MoM file + stuff

[theveilisin]

LUVANDER, [alias: Yesfir]

RESIDENCE: Heropa 033 [see: Hell, Aleksandr Nikolaevich; Mandrake, John; Kang]

POWERS: Dragon soul summoning. Dragon is incorporeal to all but the subject, capable of flight and breathing fire. Appears sentient, but it's unclear whether this is merely a projection of the subjects recollections of its behavior. Cannot be maintained while subject is unconscious or similarly incapacitated.

MEDICAL HISTORY: Scarring indicates extensive previous damage to throat, chest and abdomen, although the wound appears to have healed without further complications. Both hip joints show sign of previous trauma, most likely caused by posterior dislocation, resulting in some lasting damage to the sciatic nerve in the subject's left leg. Possible arthritis may eventually demand further procedures. Furthermore there is scarring from what appears to be a number of older burns and lacerations.

NOTES: Previously employed by the government of Volstov [compare: Russia; USSR] as a member of the Dragon Corps, an elite air force trained to ride mechanical dragons. Drafted at age 15 after brief contact with one of the dragons, which show signs of artificial intelligence. Was among [REDACTED] survivors out of 14 airmen at the end of the war; no dragons appear to have survived.
After retirement from the military, the subject ran a hat shop, which doubled as head quarters for a number of revolutionary elements. An attempt to break the leader of this movement out of prison culminated in the overthrowing of the current monarch [The Esar, compare: Tsar], his subsequent demise and replacement.
Currently employed in customer service at [REDACTED] Department Store.

Comments

2nd memory

[theveilisin]

When the siren sounds, you haven't been able to fly out for far too long. The poisoned magic in her has twisted Yesfir's head right around, and as one of the smallest dragons, you just can't trust her in mountain winds like that. But now you are all throwing caution to those very same winds, all of you flying out at once, and none of you expect to ever return.

This will be the last flight of the dragons.

The hours spent flying stretches out like an eternity, metal wings scattering moonlight along the brooding sides of the Cobalt Mountains. Yesfir is mumbling snatches of old conversations, letting memories trail like a ribbon behind her and sink quietly into the darkness below. For a moment you feel frozen in time, like a spread opened in a history book which is then subsequently forgotten. But once you arrive at the Lapis city, once the battle commences, everything happens far too fast. Where the Dome was there is now an inferno, the city itself is a haze of smoke and flames; the air is hot and feels heavy to breathe, laden with the stink of melting stone and heated metal; everything, everything is smeared in ash.

You know you are going to die before the dawn is upon you, but you don't know how until you see a massive block of stone hurtling through the air. The city is firing on itself, what catapults are still left trying to take out the dragons, and this one has managed to take aim right on Proudmouth. Adamo can't possibly see it, coming up from behind like that.

There is no time for thought, no time for regrets, no time to think of the people every man should remember before his death. You and Yesfir move as one, a copper knife cutting through the silken night breeze as you plunge forward. There is a boom of air as Yesfir flares her wings and bares her belly at the approaching boulder, a horrible crunch and screech as it makes contact, metal warping and twisting and cracking. You plummet toward the ground, Yesfir folded like a toy made of cheap tin above you, and you know for certain that she'll crush you utterly once you reach the ground. Pressing your body hard against her back, feeling your lips blister as you kiss the burning metal, you close your eyes.

The world lurches sickly around you, you are suddenly the right way up again, and then the deafening crash of the impact drowns out your scream of agony. For a moment, all you are aware of is the black lighting on the inside of your eyelids.

There is a ringing noise in your years, and you are slumped over what's left of your dragon. Both your hips have been knocked out of joint; a strip of red-hot metal has torn up a jagged gash from hip to throat, and a piece of it still seems to be buried there; your left eye is swollen completely shut. Your right eye seems fine, but you can barely see out of it anyway for tears. You want to curse Yesfir for trying to save you even now, for dying before you do, but your lips form around blood, not words, and all you can do is gasp for breath.

"You're going to live, ----mber? Open that hat shop you're always talking me to sleep about, have te--------- friends, kiss pretty boys every n----"

It shouldn't be possible for her to speak still, but somehow she does, although more than a few words are mangled beyond recognition. Somewhere past her torn scales and scattered cogwheels, you see a faint light glowing at the heart of her, flickering and growing dimmer by the second. You manage to shape a scraping breath into her name. "Yesfir."

She laughs, and it sounds like machinery going wrong. "Can't speak? Good. I'd hate you to babbl---------- my last words. ---------'ve got to do as I say, that's the rule. I release you, boy. ------- need me anymore. Can you imagine------------ look like---- dragon in a hat shop?"

The light goes out, and she's gone. You don't have time to feel the loss properly before a roaring shadow descends upon you, strong arms tearing you away. You try to fight, choking on sobs and your own blood, but a familiar voice in your ear hisses, "Hold still and let me save you, you asshole." You don't have breath or time to explain that you don't want to be saved, before the world finally slips away into darkness.