Tales of the War

This is a collection of Fanfictions that I will be writing. These stories all take place during the War of SandWing Succession, and feature OC's of mine. Some of these OC's have pages, most do not, I'm still working on that for the most part.
The stories are usually just going one major battle for the character, with some aspects of the time just before it. 
Warning: Theft will not be tolerated. That includes theft of my OC's and the stories themselves. I worked very hard on these.
== Gila ==
Information: Gila is a male SandWing who serves in Burn's army in one of the many platoons. His father, Oryx, serves as the platoon's lieutenant. The soldiers are pretty close to each, as they've been together for roughly 3 years as of the story. This takes places in the MudWing Swamps bordering the Rainforest.
Gila's fanon page is here
=== Story ===
“How much longer are we going to be stationed here?” Gila asked. “There is nothing going on.”
“With any luck, we’ll get to sit out the rest of the war.” Desert hoped. “It’s exhausting.”
“Why would you want to sit out?” Gila asked him.
“Because I don’t want to die.” Desert stated, his tone matter-of-fact.
Gila opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it. That made quite a bit of sense. “When do you think the scouts’ll be back?” he asked instead. “It’s been five minutes past.”
“Has it?” Desert asked in return. “I can’t tell. They probably just got stuck in this moons-begotten swamp.”
Gila began to feel a bit excited. This could finally be a chance to fight. Another chance to finally do something other than sit in the swamp. Something to do!
“I’m getting my spear anyway.” Gila said.
Desert snorted. “Yeah, yeah, you go get the spear. You’re not gonna need it, but hey, we could spar or something.”
Gila’s eyes gleamed. He was craving excitement and sparring would be (an albeit temporary) way to sate him.
So, Gila grabbed his spear. The wood was well worn by this point, and the shaft had nearly broken in two, but he knew how to use it well enough.
“Although you might want to go report the time delay anyway.” Desert amended, stepping up behind Gila. “The lieutenant probably wants to see you anyway.”
“That’s true.” Gila nodded. It would be nice to see his father for a bit. Maybe he’d know something to do?
Desert patted Gila on the shoulder, grabbed his own spear (one that was in a much better shape than Gila’s) and moved off somewhere else.
Gila strode over to the tent, the mud and dirt irritating him a bit. He desperately wanted to just get out of here and go somewhere else. The desert would be better, but the shores of the ocean would be okay too.
Some of the other soldiers looked at him as he passed by. It was a bit strange for someone to be walking around alone in the camps, considering how close the platoon was. They’d been on missions for years now, and knew each other well.
Gila could make out a couple faces in the crowd, a few of which also looked somewhat concerned, glancing at the treeline. Gila paid them no mind, however, and continued to the big tent in the center of the camp.
He peeled open the flap and saw his father, Oryx, inside, sitting at his desk. He appeared to be reading a book, which Gila found to be a bit unusual.
“Who is it?” Oryx asked, not looking up.
“Er… it’s me.” Gila said.
Oryx removed his nose from the book, which looked like it took a considerable amount of effort. “Oh! Gila, how are you doing?” He asked.
“I’m doing fine.” Gila said, hesitating a bit. “I came to tell you that the scouts still aren’t back yet. It’s been… I don’t know, seven minutes, now?”
Oryx frowned. “That’s worrying.” He muttered. “Do we have any idea where they went?”
“No.” Gila answered. He then turned his head back to the entrance, where a rather large commotion had begun to sound.
Oryx got up from his desk and walked outside of the tent, carrying a sword. Gila quickly followed him, if only because he wanted to see what was going on.
And find out what had happened he did, because the instant he stepped out of the tent he found himself almost stepping on the corpse of one of the scouts, mutilated and frozen beyond recognition.
Oryx glared at the corpse, his mental gears turning. “Spread out in groups of three!” He commanded. “Be ready for anything!”
The sound of roughly forty sets of feet shuffling around filled Gila’s ears as he quickly found himself slotted into a group of two other dragons with barely any notice.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Gila asked.
“Nope.” Answered Arid.
“Aside from the fact that we’re definitely getting ambushed.” Sidewind noted. She shifted closer to Gila and Arid.
Gila stayed in place, drawing his spear, silently cursing himself for not fixing it. He stood in place, waiting. Nothing happened, and all that he could feel was the blanket of suspense draped over the platoon.
