Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Survivor00
Star
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2009
Bertevync Fortress, Northern Velknir
April 23, 1917, 3:14 PM
Named after the nearby castle that still overlooked the desert-locked Grahnin Sea, Bertevync Fortress was what most considered to be the cork in the bottleneck between the Republic of Velknir and the Aristo-Haphtian Empire to the north. With the two nations now locked in a state of war, Bertevync Fortress had become all the more important to Velknir, and, in passing, to its allies to the south. The inhospitable desert surrounding the fortress had also served as an effective stopgap against enemy troops, the intense heat and towering dunes were as unfriendly to troops as it was their machinery. Occasionally, they would send over their triplanes to take sketches of their defensive lines, and even more rarely send out a zeppelin to try bombing the fortress. Since three of them now lay wrecked in the sands, they had ceased wasting their valuable airships on the fortress. Now, many believed that a landing fleet from across the Grahnin Sea would be the most likely area of attack now.
Of course, there wasn't exactly an overabundance of troops rushing out to defend the desert fortress. Despite Prime Minister Reinhart Ortner's bombastic speeches about 'harsh conditions build hardy soldiers', the sweltering heat and perpetual dryness of the region was hardly appealing...
Unless you were a dragon.
Even in the blistering afternoon sun, Chantile was perfectly content with the weather. Fanning out her large, desert-brown wings, she soaked in the sun's rays, even though her scales would have been hot enough to fry an egg on. â??Mmm...eggs...â? She mused, licking at her lips with a reptilian tongue. They were a rare treat, not just because of the distance needed to ship them from the farms, but because a healthy dragon could eat thousands of eggs if it was given the chance. Their diet before becoming 'domesticated' had consisted primarily of the eggs of rival dragons, the taste was instinctual. So, they were given as treats, to make the limited supply last longer. Humans liked eggs, too, and wouldn't be happy if the dragons ate them all.
Dragons were the Velkniran's ace-in-the-hole over their Northern foes. While machines were fussy and tended to break in harsh conditions, dragons were far more adaptable. Chantile and her brethren were proof of that â?? unfazed by the arid nature of the desert. They thrived in it. Their massive wings were designed to catch the thermals that rose up from the desert floor â?? she could glide for hours, and hardly ever have to flap her wings to gain altitude. While she would not fare much better than an aeroplane in a frigid climate, the desert suited her species just fine.
Of course, as the world moved into the future, dragons were not going to remain the masters of the air like they once had. Even the Velknirans had a mechanized 'Air Service' now, noisy, unwieldy contraptions of metal and canvas. They buzzed over the Fortress now and then like clumsy insects, sunlight winking off their wingtips. Chantile just made a sound of annoyance, and went back to basking in the sun.
If there was one advantage that those machines had over a dragon, it was the relative ease of producing them, and training pilots. While it took time to train a good pilot, it took infinitely less time than it would for a dragon to be paired with a Rider. It was still not understood how a dragon chose a Rider, but it was known that a dragon could not reach its full potential until it had been paired. Chantile was one of those dragons â?? unpaired to a Rider, allowed only to train around the Fortress, unable to fully explore the skies like some of her brethren. She knew that her time would come soon, but part of her still worried that she would never be paired, that she would be given up as a workhorse, and tasked with pulling heavy equipment.
That was not a life that she wanted.
With a heavy sigh, Chantile lowered her head down onto a pile of bedding, eyes following those unnatural buzzing machines with a sick feeling of envy. They were not even alive, and yet they held more freedom than she.
It was hardly fair.
Noticing motion out of the corner of her eye, Chantile turned her head and spied one of the riders who was paired to a dragon. The woman was still young by human standards, but she was but an infant in the eyes of a dragon. Still, she was a nice woman, her grin sparking in contrast to her skin: darkened by many hours under the unforgiving sun. Chantile was slightly amused at how the humans skin reacted to the heat and light. Some of the longest-present humans â?? ones that had been around for years, their skin appeared as tough and rugged as any dragon's scales. The woman stopped by her pen, her hands covered in thick gloves. She reached out and gently rubbed Chantile's nose, reassuring her softly. Chantile closed her eyes slightly and gave her a soft lick of thanks.
â??I've got some good news for you, girl...â? The woman spoke softly. Chantile could only understand her to a degree, but the dragoness's interest was perked. She lifted her head, eyes following as the woman pointed to a line of rickety-looking trucks that had lined up alongside one of the barracks. â??Got a bunch of new potentials today. One of them might be your rider...â?
That instantly got the dragoness's attention. She stood quickly to her feet, her wings stirring up a small rush of sand as they swept around her, her dark eyes staring intently as the trucks disgorged the lines of soldiers that had been shipped up to the fortress, trying to spot the 'potentials' that the other rider had mentioned. She couldn't...get a good view from here. The sounds melted together in the heat like wax, and all that reached her ears was a mush of muffled voices, the sharp 'bangs' of an engine backfiring, and the soft chant of boot steps on concrete. She would never meet her rider like this. Her excitement bursting, she lowered her head and butted the gate to her pen. It was a silly thing to have, for she could fly out of her pen if she so wished, but it had been ingrained in her since birth. She butted it again, snapping the padlock that kept the gate closed. It swung open and she wandered out, moving closer to the gathering of trucks and men.
