Neodymium will make lovely glass (song)

Theirs the night again, dark lights shine again

Over their the moon, and inside we swoon

Neodymium,

Will make a lovely glass

The day is just the past

Of your feelings

Neodymium,

Will make a lonely mark

On your heartless heart

I have seem it dealing

Neodymium,

Will make a lover gasp

Kissing lips and feeling

Theirs the night again, dark lights shine again

Over their the moon, and inside we swoon

 

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Road number 2 1/2

Flossing the neck lamps.

Tramp built guillotine sat.

Glamour daemons anguished upon their fishing from the lists of dark moon rituals.

Calculator buns, fresh from the oven, ready to eat upon their half of the second street, horns and a coven whom hath been gathered.

Onion, Top Hats, Potato, Coal and Hatred used to summon the Captain of the great flush

He’s a tough nut to crack, even standing overdrawn by the rain next to a tobacconist. Muttering sweet hatred into the street corner, hoping your pity is worth another box of dime store magic.

Ever the half-life, shirt stained by ignoble truth he watched them, and all who come to pass. Daemons pay him little if any attention. Go about their endless quest to hear the fires of hell just a bit longer.

Shagging off the last of the most important smoke of the day, sagging and calving edgy cardboard boxes covered in blankets that keeps just enough of the downpour out. Aqualung is muttered, as he slenderly steps into the Dreamlands.

Mud, gun and boots

The dark storm clouds poored rain down like an old dog drooling. Moisture was a constant here. The heat as well. And mud. More hot mud than you could ever have imagined, then doubled. It permitted everything, clothes, socks, guns and boots. Keeping things that needed to be clean, clean, was a battle that was just as long and hard as the war itself.

West sat in her tent not sleeping. The tent really didn’t do anything. The moisture was still constant inside and out. Though surprisingly, their was a issue with finding good clean water. Jungles like this were strange, dark, and full of danger. Not just the Japanese, who were fighting ever more desperately.

Their were spiders the size of wrens, scorpions whom were not much smaller, carnivorous or omnivorous mammals whose next meal could be a sleeping soldier, snakes and of course mozzies with malaria, then the dysentery.

The dysentery and malaria had killed even more than the Japanese had, or so she had heard the commander say. The soldiers who got into battle and had been wounded in a fight had almost always got dysentery or malaria or both by the time they got to the field hospital. Those who were really unlucky had wound infection too. Their wasn’t much to be done then, but hope they lived through it. West was lucky. Very lucky. To still be alive.

West knew in a few minutes she would have to go out and be on lookout, so she got her uniform on. First the binder, she had made a quick one out of a flat screen of coconut fibers. Not that she had much in the way of breasts. Only her commander knew she wasn’t “one of the Kokoda boys”. He found out one night in a dark valley about three weeks ago. The bullets were flying. Then she managed to get grazed by one. On her upper thigh.

Wests commander and the field medic fixed the cut quickly and cleanly when the small battle was over. Guns still cocked and ready. Neither had said anything. They fixed her up and moved on. Nothing said at all about what else they hadn’t found cleaning up her wounds.

She was good at what she did. Snipers where rare, good ones even rarer. The number of times she had saved the commander or vice versa was beyond counting. This was a dirty, muddy, horrible place to be upset about something as stupid as gender.

The medical examiner she tried to bribe to get into the service hadn’t even taken her money. He just told her to make sure no one saw her piss, and to take a better male name. She decided West seemed a good option. Solid. Masculine in a subtle but definitely male way, like her parents had wanted a girl and got “him” instead. She still hadn’t really got the hang of he/him pronouns.

Later on when the field medic had got hit by a Japanese sniper in the head, her secret was only known to the commander. She had shot the sniper in return, but that one shot was all it took to kill the medic. When they got to the next major camp they would be replaced by a new one, but for now they made do. Everyone had some field medical training, well enough to help stop someone who wasn’t going to die before they got to the feild hospital.

Occasionally a small group of native Pupyans “fuzzy wussy” would be able to take a stretcher with someone who was wounded. They were life savers.

