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Yes, another neglected petpage. I seriously intend to make this one impressive though! I promise. Just... wait until I can find the time to make some decent pictures and content. Until then, here is what you will find on this page:
Yeeeeeup... More adoptable monstrosities by me! Luckily, I found a site that hotlinks, so this time the adoption process is MUCH easier. However, a few simple rules still apply.
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Originals 
Red
Customs
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Until there is actually CONTENT here, this will be a draik adoptable gallery, because they are all just so darned cute XD (and because is pisses Krash off) 
![[Adoptable by Michi (darkkitsune)]](http://kitsune.lzrd.net/pixelminis/draik/orange.gif)
![[Adoptable by Michi (darkkitsune)]](http://kitsune.lzrd.net/pixelminis/minidraik/orange.gif){kind=small}
![[Adoptable by Michi (darkkitsune)]](http://kitsune.lzrd.net/pixelminis/draikgnome/orange.gif)
Rendezvous Terrified shrieks and cries filled the calm morning air as the townspeople caught sight of the reptilian menace winging through the sky. They bustled about like confused ants, shutting themselves inside houses that would prove little defense should the dragon actually choose to attack. However, Krashall took no heed of the villager's screams. Normally, on such an occasion, he would swoop low and watch with glee as they fled before him. It was one of his favorite pastimes. But today he just passed over them without a second glance. Krashall- Copper Bane, Scourge of the East- was on a mission. He flew on, valleys and hills rolling beneath him, as he headed for the very edge of his territory. It was a while later before he saw the mountains growing on the horizon. They jutted out of the ground like jagged teeth, as if threatening to tear a hole in the heavens. Krashall sailed forward, keeping the peaks in his sight. Within moments, the crags loomed ominously above him, and the copper flapped his wings to adjust his height to the mountains. He glided around them as one traveling a well know path, taking a right then a left then another left without a breath's hesitation. Finally, soaring upwards, the dragon turned and landed on a flat bit of rock protruding from one cliff. He stood facing a span of rocky wall and, as if not noticing it, he strode forward. Instantly, the copper was plunged into darkness as he entered the cavern. Behind him, light flooded the mouth of the cave and the deep blue sky was visible above the mountain peaks, as the charm disguising the grotto was only visible from outside. Krashall refolded his wings carefully along his sides before stepping farther into the darkness, making no more sound than a whisper. Turning his head to the side, he dropped the stag's carcass to the floor with a sodden thud and licked the still warm blood from his snout with a forked tongue. Yet he indulged no further, but instead peered into the darkness. All was silent. Yet, after standing and listening, the steady drawing of breath could be heard. Slow and measured, the sound rattled through the air, drawn by some giant creature deeper in the cave. Shifting slightly to the side, Krashall allowed some of the sunlight his form had been blocking to steam into the cavern. The rays shot past him and glinted off scales the color of newly spilled blood. The weak light could not penetrate further, but behind the patch of scales, one could discern the coils of a massive dragon. Krashall was no runt. At nearly 2000 years of age, he was an impressive wyrm indeed. But this ancient mammoth was at least double his length. A red dragon, evilest of all beings, chosen of Takhisis, and sworn enemy to all the dragons of Paladine. Her sides moved in and out like a massive billow, partially shrouded by wings scarred and tattered from vicious battles long forgotten. She slept on, unaware of the young copper's arrival. Krashall stared, silent, before tapping his tufted tail twice upon the floor. The steady breathing faltered, and with a grunt and the creaking of ancient joints, the red stirred. "Is that you, *sheelan?" The voice cracked like brittle sticks. Slowly, two glowing eyes appeared in the impenetrable darkness. The left pupil was discolored orange, blind and unseeing from a fight ages past; and the right had already taken on a milky sheen due to a forming cataract. The nearly sightless monster squinted, trying to clear her vision through force of will. "Aye, mistress," Krashall replied, nodding his head in respect, even though he knew she couldn't see the gesture. The old red chuckled, the sound of grating slates. "Still so formal after all these years? We need to break that habit," she croaked. "I brought you something," the copper continued, politely ignoring the statement. Turning his head, he seized a leg of his kill and dragged it around, setting it directly in front of the wizened beast. Her nostrils widened as she breathed deep, and a twinge of pleasure passed over her gnarled features. "Stag! You are a good boy," she praised. With what must have been a great effort, the red raised her massive head. Bearing sharp, yellowed teeth, she proceeded to devour the haunch of the antlered creature. Krashall watched on, stoic, sitting straight and still with his tail coiled around him, like some guardian statue. He looked down at what should have been a nemesis, feeding on his own kill. She was known as The Grandmother, her true draconic name having escaped her memory long ago. Back when she was in her prime, the red had been the most infamous of all chromatics. She was ruthless, cunning, and lethal. Rumors had it she once took out a flight of golds with a single spell. However, something happened that changed her forever. All dragons, regardless of color, place great pride in raising their young. Reds are especially vicious when it comes to