NaNoWriMo Makes You Go Insane

NaNoWriMo. That thing that happens every November and consumes every waking thought of those with even a tiny inclination towards writing. What is it you ask? The acronym stands for National Novel Writing Month. What is it all about? Well, here's the deal...


Every November, from the 1st to the 30th, writers from around the world are challenged to type up a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Anyone who reaches that goal is deemed a winner of the challenge and receive a nifty certificate that can be printed out.


That's it, you say?


Well, oh ho ho. Who says winning always needs a physical prize? 


Many people compete in NaNo not for the glory, but for their own personal benefit and a feeling of accomplishment. NaNo is seen as a no holds bared way to get everything that's in your head out and onto a word document without maddening thoughts of editing and perfecting. The goal is to write 50,000 words of a rough draft. Some never go back to their story once it's done, but others use NaNo as a starting point for a new novel. That's what I did. 


On the 1st, I tossed aside all of my carefully crafted character profiles and world builder worksheets and dove headfirst into Microsoft Word, typing -nearly- every day to make my daily word goal. It was tough, especially around Thanksgiving, and I fell off that every day band wagon for almost a week, which nearly killed my chances of finishing. I wouldn't have lost anything for missing my goal, but I would have felt very disappointed in myself, as this was my second year, and my first year ended rather quickly at only 12k words.


The last two days of November I don't even remember. All I did was write and go to my job. I don't remember sleeping. I don't remember going to work, or even being there, but I must have because I got paid for the hours. All I remember was that I had 10,000 words to do in 48 hours, a huge feat considering the average daily goal is about 1400 words. 


But I beat my own odds, and rose triumphant with 23 minutes to midnight at 50,424 words. 


It was equally the most personally satisfying and insanely frustrating thing I have ever done. I'm surprised I still had fingernails left from chewing on them and hair on my head, because I constantly wanted to pull it out. 


Tie that in with the stress from the holiday season when working retail, I'm also surprised I didn't end up with an ulcer. 


Despite all that, I will no doubt do it next year(read; this year) and I encourage others to do it as well. Even if you don't finish, you'd be surprised at what your brain can kick out when you give in to reckless abandon.

Yep, It's Been A While

*cricket*


Ohai. A lot of things have happened in the past couple months, but I swear, I'm not dead. Just stupidly, stupidly busy. Because I believe that the people who read this blog actually care about what happens to me, I shall recap.


July: Flew out to Colorado for a week to visit my birth mom in Boulder. 
August: Had back to back to back weekends filled with camping trips, parties, and birthdays. 
September: Learned that my grandpa was very, very sick down in Arizona.
October: Mourned my grandpa's passing and wished I would have talked to him more since he moved to Arizona.
November: NaNoWriMo, 1 year anniversary, getting hired full time at Best Buy, and getting slammed in the face repeatedly with the frying pan that is holiday retail.
December: Continuous, unrelenting frying pan to the face holiday retail. 


January: Thank...God...*dies*


Btw? November sucked. A lot. Getting hired full time turned out to be a double-edged sword. I got a small raise and more hours, which are two things I wanted, but I also acquired an ass ton of new stress, considering it was the time of year where we get an influx of newbies that all of a sudden -I- had to train, and if they were doing poorly, it suddenly became my fault. I'm sorry, did I get hired as a supervisor without....you know....realizing? No? Oh. Well. 


Awesome....


Anyway. Next post shall include the trials, tribulations, and the unique stress involved in NaNoWriMo.


~Jes

Do you...come here often? *creepy wink*

It's been a couple weeks, yes, yes, I know. I went from work, to 4th of July weekend, to more work, and this coming week, I will be spending oodles and oodles of time with my boyfriend and his family for 5 days. 


I bet he's just thrilled....BahahAHAHAHAHAHAahahaha! *cough*


Anyway. Some things have happened. Mainly, me getting my fickle muse back off and on, but never long enough to do anything productive. Also, drunk walk to Cub Foods. Of which I don't remember!


Let me explain...


Don't get me wrong, I am not an alcoholic or anything, but I do like to indulge every once in a while. My boyfriend and his roommates have a "Friday Night Beer Pong" party, well, EVERY DAMN FRIDAY. Which can get old, especially when one has to work the next day, which usually happens EVERY DAMN SATURDAY. But this last weekend, I very much did not have to work the next day. Oh ho ho....


