Rootbeer
(#28901001)
Level 7 Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.12 m
Wingspan
4.32 m
Weight
577.63 kg
Genetics
Moon
Tiger
Tiger
Crimson
Shimmer
Shimmer
Garnet
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 7 Skydancer
EXP: 3498 / 11881
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
This dragon's homelair is #279187 (DarkNative)
Please return him there after his stay
Do: Add to his bio | Breed | Add/take Apparel/Familiars | Train
Do not: Delete any of his bio | Remove his SCARF | Exalt | Sell | Rename | Regene | Scatterscroll
Please return him there after his stay
Do: Add to his bio | Breed | Add/take Apparel/Familiars | Train
Do not: Delete any of his bio | Remove his SCARF | Exalt | Sell | Rename | Regene | Scatterscroll
"Home wrote:
Rootbeer grew up in the Moonglade Tribe, first offspring of Snow and Wisteria, the Clan's well respected healers. From a young age he was expected to either become an apothecary or healing Mage; however Rootbeer decided on a different path. He loved to entertain people, and found his quick wit and sarcasm was always getting him in trouble with the grumpy older dragons. He is a talented musician and bard, telling tall tales and singing songs. However, he found himself singing songs of legends - though none of his own journeys. It took courage, but Rootbeer decided to head out into Sornieth to go on adventures, entertain nobles and make a name for himself as a true bard of legends. So he left, with only a nap sack of food and his lucky scarf, gifted to him by his mother.
Valhall - MightyVildaTilda (206487) wrote:
Rootbeer had begun his journey, choosing to visit the Southern Icefield that he had heard so much about. He could now confirm it was as cold as rumours said! His scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, a small golden psywurm trotting along behind. Initially intrigued by the giant wall of ice the appeared of the horizon, Rootbeer noticed the tents and set off toward them with excitement.
There were so many dragons. They were split into a number of groups and were heading out into the forest, all led by a single dragon with a wolf fur draped over them. And while Rootbeer did wonder what they were doing and why they were doing it, he was chilly enough as it was and continued on. He'd already set his sights on the Inn shoved up against the wall of Ice, figuring it was as good of a place to start as any.
The inside of the Inn was pleasantly warm and Rootbeer was quick to get comfortable in the main lounge, quietly requesting a cup of tea first of all. Best warm up before anything else. And he made sure to request a room as well, knowing he'd need somewhere to stay. Camping outside certainly wasn't an option.
While getting some warmth back, Rootbeer chatted away with the keeper of the Inn, Eostre, and the two made a deal quickly enough. Rootbeer wouldn't need to pay for his room if he agreed to sing a few songs every night to keep the other dragons staying there entertained at night. She even said she'd throw in free meals for him - he helped her, she helped him. And it was a deal he quickly agreed to. In a way, it would be his first paid job out in the world! A very exciting thought, for sure, and Rootbeer agreed to start that very night.
The time before he had to perform he spent mostly resting in his room, still rather tired from such a long trip. He could always explore in the morning, he told himself, and allowed himself some time to be lazy. The psywurm he had with him seemed to have absolutely no qualms about spending some time on the lazy side, content to not move unless necessary for the rest of the night. Even when Rootbeer went down to have his first performance did the psywurm remain asleep, apparently not even noticing Rootbeer leaving.
For a first 'show', it was alright. Rootbeer did what he did best, of course - he entertained. It was a small crowd, but the dragons there appeared to be happy enough with his performance. Eostre was more than pleased with the job he'd done. And while it'd been a stressful day, Rootbeer laid down on his furs that night both excited and anxious to see tomorrow.
The next morning was, if nothing else, cold. Frigid, even. Rootbeer wasn't sure what he'd expected to wake up to, but he was pretty certain that total darkness and cold wasn't exactly it. He would have wanted to see the sun, at least.
But as Eostre so cheerfully explained to him over breakfast - the sun didn't really rise that much down there until spring, at least, and that was still some time away. Not that Rootbeer would let it stop him. He wrapped himself up as tight as possible and set out to explore the clan. Despite the total darkness, nearly every dragon was already up and at it. Torches were everywhere, lighting up the paths and letting everyone see what was going on. A number of dragons, like the day before, were heading out into the forest. And the same fur-clad dragons were leading them.
He wandered through the many stalls and tents, merely looking at wares and exploring the area. There was so much to see - so many dragons! More than once, he stopped to chat with some of the dragons selling wares. And more often than not Rootbeer had to ask how in the world they sold anything down there, really, specially in such an isolated location. Because he was not a dragon of business, for sure. If nothing else, he heard plenty of stories and talked to a vast array of different dragons. He even heard a tale or two he considered turning into a song - that was, after all, part of what a bard did. And why not create a few new songs for the great legends and mighty dragons of the South?
And then he met the Bogsneaks. Lorn and Askr. The bright pair was singing when he came across them, telling the tale of some Southern hero he'd never heard of. But Rootbear was intrigued. He watched the rest of their show, finding it incredibly entertaining. And he couldn't help but hope that was what dragons felt when they watched him perform.
