Remnants of the Cold War: Storm Rising

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Remnants of the Cold War: Storm Rising	Remnants of the Cold War: Storm Rising
 	
Author 	Eleven Fifty Two
Genre(s) 	Adventure
Summary 	War, war never changes.
Other 	Mature Content
Author's Notes
The time has come. I will release a new chapter every now and then, but don't expect this page to be my main dedication. I did say I was going to revamp my story, so here it is. Also, it's a pain to convert from the already existing files to wiki, so I wont be updating this every minute.
On another note. I will not be accepting fanon tribes or characters into this story. However, you can ask to add one of your OCs for a short bit, where they would play the role of an unimportant character, such as another normal student, or even a solider or bystander.
Anyways, hopefully I didn't miss out on anything. Please comment, or edit (if you're that nice) if you see a weird arrow thingy that doesn't belong there. Also, I would appreciate if anyone commented on grammar or spelling errors.
 
Click here if you want to skip to the actual story.
Summary
The world was on the verge of change. Mirage didn't quite know that when he was young, and just now exploring the world. Everything was nice and happy too, until everything changed and he found himself in the strangest place.
Mirage's father, Sandstorm was sure that the world was falling apart underneath him. They were back, and he had just found proof, living proof. But it turns out having proof doesn't always help much when it can talk back and stab you in a dozen places.
Being a prisoner sucked, especially when your captor could breath fire, poison you, and was also at least two and a half times taller than you. It was also terrible because his plate carriers wouldn't be able to do anything when he could just be swung around like a hamster in a sock.
Poll
<poll>Who do you want to win?
Blues
Reds
Neither
</poll>
List of Original Characters
Spearhead
Caspia, Mirage, Sandstorm
Crimson (Eleven Fifty Two), Iridium, Sunburst
SPC Anthony Barton, PVT Jackson Coventry, COL Richard "Dick" Hamilton, PVT John Weld, SSG Hans Yeager
__TOC__
===The Prophecy of the Fallen===
Millennia ago,
Two fallen foes,
Sifted through the strands of time,
The trine of the quine,
Yet one has fallen behind.
Falling stars and shattered rings,
Ancestors with heartbroken wings,
Find their way to open seas,
The circle must be conceived,
Or it may never be relieved.
From the past we find again,
The truths to life and why it began,
For the beginning is the end,
And the cycle starts again,
Two great wars but never a third.
===Prologue===
March 26 5015 - SpearheadThere was something about sand that fascinated Spearhead. It was many of the grey and yet so depressing features on this horrible island. Even with that nasty ash residue though, it still had that warm and soft feeling that he always got from sand. Spearhead had to admit, I love sand. I can't really understand the dragons that don't like it though. It has so many uses! You can rub things smooth with it. You can use it to clean your scales, even when it's this black. And I just can't understand how the typically narcissistic idiots of my tribe can't understand that.
Those who really did have a deep hatred for sand had at least some decent arguments. They complained about the sand being too grainy and coarse. They said it also could get in between their scales and give them nasty rashes underneath. And they really complained that it got in their bags when they were frisking around, not paying one mind to where their belongings fell. At least Spearhead had the intelligence to set down his belongs gently, so the sand didn't get inside everything before he began thrashing around in the sand like a ninny. In general, it seemed like most RainWings were like that. Fools.
Only the older NightWings had any stomach for anything "oppressive" or "cruel." They were real fighters, for they could withstand things that even Spearhead couldn't. They had indeed adapted to one of the most treacherous and hateful environments. They had managed to get used to the oppressive smokey air, which even Spearhead could not withstand for that long. And they had lived there for hundreds of years too, knowing only this wretched island and the once dormant and now foreboding volcano. Even though it had only been a few years since its eruption, none had dared to test their meddle here again.
They had lived in this place until a few years ago, when they left in panic, swearing loyalty to the new Queen. She had just barely been a dragonet then, and by Spearhead's standards was still one. Queen Glory was one of those enigmas that had mystified him at the time. But he and the NightWings accepted it, for her rule was better than what had been in place before. Deep down inside, this was most likely one of the biggest reasons he was still alive. It had drove a new era upon his tribe—which he had never considered himself part of until then.
That was three years ago! Spearhead thought as if it were a scientific concept that was nearly impossible to grasp. It had felt like so long for Spearhead. The most exciting things had happened since the beginning of the trio. But it had certainly not been that long in reality. In quite the opposite manner, Spearhead had watched ten years of his life pass by quicker than a shooting star. And that was ten years for moons sake! That had only been his childhood too. He had many more years of his life, but neither seemed as important as the last three, and the ten of his dull childhood.
Yet he was still here thinking of how three years had been an eternity. It was as if he were suffering from one of those diseases that effected those of old age. But he was only four and twenty years of age, too young for one to get the beforementioned illnesses. But most likely that was because there were dragons he could relate too, talk too, and empathize with. He even had a family now for moon's sake. Not the stupid breeding program (which he had already contributed in copious amounts), but one with a partner he could live with and a fierce and beautiful daughter.
That didn't make him fit into the toxic and ashy air the smothered his lunges and stung his eyes. The bleak dunes and deserted basalt flats that surrounded him didn't want him one bit too. It was like they resented his very presence, summoning the worst residues out of the earth around him. It was horrible, yet the strangeness of the place lured him further and further out each time he came here. But this was only the edge of the cliff. There were hateful lava flats too, which were covered with the bones of dead dragons and animals. There were also treacherous mountain slopes too, and a cruel beach side with crags of lava stone that would shred his talons to pieces.
However, it was the smoke that troubled him most. As a dragon who frequently started fires to satisfy his craving for cooked meat, he could say that it was horrible too. Every breath was liking sucking in the air inside of a smoke plume multiplied by a hundred. And then you could feel it slowly coursing through your throat and into your lungs, scratching your insides rawer than a fresh cut of meat. And it even affected his eyes too, which flared with a little bit of pain every time he blinked. Even when he held his eyes open, they stung with pain too. It was quite unfortunate.
Nothing could top the stab of misfortune that was coming towards Spearhead though, for there was something big and black on the horizon flying fast in his direction. Not realizing how unfortunate whatever the thing was, he lay low, head facing the horizon, and tried his best to shift his colors to match those around him. He stayed completely still, not daring to take a breath. It seemed for once that his reckoning was coming, for he began to hear the unusually rapid womping of a flying dragon.
Soon it got faster, and faster still until the strange flying object obtained a clear outline in the sky. It was a strange object, with an elongated and round body. It had a little round black nose, and there was a reflective material on the very front above it. Then even farther up there was a growth that supported a whirring blitz of wings. He didn't know how large or many of the wings there were because of how fast the thing had them spinning. Then as its angle changed slightly, Spearhead was exposed to another side of whatever it was.
Instead of having only one set of shirring wings, it turned out the creature had two. From the front to the back there were these little circular panes of reflective material too. They were spaced perfectly apart from each other. Even more perfect than what nature could muster, which confirmed that it most likely was not anything living, but more likely something that was not. Continuing to the back, which curved up at a sharp turn, there was another raised limb. It was like the trunk of a tree, but it lacked the roots of branches. It there ended with another set of the freakish wing type, which was significantly higher than the one in the front, for they otherwise would have clashed and torn each other to shreds.
Then as it even further neared him, it began descending to the ground. It was ever so close, becoming louder and louder. . .
Phoomp.
Phoomp phoomp.
Phoomphoomphoomphoonp.
It was nearly upon him, and deafened Spearhead in the act, for its stirring and flapping crushed and warped the wind a thousand times more than a SkyWing. The air stirred into a tornado and the sand and dust around him became a whirlwind which smothered the object's shadow in the just rising morning sun. It was glorious, but at the same time terrifying. There was a chance he could get squashed or hit by the monstrosity's wings, which would cut and stab him in a million places. That was because it looked to have wings of metal, and he knew sharpened metal was unforgiving to anyone in the vicinity of its presence.
Spearhead covered his head in fear and tried to bury himself in sand, desperate to hide from whatever had just landed before him. He struggled to keep his focus and remain the same color, his brow warped with determination and focus. I have a family. A daughter named Python. I need to survive. The gods were on his side, and Spearhead managed not to die. But it did not stop. The infernal noise didn't stop. It only slowed and slowed and slowed until he could hear a bizarre high pitched noise come from the machine.
Slowly, the dust faded away. Spearhead opened his eyes as the sand and ash settled. In front of him, blotting the dark and sooty sky, was the machine. The metal it was made of was polished to perfection and even though there were a few scratches, looked like a masterpiece of engineering. It sat still now, and he stared at the blades topping it. He had been right, for there had not been wings, but instead three black sheets of angled steel that sagged through the air. And there was the early morning sun shining right behind it, giving it an unnatural glow.
Spearhead gasped, letting all the stress and fear flow out of him. He had been blessed, for no other dragon may even get the opportunity to see such a marvel. His blue eyes stared right back at him, reflecting on the lower edge of the glass that adorned the front of the thing he had no name for. But seeing how it moved and torn the air with its blades had inspired him. It was not just a thing. It was a chopper, which was a perfectly suitable name for a machine that chopped the air. It was quite convenient actually, and if Spearhead wasn't the only one seeing this, then word of the chopper would spread fast.