All of a sudden, a group of Ice and SandWings zoomed out from the treeline, with one of the many groups of three being killed almost immediately and several others engaged in rapid succession.
Chaos ensued quickly after that, and Gila felt himself almost immediately separated from Arid and Sidewind. He was alone on the battlefield, never a good place to be.
An IceWing rushed him with a flurry of teeth and claws, and he only just managed to keep it away from him. Gila shot a jet of fire into the IceWing’s face, and, while it was distracted, stabbed it in the chest with his spear.
The IceWing gave out a roar of pain and swung at Gila again, though now much slower. The dragon continued to slow until it finally came to a dead stop, royal-blue blood leaking from the hole in its chest.
Gila was barely even thinking straight at this point, his brain having been kicked into a high-gear survival mode. He had wanted this, and now that it had started, all he wanted was for it to end.
He had fought battles before, but those were mostly honorable confrontations, not sneak attacks like this one. And so, Gila just raced along the battlefield, attempting to avoid as many SandWings as he could so as not to harm his allies.
Gila continued to run around the battlefield, attempting to find his father. A SandWing he didn’t recognize landed in front of him and Gila and he wasted no time in slashing his spear through its throat.
Where is he? Gila thought. He shot a fire blast at another IceWing, and ran it through with his spear. The IceWing died almost instantly, and Gila, while trying to remove his spear, ended up snapping it in two. Crap. He thought. He dropped the remaining part of the shaft and continued on.
Gila was then thrown to the side by a dragon being knocked into him. He forcibly shoved them off of him and found a spear in their chest. Desert. He realized. But grieving would have to wait.
A dragon grabbed him by the tail and Gila didn’t think to check who it was before slicing the barb upwards into their jaw. All he felt was the warm wetness of blood and the release of the dragon’s grip.
Oryx was nearby now, Gila could smell him. But he could also smell flames, which was not a good sign. He rushed in that direction, hoping for the best.
He did not see the best.
Oryx was fighting off at least five different dragons, and he was not doing well. It appeared that one of his wings had been cut off and he had been knocked to the ground. Gila threw himself at pone of the SandWings in the group, who was raising a sword.
The force of Gila’s tackle knocked the SandWing off to the side, and it’s sword found a rather comfortable home in the neck of on of the nearby IceWings.Where the MudWings were was a mystery in and of itself to Gila, but he had no time to think about that right now.
He ended up propelling himself so hard that he ended up soaring past the group altogether and landed with a thud several yards away.
The remaining three dragons, two IceWings and a SandWing, wasted no time in quickly running at him, though not after stabbing Oryx through the head with a large blade. They got to Gila before he could get up and he quickly found a large scar in his neck.
Gila swiped his tail at one of the IceWings, which cleaved through its throat, and he pushed himself off the ground with his wings, landing a couple feet away. The remaining two dragons eyed him with malice and they lunged at him.
Gil managed to duck under the IceWing and it sailed over him, however the SandWing brought it’s talon down on Gila’s back, sticking it’s talons into him.
Gila roared in pain, and violently attempted to shake the SandWing off of him, though she appeared to let go of her own accord, giving Gila enough time to recover.
The IceWing from just earlier swiped at him with a fallen spear, which Gila grabbed and stabbed in its direction. It moved out of the way, but Gila caught it with a stream of flames that dropped it.
Finally the SandWing. Gila turned to face her, and a small bell rang in his head. Her eyes, green as the dragonflame cacti that populated the desert, stirred a memory within him.
“Cactus?” He asked. “Is that you?” Gila hadn’t seen his sister since he left for the war, and the very possibility that she could be fighting for Blaze terrified him. It paralyzed him.
It was this very paralysis that cost him. All too late, he realized that her eyes didn’t have that same pale sheen that indicated blindness, and he quickly found the left side of his vision gone, accompanied by a shock of pain and blood pouring into his mouth.
Gila attempted to recover quick enough to get away but he was too late. A torrent of flames engulfed his right wing and burned away the last of his resolve, causing him to fall to the mud and water of the swamp.
An almost sweet feeling overcame him, something like sleep. Gila tried to fight it, but couldn’t. His remaining eye closed, and everything went black.
== Quicksand ==
Information: Quicksand was a foot soldier in Burn's army. He joined the army when he was six and entered the same platoon as his brother, Jackal (two years older than him). Quicksand was incapacitated in a battle between the Sand and Ice Kingdoms and was captured, then put in an IceWing Prison Camp. He sat there for roughly five to six years until the end of the war.
