Bitter (open, Baldi invited)

Cyronic is in one of his bad moods. Why? he asked himself. Am I angry about being angry? Cyronic spat on the ground, not knowing the answer.
was walking through one of the frozen wastelands of the IceWings, exiled after doing things you probably don't want to know. Here, he is steaming not about that, but nor about anything that makes sense. Wanting something to do, he starts to look for trouble. (Is this a good opening?)

(As long as you're happy with it, it's fine. This is Baldirak, by the way. I'm going to move this topic since it's taking place in tribe territory.)

Atarijor raked his claws over the stomach of the Great Wolf that he had pinned. Just as he was to deal a final blow, a second Wolf  jumped onto his back. The Wyvern already had new wounds to add to his collection. He wasn't keen on having a fatal bite to the neck be one of them. Atarijor thrashed about, keeping his neck just out of reach as he tried to throw the Wolf off. At the same time, he had to watch the beast below, for it now had the opportunity to attack his belly. The Wyvern managed finally to throw off his attacker and quickly put an end to his pinned prey with a crushing bite to the throat. Atar then quickly turned to see the remaining Wolf. This one was bigger--a female. Still, Atar had a good 40ft on her and unlike her, a strong will to live. The fight went on for a while. Though it was smaller, the Wolf was fierce and could turn its body to stone for protection. Atarijor lost his advantage of flight when the monster bit down on his left arm, shredding the membrane of his wing. The Wyvern bested the Wolf only by using the most powerful and consuming form of his breath, ice cold enough to still even blood on contact with the body.  He hadn't the energy after to kill the Wolf. Instead, he left it lying on the ground and escaped. With the right side of her body immobilized for the next few hours, there was no need for more bloodshed. Atar was only glad these two Wolves had been without a pack.

Atarijor walked through the frozen forest, searching for a place to rest for a bit. His new wounds didn't bother him much. He had been conditioned to ignore pain and keep going, lest he be beaten or worse for falling behind.

Cyronic finally found what he was looking for: someone to "play" with, and taunt as his victim was twice his size. That would cheer him up. The IceWing looked like he recently came from a fight, as the dragon's left wing was shredded and flew in the cold wind like the flags humans used to adorn their settlments. There was also fresh blood. Good, Cyronic thought. I won't have to worry about too much if my victim is a feisty specimen. Cyronic made sure every inch of his horns was caked with white snow to blend in with the icy white background before approaching.

The Wyvern's sense of smell was hindered by his short muzzle, but it wasn't hard to smell something that was walking toward him. Atarijor stopped and watched as a dragon with snow covering its horns approached. It looked like he was stalking something, so the Wyvern glanced over his shoulder to see if there was something behind him. No. Atarijor looked back at the dragon and said in broken dragon's tongue, "H-Hunt... no go-od hear (here)."

As Cyronic approached, the large wyvern noticed him. Probably should invest in something to mask my scent. Things like this are starting to get very annoying, feeling very stupid. The wyvern said something about the hunt not being good.

Cyronic, still approaching, debated with himself which way his victim meant it, as there was evidence for both meanings. Over the course of a couple seconds, he decided to cater to both possibilities, saying, "That depends on your point of view."

Cyronic stopped a good 20 ft away from the wyvern.

Atarijor was exhausted and overheated after using his ability against the Wolf. He laid down in the snow to cool off faster. Because he often reverted back to a captive state due to the lack of a mentor to help him fully assimilate, Atar had trouble understanding dragon tongue. With the near-total annihilation of the IceWings after the monster invasion, the Wyvern was at a point where he almost couldn't understand simple words anymore. There just wasn't anyone around to talk to,to help improve his vocabulary. This it took him a long moment to piece together what the snow colored dragon had said. Even then, he didn't understand what some of it meant. "Wyvern... f-aye-t (fight)... big... d-d... dog. Wyvern get... k-knew (new) scars. Hunt no... go-od hear (here)." Atarijor explained.

Cyronic managed to make out what the wyvern was saying. Cyronic amused himself, thinking, Big dog, eh? Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw the corpses of two Wolves. Those things are nasty. Gotta give credit to whoever this wyvern is. Well, he is pretty big, so not to much credit. But before giving that credit, I got something to do.

