Nairu
(#40774418)
Level 1 Guardian
Familiar
Snarling Mimic
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Guardian
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
15.25 m
Wingspan
12.92 m
Weight
11271.66 kg
Genetics
Algae
Jaguar
Jaguar
Abyss
Shimmer
Shimmer
Abyss
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Guardian
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
NOT FOR SALE, TRADE, OR LENDING
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Nairu
{ NY - ru } Ship's Guard ♦ purchased from Mires Hatchery 
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ Deaf to All but the Song (written by Disillusionist) ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ |
It was a genetic blip that felled him: A disease that all Plague Guardians should have been immune to lodged itself in him. The change was astonishing; in only a few weeks he went from a strong warrior to a huge, shambling wreck nearly dragging his head in the sand, a hulk looking for a shore to smash itself against. Through bleary eyes he beheld his clanmates, how the admiration in their faces changed to disdain.
It seemed that he blinked one afternoon — the clan was around him, preparing to uproot their campsite for the next day's travel, and then suddenly they were on the horizon, moving steadily towards the west. They had left him behind.
Nairu struggled to his feet. He tried to keep his clan in sight even as he stumbled after them, but it was too late; they were mere specks in the distance, and they were too fast for him to catch up to. His lungs were still strong, and he cried out to them, roaring in the vast voice that had given him his name.
They didn't turn back, of course. Why turn back for a weak clanmate's cry, when even lightning strikes and sandstorms hadn’t stopped them? “Roaring weather beast” indeed!
Nairu ground his teeth. It had been foolish, but he had hoped that his clan would at least stay long enough to help him accomplish one thing: locating and securing his Charge.
Nairu had hidden his disease for as long as he could. The urge to Search had come upon him during this time, and he had been torn between striking out on his own, knowing that he probably would not make it, and concealing his illness and traveling together with his clan. Being accompanied would restrict his wanderings, but at least he would be guaranteed meals and shelter every day, and perhaps it would slow the progress of his disease. So he had chosen the latter.
And a fat lot of good it had done him. He was now alone, and his illness was worse than ever. He would have to complete his Search by himself — or die trying.
Death was something Nairu gave much thought to as he struggled through the Wasteland — death, and of course, his Search. The Search was all that mattered now. His red eyes burned with resolve as he scanned the scarlet desolation.
And then his ear frills quivered. He heard voices... "This dirty Plague rat," one of them jeered. Nairu's eyes narrowed, and he turned towards the sound.
In those days, it was considered unwise for dragons to settle near the borders of their lands, for struggles over resources were fierce, and encounters with drakes from other Flights could get ugly. Water dragons — pirates, travelers, or mutineers? Nairu couldn't tell. They'd come ashore, probably in search of food, but instead had come across a lone Plagueling, an aged Skydancer. The old dragoness' face was tight with pain, and she looked as if she'd been struggling for a while.
A huge Imperial was pinning her down, holding her in place with one great paw. His gang crowded around him, jeering at the Skydancer, blue eyes gleaming with hate. “Filthy Plague rats, dirtying our shores!” one Wildclaw snarled. She jabbed a harpoon at their captive, threatening to poke out her eye. “What shall we pluck out next, lads and ladies? More feathers? Some scales? An eye?”
Nairu approached from the west. He came over the rise just as the sun was setting, and it stretched long red fingers over the sand, cast him into darkness. Before the other dragons could answer the Wildclaw, his shadow fell over them, and they turned, startled, and shuddered when they saw his smoldering red eyes.
“It’s a Guardian....She has a Guardian?!” As Nairu stepped over the crest of the hill, they gasped and swore in horror. The damage wrought by his disease was visible now, weeping sores pitting his limbs and belly, twisted lesions chasing over his mottled hide. He approached, wheezing horribly. To the intruders standing below him, it sounded like the panting of a slavering beast.
For a disease to reduce this Guardian to a shambling wreck, it must be very virulent indeed! — that was what the Water drakes thought. They had no way of knowing the disease was genetic and not contagious. So much the better — they fled in terror, flapping back across their sea, to vanish into the gathering night.
Nairu stopped near the Skydancer. She got slowly to her feet, using her staff to aid her. When she was standing upright again, she looked at him and said, “Thank you, child.”
Nairu inclined his head. He did not speak.
