Young Justice: Yellowstone

October 11th, 2010

Despite her bulk, Mavria slipped through the earth like a fish through water, solid stone parting smoothly before her and sealing up in her wake. She beat her wings, sending waves of geomantic magic echoing through the earth in all directions and propelling herself ever deeper downward.

It was utterly dark beneath the earth, but she did not need something as mundane as eyes to see. The world around her shone with color, every flap of her wings and sweep of her claws illuminating the depths for miles around her. Her perception expanded slowly but surely, each pulse of magic filling in more details and painting a picture in her mind of what she faced.

It was not nearly as bad as she’d feared. The earth she swam through was cool, and the molten depths lay undisturbed far, far below. There were two magma chambers that she could feel, one lurking just a scant few kilometers beneath the surface, and another far larger and deeper. Neither had reached a critical pressure, and would not for many, many years, if ever.

Without the meddling of mortals, this place would not have been a danger to any bar those unfortunates burnt by heated waters. It would have cooled and cooled, never to recapture the majesty and ferocity it had once commanded.

But of course, mortals could never leave well enough alone. She could feel the puncture, sense the artificial call to molten rock and the path that had been laid for it to follow. It was faint now, its creator gone, but had they been allowed to work undisturbed, perhaps they really could have done catastrophic damage to the surface.

She exhaled, her head turning to the side as she sailed past the affected area. Instead of fire, ash, or molten rock, gentle waves of magic blew from between her rows of razor-sharp teeth, carefully shaped by the curve of her tongue and millenia of hard practice and experience into just the right form and magnitude.

The power expanded outward in a cone, rapidly growing to cover many hundreds-of-thousands of cubic meters of stone––solid, molten, and somewhere in between. The earth stilled as it passed, faint tremors caused by the immense pressure of the molten depths fading before they could further destabilize the careful balance of forces at play.

She flapped her wings again, feeling for the effects of her work. The bright reds and oranges of danger had faded somewhat into pale yellows and gentle pinks. She slowed, fully extending her wings and sweeping her tail back and forth beneath her. The spines along her whip-like tail were perfect for precise manipulations, each carefully directed flick sending narrow cones of high-fidelity sensation into the upper molten body.

Progress, certainly, but there was still more to do. She was terribly out of practice. It had been many, many, many years since she’d used her geomancy for anything more than carving out comfortable chambers where she could safely lounge in her true form, hidden from prying eyes by many miles of solid stone and magical marriers.

Well, that and ensuring that the path to her isolated home was as well hidden and difficult to access as possible. As much as she enjoyed her guise as a humble human peasant girl, company was oftentimes ever so tiresome. If she wanted to spend time among the younger races, she would seek them out. Maintaining her guise while they prattled on and on and ate her food was frustrating in the extreme. Did they think she lived alone on a mountainside because she wanted company?

As she waited for her magic to properly propagate through the earth––it took time for even the most carefully shaped probe to travel through many kilometers of rock and even longer for it to return to her––her mind turned to her most recent house guest. His visit had not been as unwelcome as it could have been. He had come accompanied by an old friend, had been helpful, and did not linger. Better than most.

Hydrys Black. Twas an auspicious name. When Ysondre had introduced him, she had half suspected he was some distant cousin, perhaps one of Sabellian whelps. It would be just like one of them to name themselves ‘Black’. So many of her flight lacked any sense of subtlety. Like, Victor Nefarius, really? How that fool Nefarian was still alive after all this time she’d never know.

He carried himself almost like a dragon, intensity and power coiled tightly within a frame too small to contain it. His form as well was reminiscent of those that Onyxia had popularized so long ago. Black hair, pale skin, aristocratic features, and intense eyes. All the better to infiltrate and manipulate the humans that she had feared and admired so.

But no. He was just a mortal, and a young one at that. She had taken naps longer than all the years he lived. And yet, there was a lot more to the hatchling than at first met the eye. So very much more.

She had listened in silence to Ysondre’s story. It was an odd tale, and one she feared she did not truly know how to confirm, but her old friend’s words were compelling. She trusted that the elder green dragon would not lie to her, and apparently elements of the story had been confirmed by the Emerald Queen herself. Unfortunately, her nose had never been half as keen as those from other flights. Too much time spent beneath the earth, relying on other senses.

In the end, it seemed she had been right to believe him. The wards he’d placed for her had been novel in their function and methods. She had high hopes that they would allow her to stay in her current home for a handful of centuries to come. That would be nice. It always pained her to move, and she was particularly fond of her current abode.

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Or well. Her…other self’s abode?

It was strange to know in one’s heart of hearts that you are not who you are. She was Mavria, forgotten daughter of the Black Dragonflight, and yet not. Mavria was still there in that little cottage in the mountains. Back home in Azeroth. And she, also Mavria, was here. Somewhere very, very far from home, burrowing through unfamiliar earth to solve very familiar troubles.

