A note of thanks to Storm. Before, Windagon was just a dream. But now Windagon's more than reality. Thanks so much for the transmorgrification potion. I don't know how you did it, but I'm grateful. You are the most awesome, super friend ever!
Welcome to Windagon's page, and enjoy the rest of the content!
The sea-shore breeze swept across the gray sands, tossing its grains against the ocean sprays and the jagged rocks lined up against the shore's fringes. It was a dark night, but the moon overhead was large and round, like a cratered pearl; it illuminated the beach faintly but sufficiently enough, its light rays banking on the contours of the land and making slivers of silver waver on the rocking sea's surface. A draconic form looms in the distance, in the vicinity of the lapping waters; the silhouette moves gradually and slowly, treading across the horizon, just underneath the backdrop of a cloudless sky. Its scraping sound was subtle, caught in-between the faint splashes and cricket-calls as it dragged tattered wings. This creature cast a shadow almost eclipsing the moon with wings spanned outwards, suspended over the ocean. As your eyes narrow, two stark green eyes stare back at you in almost consumed aggression.
Are you the sea-shore wanderer people speak of? You ask.
And what of it… A deep bass, evocative voice echoes in your head.
Tell me who you are… You reply audibly.
Tell me who you are, pretentious human. The haunting voice again intoned across the silent distance.
I heard tell stories of your past, but I would like to know the truth—from you. You stand awkwardly, barefoot on the beach while feeling the tides squirm between your toes. Perhaps you feel a bit squeamish as well.
I do not usually speak of my past. But your genuine concern touches me… The lyrical timbre tapered into the hollow recesses of your mind as the formidable creature pounded the length of his wings against the breeze and climbed into the air; then he swooped down across the surface of the beach and caught you by the arms into his taloned claws. You find yourself seated on the curve of his streamline shoulders, just between his wings with your legs dangling around his neck. And as the wind whips violently around your face, the ride begins…
I fought fire with fire. I dealt blood with blood. And when time came for them to repay me… I was betrayed. Still now, I remember the fire that engulfed the forests and dotted the hills, countless, like craters; I remember the glaring red that devoured like a beast, rampaging the night, burning darkness. If there were words for this anguish, this sorrow, there would still never be a way to make it comprehensible to anyone but myself. Under the melting heat, the scathed land wavered like water. No—I had no sympathy for the destruction: indirectly, I had created as much. But I only saw my own life, the lives that made mine. The flesh that was my flesh. I lived that moment for an eternity. Forever. And ever. And because of this... I am mortal. Earthbound. And I will remain here until I die and return to Mariluse. This was all because I dared to tempt fate, and predestiny.
But this was not how I begun. We will start from the beginning.
It started because I was in love. Her name was Najirah. We were two of the seven founders of the Etherdracs clan. From the celestial space she came—imagine an angel, a goddess… only a draikess. And she brought with her the wondrous haze of the Milky Way, a spangle of stars. She reminded me of a solar eclipse, when you could see just the lustrous ringlet around the shadow of the moon. I pursued her passionately, obsessively. But when she reciprocated my love, my infatuation slowly toned into soft adoration. Who could've predicted this sad fall-out? She had created, in me, a persona that was to be the principle of the Etherdrac clan: a gentle demeanor that craved peace and solitude. But I have an inherent soul, you see. I am a mutant of my principles; I was a warrior, a master, commander, the essence of conflict. My personality had split across the middle. It is no wonder that towards the end of her life, she died half from heartbreak. And I regret my vagueness with her, because I no longer—no, I cared for her, deeply. I did not love her in the way I had promised her. We continued to travel across the cosmos and deep space together, but we did not relate to each other: and I suspect that she understood what my heart felt most. Yet, despite this, her voice still spoke breathlessly tender, and oh soft, how her eyes still watched…
To this day, my memories of that look arrests me like an oppression on my conscience.
Her laugh always rang persistently, like rainwater. She knew that this sound always broke me from myself—that I would linger with her momentarily, if only fleetingly.
