Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Survivor00
Star
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2009
Gargoyles: Whitestone Chronicles
Whitestone Keep had kept its vigil over the English Channel for centuries, perched atop the White Cliffs of Dover as a silent guardian for as long as anyone could remember. Once used as a lookout against invading forces, it had long ago been abandoned and left to crumble away into the sea. But the castle had stubbornly refused to surrender, even as its defensive walls crumbled and the keep was overgrown by moss and ivy, it stood proudly, a battered warrior of a time gone by. Perched on the roof of the keep, strangely untouched by the elements that had ravaged its surroundings, was a single statue, the lone defender of the crumbling castle. The stone figure watched the sunset with sightless eyes, the pale stone bathed in an orange light.
The sun sank steadily towards the horizon, painting the sky with a palette of golds, reds, and violets. The air began to still, the only sounds were the faint crashing of the waves at the base of the cliffs and the chirping of crickets in the grass. Finally, the glowing orb disappeared below the edge of the sky, the last rays clinging desperately to life for a few moments before fading away. Once the darkness fell, a new life stirred within the castle grounds.
The statue â?? a Gargoyle sitting in a thoughtful pose â?? seemed to tremble, cracks forming in the light gray stone. They spread, snaking from its taloned feet all the way to the wild-looking mane upon its head. The stone began to chip and fall away, as something tried to escape from the confines of the statue. Finally, with a crash of falling stone, the Gargoyle burst forth, spreading his wings widely as he stretched and yawned. His ivory skin seemed to glow in the pale light of the rising moon as he stood over his â??kingdomâ??. Shrugging off the last chips of stone, he flapped his wings briefly and vaulted from the roof, gliding over the defensive walls and out past the cliffs. The ocean below him was a sheet of inky water and foam, the crashing surface laced with slivers of the moon.
The Gargoyle smiled softly to himself, using the updraft from the sea below to give him lift, letting him swoop with grace up and into the sky. His name was Elliot. Heâ??d been living at Whitestone Keep forâ?¦as long as he could remember. The Keep had been his life, given him shelter. Kept him safe. He might have lacked a Clan, but he knew that it was for the best. His white skin stood out too much at night, and having not wanted to be a burden and danger to his Clan, he had run off when he was but a hatchling. Having lived most of his life here, he hadnâ??t seen another Gargoyle since he had ran away â?? but even the memories of his parents and siblings were growing distant and hard to recall.
He flared his wings and turned back to the castle, clearing the sheer edge of the cliff with ease, swooping up over the wall and landing with a soft noise in the grass. He walked around the courtyard, the grounds overrun with weeds and ivy. It was a quiet retreat for him, a place where he would relax and meditate each night before setting about repairing the castle as best as he could. He was part of the reason that Whitestone was as in good of a condition as it was in. He had spent decades replacing and maintaining the bricks and stones that made up the castle walls.
Still, his youthful appearance and nature showed that he was still â?? in the terms of his species â?? barely into his 20s. Quietly, he sat down cross-legged in the grass, closing his eyes and smiling. â??Good evening, my friendsâ?¦â? He spoke softly, his voice mature, but his tone innocent, almost childish. Across from him was a collection of nests, where a group of hawks had taken claim as their home. They had been his family, teaching him the ways of how to survive. â??Itâ??s going to be a busy night tonightâ?¦â? He looked up at the castle walls that he was constantly repairing, and the pile of collected stones that he had piled up to use. â??But firstâ?¦â? His stomach growledâ?¦â?Breakfastâ?¦â? He giggled to himself, standing to his feet.
Elliot dug his claws into the rock wall, climbing up to one of the still-standing towers, looking quietly out at the inky sheet of water below. In the light of the moon, he could see the land on the other side of the Big River. Often, he had wondered what was over there, but it was simply too far for him to glide to. He smiled again, licking his lips as he spread his wings wide, leaping out towards the edge of the cliffs once more. He dove down towards the water, much like his friends would do, building up speed to catch the fish by surprise. As he neared the surface of the water, he quickly angled his wings and almost snapped horizontal, raking his clawed hands into the water, sending a spray of cool water flying. He felt something hit his talons, and clutched his hands tight, swooping back into the sky.
He smiled, lifting the stunned fish to look at it. It was a big one, a very good meal. He banked back towards the cliffs, using the updrafts to lift him once more. He landed carefully, folding his wings back against him. "I am sorry, friend. But I must eat..." He said softly, almost mournfully, to the fish that was now flopping around in his hands. He pinched quickly behind the fish's head and it went still. He quietly walked over to the fire pit he had made, pushing the fish onto a stick. Using two stones and a pile of dry grass, he quickly started a fire, propping the fish up over it and waiting.