Quicksand's fanon page is here
=== Story ===
“Get up.” A voice snarled.
Quicksand’s eyes opened, but he already knew there was no point. He wouldn’t be able to see them anyways. Still, he hauled himself to his feet.
The frost and ice in between his scales shattered as it had in the years prior, welcoming him with a sense of nauseating familiarity. He wished for death at this point. That one day, the ice would be too frozen for him to move. That he could finally leave this wretched place.
“Clean that up.” The voice hissed at him.
Quicksand groaned with annoyance.
“I said ‘clean it up.’”
Quicksand sighed, and swept his tail around the various shards of ice. They cut into his tail, but he didn’t care anymore. He was too tired to care. To care about anything, really.
“Is there anything to eat?” Quicksand asked. He silently cursed his voice for sounding so fragile, and being nearly inaudible.
The dragon barked out a laugh. Quicksand could make out heavily blurred scales that were white in color. IceWings. He thought.
“There will be nothing for you.” The IceWing stated. “Now pick up the pieces.”
Quicksand slowly picked up the shards of ice and placed them in a bowl. Under most circumstances he would eat from this bowl, but not today, it seemed.
Quicksand heard the IceWing’s talons click on the icy floor as he left. He had been here for so long. He attempted to pull himself up to his full height, but slumped to the left, hurriedly shifting his arm so as not to fall. Quicksand never did get used to having only a single arm, and he knew he never would.
That IceWing would pay. Not just that single one, but the one keeping him here too. And the ones who had taken him from his home, them as well. Hell, all of them could pay, for all Quicksand cared, and he would make them do so.
Quicksand dragged himself out of his little cubby in the wall of the cave, and started to walk around the cavern. His talons scraped across the ice with a painful noise,but Quicksand barely registered it. This place was freezing, and moving was the best way to stay alive.
He didn’t even know why he was trying to stay alive. There was nothing to live for at this point, just some distant, long-gone hope that he would one day be free. He had abandoned that long ago. Was it even that long ago? He didn’t even know anymore.
More prisoners silently crawled out of their hollows in the wall, and joined in in walking around. Quicksand was at least somewhat familiar with these dragons. A couple of them were even from his unit in the army.
Some of those poor souls originally looked to each other for some sort of guidance, but they had quickly fallen out of favor with each other, fighting for rations and for space in the walls.
Quicksand didn’t even know what happened to the dead here. Perhaps they were eaten, maybe buried, maybe they just rotted in their corners where Quicksand couldn’t see them. He had seen anything clearly in ages.
The scrape of feet filled Quicksand’s ears with noise, and he couldn’t get it out. He had tried, and he had failed to do so.
The day passed on. The light from the ceiling of the cavern eventually faded away, and soon Quicksand couldn’t see anything.
A new set of talons clicked into the cave, and everyone stopped for a bit. Rations, probably.  Quicksand thought.
“Here you go, you savages.” A voice stated.; It was the voice of the IceWing from earlier, but Quickand was more focused on the wet thwack of something on the floor. Food.
All of a sudden, the scrabbling of talons of the ice grew louder than ever, and harsh tearing sounds came from somewhere in the cavern.
Quicksand grabbed a dragon in front of him and threw them to the back, what with them being so light from malnutrition. Amidst the grasping and scratches from the other dragon, he grabbed the remainder of the corpse and hightailed it to one of the wall cubbies.
Soon enough, a wall of scales and flesh attacked him from the outside, likely the other dragons attempting to get their fill. Quicksand heaved up a blast of fire and shot it at them, but it was intensely weak due to the cold.
Quicksand used his remaining arm to slice at something that felt vaguely like a throat or an arm, and twisted painfully to slice another dragon with his tail. He bit down on something else that he couldn’t identify and ripped away from the dragon. A dull scream and a spurt of blood alerted him that he had ripped whatever this even was off of the dragon.
Eventually the crowd dispersed, and Quicksand ate the meat that he had gathered, both that which he had ripped away and the unidentified carcass he’d stolen.
A chilling wind blew into a cavern, and Quicksand curled up as tightly as he could, squeezing himself into the wall. He could hear talon scraping in the middle of the room, and immediately knew that that dragon would be dead by morning.
Quicksand fell into a chilled, uneasy sleep.