Pushing his tail through the snow, he felt permafrost not too far underneath. Good, he thought with savage glee. To keep the wyvern distracted while Cynic was slowly, carefully and quietly making ice crystals from the permafrost behind the wyvern, Cyronic attempted a philosophical answer, saying "Why would I need to hunt when I am full?"

Cyronic was indeed full, with both food and unreasonable and reasonless hostility. As he secretly assembled his armada of sharp, tiny ice javelins, he waited for an answer.

The question made Atarijor think of when he had been in the service of a village after he'd reverted to his old ways. They had demanded he hunt for them. If he failed or didn't bring enough back, he was beaten or starved. "Masters might need food. Atarijor has to find a safer place to hunt and bring food to masters. If Wyvern doesn't bring back food, masters will use the whip." Atar said in human tongue. He got up and sniffed the air. He could hear the female Wolf yelping as she tried to get up. His ice would keep her there for about three hours if she didn't die first. Still, he wanted to get moving as quickly as possible.

The wyvern said something he didn't understand, until he realized it was human tongue. Taking a couple seconds to piece it together with what he learned from his occasional night raids as a hatchling, he could make out "Masters.....might need food. Atarijor has to find.....safer place.....hunt.....bring food.....masters. ...... bring.....food, masters.....use....." Cyronic realized that the wyvern was captive for many years by humans, maybe even born in captivity. Cyronic lost a bit of his bitterness, but he still needed to amuse himself to regain his good humor.

While pretending to think of a response while getting just a couple of the ice spears reading for some poking, he felt something sharp bite down on his tail. Hard. He quickly turned around to find a pack of white Wolves, about ten in number, that would be invisible from distance.

Using his momentum to roll to the side, he yelled a word in human tongue that he heard many times: "Move!" Cyronic gave it a couple of seconds, and then hurled his sharp ice pieces at the Wolves, whether the wyvern was in the way of not. Still, he hoped the wyvern would be okay, if only Cyronic could pick on the wyvern later.

(Ten? You wanting to kill off your character already?)

The male and female the tormented Wyvern had fought were loners, together only in battle over a meal or perhaps to mate. It would not be the case this time. A pack of Great Wolves stumbled upon two dragons. The simple beasts hadn't even been aware of their presence until the alpha male bit down on one's tail. The other nine surrounded the two from all sides, some already having turned themselves to stone. They circled, waiting for their alpha's signal to attack. The one that had been bit launced pieces of ice at the four directly in front of him. The other six leapt forward. It was unlikely that the two dragons would be able to dodge three Wolves coming at them, especially the one that was already injured.
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Atarijor whimpered when he saw a several Wolves surrounding them. Some were brown and others were dark or light grey. The other dragon turned around to attack the ones behind him. The Wyvern hardly had time to process the fact that the dragon had spoken in human tongue before he was attacked. One Wolf bit down on his tail and another on his already injured left arm. The third jumped onto his back. These Wolves were between 40 and 55ft but they had numbers and sentience on their side.

(No, I'm just giving Cyronic something to be mad about.)

Cyronic was very distressed, as three of the Wolves were leaping towards him. He managed to sidestep out of the way of two, but was tackled by the third. The Wolf pinning down Cyronic's chest, the large beast went to bite his neck, but Cyronic managed to breath some frost into the Wolf's throat, startling it so that Cyronic has enough time to slip out. He barely had enough time to right himself before the two others launched at him again, while the other was in stone form.

Luckily for Cyronic, the two aimed to claw at his head, and thus he was able to duck down, but not without Cyronic's wings and the top of his head getting scratched thoroughly. As the two landed on the ground, the four behind them jumped to join the fray. Cyronic found the 6 wolves clustered together, in a circle of about 100 feet. That gave Cyronic an idea. An idea that might let him live a little bit longer, but still an idea. He quickly used his ability to pick up a huge chunk of ice below the Wolves, and then immediately smashed it back down.

Some of the Wolves had time to change into stone, but not without taking major injuries from the ice fragments. The Wolf that tackled him had jumped toward him, but he took a particularly big chunk of ice to the heart, and landed on Cyronic without doing much damage.

