[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjk2LjEwZjhmZS5RbTkzZVc0Z1JXeHRkMjl2WkEsLC4xAAA,/aldith.grunge.png[/img]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/5Gj1OD9.png[/img]
[color=cyan]Time:[/color] Afternoon
[color=cyan]Location:[/color] Forests near River Port
[color=cyan]Interactions:[/color] Zephyrin[@Howlsofwinter], Kenia[@Tae], Arwen?[@princess] [/center]

Bowyn felt the icy grip of terror as he heard a creature roar loudly and with enough force to send Arwen flying backwards from wherever she had slunk off to within the forest. He'd heard a sound that horrible once before, and it had signaled the deaths of everyone he'd cared about. Seconds after Arwen, the creature burst forth from the trees, one both familiar and terrifying to him; a wyvern. Neither fight nor flight kicked in, but a third and far less useful reaction gripped him, leaving him frozen for a handful of precious seconds in pure terror. His stomach twisted and the taste of bile burned against his throat, if he had eaten anything besides a few mouthfuls of food in the past day he might have vomited. He could not focus on the present, and the past gripped ahold of his mind, blending in with reality.  

[hider=A memory stirred.]
[i]The absolute high of an impossible victory. A quiet sense of shock and relief as he and a group of winter fairies successfully defeated their enemy. A dozen or so of the elves lay dead in the snow of a small glade, within a forest, a half days' flight from the winter village. The winter fairies had outnumbered the elves, caught them by surprise, and for the first time they had done something that wasn’t passive or neutral. Several fairies bore injury, only a couple lay dead, but they had all done something that mattered, proved that their people weren’t weak, couldn’t be so easily taken advantage of. Blood stained his hands, not his own, not that of an animal he had hunted, but dark elf blood. It felt both terrible and terrific. It was success and victory, but it was also violent and final. He felt strong, part of him had enjoyed killing dark elves, of being lost in rage. An unsettling sense of relief that lasted less than a few seconds.

Then there was the sound of a mighty roar, one with the power to make the nearby trees themselves quiver. A large shadow moved above them. He felt the cold panic of looking up and seeing, for the first time, a wyvern in flight. Dozens more dark elves appeared from within the shadows of the trees as the winged creature dove down striking one fairy with its tail and scooping up another with its talons. As the man struck by the wyvern's tail screamed and bled, another, more horrible sound echoed. One of flesh and bone being ripped apart. The man taken by the creature's talons was shredded and dropped in pieces around them. The enemy surrounded them, sinister grins and laughter on all sides of them. They were being herded closer together as the enemy advanced. There was no hope, not of victory, not of survival. The wyvern’s attack was quickly followed by a rush of dark elves and arrows. Collectively they felt the horrible sinking feeling of knowing with absolute certainty what their collective fate would be, they had all walked into a massacre.

Nothing but death surrounded him. Screams of fear and pain and despair. Bodies torn apart by the wyvern, bodies shot down from the skies by arrows as some tried desperately to flee. Dark elves, their faces plastered with their twisted grins; it was a game for them. It was the first time he felt absolute helplessness and hopelessness. He kept fighting through it, hopeless as it was, better to go down fighting than cowering. More and more blood stained his skin, some of it now his own. Seconds felt like lifetimes, time was unbearable, and he had so little of it left. He saw another winter fairy, Jarrah, his closest friend, this group's natural leader, almost like a younger brother to him, being driven closer to the wyvern. He had froze, faced with another loss he couldn't take. Tried to summon magic only to find it wasn't there for him, it failed him for the first time in his life. He had watched Jarrah die too with his face twisted in anguish and terror. He did nothing to stop it, and then he had run.[/i][/hider]

Bowyn recalled in almost perfect clarity the amount of destruction this creature could cause. The way it tore through bodies like tender meat. His eyes were wide with terror, lost in a memory and focused on every familiar face he’d watched die. That was the only way he remembered those faces now; twisted in torment. The icy grip of horror didn’t let up, kept him frozen in place, even as the wyvern swooped towards them, breaking through the shield Kenia had attempted. But Boreas was there, on his shoulder, ever watchful, and the merlin nipped his ear just hard enough to draw blood. It snapped Bowyn’s attention back from his memories, focusing him on the wyvern in front of him just in time to jump out of the way and use his wings to keep himself from falling backwards. 

