Lull
(#31912381)
Level 1 Fae
Familiar
Tatterwing Carcass
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Fae
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.39 m
Wingspan
0.92 m
Weight
2.35 kg
Genetics
White
Poison
Poison
Blackberry
Spinner
Spinner
Charcoal
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Fae
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
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Lull
The Lullaby |
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BASICS
Name • Lull Age • ??? Species • Fae(?) Gender • Male Pronouns • He/Him Role • ??? Relationships •  Friend!  Friend?  'Nother friend!!! |
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The Lullaby
Playful | Child-like The purple mist leaking out of the ground made you feel woozy. You staggered slightly as you walked on. A lilting song enchanted you, and your eyelids grew heavy. You hummed along slightly to the tune, but it was hard to follow and concentrating was becoming difficult. You collapse, no longer able to carry your own weight. A warm fuzzy feeling fills you as the singing comes near you. A small glowing shape materializes out of the lavender fog, many sharp teeth gleaming in its mouth. It continues to sing, washing away the panic you feel, and your eyes close slowly, reluctantly. You are asleep as the glowing shape alights next to you. Many more shapes scamper out of the smoke to surround you. 
All was quiet in the Ghostlight Ruins. The spirits, the undead beasts—they were tucked safely into their niches, or watching the world from nether planes. Onoind’s guess was that the recent events at the Hidden Haven had rattled them, and so much the better—he’d been itching to poke around the Ruins again. His last foray had yielded a most peculiar flower, a being that had called itself “Dulcamara”. A gentle-looking thing...but Onoind couldn’t remember much of that encounter, and that in itself was suspect. His curiosity gnawed at him, and so one day, unaccompanied this time, he went back to the Ruins to see if he could find that purple flower again. He was unsuccessful. The haunted Ruins were forever shifting and changing, so that they were different each time he visited. He ground his teeth, rapping his staff against the floor, as he realized he’d been thwarted again. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to find that flower again. Not today, at least... His curiosity remained unsatisfied as he doubled back the way he’d come. So when he saw a faint glint of purple, he immediately veered away from the main path, his cloak flapping around his legs. He stopped when he saw what it was: not Dulcamara’s purple flower, but rather a thick mist swirling up from the floor. A crack had opened between the cobblestones, and purple vapor poured sluggishly from it. It seemed to curdle into symbols and shapes as Onoind watched. He leaned forward, careful not to inhale the vapors.... And suddenly there was a shape, a pale writhing thing with enormous scarlet eyes. Onoind stumbled back, his staff at the ready—but before he could even scream, something wormed into his mind, like a blanket being drawn gently over his brain. It calmed him, soothed him, and draped itself languorously over his senses. A song. As beautiful as silk and diamonds, as exhilarating as the open sky, as sweet and rich as honey cakes and wine....Onoind knew he ought to run, but that song...he had to know how it ended. He paused, swaying lazily, and the song wrapped more and more invisible tentacles around his mind. Binding him, drawing him in. The shape continued to hover before him. Why, its teeth didn’t seem as sharp as they’d been earlier; perhaps his panic had exaggerated them. It wasn’t as big as it’d first appeared, and in fact, it looked quite pleasant now....His eyes closed, and a smile formed, slowly and gently, on his face. And then he blinked, and the world changed again. The song faded away. And as it went, so did his lethargy. His mind slowly woke up again, pulling itself into alertness. Something was wrong. He looked up, but instead of the roof of the Ghostlight Ruins, he saw an endless vault of stars. The sun wouldn’t set for several hours yet....What was going on? He felt something tugging his doublet, and he glanced down. A child—a little boy, quite pale, standing next to him. He stared up at Onoind with red eyes that seemed to have no pupils. No whites, either. Just deep, unbroken red... “Let’s play?” he queried, and he smiled with small, sharp teeth. ~ ~ ~ The Hidden Haven was much like Ghostlight in that it had many unseen inhabitants. Not counting the Strangers now infesting its halls, there was a certain dragon. Subtle as a drift of smoke, insubstantial as cobwebs....They called him Phermelmim. He clung to the shadows, watching his clanmates with inquisitive eyes. Some dragons had left the Hidden Haven recently, but new ones had quickly taken their places. Repelled by the Strangers or drawn to them...It would be interesting to see which dragon was which. The therapist was particularly promising. Phermelmim had seen him offer cups of aromatic tea to other drakes. They dozed off, and then they spun dreams as sweet as the tea they’d drunk. Phermelmim absorbed the dreams, smiling indulgently. The crystals on his wings pulsed and grew replete with the sleepers’ emotions. He soon caught a whiff of something intriguing, however. His fins trembled; his eyes widened slightly. He turned....Where was this delicious scent coming from? It was not from inside the lair. It was farther afield....He didn’t mind the distance. The dreams he’d devoured powered him; he could get there in an eyeblink if need be. Yet he took his time. He drifted along, and his Gloomwillow Guide fluttered with him, a fluffy ball of brightness against the Tangled Wood’s murk. No, Phermelmim didn’t want to hurry. He wanted to savor this new aroma; it melted against his palate with the sweetness of chocolate. And there was something else underneath, a fiery sort of zest...the prickle of unease, of fear. ~ ~ ~ The sky above Onoind was vast, and the meadows stretched out on either side of him. He could see mountains in the distance. And yet he had nowhere to go. For every time he made a break for the peaks or tried to join the stars, he would blink and then find himself standing on the grass again. He was growing more frantic each second. The child didn’t help things any. “Play,” he kept saying. “You will play with me?” Onoind turned around, saw him seated on the grass, surrounded by toys. The toys were...odd. He couldn’t seem to focus on them for more than a few seconds, and their colors were too bright....And there was something else. Something about the image of toys lying strewn on the grass while stars blazed overhead...It made him uneasy somehow. “Play.” The child had reappeared at his side. He tugged on Onoind’s doublet again. “You play with me.” “Let me out of here,” Onoind responded. His voice lacked force, conviction. Something about this was familiar—and horribly so. But he couldn’t remember.... “Play!” The boy’s scarlet eyes narrowed. They pierced Onoind’s heart, and he felt a chill wash over his mind. Strange things moved in the darkness.... “You like this game?” The strength fled Onoind’s bones. He collapsed to the ground like a wet sack or— He stared up at the stars, and inside his mind, he screamed. —like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He tried to move, and found he couldn’t. No matter how hard he pushed or clenched, his body simply refused to respond. He was paralyzed! “No,” he thought as the child stood over him, his head blocking out the stars. “No, no, no...!” The child seemed confused. His pale face wrinkled into a frown. He picked Onoind up, and the clan leader let out another silent scream as he realized that not only had he been paralyzed, he’d changed size as well. He was now slightly smaller than the child. “Weird...” the child murmured, stretching out Onoind’s arm—and now Onoind saw that it had been transformed into carved wood, inanimate and lifeless. He continued to sob and scream, if only in the silence of his mind. The child frowned more deeply, poking at his clothes, the ball joints of his limbs. He lifted Onoind’s hands, stared at the chains glimmering there: in and out of reality, like moonlight struggling through the clouds. And then he reached out, and he touched the necklace clasped around his neck. “Hey,” he snapped, and for a moment, his voice sounded stronger, deeper. Onoind instinctively stopped and stared at him. The child set him back down on the grass. He patted Onoind’s head. “It’ll be OK,” he said. His voice was once again soft and piping. He was obviously trying to reassure Onoind, but it wasn’t working. His hand was unnaturally cool, and so smooth it was almost slimy. Onoind would have recoiled if he could. The world shivered again, and he was back to his normal self. He flinched away from the child, his staff held out defensively. The child didn’t seem to care. “Play!” he