When the 'show' was over, Rootbeer couldn't contain his curiosity. And he sought them out, wanting to both tell them that he'd enjoyed their show and inquire about a little bit of this and that.
Rootbeer found them hanging out in a tent that was a bard's dream. Instruments, tons upon tons of books full of songs and all the props anyone could ever need. Costumes of all kinds, paints and banners. All a dragon could want to put on a truly magical show through song or acrobatics or whatever one felt like. The two noticed him enter their tent immediately and, faces full of mischief, were quick to yank him in.
'Ahh, a bard!' Lorn hissed softly, giggling to herself as she inspected him, 'Definitively a bard.'
And Rootbeer couldn't deny that. Nor did he want to. Before he even knew it, however, he was dragged of into quite the adventure. The two bogsneaks dragged him off, cackling and laughing. They had to show him the Icefields, they said, had to ensure that their fellow entertainer knew what he'd be singing about. Rootbeer had no clue what was going on, not really, but he went along with it. Frankly, he just assumed the two were a little koko in the head. But at least they were the friendly kind of crazy.
After hours and hours of being shown around, Rootbeer was nearing on exhausted. Whilst he was still a bit confused at how quickly the two bogsneaks had decided to be his friend and drag him along, he had to admit it'd been interesting. They taken him into the clan itself, showing him some of the common areas and introducing him to a couple of dragons.
Most had looked thoroughly amused and Rootbeer had quickly found out that it wasn't that uncommon for Lorn and Askr to simply decide someone was their friend. And even if it'd been an intense day, Rootbeer had learned quite a lot about Valhall. He'd met a number of dragons, heard a number of tales and Lorn and Askr had, rather ruthlessly, taught him two of Valhall's traditional songs.
With The Bard's Song and Last Night of the Kings still ringing in his head, Rootbeer had managed to sneak back to the Inn for some rest. He had a feeling he would be tired in the morning, for sure. Eostre even met him by the door, looking far too amused by his exhaustion. She'd heard about his intense day and said he was free to just go to bed - no need to perform that night. And Rootbeer was rather glad for that.
And he was even more glad the next day. Because he awoke to two bright bogsneaks pounding on his door, stirring him from sleep. And he knew that he would come to appreciate sleep more than ever over the next few days - and he could only imagine how tired he would have been if he hadn't gotten extra sleep.
True to his suspicions, Lorn and Askr dragged him off to another adventure. They were a bit calmer that day, apparently over the worst of their excitement at having a new friend, and spent more time actually explaining things. They dragged him all over, to the cliffsides and up the mountain. Sharing tales of heroes of the South and legends. The more he heard, the more excited Rootbeer became.
That night he wrote a song. About the exciting stories and dragons he'd heard of, the things he'd seen and the experiences he'd had so far. He performed it at the Inn and, for the first time, got proper applause. Tales of their own lands seemed to be far more popular with the dragons of Valhall, he learned, and he wrote a few more songs to perform before leaving.
Every day, he sang. He taught his songs to Lorn and Askr, sang together with them and simply enjoyed himself. When he finally remembered that time existed, he knew he had to leave. He'd already stayed far longer than he intended to and packed up quickly, two amused bogsneaks watching him all along.
Leaving the first place he'd seen was a tad bittersweet, yet Rootbeer figured he could always come back if he wanted to. He'd already been told, more than once, that he would be more than welcome at the Inn and the two bogsneaks that'd stalked him around was practically trying to make him promise he would.
However, no one tried to stop him as he headed for the gates. His new friends did see him off, offering him goodbyes and, to his surprise, even presents. An olive wreath, thrumming with warm magic, was wrapped up alongside a small light inside a crimson satchel. Things to help him on his journey, they said. To show him the way, to keep him safe and to make sure he could keep everything he owned safe and sound.
Rootbeer thanked them and gave them a present of his own - copies of the songs he'd written. The bogsneaks took it with giant grins, thanking him as he'd thanked them. And then Rootbeer turned to head off again, soft laughter echoing after him as he took off into the frozen skies.
There were so many dragons. They were split into a number of groups and were heading out into the forest, all led by a single dragon with a wolf fur draped over them. And while Rootbeer did wonder what they were doing and why they were doing it, he was chilly enough as it was and continued on. He'd already set his sights on the Inn shoved up against the wall of Ice, figuring it was as good of a place to start as any.
The inside of the Inn was pleasantly warm and Rootbeer was quick to get comfortable in the main lounge, quietly requesting a cup of tea first of all. Best warm up before anything else. And he made sure to request a room as well, knowing he'd need somewhere to stay. Camping outside certainly wasn't an option.
While getting some warmth back, Rootbeer chatted away with the keeper of the Inn, Eostre, and the two made a deal quickly enough. Rootbeer wouldn't need to pay for his room if he agreed to sing a few songs every night to keep the other dragons staying there entertained at night. She even said she'd throw in free meals for him - he helped her, she helped him. And it was a deal he quickly agreed to. In a way, it would be his first paid job out in the world! A very exciting thought, for sure, and Rootbeer agreed to start that very night.