The Skydancer’s eyes narrowed. She touched her orb gingerly, as if checking if it was still there. And then she looked closely at Nairu, noting his wounds, the overall condition of his body.
“That is a terrible disease you have.” She was a better mind-reader than most — a quick glance at his mind, and she knew she was safe from him. She reached out, patted his cheek with a veined paw. “The night descends, young Guardian. My clan’s lair...well, my lair now...is nearby. Those fools have ransacked it, but it will serve us well.”
The lair was nearby, a long, low construct terraformed from the surrounding stones. It might have housed a small clan once. What few things the previous inhabitants had left behind had been stolen by the Water drakes or smashed upon the floor.
The Skydancer brought him to the common room. She coaxed a fire to life and then sat hunched before the hearth, her ragged wings wrapped around herself. They were still bleeding slightly, but the wounds would heal soon. She was tougher than her age made out.
She continued to gently probe Nairu’s mind. “Abandoned by your clan as well, eh?”
He nodded again, silently. He was not being discourteous; it simply hurt to talk.
The Skydancer sighed. “So it was for me. We Plaguelings, it’s all very well for us to talk about being strong, surviving against all odds, and leaving the wretched and weak behind. Faugh!” She shook her head, her scarlet eyes glinting. “We’re all wretched and weak in our own ways. But worthless? I think not.
“My name is Hautala. I am...was a shaman of this clan, a magic healer.”
Nairu’s jaws champed. It took him some time to speak; his lips were cracked and bleeding. But Hautala waited patiently, and finally he queried, “What was...your fault?”
Her mouth stretched in a humorless smile. “Old age.”
Her story was much like Nairu’s: She’d known the end was near. With her sixth sense, she was able to read her clanmates’ emotions, feel how their high regard for her slowly withered to contempt. There were whispers that the clan was to be uprooted, for their population was expanding. When the clan leaders began meeting to discuss their options, Hautala was not asked to join their conferences.
“I fell asleep while I was tending the fire. When I awoke next dawn, the fire had gone out, but no one had bothered to re-light it. They were moving around me as if I wasn’t there, making ready to leave.”
“Didn’t you say something?” Nairu asked. His throat still ached from calling out to his clan.
“Huh. Why bother? They wouldn’t have stayed.” Hautala tapped her orb and shrugged in dismissal. “They went away that day. By the time the sun cleared the horizon, they had gone. I lit the fire again, of course.” She said it as though it was the most natural thing. And, Nairu realized, it was: “After all, I was still here.”
Outside, the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The darkness was complete. The fire still had not fully awakened, and it cast a sullen glow throughout the room. Hautala’s eyes burned like hot coals as she looked at Nairu. “Where are you headed, child?”
“I am looking for my Charge.”
He’d known it the moment he’d clapped eyes on her: Hautala was not his Charge. She might become a friend, in time, but his Charge...They were still out there. Nairu was glad to have shelter, but soon he would have to leave again — if he could.
Hautala considered his reply. She stirred up the fire again, and the room became brighter and warmer. Nairu began to yawn.
“Rest on it awhile, Nairu. It’s been a long day. Tomorrow morning, we can see where we’ll go from here.”
They didn’t discuss it formally; it was just something that fell into place in their minds. The next day, Hautala hobbled through the lair. She found some supplies that had not been spoiled, scraped them together into a meager bundle. From outside, she gathered ingredients for medicines, icky-smelling syrups which she smeared on Nairu’s hide or poured down his throat. While the Guardian ate what food he could scrape up, Hautala finally doused the fire. Smoke rose from the lair in a gray plume as the two of them set out towards the sunrise.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Why did you help me?” the old dragoness retorted. “Hah. Perhaps it is because you are weak and so am I. And we both know it.”
“Umm.” Nairu grunted, nodded in agreement.
They continued walking. When the heat began to get oppressive, they rested in the shade of a rock outcrop. Hautala smoothed out the dust and sketched a rough map of the Plague/Water border. “The disease is encroaching quickly upon your senses. You fear it will not be long before it overtakes you and you’ll be unable to continue your Search. So you want to find your Charge, at least, before you die?”
In his healthier days, Nairu would’ve been angered at this stranger reading his mind. As it was now, however, he was just glad he didn’t have to explain things to her.
Hautala smiled faintly. And she began to tell another story.
