Post by Sylph on Apr 30, 2007 4:04:51 GMT -5
It had been a tough day. Sylph had lost more than Hayzie that wretched day, though that would have been enough grief for a decade. Her dragon, the very one Talon had mentioned moments beforehand, in fact, had had his left wing destroyed by the former Shadow leader Syrus Korodin. It was a terrible thing. Leucetios was a dragon of the winds and the rains, to him flight was not just joy, it was life itself. Seeing him pining away, staring up at the sky as if mourning the loss of a life partner - it was killing Sylph to even look at him, but she was not the type to give up all hope.
Being made of rock and metal, the shards of his former appendage had been easy to find; they had littered the steps of Firefox, and Sylph had been meticulous in her collection of every single blob and chip; they sat now in a glass jar, waiting to be reattached. Trouble was, Sylph didn't know how to reattach them. They would need shaping, welding with mental magic, molding using the skills of alchemy - not Sylph's strongest subject, to say the least. How Roan had created this massive but perfectly formed reptile was quite frankly beyond her scope in transfiguration, and while the violet haired girl had made a few attempts herself to master the techniques require, success had been hard in coming. She needed help.
It was a fine day on the dueling field, lush green grass soft to the touch, the dueling strips sharp edged and clean cut. The sky was a beautiful azure blue, the occasional lazy wisp of cloud drifting through on a light breeze. It was quidditch weather, perfect weather to be flying. But not for poor Leucetios. Sylph was seated on a patch of spongy grass, legs crossed and the egg-shaped glass jar full of the Stormstrike's ex-wing parts in her lap. Obviously, the receptacle was large, but not as big as one might think; it was always surprising how much less space something took up when it was in bits. The dragon himself was sat, hunched before her, black eyes glinting in the sun in such a way to make them appear wet, forlorn. His scales were as dark as they could go, a deep stormy grey in twilight, brooding and menacing and misery itself.
It wasn't fair. Sylph needed someone. Who, she didn't care. Syrus himself could show up and fix her dragon and she would hug him for it. It wasn't a likely situation, admittedly, but she would take it. She turned her face up to the stony mass, pity in her eyes. Storm would die if she didn't get this fixed, she could see it. His reason for existence had been stolen and wrecked and it was all Her Fault. Everything that day had been Her Fault; Hayzie's involvement in the fight and hence her death; the death of that other student in the woods, Leucetios...
Two of those were now irreversible. The latter though... if she tried hard enough, if she had help, she could perhaps rectify the consequences of her mistakes, rebuild her dragon. Make him better, faster, stronger. Maybe.
Being made of rock and metal, the shards of his former appendage had been easy to find; they had littered the steps of Firefox, and Sylph had been meticulous in her collection of every single blob and chip; they sat now in a glass jar, waiting to be reattached. Trouble was, Sylph didn't know how to reattach them. They would need shaping, welding with mental magic, molding using the skills of alchemy - not Sylph's strongest subject, to say the least. How Roan had created this massive but perfectly formed reptile was quite frankly beyond her scope in transfiguration, and while the violet haired girl had made a few attempts herself to master the techniques require, success had been hard in coming. She needed help.
It was a fine day on the dueling field, lush green grass soft to the touch, the dueling strips sharp edged and clean cut. The sky was a beautiful azure blue, the occasional lazy wisp of cloud drifting through on a light breeze. It was quidditch weather, perfect weather to be flying. But not for poor Leucetios. Sylph was seated on a patch of spongy grass, legs crossed and the egg-shaped glass jar full of the Stormstrike's ex-wing parts in her lap. Obviously, the receptacle was large, but not as big as one might think; it was always surprising how much less space something took up when it was in bits. The dragon himself was sat, hunched before her, black eyes glinting in the sun in such a way to make them appear wet, forlorn. His scales were as dark as they could go, a deep stormy grey in twilight, brooding and menacing and misery itself.
It wasn't fair. Sylph needed someone. Who, she didn't care. Syrus himself could show up and fix her dragon and she would hug him for it. It wasn't a likely situation, admittedly, but she would take it. She turned her face up to the stony mass, pity in her eyes. Storm would die if she didn't get this fixed, she could see it. His reason for existence had been stolen and wrecked and it was all Her Fault. Everything that day had been Her Fault; Hayzie's involvement in the fight and hence her death; the death of that other student in the woods, Leucetios...
Two of those were now irreversible. The latter though... if she tried hard enough, if she had help, she could perhaps rectify the consequences of her mistakes, rebuild her dragon. Make him better, faster, stronger. Maybe.