R
Reveuse
Guest
Original poster
Dawn painted a tableau of pinks and azure in the frozen sky as Miran prepared for his Initiation on the cusp of the Mating Season. The air was crisp and the wind sharp as always as the whole Roost headed by the young birdman's grandmother got ready for this stressful but momentous trial. The young fledgeling's feathers, both on his delicate head and on his powerfully build arms, had been meticulously groomed by many a beak and been dispossessed of any wayward impurity in it's immaculately white down. Today he would leave the Roost for the first time, and would learn to stand on his own two taloned feet, making him a fully fledged adult in the eye of his people... at least if he survived...
The last thought was merely a faint nagging in the arrogant youth's mind, however, and the prideful boy merely soaked in the praise and reassurance of his relative, his ego swelling with each ingratiating coo he heard. The wind slightly ruffled his golden feathers and the sun warmed his dusky skin as Miran preened and strutted down the series of caves and grotto making his native roost, seeking reassurance and praise in his still juvenile looks and abilities. He was ready, he could feel it, and he would prove to all that 'Cowardly Miran' was no more that a childhood impasse. He would show them all how resourceful and courageous he could be !
Preening once more, his silvery beak flashing blue briefly in the awakening sunlight, the bird-boy finally made his way to his grandmother's residence, the woman getting on in years and needing for all to visit her should they require her counsel. Flying up the sheer cliff he had called home for the fourteen years of his life, Miran batted his powerful wings and stirred his flight into the warmer current, making his flight effortless and ascendant, all the way to the snowy top of the peak, where his venerated ancestor dwell with her retinue. The clouds were like a see under the horizon here, and cloudy shapes of pink, blue and white mimicked the snow far bellow. Landing gracefully in the makeshift room where lounged his grandmother and her eldest daughters, Miran fanned his wings in a show of vanity and ostentatiously bowed to the gathered female, a taloned feet crossed behind the other, barely touching the stone floor in a show of balance.
« Well, met, Grandmother ! I stand before you today to receive my Initiation garments and your blessing on my approaching trial. » He crooned, his gaze fixated on the regal bird of prey before him, the bird-woman's wrinkled form and graying feathers doing nothing to lessen her fearsome features that earned her the title of Eagle of the Frozen Peaks, the title given to the most capable of all of the region's matriarchs.
Inclining her impeccably preened head, the ancient bird-woman gestured for her eldest daughter, Syrin and also notably the young Miran's mother, to gather the garment of blues and browns stored in the confines of the imposing grotto and to give it to the young Miran, her piercing cry only heard in the battlefield nowadays. As she was wordlessly obeyed, the ancient crone stood from her makeshift perch and flew down on her youngest progeny, grooming him one last time as Syrin outfitted her son in the ancestral clothes of their people. The whole thing was made with gravity and reverence, and both women knew that this may be the last time they ever say Miran.
The whole Initiation would take three days and three nights, and would test the youth's ability to survive and thrive to the fullest. Both women were worried about their progeny's cockiness, but could only hope that such an ordeal would make him grow into the fine man they both know he could be, and so, it was with a hopeful but still heavy heart that they sent their little fledgeling to his first and greatest adventure.
With a last cocky goodbye to his Roost, Miran took flight once more, flying over numerous cliffs and low peaks as he took in the feeling of freedom and pride that took hold of him. He had finally done it, he was to become an adult in less than three days and he would finally be respected enough to be able to find his own mate and start his own nest! It was a long way coming, but here he was, happy enough to let out a piercing cry of triumph and his sharp yellow eyes looked for a suitable base for the next days. He would only take the best spot, and would only gather the best materials in practice for the real thing once he would be out of his Grandmother's clutches. His finding a suitable mate depended on his nest-making skills and hunting abilities, after all!
So excited was he at his future triumph that Miran did not see the fast approaching blizzard, nor did he feel the change in the winds nor even saw the darkening of the sky as he dived straight into his doom. Inside was utter frozen chaos, with sharp hail mingling with bone-chilling winds and blinding snow as the poor fledgeling was manhandled over great distances, the occasional meeting of his fragile body with a cliff-side stunning and bruising him, his hollow bones being rattled and broken in the sharp meeting of the two forces.
It was a pain, a fear that Miran had never experienced before, and the terrified and injured youth could do nothing but hope for his survival, his young mind not comprehending how a day that started so well could turn into such a nightmare. Before long he lost consciousness and was thrown into oblivion, his body left to enact a terrible ballet in the uncaring gales as the tempest raged on for an hour, leaving the poor Miran barely alive, just upon the steps of a singular grotto where the smell of death permeated.