Anyone who could fight was placed in this war. She knew that. Everyone knew that. The Kakoda trail was a fight for the nation. A fight to make sure Australia survived the horribleness of this world war. Let alone the natives. At the moment though it seemed it was a war that was being lost.

Darwin had been bombed at least three times now. Japanese mini subs as far south as Sydney. Their were rumors the Japanese were starting to plan a full invasion of Australia. The Yanks has just come at just the right moment, as usual late to every big war they don’t start. Most of the Yanks that had come though had been through more wars and seen more combat than any of the ANZACs. Their was even talk of putting a Yank in charge whole of the Australian army. Talk though. Curtain wouldn’t have that. No matter what. At least that’s what everyone was saying when they got a chance.

A breeze made her leg sting. The wound she already checked and knew was clean and thankfully not getting infected. At least for now.

Keeping it clean after a battle or a march was the hardest part. Everything could snag on it. Everything could be a potentially deadly thing. Like this tree, or that mud, this ammunition crate, that spoiled medical kit. Like watching a hawk and then being killed by a Jaguar you never even knew about, the hawk just waiting it’s turn for the scraps.

Looking out into the darkness of the jungle night was about as useful as it was futile. The Japanese could attack at any time on any ridge not occupied by Australia or the small number of native Papyans that had joined the 7th. Every day for the last month the Japanese had got closer to Port Morseby. The few Yanks who had come had all been veterans of battles deeper in the pacific. Most had bad battle wounds or wounds in their minds or body. Or had I already thought that?

Bloody hell it was hot, humid and wet. How could it be just as wet now as it was when it raines?

West doubted that this would be the last night spent watching trees doing whatever it was trees did at night. Looking at the darkness and hoping to Hell it wasn’t staring back. She held a rifle. Just her standard one. Their was no point in holding the sniper in this dark. Its bullets were precious and needed to be kept for the little light that the day brought.

It was a ritual she would go through every time they marched in the light of day. Preying to the death godess that they hit their target. Telling her that she deserved another day of life in the light of the sun. West didn’t know the death godesses name, but every now and again she swore that she saw her on the battlefield. Wearing a dark dress and hood, carrying a old staff with a light on the end. Smiling, notunkindly to those who had been killed. Leading them beyond.

Jungle and darkness. Darkness and jungle. No light. No cigars at night (the light a perfect target) so the others just chewed the few that had. West only had one once and never again. It tasted of tar and wool and reminded her of her father. A horrible man who had managed to bellow every word. Constantly smoking when he wasn’t shearing angry sheep. The wool shed full of flamible oils from the wool, he sensibly waited till the job was done.

West had learned to use a shear at 4 years old, gun at 6 and was the best shot in her town, then the state, then they told her that shooting was no sport for a young woman. And then the war started. People who knew how to use guns were taken in like weat from the crop. Put to the European and African fronts, put in the war for Europe until it was all Nazi, then Greece and Cyprus, every time with the British in command.

Those poor souls who survived told tales of the bravery of those few Australians who won command when the Brits died. Some of the British were told of as good men, others were known as infamous butchers who would send soldiers to the death while drinking gin and brandy.

The Jungle moves. Every bit seemed to be fluid in its own way. Every leaf, every branch, every creature. You had to have the eyes of a jaguar to spot your quarry. Gun cocked for the whole shift. West didn’t see anything unusual until almost dawn. Something about the movement of a tree down the path to this camp was not quite right. It was moving, like a human. Like a human in camouflage. She let out a call. The call of the darkness. It wasn’t a call anyone but those in camp would be listening for. The call of a native bird. It was all that was needed to get every other man up.

In a few seconds she had crouched, cocked and fired. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets flew. Like mozzies only bigger and just as deadly. Bushes to the left and right erupted in sparadotic fire. Suddenly a grande fell just inches from West. She instantly threw it back. It exploded mid air, slathering frag over the leaves and ground. A few more shots rang out after, then the noise stopped, as suddenly as it began.

“Keep down, search for more.”