commanded again. He scooped toys into his arms and held them out. Onoind stared down at them. Glittering baubles, action figures and blocks...They were so bright. He wanted to look away. But the child’s eyes held him in place. He hesitated. If he tried to run away, perhaps he’d get turned into a puppet again.... “All he wants to do is play,” he thought. “He’s a child; he’s got a short attention span. Maybe once he gets bored, he’ll leave me alone.” “O...OK.” Onoind swallowed and then forced out a smile. “So, um, what d’you wanna play?” ~ ~ ~ Phermelmim drew nearer to the Ghostlight Ruins, and as he did, the taste of the dreams settled more firmly in his mind until he could identify the dreamer. Ah, it was Onoind! Phermelmim had sampled the clan leader’s dreams before. Subtly flavored with his curiosity about the world—though as of late he’d had more nightmares, hot and spicy visions that exploded against the mind.... The Dream Eater slowed, his tail waving uncertainly. Something was wrong. It was Onoind, he was sure. He’d know those dreams and nightmares anywhere. But something was changing in their scents and flavors. Phermelmim frowned as he thought about it: “Onoind is becoming...not Onoind?” ~ ~ ~ The child’s energy was inexhaustible, and his imagination was boundless. “Let’s play, let’s play!” he kept saying, bouncing around Onoind. He shoved toy after toy into the clan leader’s hands, chattering about them. A few times, Onoind tried to make a break for it, only to have the child pop up before him again. “Let’s play, let’s play!” He clenched his teeth behind his smile, and he feigned interest. Minutes passed. And then something strange began to happen: Onoind began to enjoy himself. That child’s simple joy—it was so infectious. More than once Onoind found himself chuckling at something the boy said. He began to listen to the stories and marvel at the ideas the child pulled from thin air. “What a dynamic mind he has!” Onoind thought. “I remember when I was once as young as him....He’s lucky; he has so many toys to play with. I never had that. Perhaps it would be nice to become a child again....” Slowly, bit by bit, he allowed himself to have fun. He listened more carefully to the stories and even added some of his own. He chose his own toys and invited the child to see what he’d found. And as he did, he began to change. His voice became softer and smaller, and so did his hands. He was tall for a Fae, but he slowly lost height, until he was only scarcely bigger than the child. Large violet eyes, an innocent face...He was becoming a child himself. Soon he was the one making up games and telling stories. He and the pale boy romped past the lakes and bounded under the stars. “It’s fun!” the child crowed. He flung his toys into the air, where they disintegrated into ribbons of glittering stardust. “Many games and much fun!” And this time, Onoind heartily agreed. “You’re right, it’s great! You have really cool toys.” He bounced up and down, mimicking his playmate. “Can I stay with you?” The world shivered and groaned like a stage collapsing. And then another Fae burst through the backdrop of the purple peaks. Phermelmim paused to get his bearings. His eyes widened as he took in the dream world, the glittering toys. He stared at the pale, moonlit boy, who was gawping back in confusion. And then the Dream Eater’s eyes bulged as he noticed Onoind standing next to him, scarcely taller than his knee now. “Clan leader,” he said, “what’re you doing here...and my goodness, what’s happened to you?” “I’m playing!” Onoind pouted, stuck out his lower lip. “It’s lovely here; he’s got lots of nice toys. I don’t wanna go back—it’s dark and icky! And it’s so creepy—” Phermelmim had heard enough. It was something he heard many times, actually: “They get lost in their dreams...and they don’t want to wake up again. That’s all well and good, but it’s not healthy. And besides...” He frowned. “This one has plenty of important things to do.” He strode forward and grabbed Onoind’s arm. “Let’s go. The others are looking for you.” The clan leader began to struggle. “No, no! I wanna stay! I don’t wanna go home!” Phermelmim didn’t waste his breath. He simply picked Onoind up, bundling him under one arm like a parcel. Onoind screamed and kicked his tiny heels, but he couldn’t do anything against the full-grown Fae. Phermelmim raised his face to the stars— ~ ~ ~ Onoind looked into the bulbous eyes of a Gloomwillow Guide, and he gasped in surprise. By its light, Onoind could see