The time before he had to perform he spent mostly resting in his room, still rather tired from such a long trip. He could always explore in the morning, he told himself, and allowed himself some time to be lazy. The psywurm he had with him seemed to have absolutely no qualms about spending some time on the lazy side, content to not move unless necessary for the rest of the night. Even when Rootbeer went down to have his first performance did the psywurm remain asleep, apparently not even noticing Rootbeer leaving.
For a first 'show', it was alright. Rootbeer did what he did best, of course - he entertained. It was a small crowd, but the dragons there appeared to be happy enough with his performance. Eostre was more than pleased with the job he'd done. And while it'd been a stressful day, Rootbeer laid down on his furs that night both excited and anxious to see tomorrow.
The next morning was, if nothing else, cold. Frigid, even. Rootbeer wasn't sure what he'd expected to wake up to, but he was pretty certain that total darkness and cold wasn't exactly it. He would have wanted to see the sun, at least.
But as Eostre so cheerfully explained to him over breakfast - the sun didn't really rise that much down there until spring, at least, and that was still some time away. Not that Rootbeer would let it stop him. He wrapped himself up as tight as possible and set out to explore the clan. Despite the total darkness, nearly every dragon was already up and at it. Torches were everywhere, lighting up the paths and letting everyone see what was going on. A number of dragons, like the day before, were heading out into the forest. And the same fur-clad dragons were leading them.
He wandered through the many stalls and tents, merely looking at wares and exploring the area. There was so much to see - so many dragons! More than once, he stopped to chat with some of the dragons selling wares. And more often than not Rootbeer had to ask how in the world they sold anything down there, really, specially in such an isolated location. Because he was not a dragon of business, for sure. If nothing else, he heard plenty of stories and talked to a vast array of different dragons. He even heard a tale or two he considered turning into a song - that was, after all, part of what a bard did. And why not create a few new songs for the great legends and mighty dragons of the South?
And then he met the Bogsneaks. Lorn and Askr. The bright pair was singing when he came across them, telling the tale of some Southern hero he'd never heard of. But Rootbear was intrigued. He watched the rest of their show, finding it incredibly entertaining. And he couldn't help but hope that was what dragons felt when they watched him perform.
When the 'show' was over, Rootbeer couldn't contain his curiosity. And he sought them out, wanting to both tell them that he'd enjoyed their show and inquire about a little bit of this and that.
Rootbeer found them hanging out in a tent that was a bard's dream. Instruments, tons upon tons of books full of songs and all the props anyone could ever need. Costumes of all kinds, paints and banners. All a dragon could want to put on a truly magical show through song or acrobatics or whatever one felt like. The two noticed him enter their tent immediately and, faces full of mischief, were quick to yank him in.
'Ahh, a bard!' Lorn hissed softly, giggling to herself as she inspected him, 'Definitively a bard.'
And Rootbeer couldn't deny that. Nor did he want to. Before he even knew it, however, he was dragged of into quite the adventure. The two bogsneaks dragged him off, cackling and laughing. They had to show him the Icefields, they said, had to ensure that their fellow entertainer knew what he'd be singing about. Rootbeer had no clue what was going on, not really, but he went along with it. Frankly, he just assumed the two were a little koko in the head. But at least they were the friendly kind of crazy.
After hours and hours of being shown around, Rootbeer was nearing on exhausted. Whilst he was still a bit confused at how quickly the two bogsneaks had decided to be his friend and drag him along, he had to admit it'd been interesting. They taken him into the clan itself, showing him some of the common areas and introducing him to a couple of dragons.
Most had looked thoroughly amused and Rootbeer had quickly found out that it wasn't that uncommon for Lorn and Askr to simply decide someone was their friend. And even if it'd been an intense day, Rootbeer had learned quite a lot about Valhall. He'd met a number of dragons, heard a number of tales and Lorn and Askr had, rather ruthlessly, taught him two of Valhall's traditional songs.
With The Bard's Song and Last Night of the Kings still ringing in his head, Rootbeer had managed to sneak back to the Inn for some rest. He had a feeling he would be tired in the morning, for sure. Eostre even met him by the door, looking far too amused by his exhaustion. She'd heard about his intense day and said he was free to just go to bed - no need to perform that night. And Rootbeer was rather glad for that.
And he was even more glad the next day. Because he awoke to two bright bogsneaks pounding on his door, stirring him from sleep. And he knew that he would come to appreciate sleep more than ever over the next few days - and he could only imagine how tired he would have been if he hadn't gotten extra sleep.
True to his suspicions, Lorn and Askr dragged him off to another adventure. They were a bit calmer that day, apparently over the worst of their excitement at having a new friend, and spent more time actually explaining things. They dragged him all over, to the cliffsides and up the mountain. Sharing tales of heroes of the South and legends. The more he heard, the more excited Rootbeer became.
That night he wrote a song. About the exciting stories and dragons he'd heard of, the things he'd seen and the experiences he'd had so far. He performed it at the Inn and, for the first time, got proper applause. Tales of their own lands seemed to be far more popular with the dragons of Valhall, he learned, and he wrote a few more songs to perform before leaving.