It was not like when she inhabited a body of earth and illusion. She was no extension of a greater whole, but rather…a reflection of it. She liked to think that she knew herself well. Better than most, in fact. It was how she’d avoided succumbing to the same darkness that had consumed her flight and transformed her wise father into the monster they now called Deathwing.

She had felt the whispers brushing across her mind as she delved through the deepest places of Azeroth and realized in the nick of time that they did not belong. Though it had cost her a great portion of her might––strength that had never truly recovered in full––she had excised the infection and fled to shallow, light-cleansed lands where the taint could no longer reach her.

And now, she still knew herself. There was no corruption, no portion of her essence she could not touch, and yet…

The self she knew was different. She was different. The same Mavria but viewed through an offset lens. Her bond to the earth felt different. Her magic felt different. It all still seemed to function as it should, but the flavor was just so very faintly off.

Perhaps it should have felt off putting, to know that you are not the you you were just hours before, but all Mavria could feel was relief. She was free. Free.

No one here knew the legacy of her father and her flight. There were no dragons and mortals here who would hunt her for the color of her scales, thinking her a mindless beast capable of naught but spreading pain and chaos. There was no Deathwing here to track her down and demand she lay him endless broods so that he may make war upon Azeroth.

She did not know what land she found herself in now, but it was far from Azeroth. Impossibly, wonderfully, blissfully far from Azeroth. So far that the indirect blessing of the Shaper and Forger of Worlds was a hazy, directionless shadow of itself. This was not the world she’d been charged with guarding, nor any world Khaz'goroth had known. Without it, her powers over the earth were diminished and her instinctive understanding of what needed fixing all but gone, but it had been many ages since she had truly relied on those gifts.

She did not need to hide any longer. Mavria, the original Mavria, could worry about all that. She was free. And she had that fascinating mortal Hydrys Black to thank for that freedom. She did not truly know what he wished of her yet––certainly something, all mortals wished for something––but neither did she particularly care. For even just a taste of this blessed freedom, she would happily aid him for all his life. What was a hundred, or even a thousand, years of work to her? Just a blink of an eye.

She felt the echoes of her magic return to her and focused on what they showed her. It took a moment longer than it should have to interpret the results, but this was far from the first volcanic eruption she had quelled. Typically it was easier to deal with such things before they came to a head, but sometimes it was good to relieve the pressures of the deeps the natural way.

She hummed to herself, considering the best way to do things. A breath here, a few minor adjustments there, and some careful reinforcement in critical places should ensure the situation did not deteriorate in the foreseeable future. A few more tweaks and she might even be able to recreate some of the conditions she could feel echoing in the memories of the earth.

This had been a place of great surface activity––geysers and hot springs and bubbling pools of mud––and she knew that mortals liked such vistas. Some of it was buried beneath a new layer of cooling rock, but others could be restored with some effort. Worthwhile effort. Though it had been too dangerous for her to properly perform her duties in these past millennia since the war of the ancients, she had never truly forgotten her Purpose.

She focused her magic and flapped her wings, propelling her towards the first point she’d need to adjust. There was something so very soothing to move through the depths without care of what might find her here. This was her domain, and there were no whispering beings of ages past here to poison her thoughts.

Though there was something. Hers was not the only magic that flowed through the earth here. Slow currents of ancient power lingered in the many layers of rock, still tinged with grains of purpose that could only come from the magic of thinking minds.

They were faint and ancient, and certainly too weak to interfere with her work, but present nonetheless. She wondered about them. Had this world, this Plane, once had caretakers like her own Dragonflight had once been? Some manner of beings that protected and cared for the depths of the earth?

Perhaps. Though, as she peered closer at the remnants, gathering them as they passed over her wings and brushed against her scales, they reminded her more of other masters of the earth rather than her own draconic magics. It had been millenia since she had ventured into Deepholm, but the magic of elementals left a distinctly different texture within stone than she did. This was not quite it, but it was close. Very close.

Did this plane perhaps have its own Earthmother? Hopefully one that had never served the same foul masters as her father did now. It was possible. Elementals arose from naught but wild magic at times. It would not be strange if they had done so here as well, just as they had on Azeroth.

Well, that was something to think more on later. For now, she had a job to do. Soon, this volcano would trouble this plane no longer. And if another fool decided to mess around with forces beyond their power and understanding, she’d be ready to bury them long before they managed to do so to themselves.

And then, well…Hopefully there would be more of those delightfully flakey little bites for her to eat when she was done. It had been far too long since she’d indulged in any food she hadn’t had to make for herself, and baking was simply far too much effort most days. There was nothing like curling up in a nice dark cave with a mountain of snacks for a few months after a long day’s work. She hoped that Hydrys Black understood that.