Wind, her quiet breath would murmur when we coasted the stratospheres,
You are my Wind, assail me across the skies, darling. Najirah named me Windagon, she thought she could tear me from the sadism of primal war that was implied in the name of my existence: Winged. But, yet again, she could not avoid that this was my perpetual soul. That this was the original sin that subsisted with me. But badly did I try to reconcile, to be the passive patriarch of the Air Draiks, my Etherdracs. By then, Najirah had delivered our egg, who would become the next heiress to mine and her mother's two thrones among the Seven Patriarchs. So Najirah no longer had the time nor the will to keep me in her vicinity. When the sensitive young matriarch became an egg-bearer, she briefly forgot the desperate situation in my love—or lack thereof. During that epoch, she harbored her unborn daughter as she resided in the silent valleys of Mariluse. And I? I was no longer entitled to stay… and I did not stay: because I was vain and conceited.
Ten years later found me in the middle of the Human-Elven War, now known as the War of Paolonite, the mortals' holy city. I was the warlord of the beasts, dragon high lord as they called me. Prince of War. My position was never set. Having come down to lower earth, it was as if I was the human myself, bargaining as the corrupt would bargain. For a decade I had fought in alliance with the humans. But my prospects with them were grim—or I had believed as much. And therein lay my mistake. At the time, I looked upon the humans as passionate, impulsive, demanding, inefficient. The humans were impetuous creatures. But I did not understand their devotion, their patriotism towards themselves—and their sense of betrayal. You see, in the dragon world, there is no sense of species attachment. We understand that we are one, but this is why the most of us do not pit war against eachother. We are not separated and assemblied in a way that one ideal is different from another. The humans, however, see themselves as a race separate from all others—that they are an individuality, a rose on a bush. It is really quite beautiful, but had I not underestimated their attachment in this way, I never would have left them. In the 15th century, I partisaned myself to the Elves, the zenith of physical magic, those who powered their people by the inertia of the earth's force. They believed in the existence of a mother earth, whom they regarded as their sovereign matriarch. I always wondered—the wisest and peaceful of creatures, why did they go to war? Now? The elegant, poetic race told me,
The humans are abusing their places. Their existence cannot maintain the Earth's survival. I did not abandon the humans: I left them because I no longer agreed with their beliefs—that they deserved a place to expand their numbers, that they deserved to be a majority amongst the insular Elven race. But what was more was that I believed that they were going to lose. And I had determined, long ago, that I would not. My main purpose—was a victor's battle. And if humans could not win, I would take to the other side.
No doubt, the humans felt betrayed: immediately, instantly. And what had they done? In five years, they had rallied all men of their people. All men, even the peasants and farmers among them. Those of the noble breed and the royal family. In five short years they created an army that stretched, man to man, across a continental line down the middle of lower earth, dividing their desired human country and Elvish country. Their territory and ours. But then they had more. In one battle they had proved to us that their anguish was the sole source of their power, that passion and hate and betrayal was the catalyst that made them gladiators and vanquishers. And unexpectedly, to my sense and naivety with humans, they were ruthlessly brutal. They took indiscriminately, killed beasts of neutral territory and then even those who played no part in the war or had not understood it. Three years afterwards, the humans had conquered Paolonite like pirate's plunder and flooded through the gates with their human fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in a year's time Paolonite was a humans' city. The consecration created there by the Elves had all but dwindled and ethered away.
But the Elves already knew this. They understood the evolution of the Earth, predicted it—seemingly seeing that Gaia was beginning its end. They sent their daughters on griffins, readying to ride to the Mariluse plains, where the etherdracs still lived. These would happen in the still of nights. From a distance the Elven daughters would move like pearls embarking to somewhere out of reach. And their lights, when they crossed the threshold of the atmospheres, appeared like stars, spangled stars on a spangled night. Down on lower earth, the war continued exhaustively: already, it had lasted two hundred years. No doubt, the humans were going to be the victors of this war—the only question was this: how much longer were we willing to lose? Or the worlds be strident. Yet war was glorious. My vanity still rested above all other feelings. And my irrational vindication to clash blood on blood was still with me. War was not beautiful, but curse my soul if I did not love the filthiness of it all. The rotting earth underneath men's feet. The white-eyed death. The vicious way heads rolled. It was not the peace and calm of Mariluse. It wasn't the silence of the far planes.
