Robinia

Have you heard the tale
Of the night's most faithful mate?
The one who never failed
In her defiance of the Fates.
Many heroes tried to wound her,
But the archer never died.
Although her deeds are sown with horror,
She was a savior in disguise.
Many a moon ago, late at night, one might see a figure bathed in silver from the stars. A figure cloaked in black so dark it shone blue in the sunlight. A figure with an arrow notched to her bow, prepared to slay any foes.
A figure known as the Archer.
---
"Come on, Wisteria! This story is pointless. We all know the Archer is just an old myth made to scare us all."
In the dim light of the fire, six dragonets huddle in a circle within a cave. Most of them are LeafWings, with the exception of a SilkWing. One of them, the one telling the story, frowns.
"I've never thought it was scary. She was an amazing hero, one of the best fighters there ever was!"
A new dragonet pipes up, the smallest of the lot. "You should keep going, Wisteria. I don't think Arctia's heard it, anyway."
The SilkWing, her brilliant white scales illuminated in reds and oranges by the fire, nods. "I haven't heard it. And this Archer sounds fascinating; I've always loved myths. Does she have another name?"
Wisteria frowns. "I've been told it was a curse to speak it. She would take vengeance if anyone said it, or so she swore."
The first dragonet to speak sneers. "I'll tell it to you, since Wisteria doesn't realize that's just another gimmick," he says, looking at Arctia. "Her name is rather ordinary. Not a PoisonWing name, anyway," he continues, stealing a glance at Wisteria. "Robinia. That's what they called her when she was a dragonet."
"Robinia," Arctia muses quietly. "What a beautiful name. What makes you say she's scary, Almond?"
The first dragon cocks his head. "I guess not everyone is what they seem to be."
The dragonets huddle in closer as a gust of wind blows in, chilling and frightening them. All of them look expectantly at Wisteria, waiting for her to go on with the story that might make them feel a little warmer. "Oh, very well," she says. And she takes a deep breath and begins to speak.
...
appearance
"She was beautiful, once. A long time ago."
In storybooks, you could never see her face. All anyone could catch was the faint emerald of her talons, the matcha green of her snout. She was characterized by her blue-black cloak and quiver full of silver-tipped arrows. And, of course, her bow made of Osage Orange wood, which she was never seen without.
Even with the cloak obscuring most of her body, she still cut an impressive figure, clearly tall and muscular from what others could see. Sometimes, dragons would brag they caught a glimpse of her eyes, the palest mint green like seaglass. Her snout was horribly scarred, and it had patches of spring green mixed in with the matcha color.
And, very rarely, in the limited edition books one could see a fleeting image of her pale green underbelly, marred and twisted with scar tissue, in the heat of battle. Or they would see her golden-flecked legs fully, heavily muscled and filled with those imperfections that covered her entire body.
There were also outlines of her horns or spines when her cloak blew in the air. Swirling corkscrew horns and curling spines were her trademark; that was in every picture, the thing that set her apart from her tribemates, long and sharpened to a deadly point. In some renderings, they were even visible, colored like mahogany with specks of green and gold.
Other than those few images, no one truly knew what she looked like. No one living, anyway. She and her enemies were long dead, mere ghosts preserved in stories.
Robinia was known for her many-colored scales, every layer in a different shade of green. Connoisseurs of scrolls took to drawing detailed sketches of her, inferring what her unseen scale colors might look like from the visible parts of her talons, snout, and underbelly. While there were many disagreements on what she truly looked like, the most common themes were matcha green topscales with some scattered spring green, fading to evergreen mainscales with flecks of gold and mahogany. And, of course, her wings would be emerald green with gold membranes, and the webs between her spines would be a yellow that was just barely tinged with green.
Some said that she was a pretty dragonet, but that as time wore on, she wore with it until she was too damaged to be recognizable for that same young dragoness. Many said that her mouth was hardened into a line, and she stalked like a wolf looking for prey when she moved. Her very gait was enough to strike fear into the hearts of dragons, and when someone spotted her quiver, they knew they were done for. They would say she looked volatile, like a ticking time bomb.
Simply terrifying.
personality
"The darkness was her closest companion. She was not known for kindness."
story
"She was neither a villain nor a hero, not a vigilante or the chosen one. She was something different entirely."
...
The dragonets hear the marching of talons on the ground, the clink of spears and armor, as well as those menacing HiveWing stingers. Wisteria has just finished her story, looking up quickly at the noise.
"Hide!" Almond cries, as the others throw a blanket to smother the fire. The chill overtakes them as they are bathed in darkness.
The HiveWing soldiers are fast approaching, and the moonlight glints off of some more colorful scales, showing they have SilkWings as well. A full battalion to find the dragonets. They rush to the back of the cave in order to buy time and hide. 
They cling together, shivering and trying not to breathe as the armament comes ever closer. Arctia shifts. She looks ready to give herself up, looking at her wrists glowing like embers in the dim light. She steps forward and exhales. "Many for the price of one," she whispers. She begins to walk into the dim, silver light.
"Arctia, no! Chionarctia!" Almond cries out. That is enough to alert the soldiers to their position.
"We found her!" a gruff voice calls out, and the dragonets scream, some bursting into tears as the battalion charges the cave. They scatter like mice or insects, trying to find new hiding places in time.
Then, the whiz of arrows, quiet in the night, and thud after thud resounds in the cave. The hiss of a cloak, and suddenly the figure is before the dragonets. Wisteria, of course, immediately recognizes her, and tries to bow, then steps back a bit, unsure of what to do. "Y-yo-you're," she stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Arctia steps forward, brushing her wing against the figure. "Y-you saved me. Us," she says in a whisper. "Thank you." The figure nods. Arctia lightly brushes the blue-black fabric away from her face. It is heavy and lined with wolf fur. But the face is a sight to behold.
Marred with scars, the long snout is a matcha color with golden and mahogany flecks. Her horns twist like corkscrews, longer than any other. But her eyes, oh, those were the most beautiful. Pale mint green, like delicate sea glass.They look... tired, but a righteous spark of justice gleams in them. All of the dragonets took in a breath.
Arctia speaks first, in a whisper. "Robinia."
Category:Characters
Category:Work in Progress
Category:LeafWings
Category:Content (SilverTheIcewingHybrid)
Category:Status (Legend)