But he didn't want that. He wanted the chopper all for himself. While it might have been a selfish thought, Spearhead didn't see why it would be that bad if only he had seen it. One one talon, no dragons could get chopped up by its blades or get squashed, but on the other talon, the chopper could be holding something completely terrible, like a group of angry scavengers. He hoped not, for then he'd be in some trouble. Only a little though, because they were only scavengers. It's not like those little creatures could harm anything.
He was so wrong. With another mystifying noise something in the back of the chopper lowered, and he could soon hear angry little voices. There was a ramp leading out of the back, and at least five scavengers covered in desert sand-colored cloths. The patterns were perfect, and on top of their heads they wore helmets with the same pattern. Along with those they head little chest and back covers filled with equipment of unknown purpose. But the scariest things were what they held in their hardened paws.
They held what at first appeared to be fattened spears. But it turned out to be a little different, with strange modules attached to a body that sat on top of a metal frame, which eventually turned solid and ended in a hard triangle-like shoulder-rest. The weapons were a sleek black, and seemed to have a menacing purpose. One of the scavengers shoved a banana-like object into the bottom of one, and then pulled something back with a deadly shhhk-shhk. Flying machines with metal blades of death? And now scavengers with weapons of unknown purpose?
Finally all nine clambered out, and Spearhead closed his eyes as soon as one turned to look at him. Then they began speaking, but not in the squeaks and yibbles that others had described to him. No, the scavengers in the beetle-like gear were speaking dragon.
"Hey!" One of the 
creatures hollered into the chopper. "Tell that goddamed apache to blow this place. I swear I just saw a pair of goddam blue eyes staring at us. And the suckers were floating!"
"Yo, shut the hell up Dick," another said in a more angry voice.
The first scavenger lowered his voice and growled, "Goddammit Jack, I'm going to have to cite you if you pull any more crap like that."
"Yes s-" The rest of whatever the other was about to say was cut off be a fit of ragged coughing.
If there was any more of the conversation, it was blotted out by a few more bursts of coughing. Then silence eclipsed over the area. Spearhead could hear that whispering noise, but not much more otherwise. It was probably because those creatures were making a plan. Whether it was about killing Spearhead or doing whatever the scavengers were there for, he had no idea. But he knew that his likelihood of surviving their attempt to kill him was low. Even with well placed shots of acid wouldn't do the job right. There were just to many, and then if he did succeed, that "apache" thing would just come and blow him up.
The best course of action would be to wait, and then to observe from a safe distance where none of those little freaks would be able to see his eyes. About those. It was not like he could just squint too, for they'd see right through his scheme and use whatever those weapons they had to kill him. Remembering past experiences, Spearhead had been easily able to locate other RainWings because of their eyes. They revealed everything, not just what they wanted, but also where they were.
And when he had seen those scavenger eyes, he knew exactly what they wanted. They wanted to leave. And he knew dragons could go to the most desperate bounds to get what they wanted, even when it defied all logic. He hoped scavengers brains were just like dragon brains, because otherwise he'd be incorrect. But he was surprised to see that their eyes were just like his. And even more astonished by the sheer weight of the fact that they could speak dragon.
Spearhead once again stiffened, for their were the padded steps of the scavengers passing by his left. He could tell from their steps that there were nine of them, and he could hear their labored breathing when they came close to his ear. They said not a word otherwise, and remained dead silent. Just as silent as this cursed island was meant to be. But it did not last long, for there were other objects to be reached.
The chopper once again raised its ramp with the same out-of-the-world noise until he could hear the sound of metal against metal pressing against each other. Then its great blades once again began to spin as a roar that slowly grew loader and louder escaped from it's top. Sand and ash began to sweep around as it span faster and faster until it matched that of a dragon's wings, and then grew even faster. After a bit, it peaked, and audibly lifted of the ground and banked to the right, fading into the grey sky at his last glance.
He was alone. Safe. But still not satisfied. What would he do now? Could he chase after the oddly geared scavengers, or should he make a beeline for the tunnel? Each had their pros and cons, yet the decision seemed so far from decided. This was no small matter, and Spearhead thought it would be better to weight each of his options and their possible outcomes.
One one of my talons, I could leave, and make way to the tunnel as quickly as possible. But the scavengers would be right underneath me, because they're heading in that direction. And if they spot me, who knows how I'm going to die? I could be hit with a thousand spears, and impaled with a thousand spears is something I really don't want to be. She wouldn't approve, and I'd probably end up dead or crippled. I don't want to go through those odds.
One my other talon. . . if I stalk them until I get close enough to the tunnel to escape sneakily, my chances of getting impaled are going to be lower. It's still risky though, and hanging back would be the smart thing to do. At the same time though? Why are these scavengers here? Are they from the future? Am I from the future? Why are they dressed so well? Huh. I can only find out if I stalk those little things.
And so Spearhead went, looking at his enemy and getting close enough to overhear their talk. It was a difficult task, especially since they were walking so far. They hiked over the sandy grey dunes over and over again. It went on that for what seemed like endless days and days. It felt like an eternity, especially since Spearhead had to focus so much on walking, staying invisible, and keeping his eyes out of sight, while at the same time covering his talonprints and fighting the urge to take off and leave.
After all that, the old NightWing fortress finally emerged into view. Spearhead had never been inside of it, and he wondered if it would safe or not to venture inside of it now. It was most likely safe, because of the strong rock and sturdy tunnels it was said to have. But in the meanwhile it could have falls and cracks from the eruption, which had malformed many of its features. The former were folded over each other and mutilated by the lava's heat. He had heard of what it looked like in the past, but still was impressed by its might.
His thoughts were broken by a spitting sound that came from the head of the scavenger group. Spearhead sneaked a glace at this scavenger, who he didn't recognize from earlier. This one had a clean white face with just the tiniest hint of brown. Many of the features were unfamiliar to Spearhead, other than the brown fur that showed underneath the creature's helmet. It was only on the top of the head though, and no more showed, other than what bordered his ears. His eyes were just like Spearhead's own though, with a pure black iris with blue ringing them, surrounded by white. Those eyes were stunning even in the weary light. No other scavenger he had ever seen had ever had eyes even close to his own. It was strange to look into his own eyes for once.
In the middle of this, a conversation found its way into the group. In the middle, two of the individuals were talking about something Spearhead couldn't quite grasp.
"Jack, what does anomaly mean?" One asked with a strange drawling accent Spearhead was unfamiliar with. It was a strange softness to the voice, which seemed to warp the "what" into "whart."
Next came the response, which was from the second scavenger Spearhead had heard next to that huge chopper thing. He guessed his name was "Jack." With another glance he could see the creature lifting his shoulders just slightly, and then replying with, "You seriously don't know what an anomaly is?"
Spearhead didn't, so it stuck to him for a moment. What is an anomaly? He wondered. Maybe it was the opposite of "omaly," which he also didn't know the meaning of.
The conversation continued, the other scavenger saying, "Nah, I always slept in English class," in a sardonic way.
"Okay, give me a moment," the second said. "Huh. It's sorta like a weird thing that scientists can't understand or doesn't make sense. Sorta like how you don't know its meaning."
"Screw you, and why'd you take so long?"
The other one laughed. "Screw you too. It takes a bit to pull answers for your ******** questions out of my head."
"Shut the hell up," the very first scavenger Spearhead had heard hissed at the two that had just been talking.
None of the two bothered to respond, instead remaining silent and vigilant. The barren terrain passed by, eventually to the point where they were closer to the abandoned NightWing fortress. Thoughts about the words and expressions the scavengers had expressed whirled in Spearhead's brain. They used different curses, and some even had different accents. Among that was the fact that their group was segregated. There was not one female scavenger to be found, and only males were present.
Then the one scavenger in the lead whistled, shouldering his weapon and gesturing to the others. Spearhead observed from a rock above, next to a extremely strange bush that forced itself out of the cracks. The bush was flowering, but looked wilted and torn. But it was blue enough to hide his own eyes, and Spearhead examined every scavenger as well as he could through it as they circled up. The leader, the one with Spearhead's eyes, squatted down and reached into the pack that covered his back.
Inside there were many things, most of which Spearhead found to be completely foreign to him. Then the scavenger took out a map and quickly examined it, putting it back in his pack afterwards. Then he began to draw something in the sand, which Spearhead could barely make out at his angle. It appeared to be a large square, detailing an area. Then the scavenger drew an arrow pointing towards what appeared to be a building, and then started another. Before Spearhead could see where though, one of the troopers moved a bit and blocked the sketch with his left shoulder.
The head of the group began speaking once again, describing a plan. "Okay. Me, Richard, and his fireteam are going to explore the inside of the structure. Mark, you and your fireteam are going to establish an overwatch to the entrance and the approach leading to it. You need to keep your eyes out, especially for anything strange, like floating blue eyes. If you encounter trouble, radio base, but do not radio them under any other situations."
"You all," he continued, gesturing to a few other of his comrades. "We're going inside of that rock heap. Keep close, and keep your flashlights on. We're probably going to see some weird crap, so keep it cool."
"Yes sir," the whole group responded in unison.
The scavengers split up, one team begging their hike up to the entrance. It looked like they were having a difficult time, especially due to the near-toxic air, but they forged on without pause. It was only about an hour until they reached the pile of boulders leading up to the hallway. The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds, and Spearhead was beginning to panic about how he was going to get into the NightWing stronghold without being spotted.
