A new addition to the vigilight clan, thanks to @memoriam-fr‘s lair clear out and the apparent need for another healer at the Bastion.
Few could have anticipated how much impact the arrival of one guardian could make aboard the Bastion. But then there was no precedent for a dragon who was willing to not only confront old Otava, but to put him thoroughly in his place. Given that the elderly healer had been successfully tending to the ailments of the Vigilight clan for years, nobody had ever considered that there might be another way, least of all Otava himself.
The altercation at the docks was civilized, the pacifist nature of the two dragons thankfully eliminating any need for the involvement of the militia. Yet despite both speaking in quiet tones, the confrontation drew a large crowd with all nearby activity halting in favour of the potential for gossip.
It only took minutes for the ripples of the story spread quickly across the whole airship. Did you hear? There’s a new healer. No not a herbalist like old Otava. Some sort of new training. She’s here to stay.
“I’m sorry that your journey was wasted, but there is no place for you here. I have no need of someone meddling with the health of the clan.” Otava, used to his word being accepted and obeyed, was already in the process of turning away from the newcomer who had demanded an audience with him.
After months of following an insistent feeling, a pull that had her crossing many strange lands and braving a ferry passage through the vortex. After finally reaching the wondrous airship city and knowing deep in her heart that this was was what she had been searching for. After all she had been through, guardian wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily.
Suriyah’s response was polite, almost gently spoken, but firm enough to show she was not in the least bit intimidated by the elder. “It is I who am sorry, sir. Sorry for the misunderstanding. You see, I merely sought you out as a matter of courtesy, not for permission. I will be opening a clinic here and I will be practicing medical science to assist the clan with injuries and illness.”
More surprised than truly angry, Otava turned back to stare with narrow eyes at the younger dragon. “If you are so adamant to stay, why bother contacting me at all?”
The guardian shook her head, a touch of hope and sadness in her tone. “I hoped we could work together, combine your knowledge of herblore with my medical training. Can’t you see how much good we could do together?”
Something in the young healer’s expression must have reached Otava, because instead of storming off in a disgruntled huff as expected
—
the soft chink of treasure confirming a bystander’s wager to this effect
—
he let out a sudden laugh. “Good grief, you’re an intense one aren’t you? Set up your clinic lass and when I’ve seen your skills I’ll judge the merit of an alliance.”
Suriyah watched the old dragon amble away, still laughing to himself, and basked in the soft glow of victory. As the onlookers dispersed and the normal hubub returned to the docks she looked about her, finally letting the reality sink in. She had found it. The well-being of these dragons who called the Bastion home. That was her charge.
The force of the impact cracks the plastered wall, radiating
out in a black spiderweb. Bastion pushes a hand through his short hair and
across his face, exhaling hard until he feels his chest ache; he strides
forward and pulls the naginata free.
He’s just so angry. So angry that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He
should be with everyone else, he should be fighting, but he’s ‘not ready yet’,
he ‘needs time to recover.’
One week has passed. One week, and it feels like another
week of imprisonment.
Bastion swings his legs across the bed and plants his feet firmly on the floor.
Elasticated bandages wrap tight around the scar tissue of his ankles,
increasing the blood flow. He stares down and is consciously aware of how his
vision now leans to the right; sure, he can see both feet, but his field of
view has shifted enough that he is now aware of it, and aware enough that it
makes him feel sick.
Placing both hands just behind his hips, he eases more weight on his feet. He technically
needs a medic to watch him do this, but-
There won’t always be someone watching out for him.
He pushes forward and pain sparks down the newly restored tendons and
ligaments, the feel of knives being plunged through his skin. He grits his
teeth before relaxing his jaw instead; such a movement creases his brow and has
the potential to start a catastrophic migraine, as he has found out first-hand over
the past few days.
I only just now realized that I own 4 children of Morrigan. They are in order from oldest to youngest– left to right, top to bottom. The top two share the same father, while the bottom two share another. Nice.
The before and after revamp of some of my clan’s longest surviving dragons!! And here we are… my three most recognizable lore dragons… Words can not describe how much these stupid pixels mean to me. ;; ❤ Wretch might get another revamp, but I’m pretty satisfied with her, so we’ll see!
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