herself or Fio, but instead of feeling scared or sick Steinhart’s sound made her feel...warm. And happy. Her eyes burned suddenly as she tilted her head at the lounging golden dragon, and she asked,

“What’s that sound?”

“...you don’t know what laughter is, dear girl?” Gaea clawed at the dirt, looking at anything but him. “It would seem,” Steinhart sighed heavily, pulling her attention back up to him, “I’ve much more to teach you than I thought. But first, a story. About a kingdom far from here, somewhere in the sands of The Great Desert....”

Aethenea:16. What makes their stomach turn?27.  What causes them to feel dread? WARNING: Spousal AbuseAs she watched, her daughter nuzzled the half-breed, wincing as the torn flesh about her right eye touched the other dragon’s rough scales. One side of her muzzle turned up in disgust as Steinhart grunted beside her.

“You can smell it on her as well as I can,” her mate said quietly. “That egg is the both of theirs.”

“Yes,” Aethenea drawled, her claws tapping the stone of the outcropping below her. “So it would seem.”

“This upsets you.” Her husband’s words held a hint of accusation, and fury rose up in her in a sudden, uncontrollable wave. In a blur of movement she swatted him with the back side of her paw, striking him with the claws of the other one, two, three times until Steinhart shoved her away. “Dammit, woman! The clan is watching.”

“Let them watch!” Aethenea hissed, baring her teeth at her life-love. Despite her anger boiling her blood, she remembered at least to keep her words heard only by him, advancing on him so he was forced to move away from her and further away from the gathered clan. “Let them see the abomination that wretch laid, and the monster that begot it on her! You fool! She left the clan, against my word. She abandoned her duties and took on another title, against my word. She bred with one she knew I’d not approve of! And see what I have done to her! See what I’ll do to you if I hear that disapproving tone once more.” Her husband’s sluggish movements in his advanced age gave her the upper claw as she reached up and crushed his ear in her claws, wrenching his head down so their eyes were level. Through clenched teeth, she snarled at him, “Need I remind you what the clan would do to you, if you displease me again?!”

Shame washed over his features, and Aethenea scoffed as she shoved her mate away, watching him slink off and out of her sight. A scowl pulled at her features as she looked out at the clan still gathered, as they quickly began to slink away under her harsh stare. Two lingered, however; Kishi, and the half-black mule. In her remaining eye Aethenea could see rage, and fury; and for a moment her stomach churned with fear, deeper than any she’d felt since she was a child.

For none of her children that yet lived shared the same rage she felt towards a parent. None of them understood the depths of hatred one could feel for one who’d brought them into the world. Except Kishi.

Sakhr12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?The ‘library,’ as he called it, was less a building meant to protect scrolls and books and more a half-collapsed nest den that he’d attempted to salvage over the years. But it served the purpose he’d apparently wanted it for. It was his escape, she came to realize over the years; his escape from the clan, from the glimpses of the desert.

From Aethenea.

And in that aspect, it was perfect for him. And perfect for her. For Fionnuala too, sometimes. But they’d learned the first time the three had gone to Steinhart’s library together that the clan guards and the younger dragons’ tormentors noticed. Poor Fionnuala had only just stopped nursing the wounds on the left half-ear he’d received that day.

But when they needed an hour or two away from prying eyes, somewhere to warm their scales and feed their thoughts, it was perfect. That day was just such a perfect day for Gaea, and she was still pouring over one of the scrolls about castles lifted from the earth when she heard Steinhart’s approach. It was a bit of a laborious effort for him to come in and out, with one of the great stone pillars leaning at an angle in the entryway. Usually he simply nudged it up with his muzzle, stepping under it and letting his back set it down slowly.

Gaea didn’t look up from her scroll until the grinding of stone against scale began to repeat itself. Frowning, she stood up, placing one of the skipping stones where she’d stopped on the scroll, and trotted over to the entryway. Laughter, unbidden and wild, burst out of her at what she saw.

Back arched like a felin’s, Steinhart stood in the entrance with the pillar across his haunches. Lifting one back foot, he let the pillar scrape against his hip, then switching his weight to the other. Blissfully he’d shut his eyes, one wing half opened and twitching as he continued to scratch at his scales. Spluttering and coughing for air, Gaea was lost in mirth, her balance wobbling until she began rolling on her back in a continuous fit of giggles. Eventually she felt her grandsire’s laughter rumbling through the ground, and opened teary eyes to see him looking down at her.

“Jetty, why didn’t you use a tree, silly?” she asked, her words punctuated by hiccups and gasps for breath. Steinhart shrugged as he leaned down, letting Gaea use his muzzle to right herself.

“Splinters,” he sniffed imperiously. “Dreadful to pluck out from under the scales.”