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Description
These logs involve characters, screenshots, and lore from Istaria, Chronicles of the Gifted. By posting this, I am participating in the promotion of the game in the attempt to help them get more players, as well as get some fun and added story to my dragon! (Please note that the written bits are like an RP log rather than detailing ingame experiences.)

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When she woke up the next day, it was with a determination that had started to boil in the pit of her stomach since she first spoke of the Aegis with Katterina.

She hated the feeling of fear. She hated what it did to her. She hated that flash of chill-inducing panic that seemed to spread through her veins, quicken her heart, as well as sap her strength, cloud her mind. She hated how it made her feel hopeless and powerless. And throughout dreaming, she realized that although with the negative effects that fear caused her when it washed through her form; it also gave something. It gave energy. It empowered her body, made her clawtips tingle, made her want to move and react. So why not harness that? She was a dragon. An aerial predator, albeit a young one. She had seen how powerful the elders of her kind could be. Someday, that strength could also be her's.

She just had to reach out and take it.

So, rather than stopping to wait what might become of her, with all the dark implications fluttering in her memories; when Nytunae next woke up, it was with a firm determination that squared her shoulders and lifted her head high. She was going to train; she was going to find that strength. Pulling herself up out of her hiding spot, the amber dragoness shook herself out with a poof of anger at herself; and as though to shake off the feeling of fear, bounded out of the dragon city as quickly as her legs would take her.

She was running for quite a while, claws scraping at stone, climbing ever uphill, dodging around perplexed dragons milling about the city and ignoring statements cast at her. The more she ran, the more her heart pumped and the more adrenaline firing through her system, the more she became angry at herself. So far, in all her available memory, she had spent her time cowering; that was going to stop, today!

The quickest way back to green lands was to fly. Her wings were not powerful enough to flap and hold her aloft. But what they could do was be held stiffily out and allow the wind to do most of the work. When she reached the top, craggy peaks of the mountain, the hatchling hurled herself off into the air, led by pure instinct. She could see the undulations of energy in the wind, flowing like water; and she opened her wings like sails to embrace it, clawtips stretched to their furthest limits. And soon, she was drifting down in a strange pall of quiet, with only the breeze whipping at her wings and her face.

All the noise of sprinting, the sheer physical punishment of sharp muscular pains and aches forming from her long climbing sprint, started to fade now that she had time to give her limbs rest. Now, it was only flight, as much as a hatchling could manage... floating on thermals, buffeted by the wind, to start her long journey back.

She would find someone who needed aid, and offer a claw. She would join the fight. And after a brief prickle of anxiety that crackled up her fingers, she realized it would be dangerous... but at least she would no longer be a coward.

Description
These logs involve characters, screenshots, and lore from Istaria, Chronicles of the Gifted. By posting this, I am participating in the promotion of the game in the attempt to help them get more players, as well as get some fun and added story to my dragon! (Please note that the written bits are like an RP log rather than detailing ingame experiences.)

First Page -- Previous -- Archive -- Next Page

--- --=-- ---

When she woke up the next day, it was with a determination that had started to boil in the pit of her stomach since she first spoke of the Aegis with Katterina.

She hated the feeling of fear. She hated what it did to her. She hated that flash of chill-inducing panic that seemed to spread through her veins, quicken her heart, as well as sap her strength, cloud her mind. She hated how it made her feel hopeless and powerless. And throughout dreaming, she realized that although with the negative effects that fear caused her when it washed through her form; it also gave something. It gave energy. It empowered her body, made her clawtips tingle, made her want to move and react. So why not harness that? She was a dragon. An aerial predator, albeit a young one. She had seen how powerful the elders of her kind could be. Someday, that strength could also be her's.

She just had to reach out and take it.

So, rather than stopping to wait what might become of her, with all the dark implications fluttering in her memories; when Nytunae next woke up, it was with a firm determination that squared her shoulders and lifted her head high. She was going to train; she was going to find that strength. Pulling herself up out of her hiding spot, the amber dragoness shook herself out with a poof of anger at herself; and as though to shake off the feeling of fear, bounded out of the dragon city as quickly as her legs would take her.

She was running for quite a while, claws scraping at stone, climbing ever uphill, dodging around perplexed dragons milling about the city and ignoring statements cast at her. The more she ran, the more her heart pumped and the more adrenaline firing through her system, the more she became angry at herself. So far, in all her available memory, she had spent her time cowering; that was going to stop, today!

The quickest way back to green lands was to fly. Her wings were not powerful enough to flap and hold her aloft. But what they could do was be held stiffily out and allow the wind to do most of the work. When she reached the top, craggy peaks of the mountain, the hatchling hurled herself off into the air, led by pure instinct. She could see the undulations of energy in the wind, flowing like water; and she opened her wings like sails to embrace it, clawtips stretched to their furthest limits. And soon, she was drifting down in a strange pall of quiet, with only the breeze whipping at her wings and her face.

All the noise of sprinting, the sheer physical punishment of sharp muscular pains and aches forming from her long climbing sprint, started to fade now that she had time to give her limbs rest. Now, it was only flight, as much as a hatchling could manage... floating on thermals, buffeted by the wind, to start her long journey back.

She would find someone who needed aid, and offer a claw. She would join the fight. And after a brief prickle of anxiety that crackled up her fingers, she realized it would be dangerous... but at least she would no longer be a coward.