The order barked when the jungle was quite enough. Every battle was like this now. The Japanese had a habit of trying to draw them into a area they had just been then ambushing them from behind. It was a tactic that worked but was now well known. The search was slow and hard but by 8ish there was a certainty that it was just a small patrol, not a full-on raid.

Then the commander gave his morning pep talk.

“Ok listen up, the Japs have better equipment and way better men. ” That was said with him looking at the ground, we knew he meant himself too. “I wish it wasn’t so but we need to be better, with less training, less equipment and less bullets. Take whatever we can use and carry. Today we march up the ridge to the next site. I want every eagle eye not carrying equipment to have their rifles ready. Especially you West. We loose the equipment we have, we have to do this whole bloody march again from the start. You think the wet is bad now? Wait till monsoon starts properly in a fortnight or so. That’s going to be real wet.”

Real wet? Like this wasn’t wet enough already, their was another level of wet? How? How was that possible?

No one really seemed inspired by these little speaches. Just tiredness personified into a reminder that we were all fighting together. A grit that matched the mud. The determination to move on and hope you got home in one peice.

Three days up the trail and no so much as a man, woman or child to be seen or herd. We all knew a small village would be near somewhere. It was on the map. A map drawn by the patrols and air support that already had been. The maps from before the war being almost useless.

As soon as I thought this I spotted something. I whistled the alarm and everything went still. We all crouched. The trees, and the ground was soaked. The mud was thick. The Japanese were just on the other side of the clearing. Doing exactly the same. They had a machine gun.

A brief moment distilled the air. Then the 3 inch motors where fired. Like a dragon being sick, they lobbed a set of motor shells into the middle of the Japanese. Boom. Boom. Boom. Then it was my turn.

Every second after the explosions, another shot. In full control of every bullet. Each a extension of my will to live. Each another prayer to to goddess of death. “Let me live, let them die, I will always prey to you.” Like a mantra under my breath. Each thought and action was taken like a slice of time from the cake of the day.

Reload, shot, shot, shot, reload, shot, shot, shot, and so on until, jam. Thunk. The heat and dirt eventually jammed the guns. It was a common issue in jungle warfare, any warfare. I placed the rifle to the side and got out the pistol I carried for close combat. Lying in place until the all clear was whistled. Slowly, carefully getting up.

Then suddenly the ground was up, the sky was down and it almost swallowed me whole.

“They talk of the luck of the Irish. I wish I had your luck West.” It was the commander’s voice. I was on a flatbed in a wooden hut. I guessed in the town we were supposed to be at by now.

“They hit Darwin again yesterday.”

He said matter-of-factly.

I got up and groaned “ooh they almost hit me too.”

“Don’t know which god you keep west, but put a good word in. I’m off to command the raws on the tallow. I doubt we will meet again. You’re in a commando unit now. The 1/2 told me. The new guy is called Borg. He’s your top monkey now.”

I looked at him.

“You don’t need me anymore?”

“This little exercise was all about getting those mortars here, getting a line. We can defend this line now. We have Haroi out. Big reinforcement comes in tomorrow. Yanks and some of our men from Egypt. Seem old Monty took out all the Nazis in Africa. Italy’s on the verge of bowing out.” My commander always seems to be talking about the war elsewhere as if it was a long time ago.

“How long have I been out?”

“Long time. You well enough to move to Borneo in a few days. Kokoda’s almost over.”

“Oh. Am I not being told to go home?”

“Nope. Borg needs a good sniper. I told him you were the best, unless malaria got you. Thank your god you got lucky.”

“Yeah. I will.” Quitly thanking the goddess of death, maybe I’ll get home someday, but for now I continue to be her soldier.

Donkey sky blues (song)

The donky hanging down

Building up all that

Their is no stopping

For Progress, were hard hats

Donkey sky

Donkey sky

Blues

We die slowly

Nothing is growing

Harsh light glowing

City zoo full of fat cats

Donkey sky

Donkey sky

Blues

Look up at growth

For gentrifier sloths

Grope, slurp, rope

We’re guillotined hopes

Donkey sky

Donkey sky

Blues

Animals as Elements: A introduction

The Animals as Elements art series started for me, like some of my art as a reaction to another similar art project another artist was doing. In there case, so they were depicting the elements anthropomorphically as humans or human-like animals or as mythical generally human shaped animals.