Some key points of that evening: 
1. I indulged in copious amounts of UV Grape Vodka with Black Cherry soda. Very quickly.
2. I won 4 games of beer pong in a row with boyfriend, and yes, we play with mixed drinks, him and I. I very much dislike beer. 
3. After 4 games and becoming quite drunk, I became the champion of the house by making a drunken behind-the-back shot into the LAST CUP. Nothing but liquid. A swish, if you will. An amazing feat. We won because of it, mind you. *pops collar* 
4. Someone decided they needed smokes, and boyfriend wanted food.
5. We walk to Cub Foods, about a mile away. I don't remember any of this. Nothing. This is a black void to me. I apparently asked my friend Camila to give me a hickey in the middle of Cub, and then a "Aww, why not. Gimme a matching one on the other side!!" hickey to go with it. 


And apparently on the walk back, I kept throwing my sandals in a game I now call, "THROW IT HARDER, CAMILA, I BEAT YOU."


Anyway...The rest of the weekend went by in a blur of awesome. I also took this...

Yay, fireworks! 

Must Rearrange Everything and Game of Thrones

Do you ever get a horrible bout of sever restlessness that you just can't seem to shake? Running, swimming, reading, jumping jacks....Nothing gets rid of it? Well, then you might be suffering from the Urge to Completely Rearrange Everything In Your Room/Home bug. 


Yes. I was hit by this. Hit hard. And I suffered for it. 


I live in an apartment with two other people, and the way the living room is set up, we can't really move anything out there. So I can only really rearrange my room. Which I did. With a fury! The need to do this was so powerful, I felt antsy and twitchy all day at work yesterday until I could get home and begin. I feel much better now too, as my sanity is once again in tact. 


Well, as much of it as I have.


So, not gonna lie. Posting part of my story and not getting any feedback(good or bad) from it was kind of disappointing. I want to write more, but I just can't get the motivation for it. I don't know what to do, but I guess my vacations coming up in July will help with my stress. A total of about 11 days between two trips, where I don't have to worry about anything going on back home. I plan on bringing a notebook and just writing, whenever the whim takes me. Hopefully the beauties of northern Minnesota and Colorado will break my muse free from his cell. 


On another note, holy Game of Thrones! I started reading the book when I saw previews for it online, and since I don't have a tv, let alone HBO, I decided I'd read the book and somehow watch the show later. Well, well, well. Here is a series that has captured my full attention. Sad thing is though, I read the first couple chapters, then decided to watch the show streaming online. Hahahahaha, I was only intending to watch as far as I read, but, ya know...The show was amazing....and I couldn't stop....I highly recommend everyone watch it, but if you don't like lots of sex scenes, nudity, and very visible gore moments, than skip it. Or don't be a prude :D 


And now I mist acquire the rest of the books, and read them all so I know what's going on muahahahaha. 


Anyway, in closing, I have a question for all of you. Have you seen Game of Thrones, and if so, what is your take on it?

