11-13-2019, 12:28 PM
The burn wound on her face had been slow to heal. Aslisk was thankful, deep down, for the herb that had been used to help ease the pain of the wound. She would never admit it aloud. She was horrifically stubborn in that way. It was in addition to regeneration that allowed for the minor wound to heal. It had been annoying, it had hurt horrifically. Yet it left the wyvern angered. She was no longer fireproof. That irritated her. It made her furious. She had gone through a horrific suffering in her earliest days in order to become a fireproof creature that was brought into the world for the sole idea of bringing merciless slaughter. The wyvern stomped around her room, smashing her talons against the floor, pitching the biggest fit that she could manage. The wyvern eventually grew tired, and had to settle down. Of course, when exhausted, her anger had to die down. That wasn't acceptable, no. She couldn't let the anger lessen, because then that would be letting this sickening world win! Her teeth bared, squinting her glowing red eyes shut. Aslisk decided that, yes, she would have to bring back up the very source of her fireproofness. Perhaps it would gift her the answer needed to return the immunity of fire to her scales. She needed to be fireproof. She needed to be immune to the heat of the flames. Why, Aslisk was not sure. It was a deep, innate need to ensure that the horrors of her childhood had not gone in vain.
The dent in the doorway, steadily, had been growing deeper. She lowered her horns, readying her stance. She was certain that with enough might, she would plow through that metal door. Her horns would tear through, and she would be free. 581, that was her number, that was her only identification in this world. An experiment. An item. She was nothing but a tool to the one's that had built these metal walls. It was pure darkness, as it was all over the planet. They all could see in the dark - every native to the planet, at least. The guard to her cell could not. The guard to her cell had once been some other species, but had been captured and turned. Sometimes he called her friend. Sometimes he would address her by a slurred edition of her name - Fievti - and sometimes 581 would allow it. Other times she would not. Other times she would reach her paw through the slot that was meant for food. She would grab his foot and try to rip him apart. He was one of them. The people that had made her, did not like what they had made, and so they continued to try and turn her into what was desired. They lacked the resources to make a replacement. They were stuck with her. They could not rid themselves of their failure. She was what they would have to craft into their perfect killer.
The outside world was not something that 581 knew of. The only world was that where your respectability was crafted by the blood on talons and teeth sunk into the neck. 581 usually refused to engage in such activity. It was to spite her creator alone. That her creator was near the highest rank, but her creation that was meant to be a vicious tool was not. Her attacks on her guard were noted but they did not result in death. Therefore, they did not matter. They did not count. 581 was almost as low as her guard was. He, too, had yet to kill anyone. But it was the disrespect of being another species prior that put him lower than her. 581 lowered her head and charged forward. Her horns snapped when they made contact with the metal door. She recoiled. Slowly her horns reformed, and the ones that had broken off turned to ash. Her genetic material was horrifically unstable. A safety measure. She could not be copied. 581 was their one of a kind mistake.
Then the door swung open. Her red eyes gauged those of the armor clad guards that were present. Their fireproof material, and it let her know exactly where she was going for the disobedience she presented the previous day. Her sharp teeth snapped at them, but they did not recoil because they knew that she would not strike them. It was, perhaps, the mentality of ranking that allowed their indifference. A gloved paw grabbed one of her wings, and the other guard grasped the other limb. They dragged her backwards down the hallway. It was not empty, and 581 hissed when she felt the burning sensation of the blood of her creator's kind on the floor. It stung and she recoiled. A harsher tug followed for there was no room for her complaints, even if it was for a reason entirely different from the task at hand. There was a staircase that she was allowed to walk up. She breathed hard. She felt.. something. She did not want what would be present at the top of the staircase. But she could not fight against it anyways. 581 was more than sensible to know that if she dared to try and attack the guards then she would only be further punished. She was not sure what the feeling was called, the one that burned hard in her chest. It was almost comforting.
The end of the staircase came. It was a platform, and the heat was immeasurable. There was light - fire - down below. A series of rails came racing over. Her wings were lifted, and sharp pikes were shoved through her wings just beneath the first joint. Then she was yanked up, and dropped down into the incinerator. 581 tried to turn. The flames burned her purple skin and incinerated her fur. She thrashed and kicked and screamed in pain. For as many times as she had endured the pain of the flames, they never seemed to ease their pain. Her creator said that she would grow immune if exposed enough times. 581 had spat in her creator's face, defying her words. She scrabbled and tried to grab the cables, for the pain of metal in her wings was growing worse as the pain from the fire grew stronger. Being held there by her wings, flightless, by searing metal added to the overall pain of the fire. Eventually her creator would get her desire. She would become fireproof. This time, though, was not that time.
