Okay everyone.
The moment you guys. May or may not have been waiting for.
Finally fully copied to a doc. Might edit and repost soon. Written by hand, taking up six pages, front and back
Given an 88 originally, ended with a 96 due to pity points.
Bog's Story, The Guardian of the Lost and Forgotten.
This is a very long read. Be warned >:]
Oh! Also. TW! 🚨This story contains descriptions of violence, death, dying dragons and dragonets, rotting, and lots of grief and sadness. If you are sensitive to this, do not read it. Even if I tagged you, do not feel obligated to read this. 🚨
That's all. Enjoy :3
The village is quiet. It's the afternoon, unusually cool for the Swamplands Bog calls home. Most of the dragons of the village are doing different tasks like hunting, training in their troops, or gathering supplies for sale in the Market. Bog, a guard of the village, is walking along the creaking boardwalks that connect the Village. Cicada song, water ripples, and the faint wind blowing through the hanging moss strands are the only sounds that permeate throughout the village. It's peaceful. He often wishes it could always be like this. Wishes his queen didn't declare war. He pauses his step when he comes to the destroyed section of the path. A few weeks ago, Moonscales attacked this area of the Village and destroyed the homes and pathways. He turns away from the wreckage that stretches further into the swamp-He begins his walk back to the Marketplace. Maybe he could buy some fish or a hog for his sisters, Marigold and Fen.
A few hours later, the village is now lit by torches and cricket song is faintly heard under the cicada song. Chatter fills the Market as Bog strolls through. He passes stalls selling food, woven baskets and nets, herbs and spices, jewelry, and more. He's already bought some dinner for his siblings, so he's just walking and looking at the wares now. He greets some dragons he recognizes, but mostly just walks and watches. He finally manages to get out of the crowded center, walking down the path towards the residential district of the village. The path is much quieter, only a few dragons walk along it. Most of them nod to him silently as they pass. When he reaches the hut that he and his sisters call home, Marigold sprints out to meet him at the doorway, the curtain billowing from her speed. "Bog! Bog, we got summoned!" She seems... not quite excited. More on the nervous side. A summons? At this time? Bog glances around. It's not even a little light. The generals want dragons without night Vision fighting at this time? Bog grits his teeth. "What about Fen? was she summoned too?" Marigold nods, handing him the summoning letter. As he reads it, he can feel his spines start to raise and his frown deepen into a scowl. It's real. They and the rest of the soldiers in the Village have to go fight... He looks at the letter again. On the Rainforest border. They're definitely gonna be fighting Moonscales, them. And probably some Featherscales. He curses under his breath and stuffs the letter in his pack, right next to the food he bought for dinner. He knew it was too quiet today.
“Go get fen and meet me at the wrecked area. The General is probably already going around gathering up the summoned.” Marigold nods and flies off toward the Healer's district, The place where Fen works when not training for battle.
At the wrecked boardwalk, nearly the entire village seems to have been summoned. Looking around, Bog can even see younger dragons who have little or no battle experience. What? Are We really that desperate? Bog can feel something like sickness pool in his stomach. What kind of battle are they sending us into that we need children? At night? He doesn't get an answer before the General and commanders start yelling at everyone to gather into their troops and get into formation. Bog gathers Marigold and Fen under his wings and mutters, "Let's survive this night, okay?" Both of them nod, Marigold with nervous determination and Fen with an almost unnerving calm. The leaders take off with their troops first, then the following lines until the line that Bog's troop is in. The Militia rises as one cloud of thundering Wingbeats above the trees of the swamp. They pause, stalling in the air until every troop is in flight, then they angle towards the much-taller, much darker, and much, much more tangled trees of the rainforest to the west. Even as they fly, that worm of nerves and doubt and fear keeps burrowing deeper into Bog's gut. They didn't say anything about the size of the enemy, nor who the enemy was, exactly. It doesn't help when he notices some of the younger troops falling behind, not used to flying in formation, nor for a long time. The moon does nothing to lighten their way through the clouds. The only thing Keeping him from crashing into the dragons ahead of and beside him is their wingbeats,