Every day, he sang. He taught his songs to Lorn and Askr, sang together with them and simply enjoyed himself. When he finally remembered that time existed, he knew he had to leave. He'd already stayed far longer than he intended to and packed up quickly, two amused bogsneaks watching him all along.
Leaving the first place he'd seen was a tad bittersweet, yet Rootbeer figured he could always come back if he wanted to. He'd already been told, more than once, that he would be more than welcome at the Inn and the two bogsneaks that'd stalked him around was practically trying to make him promise he would.
However, no one tried to stop him as he headed for the gates. His new friends did see him off, offering him goodbyes and, to his surprise, even presents. An olive wreath, thrumming with warm magic, was wrapped up alongside a small light inside a crimson satchel. Things to help him on his journey, they said. To show him the way, to keep him safe and to make sure he could keep everything he owned safe and sound.
Rootbeer thanked them and gave them a present of his own - copies of the songs he'd written. The bogsneaks took it with giant grins, thanking him as he'd thanked them. And then Rootbeer turned to head off again, soft laughter echoing after him as he took off into the frozen skies.
Thyrin (234081) wrote:
The sun was shining again, what pleased Rootbeer quite a lot – no matter what, he quite missed it on the Ice territories. Wind was holding him above the sea, gliding, while he looked before him: two lands lay there, different as day and night. To the left, sharp spikes and magic fields lay, crowned with floating islands and the great Observatory, while to the right there was a land described in horrors and nightmares – the domain of the most fierce and cruel dragons, a place that no sentient Nature dragon would visit on his own. But the Starfall Isles were quite known and familiar, it wouldn’t do him any fame if he visited there – okay, there would be another couple of songs chanting mages and miracles they commit, so what? Another thing was the Plague – those warriors for whom fighting death from day to day was as usual as cleaning feathers for him! Convicted, he inclined his wings, turning right, and started steadily towards the reddish lands darkening there.
The same evening he glided down to an inn flickering invitingly with bright candlelights. It was the very border between Arcane and Plague lands, and no wonder the place was full with dragons. Rootbeer touched up his scarf and entered, looking around in a dimmed hall, hoping to find the owner of the inn – if he was nice and lucky, he could earn some treasure and find a place to stay overnight. But this time he seemed to be late – the light was concentrated on the stage at the further end of the place, where another Skydancer was sitting – brightly painted, wearing a shimmering silky cloak and a black top head; some candles were floating around him in dark, smoky whirls. Right behind him there was a huge screen stretched from one side of the scene to another; it was brightly lit from behind, and only a couple of spikes ejecting from behind it were giving away that a dragon was there – a Ridgeback, he guessed. All of the dragons in the inn were either turning that way or even drawing closer; he hurried towards the scene too to get himself a spot – this seemed like a thing he wouldn’t want to miss!
“Hello,” the Skydancer spoke, his voice being deep and soft, “and welcome to our performance. This is a story of a brave young Fae who was trying to make her way as a warrior even though nobody believed in her, especially compared to her big and strong clanmates – when suddenly dragons started acting weird, and she received assistance from the most unexpected ally…”
The lights went out, all of them except for the one that was lighting the screen from behind. The Skydancer turned, his profile sharply contrasting against the light. And then a silhouette of a Fae appeared against the screen material – it moved so smoothly and easily that it took Rootbeer several minutes to understand that it was actually a puppet pressed against the screen for a fine shadow. And then a voice rose from somewhere behind the screen – gentle and high, obviously belonging to a female dragon, it sang the Fae’s story, and Rootbeer, who had never complained with his own voice, nor ever had anyone who heard him, suddenly understood how young and inexperienced he was in this field. Meanwhile, the play continued. New characters arrived, showing their silhouettes against the screen, the voice of unseen dragon was singing for them – mostly for the main character, the Fae – while the Skydancer answered her as the narrator and the male voices. Not a single dragon in the inn moved or spoke – even the keeper of the inn seemed frozen, watching the performance. And only during the very last song did it change, for it was so bright and cheerful, and both the Skydancer and the unseen female sang so inviting that Rootbeer couldn’t resist. He sprang on all fours and sang with them, adding his voice to their two, and then, taking his lead, the other dragons around him raised their voices too. The Skydancer on the stage seemed quite pleased with such a reaction of the audience, and smiled when the song smoothly turned into a wave of applause.
“Thank you… Thank you,” the Skydancer bowed his head, watching the crowd. “And now please welcome those whom you are addressing these applauds – our puppet master, Hitshas,” a huge female Ridgeback raised her head from behind the screen and moved it aside, coming to the scene and letting the light flicker on her bright yellowish spikes, “and our most prized singer, Ximena!”
A Shadow-colored Pearlcatcher entered the scene in the uproar of voices and applause, bowing her head. From this distance, Rootbeer couldn’t tell if she was painted or it was her real appearance, but she was moving so gently and easily, rolling her pearl on her chessboard-colored wings, that it made him freeze for a second – and then rush to the scene among the others that wished to come closer, watch, greet, maybe even touch the stars of this evening…
Something patted his shoulder gently from above.