As Miran finally came back to consciousness, he was greeted with an ancient face and immeasurable pain before he once more embraced oblivion, leaving him in the tender mercy of the Witch of the Frozen Peaks...
The last thought was merely a faint nagging in the arrogant youth's mind, however, and the prideful boy merely soaked in the praise and reassurance of his relative, his ego swelling with each ingratiating coo he heard. The wind slightly ruffled his golden feathers and the sun warmed his dusky skin as Miran preened and strutted down the series of caves and grotto making his native roost, seeking reassurance and praise in his still juvenile looks and abilities. He was ready, he could feel it, and he would prove to all that 'Cowardly Miran' was no more that a childhood impasse. He would show them all how resourceful and courageous he could be !
Preening once more, his silvery beak flashing blue briefly in the awakening sunlight, the bird-boy finally made his way to his grandmother's residence, the woman getting on in years and needing for all to visit her should they require her counsel. Flying up the sheer cliff he had called home for the fourteen years of his life, Miran batted his powerful wings and stirred his flight into the warmer current, making his flight effortless and ascendant, all the way to the snowy top of the peak, where his venerated ancestor dwell with her retinue. The clouds were like a see under the horizon here, and cloudy shapes of pink, blue and white mimicked the snow far bellow. Landing gracefully in the makeshift room where lounged his grandmother and her eldest daughters, Miran fanned his wings in a show of vanity and ostentatiously bowed to the gathered female, a taloned feet crossed behind the other, barely touching the stone floor in a show of balance.
« Well, met, Grandmother ! I stand before you today to receive my Initiation garments and your blessing on my approaching trial. » He crooned, his gaze fixated on the regal bird of prey before him, the bird-woman's wrinkled form and graying feathers doing nothing to lessen her fearsome features that earned her the title of Eagle of the Frozen Peaks, the title given to the most capable of all of the region's matriarchs.
Inclining her impeccably preened head, the ancient bird-woman gestured for her eldest daughter, Syrin and also notably the young Miran's mother, to gather the garment of blues and browns stored in the confines of the imposing grotto and to give it to the young Miran, her piercing cry only heard in the battlefield nowadays. As she was wordlessly obeyed, the ancient crone stood from her makeshift perch and flew down on her youngest progeny, grooming him one last time as Syrin outfitted her son in the ancestral clothes of their people. The whole thing was made with gravity and reverence, and both women knew that this may be the last time they ever say Miran.
The whole Initiation would take three days and three nights, and would test the youth's ability to survive and thrive to the fullest. Both women were worried about their progeny's cockiness, but could only hope that such an ordeal would make him grow into the fine man they both know he could be, and so, it was with a hopeful but still heavy heart that they sent their little fledgeling to his first and greatest adventure.
With a last cocky goodbye to his Roost, Miran took flight once more, flying over numerous cliffs and low peaks as he took in the feeling of freedom and pride that took hold of him. He had finally done it, he was to become an adult in less than three days and he would finally be respected enough to be able to find his own mate and start his own nest! It was a long way coming, but here he was, happy enough to let out a piercing cry of triumph and his sharp yellow eyes looked for a suitable base for the next days. He would only take the best spot, and would only gather the best materials in practice for the real thing once he would be out of his Grandmother's clutches. His finding a suitable mate depended on his nest-making skills and hunting abilities, after all!
So excited was he at his future triumph that Miran did not see the fast approaching blizzard, nor did he feel the change in the winds nor even saw the darkening of the sky as he dived straight into his doom. Inside was utter frozen chaos, with sharp hail mingling with bone-chilling winds and blinding snow as the poor fledgeling was manhandled over great distances, the occasional meeting of his fragile body with a cliff-side stunning and bruising him, his hollow bones being rattled and broken in the sharp meeting of the two forces.
It was a pain, a fear that Miran had never experienced before, and the terrified and injured youth could do nothing but hope for his survival, his young mind not comprehending how a day that started so well could turn into such a nightmare. Before long he lost consciousness and was thrown into oblivion, his body left to enact a terrible ballet in the uncaring gales as the tempest raged on for an hour, leaving the poor Miran barely alive, just upon the steps of a singular grotto where the smell of death permeated.
As Miran finally came back to consciousness, he was greeted with an ancient face and immeasurable pain before he once more embraced oblivion, leaving him in the tender mercy of the Witch of the Frozen Peaks...