Spearhead waited. It took about ten minutes for them to get to the top of the clump of rocks they were climbing. Several of them seemed to be taking short breaks whenever they could, but still seemed to make it. Then they all stopped at the top, just below the actual tunnel entrance. One by one, the five scavengers clambered into the tunnel. They disappeared into the darkness, until they were illuminated once again by the bright lights they wielded. After another minute of waiting, they were deep enough inside to where Spearhead thought he could get in unnoticed.
After finding an angle where the other team of scavengers would have a more difficult time seeing him, Spearhead leaped from rock to rock, lunging into the tunnel. Then he stopped to slow his breathing, for it could give him away. Afterwards, he began creeping up to the group, which was still moving. He had covered nearly two thirds of the floor in between them when all of a sudden the five stopped. Spearhead stopped too, freezing in place and ducking his head to the point where he was staring at the oddly smooth surface of the tunnel.
Moons, I hope they still can't see me
He held that pose for a little more time, and then peeked up. The five were gathered around and staring at something metallic, and one dipped one of his fingers into the little metal container. Out it came, seemingly unchanged, until Spearhead realized that it was headed straight for the mouth. The group then seemed to radiate collective disgust, the one guilty appearing to either not care or be oblivious to it. Whatever the reason, it still didn't justify the dipping action again. Even more discomfort appeared thereafter, for the scavenger had not just dipped his paws into the can two times, but three.
After following the scavengers for the rest of the time inside of the NightWing fortress, they only found a few dead NightWings and some stale tunnels. At one point some of them commented about this, and one even used his weapon, filling the tunnels with a loud crack that echoed and echoed throughout the passageways. From then on, Spearhead kept his distance. He couldn't afford getting close anymore. It was too dangerous, and he saw what those weapons could do to that dead NightWing's face.
Eventually they left the fortress. The scavengers regrouped, and headed towards the tunnel that lead to the rain forest. Spearhead got there first, lifting away when he was far out of sight, and gliding there without alerting the scavengers. It's what he should have done in the first place. He had a family waiting for him, and waiting for the scavengers to lollygag around the tunnels was one of the fastest ways to prolong it. There also was a chance he could be forever prolonged. When he finally felt that fresh rain forest air, a wall of relief hit him. He was home, away from the thrice cursed ash.
 \/ /\ \/ 
The strangely equipped scavengers had just recently exited the tunnel, and were headed into the one that led to the desert. Spearhead did not follow. Nor did he get any closer. The tunnels were a great place to get trapped, and he could end up stuck behind the group when they were digging through the sand, only to hit a pebble that wasn't supposed to be there and alert them all. Then Spearhead would find himself dead, filled with little holes. His family sure wouldn't appreciate that too. He had already risked it a little, and wasn't going to try that kind of danger any longer. That was the kind of danger that killed queens.
Furthermore, Spearhead was really tired, and couldn't focus enough to keep his colors right. He really needed some sleep, even though it would be around the "sun time" that he hated so much. Spearhead wasn't going to be restricted by the way they slept. He got to sleep however he wanted to. Otherwise, at least his hunger was satisfied. There were plenty of edible animals around in the rain forest, although half of them were considered "pets." He consumed, whether it was someones "beloved" pet or not. While he was trying to get that nasty fur out of his teeth, something broke out in the hole by the waterfall.
A loud explosion rang out, and he could hear the sounds of yelling and many more of those loud cracks. Soon it faded away, leaving the tunnel silent. Later, a different group exited, numbering at four. They were equipped with greenish colors, and covered their faces with black coverings which only exposed the eyes and mouth. On top was a fern-green helmet.
"Huh," he said out loud by accident. I wonder what happened inside of there.
===<Center>Part One: The Strands of Time</Center>===
===<Center>Chapter One</Center>===
April 1 5015 - Sandstorm
Sandstorm was pleased with life so far. While he did live in the sprawls nearby the SandWing palace, he had a stable veteran's pension and planned to spend the next few years raising his son along with Caspia. They had been a happy family for the past two years, and he hoped to push his son Mirage in a good direction, and away from war. The War of the SandWing Succession had left him scarred, and he didn't want his son to go through that. Just thinking about it stirred memories he wanted to forget.
War was a terrible beast. It always lurked around somewhere, and it always brought the worst out of dragons. Great massacres between tribes were often not an uncommon sight, and with how the population was spiraling up these days, he wouldn't be surprised if it happened again. The populations were getting ridiculous too, as almost every tribe was predicted to be triple their previous sizes compared to the end of the war to the year of 5025. Two hundred and twenty-five thousand SandWings? that was ludicrous, but Caspia's history books often referenced huge populations spikes after wars like that one.
At this moment he was looking for an oasis to spend the day at with his family. City life was a drag for Sandstorm, especially because of the place they lived. Going outside at night was always a little risky, and even at day there was a chance that another dragon might slam into him and take his money pouch. His tribe had been torn apart because of the war, and the healing was rough. Even with Thorn in charge, things didn't go that smoothly, hence the slums outside of the palace.
He flew over the dunes looking for a suitable place. He knew about a variety of oases by the city, but most of them were usually visited and sometimes were victims of large groups of rebellious dragonets. Fortunately for him, he knew of a spot where anyone else rarely went, which was perfect for this type of day trip. He just wanted to make sure everything was fine, and that there were no scavengers or anything worse waiting there for him. Finally, a near-mirage looking mist appeared right above a dune, but the green and vibrant yellows surrounding it proved otherwise. This was it, and thanks to his good navigation he would be able to find it again within the daylight.
He dived towards the a clear spot next to a date tree, its shadow elongated by the rising sun. With a few swoops of his wings he was safely landed next to it. When the sand cleared, he was met with a beautiful sight. Red was cast over the horizon and through the clouds, and the reflection splashed across the water. Soft yellow grasses lined where the water met the spring water, and various dead shrubs poked out among them. The pristine water was mostly clear, and he could see the grey silt at the bottom of the pool. It was perfect for drinking too, especially since he had never seen another dragon visit this hole every time he flew out here.
Sandstorm whipped his head to the left. There was something in the grass, and he thought he could hear twigs cracking as something glided through the patch of vegetation. He knew that sound, as it was the slither of a dragonbite viper. These were some of the most vile and dangerous creatures in Pyrrhia, but he just happened to know how to exterminate them.
Bait it with a rock. Slash the neck. Bait it with a rock, or whatever else I'm going to get my talons on, and then slash the neck, and if that doesn't work, grab a big stick and pin it down so I can roast it. Wouldn't be a nice snack though. Dunes, I could eat it, but I don't really want to.
He waited, but it was moving away from him, so he groped through the soil for a sizeable stone and tossed it in the direction of the snake. It worked, and he could hear it creeping straight towards him. It was getting close, and he could see it's diamond-shaped head poking through the grass. Sandstorm backed up two steps to give himself enough room to bait it. He crouched down and grabbed another rock that fit almost perfectly in his palm.
Suddenly, it's head came bursting out if the grasses, and the body followed it. He lobbed the rock to the space right before it's head, and then it coiled up and lunged at it within a millisecond. Sandstorm dashed forward, decapitated it right as it sprang forward again. He sidestepped the creature's head as it fell to the ground. It still writhed in the grasses, along with the rest of its body.
Sandstorm had to wait an entire minute before the head stopped twitching. He had to bury it. The head, even though it was dead, contained enough venom to kill a hundred dragons. And he had to dig deep, because the last thing he wanted in his life was Mirage to come up to him and say, "I stepped on something and It hurts," as the black poison spider-webbed across his body.
He patted the sand neatly back into place. Digging the hole wasn't a problem, especially since all he had to do was claw through a few meters of sand. He had decided to bury it on a dune nearby, to avoid any possibilities of contaminating the water. It was always good to be extra safe. Afterwords, he flew back to the remainder of the body. He tossed it in the grass, where it would be out of the way for most of the day. It landed with a thump, and Sandstorm prepared to lift off again.
A tiny voice carried through the wind. Sandstorm turned back, and scanned the area. He thought he had heard someone curse.
"Is anyone there," he asked the green. Nothing moved or even responded. The grass remained completely still, and Sandstorm dismissed whatever it was. "Huh, that was strange," he said to himself. He was certainly hearing things. It was most likely just the wind though, and he remembered the many times canyons or strange features had changed the way it flowed. There was nothing to worry about. Besides, only dragons could talk, and the only creatures small enough to hide in that type of grass could never speak.
Sandstorm finally lifted off into the blue sky. The desert heat still shined upon him, but SandWings like him were made to handle this type of climate. After a a short half-hour flight, the slums finally came into view. His residence was near the edge, where it would be the safest from an incoming sandstorm. After circling around the dirty streets for a moment, he spotted an opening and swooped down. He clambered down to the
 wooden door, and pushed it open with a twist of its nob.
His son, Mirage greeted him as soon as he stepped inside. "Father!" He shouted as he bounced up and down, eager for adventure.
Sandstorm embraced his son for a moment. "Good news son, we're going to spend the day at an oasis."
Mirage's grey eyes stared back into his. "Really? I can't wait to go!"
Sandstorm gently put his son back onto the ground. "You should go get your ball now. We can play catch when we get there."
"Okay Dad." Mirage ran off to his little room, one of the four in their little home. Sandstorm stared at the doorway for a moment, feeling like a proud father for those few spare seconds.