The Rainforest is as big as it was in his first battle. Much taller than the normal cypress and Mangrove trees of the swamps. He can faintly hear the gasps of some dragons as they see the rainforest up close. There doesn't seem to be much movement below... The militia swoops around before they fly into the giant trees, stalling above the border, looking around. Slowly, as they wait, a cloud engulfs the small army. Bog's spines raise and he hisses at Marigold and Fen to dive right as he pulls his wings in and dives. He doesn't know if they heard him, nor if they followed him. All he hears is the first shrieks of dragons that were already half blind in the nighttime getting ambushed in the oppressing fog of the clouds. Bog swoops up to level out and looks up. Dragons fall out of the cloud, limp. Rubblescales, if he had to guess. He looks behind Mim. Fen is there, but Marigold isn't. Where is she? Bog whips his head around and comes to a stop, turning to Fen. Before he can even ask, Fen shakes her head. She doesn't know either. He hisses, looking up into the cloud again. Dragons are still plummeting from it, some shrieking, others deathly silent. Orange & yellow flashes light up the cloud. The army is fighting back with fire, it seems. He turns to Fen again. "We need to find Marigold. I'll fly around the cloud and go in from the top. Don't enter from the bottom, you'll get knocked out of the air by those falling dragons.” He looks at the cloud as another dragon falls, tails of fire following them as it eats away at their wing membranes. “Let's both enter from the top, you take the left side, I'll take the right.” Fen nods and flies after him as they both climb through the sky to get above the cloud that flashes with fireballs that light up the battles going on inside. There are more clouds moving in, dark and opaque, covering the moon. If it was difficult to see before, it definitely is now. He flinches when a freezing droplet falls on his nose and he shakes his head to clear his eyes. Fen rises up next to him once they're above the cloud. They nod to each other before she flies towards the left side of it. He dives down into the fray of the battle.
Only three seconds after getting engulfed in the fog, a dragon rams into him with full force. His wingbeats falter for a moment but be turns to his attacker- a Moonscale. Black Scales, perfect camouflage for flight at night. Their eyes are silvery blue and star-like patterns speckle their scales and wings. He can't look away from those eyes. They slash their hind claws against his stomach, making him cough and shake his head, snapping out of it. Don't look into their eyes, right. He thinks before kicking back and smacking their head with one of his wings. They hiss, baring their teeth. Their mouth starts glowing green. Uh oh. He ducks right before the bright green fireball shoots past him. He swings his tail up and around jabbing the large spikes at the tip into their side. They yelp, finally letting him go, but their claws still leave trails of blood when he rips away. Instead of continuing the fight, he flies away, deeper into the cloud, where he’ll surely meet more foes. And he was right. He feels the specks before the burning, sizzling sensation of the featherscale venom on his scales. When he does feel it, he whips around, looking for the Featherscale. He feels more Venom land on his wings and start to eat away. He looked around for a few more moments, uselessly. The Featherscale suddenly appears right in front of him, flaring their frill with bright reds and oranges and their long fangs extended in a petrifying grin. The flesh of their mouth turns from pink to pitch black. He jerks away, but feels their long tail snake around and keep him in place like a large snake. He headbutts them, earning some scratches from the short curved horn on their forehead. Their hold loosens enough for him to wriggle away and fly away from the Featherscale, who, when he looks back Very briefly, has gone invisible again. He continues flying, leaking at each and every Rubblescale face that's locked in battle. Marigold is still nowhere to be seen. He thinks he sees some sunscales and Coldscales fighting with the Rainforest tribes too. They're heavily outnumbered. No wonder so many Rubblescales fell so quickly. He stalls in the middle of the cloud for a moment. He hears blasts of fire, screams, war cries, and he can feel the freezing rainfall getting heavier, weighing down his already-tired wings. Where is Marigold? Where is Fen? He turns in the air, looking at the flashes of orange, red, purple and green fire through the fog of the clouds. He can feel himself panicking. He's alone, his troopmates are missing, and they're losing. He has to find his Sisters.
