Fallen

Bio template by Mibella, find it here.

"And with that, the Hunger Games has reached it's end! Congratulations to the Plague Flight, for their tribute has won the games and the hand of the princess!"

Fallen opened her eyes, staring down at the crowds as their cheers rang throughout the stadium, and she fought the urge to cover her ears. On a pedestal stood the winner of the Games, clad in armor painted to match that of the Plaguebringer herself. The warrior represented the Filthy One, as all fighters had dressed to imitate their respective deities. The Arcanist, the Flamecaller, the Tidelord, there was even a representative for the Beastclans and the Shade. Of course, the hosting clan had their own representative as well, with none other than their leader Phoenix fighting for the honor of her clan. It was almost scary how some of the actions and personalities of the tributes matched the deities they had chosen to fight for. The Tidelord was a bleeding heart, refusing to kill anyone even when they were at knifepoint, and thus dying first. The Windsinger, ever the jovial fellow, was the first to strike up an alliance. The Flamecaller had died once but was resurrected, and sought out revenge on those who had wronged her, even killing off her own allies when the dragon that had killed her was dead. The Icewarden tried to hide himself away. The Arcanist never stopped blowing things up. The Shade went insane and threw itself off of a cliff. And the Plaguebringer... the dragon portraying her was perhaps the most terrifying of all. They did not bother themselves with shaky alliances, or put up with the trifles of helping another. They quickly and quietly killed dragons who had allied with the Gladekeeper representative, before finally stabbing their nemesis in the back. When the Tidelord was brought back to life, Plaguebringer joined them in the only alliance the both had made, seeing as the Tidelord was the first and only dragon to help the Plaguebringer. And when the Flamecaller eventually killed the Tidelord, the Plaguebringer did not hesitate. When they could not use stealth to their advantage, they fought savagely with everything they had. And in the end, the Plague Flight was victorious.

"Fallen?"

The Fae startled, realizing that she had been lost in thought. She turned around at the familiar voice, seeing none other than her mother Mamba. The golden Fae smiled sadly at her daughter. "It's time," she whispered, and Fallen nodded. The princess had long since been resigned to her fate. Ever since birth, Phoenix had took her under her wing. The leader raised Fallen as if she were her own daughter, soon declaring Fallen one of the princesses of the Flaming Core. But Fallen soon realized the true motives that phoenix had for her, and the purpose that she would serve as a princess. Fallen's hand in marriage would be the prize for a Hunger Games style tournament. Or, not marriage, precisely. To be exact, Fallen would be sent off to live at the winning clan. Marriage would just be one of the perks, if the winning suitor found her to be in their taste. It wasn't like Fallen had any say in the matter. When she had first learned of the arrangement, she had begged and pleaded to stay in the Flaming Core. If it was a matter of using her as some sort of treaty for an alliance, surely there was another way to make peace. But Phoenix did not change her stance. The matter was not of war, but of popularity. By offering up a beautiful princess as a prize to be sent away for the winner, Phoenix was sure to become more well-known amongst the clans of Sornieth. That was it, plain and simple.

Now that she was all grown up, Fallen was resigned to her fate. If she was destined to live out life in a clan of Plague, then so be it. Mamba helped Fallen get ready, making sure that her daughter's dress wasn't wrinkled, her pink bow hadn't faded in color, and the lace ribbons adorning her wings hadn't gotten all tangled up. Mamba handed her daughter a book describing proper etiquette and manners that a princess must adhere to, and Fallen strapped it numbly around her chest. Finally, Mamba delicately placed Fallen's rose thorn crown atop her head, a sign of her status and wealth. The dragons of the Flaming Core had gone all out to treat Fallen like a princess, and make sure that she looked and acted as such. Her apparel had been weaved by only the most skilled seamstresses using only the finest silks. She had been pampered and catered to, and was never shade-touched like the others. Phoenix feared that allowing the Shade to reside within her would make the Fae less desirable. Fallen had never really liked the fact that she had to leave her home against her will, but she had to admit, it was nice growing up being treated like royalty. Fallen searched around the room some more, realizing that something was missing. "Where's my corsage?" she asked, face contorting in worry. Mamba noticeably grimaced. "I-It's your crown, sweetheart," she responded, gesturing to the apparel adorned upon Fallen's head. "I-I made it myself. Phoenix wanted someone more skilled to make it, b-but I knew that you would want to keep the one remnant of your old like before you became a princess, s-so I refashioned it. I'm sorry. This was the only way. Phoenix said that you wouldn't be allowed to keep your old corsage any other way, seeing as you'll be getting a new one soon..." Fallen's face fell, eyes widening and jaw dropping open, as cold realization overtook her. The last fragment of her childhood, of a more peaceful and simple life, had been modified to reflect her life as a princess. The Fae was filled with betrayal. Mamba winced and turned her gaze away from her daughter, unable to bare looking at her crestfallen expression. "Close your mouth dear," Mamba whispered, voice barely audible. "It's not very ladylike to leave it hanging open."

Fallen was silent as the guards led her down the hall. She was being brought to the pedestal where the winner of the games stood, and Phoenix would announce her allegiance to her new clan. During the walk, Fallen would occasionally glance to one of the guards. They continued to stare ahead, unyielding to her pleading looks, but every once in a while she would catch a glimmer of regret. A flash of sorrow, a helpless flinch that told Fallen that the guards were sorry that things had to be this way. Fallen couldn't really recognize them, seeing as she had been sheltered from interacting with. kit of the clan, but after squinting she could recognize them as Abyss and Raven. Mates of two dragons Fallen had never gotten along with. How funny. When they finally entered the stadium, the crowd cheered upon seeing Fallen enter. The Fae resisted the urge to cover and tremble, to shield herself from the deafening sound. When she stood on the pedestal, Phoenix motioned for the crowd to quiet down, and their sounds ceased. Fallen stared at the winner, sizing them up. Under all the armor and adornments, she couldn't tell what species they were, and could only guess that they were either a Guardian or Mirror. They stared at her with unwavering red eyes, not making a sound. Fallen felt vastly intimidated. "I now pronounce Fallen, Princess of the Flaming Core, newly aligned to the clan of Plague in which our winner has came from!" Phoenix announced, voice booming, and the crowd roared once again. The winner kneeled down, waiting. Fallen stuck out her arm, limb noticeably shaking. Was she really about to do this? The winner gently slipped a corsage on to her wrist, the blood red feathers tickling her scales and shimmering beautifully in the sunlight. She was. She had no other choice. Silently, Fallen allowed herself to be led to her new life as she exited the stadium behind the winner, the crowd cheering her on all the while.

She had never even given her mother a goodbye hug.