Here There Be Dragons, Yo

So, I worked all weekend, which makes me not want to do a damn thing when I get home, including post on my blog. I am a fail panda. But! I hope to redeem myself by having something for you all to read! So begins my story posting, and I ask that if you take the time to read said story blurbs, please comment to let me know what you think :] It hasn't been beta'd or anything, so there may be grammar/spelling errors. Those'll be caught later I'm sure. Ok? Ok! And now I go devour the newest Anita Blake novel with my eyes. Mmmm, vampires and werewolves...

~~~~~~

Prologue

Her eyes glimmered like pools of crystalline flame, a mix of oranges, reds, and yellows. The only source of light in the heavy darkness, they cast a faint glow as if they were lamps. Thick, roiling clouds blanketed the night sky, blocking the light of the stars and sister moons alike.

It unnerved Teesa, being unable to see the vast crimson moon of Fynra. Like the rest of her fire-breathing kin, she looked toward its light for comfort, and as the great ruby scaled dragon listened to the absence of night sounds around her, she grew more uneasy. Barely a day left, and her eggs would hatch. She would watch her first brood stumble through the sands, mewling and searching for the Syndai children that would bond with them, heart and soul.

With a mighty groan, she stretched her cramped wings, the sound of creaking leather and snapping tendons echoing loudly around her in the darkness. The voices and songs of the night beasts should have filled the emptiness, yet her keen ears heard nothing save the soft breathing of the sleeping mothers from deeper within the Warren. Her vast heart gave a flutter, as if something, far, far away were reaching out with magic to caress the great muscle. The feeling made her twitch and a growl flowed from her maw like liquid fire.

A shape darker than the shadows themselves slipped towards her, the matte black scales of a second dragon blending into nothing. Teesa suddenly found herself staring into a pair of massive eyes, glowing dimly red, their light just enough to show the crown of horns and the faint curve of fangs peeking from the upper jaw, all the same matte black. The crimson dragon hissed in surprise, tail lashing violently before she realized who stood before her.

"Tkora, please. Do you wish to give me heart pains?"

The great black dragon rumbled softly, and Teesa bristled when she realized the other was laughing at her. "Child, you give yourself heart pains with all of your worries." Shifting her massive bulk, the eldest of the dragons sprawled in the soft white sands spilling from the Egg Warren, turning her burning gaze towards the western horizon.

Sniffing daintily, the crimson dragon sat beside her mentor. She followed the other's gaze. "All of my worries . . . Bah. You feel these worries tonight, do you not, great mother? You feel the silence . . . "

Tkora's tail flipped once in agreement. The younger female was right; she not only heard the silence: her ancient bones could feel it down to their marrow. It was as if the land held its breath, preparing for a mighty blow. The feeling sent a very visible shiver down her massive body.

"I feel you are right, child. It is a calm before a storm," the great black dragon murmured, her nervousness sending tiny licks of blue energy dancing around her claws. Teesa's eyes were drawn to the little bolts of power, and she felt her own worry claw at her.

Tkora was the largest dragon in the land. She had lived for centuries, borne dozens of young. Hers was a magic more powerful than any other black dragon alive, and she held all that massive power with such restraint and control that few ever witnessed it. For that power to dance free now meant that Tkora was more worried than her glowing eye betrayed.

Fearful even.

Swallowing her own sudden, panicky fear, Teesa spun and disappeared into the Warren, kicking up sand as she did. The scent of her nest carried her past the other mothers, their gentle rumblings a comfort to her senses. If they could still sleep, maybe her worries had no founding other than those of a first-time mother.

Finding her own nest, she purred, sending a blast of warm breath over the circle of seven eggs. The leathery shells glittered like the finest gold, some lighter, many darker, as if tarnished. Curling her body around the nest, the crimson mother took comfort in the feel of the cave wall at her back.

The Warren was very deep, filled with the purest sand, and she had been lucky in procuring the deepest space for her own. Being so far beneath the earth gave her comfort, as it did her green-scaled kin. However, no green mothers had taken the mating this year, and the others were not so content to wallow in the clutches of the earth. The two blue mothers and Tkora had placed their own nests as near the entrance as possible, crowding each other.

Heaving a sigh that sent a wash of sand into the air, Teesa wrestled her childish worries aside and slipped into the anxious sleep of an expectant mother.

~~~~~~~

Malak shivered in delight as the realization of his long quest neared fruition. The Shattered, a dozen of the most powerful beings to live on this wretched world, circled the immense stone tablet, its edges crumbling with age. It had taken him far too long to find and train them, but now, his patience would be rewarded.

They murmured words of power, of magic, impossible syllables falling from their lips. Sickly green light shimmered around their bodies, gathering in intensity as the words grew louder and more feverish. The Shattered proved more powerful than he had imagined, yet the man narrowed his eyes when the green light suddenly flickered, reminding him of a flame weakened by a light wind rather than strengthened by it.

Frowning, Malak rubbed his hands along his arms as something unseen crawled across his flesh, tickling at his own power. The air above the tablet seemed to pulse as the Shattered finished the first stanza of the spell, and the tang of ozone and rot filled the Walker’s nostrils. His familiar shifted nervously behind him, the minor demon, if it could even be called that, chittering to itself in its own, foul language. He had unfortunately acquired it on Rhek, but the creature had proved mildly useful, and so he had kept it.

The pitch of the combined voices suddenly changed, twisting until the language was the same as that of the little demon hiding amongst the folds of his cloak. All at once, the twelve voices coalesced into one voice, but it held an echoing quality. The one voice, yet many, gathered in Malak's ears, and if he had not prepared himself for this moment, he suspected The Shattered’s words would have driven him mad.