And yet. Things all began and ended with Najirah. Everything returned back to her. For me, the war ended when Najirah descended from the upper stratas. She had only one thing to tell me: that my unborn daughter was preparing to emerge. Knowing this, I made my flight to the upper strata to find my daughter, while Najirah stayed below to watch the war. My unborn daughter was the dark blue orb nestled in that thicket of clouds. There was movement in it. There was movement and luminance and soft sweetness. Something in that had brought me back, as if I suddenly woke from a dream. This little thing that belonged to me was beginning to stir, beginning to arrive in a world that was unlike the lower earth. I'm not sure when I changed, or how. But it was slow and steady like the creeping realization that I was now obligated to take care of a changeling little draikess. And yet there was no resistance in it. I loved it… loved the feeling of belonging, and that this egg belonged to me, because it came from me. For the first time in so long I was at last rooted to Mariluse in a way I had never before expected. I was compelled—and I reached out for the egg. Can you imagine? A father's affection: and all reasons and motives of crime and war was lost with the lower earth—but not with me.
For all draiks—or at least in the sense of etherdracs— the egg always holds an intimate connection with its mother. They are committed in ways beyond simply the emotive relationship, it is also at the physical level, a thing that estranges those who can not understand the rapport of draik love at the maternal understanding. It is because it is like the human kind, while the human baby is connected with its mother in body, the draik egg becomes like the mother itself. Bearing her happiness, her pains, her movements at its most intense. The draik egg sees what the mother sees, can smell and feel as the mother does. In the early stages, they are one and the same. But the internal connection remains even later, as long as the egg is whole.
By the next week, with my unhatched daughter in tow beneath my arms—the humans had slayed Najirah on the ocean bay. They pierced her wings and drove a javelin through her belly. I know this only because, at that moment on the edge of Mariluse, the egg had ruptured. Split like it had fallen and fractured into pieces. And its weight drove towards the lower territories. It was compelled to return to mother. My body, my wings came with it.
Now imagine an astral sight. From the sky falls a blue shadow and a cracking orb of light. I need not describe. It is self explained. When you fall at such a velocity, from the exospheres itself, you drop like an anvil, and then you fall faster. The winds and the pressures of the air was too heavy; my wings were open, pounded at odd degrees, folding and flapping not at my will but the winds'. Imagine knives at your throat, but these things tore my wings like fine leather veneers. Tore through those membranes as if they were light silk. Imagine the burn of sulfur and fire on your arms. Now multiply. By 100. Yet the pain continues on and on like a friction burn. It was then that the pounding of pounds of flesh on sand reverberate across the human country. Like an earthquake on roaring thunder.
At the end of that hour, my body was sprawled at the ocean bay.
One hundred yards in the distance my beloved Najirah was dead. In my arms my unborn daughter was still. The wings underneath me were torn. Crumpled and useless, perhaps they were bobbing on the currents, limp and flaccid and stripped like carcass. If my mind was hovering above me, I know how strange I must have looked. Surreal. My arms still cradled that daughter of mine. And then I looked. I peered through the cracks. There was nothing there. It was—empty.
