Young Dragon's grow like weeds, despite his youthful newness to the world, his body seemed to be making up for his paltry size at birth, spindled legs are solid in their step and his neck has thickened to carry his head nobly. The would be crown upon his head was already beginning to coil and sweep, they promised to crown him magnificently when he came of age. Tyrath had wandered once more from the Throat, absent of his younger brother in the wake of bitterness and distate. His mother has vanished, he has come to accept, and it is bitter bile to swallow and taste on his young tongue. He accepted when he met his father, that there would be no sweetness that some of the younger foals know, and he had been fine. He did not need soothing words to pour from his father's mouth, his father was a Stallion made to conquer and rule, not play nanny to his budding line of Heirs.

His mother however, he had hoped she would be much more present. The Dragon boy had little time to be nannied by carers and adoptive mothers when he wanted his own to teach him, impart her wisdom on him so he may develop more than he has already. Volterra's words and stature right now is the only alter that stands in the young colts mind, the flickering flames which highlighted his stone face the shape of fiercesome dragons which screamed strength and power. The pedastal to the right of him is dark, ashen and crumbled, the defined features of Aithniel's face chipped and cracked with her abscence. Her alter would perish soon, Tyrath knew with a bitter heart, if she does not come back soon. The question was, would she pull it down herself or would her first born son pull it down with his own hooves and horns?

Tyrath had wandered until the forest grew dark, the bony branches reaching toward the ground like ensnaring tendrils which would trip or drag him beneath the earth should he trip. He defied them, sweeping over their gnarled roots with stubborn steps, ears pressed against his skull and wings tucked tightly against his ashen sides. He didn't like the closeness of the canopy above, the blotchy patches of natural light which peppered the ground a grim mockery of freedom he wasn't allowed to have, even if he could spread his wings and fly. Still, the darkness comforted him in a way he didn't quite understand, unending pools of crimson looking into the expanse as the bone white of his face bathed in the little light which blessed him. A wraith among the dead forest, the lingering breath of long dead fire, he moved silently on cloven hooves. Hoping, somewhere, that he might find something worth paying attention too. Perhaps the giantess lurked these wicked woods, or maybe this was his fathers lair, he couldn't say, but either would be welcome company.
The silence was broken, and young mind was brought to the present by the clinking chimes of bones upon the breeze. An unnatural force, beckoning the young boy forward with a musical map. There was little else to do but to follow, and so Tyrath urged himself into a light trot to bring him to where the sound had been birthed from. He wasn't disappointed, at least, when he finally entered the bone white clearing. There was another already here, no doubt brought forth by the undead creature who stood at the mouth of oblivion, some unholy place where the dead might walk or hoard their treasure. Unyielding pits of red light stare at his churning pits of blood and he dares not look away as it whispered it's intent.

A game.


"What game would you have us play?" He replied with a hint of a smirk, bone marked head tilted to the side. He was good at games, wasn't he? And the soulless creature in front of him looked like the type of Game Master to have grim and enthralling games at his disposal. "What are the stakes?" Games often had consequences or an ending, didn't they? He wouldn't put it past the living dead to have the most damning rules of all.

SEEKING:
[Earth x Dark :: active] :: able to transform into a Gold Dragon.
→ [upgrade] :: can now use Fire Breath while in Dragon form.
[Lasts one post in battle. Transformation is painful.]

WISHLIST
no prior refusals

talk talk talk

Tyrath

If Chaos Drives
Let Suffering Hold The Reins