“Hey, you – yes, you, Skydancer boy – come here, will you?”
Rootbeer jerked his head up, searching around for what has touched him – it appeared to be the long, pointy tail of the Ridgeback that was now laying next to the Skydancer, and it was him who spoke to the Rootbeer.
“Sorry – me?”
“Well, certainly not me,” snapped the dragon, nodding next to him. Rootbeer was highly surprised, yet changed his direction – it was a lot easier now – and in a mere minute he was already climbing to the scene, afraid that if he tried to fly he would certainly hit someone. The Skydancer was looking at him, visually interested.
“Sir?..”
“You have a good voice. Do you sing?”
“How do you?..” he understood the question was stupid instantly, of course he had a chance to hear him singing during the last song! “Well, I… Yes, I do, actually. I am – I am a bard”.
“A lonely voice, then?” not only the Skydancer looked pleased, he looked highly interested. He turned to the Ridgeback, exchanging a glance with her, and then looked back to him. “And what do you think about working in a team?”
“I – wait, what do you mean?”
“We want to try a live action play instead of the puppets, and for that we need a male lead, charismatic and with good voice”.
“But sir, can’t you?..” to say that Rootbeer was shocked with this offer was to say nothing. “I mean, you are certainly charismatic, and your voice is beyond imagination, and I am absolutely sure you can be a great actor too…”
“I-“ the Skydancer didn’t manage to answer: the voice of the Pearlcatcher rose next to them:
“And our greatest narrator and leader – Boreal!”
The dragon got up slowly, and Rootbeer didn’t manage to hold a shiver. His hind legs definitely weren’t right – hidden under the cloak before, now they appeared quite skinny, slightly misshapen and definitely showing the signs of old scars under the paint. Boreal didn’t show a slightest sign that he noticed Rootbeer’s reaction – instead, he opened his wings and flew to the center of the scene, where Ximena stood, and bowed to the crowd, looking at the dragons and smiling.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t know,” started Rootbeer, when the crowd’s enthusiasm finally died out, the dragons started returning to their tables, and he could come closer to the singers.
“No harm done,” the dragon named Boreal shook his head, sitting down again. “So…”
“Boreal, who is this?” the Pearlcatcher looked highly interested, interfering her partner.
“This – well, my bad, I didn’t manage to ask your name,” Boreal turned his head to the younger dragon.
“It’s… It’s Rootbeer. And I am a bard,” Rootbeer answered, addressing to the Pearlcatcher – Ximena, he remembered. Now he could see that she indeed wasn’t painted, and her eyes weren’t Shadow, but bright Nature green – maybe, it were the consequences of some spell that made her look like this?... Anyway, it suited her just perfectly.
“Oh, so it was you who answered us first?” she smiled cheerfully, moving her wings constantly, “Wait – Boreal, do you suggest?..”
“First of all, I suggest that we move to our table,” said Boreal, nodding to the spot in the furthest part of the inn, where bigger dragons sat. Rootbeer couldn’t help himself but wonder how Boreal would get there – he knew that most of the inns prohibited flying for anyone bigger than a spiral, and the Skydancer certainly didn’t seem to be able to walk this distance easily. But then the Ridgeback, Hitshas, stretched her wing, and Boreal got on her back in one sweep of wings, settling himself on her broad shoulders. They set off to the table.
“So, what do you think?” Ximena asked, when they settled around the table.
“I- Dear Eleven, of course, it would be great! But you seem to know each other, and I am new, and I have never travelled in company…”
“Why, don’t worry, we don’t ask you to bind your life with us for all the eternity!” the Pearlcatcher laughed, smiling. “We merely want to try it, whether it works or not at all – and since you travel, you might have time and possibility?”
“Well, then of course I’m in!” said Rootbeer cheerfully.
A few days later, he wasn’t so cheerful at all. Being actor turned out to be a lot harder than being a bard! Before he always spoke from his heart, telling stories he knew and putting his own soul in them – but now he had to turn into a completely different person, a young dragon full of love and will to prove himself as a great warrior before his fiancée… Ximena was, however, quite pleased with him – always kind and positive, like a flower in a spring garden, she turned out to be a perfect princess, wishing for adventures side by side with her hero. She didn’t even had to act – Rootbeer thought first after a couple of tiring repetition days. But when he shared those thoughts with Boreal, who was working him through his mistakes, the elder Skydancer shook his head:
“Don’t be mistaken by her appearances. She has participated in a war, was enchanted to lose her looks forever and would have died if it weren’t for our clan leader, Eara, and her mate, who helped her survive and stopped the progress of the jinx. The dragon she loves lives in the middle of Light territories, and their children risk their lives in battles almost every day”.
Rootbeer didn’t know what to say. He glanced aside at his stage partner – she was discussing something with Hitshas lively.
