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His prison is dark and gloomy. The air is stagnate and heavy with the stenches of death and rot. He has committed no crimes and yet suffers a punishment worse than death. A dragon, imprisoned? Years and years ago, the mere thought was heresy. Now, he is among the last of a dying breed in a dying world. He long ago gave up the hope that he would ever see anything beyond the dark shapes within the gloom, or that he would breath fresh air carried on boundless zephyrs, or that he would ever even fly again. Now, he exists for the sake of existing. Nothing more.
Until the ground shakes as something from the war waging outside collides against his prison. Rocks are shaken loose all about, forcing him to huddle down and hope to avoid the falling shrapnel. When everything is quiet again, and the last rock reassumes its inanimate state, he lifts his head and opens his eyes, only to find himself blinded. He squints against this new form of torture, for his eyes have not fallen upon light in countless ages, and they are slow to adjust. When at last he can bear it, he opens his eyes and lifts them towards the heaven.
Beyond this newly formed crack in the ceiling of his cage, he sees an uninterrupted patch of blue: a color he thought he would never see again. A giddy feeling leaps within his heart when a whisp of cloud crosses it. Fresh air, air he has not breathed or even imagined in forever, descends upon him and rejuvinates his lungs. The sky! his heart cries. The sky! His wings ache for it. Amazing how one glimpse of the world's sapphire can give him hope to live. One day, he may at last be free of this abyss. One day, he may fly again.
Beyond the patch of light, to his left, he hears rasping slithers: the distant voices of his captors and tormentors. He glares into the darkness and hears himself snarl. He will not lay down peacefully like he has for so long. He will no longer give in quietly, so long as there is breath in his body and a sky above. Now, his tormentors shall have a new meaning of fear, for he is Vysadus, pierced by light.
Hoo-boy, that was a longer description! And not so corny for once (at least, that's what I keep telling myself >_<). Never, ever create anything with Microsoft Paint and an ancient Wacom tablet. Your mind gets away from you as you mindless click on pixels the size of Montana for hours upon hours without end. I wish I had money for a good tablet and Photoshop, but, alas, I am broke and trying to make ends meet for college. Even so, I also wish I had the slightest clue how to even use a Photoshop program. Every other artist seems to use it, but I haven't a clue. Sad, I know.
Update 2/12/11: I have recently (FINALLY) purchased Photoshop and I will hopefully be experimenting with it in the near future, at which time this old thing will come down and something done properly on the computer will go up. Thanks for looking, anyway! ^_^
|Airborne Panel III||Dream Weaver|
|Skystar of a Thousand Winds||Airborne Panel I|
|Indigo Dawn Gazer||Airborne|