defending their children. The Grandmother had not been lucky with her wyrmlings. Twice, none of her eggs had hatched. When her third clutch was destroyed by a marauding bronze, the old female lost her grip on sanity. From that point on, she took to fostering lost children of any species, thinking them her own-hatched wyrmlings. Her past almost completely forgotten, she now was only known by the appellation given by villagers. Her true name was only told in the legends and tales passed from chromatic to chromatic, and these where stories Krashall would never hear. Yet, it didn't matter to him. The menacing and deadly red that burned villages and murdered masses was before his time; someone he had never known. She was just a memory, and something he never gave a second thought to. The dragon he knew was the insane old female crouched before him, gorging on the carcass. It had been odd chance that drew the unlikely couple together in the first place. Krashall was born the largest and strongest of his brood. Arrogant from the start, the small copper snuck out of his mother's cave one night, determined to get a head start on his siblings by leaving the nest before them. Though ambitious, the copper wyrmling was no match for the trails of the outside world. Within hours, Krashall was mauled by a griffon, and he would have met a sticky end had The Grandmother not intervened. Fueled by maternal rage, she killed the feather-winged hunter and brought the hapless copper back to her grotto. Instilled with millennia of instinct and hatred, Krashall would have surely fled the cavern if he had the strength. But, as it was, he was helpless, and could only lie miserable as the red doted over him. After a while, his anger subsided into confusion. He could not understand why the old female was actually helping him. In time, he realized the truth. That she was insane. But he also saw anguish and pain. So, knowing she was no threat, and confronting the fact that he indeed need to grow a bit stronger before setting out on his own, the young copper allowed The Grandmother to care for him. Their time together was pleasant, but as Krashall grew, he began to dread the day he would finally part the ancient wrym's company. He definitely wanted to, but he feared his warden's reaction. She would not take it well, he knew. When at last he told her he was leaving, her reaction was just as he expected. The red howled in grief and fury, hurling herself against the cave's entrance and refusing to let her baby go. However, the old chromatic's health had long been failing. If he were unable to slip out one night while she slept, Krashall would surely be able to defeat her to win his freedom. Yet, that was not how the copper wanted things to end. After much discussion and persuasion, he finally convinced his surrogate mother to let him go, on the promise that he would return to her once a moon cycle. The adolescent agreed, and swept out to start his future. So why did he keep his promise to this crazy old hag? Gods knows he broke enough commitments in his past when it suited him to. What kept him coming back to the decrepit old dragon month after month, giving up his spoils? Maybe it was the fact that he was repaying the favor she had done for him all those centuries ago. She had saved his life then, and now she was too old to chase anything faster than a tortoise with a broken leg. Without the meat brought by Krashall, the ancient dragon would have died long ago. Or perhaps is it something deeper. Guilt, maybe, that the plundering of a kin dragon had driven the old female to insanity. Or pity. Pity that such a feared creature was reduced to taking in one of her greatest enemies as a son. Whatever the reason, Krashall returned, dutifully, every month. He watched over her now as she continued to pick at the half-eaten stag. After a moment she looked up, turning her bleary eyes towards him. "So how goes the outside world, sheelan? And eat," she added, motioning towards the kill. Still her maternal instincts ruled her. "I will," Krashall replied, fully intending to leave it all for her. "And the outside is as it has always been. Full of life and death and the struggle to stay ahead of both." "Tell me of your victories, of the new wonders you have encountered," she pressed, settling down to hear the tales of courage her child would recount. So the young dragon told of the adventures he had over the sunrises since having last flown to the cave, talking as the wizened red listened on in rapture, occasionally nibbling at the kill. The visit lasted a long time, and as Krashall finished his last tale, The Grandmother turned her aged head to the mouth of the cave. "Is it late, my love?" "If by late, you mean the moons and stars having risen, yes," the copper answered, insinuating that night needn't end their rendezvous if she desired for him to stay. "You best be getting home then," she croaked in her brittle voice. "There are dangerous things that lurk in the darkness." Her tone was fraught with concern, and Krash couldn't help but smile. He was probably the most dangerous thing that prowled the sky in these parts. But he merely nodded solemnly. "And take some food with you," she pressed, waving to the stag. "I will," he said again as he turned to leave. He would not rob her of any portion of the kill. She would soon forget she had offered, and the meat would satisfy her for a long time. The copper purred a farewell before exiting into the night. He strode forward, the magical wall concealing the mouth of the cave and its occupant behind him. With one mighty leap, the young wyrm took to the air. He rose quickly and flew from the mountains, the moonlight reflecting off his scales, making him twinkle like a shooting star as he sped across the sky; heading for home. *Sheelan: a draconic word meaning something akin to "little friend" or "dear one." |
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