“I have lived many long years....Some might say too long. The bodily processes that keep us alive, digestion and breathing and so on...What is death but a cessation of these things?
“When I was a child, my clan lived on the shores of the Tidelord’s Sea. A great Imperial rose from the mud flats one day, showering water and filth. She had been buried for so long that corals and barnacles had begun to grow upon her scales....She claimed she was several thousand years old.”
Nairu scoffed at this. Imperials had unpredictable lifespans, but surely even they didn’t live so long.
Hautala took no offense at his disbelief — “My clan felt the same way. We guessed that she had been buried by hostile magic; still, anybody who could survive such an immersion was worthy of Plague’s respect. Despite her bright blue eyes, we took her into our clan. She declared she was a magician, a practitioner of esoteric arts.
“I became one of her students. I trained under her for many, many years. I learned much from her during that time.”
“Including a spell to extend lifespans?” Nairu asked. He was skeptical...but also hopeful. Hautala grinned toothily, but didn’t reply.
Days later, they stood where the borders of Plague, Shadow, and Water joined. The Plaguelands sloped sharply into the sea, red earth turning to viscous black mud. The whole place stank of brine, of things that had died and rotted here after being battered by the waves.
“Now what?” Nairu asked. Hautala looked wryly at him. “We find shelter. Afterwards, I can get things ready.”
They eventually found a cave in the nearby cliffs. It was shallow and cramped, and Hautala wrinkled her snout at it but did not complain. She had already started working, grinding various odious ingredients and murmuring to herself.
Nairu hunkered in the back of the cave. He had lost much of his strength over the past few days and knew that if Hautala’s plan — whatever it was — failed, then that would be the end of it. As he closed his eyes, he felt a chill breeze move over his face.
The breeze was a prelude to a terrific storm. That night, rogue winds rolled in, stirring the sea into foaming chaos, waves smashing the shoreline again and again. The dragons in their cave were thoroughly drenched by the rain. The noise kept Nairu awake for most of the night; strangely, Hautala slept right through it.
When Nairu opened his eyes the next day, it was to a curdled-looking, gray-gold dawn. The air was heavy, humid, like the breath of some great beast. There was a similar sense of anticipation about it, too.
Hautala had already gone, but Nairu could hear her muttering, and he followed it to the shore. It had been swept clean by the storm and the receding tide. An expanse of black mud flats had been bared to the tepid air.
He didn’t know how she’d done it, but Hautala had excavated a shallow depression in the mud, large enough for him to curl up in. She was seated beside it, sorting out ropes of deep green seaweed. They shone oddly in the light, almost glittering, like flecks of mica in granite and sand. Lined up with the ropes were jars and bowls of pungent-smelling substances.
“What happens now, old one?”
“You’ll go to sleep for a while,” she responded. She held up a strand of seaweed, stretched it, nodded approvingly when it did not snap.
“The spell I have in mind is not one that grants immortality,” she added with a snort, “just so you know.”
Nairu nodded. He tried not to let his disappointment and apprehension show on his face.
“Instead, it is one of preservation. Those bodily processes I spoke of days ago — when they cease, death occurs. In most cases. Now, what do you think happens when those processes cease temporarily? When they are put on hold, as it were.”
Nairu blinked. He queried, “Is such a thing possible?” But even as he spoke, he remembered Hautala’s story of a great Imperial rising from a wave-battered shore. Thousands of years old...on this very shore?
The shaman put down the last of the ropes. She gestured to the depression with her staff. “Get in.”
Nairu lay down in the bowl. The mud was warm, and so fine that it felt almost silky. It squished pleasantly against his scales. Most dragons would have cringed at the salt getting into open wounds, but Nairu had felt worse before. The pain felt almost like an itch to him by now.
Hautala began to sing under her breath, her voice rising and falling in strange cadences. It was discordant and would have kept Nairu awake, but she began to shake her staff, and the gourds fastened to it rustled like falling rain. A cool breeze began to blow, easing his pain further. His red eyes closed, and he did not feel as Hautala picked up a jar and began pouring the first of the unguents onto his hide.
The sun was low when he awoke again. The sky overhead was murky orange, and the air had turned cold. He could hear the waves; the tide was coming in. He was half-buried in the black mud.