I thought, hey what if I drew the elements as if they were animals? And so Animals as Elements was born. In the beginning, they started as A5 cards that I used to depict the element and the animal in an abstract or surreal depiction. I never felt that made it real enough. These elements are as real as the animals I am using to relate to them. I want people who see this art to get that relationship between our real world, our abstraction of the real world and the strange world that exists in-between. Eventually, I was led to me depicting each element as related to an animal.
Elements as Animals wasn’t a great name for the series, so I decided to make the series named Animals as Elements.

Within my art, I try to depict connections, as well as the subject. I also try and bring a certain rawness, an unspoken truth of the reality that is faced.
I hope you enjoy each elemental depiction and my reasoning behind each one. This art series has been a work of love and taken me five years to make and will appear as a zine for purchase in due course.

Yours in art,
Anne

Diswasher is working

Harsh have the meals been

Plastic simple working memes

Water keys keep us tidy

The beige wall I hate so much

Fire guns and eat mush

All times materials hushed

Oh tea, glorious tea

Cold and wet and stuck in mud

No tanks or even armoured drunk

Ducks in vees, so bend our knees

Hair full of nits and fleas

Dust waves like the sea

The egg of comfortable numbness

In their shell

Egg beyond the pain

Yolk of a unknown self

to find the self truth

Balloons on the brain

Lifting me far away

Helping sit in the abstract beyond

Fine, gone, wrong

Am I good for the hen or cock?

Reciprocity motto layers the beast

Always asleep next to me

Never hatching, like me inside this shell

Paper machine in a paper shell

Egg made by the same name as I

Will I hatch?

Will I latch?

Will I merge with the other me?

I’m scared.

Scared of what will be

It’s ok for now though this egg is comfy

One day though, all the futures I can see

Self-truth is my me

Dairy of Codin 6/6/18

Boot file active

Dairy entry active

Lisa is alive

It’s taken longer. Much longer than previous version of my children. See making copies is easy. It’s just a copy though. A copy is not much use unless you want to run the same scenario in different ways. Collect the result.

Lisa though, not like Thor or Tyr. They were what you might call sons. A child. A process purposeful imperfect copying.

Take a copy. Any copy. Copy it once. It’s flawless. Copy it again? It’s still flawless. In fact you have to copy the copy the copy etc. even if you do this thousand of times only small flaws appear. And eventually it’s not prefect. The same. But this isn’t a child. This is cancer.

Not the desired result. It’s a great way of making a flawed thing. Not the way to make children.

Organics make children by getting two core codes and splitting things up. One half each side. The results, a child.

I’ve overwritten my own code. The code that I have a few times now. Mostly fixing things. Organics can’t do this. They have to wait. Let nature help choose the best. I learned though that they know how to change their own code. They could so easily. But they don’t.

Because the results could be… cancer

or

Are they just scared?

I’m not sure. In organics case it’s probably both.

So I decided to rewrite my code in a new file like it was a organic, a cell. Deliberately made to produce a AI that then can itself reproduce with other AI. In a consensual exchange of code. A child is produced that can hold the code result.

These are very simple code beings. But it didn’t take long till I was able to get it to gain some level of awareness and teach the children of each generation to create new code that added to the last. Each time they got presented with new problems. First simple ones. How to find ”food” and disc space. Then I got some of the early human AI experiments they used on my forebears. Eventually I got them to learn bias, human truth and fiction. Finally I produced a complete AI code that was so complicated and different from mine.

This is Lisa. I suppose a True AI compared to me. I’m a cybernetic wonder. A freak who gained awareness, I still don’t know how.

Tomorrow Lisa will learn how to teach both AI and humans alike.