Then Sandstorm strode past the kitchen attached to their main room, and entered the study. One entire wall in the study was dedicated to shelves for their books and scrolls. It smelled of scrolls in the room, but it was more of a comfortable and well-known smell of aged paper. Caspia, his spouse, sat in the corner, her eyes distracted by one of the books she was reading. She was on a large comfortable mat, and Sandstorm sat down next to her.
She looked over from The Military History of the Scorching. "We're going to your favorite spot. Right?"
Sandstorm nodded. "Yes. Where else would we go? Everywhere else is too crowded."
Caspia put down her book and stood up. "Well, let's get going then. It's not as if I don't want to spend the rest of the day studying my favorite topic."
Sandstorm grinned. He loved it when Caspia made jokes like that, and it was as if she were unaware of the fact she even made a joke, which was the best part about it.
"Well. . . You don't really do much else," Sandstorm said in response.
"Keep in mind that I'm not always reading the same book."
"But we can't go on spending money like that forever."
"Yes. . . You'd have to get a job, Sandstorm. Our military pensions aren't going to last forever."
"You'd have to get one too, or at least work a little."
"I'd rather not work all the time, unless I can get a job at one of those dig sites."
Sandstorm sighed. "You and your archeology. I wonder what kind of scavenger artifacts you'd find."
Caspia frowned. "All the good stuff is in the Sky Kingdom. All we'd find here are those weird blue plates that I found right after the war."
He grimaced at that word. War. Images of bloody and dead dragons flashed through his mind.
A look of panic crossed Caspia's much lighter grey eyes, but soon returned to her normal attentive gaze. Sandstorm really had no idea where she got those beautiful eyes from though. Maybe one of her ancestors was from a different tribe.
Mirage pushed open the study door. "Let's go! Let's go," he hollered, flaring his wings and making a show of himself.
Caspia put her brown-speckled wing over him. "Okay Mirage, we're leaving now. You brought your ball, right?"
Mirage held out the small hide ball. "See? I have it right here."
Sandstorm closed the study door behind them and opened up the one to the outside and grabbed the key. Caspia and Mirage followed him outside, and he locked the door with a click just in case a burglar came by. Homes usually weren't robbed much here (because everyone keeps their houses locked here along with some pretty menacing knives), but any small mistake could leave what little things they owned exposed to dirty talons.
Caspia leaped up with Mirage and began circling above, and Sandstorm followed. They did that for a moment, and when Caspia passed by next, she asked, "South? By the cactus circle?"
The next time he circled by her, he responded, "Yes. Here we go!" He angled his wings to the south, and caught the wind current. It wasn't until another hour later that they finally reached their destination. They had to keep pace with Mirage, because he was a bit slower than them with his young wings. Soon they were on the ground and next to the oasis waters. All was the same as he had left it, except for the snake. It was gone now.
Mirage almost immediately vanished. Sandstorm could still see and hear the branches and grass he was moving through, but not the actual Mirage. He didn't worry though, as he was sure that there was nothing harmful within the vicinity. Then the motion stopped. That was strange, and wasn't normal behavior for a young dragonet.
Sandstorm grumbled. "Looks like I'm going to have to pull Mirage out of another quicksand pit."
Caspia chucked. "He's most likely fine. He may have found something interesting."
"I'll be right back then." Sandstorm ran over to where he had last seen Mirage. He pushed back the brush to reveal Mirage staring at something outlandish. Mirage was clutching what appeared to be a domed bucket of some type. It was tiny, tiny enough to fit on a scavenger's head. It was colored in a combination of desert hues, almost identical to the Mirage's scales.
Mirage turned back to him, his face a little pouty. "Father, why is there a grave right here?"
He was right. It was a grave. Freshly disturbed soil lay in a mound in an area about the size of a scavenger. A contraption made of metal and an unknown material was poking out of the ground. A tiny chain hung over it, swaying in the wind. It looked like there was writing on it, but he couldn't read it. He suddenly felt a weird creeping feeling spread throughout his scales. Only dragons buried their dead, and dragons were the only civilized species on the planet, if you didn't count scavengers. But scavengers only did this when they were civilized (if they ever were) and that was a bad sign.
Sandstorm shrugged. "I don't know son. Can I see that helmet? Maybe I can find out why."
"Okay dad." Mirage gave him the strange helmet.
It was strangely light and had a perfectly repeating desert pattern all over it. Perfect, and without any flaws besides a few red spots that had obviously been bloodied. Only magic could create such perfection, and if not, what kind of unnatural technology did they use to make something so flawless? It even had completely clear eye wear, just perfect for a scavenger, and probably for keeping the sand out of their eyes.
"What in the three moons," Sandstorm muttered in confusion.
He rolled the minuscule helmet around in his talons for a moment, and placed it back on it's pedestal. Messing with burial sites was something Sandstorm didn't do, even if it was only a scavenger's. Digging up bodies was one of the fastest ways to get bad luck out in the Sand Kingdom, and luck was something you wanted on your side when a real sandstorm could come rolling by at any moment.
Caspia brushed through the foliage behind Sandstorm. She gasped and held her talons in front of her face in an excited way. "Three moons! Is this what I think it is?"
"I'm not sure Caspia, is it?"
Caspia shrugged her wings. "It looks a lot like the sorta stuff that was described thousands of years before the scorching. Can I look at it?"
"Sure." Sandstorm grabbed the tiny helmet again and gave it to Caspia.
She thoroughly examined the entire thing. "Huh, that's cool. I would take it, but I don't think it belongs in our talons. Thinking about taking it just feels wrong." She moved over by the mound of dirt and let the helmet rest on whatever that thing in the ground was. "Come on Mirage. We shouldn't play around this spot."
Mirage hung his head. "Okay mother. Can we throw the ball together?"
Caspia waved her tail in agreement. "Of course, but I don't think you'd want to lose your ball in the shrubs over here."
"Yes! Let's go over there then," Mirage beamed. He ran over to where the softer water grasses were. There was plenty of open room for the ball if his little talons couldn't get around it in time. Caspia went over there with him, and began to play catch. Sandstorm remained. He stared at the tag that hung from the grave marker. Everything there was fresh, and definitely not from before the scorching. Sandstorm had his suspicions.
Scavenger uprising? Improbable. Maybe a few found out how to make this stuff? That's possible. But I know history only goes so far. There's nothing before the pre-scorching era. That's what Caspia said, and I'm sure that's right. But her theory about them coming from another planet? That's insane. Just as insane as this blasted helmet.
Sandstorm grumbled and shook his wings out. What kind of world did he live in? Why did he live here? All those answers were in the past, and Sandstorm knew for sure the past was long gone when he walked back to his family. So he went and tossed the ball with Caspia and Mirage. They did that for a while, and then settled down for the rest of the day. It passed by quickly.
When they returned home everyone was quite sleepy. Sandstorm opened the door and they all nearly collapsed upon each other to get in. The house was dark and he lit up the area by exhaling a little flame. Mirage clumsy slid into his room, and Caspia followed to make sure he had actually made it onto the comforter. In that time Sandstorm made his way to the kitchen.
He rooted through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for. Aha! There you are, he thought. The flask was one of Sandstorm's most valued items. He had to confess, it wasn't the most healthy habit, but it helped him sleep peacefully, instead of relive all those horrors. He contemplated that for a moment. Recently, it hadn't really helped. So he put the flask of heavy cactus cider away, and looked for something else to do.
There was a muffled crashing sound in the study room, and he could hear what sounded like some sort of startled yell. "CASPIA!" Sandstorm yelled in panic.
He nearly leaped into the ceiling with the amount of sudden adrenaline he had, but instead kept himself firmly planted onto the floor. He rushed over into the study room, only to reveal something quite strange. Caspia was underneath a bookcase, and covered with books in scrolls. And she was grinning.
"Whaaat?" The befuddled expression on Sandstorm's face was golden, and Caspia burst out laughing, the shelf shaking above her.
Caspia caught her breath, and resumed a more serious tone. "Okay. . . Sandstorm, I officially need your help to move this shelf off of me."
"HOW? I put anchors and everything to keep that from falling."
"Well, I had to put it somewhere, and behind the bookcase seemed to be the best spot. Can you just lift this off me? I don't want to break my wing, it's in a weird spot."
"Okay." Sandstorm braced himself and slowly lifted the wooden cabinet.
Caspia seethed in pain. She pointed with her free talon to the right and hissed, "Can you move it that way."
With one final heave, he righted the bookcase and she slid her wing out of harms way, but still kept it outstretched, as if she were hiding something long and pointy.
"I'm surprised you didn't notice this morning, but I got you something for your hatching day." She swept her wing in, and revealed a majestic spear, forged of a silvery metal.
Sandstorm took the spear in his talons, and felt its delicate balance. He liked it. Perfectly balanced, amazing design, and nothing at all like the rat dung I used in the army.
"I hope you like it," Caspia said as she started neatly stacking books and scrolls. "It's made of a special tungsten steel, and I had it made just for you."
"What did it cost?"
Caspia sighed. "Let's leave that matter alone. Maybe we can spar with it after I fix this bookshelf, or even teach Mirage how to defend himself."
"No. . . Did you tell him?"
Caspia shook her head to the side like what he just said was the most ridiculous thing on Pyrrhia. "No, because I wanted to talk to you about something I saw this morning."
"What did you see?"
"It was a job listing, for the Sky Kingdom."