Whitestone Keep had kept its vigil over the English Channel for centuries, perched atop the White Cliffs of Dover as a silent guardian for as long as anyone could remember. Once used as a lookout against invading forces, it had long ago been abandoned and left to crumble away into the sea. But the castle had stubbornly refused to surrender, even as its defensive walls crumbled and the keep was overgrown by moss and ivy, it stood proudly, a battered warrior of a time gone by. Perched on the roof of the keep, strangely untouched by the elements that had ravaged its surroundings, was a single statue, the lone defender of the crumbling castle. The stone figure watched the sunset with sightless eyes, the pale stone bathed in an orange light.
The sun sank steadily towards the horizon, painting the sky with a palette of golds, reds, and violets. The air began to still, the only sounds were the faint crashing of the waves at the base of the cliffs and the chirping of crickets in the grass. Finally, the glowing orb disappeared below the edge of the sky, the last rays clinging desperately to life for a few moments before fading away. Once the darkness fell, a new life stirred within the castle grounds.
The statue â?? a Gargoyle sitting in a thoughtful pose â?? seemed to tremble, cracks forming in the light gray stone. They spread, snaking from its taloned feet all the way to the wild-looking mane upon its head. The stone began to chip and fall away, as something tried to escape from the confines of the statue. Finally, with a crash of falling stone, the Gargoyle burst forth, spreading his wings widely as he stretched and yawned. His ivory skin seemed to glow in the pale light of the rising moon as he stood over his â??kingdomâ??. Shrugging off the last chips of stone, he flapped his wings briefly and vaulted from the roof, gliding over the defensive walls and out past the cliffs. The ocean below him was a sheet of inky water and foam, the crashing surface laced with slivers of the moon.
The Gargoyle smiled softly to himself, using the updraft from the sea below to give him lift, letting him swoop with grace up and into the sky. His name was Elliot. Heâ??d been living at Whitestone Keep forâ?¦as long as he could remember. The Keep had been his life, given him shelter. Kept him safe. He might have lacked a Clan, but he knew that it was for the best. His white skin stood out too much at night, and having not wanted to be a burden and danger to his Clan, he had run off when he was but a hatchling. Having lived most of his life here, he hadnâ??t seen another Gargoyle since he had ran away â?? but even the memories of his parents and siblings were growing distant and hard to recall.
He flared his wings and turned back to the castle, clearing the sheer edge of the cliff with ease, swooping up over the wall and landing with a soft noise in the grass. He walked around the courtyard, the grounds overrun with weeds and ivy. It was a quiet retreat for him, a place where he would relax and meditate each night before setting about repairing the castle as best as he could. He was part of the reason that Whitestone was as in good of a condition as it was in. He had spent decades replacing and maintaining the bricks and stones that made up the castle walls.
Still, his youthful appearance and nature showed that he was still â?? in the terms of his species â?? barely into his 20s. Quietly, he sat down cross-legged in the grass, closing his eyes and smiling. â??Good evening, my friendsâ?¦â? He spoke softly, his voice mature, but his tone innocent, almost childish. Across from him was a collection of nests, where a group of hawks had taken claim as their home. They had been his family, teaching him the ways of how to survive. â??Itâ??s going to be a busy night tonightâ?¦â? He looked up at the castle walls that he was constantly repairing, and the pile of collected stones that he had piled up to use. â??But firstâ?¦â? His stomach growledâ?¦â?Breakfastâ?¦â? He giggled to himself, standing to his feet.
Elliot dug his claws into the rock wall, climbing up to one of the still-standing towers, looking quietly out at the inky sheet of water below. In the light of the moon, he could see the land on the other side of the Big River. Often, he had wondered what was over there, but it was simply too far for him to glide to. He smiled again, licking his lips as he spread his wings wide, leaping out towards the edge of the cliffs once more. He dove down towards the water, much like his friends would do, building up speed to catch the fish by surprise. As he neared the surface of the water, he quickly angled his wings and almost snapped horizontal, raking his clawed hands into the water, sending a spray of cool water flying. He felt something hit his talons, and clutched his hands tight, swooping back into the sky.
He smiled, lifting the stunned fish to look at it. It was a big one, a very good meal. He banked back towards the cliffs, using the updrafts to lift him once more. He landed carefully, folding his wings back against him. "I am sorry, friend. But I must eat..." He said softly, almost mournfully, to the fish that was now flopping around in his hands. He pinched quickly behind the fish's head and it went still. He quietly walked over to the fire pit he had made, pushing the fish onto a stick. Using two stones and a pile of dry grass, he quickly started a fire, propping the fish up over it and waiting.