Aslisk's head slowly raised. She had her solution now. She stood up, spreading her wings, beating them in order to wear out any form of stiffness that had been created by laying still for so long. Perhaps it was in addition to the cold that seeped in from outside. She would remedy that shortly, she was certain. Her tail swung rapidly behind her. Now she knew what that feeling had been, the one that had always been present whenever she was wronged by her creators. Anger. Anger and hatred, anger and fury. It was the core of her being, it made her hold grudges and never let go. It was what allowed for her own form of indifference - it was what built on her exploited youth and let her know that she could not allow for her creator to win. She would re-fireproof herself. Aslisk would spit in her creator's face once again, even if it would never be seen. It would have to be enough for the wyvern.
She scrabbled to find the materials needed to create another open flame. She struggled harder to find a place that, she hoped, would not attract too much attention. Her small brushfire had already gotten her in enough trouble. Trying to create a fire that would be as hot as the one of her childhood was going to be impossible. Aslisk would have to make due. The wyvern grabbed the dry brush and her chosen form of ignition and flew off, requiring an awkward running start to take to the air. Until she found a nice, open spot where the risk of the fire traveling was minimal, she struggled to remain in the air while carrying the materials. She wasn't sure what she would give in order to have some way to make this easier. But she had to. She had to spite her creator. It had to happen, she had to be fireproof, she could not let her creator win in any form. The wyvern lit the fire, carefully trotting around it a few times in order to ensure that no, it would not spread. It was in captivity, just as her entire youth had been. She gave herself a shake, as if it would truly shake away her nerves.
The the wyvern leaped into the fire. It burned, terribly, and Aslisk recoiled. A scream parted her maw, shaking and trembling rapidly. She did not drop to the floor to try and get the fires to die out. Instead she stiffly stood there, eyes squinted and wings curled close to her sides. The burning brush clung to her form. Tangled in her horns and the spikes of her tail, burning her purple scales and scorching her form. Aslisk hoped it worked. It was horrifically painful, but it had to be done. She had to become fireproof again - even if this was, by far, one of the least logical to go about it from an outsider's perspective. She paralleled what had caused her original fireproofing to the best of her ability. A somewhat intense fire that burnt her horrifically. Aslisk waited for the flames to finally die out before she collapsed, breathing hard during her collapse only to again scream as her burn wounds made themselves known when she made contact with the ground. Her glowing eyes were wide, now without fury. It was painful. It hurt terribly so. Just as much as it had hurt her when she had been dangling in a pit of fire. Except now, it was without metal pikes. Now there was smoldering plants still somewhat curled around her body. She panted, watching the rest of the fire die out. Aslisk could only hope that she wouldn't have to do this as many times as she had in her childhood in order to achieve the correct, fireproof results.
//tl;dr: local dumbass wyvern goes out of camp to light herself on fire because she thinks it's the secret to becoming fireproof.
The dent in the doorway, steadily, had been growing deeper. She lowered her horns, readying her stance. She was certain that with enough might, she would plow through that metal door. Her horns would tear through, and she would be free. 581, that was her number, that was her only identification in this world. An experiment. An item. She was nothing but a tool to the one's that had built these metal walls. It was pure darkness, as it was all over the planet. They all could see in the dark - every native to the planet, at least. The guard to her cell could not. The guard to her cell had once been some other species, but had been captured and turned. Sometimes he called her friend. Sometimes he would address her by a slurred edition of her name - Fievti - and sometimes 581 would allow it. Other times she would not. Other times she would reach her paw through the slot that was meant for food. She would grab his foot and try to rip him apart. He was one of them. The people that had made her, did not like what they had made, and so they continued to try and turn her into what was desired. They lacked the resources to make a replacement. They were stuck with her. They could not rid themselves of their failure. She was what they would have to craft into their perfect killer.
The outside world was not something that 581 knew of. The only world was that where your respectability was crafted by the blood on talons and teeth sunk into the neck. 581 usually refused to engage in such activity. It was to spite her creator alone. That her creator was near the highest rank, but her creation that was meant to be a vicious tool was not. Her attacks on her guard were noted but they did not result in death. Therefore, they did not matter. They did not count. 581 was almost as low as her guard was. He, too, had yet to kill anyone. But it was the disrespect of being another species prior that put him lower than her. 581 lowered her head and charged forward. Her horns snapped when they made contact with the metal door. She recoiled. Slowly her horns reformed, and the ones that had broken off turned to ash. Her genetic material was horrifically unstable. A safety measure. She could not be copied. 581 was their one of a kind mistake.
