Below is a soundtrack I created for a former RP and band I was in. My main character, Oktavia, had an arc of redemption but losing her pet dragon, Lincoln, was the original idea for me to have her descent into the pith and despair of madness (we all love a good anti-hero). I don’t have the death scene written since the circumstance of the death was up in the air, and therefore, it wasn’t as thoroughly planned; I was set to make it happen for her character arc, but then life got in the way and the RP dissolved.
I based Lincoln on my black cat, though initially it was as a joke. My cat used to eat too much in one sitting, breakfast in particular, and he would in no time vomit it all up. Lincoln’s weakness was vomiting when frightened if I recall, and one scene I wrote had that where a person died by being dissolved in the acids/flames.
Oktavia silently surveyed at the docks, the cold air was like glittering ice on her skin. The ground was covered with an indigo sky and red rose—a blood bath that began, flickered before her—aloof, stoic. She remembered the slips in the shadows, the symmetry of death from Mortuus, that any dignity sheathed in violence here was a speck of dust to what she had known. She repositioned her metallic arm, igniting a flame instead from her left hand to target at the ship.
Gurgling sounds coursed through her hearing. She diverted her gaze to her pet dragon, Lincoln, soon rubbing his snout.
“Once I get this done, you’ll get churros. A whole market of them. Just wait a little longer for me. Please, Lincoln,” she whispered.
In response, he huffed. He bent his head forward for affection, and she scratched behind his ears. She knew he wasn’t emotionally stable; she had raised him after all.
He was unlike other pet dragons, he was timid, he was not exact, he was too much of a pet rather than a wild beast to be tamed and raised in a militia. As a child, she found his egg in a burberry nest off the shores of Mortuus stealing him from his family. After his capture, the rest of the dragon-born of the litter (and mother) were killed.
She slept cold nights as a stow-away until she reached adulthood. Vagabonding was not her scene. She helmed Lincoln throughout Oddyessus securing her own through means of pillaging, looting, and violence blending in with the raids from Mortuus. Her amber eye glistened, her green eye stuck in position like the victims of Medusa.
It wasn’t the life for her and Lincoln. It never was supposed to be. But, it would do.
The mania in the crowd moved steadily towards them, so she mounted on his backside with a grunt. There was too much commotion, too many people that could detect her if she set the vessel on fire.
She twisted her palms onto his dorsum, guiding him in motion with his antlers. The dragon sniffed the air, and at Okta’s brief confusion, he vomited on one of the beings that managed to escape out from the docks.
Head down, Oktavia ignored the screams that prevailed almost as an infant newborn’s mewl. Their unintended victim today was a blacksmith, howling to the plunders of fire that began when Lincoln threw up on him. Oktavia had leaned forward off of the dragon’s back, lightning oozing from her fingers as she stopped the smithy’s heart; and through the ravines of the ocean shore, there would be no hope for him to stop the fire.
She gathered her strength; brutality spread through her muscles, as she carefully positioned her legs on Lincoln’s sides. She shifted her weight, her gaze reflected to the disfigured person upon the ground—she instinctively tugged upon Lincoln’s antlers, and they were off.
I can probably write Lincoln’s death eventually, but it might be a bit. I haven’t really got the writing inspiration for short stories at the moment.
Anyway, you can listen to the track below. I hope you can enjoy it, and I always appreciate your thoughts and feedback. ❤