another Fae: Phermelmim was standing next to him, almost melding with the shadows now. “Are you all right?” “Hm? Yes, yes...Goodness, I must’ve dozed off. Oh no, did I inhale that vapor? It was...” Onoind trailed off as he looked around the room. The purple smoke was gone, and the floor was whole again. There was no sign that it’d ever been split open. Phermelmim had found him like this, slumped contentedly against the wall, his staff cradled in his lap. “You must’ve fallen asleep,” he began dubiously. He watched as Onoind brushed off his doublet and cloak. “You were dreaming; you didn’t want to wake up....” This last part was said with a faintly questioning tone. He wanted to check if Onoind’s mind had suffered damage from the encounter. But Onoind only shrugged and spread his hands. “Yes, well, I think that’s normal. When a person’s dreaming, they can’t usually tell the difference between that and reality, eh? Um, how long was I asleep?” Phermelmim held up a hand and slowly folded down two fingers, one after the other. Onoind stared at him. “About three hours! Goodness, I didn’t notice....I must’ve been disoriented by the spirits here. But I could’ve sworn there was some sort of purple smoke...or maybe I was already dreaming then....” Satisfied that the adventure was over, Phermelmim turned and drifted away. Onoind tottered after him, muttering about how much time he’d wasted. Deep in the shadows of the mattamore, a pair of scarlet eyes appeared. The pale shape swam out of the darkness, looking longingly after Onoind. “Play?” he peeped, though none but the spirits heard him. ~ ~ ~ “Disoriented again!” Taurvin growled, and he stamped one hoof in agitation. He reprimanded Onoind, “The spirits of Ghostlight have been agitated by the Strangers, and agitated spirits are dangerous ones. It would be best if you left them alone!” It was rare for anyone to chastise the clan leader, and Onoind certainly felt the burn. He slunk away contritely. He soon found many things in the lair to occupy him, for as Phermelmim had noticed, there were a lot of new dragons in the Hidden Haven and they needed help settling down, too. As the days passed, Onoind’s memories of his strange, dreamlike encounter disappeared. Although one day... “Isn’t Norzaren too old for imaginary pals?” Tairialis muttered. His Fae siblings shrugged, and Sarin, the newest member of their gang, asked, “He seems a bit...weird, doesn’t he?” “He’s kooky,” Asclepias agreed. “Something happened to him when he was a kid, jiggled his brains around. They’ve been sorta leaking out his head ever since.” He went on to describe how Norzaren had been caught a few times with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep, a joyous smile on his face. Anyone who inched close enough to him would see his lips moving, hear his mumbled words. “Play,” he giggled, speaking to something or someone only he could see. “Yes...Let’s play!” Onoind caught him at one point. The clan leader gently shook him awake. As Norzaren stared fearfully up at him, his violets twisted around his hands, Onoind queried, “This ‘friend’ you play with...What does he look like, Norzaren?” Norzaren buzzed and chattered, holding down a hand to show how small this strange person was. Onoind caught the words “white” and “smoke”. A strange chill began to creep over his mind. “And does he have a name?” “Lull,” Norzaren explained, “because he sings.” He parted his lips and warbled a high, eerie note. This time, Onoind shuddered. “I’ve heard that voice before, though I can’t remember....” A part of him wanted to dig deeper and find the dream he’d lost. But he was afraid, so afraid....The pleasant dream was like a scab shielding a wound. Underneath it were other images, nightmares of the purest sort. Memories. Blood flowing, screams instead of laughter... “When a person’s dreaming, they can’t usually tell the difference between that and reality.” That was what he’d said to Phermelmim. Sometimes it was true. Sometimes it wasn’t, and people simply didn’t want to wake up....He looked at Norzaren, saw his own fear mirrored in the younger Fae’s eyes, and even though he didn’t feel like it, he smiled in reassurance. Sometimes it was better to pretend everything was all right—if only for a little while. It didn’t automatically make things better....But then, what else could he do? ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) “Strangers” by Felix Kramer and J. all edits by other users Quote:
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