Hautala had stopped singing. She was crouched right beside him now, wrapping his limbs in those ropes of seaweed.
“How long...until...awake?” Nairu whispered hoarsely. He was not restrained, but he could barely move. His illness and the exertions of the past few days...They were now demanding their toll.
“Until your Charge is near to you, near enough that you will surely find them. Do not fret, child. Magic is often wiser than those who study it. The magic knows.”
He was almost entirely covered in seaweed. He didn’t notice that it was actually shining, its glow pulsing in tandem with his breaths. He blinked up at Hautala with eyes that saw only blurry shapes now. “You. What will...happen...?”
His ears were still good. He heard her wry, creaking laugh. “I am Plagueborn, boy. I was a proven and tested survivor even when your parents were still stars in the sky. I can take care of myself — I appreciate your concern, however.”
“Hautala? Your teacher, the Imperial...Did she...die?”
She laughed again, and tied the last knot. Seaweed folded together over his eyes, hiding the world from view, and then his consciousness, too, sank into darkness as the glow began to fade.
Soon, the tide came in. Seawater rushing over the ground, pushing a blanket of mud before it...Its approach sounded like the hiss of Hautala’s staff...or falling rain.... “Sleep, Nairu,” he seemed to hear her say, over the susurrus of waves or rattling gourds or rainfall, he no longer knew which. “Go to sleep...Nairu...”
Nairu...Nairu...NAIRU!
Roaring weather beast! That was his name, and indeed, he was being called by roaring weather! A storm sweeping through Sornieth’s waters, battering shorelines and dumping gallons of saltwater and rain. And winds, shrieking and howling, tearing across the sky...
Calling out into the darkness. Finally, Nairu awoke.
The mud flats boiled like a cauldron as the great Guardian heaved his limbs. He struggled like a hatchling breaking free of its shell, peeling away from the ground with a tremendous ripping noise. The rain sloughed the mud from his face, and finally he opened his bright red eyes.
It had been a long time, he could not be sure how long. But the old shaman had told him that magic would know when his Charge was within his grasp, that the magic would awaken him again. And so it had. He could still hear them....A tempest unleashed, calling out for something it had lost, but knew would forever be denied to them. “Then perhaps I might fill that void....”
The Guardian hauled himself out of the mud flats and stepped onto solid land. He swung his head towards the Tangled Wood. He had never been there before and knew nothing about what lay within, but the voice was calling from that direction. So there he would go.
He did not notice when the storm finally died down, some hours later. It was the voice he was looking for, that distant song. It had dropped to a murmur, just on the edge of his hearing, yet it was as clear to him as a lighthouse shining on the horizon. He traveled towards it unerringly, vigorously.
His time beneath the mud flats had changed him. The ropes of weeds had grown into him and then extended roots into the ground, nourishing him as he’d slept. Salt water had eaten into his wounds, scoured away infection. They now began healing in the open air, turning into round, dark scars. He was not as strong as he had been before the disease had struck, but he was very nearly there again. And, unable to combat such long-lasting magic, the disease itself had finally gone.
Shadow-dwellers spied him, this huge beast of mottled green, ropes of seaweed tangled around his body. They would have stopped him, but a Guardian alone, traveling with such resolution...They recognized the look in his eyes. They let him pass, and he reached the northeast shore of the Tangled Wood without incident. He plunged into the water, and he swam.
The voice was nearly gone, but the water magnified it. Nairu couldn’t pinpoint which direction it was from, though. It seemed to be everywhere. Nevertheless, he continued Searching, as he had done before going into slumber. He had heard his Charge; he would certainly find them. All that stood between him and them was time.
It didn’t take him long, only a few weeks. It was a cloudy day, and the merchant galleon Exaudi was following the Sunbeam Ruins’ northeast coast, preparing to turn towards the Gladekeeper’s lands. Just as she swung to starboard, the lookout shouted a warning.
“Something big, erm...to port...there’s something approaching the port side!” the Snapper bellowed. He leaped from his perch in a swirl of Wind magic as the Captain rallied the crew.
They were ready with their weapons when Nairu came aboard, flapping with his great, dark wings. His landing made the deck shudder — some of the sailors shuddered, too.
The Captain was not one of them. She took one look at the Guardian and then gestured for her crew to stay their hands. The look on this Guardian’s face...She’d seen it on her own Guardian as well, years ago when they’d first met.