Windagon comes from a dragon egg that hatched several thousands of years ago on the edges of the far-plane
Mariluse peninsula, part of a floating continent on the highest upper-level strata of the world's atmosphere: the exosphere. Mariluse is a gigantic semi-solid cloud mass that's the size of an island, and its inhabitants are mostly Air Draiks (also known as Etherdracs) like Windagon who live off of native plants of the region that only grow in higher atmospheric stratas. These flowers are the glowing Gironds, which blossom into fruits during the spring. The mortal world recognizes them as the prized
Golden Apples from Greek myths, heavily sought after for their promise of immortality. Windagon lived on the Mariluse incline, where it is always nighttime because the height of the mountain peak reached space. So the cloud-continent sees the silver stars and moons much closer, and the Milky Way is very bright and beautiful from this distance—like an oceanic haze. Mariluse is very mountainous because of the rolling clouds, but there's one region of the floating continent called the
Hilldragon's Trench—one of its lowest steeping valleys—where the clouds are so thin that its translucence allows adventurous young Etherdracs to observe the terrestrial world. With the slight exception of Windagon, the mythical Air Draiks are a generally curious, gentle clan of creatures. The clan usually flies down to lower earth only every thousand years—their last descent was during the medieval period, where their appearance became a popular legend. But there was such a mixture of reactions that some humans received them very well, while others began to persecute them. During those several years when the Etherdracs lingered on lower earth, their surviving numbers immediately began to dwindle, which caused them to return to Mariluse—
but the clan generally agrees not to descend until the humans are safe. Now, the gentle clan is once again growing, but the Etherdracs remain a quiet, reserved species towards outsiders, no longer as welcoming or curious as they once were.
Name: Winged Dragon
Nickname: Windagon
Gender: Male
Age: Ageless Mortal
Species: Etherdrac [Air Draik]
Weight: Heavy by tons
Height: 3-5 meters standing
Appearance:
Torquoise blue skin with gray, green, and tan tribal markings. Has emerald green eyes with slitted pupils. Wing spans up to 5 meters per wing. Leather film of the wings are grayish. Embedded with seemingly glow-spots on arms, legs, and other spots. Has sea-yellow ear tresses and tail fur. Dark collar-spine along the neck. Horns are curved and rise above the head, colored maroon-black.
Origin: Mariluse-exosphere
Current Home: Shukumei
Family: Searching
Personality: Brooding
Love: Najira-deceased
Goal: Find Daughter
Currently: Unhappy
Magic: Black magic, Fire Elemental
Battle: Ranked Warlord
Hi there! My name is
Meg Watson. Some on Neopets know me better as any of the following: the owner of Tahn, the owner of Silver, or a member of Shukumei. But all of these names don't really say anything about me! So I'd like to take this moment to tell you who I am and what kind of person I'd be if you met me in real life. I'm your basic, 17-year-old junior in high school. (Yes, I am that old, yet I am not that ashamed xD) I live down somewhere in the rickety old west and I go to a small private school in the city. In general, I'm your average ambitious teenager. I absolutely love to draw-- in fact, I've been drawing since I was little more than one. Obviously, it all began with a pile of baby doodles. But here I am, today, drawing hopefully just a tad bit better. Picking up digital art has been a very recent phenomenon. Just sophomore year I began to start drawing on photoshop—and since I've joined the guild, Shukumei, run by Nikki (Nikker) and Keri (Kerd2006), I've been hooked on digital art. Writing became an obsession when I first began to write petpage stories and histories and back-histories of all of my little pixels on neopets. Soon afterwards, I began to write more and more often, which lead to roleplaying—a big hobby of mine now.
But I also have real life (contrary to popular belief)! So I'll just highlight some interesting points about me: if you're curious, of course. As I've said, I'm your basic average teenager. So besides being a girl who's hooked on introvert-type activities, I'm actually a national sabre and foil fencing competitor. Fencing is my high school passion. My deepest obsession? Vampires. I am such a slave when it comes to Ann Rice fiction and, more recently, Stephenie Meyer, who came out with "Twilight." I love to watch vampire movies; and you'd be surprised to find that I'm more of a classical movies person. Chick flicks and modernistic things are okay, but I'm more of a Troy/300/Alexander type move-watcher. And anything like The Last of the Mohicans, I absolutely love. But don't get the wrong impression of the way I dress! I'm an Abercrombie/Forever type of girl. Not necessarily preppy, but I like clothes that are retro-chic. ;D I would love to own an American Curl Cat someday, or perhaps a soft little lap cat. And maybe, just maybe, if I have enough stamina, I'd like to get a King Charles Spaniel—those puppies are so cute!
