The Fall of Ebon (pt. 1)
May 17, 2019 8:29:24 GMT -5
۞ KAT ۞ AKA Red Viper, Xrailax, and 1 more like this
Post by The Onyxwing Brood on May 17, 2019 8:29:24 GMT -5
KaTHOOM.
KaTHOOM.
KaTHOOM.
KaTHOOM.
Then silence.
The Obsidian Sanctum lie in ruin; the guardian of the place long dead, and not dared to be touched due to the seeping evil he exuded. The bodies of... hundreds of whelps lay strewn through the impossibly warm chamber, picked apart by carrion beetle or adventurous avian. Their little bodies were broken, wings torn off on some, others simply decapitated. Gore splattered the ground, even to this day, as entrails lay dry and rotting. Eyes were long picked away, leaving haunting sockets in the skulls whos only crime was being born. The scent of wanton... death hung heavy in this mass grave, even the odor of sulfur was overwhelmed by the sheer decay that littered the Sanctum.
Spires made of ashen limestone and bedrock the same soared above a central island, surrounded with boiling magma, where that guardian once stood, now a baking hulk of once was the egg chambers of the Ebon Dragonflight. He lay right where he fell, albeit now his hoard was barren, and his body cavity exploded from rigormortis and natural body post-mortem rot, leaving a foul thickness in the ashen air that only truly seemed to get worse the closer one moved to this blighted throne. Fields of ash, of brimstone and volcanic rock surrounded the central island on towering cliffsides, making a form of bowl around the throne, but... Xuestra did not bother to tread in what she knew was just more heartbreak. The only reason she was here was to convene with her father, who's wingbeats were barely audible over the horizon.
At this point, the coat of pitch scales served as her "skin", thicker than a coupling of bucklers at its thinnest point, was starting to accumulate on their surface, dulling the stark chrome that was their metallic sheen. Blood-like crimson laced her underbelly and claw, membrane a staunch, dead grey, and the molten, swirling bronze of that slitted, siege-wheel sized optic indicating that she was visibly distraught.
That was if someone could actually see any of her scales.
Entire mines' worth of metal covered Xuestra's form, from snout to her clubbed tail, and even that usually exposed underbelly, form-fitting as to not impede her range of motion, but also to provide maximum coverage of the monstrosity of a dragon. It does help that it is needed, in truth, when you are the size of Westbrook Garrison, and yet still have the speed of a nimble drake, but the literal firepower to down wyrms, if it was ever needed. Were it not the fact that Xuestra was lamenting and seething about the grave she was visiting, she would've smiled at her own prowess, but alas...
...she was in the last stand of the Ebon Dragonflight, during the final moment that dragonkin would see their usefulness fade away.
All because of mortal incompetence, and extravagant arrogance. Arrogance that lead to the immense suffering of Ebons as they watched in pained silence, watched as their entire brood was torn apart by the maddness of the Old Ones, while other flights prospered. She shook her head, narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, as her helmeted skull peered behind her to the entry portal with utter disdain.
Alexstrasza ordered the execution of Malygos, and demanded the slaughter of Neltharion.
Alexstrasza was the cause of this ruination.
Alexstrasza was to blame for the current state of dragon-kind.
And she will SUFFER as we did.
KaTHOOM.
KaTHOOM.
KaTHOOM.
Then silence.
The Obsidian Sanctum lie in ruin; the guardian of the place long dead, and not dared to be touched due to the seeping evil he exuded. The bodies of... hundreds of whelps lay strewn through the impossibly warm chamber, picked apart by carrion beetle or adventurous avian. Their little bodies were broken, wings torn off on some, others simply decapitated. Gore splattered the ground, even to this day, as entrails lay dry and rotting. Eyes were long picked away, leaving haunting sockets in the skulls whos only crime was being born. The scent of wanton... death hung heavy in this mass grave, even the odor of sulfur was overwhelmed by the sheer decay that littered the Sanctum.
Spires made of ashen limestone and bedrock the same soared above a central island, surrounded with boiling magma, where that guardian once stood, now a baking hulk of once was the egg chambers of the Ebon Dragonflight. He lay right where he fell, albeit now his hoard was barren, and his body cavity exploded from rigormortis and natural body post-mortem rot, leaving a foul thickness in the ashen air that only truly seemed to get worse the closer one moved to this blighted throne. Fields of ash, of brimstone and volcanic rock surrounded the central island on towering cliffsides, making a form of bowl around the throne, but... Xuestra did not bother to tread in what she knew was just more heartbreak. The only reason she was here was to convene with her father, who's wingbeats were barely audible over the horizon.
At this point, the coat of pitch scales served as her "skin", thicker than a coupling of bucklers at its thinnest point, was starting to accumulate on their surface, dulling the stark chrome that was their metallic sheen. Blood-like crimson laced her underbelly and claw, membrane a staunch, dead grey, and the molten, swirling bronze of that slitted, siege-wheel sized optic indicating that she was visibly distraught.
That was if someone could actually see any of her scales.
Entire mines' worth of metal covered Xuestra's form, from snout to her clubbed tail, and even that usually exposed underbelly, form-fitting as to not impede her range of motion, but also to provide maximum coverage of the monstrosity of a dragon. It does help that it is needed, in truth, when you are the size of Westbrook Garrison, and yet still have the speed of a nimble drake, but the literal firepower to down wyrms, if it was ever needed. Were it not the fact that Xuestra was lamenting and seething about the grave she was visiting, she would've smiled at her own prowess, but alas...
...she was in the last stand of the Ebon Dragonflight, during the final moment that dragonkin would see their usefulness fade away.
All because of mortal incompetence, and extravagant arrogance. Arrogance that lead to the immense suffering of Ebons as they watched in pained silence, watched as their entire brood was torn apart by the maddness of the Old Ones, while other flights prospered. She shook her head, narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, as her helmeted skull peered behind her to the entry portal with utter disdain.
Alexstrasza ordered the execution of Malygos, and demanded the slaughter of Neltharion.
Alexstrasza was the cause of this ruination.
Alexstrasza was to blame for the current state of dragon-kind.
And she will SUFFER as we did.
Founded April 26, 2005