“Welcome aboard...Searcher,” she greeted him. “Forgive our display of weaponry; these waters are not always safe. What is your reason for boarding our ship?”
Nairu spoke. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but it was no longer the pathetic wheeze he’d had when he’d first been buried. It was low and resonant, like a building storm: “I am Searching for my Charge.”
“And you think they may be aboard? I have a fair-sized crew. Your Charge may be among them. Very well, you may inspect us and our ship.”
On hearing this, the crew tried to relax. The Guardian was clearly formidable, and any one of them would be pleased to have a loyal protector at their side. A few were wary of Nairu, and they tried not to turn away from him as he peered into their faces with piercing eyes.
He moved slowly through the ship, inspecting passengers and artifacts. His gaze swept over them like a quick-traveling breeze. The Captain, who’d introduced herself as Mara, accompanied him, answering his questions. When they were in the belly of the ship and there was nothing and no one left, Nairu’s head slumped in defeat.
“But they are here,” he protested tiredly. The Captain had been weighing her options very, very carefully. When she spoke, it was with some hesitation: “There is...one more room. And one more crew member.”
Nairu followed her gaze. She was looking at a door. It was sheathed in metal that gleamed with a peculiar sheen. Strange symbols had been etched into its surface: magical locks.
“You are keeping something in there.”
“No. The occupant is free to come and go as she pleases. She merely chooses not to. The locks are for the safety of others.” She looked squarely at Nairu. “They are to keep others out.”
She pressed a claw to one symbol, and from the other side, something turned with a slow, heavy clunk. The door creaked open.
It was dark inside. It smelled like the sea — not dank brine, but cold and heavy, the scent of mud, of fallen things that had decayed deep within it. To most dragons it was a hideous reek, but to Nairu, it was familiar, comforting.
Light came from a single porthole and lamps fastened to the walls. Bolted to the far wall was a curious bed, like a giant open clamshell. It was draped with pale canvas and hemp that formed a sort of tent; sitting among the leather cushions was a curious being. She had the general shape of a Pearlcatcher, but instead of smooth hide, she was covered in overlapping scales. They were darkly iridescent, reflecting glints of silver and gold. A pair of ribbed wings arched behind her back; three more pairs trailed below them, hanging slimy and limp against her sides. There was already a pool of mucus on the leather-covered mattress; it was beginning to spill onto the floor.
She had no pearl. Instead, she cradled an orb made of crystal. It glowed, pulsing in sync with its holder’s quiet singing.
“Why have we stopped?” she queried suddenly. Her voice was soft and high, with a strange timbre — like a fast-flowing rill or the tinkling of bells.
The Captain raised a paw. “Zelamar, a...passenger has come aboard. He is Nairu, a Guardian looking for his Charge.”
And then she turned to look at him. “Nairu, this is Zelamar, our...ahem, aeromancer. Perhaps she is...whom you seek?”
Nairu’s eyes had been fixed on Zelamar from the moment he entered the room. From the cracked antlers crowning her head to her dark-scaled, webbed feet, he looked at her, and her image filled his mind, slotted neatly into the void that had been there since the Search had summoned him. He had found his Charge.
“I heard your voice crying into the darkness,” he said. The Captain was completely forgotten now; she receded into the background, waiting just beyond the doorway. Nairu continued, “Many nights ago, when a storm broke over the land, I heard your voice calling out my name.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged negligently. “I call out to many people.”
For the first time, she locked gazes with him. Her eyes were pale green, unnaturally bright, startling in the dimness. “Nairu. What a strong-sounding name.” She beckoned him closer. She was starting to smile now, her eyes beginning to shine with that pale light, like a deep-sea creature from within the abyss.
Captain Mara, who had been listening, finally closed the door. She left it unlocked — though she had a feeling neither occupant would exit the room for some time. As she returned topside, she considered this strange new development. Something told her Nairu would be all right....Well, they could examine the matter later. She began giving orders to her crew, and the Exaudi resumed its journey towards the Viridian Labyrinth.
~ The End
Credits & Notes:
• Coding by me, dividers by PoisonedPaper.
• Nairu's name is from nā’iru, "roaring weather beast".
• Story title is from a Touhou game music track, but Nairu or any of the others are not fandragons; I just like the song title.
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