Hallow

Hallow
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They said that there is a black presence in the Tangled Wood. It seethes with anger, resentment, fear. Those who pass too close are caught in the thrall of its black emotions, and only a supreme act of willpower can free them before the presence leaves of its own accord. But these are not mere travelers’ tales concocted to warn young hatchlings from straying too far from the safety of the nest, for there really is a darkness that haunts the Shadowbinder’s domain, and its name is Hallow. Perhaps Hallow was not always so dark, not that anyone knows. He does not speak to anyone willingly, and those who have heard his voice have heard it out of necessity, only to curiously forget what he ever sounded like the moment the conversation ends. Additionally, he is only ever glimpsed alone. Before joining Clan Dark-Blood, though it might be more accurate to say that he has never truly joined, and has instead taken advantage of their hospitality, he was a drifter and a Guardian, wandering aimlessly through Sornieth. On one hand, he sought his Charge, as all Guardians are wont to do. On the other hand, he simply seemed to stew, growing ever darker in appearance by the day. Piece by piece, adornments slowly began to obscure his features, until only the bright swath of his wings was recognizable, and even that seemed tainted by some ethereal shadow. Clan Dark-Blood has not improved his eerie countenance, though, and the dim lights of the Tangled Wood only make Hallow all the more unnerving. Only three dragons have ever dared approach him as a result. The first was Artifice, a young Nocturne whose only want is vengeance, even to this day. Hallow met her only in passing as she swerved to avoid his sudden, looming form in the dark, spitting a curse his way under her breath. He felt no love for her then, and has felt none since, but it was undeniable that Artifice had satisfied his Search in that very moment. From then on, he has taken great pains to be the shadow at her heels, never revealing himself or drawing too terribly close, but keeping careful watch at a distance so as not to fail the one sacred thing in his universe. Even after becoming a Wildclaw, the urge to protect her still sits like a cold, jagged stone in the center of his ribs, never so comfortable that he forgets it is there.

The second dragon who dared approach him was Truthseeker. It was a single occasion, and what passed between them is ensconced in rumor. Some say that she formally inducted Hallow into Dark-Blood’s ranks, or that she planned some dark, nefarious deed with him that has yet to come to fruition. Hallow will never tell, though, and neither will Truthseeker. Both dragons have their own penchant for secrets which are better kept than exposed, and neither will betray the other without good cause. Whatever conversation they had that night, crouched outside the main tunnel to the clan’s underground lair, it was brief, and it needed no further discussion. The matter remains as settled as it is mysterious, and no one dares press for details.

Finally, there is Clandestine, a dragon aptly named to carry Hallow’s secrets. Like Truthseeker, she will never expose his closest tales, and views his confidence in her as something dreadfully important. It was she who provided him with the magic needed to shed his old form and become a Wildclaw, tapping into resources unknown to wield extraordinary witchcraft. This must be one of the most important events in Hallow’s life, or perhaps he owes the furtive Bogsneak a debt, but since his remarkable transformation, he has been sighted in Clandestine’s company more than once, always listening, never speaking. Their conversations go unheard, muffled by some strange magic no one knows the true source of, and each time, Clandestine resumes her day looking all the more smug and satisfied than before.

But nothing changes in the clan. Hallow is always there, always seated before the tunnels with his dark aspect turned out to the woods. He always vanishes alongside Artifice, fulfilling his duty long after the obligation has truly been a part of him. And he always returns with her, too, resuming his customary post with nary a glance to spare for anyone who might catch him. It does not trouble him that the clan has taken to carving new exits in order to avoid the foul magnetism he exudes. He simply waits. No one knows what for, but Hallow simply waits.

Bio by Tues.








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