Another shiver of anticipation shimmied up his spine, distracting him. For centuries, he had been trapped on this foul planet, hiding away from the one who had barred his doorway between the planes. Demth, the unexpected protector of this world, had not taken kindly to his intrusion, nor his intents. As a Walker, Malak held the power to travel between planes and take what he wanted from the magic of whatever worlds he landed upon. Few of his species existed, and his true purpose, why he held such abilities, was unknown even to him, but he enjoyed his existence, reveling in the power and freedom. Already he had travelled hundreds of worlds, and his power had been great.

However, his luck in world choice had run out when he’d landed on Rhek, a planet infested by evil magic in a way that covered the land like a disease. The creatures there could only be described as demons, bloodthirsty and intent only on spreading their dread infection.

Malak had barely escaped with his life to this lush world, the world of Andema, but the doorway he had created between worlds refused to close. The infection had followed him through, effectively blocking the doorway.            

It was then that he first encountered Demth. The god, for that was the only way the being could be described, had moved with a swiftness that astounded him, sensing the intrusion almost immediately. Ethereal in his presence, Demth confronted Malak, charging him with a crime most severe; allowing an entity of another planet into a world where it did not belong. As a Walker, Malak knew the crimes his species could never commit, and he had taken great care never to commit them.

Until that day.

However, his crime had been an accident, and he had nearly begged Demth to believe him. The god was stronger, and Malak had sensed it, fearing the retribution. Yet, he held true to his conviction and had claimed his innocence. The god held strong. Biased as he was in his accusations, being the protector of Andema and fearing the evil he felt leaking through the Walker’s doorway, Demth stripped Malak of his world walking powers. Eradicating the swiftly moving infection, the god closed the doorway in the only way he could, using his own essence.

Frowning at the memory, Malak stared at the tablet. The Seal of Demth, an apt name for the lock that kept the doorway between Andema and Rhek closed. For centuries, his freedom had been stripped from him, and his resentment had grown with such intensity, it was nearly its own entity. He had suffered, all from an accident outside of his control.

Yet, Demth had made one mistake. Malak still held his siphoning powers, and all this time, he had casually been stripping the land of its magic, never taking too much at a time to be noticeable. Centuries of amassing such power, however . . . Andema was a rich world when it came to magic.

Voices suddenly hissed in his ears, their sibilance wrapping about his spine and caressing him. Whispered promises of riches and glory, the likes of which had been stolen from him by Demth, entered his mind. All he had to do was destroy the Seal, and Demth would be too preoccupied with the infection to keep his concentration on containing Malak’s Walker powers. 

The final and third stanza of the spell broke through the whisperings, and Malak suddenly felt suffocated; the air seemed as thick as oil, filling his lungs with filth and stealing his breath. The Shattered had disappeared amidst their power, the noxious green light so vibrant Malak had to shield his eyes. Though they recited the words unfailingly, their once calm voices now held pain and fear, as if great claws ripped into them deeper and deeper with each syllable.

The little demon squealed in terror, its claws digging into the Walker’s calf. Snarling a curse, he kicked at the foul beast and it disappeared with a small pop, leaving nothing but its rank scent behind. In the same instant, a great wind whipped around the Shattered and a deep, ominous rumble shook the ground so violently, Malak lost his balance.

"M'esh'on, M'esh'on, Rrak in Ourra. M'esh Rrak thresk. M'ESH'ON, M'ESH'ON IN OURRA DSHA!"