“She doesn’t look like…”
“Of course she does not,” snapped Boreal. “She managed to find her way out of it, and how to live with it. Also, don’t mention to her that I’ve told you that… She doesn’t really like stories about her past. But I do think it’s easier to avoid unnecessary collisions when you know what do you need to avoid”.
Rootbeer nodded slowly.
“Understood? Now get back to that piece!”
“Wait, I actually wanted to ask you…”
The crowd was cheering and calling their names. It wasn’t a small inn this time, but a huge festive scene on the shore of the Thousand-Current Sea, how Boreal was calling it. Rootbeer glanced at his wings – painted, looking almost fragile. His neck felt uncomfortably vulnerable without his favorite scarf, and the mask on his face seemed to be straining his mouth – though he knew perfectly well it wasn’t, for he’s spent a fair lot of time in it, making sure he could sing as easily as without it.
“Nervous?” Ximena asked him, smiling. She changed her usual coat and birdskulls for a gentle silk dress and clinging bracelets, and even though they were of almost equal sizes, she looked tiny and almost vulnerable. Hitshas grinned at them from behind the decorations: she didn’t participate in the play personally, being the animator of decorations and puppets that helped them – monsters that he had to fight and dangers Ximena had to overcome.
“A bit…” he chuckled, forcing himself to smile. It wasn’t only his reputation at stake, but the reputation of the whole troupe… Such a responsibility laying on his shoulders! “But actually, it isn’t mine only, is it?” he asked himself, looking around. They were all together here, shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to combine their separate parts of the play in the piece of art. And he never could – and he never would – fail them!
“Hello,” Boreal’s voice rose from the other side of the curtain. “And welcome to our performance”.
“You should have seen that, it was magnificent!”
When the roar of applause died out and the crowd let them go, Boreal flew to them, rustling his feathers with joy. Rootbeer felt like he could explode – that was certainly something!
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Ximena asked him, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “We were planning to return home for some time, after such a success...”
“Nah… I really think I’d better be going, it’s best to travel during festivals. Well – maybe, I’ll drop in some time later, I’ve always wondered how do Plague dragons live…” he let himself a wondrous look, taking off the shirt he wore for the play and putting his scarf back on its rightful place. Ximena laughed:
“Not too different from other dragons, I can assure you. And don’t you even hope to slip away before the feast! The keeper of this place will never forgive us – and also you’ve promised me to sing your own songs!”
Rootbeer couldn’t suppress the widest smile his face was capable of, nor did he even pretend to depart just now – not to mention that it wouldn’t be polite, he’d like to spend as much time as possible with the troupe. His psywurm was speeding between their legs, chirring agitatedly. He bowed his head, allowing the creature to climb onto himself using his scarf – it was quite crowded behind the scene anyway. Boreal tossed him quite a formidable bag, clinging with gold – Rootbeer caught it, looking quite astonished:
“This is?..”
“Yep,” the Skydancer smiled widely, “Quite a success here, isn’t it?”
“And what about those things of “pleasing the listeners” and “fame is my pay” and other stuff?”
“Well, they do stack nicely with a bit of treasure, don’t they?”
Rootbeer departed the other day – the psywurm on his back, his luggage increased by another couple of songs, a heavy bag full of treasure and gems, a nice wooden puppet of Hitshas’ work – she showed him how to operate it, so that he could sing and animate his songs along – and, what he felt the most precious, the memory of the past days and new friendships he’s made. Maybe they were to meet again, and maybe not – he never knew, but hoped nonetheless. A desire that awakened on the big stage was glowing inside him, warm and bright – a fame like this, the cheering crowd, but for himself alone, for his songs and voice and skill – that he had yet to master.
The same evening he glided down to an inn flickering invitingly with bright candlelights. It was the very border between Arcane and Plague lands, and no wonder the place was full with dragons. Rootbeer touched up his scarf and entered, looking around in a dimmed hall, hoping to find the owner of the inn – if he was nice and lucky, he could earn some treasure and find a place to stay overnight. But this time he seemed to be late – the light was concentrated on the stage at the further end of the place, where another Skydancer was sitting – brightly painted, wearing a shimmering silky cloak and a black top head; some candles were floating around him in dark, smoky whirls. Right behind him there was a huge screen stretched from one side of the scene to another; it was brightly lit from behind, and only a couple of spikes ejecting from behind it were giving away that a dragon was there – a Ridgeback, he guessed. All of the dragons in the inn were either turning that way or even drawing closer; he hurried towards the scene too to get himself a spot – this seemed like a thing he wouldn’t want to miss!