Right after deciding that, he feels a dragon dive bomb him. Their front claws grip around his neck while their hind talons gouge at his back, tearing through the scales. their wings bat at his wings, making it difficult to stay aloft and causing him to slowly, jerkily, descend. He tries to shake the attacker off, letting out a roar of frustration and pain when they just continue to claw at his back. He tries to twist his head to look at his attacker, and maybe to shoot some fire into their face too, but they grab his horns and jerk his head back around to point straight. They're strong. He hisses and twists to do a barrel turn while diving at the same time. The dragon on top of him yelps and tries to make him level out. Before crashing into the ground, he opens his wings, catching the air immediately. It feels like he hit a brick wall but it stuns the dragon on his back enough for him to shake them off. But they keep their grip, hooking their claws into the crevices between his scales. He lets out a yowl from the pain. He whips his tail around to try and knock them off but they're already flapping their wings and clawing at his throat. He jerks his head back, yelping when those claws just barely miss him. It's another Moonscate, he notices off-handedly. The moonscate turns their head and blasts a purple fire ball at his right wing- the one that the Featherscale venom had already weakened. He screams, and yet the fire keeps burning his wing, engulfing it. He thinks he might’ve heard the Moonscale… laugh? He can't focus on that or his burning wing right now, he has to escape the grasp of this Moonscale first. He hisses and starts gathering fire in his throat, but before he can do that, two other dragons grab him- two talons jerk his face up, away from the Moonscale, and the other dragon lands on his back and starts shredding the membrane of his other wing. The one holding his head is a Featherscale. They hiss in his ear. “You're not hurting Destiny on my watch.” They bare their fangs for emphasis. He shakes his head trying to escape their grip so he can get the dragon ripping apart his wing off. But they don't budge. The Moonscale below him starts kicking his stomach, making his wounds that were already there even worse. All three dragons are tearing through his scales and he can't stop them. Even though he knows it's futile, that they're gonna kill him, he continues struggling. The rain hasn't put the fire burning his wing out yet. It might never, since Moonscale fire is known for burning even despite water, forever.
Just when he thinks it would be a mercy to just snap his neck right then and there, they let him go. He thinks it's a good thing. Until he opens his wings and finds they've been deemed useless. The membrane on his right wing is still burning, with more holes than membrane left. The left wing is not much better. strings of what's left trail after, bloody and glistening and ultimately useless. The ground is rushing towards him. Just his luck, huh? He thought tonight would be a good night. He just hopes his sisters are okay. Right after that thought, he hits the ground. He feels the crunching and hears the cracking of his ribs. He causes a splash in the watery mud. He lays there, struggling to breath, choking. Were any organs punctured by his ribs? He tries to move and finds he can't, so he stays. He looks around with measured, ginger movements of his head. He meets the eyes-no, eye sockets- of a skeletal corpse. There's very little flesh still clinging to the muddy bornes. Maggots cover those bits of flesh. Who was that dragon? He can't tell what tribe they were from. He thinks they could be a featherscale, based on the super long fangs, but they're missing the forehead spike. He glances around. Corpses, new, old, and very old, surround him on the muddy, blood soaked, and bone-strewn field. As he continues looking around, he hears a splashing thud and looks at the dragon that just fell. Light brown scales, thick branching horns... a lopsided tail... That's Marigold. She's covered in scratches- no, scratches is an understatement. These are gouges, deep, ripped through scales and muscle with an intent to kill. Her wings are also also shredded like his left wing. He can hear her gasping breaths, choking on air. He can see the blood staining the watery mud underneath her. But she's not facing him. She probably doesn't even know he's here. He wants to call out to her, he tries to, but nothing comes out. He tries again and still, nothing. He wants to cry. He... He abandoned her didn't he? Abandoned her to fight alone. He watches her side stutter in its breathing. She's going to die, and it'll be his fault. Why didn't he yell at everyone to dive? He could've saved even just one Rubblescale’s life if he gave the warning. If he hadn't been stupid enough to tell Fen to look for Marigold alone, she might've been here, might've been able to help Marigold pass faster... That worm of fear and doubt that was in his belly earlier has returned tenfold, but with another vile emotion attached- guilt. The least he can hope for is that Fen had the gold sense to desert the battle- no, who is he kidding? Fen's not like that, she never has been. Every time, every battle they've fought in these past nine years, she's been the quiet and determined one, more of a troop leader than he's ever been. Maybe she would've been able to prevent all their other siblings’ deaths if she had been the leader from the start. He finds himself crying, or maybe that's just the freezing cold rain that causes flashes of pain when the droplets hit an open gash directly. He looks back up towards Marigold, She's gone still. No. No no no no! No, she can't be dead yet! He didn't get to comfort her! He didn't get to see her face alive for the last time! He didn't get to reassure her that the afterlife is better and peaceful... He didn't get to tell her that he loved her for one last time. He lets out a whine and reaches a talon out toward her. It hurts to breathe, let alone move. He can't be near her one last time. He strains his claws, trying to reach her even though it's futile.
