Balalaika

20.9m|14.76m| 8,706.08 kg ft| ft| lbs| t Purchased at Auction on the 5th day of the Arcanist's month Auction Bond at 10,000 gold treasure Paid in Full Bond for Circuit at 1,200 gems Paid in Full XX:xx Bounding [url=]Journal[/url] Column Font Le-Grand Sault_Textual pt. 35 - 50 Gradient-Green_V From Font Meme] Banner art & Resident Tag by AngHuiQing Banner Dividers by Georgianna Flight Flags by Oseim

Balalaika General of the Imperial Company "If you value your lives, be somewhere else." - Spoken to a band of river-pirate plaguelings. Born in the month of the Smith's Hammer The Iron Blade A True Lady of War.

She had no name when Petrushka scented her pride and read the cold, calculating gleam in her golden eyes in the auction stalls of the Mirrorlight Promenade. Our Matriarch saw how dragonet refused to caper and plead adoption from the adults that chirped at her to show herself to them when they passed her berth. Our matriarch was… Intrigued.

It was years later when Balalaika told us what they had asked of her when she was young. They asked her to spread her wings and stand and sit up on her haunches to study her color set at a crook of their claws.

She remembered to us how her hide had twitched even then, when errant claws had dimpled the tender skin -not yet hardened into hide, on her back and sides, on her throat…. on her belly and thighs, to judge her iridescent sheen. How she had turned in those tight, neat circles for them to see the length of her; her untrimmed ruff standing on end, from shoulders to tail-tip in warning. How her whiskers would twitch and her throat vibrate as she held in a snarl whenever nimble claws grabbed her chin to study the lines of her muzzle and how they fit into the curve of her cheek and ear and head.


"Long-legged…" they had remarked to her contractor with a tsk in their tone.

"Wolfnosed…" they called her with a wrinkle of dislike on their own muzzles.


Early on, when she was called by no name but 'You come', she had been hastily dried of her egg-dew on her first day on the promenade and placed before the bidders and buyers. Some would prod the sensitive spots that were left behind where her egg-spikes had recently shed, and growl and hold her muzzle all the harder when she tried to protest and wriggle out of their grip.

Later, those prods turned into a firm grasp of her growing beard and firmer shake to test the new prickets in their sockets to see how well she was eating. The process repeated on the other side, despite her squeal of protest and pain whenever clawpoints punctured the bruised velvet. Her lip curled to expose a hint of pearly fang when still others pressed hard against her jaws to force the corners of her mouth open, to see her unexpressed tertiary color on her tongue. She glared and dug in her claws to the wood beneath her when others would have her stand facing away, her nose pressed to the dark corner of her cubicle, as they judged whether the width of her young hips and flex of her tail would promise frequent and large clutches.


On her last day, a purchasing Clan brought a young, callow drake from their own ranks and placed him up against her on the bench to compare their height, to guess percentages for the broods they would make together. As though it was inevitable, our Matriatch was there when that bold drakeling stepped across his boundaries and leaned in too close. When he whispered something lewd to his new-mate-to-be. His maize-white lips bared his fangs in a smug grin and his rose-pink tongue curled lasciviously as he brushed the tuft of his tail against her inner thigh.

The Matriarch held in a smirk when the golden impling soundlessly whirled and bit squarely down on his nose.


The ensuing cacophony ground the trade in the Auction Floor to a halt for a precious few minutes, as the Clan and her contractor dove in and tripped over themselves to separate the coiling mass of fighting fire and white imperials. As they hissed and clawed and spat ice and motes of light like infant imoogi serpents. The Clan went away cursing her and comforting their bloodied and whiskerless son, as she was tossed back to her berth, her seller striking down her price to that of exalt bait to be rid of her, now half-grown and fully without prospects after her flash of public temper.

So it was that our Matriarch approached the scene, stepping over scattered papers and ignoring the suddenly hopeful look in the seller's eye as she looked the Imperial over. The impling spat out a chunk of maize hide, some white fur still attached to the scrap, dragged one paw across her bruised throat and narrowed her eyes to stare her down. The imperial bristled, gathering her feet beneath her, her body tense and quivering to lunge again at the merest provocation.

"I refuse to be a brood hen! Yours or any other!" She spat, her corner of her eyes glowed with stored Breath, her lip curled back over her fangs.

Our Matriarch was not perturbed, of course. "If I told you to fight. Would you?" She asked of the imperial, as calm as still summer air, as the latter licked blood away from her cut lip. The broken tine of a velvet antler seeped blood in a steady sticky drip down the back of her head.

For a moment she did not answer, as curiosity slowly got the better of indignation. "Who… would I fight?"

"You would fight for the glory of the God of Air."

The imperial narrowed her gaze, "What would you have me do?"

"You would trample all who stand in our way."

She stood there for a long moment, gazing deep into those jade eyes. With one smooth motion she stepped down from the bench, she bowed to our Matriarch once and raised her wolfhead high. "I accept."

The Circuit lines were her graduation present, given to her when the allied Axikor clan returned her from a year's long training. Her body was lithe and steel-strong, her skin's glimmer of flame had turned into the full incandescence of fire, her antlers were burnished and as hard as bronze.

Her alcove was as she had left it, amazing, through all the moves, and there lay the scroll and the coiled skin magic, within a ring of gold and seated at the head of her woven lounge. Obversaria and Alaman's seals signed the note beside the whole.

Balalaika #6073718 Bluff Support Scratch Shred - Haste - Rally - Reflect x3 Berserkers x2 Ambush

STR 120 INT5 AGI 8 VIT 9 DEF 5 MND 5 QCK 70 Length 20.9 M Wingspan 14.76 M Weight 8706.08 KG

Norathar #15091993 Fragile Speedster Scratch Haste - Eliminate - Rally x3 Berserker x2 Ambush

STR 119 INT 8 AGI 9 VIT 12 DEF 6 MND 6 QCK 70 Length 25.55M Wingspan 15.33M Weight 8084.41KG

Lorenta #44462541 Fragile Speedster Scratch Reflect - Eliminate - Rally x3 Berserker x2 Ambush

STR 126 INT 5 AGI 8 VIT 6 DEF 5 MND 5 QCK 59 Length 4.8 M Wingspan 4.22 M Weight 632.56 KG

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