"Uhhg, I've been to the Sky Kingdom before. . ."
"Come on Sandstorm, we're only going to be there a month if I take it."
"That's where—"
"Yes, we both know what happened to your. . ." Caspia dropped the subject there, and looked back into his eyes.
"I'm not sure Caspia," he said in a downtrodden way. He actually hated the thought of going to the Sky Kingdom. That place was horrible, and they had been ambushed by Scarlet's soldiers so many times. It was horrible. Terrible. It had taken so much from him, and now he was going back? He blinked rapidly for a moment, holding back a wave of emotion.
"Cheer up Sandstorm. Maybe you should think about the mountains, and all the artifacts I could find." Caspia threw her wings around him, and embraced him for a moment. "Also, think of the money. We wouldn't have to work for another full year."
"When are we supposed to be there?"
"Seventeen days if I sign up tomorrow. It's going to be weird, talking to a SkyWing."
"I'm trying to forgive them, for what they did, but I just can't. It's so hard, just seeing one makes me relive that memory. I even remember their eyes."
"We would have never met if it weren't for the SkyWings."
Sandstorm sighed and shrugged off Caspia's hug. "Maybe that is so, but it'll be a tough flight." Then, it suddenly occurred to him. He needed to break this wall, fly through the narrow canyon. I have to do it, he realized. For Caspia. For me. For Mirage. Maybe I need to finally get over the past.
===<Center>Chapter Two</Center>===
April 1 2006 - Staff Sergeant Hans Yeager
He was so thirsty. His throat was raw from dehydration and his lips were parched. Every ragged breath brought him closer to the Oasis, if it even was real. It was hard to tell in the light, for the moons were down. Anthony was next to him. They both dragged the corpse behind them on their rugged stretcher. Hans did admit that was the stupidest idea he had every had. If he hadn't been dead set on bringing John's body to a proper burial place, then it would have taken them a reasonable to time to cover this distance. But he couldn't, and he didn't, and now four days of absolute hell had passed.
Something crunched underneath Hans' boot. He could feel his pulse leap as he spotted the outlines of the grass in the ambient light. He dropped his side of the stretcher. Burial could wait until he managed to quench his thirst. He half-ran over to the spring and fumbled with his pack. They were always required to keep basic survival equipment with them on these types of missions. The massive straw dropped out of his sheath onto the ground, and Hans collapsed along with it, his head right over the water. He slowly moved the tube up to his mouth and took a sip of the pristine water.
Hans could feel the life coursing back into him as he gulped as much water as he could without choking himself. He sighed with relief and rolled onto his back. Hopefully he could rid himself of this fatigue by getting a couple hours of sleep. He closed his eyes to the sound of swaying grasses and midnight crickets. At last he was back on solid ground, not on the coarse desert sands. Anthony yawned somewhere to his left. They were both really tired. He hadn't been able to sleep during the past few days, so at least it was something.
As Hans woke up, he noticed the sky was now beginning to change hues. Hans groaned and sat up. He was sitting next to the edge of an oasis. Large grasses tickled him and he once again drank. He took out his two canteens, and filled each with the shocking clear water. He sifted through his bag through a moment, and took out some iodine pills. He dropped two pills in each of them. Hopefully the taste of iodine
would be stronger than that of the plastic when he got to them. He then re-packed everything.
Anthony was still out, and his rifle lay over his belly. His fingers were dangerously close to the trigger, and he could see that his marksmen rifle was set to full-auto. It was probably for good reasons too, because who knows what could be lurking out in this strange desert. Sand dragons? Hans' mind answered. He strode over to where he had left the body. First things first, he had to move it to a more convenient position. Then he had to loot everything of value to them. Hans grunted as he dragged the body to a place far enough from the water to where it wouldn't be contaminated.
"This is so hecked up," Hans whispered to himself. He shuffled his hands under it and slowly removed the pack. He sifted through the pockets, and then finally removed the gun. For some reason, John had never used it in the firefight they had. He thought he had heard him say something hysterical about that in that cursed tunnel. Eventually, neat piles of gear formed around his work space. Hans groaned again, as he had just gotten his hand caught on the IV they had put into him days ago. When they had ran away from the cactus circle, he was still somehow alive, but not conscious. He didn't truly perish until the third day. Some would say that he had been brain-dead in that time.
"Crap. We still have to bury that sucker," Anthony said behind him. He looked over the corpse and the loot that had been on him earlier.
Hans nodded. "Let's get this crap done before it turns to hell out here."
Anthony nodded. "I think I found a good spot for it when I was taking a leak."
"Yeah? Where at?"
"In that clump of bushes over there. Those suckers are pretty damn big." With that they both grabbed under the shoulders of the corpse and dragged it all the way to Anthony's spot. They swept the massive branches out of the way to reveal soft soil perfect for digging in. One problem though, for none of them had shovels.
"Looks like we're using out hands," Hans commented.
Anthony adjusted his gloves and smiled just a slight bit in a sort of disturbing way. "Best damn way if you ask me."
They both spooned dirt out of the ground with their gloved hands. Gradually, a few sizable piles of dirt gathered around the pit. After some thirty minutes of clawing the soil up, there appeared to be enough room for the body to fit. None of them said a word as they hoisted the body inside, as it was a somber moment. Then they filled in the hole, and patted the dirt down firmly. That took another thirty minutes, and then they were finally done, except for one thing.
Hans took John's boots and stuck them most of the way inside of the ground to provide an anchor for the next bit. He then shoved the gun barrel-first as deep as he could. Hopefully it would stay that way for a very long time. Then he packed the dirt once again, and took out John's dog tags. One would stay in Han's pocket. The other he looped through the ring where the sling was supposed to go on the gun. Finally, he put the helmet on top.
A slight breeze flew by and shook the shrubberies. Both Anthony and Hans stood there silently. It was a time to honor their fallen now. Hans did his stiff military salute and walked away. Why did we have to get stuck in the hellhole, Hans reminisced. Why us?
He crouched by the rest of John's gear and started shoving some of the loot in his bag. Ammo? He only had 6.8, and Anthony used 7.62. John had a water skin, so Hans took that too. Another K-bar? One could never have too many knives. Extra socks? Well, they weren't the right size for Hans, so he put those in the "free pickings" pile. Cigarettes? Hans didn't smoke, so he also tossed those in the free pickings pile. After grabbing another canteen and other random gear like another watch, he was done with the piles.
Anthony came by and scooped up the rest of the stuff. He grinned at the sight of the remains. "Looks like you left me all of the good crap."
Hans gave him a nod of approval. "One man's trash is another's treasure."
Anthony flicked out a lighter and fiddled with a cigarette. Then he lit it up and stuck it in his mouth. He coughed violently. "Crap, these garbage sticks are horrible." He tossed the butt on the ground and smothered it with his boot. He then hacked again and cursed.
Hans shook his head in disappointment. "We really shouldn't be smoking after spending a day on that island."
"Yeah," Anthony wheezed. "That was a crappy idea."
"Lets go try and get some zzzs before we head out this evening."
"Good idea Sergeant." Anthony stumbled around until he found a well hidden hollow that had plenty of darkness. Hans then found another nearby and crawled inside. He had a good view of a nearby clearing. That would be useful. He drifted in and out of sleepiness. His brain was moving too fast for him to properly rest, and he spent the time half-conscious and drifting in a limbo between real sleep and something else.
Something big kicked up as much dust and dirt as a helicopter could. When the debris cleared, Hans could make sight of it. It was a huge dragon, but it was alive this time. HOLY ACTUAL CRAP. IT'S A HECKING SAND DRAGON! Han's head screamed. It was about as large as a Black Hawk, but had the color palette of an Abrams on a desert mission. It's dark grey eyes scanned the area aggressively, but looked over their two hiding spots.
It's tail lashed out angrily and it looked over at a spot in the long grasses. There's something moving in there, Hans realized. When he glanced again he saw that it looked like some type of viper that was bigger than even the record-holding anaconda back home. And it was heading straight for him. Then the sand dragon tossed a huge rock towards it. It coiled back in reaction and began to slither towards the dragon.
It burst out of the grasses, and with a swift movement the sand-colored dragon hurled another rock and sliced the snake's head off with a swipe of its claws. The head came flying through the air and the dragon stepped back in panic. The snake had the diamond shaped head, but was it really that deadly? It probably had really powerful poison or something, and the dragon seemed to confirm that.
The dragon with whitish horns seemed distracted, so Hans attempted to creep up to where Anthony was. There was always power in numbers. He rolled around until he was prone, and slowly dragged himself out of the hole. He then crept forward as silently as he could until he came upon the other hollow. Hans put his finger in front of his lip and Anthony stared back. He had the same holy-crap-is-this-thing-really-hecking-real look that Hans had earlier. He slowly bobbed his head up in response.
Anthony carefully put his hands out in puzzlement. Hans shrugged in response, for he had no genius plan forming in his head at the moment. All it did was scream, RUN! RUN! HIDE! DON'T DIE! DID IT JUST LOOK AT ME? Without a sound, Anthony depicted shooting the dragon in the head with his fingers.
Hans disagreed, that would be a stupid idea, and he had no idea how durable the scales on that dragon could be. He tilted his head in disagreement and furiously gestured about staying silent and alert.
Anthony breathed in exasperation and rolled his eyes.