He feels it before he truly registers what's in front of him. Pain. Pain shoots through his foreleg when a dark brown and sandy striped dragon falls directly on his outstretched talon. He lets out a yelp from the pain, wincing at the same time. But after a few seconds, he wishes that was the only pain he felt from this dragan's fall and... "landing". This dragon... Her stomach was sliced open. A lot the internal organs have spilled out onto the mud and his arm. Her head is missing- or wait, no, it's just twisted at the neck so viciously that it's almost fallen off. He recognizes the face, and the scale pattern. So that's what happened to her. Fen is dead too. She's dead and her blood is on his talons. He really believed she would survive too. How stupid he was. He thinks he really is crying, even with the rain. How fitting, Rain for such a tragic day- no, night. Because of course they had to fight at night. He shakes his head and, despite the scent of blood that's quickly cooling, he dips his head and rests it against the shoulder of his sister. And then lets himself cry. Not only for her, not only for Marigold nor for the siblings he's lost in the last nine years, but for every life taken by this war that shouldn't have lasted this long. He stays like that, letting himself truly cry for the first time since this war started. He hears a thud from nearby and a high-pitched meaning sound right after. He looks up, his entire body having gone stiff from sitting still for so long. It's one of those young dragonets. If he recalled correctly, they were excited for their first real battle. Looking at them now, he wishes they could've stayed in that false hope of glory. Their eyes have been gouged out, leaving bloody, torn eye sockets. Their wings, like many of the... fresher. corpses, are torn apart, one hanging limply like the shoulder joint could be dislocated. Looking closer, no, it's not dislocated. It seems to have been twisted in much the same way Fen's neck was, twisted to almost severing, but not quite. The dragonet also has many vicious gashes along their sides and neck. Their breathing seems to be labored too. They turn their head frantically, trying to see without eyes to do so. They shakily stand and keep turning, limping and stumbling as they do so. They call out names unfamiliar to Bog. Their troopmates he assumes.
"Hey." He calls to them softly. His voice is hoarse. They whip their head towards him and bare their teeth, starting to back away.
“No, no, come here. You're okay." He tries to soothe The dragonet barely puts up a fight. They're too tired, too hurt to worry whether he's an enemy or not. They slowly limp over to him and he raises his wing and tucks them into his side, even if it hurts his ribs with their weight against them.
"What's your name, little one?" they don't reply for a second and he worries they've already died, when-
"Moss.” Their voice is small, pained... scared. They're shivering against his side too.
"Well, Moss,” He starts curling his tail tighter around them. “Have you heard the war song that Rubblescales sing when they go to battle?" He doesn't hear a reply, but feels them shake their head “no” so he continues. “Would you like to?” They reply verbally this time. Quieter, fainter. He worries, but starts humming. He lied. This isn’t a war song for rallying troops. It's a lullaby. A lullaby for calming younger members of troops when they were all dragonets. He hums it to the shivering dragonet at his side, but also for all the dead in this wasteland. He finds himself crying again. He hummed this tune to his siblings. When they had nightmares or got scared by storms or alligator attacks. Every time it would work, it would help quiet their worries and calm their stress. Halfway through the third loop of the tune, he notices the dragonet has gone cold, and stiff. Moss. Moss is dead. He hopes that he succeeded in calming them before their passing in the way he couldn't for his sisters. He continues humming all through the night and the battle fizzles out, high above.