[color=lightcyan]"Do we run now?”[/color] Boreas asked, as they normally did when there were signs of great danger.

[color=cyan]"No, we can’t leave them.”[/color] Bowyn said, and even as he spoke his resolve wavered. 

[color=lightcyan]"A wise choice from you today.”[/color] Boreas said with approval. 

The creature let out hiss that Bowyn could feel in his core, one that sung to his own grief and agony. He knew wyvern’s to be vicious in battle, and this one was in pain. He knew what pain like that did to a person, and had no doubt this wyvern would be even more deadly because of it. He tried to call his magic, but fear paralyzed it from him. How could he fight a creature like this when he couldn’t even fight back his terror enough to call his magic? The doubt was crippling, the desire to run was hard enough to repress. Kenia was speaking but he couldn’t focus on her words, he heard his name, a command to attack the wings, but fear continued to block his magic from him. It was all going to happen again, the screaming, the death, and he would still be helpless to stop it.

[color=lightcyan]”You’ve been a good friend, Bowyn. This is my choice.”[/color] Boreas spoke to him again, just as he sprung forth, leaving Bowyn’s shoulder. 

[hider=A Boreas post...][center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjE0Mi45OWViZmEuUW05eVpXRnouMAAA/barbarian-ns.regular.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/SoowQ1B.png[/img]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8OdyAq7sfk]Boreas’s Theme Song[/url][/center]

[color=darkgray]While there were many creatures in the forest with exceptional reflexes, Boreas knew that none could quite match his. The small raptor was finely tuned with his environment, he was quick and he was constantly aware of everything around him. He saw the enemy, a great winged lizard,  poised for another attack as Bowyn’s attention was lost elsewhere as it often was. He could sense his friend's fear and panic even without the fairy saying anything. Sometimes when Bowyn was lost in memories, Boreas could see them too, through the link they shared. In that moment he knew many things all at once, a moment of clarity laid his life out before him and left him acutely aware of what he needed to do. 

Boreas knew he had lived a good life. He had been the first of his clutch to spread his wings and fly from the nest and from that moment on he always had the freedom of the skies. He had little trouble finding a mate, for the brilliant blue and silver feathers that marked his back coupled with his skills as a great hunter made him stand out just enough against his rivals. He had claimed a nice sized territory in which to hunt, but rarely did he ever journey outside his own boundaries. While he often spotted winter fae from the village that lived near his territory he never felt the need to interact with them. His mother had warned him as a nestling that fairies held strange power over animals, those who became their companions often changed, becoming more like the fae and less like a bird. Boreas had no interest in losing his freedom, changing, becoming domesticated, and so he kept his distance from them and the strange magic they possessed. 

Then he had found a lost fairy wandering through the woods. In the fairy’s eyes Boreas found a deep sadness and sense of loss. Boreas too had lost his mate, taken by a stray arrow on the same day, but unlike the fairy, Boreas had the comfort of knowing that life would go on. When the lost fairy found himself rejected by it’s flock, Boreas took the lost creature under his wing. The fae were different from merlins, he had watched them from the skies, he knew they needed others and they did not do well as solitary creatures. So Boreas had become his companion, finding the company of the fae to a fascinating new adventure. In his friendship with Bowyn, Boreas did not lose his sense of freedom, he did not become like the domesticated animals, but instead felt himself becoming elevated into something more than he had been. Boreas learned to communicate with the fairy, opening up to deeper thoughts and experiences than he would have as just a solitary bird. There had been adventures, thievery, and seeing many sights far beyond his own territory. 