Then the door swung open. Her red eyes gauged those of the armor clad guards that were present. Their fireproof material, and it let her know exactly where she was going for the disobedience she presented the previous day. Her sharp teeth snapped at them, but they did not recoil because they knew that she would not strike them. It was, perhaps, the mentality of ranking that allowed their indifference. A gloved paw grabbed one of her wings, and the other guard grasped the other limb. They dragged her backwards down the hallway. It was not empty, and 581 hissed when she felt the burning sensation of the blood of her creator's kind on the floor. It stung and she recoiled. A harsher tug followed for there was no room for her complaints, even if it was for a reason entirely different from the task at hand. There was a staircase that she was allowed to walk up. She breathed hard. She felt.. something. She did not want what would be present at the top of the staircase. But she could not fight against it anyways. 581 was more than sensible to know that if she dared to try and attack the guards then she would only be further punished. She was not sure what the feeling was called, the one that burned hard in her chest. It was almost comforting.
The end of the staircase came. It was a platform, and the heat was immeasurable. There was light - fire - down below. A series of rails came racing over. Her wings were lifted, and sharp pikes were shoved through her wings just beneath the first joint. Then she was yanked up, and dropped down into the incinerator. 581 tried to turn. The flames burned her purple skin and incinerated her fur. She thrashed and kicked and screamed in pain. For as many times as she had endured the pain of the flames, they never seemed to ease their pain. Her creator said that she would grow immune if exposed enough times. 581 had spat in her creator's face, defying her words. She scrabbled and tried to grab the cables, for the pain of metal in her wings was growing worse as the pain from the fire grew stronger. Being held there by her wings, flightless, by searing metal added to the overall pain of the fire. Eventually her creator would get her desire. She would become fireproof. This time, though, was not that time.
Aslisk's head slowly raised. She had her solution now. She stood up, spreading her wings, beating them in order to wear out any form of stiffness that had been created by laying still for so long. Perhaps it was in addition to the cold that seeped in from outside. She would remedy that shortly, she was certain. Her tail swung rapidly behind her. Now she knew what that feeling had been, the one that had always been present whenever she was wronged by her creators. Anger. Anger and hatred, anger and fury. It was the core of her being, it made her hold grudges and never let go. It was what allowed for her own form of indifference - it was what built on her exploited youth and let her know that she could not allow for her creator to win. She would re-fireproof herself. Aslisk would spit in her creator's face once again, even if it would never be seen. It would have to be enough for the wyvern.
She scrabbled to find the materials needed to create another open flame. She struggled harder to find a place that, she hoped, would not attract too much attention. Her small brushfire had already gotten her in enough trouble. Trying to create a fire that would be as hot as the one of her childhood was going to be impossible. Aslisk would have to make due. The wyvern grabbed the dry brush and her chosen form of ignition and flew off, requiring an awkward running start to take to the air. Until she found a nice, open spot where the risk of the fire traveling was minimal, she struggled to remain in the air while carrying the materials. She wasn't sure what she would give in order to have some way to make this easier. But she had to. She had to spite her creator. It had to happen, she had to be fireproof, she could not let her creator win in any form. The wyvern lit the fire, carefully trotting around it a few times in order to ensure that no, it would not spread. It was in captivity, just as her entire youth had been. She gave herself a shake, as if it would truly shake away her nerves.
The the wyvern leaped into the fire. It burned, terribly, and Aslisk recoiled. A scream parted her maw, shaking and trembling rapidly. She did not drop to the floor to try and get the fires to die out. Instead she stiffly stood there, eyes squinted and wings curled close to her sides. The burning brush clung to her form. Tangled in her horns and the spikes of her tail, burning her purple scales and scorching her form. Aslisk hoped it worked. It was horrifically painful, but it had to be done. She had to become fireproof again - even if this was, by far, one of the least logical to go about it from an outsider's perspective. She paralleled what had caused her original fireproofing to the best of her ability. A somewhat intense fire that burnt her horrifically. Aslisk waited for the flames to finally die out before she collapsed, breathing hard during her collapse only to again scream as her burn wounds made themselves known when she made contact with the ground. Her glowing eyes were wide, now without fury. It was painful. It hurt terribly so. Just as much as it had hurt her when she had been dangling in a pit of fire. Except now, it was without metal pikes. Now there was smoldering plants still somewhat curled around her body. She panted, watching the rest of the fire die out. Aslisk could only hope that she wouldn't have to do this as many times as she had in her childhood in order to achieve the correct, fireproof results.
//tl;dr: local dumbass wyvern goes out of camp to light herself on fire because she thinks it's the secret to becoming fireproof.
ive always had to get my hands dirty, a patrol to make sure no one hurts me
TAGS 10/3/19:
[table]
[tr]
[td][/td]
[td]
[/tr]
[/table]
[tr]
[td][/td]
[td]
FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
[/td][/tr]
[/table]
![[Image: pEeXKGc.png]](https://i.imgur.com/pEeXKGc.png)