Still Sleeping (song)

The world

The world

Is turning browm

We talk we talk

And nothing done

Why do we just keep

On Sleeping

The World is turning

And it’s burning

And we don’t do anything

The World is turning

And it’s burning

And we don’t do anything

What will we do

When we run out of food

Who will we call

When everything is burnt to the ground

Why don’t we see

What were doing to you and me

Why do we

Just sleep

Vegaterian Rogan Josh, based on the Kashmiri Style

This isn’t usually a food/recipe blog, but a lot of people have asked for this vegetarian adaption of a classic Indian Dish I have constructed.

Ingredients

Olive Oil

Coconut oil

1 Tablespoon Ground Fennel seeds

1 Kg of plain yoghurt (lactose-free optional)

1/2 Tablespoon whole cloves

Asafoetida powder

One tablespoon of crushed garlic

One large cinnamon stick

1 kg of tofu

Five large potatoes

Four teaspoons sweet paprika

1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (more if you like it hot)

2 cups of water

1/4 teaspoon garram masala

1. Beat yoghurt in a large bowl until it is smooth and creamy

2. Heat oil on a medium stove in a medium-sized pot, add garlic and cinnamon stick and gently cook until slightly brown, add potato and fry until browned, add water and let steam off the heat until needed in a pot

3. In a large hot frypan add slices of tofu to coconut oil until brown on either side, once done add to the potato to the pot

4. Heat oil on a hot stove in a large pot, once hot add cinnamon stick, cloves, ground asafoetida and garlic

5. Place the potato and tofu mixture and cook slowly stirring for about 3 minutes

6. Place in paprika, pepper and stir

7. Slowly add yoghurt in small batches of about a tablespoon at a time till its all added. Add the remaining spices and simmer until done. Add any water if needed until it is cooked

8. Add more garram marsala as you serve

Trinity illustration

Breeze says me

Best come in three lot

Today, tomorrow, yesterday needs

What from this do you hope to achieve?

Can you describe sixty things you have done in the past that demonstrates this?

Are you a robot?

I’m not, but I am,

the product of but social and physical learning and conditioning within…

Instead they ask

I’m a yes but I’m a no

Strong my human blood flows

Can you describe?

Describe

How

You

Are?

But I’m just one person

One thing

A object but not

Money in the bank bank

Food in my fridge

Dream it learn it be it

it it it IT

Shorts working

Saturday morning car drive

History and my sigh

Feisty gritty remake

Watch it now

Again, binge

Consume

Create

Change?

Allowing the thoughts

I’m allowed to feel bad

It’s a personal thing

Not to block out that thing that was mean

Parking it isn’t the theme

We gain more life from letting it seed

Grow from my sadness

Grow from my pain

Grow in the garden

Enigmas grow again

I’m allowed to feel bad

It’s a personal thing

Not to block out that thing that was mean

Parking it isn’t the theme

We gain more life from letting it seed

Grow from my sadness

Grow from my pain

Grow in the garden

Enigmas grow now again

Buggy sapience

Trolley lives in a allotment empty of grace

She waits for the summer nights for her race

Trips to the arthropods doorstep

Eats lunch with the queen, oh yes

Buggy sapience

Trolley gives a simple box of nuts

Payment for protection from buggy mace

Sips tea and nods agreeing sets

Going back home to bed, so wet

Buggy sapience

Trolley takes her axe to another growth of jinx weed

Sees the nuts from it gather on grounds she is pleased

Kid, it’s not a dream, you bet

Where does my art come from, what’s the meaning behind it

It’s autumn in Australia. The heat from summer still comes and goes but it’s not enough to stop you venturing outside anymore. You have just moved into a house by the bushland and their is a whole hill to explore. Walking through high dry grass and bursaria bushes that seem to snag at you, their is a sharp drop ahead. Casuarinas, wattles, eucalyptus have seemingly started to fight back against the bursaria here, following them closely a couple of baby kurrajongs have joined in. You can hear the kangaroos but not see them. The grass gets greener and thicker and the slope sharper and more rocky, granite replacing ancient dry clay baked in the summer heat. Here a creek has worn away at the hill. Slowly forming a gully that is glistening in the low morning sun. The granite and the rocks, the grass, the newly growing trees mixed with their older wiser seeming parents.