Staring at the Seal with fevered intensity, the Malak licked his lips as the last phrase fell from the mouths of the suffering men and woman, and he watched as the world exploded.

~~~~~

Jā, ne!

Is Your Muse A Jackass? Cuz Mine Is.

So, if you haven't already gathered, I like to write about stuff. Real life, not so much until recently. But fiction? Hell yes. I am a huge dragon, werewolf, and vampire fan, and it is something that I would like to try my hand at in a more professional sense. Yes, yes, I want to be an author. No, I do not want to write crap like Twilight. 


By the way? Hate Twilight. Don't even get me started. At all. I will win. 


Anyway...If anything, I would focus my story writing on dragons, and that's what I tend to do. I do have a more supernatural-ish story in the works, but it has a long way to go, since it started as a 7 page short story for my junior year creative writing class. 


Dragons are just something that flows naturally through my thought processes. If ever there was someone who wanted dragons to be real and in my bedroom right now sleeping next to my cat, it would be me. Sooooo me. 


Now, in high school, I had story ideas coming out my ears. My creative juices were flowing hardcore, and due to that, I have an entire bin full of notebooks that my friends and I passed back and forth between classes. We wrote our own story, basically roleplaying the whole thing into existence. It is amazing, and someday, I will type it out. Bad junior high style and all. 


But now? The stresses of becoming an adult have seriously sent my muse packing, and my ideas are suddenly not there. A giant barricade went up around the creative part of my brain, and only a dedicated amount of pick-axing can even dent this mental wall. Sometimes, I get lucky and strike gold, but other times, my writing stagnates and I sit here, feeling worthless. 


The only thing that really gets me going is support from my real mom, but unfortunately, her praises sometimes aren't enough. Well, most times they aren't enough. I live and breathe praise and positive criticism, which is somewhat sad to me. I constantly need someone to tell me, "Hey, when are you gonna write some more? I can't wait to read it!"

This gets me motivated. Knowing someone is out there, waiting for me to spew more pretty word vomit in story format, gets me going. I blame most of this on my muse. Truly. His name is Kylar, and I thoroughly believe that he is the one making my life miserable when it comes to writing. I pissed him off at some point, and now he's rebelling. 


Someone of you are probably reading this and think I'm off my rocker, but those of you who write will know what I mean. Oi vey. 


Anyway. I'm going to continue with this whole story posting thing, and see what kind of reaction I get from it. The blurb from the other day is something that randomly came to mind, but other things that I will be posting are an established story that I have been working on since high school. It is my baby, and has gone through many reformations. So, I hope to journey with all of you in the creation of it.


Jā, ne!

102 Degrees and I Feel Like Sharing a Story

We gave in. Mother nature is playing pin the tail on the donkey with her calendar and filling a nice June day with 102 degrees of nasty, humid heat. The A/C is currently fighting to fill our wee apartment with cool air, but it is struggling. I have faith in it, but right now, I'm about ready to set up camp in the pool and never leave. 


Ever. 


Anway. I played WoW last night, but it makes my computer run so hot that I couldn't stay on for long. I need new fans for The Beast, but I'm some kind of lazy, I don't know... So after shutting down my comp, I brought out my trusty(except not trusty because when Cataclysm came out I couldn't play WoW on it anymore UGH) laptop and fired up my melting muse, molding it into something usable. 


It kicked out this, and I decided to share it. It's a little long, but I'm not mean enough to cut it out halfway through. I will explain more about my stories down the road, but for right now, read and comment. Comments are my crack. Literally. Raaaawr.


By the way: this story is my property. Trust me, do not try to steal my random babblings...

~~~~

A look passed between them, three heads nodding in agreement. A quiet, slow breath escaped, too low for the buck to hear. Lifting the bow, Kiasha sighted down her arm, the string pulled taught. Her people, the Syndai, were adept hunters and the trials of the forest proved to be child’s play to them, though her good friends, both half-breeds and neither of them having Syndai blood, had never disappointed her.

They would eat well tonight, she mused, breathing deeply. On her second exhale, she loosed the arrow, the string twanging sharply in the quiet forest. But somehow, the buck sensed them. Its ears twitched milliseconds before the shot, and its legs were already bunching. The powerful creature leapt, just barely missing the deadly shot.            

The race was on.

Though the massive trees vied for space, some trunks nearly growing into each other, the buck found the best trail between them that allowed for the width of its impressive antlers, moving fast enough to denote a path remembered. The three hunters moved just as fast, darting like shadows behind their prey. Kiasha led them, the bow over her shoulder. A dagger between her fingers was her only weapon, but it would be enough, if only she could catch the beast.

A hiss to her right and she jumped on instinct, soaring over the fallen trunk in her path. A smirk to Alarik, and they continued to run, the sound of the buck’s labored breathing now reaching them as it lost its first manic burst of adrenaline. The trees seemed to close in around them more and more, the deer growing uncertain of its path.

They were deep in the southern part of the Blackbough Weald where the trees were thickest, and shadows were a constant companion to the chest high ferns between the trunks. The deer here were adept at moving through the crowded landscape here, but a panicked flight was different than a steady trundle for food, and the creature’s panic was growing.    

Suddenly, it stumbled, catching itself on a wayward root. The error was enough, but Kiasha was denied the killing blow. A dagger not her own flashed, and Vara was there, driving the efficient blade deep into the creature’s throat as she dug her heels in against its momentum. The buck, its fur patterned with dark splotches and stripes, let out an agonized bleat before slumping forward in death.     

“You thief,” Kiasha growled, hands on her hips. The fiery red of her hair shone like blood here, the thick canopy blocking out most of the sun. Sheathing her weapon, she nudged the lifeless form with her bare toes.      

