Centhwevir

m| m| kg 58.59 ft|50.03 ft|27,903 lbs/13.95 T The Bedrock. The Foundation. The Founder of the Clan at the Eye of the Storm. The Father of many with Exquisite and Rare Colors. Column Font From Font Meme Banner art by AngHuiQing Banner dividers by Georgianna Flight flags by Oseim Journal Entries In the Beginning

Centhwevir Guidespeaker and Chooser of Paths Born in the month of Germination The Hunter & Gatherer Personality in a Nutshell / TROPE TITLE He looks at me mutely, remembering when he was able to think, but not able to remember what he thought about. He looks at me as though he wants to understand, as though he remembers understanding. It hurts to see it. But I had no choice. I used him, I learned from him. But I still resent the day I had to take his Mind from him, his Intellect. I regret the day I had to turn him into the Mountain, his once-soft hide hardened for Defense, his muscles hewn and bulging for Strength. When I clasped the iron cuffs around his tail, I tried to save the little bit of softness I knew was still there and wrapped a cloth beneath them to try to keep at least one part of him from being roughened. I know the other dragons in my care see us together, and must have their misconceptions. That we plan and connive. I wish that were true. The truth is we sit together, and I remember the conversations we used to have. Place Breeding Card Here | http://keelanrosa.com/fr/ I had no words then, in the shapeless nothing, but I do remember, so now I give the nothing words and in words I give them shape. The first thing I saw, when I woke to myself, was a whirling sphere of dust and air, glinting and glittering in the dawn light. It trailed filaments like spider’s silk and motes of tangled grass around itself, a center where it seemed thicker, a denser, shiny heaviness of air. We were alone together in a vast expanse of grass, the stalks and blades whispered as they rubbed together around us, the sky above was a glossy blue bowl.

I lay crouched on a bed of crushed grass, the scent surrounding us was of pepper and lemon. A hint of something massive and seafoam and serpentine spiraled in a complicated pattern in the corner of my eye as I pushed myself up. It blew away like smoke when I turned to look, as though it felt my gaze.


My Charge flickered and cast a tendril, as insubstantial as a breeze, towards me. I bent my forearm and I bowed my head to it's touch. My soul sang in recognition of it's other half, and in that moment of touch…. It is a shapeless nothing, to know one's Charge, so is peace, for that matter. In that touch I knew a peace I did not know I had longed for, a knot I had not known was in my soul loosened at that caress. I was complete.



After a time, a small eternity maybe? I was aware of a breath in my ear. Of a tickle of air pushed by will alone. Of a small voice trying to talk to me.


I did not have words then, but I tried to search my thoughts, I knew the names of things around me, but I had none for myself. My silence seemed to be answer enough.




"Who are you?" I asked my Charge. Days or weeks or moments later.


"And what is your second task?"

"Then I will serve you," I said, and bowed again, "in whatever way you require."


We roamed together across the green sea, as I stretched and reveled and knew myself. I learned the strength of my flight and force of my Breath, the liquid power of my Roar. My Charge was insubstantial and invisible, yet I sensed it always. It flowed across me like a blanket, coiled into a sphere with pin-prickle feet as it rolled down my back and across the tips of my wings, glittering like a thousand faint fireflies at dawn. It guided me through the belly-high grasses as we walked, beneath the clear indigo roof of the sky. And we looked for some place to found this thing called a Clan, but though the bamboo reeds were easily parted and the earth below was soft, it was still wrong for us. But still, for the second part of the first task, a Clan needed a home.

We spoke little in those early days, after our first meeting, because we did not need to.

And eventually we chose a space, windswept and rippling, with crests of rock and stands of grass as high as my eye, and in it I wove my bower and brace. My Charge rested, in as much as it could rest, against my brow and we spoke of faint things, of half remembered things, of the birth of the world, the gleaming cities of the age of engines and the currents of Wind, of duties and of the fleeting lives of mayflies.



The first thing, was when She arrived over the crest of a hill.

I noticed her at once, her body lean and hard and the color of unearthed stones. Her wings were aqua-blue and folded tight and flat. She had stumbled upon us, and her tongue flickered -a little ribbon of fire- nervously as we regarded each other. I bent my wrists and dipped my head, half unfurled my wings to show her the day's hunting.

"Come." I said to her, and took a step back. My Charge, the guide, whispered faintly, pleasantly to me, 'Ah,' I realized. 'She is the second part of the first task.'

She came to me then, looking shy for just a moment. She smelled rain-washed, as though she was freshly clean from some hardship and all the better for it. And as I watched, something cleared in her eyes, and we had found each other.



The second thing happened soon after the first, when She noticed the Charge, and they regarded each other. Mirror dragon to endless air, they were curious about each other but would never be able to speak, not as I spoke to my Charge. I realized that this would not do.

"You gave me breath and life and words," I said to my Charge, "and in doing so you shaped me. You are breath and life, but you have no words to shape you. I wish to give you words."


And then I formed the words. I built the words of rhythm and protection, the ebb and flow of water and time, of keen vision and clear goals, hard and armored above to protect and soft below to comfort, of perpetually regenerating teeth to defend and the cunning wisdom to use them. Of duality and balance.

And as I watched, the Charge began to take shape, as color slowly ebbed into the expanse of air, mottled forest green above and the ivory of bone below, jaws snub and slim with the hint of hidden teeth, and my Charge opened it's emerald-green eyes and regarded me with amusement through a pupil cat-slit.

Emboldened I quickly went on, I spoke of loyalty and strength, of generosity and compassion, and watched as fur formed behind the head of my Charge. I was ecstatic and continued on, speaking on the strength of will and honesty and reliability and the fur formed a rough and bristling mane in black, mahogany and gold.

I reflected on the mysteries of existence and how lightly we all tread in this world, as the Charge lengthened and stretched, growing sturdy legs and soft padded paws that bent the grass without a sound. I described of the fierceness of hunters and the aid of camouflage as stripes and streaks painted the guide's shoulders in dapples like sunlight through bamboo fronds.

Still my Charge was only half formed, with a faint crocodilian smile and soft paws that hid sharp claws. It looked at me and shook its mane, the glint in its new eyes said to go on.

"You lead" I said, "and show us the way to our goals." And then… the drive, the push, the ever striding forwards towards the vision. I spoke of strength and steadfastness, of stability but of limber flexibility, of strength hidden in unexpected sources. And my Charge was complete, its back legs were four-toed as they formed, like sand poured from a paw. Cloven with hard hooves to dig in against any opponent, it's hide was strong and supple and darkly colored.



"I name you Guide." I said, and bowed my head to my Charge. It stepped to its place on my brow, resting between my iron horns. One forepaw reached and touched my third eye, the touch was as light as a whisper and as heavy as responsibility.

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