For a long time he had tried to lead Bowyn back to a suitable flock, but the fairy was incredibly stubborn. Up until now he had been unsuccessful but Boreas knew his friend was now choosing  to stay in the company of others. Boreas had finally led him to a new flock, and that Bowyn was no longer lost. Boreas knew that his time was also fading; a merlin's time when compared to a fae’s was very short. His plumage was dulling, no longer as brilliant as it once was, his speed and skill in the sky was waning, and he tired more quickly. Still he felt like he had accomplished something in his life, something more than the average bird could claim. A life of great adventure, one shared with a good friend, and with an endless open sky always above him. As Boreas looked at the fairy one last time he was proud, he knew that Bowyn now could grasp what Boreas had always known; that life goes on. 

[color=lightcyan]”You’ve been a good friend, Bowyn. This is my choice.”[/color] Boreas thought, and he ignored the protest his friend screamed into his head. Boreas was good at many things, but he did not take orders. He would show his friend how to be strong, how to fight for what mattered. He knew Bowyn would follow this example, he could be strong too. 

And life would go on without Boreas, his friend could go on without him, and he would soon have to. Boreas lept from Bowyn’s shoulder and flapped his wings with all he had, soaring high and proud. He let out a high pitched cry as he flew towards the winged creature, avoiding the thrashing barbed tail and attacks from Kenia’s light magic with ease. He flew with more determination and agility than he ever had before, Boreas flew with a sense of purpose. With talons outstretched he went for the left eye of the winged lizard, his talons raked across scaled flesh but there wasn’t time to know if he had taken out one of its eyes. 

He circled around again and found himself facing an opened screeching maw filled with jagged fangs. This was it, the beast was too large and too fast to outfly, and he was well within striking distance of the wyvern’s tail, talons, and mouth. All three options meant death, but one of them would allow him the opportunity to further damage the winged lizard, and this made it an easy choice for Boreas. He would fight until the end, this was a better end than succumbing to age. To one day become a bird who could not hunt, or fly, that was the life of a pet. Boreas would always be strong and free. 

The small bird flew towards the open maw of the larger predator without hesitation. His talons raked across the beasts tongue, surprising it as Boreas flew directly into the creature's mouth. His talons continued their destruction scraping and tearing down the wyvern’s throat. The winged lizard coughed and choked both on Boreas and its own blood, it’s head thrashed wildly, leaving it distracted until Boreas could fight no more.[/color][/hider]

[color=cyan]”Boreas, no!”[/color] Bowyn shouted at the bird but he knew the merlin wouldn’t listen. He knew what Boreas planned to do even before it happened, he went for one of the wyvern’s eyes, raking at it with his talons. Then, as Boreas was trapped within striking distance of the wyvern, he flew into the creature’s mouth. He felt the connection between him and Boreas shatter, and it felt like something scraping down raw nerves. 

The wyvern’s cries were ones of grief and pain, and they were strong in the creature. But Bowyn’s were stronger, his pain was a constant festering wound. His people, his friends, Aeryn, and now Boreas. Gone. The loss of any sense of a home. The will to fight for those here with him now, to see Torvi and Belle again. Vengeance. He allowed himself to feel all of it at once, and all of those things were stronger than fear. A resolve so cold that he felt like ice came over him and Bowyn planted his feet, used every bit of his will to gain control over his magic. The blood sputtered and spat out, from the wyvern’s injuries, froze and shot back at the creature like shrapnel. He focused himself, reminded himself to go for the wings, take its flight. He pulled moisture from the air into his hands, creating ill-formed jagged and razor sharp daggers. He threw them at wyvern, his focus not breaking from the creature. He aimed for the leathery wings, keeping focus on the enemy, control over the ice, planning to pull the daggers down the second the hit the wings. He was going to shred that damn beast’s wings, he was going to watch it die, and the thought of it made him grin.