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Quicksand was right. He awoke later on, not sure exactly sure how much longer, and felt the familiar cracking and shattering of the ice on his back. When he looked towards the center, he saw a dragon, but also an exposed ribcage, likely indicating that they’d been eaten in the night.
Quicksand shakily got to their feet, awoken by the sound of talons on the floor. He was late. He moved to get up as usual, but then winced as he put weight on his right talon. It had turned an odd blue-black color.
Dammit. Quicksand though. He hadn’t had frostbite for a while, but it was inevitable at this point. He’d lose this limb too, and then be a talon-less wreck of a dragon.
Something about this thought comforted him. Without arms, it would take less time for him to die, and that was all that he wanted at the moment. Freedom was out of the question, and uprisings had already failed.
Quicksand, as such, had no choice but to sit in his cubby-hole. He’d freeze quicker this way, after all. It sounded wonderful, honestly. Just freezing to death. Anything would be better than the torture of the now.
Night fell, as usual, and with it came something new.
The IceWing holding them there walked in as usual, and threw the carcass into the middle of the room. Quicksand moved to get up, but knew it was no use. He wouldn’t make it in time.
“You’re being released tomorrow.” The iceWing stated from the mouth of the cavern. “The war is over.” His voice sounded somewhat morose about this.
Quicksand, on the other talon, couldn’t be happier. His eyes gleamed for the first time in years with genuine excitement. Even better, it appeared that none of the others had heard the IceWing over the commotion of devouring whatever he’d thrown in there.
Freedom. Quicksand barely knew the meaning of the word anymore, but it rang a bell in his head. What was it like to be truly “free?”
There was less of a conflict as the prisoners went back to their holes this night. One dragon was left in the middle, per usual, and Quicksand suddenly had an idea. A twisted one.
One or both of them was going to die tonight. The dragon in the middle from hypothermia and Quicksand from starvation. However, now there was something on the line other than a life that Quicksand hadn’t wanted or appreciated for years.
So, despite the aching pain in his talon, Quicksand slid out from his chamber in the wall, and silently stalked towards the dragon in the center.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.  Quicksand’s talons tapped lightly on the ice as he stalked towards the dragon.
He couldn’t quite make out where he was in relation to the dragon, but his senses of smell and hearing gave him a good guess. He could hear breathing, and the beating of the dragon’s heart.
Quicksand raised his tail, and silently rested it against the dragon’s throat. And then, he quickly pulled and sliced away.
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Quicksand was in his wall chamber the next day, anxiously waiting for when they would be released. He was no longer hungry, and knew that he would survive at least one more day. That was all he needed. One more day.
He got up and walked around the cavern, faster than usual. The pain in his frostbitten talon was immense, and the black coloration had spread to his other claws as well. He needed out, and soon.
All Quicksand could think about was the feeling of the sun in the sky hitting his scales once again. He hadn’t felt anything like it in so long, and longed for the heat of the sands.
Soon enough, a white shape formed in the door, and beckoned to him. Being the only one awake at the moment, or the only one interested, Quicksand limped after them.
They stopped as soon as Quicksand’s tail had exited the cavern. The IceWing had frozen in front of him, stock-still.
“I assume you were told the war was over?” They asked. Their voice was female, which Quicksand found odd. What had happened to the original overseer? But why did he even care?
“Yes.” Quicksand rasped. He would have cursed the excitement in his voice, but didn’t see the point in doing so.
The IceWing nodded, and appeared to hesitate. She then pointed a spear at Quicksand. “Not yet, it isn’t.” She hissed.
Quicksand snarled in response.
“Get back in the cavern.” She ordered.
“No.” Quicksand growled. He got on his hind legs and wrapped a talon around the spear. He could only just barely make out the shape of it, and his legs gave out after only a few seconds, but he managed to get it away from his assailant.
The IceWing’s eyes widened, and she turned to make a run for it. However, Quicksand stabbed the spear through her tail and into the ground, pinning her.
Quicksand then got to feet and stabbed his claws down into her shoulder. He then removed them from her and slashed them through her wings, ripping them to shreds.
His tail sliced through her stomach and up through her throat, and Quicksand dealt the final blow by slamming her head into the ground, breaking her neck.
Breathing heavily, Quicksand looked around. There was nothing. Just a vast expanse of icy dirt that appeared to go on for miles and miles into the horizon. He swore loudly under his breath and turned in the direction that was warmer.
He then walked towards whatever was waiting for him, unsure of what he would find.
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