To read little other random tidbits about me, click here.
Tahn_08
Tahn was one of the first pets in the family. Or—at least she was one of the first that I really began to involve in active roleplaying and art. She is a native Arabian-born wolf created from the desert sands by a God of Beasts named Fenris. Her whole life's journey was about discovering herself and who she was despite the fact that she was not a normal creation. She found out later that she was a reincarnation of a woman who had died and mysteriously disappeared in white dunes—her name was Arabie, a bodhisattva priestess who never accomplished her duties when she died. When Tahn discovered this, she was immediately reborn into the human that she is normally seen as today, although she still has the ability to change shape back into a wolf. And then her new purpose in life became a teacher, enlightener, and a message-bringer of the Nirvana.
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Mettelo
Mettelo is a sweetie, and the older of the three sons of Mahault. He spent most of his childhood attempting to avenge himself because he is the "outer" brother—because his father is not the same father that the other two sons belong to. And moreover, Mahault has made things ultimately clear, as he grew up, that she was passionately in love with the father of the other two sons and that involvement with Mettelo's father was a personal and emotional mistake. This is the reason why Mettelo has distanced himself from his immediate family, taking off into the world on his own and becoming a hermit. Mettelo died believing that he was a worthless hybrid mutant, an unwanted son, and a friendless recluse. Somehow, as he neared that end, he made a strange wish that he was someone much more different. It seemed that the universe turned around into a parallel stream when he was reborn again. What did he become? A human man named Mettelo Pierresetante, a charismatic heir and a general of the French Army at the beginnings of the Napoleonic Expedition.
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Danniaiea
Alright. Here is the the oldest pet I've ever had, and I have had this personal attachment to her for years—because she is my very first neopet on my main account. She started out as a robot from a genetically trans-modified race of wolves called the Jahebans. Later on, as she developed into a controlled human-clone, I wanted there to be more complication. More drama. Thus evolved a split personality named Mahault, a parasitic soul living off of Danni, who now plays an invincible robotic host. The picture on the right is a picture of the parasite Mahault, who, after having conquered Danni's will, had fused both of them into some creature in-between. A black phantom female with wolf features. While in the body of Danni, Mahault's confronting mental issues with memory, feelings, déjà vu, and hauntings from her past life. As this is going on, Danni is struggling to work through Mahault's mind-workings to escape from the parasitic grasp on her body.
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Silver
Silver Zavgorodni is a vindictive type of person. Of course, she's an attractive Russian woman, but she is also a covert envoy of a Red Mafi based in Moscow, Russia. Working in New York City, she works as a seemingly regular flight attendant; but the job is not all that it seems. The flight attendant job is not just a prop—it also serves as a way for Ms. Zavgorodni to check on arrivals and personal information, which she would otherwise never find. However, most of her job's done in the evenings when she's off of job hours at the airport. Her main mission in having arrived to New York City was to be an intelligence coordinator and representative diplomat as far as relations go with the Yeltzinburgh Mafia. It's not an easy task, though, if the man that she's expected to delegate against will be the charismatic Jack Weiss (character of Cat aka corbinww). And all of these goings-ons are a part of a big scheme called Red Code (also copyright of Cat).
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MegWatson
Meg Watson's really just a rendition of… well… Meg Watson! This is a little female pirate buccaneer! She sails a ship around the north Atlantic and loots what ships she thinks she can loot from! Her personality is a little twisted as far as stability goes—her feelings plummet from one end to the next in a quick, short second. And she's got a bombastic temper to match her piratey wit. One of the things about her is that she's such a certain character. Of course, she's also underdeveloped, but her history is going to be much of a mystery until we can figure it out! However, she does play a role in sea-going part of Mahault/Danni's adventure. Together, they gang up on large and small vessels and head in-land towards a mysterious northern glacier-island. What do they find? That's a mystery as well. Pirate buccaneer Meg Watson likes to wear strange outlandish clothes, but that's not to deter anyone from familiarizing themselves with her!
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