“Hello,” the Skydancer spoke, his voice being deep and soft, “and welcome to our performance. This is a story of a brave young Fae who was trying to make her way as a warrior even though nobody believed in her, especially compared to her big and strong clanmates – when suddenly dragons started acting weird, and she received assistance from the most unexpected ally…”
The lights went out, all of them except for the one that was lighting the screen from behind. The Skydancer turned, his profile sharply contrasting against the light. And then a silhouette of a Fae appeared against the screen material – it moved so smoothly and easily that it took Rootbeer several minutes to understand that it was actually a puppet pressed against the screen for a fine shadow. And then a voice rose from somewhere behind the screen – gentle and high, obviously belonging to a female dragon, it sang the Fae’s story, and Rootbeer, who had never complained with his own voice, nor ever had anyone who heard him, suddenly understood how young and inexperienced he was in this field. Meanwhile, the play continued. New characters arrived, showing their silhouettes against the screen, the voice of unseen dragon was singing for them – mostly for the main character, the Fae – while the Skydancer answered her as the narrator and the male voices. Not a single dragon in the inn moved or spoke – even the keeper of the inn seemed frozen, watching the performance. And only during the very last song did it change, for it was so bright and cheerful, and both the Skydancer and the unseen female sang so inviting that Rootbeer couldn’t resist. He sprang on all fours and sang with them, adding his voice to their two, and then, taking his lead, the other dragons around him raised their voices too. The Skydancer on the stage seemed quite pleased with such a reaction of the audience, and smiled when the song smoothly turned into a wave of applause.
“Thank you… Thank you,” the Skydancer bowed his head, watching the crowd. “And now please welcome those whom you are addressing these applauds – our puppet master, Hitshas,” a huge female Ridgeback raised her head from behind the screen and moved it aside, coming to the scene and letting the light flicker on her bright yellowish spikes, “and our most prized singer, Ximena!”
A Shadow-colored Pearlcatcher entered the scene in the uproar of voices and applause, bowing her head. From this distance, Rootbeer couldn’t tell if she was painted or it was her real appearance, but she was moving so gently and easily, rolling her pearl on her chessboard-colored wings, that it made him freeze for a second – and then rush to the scene among the others that wished to come closer, watch, greet, maybe even touch the stars of this evening…
Something patted his shoulder gently from above.
“Hey, you – yes, you, Skydancer boy – come here, will you?”
Rootbeer jerked his head up, searching around for what has touched him – it appeared to be the long, pointy tail of the Ridgeback that was now laying next to the Skydancer, and it was him who spoke to the Rootbeer.
“Sorry – me?”
“Well, certainly not me,” snapped the dragon, nodding next to him. Rootbeer was highly surprised, yet changed his direction – it was a lot easier now – and in a mere minute he was already climbing to the scene, afraid that if he tried to fly he would certainly hit someone. The Skydancer was looking at him, visually interested.
“Sir?..”
“You have a good voice. Do you sing?”
“How do you?..” he understood the question was stupid instantly, of course he had a chance to hear him singing during the last song! “Well, I… Yes, I do, actually. I am – I am a bard”.
“A lonely voice, then?” not only the Skydancer looked pleased, he looked highly interested. He turned to the Ridgeback, exchanging a glance with her, and then looked back to him. “And what do you think about working in a team?”
“I – wait, what do you mean?”
“We want to try a live action play instead of the puppets, and for that we need a male lead, charismatic and with good voice”.
“But sir, can’t you?..” to say that Rootbeer was shocked with this offer was to say nothing. “I mean, you are certainly charismatic, and your voice is beyond imagination, and I am absolutely sure you can be a great actor too…”
“I-“ the Skydancer didn’t manage to answer: the voice of the Pearlcatcher rose next to them:
“And our greatest narrator and leader – Boreal!”
The dragon got up slowly, and Rootbeer didn’t manage to hold a shiver. His hind legs definitely weren’t right – hidden under the cloak before, now they appeared quite skinny, slightly misshapen and definitely showing the signs of old scars under the paint. Boreal didn’t show a slightest sign that he noticed Rootbeer’s reaction – instead, he opened his wings and flew to the center of the scene, where Ximena stood, and bowed to the crowd, looking at the dragons and smiling.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t know,” started Rootbeer, when the crowd’s enthusiasm finally died out, the dragons started returning to their tables, and he could come closer to the singers.
“No harm done,” the dragon named Boreal shook his head, sitting down again. “So…”
“Boreal, who is this?” the Pearlcatcher looked highly interested, interfering her partner.
“This – well, my bad, I didn’t manage to ask your name,” Boreal turned his head to the younger dragon.
“It’s… It’s Rootbeer. And I am a bard,” Rootbeer answered, addressing to the Pearlcatcher – Ximena, he remembered. Now he could see that she indeed wasn’t painted, and her eyes weren’t Shadow, but bright Nature green – maybe, it were the consequences of some spell that made her look like this?... Anyway, it suited her just perfectly.
“Oh, so it was you who answered us first?” she smiled cheerfully, moving her wings constantly, “Wait – Boreal, do you suggest?..”
“First of all, I suggest that we move to our table,” said Boreal, nodding to the spot in the furthest part of the inn, where bigger dragons sat. Rootbeer couldn’t help himself but wonder how Boreal would get there – he knew that most of the inns prohibited flying for anyone bigger than a spiral, and the Skydancer certainly didn’t seem to be able to walk this distance easily. But then the Ridgeback, Hitshas, stretched her wing, and Boreal got on her back in one sweep of wings, settling himself on her broad shoulders. They set off to the table.
“So, what do you think?” Ximena asked, when they settled around the table.