When the shockwave of snow, ice and air hit Cyronic, he barely managed to survive. The Wolf on top of him shielded him from most of the blast. He was still flung into the air, but not hundreds of feet like the other unlucky Wolves. As he landed a couple hundred feet away from the Wyvern, in a state of complete and utter physical and mental exhaustion, he saw the Wolves in front of the Wyvern get flung into it.

Even though he was on the brink of death, Cyronic could not stop himself from creating a conspiracy theory. If I'm right, I'm dead. This fueled his bitterness toward everything, and would serve as a backup for any further danger, and would also leave mental scars and touchy spots on his humor.

As he lied sideways on the ground facing towards where the fight was/is, he waited for his conspiracy theory to come true.

It had been a long time; too long since she had set foot in IceWing territory. Not much has changed from what she could see, but then it did not matter to her as she drifted through the cold. The snowfall was calm and steady for now, giving her a clear view for the time being.
However, the faint sound of wolf cries and the scent of dragons made themselves known to her, drawing her attention to the snow covered ground below where she saw the commotion. The sight of two dragons surrounded by wolves was a strange sight for her to behold as she began to descend swiftly towards the ground, heading straight for the two helpless dragons.
Her jaws parted as blue flames spilled out. If her aiming was off just by a few inches, one or both dragons would be loosing a limb. She could not wait any longer as her jaws fully opened, allowing a pillar of blue fire to shoot out at the wolves. With any luck, some of the wolves would be reduced to nothing more than frozen statues made of ice. But if the fire missed, then part of the ground would become ice instead.

(I'm not sure if it is my turn to go or not.)

(No, it's mine. I will post sometime today.)

At 106ft, Atarijor could have easily tossed the Wolves away from him. However, this was a pack and the Wyvern was exhausted from his earlier fight. While Atar tried to escape, a brown 45ft Wolf dug his claws into the other IceWing's wings, tearing the membrane. A 54ft female clawed at his head. The alpha watched on. As the IceWing backed away, he instructed the other six Wolves to surround the two dragons again, though they focused on Cyronic. Just as they were about to pounce, however, the ground began to shake. Then it began to rise. The alpha growled and yelled to his pack, "Fall back!" The 100ft wide chunk of ice rose slowly, giving the Wolves plenty of time to run to the edges and jump down. By the time the IceWing had raised it high enough to slam down, the Wolves were far enough away to avoid any serious damage from the subsequent shower of ice. When the snow settled, the pack returned with only three losses--two were crushed by ice. The two dragons were barely alive. "Stupid dragon. You would resort to such tactics without considering the consequences for yourself or your comrade." The alpha spoke in the Wolves' language. The Wolves closed in on the downed reptiles when they heard wingbeats. They looked up to see a third IceWing, a female. She spewed a blue fire that was in actuality, ice. Those with no time to get out of the way turned themselves to stone, only to be frozen solid by the ice. Another three Wolves gone. Five remained. Three of them, including the alpha, were 55ft--the other two were 44ft. They kept a close eye on the newcomer.

Atarijor was saved only by the fact that the earth began to move. But why was it moving? The Wyvern noticed too late what was happening. As the ground beneath him suddenly disappeared, the Wyvern panicked. He couldn't fly to get away. But he could still glide to an extent. Atar opened his right arm to spread his wing and tried his best to make it as far as he could from where the ice block would land. He didn't get very far at all. When Atar woke, a chunk of ice had landed on his tail and right arm. He could hear the Wolves closing in again then he heard and eventually saw another dragon.

As Cyronic looked up too see what was making the noise he saw a dragon coming down, raining blue fire from above. As it touched the ground near him, it froze Cyronic’s left foreclaw. Idiots, all of us are idiots, Cyronic thought. He started to slowly back away, pushing with his right foreclaw, as he watched the Wolves attack the wyvern. I’ll kill all of you later.

The wingless dragon began to draw closer to the snow covered ground, eventually landing just a few feet from the wyvern. Her white eyes glanced at him with little interest, looking him over before landing on the chunk of ice that rendered him immobile.