April 23, 1917, 3:14 PM
Named after the nearby castle that still overlooked the desert-locked Grahnin Sea, Bertevync Fortress was what most considered to be the cork in the bottleneck between the Republic of Velknir and the Aristo-Haphtian Empire to the north. With the two nations now locked in a state of war, Bertevync Fortress had become all the more important to Velknir, and, in passing, to its allies to the south. The inhospitable desert surrounding the fortress had also served as an effective stopgap against enemy troops, the intense heat and towering dunes were as unfriendly to troops as it was their machinery. Occasionally, they would send over their triplanes to take sketches of their defensive lines, and even more rarely send out a zeppelin to try bombing the fortress. Since three of them now lay wrecked in the sands, they had ceased wasting their valuable airships on the fortress. Now, many believed that a landing fleet from across the Grahnin Sea would be the most likely area of attack now.
Of course, there wasn't exactly an overabundance of troops rushing out to defend the desert fortress. Despite Prime Minister Reinhart Ortner's bombastic speeches about 'harsh conditions build hardy soldiers', the sweltering heat and perpetual dryness of the region was hardly appealing...
Unless you were a dragon.
Even in the blistering afternoon sun, Chantile was perfectly content with the weather. Fanning out her large, desert-brown wings, she soaked in the sun's rays, even though her scales would have been hot enough to fry an egg on. â??Mmm...eggs...â? She mused, licking at her lips with a reptilian tongue. They were a rare treat, not just because of the distance needed to ship them from the farms, but because a healthy dragon could eat thousands of eggs if it was given the chance. Their diet before becoming 'domesticated' had consisted primarily of the eggs of rival dragons, the taste was instinctual. So, they were given as treats, to make the limited supply last longer. Humans liked eggs, too, and wouldn't be happy if the dragons ate them all.
Dragons were the Velkniran's ace-in-the-hole over their Northern foes. While machines were fussy and tended to break in harsh conditions, dragons were far more adaptable. Chantile and her brethren were proof of that â?? unfazed by the arid nature of the desert. They thrived in it. Their massive wings were designed to catch the thermals that rose up from the desert floor â?? she could glide for hours, and hardly ever have to flap her wings to gain altitude. While she would not fare much better than an aeroplane in a frigid climate, the desert suited her species just fine.
Of course, as the world moved into the future, dragons were not going to remain the masters of the air like they once had. Even the Velknirans had a mechanized 'Air Service' now, noisy, unwieldy contraptions of metal and canvas. They buzzed over the Fortress now and then like clumsy insects, sunlight winking off their wingtips. Chantile just made a sound of annoyance, and went back to basking in the sun.
If there was one advantage that those machines had over a dragon, it was the relative ease of producing them, and training pilots. While it took time to train a good pilot, it took infinitely less time than it would for a dragon to be paired with a Rider. It was still not understood how a dragon chose a Rider, but it was known that a dragon could not reach its full potential until it had been paired. Chantile was one of those dragons â?? unpaired to a Rider, allowed only to train around the Fortress, unable to fully explore the skies like some of her brethren. She knew that her time would come soon, but part of her still worried that she would never be paired, that she would be given up as a workhorse, and tasked with pulling heavy equipment.
That was not a life that she wanted.
With a heavy sigh, Chantile lowered her head down onto a pile of bedding, eyes following those unnatural buzzing machines with a sick feeling of envy. They were not even alive, and yet they held more freedom than she.
It was hardly fair.
Noticing motion out of the corner of her eye, Chantile turned her head and spied one of the riders who was paired to a dragon. The woman was still young by human standards, but she was but an infant in the eyes of a dragon. Still, she was a nice woman, her grin sparking in contrast to her skin: darkened by many hours under the unforgiving sun. Chantile was slightly amused at how the humans skin reacted to the heat and light. Some of the longest-present humans â?? ones that had been around for years, their skin appeared as tough and rugged as any dragon's scales. The woman stopped by her pen, her hands covered in thick gloves. She reached out and gently rubbed Chantile's nose, reassuring her softly. Chantile closed her eyes slightly and gave her a soft lick of thanks.
â??I've got some good news for you, girl...â? The woman spoke softly. Chantile could only understand her to a degree, but the dragoness's interest was perked. She lifted her head, eyes following as the woman pointed to a line of rickety-looking trucks that had lined up alongside one of the barracks. â??Got a bunch of new potentials today. One of them might be your rider...â?
That instantly got the dragoness's attention. She stood quickly to her feet, her wings stirring up a small rush of sand as they swept around her, her dark eyes staring intently as the trucks disgorged the lines of soldiers that had been shipped up to the fortress, trying to spot the 'potentials' that the other rider had mentioned. She couldn't...get a good view from here. The sounds melted together in the heat like wax, and all that reached her ears was a mush of muffled voices, the sharp 'bangs' of an engine backfiring, and the soft chant of boot steps on concrete. She would never meet her rider like this. Her excitement bursting, she lowered her head and butted the gate to her pen. It was a silly thing to have, for she could fly out of her pen if she so wished, but it had been ingrained in her since birth. She butted it again, snapping the padlock that kept the gate closed. It swung open and she wandered out, moving closer to the gathering of trucks and men.