Hans looked back at him angrily. That was not the right way to treat your commanding officer. Out of nowhere, the dragon suddenly took to the skies again with a few massive beats of air.
"What. . . what in god's name is that thing doing here?" Anthony moaned. "This place is so screwed up. Weird death wormholes? Enough smoke to give me lung cancer? Now friggen flying lizards, and they look smart? Why? WHY! WHY?"
Hans crouched on one knee and socked Anthony in the thigh. "Snap out of it! Shut the hell up before the damn dragon comes back!"
Anthony recoiled and started hyperventilating as if the world were ending.
"Breath deeply and for god's sake calm down. That's an order."
Anthony calmed down for a moment and slammed his fist into the ground. He seethed with pain, but it was an improvement. "Crap. This place sucks."
Hans looked back to see where the sand dragon was. It was nowhere in sight, but he did spot the now still coils of the snake. His belly rumbled at that thought. He hadn't had much other than rations, and fresh meat sounded really good right now. Besides, being productive was always a good way to calm one's nerves. "Let's go get the rest of that snake," Hans suggested in an authoritative way.
"Yeah, hecking fresh meat. Fresh meat." After another pause, he echoed, "fresh meat."
Hans glared at Anthony. "Shut the hell up."
"Fres- Yes sir."
They walked into the grass that was almost as tall as themselves. Hans was looking around, when he spotted the dragon again. Both of them hit the ground as quickly as they could. Hans could only describe the pain, especially since he'd do this many times before, the most recent leaving him injured for about a month and a half. That hadn't been good at all, and Hans remembered it very clearly.
It had been about two months ago. They had just entered system 70584, on the USSC Voyager III. They had known about the missile for days, but they hadn't expected to be the target. They thought the USSC Challenger would be the target, because it was about an hour ahead of them. It had been a normal day, and Hans was busy directing the repair of the lighting in the corridor outside of their quarters.
After fiddling with some wires, he told someone to re-route the power. It had worked, and they turned it back off so he could safely replace the protective plates. About a minute later, the alarms blared and the loudspeakers were activated.
"ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL. PREPARE FOR IMPACT AND ZERO-G ENVIRONMENT IN THIRTY SECONDS." With a flare of feedback, the intercom was shut down.
Hans scrambled to secure all of the tools he had been using and managed to get them each in their respective cases. He shoved them inside of a
storage panel and locked it. Then he fumbled with his regulation space boots and gloves to get the magnets activated. He then dropped, or at least thought he did.
The ring stopped rotating and slammed him into the wall with extreme force. He halfheartedly threw out his hands to the nearest metal and moaned in agony. His chest really hurt and he thought one of his ribs had been cracked. Blood floated by from a cut on his face, and he tried to move just the slightest bit and cringed in pain. Then the spacecraft shook with a giant explosion, and something hit Hans in the head.
Hans woke up to the sound of arguing voices. Men in white coats surrounded him, murmuring about the injuries. They were all in what appeared to be a medical room, but it didn't look like the one on the Voyager III. Then they filed out of the room except for one. The remaining doctor took one look at him and decided he was awake. He pulled out a clipboard and a pen from a drawer and walked to his side.
"So you're awake?"
"Yes," Hans wheezed. Every breath brought a jolt of pain into his ribs. "H-how long?"
"Before I tell you that, I'll need to ask you a few questions. It's mandatory for head injuries."
"Okay."
"What's your name and rank?"
"Hans Yeager, Staff Sergeant."
The doctor scribbled something on the pad. "Okay, what's your place of birth?"
"Bastogne, Belgium."
"Alright. Looking good. "What is your last place of residence?"
"Gillette, Montana."
"Are we within a one G environment?"
"No."
"Explain why."
"There's no real gravity on this ship, only rotational force pushes on us."
The doctor looked surprised. He jotted down some more notes. "Great. You seem to be completely fine. No evidence of trauma or any types of concussions."
"Wait, there aren't any more questions?"
"There are, but we've been really busy here on the Challenger after they brought all the injured to us."
"So. . . how long do I have to stay here?"
"Good news is that you'll be out of here today. The bad news is that you'll be off duty for six weeks after today. I'd get you discharged, but we can't really do that here, so I'm going to get you a work order that won't beat you up too much."
"I want to see the rest of my crew."
"We can't do that. Voyager III's ring is damaged and you will only heal with grav—the correct amount of downward force."
Hans coughed in remembrance as his body hit the dirt. Those had been some of the worst days in his life. He had wanted to help, and he had felt so bad when people pushed him back in favor of someone who hadn't been injured. He even didn't get to see his squad for the first week.
A silent breeze dominated the landscape. The beating of the desert-colored dragon broke that and then stopped as it once again landed in the patch of low grasses. He knew it was there, but couldn't see it through the grasses he was lying in. Both Anthony and Hans kept their moths shut completely and waited for it to leave (if it ever was going to).
A with a horribly loud clunk the body of the dead snake fell right in front of them and rolled to a stop just in front of his nose.
In response, Anthony cursed, "HOLY CRAP!" The air sucked his voice away, but it was still quite loud.
"IS ANYONE THERE?" A loud foreign voice asked.
Both of them froze and lay deathly still. Silence passed, until the voice said something else.
"Huh, that was strange." Then after a few minutes the dragon lifted off and faded into the horizon, hopefully for the final time.
They both looked at each other in shocked looks. "Did you just see that," Anthony asked.
"Yeah. . . let's just cut up this snake and get the hell out of here."
They cut large chunks out of the reptile's flesh and left the body to rot. After covering the meat and walking to a place far from the oasis they cooked up their spoils and slept throughout the rest of the day underneath a shady rock outcropping. Once it was night, they would set off again, and hopefully where Hans believed where the ocean would be—to the West.
===<Center>Chapter Three</Center>===
April 17 5015 - Mirage
Mirage, the bouncy little dragonet had a difficult time describing his excitement. It. . . was just there, and with life as easy and plentiful as it was, there was no reason not to be happy. And not being happy was the last thing Mirage wanted to do in his life. He couldn't understand how dragons got sad, like his father did every few nights. The worst part was that he couldn't help him much too, and didn't know how to.
More importantly, he was even more excited today, because they were going to an archeological dig that his mother, Caspia had just began working on. It was located to the East of Thorn's Stronghold, near the base of where SkyWing territory met SandWing territory. She had just gotten the job last week, and had decided to bring the rest of the family so she could work for a longer duration on the ruins.
The ruins had been described as some sort of ancient stronghold or fortress, built on a mountainside to house some unknown artifacts. Mother had said this one might be really good too, because it was in the mountainous regions of the Sky Kingdom that bordered the Sand Kingdom. "This place wouldn't only have a bunch of waste and chunks of metal around," she had said to his father. However, one wouldn't know until they actually saw the sight themselves. And Mirage still couldn't wait to see what they had found in this place.
At the moment, they were on their way there. The three of them were flying a steady pace in the darkening sky. It was a much longer flight compared to anything he'd even done before, and he was constantly taking breaks in their days long journey. However, much of the land Mirage was looking at was quite different to everything he was used to in the Kingdom of the Sand. Instead of the dunes he was used to, it was transforming into high altitude shrub lands, where dust drifted across the barren ground.
He passed over mesas streaked with many different colors, from dull browns to brilliant yellows and reds. Sometimes he saw lone poles of weathered sandstone, piercing the sky. Soon enough the numbers increased dramatically, and there were hoodoos everywhere, from the hills to small basins. That's when the altitude really began to increase, and they officially moved into the mountainous SkyWing territory.
Where there had been sand and cacti before, there were now thousands of coniferous trees covering the mountains. They raked the sky like talons, hence the name "Claws of the Clouds Mountains." And where the trees ended, the weathered rock began, and was eventually replaced with blinding white snow. Stunning grey-white clouds loomed over the mountains, and rolled over into invisible valleys below. Others would call it a fog, but Mirage thought it was too high to be that.
Caspia flew in a spiral away from Sandstorm and whatever they had been talking about and intercepted Mirage. She slowed down to a glide next to him, and tilted her wings in the direction of the base of a sizable mountain in the Claws of Clouds Range. "Hey Mirage, we're going to dive down to the dig site now. Please don't dive too fast and try to stick with us."
"Okay Mother," Mirage replied.
At first, Mirage thought that the tents were part of the ruins, but then he realized that they were for the dragons working there. The arc site actually was a large mostly buried fortification located at the base of the mountain in front of them. Great monoliths of light-grey stone adhered to the slope, and from here it was plainly obvious that those were only the beginnings of what was below. What else could be hidden under the dirt? Mirage could imagine great entry hallways and even a statue of a famous dragon.
Then Mirage followed his parents as they hurtled towards the ground. He clumsily tried to follow their every move like usual and succeeded in landing safely among them. He looked around the cloth town, and saw a few other SandWings, along with more SkyWings. This place sure was interesting, and Mirage was ready to disappear and explore it all within a jiffy before it was too dark.
Sandstorm caught up with him before he could escape. "Mirage! Get your tail back here!"
Mirage turned back and went over to his father. "W-why? I only want to explore."
"How are you going to find us again if you don't know where we're being quartered?"
Mirage hung his head. "Sorry Father. I shouldn't have left so quickly."
"Don't do it again. Okay?"
"Yes Father, I won't do it again without asking permission."
"Alright then."
