Ash's back story
“Cattle With Wings”
The sky was the color of bruised bone—yellowed and veined with crimson. Damien’s boots hit the ashen soil of Anon’s realm with a thud, kicking up smoke that refused to settle. The air stank of scorched iron and singed magic. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed—not in pain, but in challenge.
"Tell me again why we’re here?" Anon drawled behind him, appearing mid-step with that casual flicker of teleportation, like it bored him to even exist linearly. "Come on, im missing my favorite soap, aphra."
Damien ignored him. His attention was locked ahead—on a small cluster of snickering, malformed demon looking imps circling something cornered and shaking. It was hard to make out, covered in soot and bite marks, but the shimmer of scales beneath the cracked hide caught the dying light.
A dragon.
A baby one.
Ash.
The imps lunged. One of them managed to sink its teeth into a limp wing. The creature barely let out a sound—just a low, rattling exhale, like it had already accepted its place in the food chain.
Damien moved.
"Don’t," Anon sighed lazily. "You’re about to get imp-blood on your boots. And those are your nice ones."
With a flick of his wrist, Damien sent the imps tumbling into the air like dolls. He was already kneeling before the small dragon before they hit the ground.
"You okay, little guy?" Damien whispered, reaching out carefully.
Ash didn’t growl. He didn’t flee. He just looked up with one large, dull eye—resigned. It wasn’t fear Damien saw. It was the absence of even hope for rescue.
He lifted the dragon gently, cradling him like something far more fragile than what he truly was. “You’re safe now.”
Behind him, Anon hovered, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His red eyes flicked over the dragon once. "That thing’s barely a flicker. Weak blood. Probably destined for stew."
Damien shot him a look. “He’s alive. That’s enough.”
Anon smirked. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
The silence that followed was heavy—but Ash shifted in Damien’s arms, nestling his head against his chest, like maybe—maybe—he finally believed in something more than just surviving.
Anon rolled his eyes and turned, his voice trailing off with that familiar sarcastic sing-song:
"Alright, fine, adopt the flying omelet. But don’t come crying to me when it sheds on your sheets."
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I don't know if people are still on this amino, but I really miss role-playing. It was my only creative outlet that I've lost time for at the same time this Fandom seems to being loosing attention slowly. Anyways I made this with chatgpt's help...prolly frowned upon but I need someone to bounce my work off of so I give it almost the whole story and it makes it legitimate...hope you like it...working on making the work more mine. I just don't have the knowledge to create something without that interaction you get with people.
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