“Not a thief, just faster apparently,” a voice rumbled good-naturedly, and the two women turned to see their final companion step from behind a trunk. Alarik smiled, sheathing his own knife, completely unaware of Kiasha’s glare. He touched the spread of the dead buck’s antlers, whistling. “Good kill, Vara.”

“It was my kill,” the fiery Syndai countered, pulling Vara’s dagger from the beast’s neck and tossing it to her friend, who began meticulously cleaning the blade with grass. The dark-haired woman was a half-breed, having her dregore mother’s black hair, but her father’s pale skin. Adding her piercing turquoise eyes painted a striking visage, one that caught the stares of many in the village.      

“Then why is this not buried in the beast’s neck instead of Vara’s dagger?” Alarik questioned as he tossed Kiasha her clean arrow, a smirk on his lips.

Catching it, Kiasha scowled. “One of you made a noise! I blame it entirely on the two of you. I’ve never missed before when I’m alone.” Stabbing the arrow back into her quiver, she turned and stalked off, leaving them to deal with the carcass.

“I was only teasing,” Alarik called after her, but the trees seemed to swallow his words. A silence had settled over the forest, stopping Kiasha before she went more than ten feet. Her hand settled on her dagger as she looked around, trying to discern what might lay in the shadows of the huge trunks and waist high ferns.

The trees ahead of her exploded in a shower of splinters, sending them all to the dirt as they tried to avoid the tiny spears. A furious roar punctuated the silence, falling away into a hiss that crawled along Kiasha’s spine like a line of ants. She shuddered, lifting her head and locking gazes with a beast of nightmare.

It was a bough cat, but it resembled a rotten corpse more than a living creature. The feline’s mottled fur had sloughed off in places, revealing the shining flesh and shrunken muscle beneath, blood oozing from the open wounds. Every bone stuck out in sharp relief against the flesh that still remained, giving it a cadaverous look. But the spines erupting from its shoulders and back, the skin there nothing but bloody tatters, gave it a demonic appearance.    

The monster roared again, the sound laced with agony. Kiasha couldn’t draw her gaze away from the hollow, pupil-less eyes as it stalked closer, claws tearing at the soil as if it fought itself from charging forward then and there.

Was it…trying to turn away?

Narrowing her eyes, Kiasha followed the movements of its muscles. The beast looked like it was trying to flee even as it moved closer, as if two entities were pulling it in opposite directions. The pain in its gaze made her frown deepen and she drew her dagger, intent on putting it out of its horrendous misery.

“Kiasha, what are you doing?” Vara cried, her hands already raising in preparation for a spell. But Kiasha ignored her friend, ignored Alarik’s hand suddenly on her shoulder. She was a warrior, an honorable one, and there was no honor in letting this creature suffer any longer.

“Kiasha!”

She was already running, intent on her adversary. Even if it looked risen from the dead, the bough cat was fast and it launched itself into the trees, clearly at an advantage. But as Kiasha leapt into the trees herself, the beast seemed to hesitate before its maw opened in a furious feline scream and lunged at her.

The two met, toppling from the branches as Kiasha struggled to keep the creature from ripping her throat out. But wherever she touched, the cat’s skin ripped away, leaving her with little purchase. Her dagger lay useless half a dozen feet away, out of reach unless she could get the heavy creature off.

Their eyes met again as she locked her hands under its jaw and she swore something danced in those yellow orbs, tingeing them red for an instant. Saliva dripped on her cheek, the fetid breath of the creature gagging her as it strove to bite down on her face.

A furious snarl ripped through the air and suddenly the weight of the beast was gone. Alarik pulled her to her feet as they both turned to watch Morbixx, Kiasha’s huge red dragon, fight the creature with a rage unmatched by anything that any of them had ever seen.

“Morbixx, be careful!” she cried, wiping the spittle and blood from her face and hands. The fluids had started to burn her skin, and she sensed that the greatest danger might not be the creature’s claws, but the disease that obviously plagued it. Her dragon fought with a fury she had never seen, but then again, she had never truly been in such danger. Though larger than the bough cat, Morbixx had found a worthy adversary and the two fought like mad beasts, the dragon’s snarls nearly deafening them. The fighters had created a gap in the canopy above as they toppled some of the smaller trees, the trunks crashing into their neighbors. Kiasha watched in awe as her bonded fought to protect her, feeling her already substantial love for him grow.