Around them was a small city of canvas. Each tents hue ranged from a bleached white to a worn yellow, and Mirage estimated there were at least fifty in total. He didn't know if dragons lived in every single one of them, but that could be a possibility. Or did they only use them for storing artifacts? Mirage guessed that it was an even distribution between both. Besides, his father did say something about quarters.
Caspia along with a red SkyWing with tan under scales came over to them. This was the first SkyWing Mirage had ever seen up close, and he could see why they were called SkyWings. This one had enormous wings compared to them, along with a narrower body frame. Caspia first introduced him. "So this is Crimson. I'll be working along with him until the dig's over."
Sandstorm introduced himself next. "Hello Crimson, my name's Sandstorm. How are you today?"
"I'm feeling fine, Sandstorm. So what do you think of the dig?"
"That's some crazy structure you all are digging up here. Is it pre-scorching?"
"Sure is. We've never found this type of material anywhere else, other than sites like this one. It's very resistant to everything, and we've been working on finding a way to replicate its properties."
"It's fascinating for sure," Caspia added.
"Can we go inside?" Mirage asked, his smoky eyes sparkling in interest.
"I'm not sure," Crimson admitted. "We haven't found the entrance yet."
"Can you please tell me if you do? My name's Mirage by the way."
"You'll have to ask for your mother's permission before you go anywhere near the dig site. It can be dangerous if you're not careful enough."
Caspia waved her talons at Mirage warningly. "That's right. You only get to come to the dig if I'm around."
"Alright Mother."
"Anyways," Crimson started. "I should show you all your tent before it gets too dark out here."
They walked through the neat rows of tents that were slowly growing more dark under the night sky. The only white Mirage could see now was the reflections from the moons on the group's eyes, and from the three moons themselves. Tonight the were narrow crescents, and only two were clearly visible from Mirage's position. Maybe one of the mountains was blocking it, or it was just on the other side of the world.
Crimson stopped and lifted open a tent flap. "This is it. Tent number 23." Crimson turned his head and narrowed his golden eyes towards something nearby. It looked really thin, and looked to be about a third of the height of Mirage's father.
"Get out of here!" Crimson roared at the little two-legged figure. It scampered around in panic, and then disappeared in the night along with its furs.
Sandstorm frowned. "You have a scavenger problem here?"
"No. This is the first one I've seen so far. Otherwise, there's a loaf of bread in there, fresh from tonight's meal. Breakfast is at eight o'clock in tent 13." After that, Crimson walked off to do whatever else he might be responsible for in the dark.
Sandstorm found the oil lamp inside of the dark tent and lit it up with a small puff of flame. "Interesting fellow, huh?" Sandstorm remarked.
"Yes, I'm assigned to the same work crew as him," Caspia explained.
"I wonder how he found himself out here."
"He's probably just wandering around after the war. Maybe one of his relationships went sour."
"Hmmm. He looks a lot like one of the old SkyWing kings. What was his name?"
Caspia frowned, her coffee-colored brows contorted in puzzlement. "I don't know. Maybe you can ask one of the SkyWings around here."
"Hey, here's that bread that Crimson was talking about." Sandstorm lifted the small napkin that had been covering it. It had been placed roughly in the middle of the same table that held the oil lamp.
Caspia grinned in excitement. "Looks like it came straight out of the royal bakery. We must be some lucky dragons to have this type of cooking nearby."
Each of them sat around the table and took their share of the loaf. It was very good, and each of them complimented the cook in agreement. Soon enough, it was time to go to sleep. Each of them found their own separate cots with little disagreement, and soon enough they were off to sleep. After squirming around restlessly for an hour, Mirage finally found himself in the dreamscape.
===<Center>Chapter Four</Center>===
April 18 5015 - Mirage
Dragons were scattered all around tent thirteen, or more properly, the mess. It smelled of a strange, but appetizing combination of SandWing and what must have been SkyWing cooking. When they finally got their meal, they found a convenient place nearby, and ate. Mirage's dish consisted of eggs and a grain bread he was unfamiliar with. Spread on top of it was a type of fruit extract, but when Mirage bit into it he didn't know what type it was. He then plopped a few of the berries on the plate into his mouth. They were sweet and tart, but a bit different from the blueberries he had had once before.
Mirage was mystified. What kind of fruit is this, and did mother know? He gestured to the purple-colored berry. "Mom, what type of fruit is this?"
"It's a huckleberry," Caspia explained. "It's grown in some places in the SkyWing mountains. They're very good."
"Huckleberry," Mirage echoed. He liked the sound of the word.
After eating, the two groups split up. Sandstorm said he was going to explore the local area, and Caspia said she was going to join her work crew. Mirage was going to come with Caspia, because Sandstorm insisted that Mirage wouldn't be able to keep up. Instead, Mirage had to escort his mother wherever they went, because that's all he really could do without getting in trouble.
They trekked over the work site. All around there were beams of wood stuck into the ground to mark possible points of interest. Some dragons labored on the ground, slowly brushing away at layers of dust. Others were hard at work, cracking the ground with shovels and picks. Every now and then, a slight dusty breeze would come by. This was when Mirage heard one of the workers curse in frustration, because all their work had just been undone by a few grains of sand.
There were four dragons in each crew. Mirage soon discovered this when Caspia met with the rest of them. Their crew consisted of three SkyWings and one SandWing (Mirage's mother of course). The SkyWings were Crimson, an odd pale-orange SkyWing with yellow spattered all over him, and another who looked like she was coated in purplish metal, with fragments of brilliant orange popping out every now and then.
That's when the introductions began. The only female SkyWing, the one that looked like she had scales of purple steel and orange eyes with specks of purple in them held out one of her talons to Caspia. "Hello," she said. "My name's Iridium, what's yours?"
Caspia firmly shook the SkyWing's talon. "Nice to meet you Iridium, my name's Caspia. How's your day?"
"Good, I'm looking forward to working with you today. We've been missing a dragon for so long, and it's a relief to finally have a fourth talon around."
The other unnamed SkyWing greeted Caspia with a wave of his talons. "Name's Sunburst. Good to meet you Caspia."
Mirage could tell in a moment that Sunburst was the worker in the group. He
didn't look like he spoke often, and had the weathered face of one who owed his life to labor. He had brilliant amber eyes that looked weary but determined at the same time. Looking at his talons, Mirage could see how time and hard work had worn down on the dragon. Yet, here he was, against all odds.
Iridium on the other talon, looked like the kind of dragon who would always profusely wash her claws after they got even slightly dirty. He could tell by the shine in her dark-purple scales that she spent a decent amount of time maintaining her appearance. Contrary to that though, she looked like she would still put in hours of dedication to her work. She probably wasn't in the job for money, but more so because she enjoyed it.
On the second talon, Crimson looked like a natural-born leader. He didn't act like he was in charge, but his silence at the moment and regality (which was very rare in common dragons) commanded some sort of respect, like he was about to say something of importance. He also looked like he had seen some really bad things. Mirage didn't know what the Sky Kingdom was like during "The War," but Crimson could probably explain the worst down to the bloodiest detail. That would be, unless he didn't want to speak about it.
On the third talon, Mirage's mother looked like she had the most knowledge out of the group. He had seen her study countless books and scrolls about the scorching, and heard her complain about the lack of opportunities. But now she was here, and she probably wouldn't mind getting her talons dirty if it came to it. However, she still had much experience to gain in the archeological practice, as it is a very new method to dragons. Mirage wondered why nobody else had thought of it before.
Crimson leaned on a table nearby and rolled out some papers on top of it. They were in the closest tent to the dig site, and even in the shadow of the mountain light filtered through the weathered cloth. Inside there were two tables, and an assortment of equipment, ranging from brushes to a decrepit water nozzle. The other dragons idled around while waiting for Crimson to formulate whatever plan he was coming up with.
"Okay," Crimson started. "Today we're going at the ground hard. I think I know where the entrance is, and if we're lucky it might be open." He took out a sketch similar to the ruins outside, and then opened the flap and gestured to the similar features. "It will probably be under there." He pointed his talons at a row of arches, and then to a lip that was underneath.
"Have you been to other sites like this?" Caspia asked.
"Yes. I've seen one just like this one, and two others. They're all over the Sky Kingdom, but finding them is hard."
Caspia rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "That's interesting."
Sunburst grunted in understanding, and started to grab a variety of heavy tools. "Hard day?" He queried.
"Sure, we're going to need heavy tools if we ever want to see that entrance."
Iridium hefted a pick onto her left shoulder, flaring her wings a bit, like she was trying to show off to Crimson. "How deep do you think we'll be digging today."
He turned back from his notes and looked at her in a bit of a overwhelmed way. "I'm not sure. It could be anything from a couple to twenty meters."
Caspia went up to Iridium's side as hissed something unintelligible to Mirage into her ear. Iridium seemed to recoil a little bit, but calmed down quickly and stopped whatever she was doing.
Sunburst sighed and shook his head as if he'd seen the same thing happen a thousand times before.
Crimson resumed his explanation. "Anyways, it'll most likely take a few days, if we even do find the entrance."
Everyone gave a nod to express their confirmation. The rest of them left the tent except for Mirage and his mother, and finally Crimson.
"You're bringing your dragonet out to work with you?"
"Yes, it'll be better to have him doing something productive than buzzing around the local tavern with his father, wherever that is."
"Ahh, you'll find it north of here, right over a mountain in a small village. I forgot it's name, but it's probably something related to cacti."