A sudden howl distracted her from the trapped wyvern as she readied herself for an attack. She had fought against wolves before, but mainly if they were alone, able to kill it without much problem, however, fighting more than one would prove difficult for the dragon, keeping her back to the wyvern.

She gave a loud threatening growl in response to the howl, her muscles tense as her eyes stared with murderous intent.

It had been several years since his father had disappeared. Sora, his only caretaker since the death of his mother, had mysteriously vanished when Damian turned 18. Not that Damian had been too emotionally distraught. He had practically been taking care of himself at that point. Now Damian was roughly 33. And the disappearance of his father was the least of his concerns.

Ever since the monsters had invaded, the IceWings seemed to have fallen apart. They were leaderless, and practically no better than rogues. They didn't even have a second in command to take charge while the leader was missing, and to be honest, Damian hadn't seen another actual IceWing in quite a while, not since the whole slaughter with the monsters came and wiped a bunch of citizens out. It was greatly disheartening. There still seemed to be tribe borders, but they were no better off than rogues in their current state....

Damian was actually currently out checking the borders. He had heard that apparently, several former Icewings had just gone off and become rogues instead. He would not be so cowardly. Unlike the others, Damian was a proud IceWing. He would stay and fight for his tribe, even if it meant his death.

The large white and gray dragon kept his expression vigilant, ears perked. Thus, despite the cries and screeches of the wind, he heard the sounds of a fight. Immediately, Damian's body tensed, as he tore through the snow, moving sleekly through the snow like a jaguar.

That's when he spotted them. Two... no, three dragons, and several large, monster wolves. He snarled. Blasted beasts. They were massive. About the same size as he was, if not a bit smaller. Digging his claws into the ice, Damian was lucky enough to have come in from a direction where the wolves wouldn't smell him. His mouth glowing, Damian shot a powerful icy blast at the backside of one of the wolves, hopefully knocking him off balance and doing some damage. Maybe, if it was lucky, cause some paralysis.

((Will reply today.))

((That's just cold, Frost, keeping Atar pinned like that))

Two dragons became three and then four. The last to arrive came from behind and struck an ususpecting Wolf. She was injured but not unable to keep fighting. The first two were in rough shape, at least. One of them was pinned, even. But the Wolves' numbers had dwindled. The five still had size and number... but for how long? There was no telling how many more might show up. The alpha growled, long and loud, as if he meant to chase the winged beasts away with only this menacing sound. The others shifted anxiously on their paws, waiting for a sign to run or keep fighting.  

Atarijor, for once, was glad to see more dragons. It was short lived, however, for one of them landed on the chunk of ice pinning his arm down. The Wyvern whimpered a bit. The alpha Wolf growled and it brought him back to the early days of his time as a gladiator, when he had been tossed into a room of veterans to see if he would survive. He had been afraid then, afraid of death at the paws of his own kind. For the amusement of his masters. Now he feared death at the paws of these Wolves and pinned helplessly beneath some pieces of ice, no less. Fear and a will to live drove the 15th son of Atarijor I to call upon the great strength he had gained from a lifetime of slave labor. The Wyvern stood, pushing the ice block up with his arm, the smaller dragon atop it as well if she hadn't moved by now. To keep from putting all the weight of it on his arm as he raised it, Atarijor pushed against it with his side. The ice was no heavier than the large boulders or filled carts of rock he hauled up steep ramps day after day with fatigue, hunger, and gravity working against him. When at last his broken arm was freed, Atarijor moved to free his tail. A broken limb was no matter to him; he was made to work as long as he breathed and could move his legs. The pain was in the furthest reaches of his mind, and barely a match for other pains he had known and still relived in his nightmares. As if he were pulling one of those heavy carts that would have broken the backs of other creatures, Atarijor walked forward, pulling his tail out from under the second block. When at last he was free, the Wyvern roared; roared at the Wolves who threatened his life; roared at the humans who destroyed it before it even began. He wanted to run at them, to kill them. But Atarijor had not the strength to run, to kill. He could barely summon his breath; he was drained still from his fight with the first two Wolves he had encountered. Atar could not run or fly. He had only just managed to glide before. He laid down, soothed by the cold snow and pieces of ice that lay about.