Mine, we come! Alarik looked up through the gap, spotting two more dragons as they flew swiftly towards them. But as they landed, the fight ended. Morbixx ripped the bough cat’s head from its shoulders with a wet tearing sound, scaly lips pulled back over his fangs in a snarl.

“You will never touch mine again, beast,” he growled, tossing the carcass aside with disdain. His claws were coated in blood, and Kiasha ran to him, ripping up grasses and dirt in an effort to clean the grim from her dragon’s hide.

"We must bathe you, now.”

“Why?” Vara approached, going immediately to her own dragon, whose scales shone in the sunlight like oil. Embrith, nearly as large as Morbixx, wrapped his tail protectively around his bonded as she stood between his clawed hands.

“The creature is diseased. We need to get the thing’s blood off of him.” Frowning, Kiasha ran her hands along Morbixx’s scales, searching for any damage. Relieved at finding nothing, her mind still raced as she worried about the creature’s blood spattered all over him.

“If it is diseased, then I cannot bathe in the lake or rivers. Would that not spread it through the water?” the red dragon asked, his blue eyes worried as he stared down at his bonded as she frowned, realizing he was right. In her panic, she hadn’t thought clearly, and it made her all the more frustrated.

“My scales are starting to itch,” Morbixx murmured, looking back at his flank where a large patch of the creature’s blood coated his hide. Kiasha grew pale.

“I can clean him,” a serene voice offered and everyone turned, nearly forgetting the small blue dragon sitting calmly between her larger counterparts. Her tail swished idly behind her as she looked at them with her golden eyes, nearly half the size of the males. Alarik patted his bonded’s shoulder and felt a surge of pride for the little female dragon.

“A steam bath,” Vara murmured, contemplating it. Embrith snorted and smiled toothily at Morbixx, knowing that the red was not going to enjoy the treatment. Red dragons abhorred any kind of water except enough to keep their thirst at bay, and steam was almost more annoying to them then the coldest lake.

“Please no,” Morbixx pleaded, and Kiasha smiled, finding the sight of her big dragon nearly begging an amusing one.  But she worried for him, and the longer the bough cat’s blood stayed on his scales, the more worried she became. Her own skin still tingled, making her itch. It didn’t burn yet, and she hoped she’d gotten it off fast enough.

“Don’t be a baby, Morbixx. It won’t kill you.”

“It very well might,” he grumbled, bowing his horned head in resignation. Ikayda seemed to enjoy his torment, and she grinned, the frills around her head flaring.

“I will make it as pleasant as possible,” she offered, jumping straight up into the air without further adieu. Being smaller, she easily cleared the treetops with her jump, spreading her wings and hovering just about the leaves. Morbixx had a tougher time, unable to unfurl his scalloped wings. His size made a straight jump nearly impossible from such a cramped space, but after using one of the massive black barked trees as a stepping stone, he launched into the air, flapping his wings frantically to keep from crashing back down into the forest. 

The act merely added to his poor mood, and he glowered at Ikayda as she hovered primly before him.

“Close your eyes,” she said, inhaling sharply. Then she opened her maw wide, exhaling a wall of thick, roiling steam over the red dragon. Only a red could tolerate the burning steam, as their scales were already insulated against any heat, but any other creature would have been boiled alive in the innocent looking cloud. Morbixx merely hissed in annoyance, the feeling of the wet heat making him squirm. It felt unnatural, but he could feel the blood and grime washing away, dissipating with the steam into the cool air. When he opened his eyes again, Ikayda’s eyes held far too much enjoyment at his suffering.

“Never again, Ikayda. I do not care what disgusting thing covers me.”

“We must get the carcass to the village. Tkora will want to examine it,” Vara said as she lifted her hands, a glow spreading around her fingers. Of the three, she was the most adept at magic, even though Alarik’s mother was the strongest spell-caster in the village. However, he had inherited his human father’s talent with a blade, and little of his mother’s Wastelander gifts of magic. But Vara had proved an avid pupil, falling under Alora’s tutelage and expanding her talents. Now, she used her gift to encase the carcass in a block of crystal, head and all. It would be safer to transport this way, and Embrith placed his clawed hands on the shining tomb. As Kiasha climbed the tree to reach her dragon, Ikayda dipping down to collect her own bonded, the black dragon closed his purple eyes and muttered a single word before disappearing into thin air, Vara following.