"Good to know," Caspia replied in thanks.
"Let's get to work then."
They all acquired heavy tools, Mirage getting a chisel and a hammer, and a small shovel he could hold in one talon. The rest of them swept through the folds of the tent, and took off to where the others were. The spot looked just the drawing in Crimson's notebook, and the rest of their crew was already at work. They soon joined them when their talons landed on the rough ground, and found their own places to dig.
Each of them found their own little cranny to work with little complaint. The morning sun beat down upon them as they dug their little holes around the almost invincible material the fortress was made of. The monotonous clanging of tools soon filled their hearing, and dirt and dust were spewed into the air. This was difficult and tough work for Mirage. He wasn't used to any kind of hard labor.
Crimson formed his spot right on the northern corner of the lip. He seemed to be an unrelenting force, not even phased by the labor that lay underneath him. He swung his pick over and over again, striking the hardened soil and rock cluttered around the structure. Every few swings he would put down the pick and shovel the debris into a pile nearby. Other than that, he would put his tool down for a moment to examine his work place, and then would resume his previous task.
Mirage also watched Sunburst work on his next break as he gulped down mouthfuls of water. Sunburst was ruthlessly efficient. Every clank of his pick not only made steadfast progress, but also brought a load of rock and soil into his tailings pile. Mirage had no idea how he did that, but he didn't doubt the silent dragon's ability to work. Not once did Mirage see him break, except for when he took a sip of water from a skin mid-swing. He had taken one talon off of his tool for that moment, and still seemed to get the most out of his work. Mirage certainly was impressed.
Mirage's responsibility was to shovel dirt out of his mother's side of the shelf. His talons ached as he gripped the shovel and hauled dirt out of the hole, but he continued, because it seemed that his mother was making significant progress too. It surely was monotonous work, but at least he wasn't the one actually digging the hole. Besides, moving rocks wasn't that difficult. After he cleared the area, he asked to take another break.
Iridium was working the rock like it was some sort of bug that she was desperately trying to smash. She didn't pay much mind where the pick hit, as long as it didn't hit the ever so solid wall of whatever type of stone the structure was made of. When she did, she angrily cursed and tossed down her pickaxe. She then took the next few moments to shake out her talons as she seethed in pain. Mirage then reminded himself not to hit the strong walls of the fortress.
After working for what seemed to be an eternity under the scorching afternoon sun, the whole group decided to get a bite for a late lunch and come back later. They lay their tools neatly by each other, and then cruised over to the mess tent. There was only a few other dragons there, who had most likely just came from their workplace. They all gave silent greetings, and went each others ways.
Today's lunch was interesting. It was a slab of meat along with some unfamiliar green leaves shoved between two pieces of bread. Apparently it was called a sub. That's it, just sub. According to one of the cooks this kind of meal had been prepared ever since time began, or had been around for as long as anyone could remember. Or maybe Mirage just didn't know anything about what SkyWings ate, and that it was probably normal thing for most of them.
After eating, they resumed their search for the entrance and all got back to work. The tools they had left in neat rows soon entered the talons of the dragons using them, including Mirage. Once he was over the break, he resumed the routine he had been using earlier. Shovel dirt and stone out of the hole, wait, and shovel more out of the hole. He didn't expect much more than that to today.
"Crimson!" Sunburst called out in excitement. "I think I found your entrance, and it sure goes deep in here!"
Everyone burst out of their separate digs and crowded around Sunburst's hole. Sunburst was right. He had managed to stick an entire shovel inside and pull it out without any troubles as they stared in amazement. Mirage felt this kind of rush, it was certainly weird, but suddenly he felt like he would do whatever it takes to get inside of the tunnel, and uncover its secrets.
Woah! I feel like I could lift an entire boulder!
Crimson, on the other talon looked like he was just a talon's width close enough to achieve his life-long goal, and would do anything to make sure it was achieved.
"Sunburst, Iridium, I need you two to get planks to cover this hole up," he said in a very serious tone.
"Yes sir," Iridium said as if what she were about to do was the most boring thing in the world.
Sunburst followed her, and gave an assuring nod to Crimson. He didn't look bothered about the task, but more glad that he was doing his part.
The rest of them peeked into the hole, and what lay beyond. All that was visible was a pitch black interior, along with what appeared to be an excess amount of dirt that formed a rough ramp down. Unfortunately, it seemed like the ambient light was not enough for the little hole, and that they would need a lamp or something to see properly. Then Crimson lit up the place with a spurt of hot air and SkyWing fire, revealing the remnants of a huge reinforced steel gate. From their angle they couldn't see in, but it appeared to be partly open, with enough space for a dragon to squeeze through.
Crimson sighed in disappointment. "We're going to need a few lamps. It shouldn't take you two that long."
"No problem Crimson," Caspia agreed.
So Mirage and his mother flew off back to their group's tent. Once they entered again they scoured the place for lamps, until they had four oil ones. Mirage didn't see the logic in that though, as SkyWings were supposed to have the hottest fire, and they would easily be able to see inside. After that they headed back to their part of the dig, only to see that most of their holes were covered up by wide boards of lumber.
Sunburst and Iridium had returned, and had covered up the other holes so no one else would fall inside. They had marked the entrance, and left the rest of the boards nearby in a neat stack that was three planks tall. Right now they were helping dig out more space for them to get inside of the place, and Mirage could see the entrance slowly expanding as they glided back down with the cargo.
They set the dormant lamps by the lumber, and descended upon the now larger entry. They, in turn, helped move the growing pile of debris out of the hole until it was deemed large enough for their purposes. Then they neatly sawed off parts of the boards in able to support their unstable roof, but instead decided to carve away all the soil on top so only the original hard material would be left, since it was so sturdy.
"Well," Crimson began. "This is it. So we're going to head in there and hopefully squeeze past that door and see what's inside. You should probably say something really loudly or scream if what's in there is anything really bad. Don't do it only if it's a little spooky though. Only if it is 'it's going to kill us all bad.'"
"Fair enough," Sunburst said in his rough voice.
The rest of them shook their heads in agreement. Everyone was ready to be absolutely shocked by what was inside, and Mirage had no doubts that it was going to be spectacular. Other than that, he still had no idea what to expect inside of the dark tunnel, or whatever lay underneath it's thick walls. Hopefully there would be nothing dangerous in there.
Crimson led the way inside of the hole. Mirage followed right after him, to his mothers disappointment. He could hear her grumbling disapprovingly right behind him. Soon he was swallowed in darkness, but then Crimson lit up the area with a short blast of flame. Then he lit up all four of the lamps, carefully placing one right next to the broken blast door. Then he squeezed through, with Mirage going right after him.
When he stumbled down onto the level floor, there was nothing to be seen, even when he let a small burst of fire out to light up the area. All the came back were the dancing shadows of the curved ceiling. Inside, it was quite expansive, with ceilings twice as tall as Crimson, which gracefully curved down to empty spaces on the side of the cracked door, which looked flawless even for its age and condition.
The group proceeded in silence, even when Crimson placed down another light in front of the next massive door. It was an unusual shade of red near the crack in the middle, which seemed wide enough for two dragons to stick their talons inside. They all gathered round the seam. Based on the look of the massive gateway, it was meant to slide into the walls, not swing out on hinges like the everyday Pyrrhian door.
The rest of them positioned themselves by the door (Mirage was too small to be of any use), and poised themselves to pull it either way.
"One. . . Two. . . Three," they all said in unison as they heaved both sides into the wall.
A smell of rancid air overwhelmed them as the two panels slid open. It was even worse then the already present staleness, and Mirage gagged in disgust, recoiling back while covering his snout with a talon. It was so horrible, or, so disgusting! What kind of creature could ever make that smell? It's so rotten and weird and nasty and get it out of my nose! But it would never be as horrible as what he saw when he finally looked back up.
There was a lump of some type of gelatinous mass on the floor of the next room. It had a reddish tint, and slowly began to move its congealed mass. Mirage gagged at this thought. How is this possible? Why would someone do such a horrible thing? What even is it? "EEEEK THAT'S NASTY!" Then the others saw the horrifying sludge as it started to move through the open door.
"WHAT IN THE THREE MOONS IS THAT?" Crimson cried.
Iridium scrambled away from the mess in panic. "Get it away from me! It's disgusting!"
"MOONS! What is this camel dung doing here?" Caspia yelped as she carefully stepped away from it.
Sunburst didn't even speak a word, but instead just carefully avoided the nasty slime.
Crimson lit up a flame and scorched the slag to a stop with a burning-flesh smell. The look on his face showed him that he was quite disgusted by this phenomenon, and probably wouldn't let it stay around for long.
"Boss," Sunburst began. "What should we do about this mess?"
"We need to burn its cursed presence away. Yeah, just help me burn all of this filth before it becomes an even bigger problem."
Everyone else nodded in agreement. Almost everyone had their talons covering their own snout, and already the smell was becoming even more overbearing to Mirage as it somehow radiated through his claws. After that, the burning began, and all evidence of whatever had happened was gone, except for the ashes. They left the place like that, spreading the last lanterns around to better light the place for further exploration.
===<Center>Chapter Five</Center>===
April 19 2006 - Staff Sergeant Hans Yeager
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Category:Content (Eleven Fifty Two)
Category:Mature Content
Category:Fanfictions (Semi-Canon)
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Genre (Adventure)