“I- Dear Eleven, of course, it would be great! But you seem to know each other, and I am new, and I have never travelled in company…”
“Why, don’t worry, we don’t ask you to bind your life with us for all the eternity!” the Pearlcatcher laughed, smiling. “We merely want to try it, whether it works or not at all – and since you travel, you might have time and possibility?”
“Well, then of course I’m in!” said Rootbeer cheerfully.
A few days later, he wasn’t so cheerful at all. Being actor turned out to be a lot harder than being a bard! Before he always spoke from his heart, telling stories he knew and putting his own soul in them – but now he had to turn into a completely different person, a young dragon full of love and will to prove himself as a great warrior before his fiancée… Ximena was, however, quite pleased with him – always kind and positive, like a flower in a spring garden, she turned out to be a perfect princess, wishing for adventures side by side with her hero. She didn’t even had to act – Rootbeer thought first after a couple of tiring repetition days. But when he shared those thoughts with Boreal, who was working him through his mistakes, the elder Skydancer shook his head:
“Don’t be mistaken by her appearances. She has participated in a war, was enchanted to lose her looks forever and would have died if it weren’t for our clan leader, Eara, and her mate, who helped her survive and stopped the progress of the jinx. The dragon she loves lives in the middle of Light territories, and their children risk their lives in battles almost every day”.
Rootbeer didn’t know what to say. He glanced aside at his stage partner – she was discussing something with Hitshas lively.
“She doesn’t look like…”
“Of course she does not,” snapped Boreal. “She managed to find her way out of it, and how to live with it. Also, don’t mention to her that I’ve told you that… She doesn’t really like stories about her past. But I do think it’s easier to avoid unnecessary collisions when you know what do you need to avoid”.
Rootbeer nodded slowly.
“Understood? Now get back to that piece!”
“Wait, I actually wanted to ask you…”
The crowd was cheering and calling their names. It wasn’t a small inn this time, but a huge festive scene on the shore of the Thousand-Current Sea, how Boreal was calling it. Rootbeer glanced at his wings – painted, looking almost fragile. His neck felt uncomfortably vulnerable without his favorite scarf, and the mask on his face seemed to be straining his mouth – though he knew perfectly well it wasn’t, for he’s spent a fair lot of time in it, making sure he could sing as easily as without it.
“Nervous?” Ximena asked him, smiling. She changed her usual coat and birdskulls for a gentle silk dress and clinging bracelets, and even though they were of almost equal sizes, she looked tiny and almost vulnerable. Hitshas grinned at them from behind the decorations: she didn’t participate in the play personally, being the animator of decorations and puppets that helped them – monsters that he had to fight and dangers Ximena had to overcome.
“A bit…” he chuckled, forcing himself to smile. It wasn’t only his reputation at stake, but the reputation of the whole troupe… Such a responsibility laying on his shoulders! “But actually, it isn’t mine only, is it?” he asked himself, looking around. They were all together here, shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to combine their separate parts of the play in the piece of art. And he never could – and he never would – fail them!
“Hello,” Boreal’s voice rose from the other side of the curtain. “And welcome to our performance”.
“You should have seen that, it was magnificent!”
When the roar of applause died out and the crowd let them go, Boreal flew to them, rustling his feathers with joy. Rootbeer felt like he could explode – that was certainly something!
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Ximena asked him, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “We were planning to return home for some time, after such a success...”
“Nah… I really think I’d better be going, it’s best to travel during festivals. Well – maybe, I’ll drop in some time later, I’ve always wondered how do Plague dragons live…” he let himself a wondrous look, taking off the shirt he wore for the play and putting his scarf back on its rightful place. Ximena laughed:
“Not too different from other dragons, I can assure you. And don’t you even hope to slip away before the feast! The keeper of this place will never forgive us – and also you’ve promised me to sing your own songs!”
Rootbeer couldn’t suppress the widest smile his face was capable of, nor did he even pretend to depart just now – not to mention that it wouldn’t be polite, he’d like to spend as much time as possible with the troupe. His psywurm was speeding between their legs, chirring agitatedly. He bowed his head, allowing the creature to climb onto himself using his scarf – it was quite crowded behind the scene anyway. Boreal tossed him quite a formidable bag, clinging with gold – Rootbeer caught it, looking quite astonished:
“This is?..”
“Yep,” the Skydancer smiled widely, “Quite a success here, isn’t it?”
“And what about those things of “pleasing the listeners” and “fame is my pay” and other stuff?”
“Well, they do stack nicely with a bit of treasure, don’t they?”
Rootbeer departed the other day – the psywurm on his back, his luggage increased by another couple of songs, a heavy bag full of treasure and gems, a nice wooden puppet of Hitshas’ work – she showed him how to operate it, so that he could sing and animate his songs along – and, what he felt the most precious, the memory of the past days and new friendships he’s made. Maybe they were to meet again, and maybe not – he never knew, but hoped nonetheless. A desire that awakened on the big stage was glowing inside him, warm and bright – a fame like this, the cheering crowd, but for himself alone, for his songs and voice and skill – that he had yet to master.
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