He wakes up to heat and the smell of quickly rotting flesh. When had he gone to sleep? It doesn't matter. He looks around. He wishes he hadn't even woken up. He sees Fen's wounds much more clearly in the daylight and how Maggots and flies have already eaten their tunnels into her flesh. Moss's eyes haven't fared much better. They're crusted with black at the edges and flies crawl in and out of the sockets, picking at the exposed flesh and blood greedily. Gnats fly around his wounds too, making him squirm, but moving hurts too much. He tries to ignore all the other bodies, new and old, around him and he looks up into the sky. A cloudless, hot day. Steam rises from the muddy field. He sees dragons flying high above. He can't tell what tribe they're from. He wonders when they'll come back to pick up the injured and bury the dead. He catches a glimpse of the skeletal corpse. What if... No! That's not a Rubblescate-It can't be! The Rubblescates always come back to bury their dead... right? He can't focus with the mosquitoes in his ears. Maybe he's just stressed. They'll come soon. Maybe.
That night, it's cold again. He can see scavengers darting across the field, picking apart the fresh meat. Mosquitos still buzz in his ears. He's still hopeful they’ll come looking for survivors.
The next day, vultures are circling overhead. While he was asleep, Moss was dragged away and is now half eaten. His hope is exponentially dwindling. Especially by sunset, when he notices several of the gashes on his body are starting to swell and heat up. Some of them are turning green around the edges.
He wakes up halfway through the night to a coyote chewing on his tail. He smacks it away easily. He still has some strength. There are more coyotes around the last remnants of Moss. His wounds burn. He wishes Fen could tell him what to put on them to soothe the infection. He doesn't sleep for the rest of that night.
He stays up until noon. He wants to stop seeing this field in the daylight. It's haunting at night, but in the daytime, the humidity and the heat makes the smell so, so much worse. He can feel a headache and fever taking hold too. He tries to sleep, even as vultures dip ever closer to the feast.
It's been a week. One of the infected abscesses burst and it's still burning like fire. All the other infected wounds are still "Intact". He starts talking to Fen's corpse.
Another couple days. He finds that he can pull his arm out from under Fen's body. It's completely numb and limp. The bones are shattered, it seems, poking through the skin. He tries to get up, but none of his legs work. He's so hungry... The scavengers are too quick to catch or dodge. He looks at the corpses, already rotting... No. Not yet, at least.
Three weeks. He's still in the field. At night Scavengers pick at his wings and hind legs. During the day, vultures peck his wounds. He can't even muster the energy to growl at them, let alone try to chase them away. Most of the time he barely feels it. There's just a fog of pain all throughout. He knows he's going to die. He's accepted it.
Months later, after another battle above that same field.
Bog Wanders. He trudges through the bloodied mud, looking at all the new faces joining the earth once again. He knows their names. Each and every one. Including the names of those little dragons watching him among the trees. He's glad there's another Moss. He just wishes they had come back after the war had ended. He allows them to gawk at the walking corpse. No one will believe them anyways...
Holy shit.
Uhhh. I'm not going to go through this to, like, put the italics (too much work)
Really really hope Tumblr doesn't crash from me trying to post this all on one post.
If it does, might try to cut it in half somehow and post it that way.
Much longer than the Dreamcatcher and Bloodmoon story, huh?
Their new stories will be longer >:D
Also, I'm still working on the silt and icetalon story.
Didn't feel like writing another fight scene -.-
Also, while copying the story into the document, I almost cried near the end about the dragonet.
I'ma tag some frens :3
@adragonwholovesspace @achilles-is-fucked @ajolteonnamedsparky @accidentallyoccidental @drudg30n @echoing-cloves @evan-ashes @freakunderthecouch @forestragon @halogen-insertlastparthere @itsuwari-no-kibo-offical @knownentityoutsideyourwindowpost @lun4-1s-d3pr3ssed @leafwing-life @mossymenaces @princeofthedark @pudgeybear @queen-darkstalker @reincarnated-gay-fox @remuswilleatyourfetus @r0ckd0v3s @sharxxybaitxdd @the-bone-eating-vulture-kirin @thebloodiest-jesteralive @wildscepterfortune @yellingint0thevoid
Hope you guys enjoy ✨💖
If you got to the very end, here
🍪
Deserved :3
