Echo

Echo
Arcanian Warrior


Daughter of the clan leaders. For some dragons, that position would have been a death sentence. It would have meant a mantle of leadership, responsibilities, all eyes always focused on every action. Echo, however, was lucky - her sisters took to their duties with vigor and pride, leaving her the opportunity to remain in the background. She didn’t begrudge them their love of leadership - ineed, she’d even venture to say she was proud - but that was never for her. The love of adventure just called to her so much more strongly. Thanks to her sisters, she was free to come and go as she pleased.

It came upon her slowly, the vague sense of disquiet - not quite being watched, not exactly, but definitely being followed. As soon as she was grown enough to fly, Echo often went off on her own, enjoying the various marketplaces of the Starfall Isles, peering up at the towering libraries and examining the strange trinkets that thrummed with the unearthly magic that so infused this land. However, this time she had stopped short of her destination, alighting carefully on a spire of shimmering amethyst. In the distance, she could see the neon lights of the city, but at her back…

Carefully, she raised her claws, balancing an orb of pure force magic in her palm. “Come out,” she growls, low. “You’ve been here long enough.”

Nothing. The crystal flickers and trembles beneath her.

Yet, just as she’s about to lift her bolt higher, words of warning on her tongue, the air seems to ripple and wrench into itself - and two spirits burst forth, rushing upon her before she can barely blink. She ducks just in time, flaring her wings and twisting, and when she’s able to face them again, they hang in air, staring.

What strange creatures. They appear to be mirrors, but… no mirror she knows can float, for one, and there’s something a little too… uncanny valley about them, their mouths a little too far back on their faces, eyes too clouded, joints too flexible. With a twist of her paw, she forces the mana bolt in her hand to change to something a little more defensive. “Who are you?” she asks, but they just flare their crests, watching, waiting.

She thinks of Comtesse, one of her mentors from her home. The mirror was abrasive, blunt, and had a terrible sense of humor, but she was also shrewd and insightful and thus was somehow one of the best diplomats of the clan. Their lessons had mostly focused on swordplay, but often the topic had circled back to the different quirks of various dragon breeds - what made them tick, how they acted, what innate gifts they had.

You gotta listen, girl. Comtesse’s hoarse voice murmured in her mind. Mirrors are pack-dragons. They respect strength, directness… and cunning. They say the gods created our kind in the Abiding Boneyard, and if you wanna live there, you need to understand death as well as life. Don’t try to trick a mirror - just bare your teeth and show your intent.

Of course, Comtesse had the charisma to pull it off - or the guts. Echo can only hope she has the same.

She flares her wings, rearing up against the pillar. Although she easily towers over them, they snarl as though already seeking her weak points - but she twists her hands and lets the magic in her soul channel through them, shining even more brightly then they. “Aight,” she grits, letting the words thrum through her throat, “Are you gonna just watch, or are you gonna make yourselves useful?”

The right one drops its crests, retreating slightly. The other, however, darts forward, jaws gaping wide -

And she wreathes her claws in violet and cuffs it back several feet.

The creature goes flying, only managing to stop its passage by hooking its claws through the air as though landing against stone. It looks back at her, mist obscuring one side of its face. Slowly, it lifts its talons, touches its face. Looks at its friend.

Then there is a two-toned voice, winding through her head. Barbed, it digs down and murmurs: can you be the one / will you give us mana / will you give us blood?

Echo digs into the crystal strongly enough to send spiderweb cracks through it. The pain of the message is like nothing she’s ever experienced, but the power behind it is… ancient, deep as a river.

Can you / will you / have you what it takes?

“Shush,” she growls, and then she deliberately turns her back on them. “Do what you want - follow, leave, whatever. But I’m in charge of how you interact with others, alright?” It wouldn’t do to have them attack anyone, after all.

With a grunt, she flaps her wings and descends from the pillar, heading back the way she came. Last she knew, she hadn’t disturbed any ancient relics or gained any curses, so she needs counsel and she needs it fast.

There’s no response behind her. But she knows they’re watching. Following.

_{Bio written by the talented SilverSilver}