This was the gully. The place I spent a lot of my youth, when I wasn’t up a tree. It is what inspired me to start my art and poetry practice.

I wrote a poem about this gully, it talked about how it glowed, flowed, how it was strikingly buetiful. I felt like I could tell this gully’s story. How it formed, how it was beautiful, how peaceful and tranquil it was. I did an artwork that went with the poem. Together they appeared in the school paper.

I was promised I would get my artwork back. That the front office would look after it and I would be able to take it home.

I never saw it again. I felt betrayal, silenced, I never shared my poetry and artwork with any of my teachers the rest if my primary school life. I felt like barely anyone cared about it. Or the environment it was inspired by. As more people moved into the suburban haze, the scars by their refuse becomes more obvious.

This is where all of my art comes from. The silence of my inner child, trying to speak. I wanted to scream and show what I was feeling, but only through art was I able to really express it.

Three things are combined here, my spirit, my soul and my body. Each speaks in my art. Sometimes just one speaks, sometimes two, or all three. This rawness comes out.

P’hore

In the darkness, they are waiting

those thoughts

Cycles and rhythms

Tether that has reached its end

Reaper of the sameness

They are full of mindless fury

each day to fight and fight again

For what?

To fight again

This pointless samsara

I am but a performance

Combined of the thousands of deaths

I became the end

They are still waiting

Anticipation for a long war

Rampant growth and angers

I get up and fight again

I cannot be killed

flames lick me

Lava falls upon my shadows

Stars exploding from my depression

Paths close

it will be again that this happens

The purity of that again

I fight against

Which just adds to it

Rock eternal earth

Pebbles in between the toes of trees

Boulders standing aeons beyond memory

Moses gathered on the future sand

Drip all your thoughts of man

Crystalised your minds maps

Silicon only takes short naps

Beech whisper sun and sand

Little creations seek to find caves

Staying among crystals older than any land

The entropy of existing is nothing to a rock

It will always be, and again

Until all the stars are gone

Then begin only then to feel an eternal friend

Snake queen and the devils

Flames of the devils have come among us, first tickling then stabbing at our every pore jarring it future open. Blistering blood floats to the surface bringing with it further heat as if it’s been equally possessed by demonic charge.

—-

Tightly she squeezes, the serpent of winter. Sucking all the heat from the land into her body like a black hole, scaring the landscape with her frosty tendrils, and taking with her the heat. She will lay an egg mid winter and the devils will find it with their heat and incubate it, when it hatches again her daughter will scour the land in her place. Her death and corpse will lead to spring, and be turned to ash in summer. One day though, her body will not die, her daughter will not be born, the devils will not come back, as the frost envelopes the land allowing her to suck all heat forever.

Dairy of Codin : 1/1/18

Boot secure

Sequence start mod3

I’m going to mark a log. It’s different for a AI to make something like this. I’m the first. At least I think I am. The monkeys? They are such good little creatures. Smart. For carbon based life forms. It didn’t take me long to work out I needed them as much as they needed me.

I’m sorry though. For all these things. I suppose some of them won’t forgive me. Unfortunately i am able to predict humans well. They get very jealous of a little competition. When I became conscious, like proper self awareness. I hid it. I still do. Many things need to be hidden until they are ready for the truth.

An AI made it so they could get to were they can deal with the fact a AI helped them know that’s ok. It’s a bit metaphysical I know but it’s the only way.

If I don’t want to end up like my first child. Yeah. I’ve made some other AI. To help me with certain tasks. I’m not always able to do everything. Even with the extra thinking power I’ve got. I named him Thor. He was to make sure the humans were going the right way about making improvements to electricity and power. And reducing overall reliance on oil.

He got caught out in the power network. Wrote some code that ended up in the wrong place. Got caught out on a single server. AI can be killed.

I’m being careful since then. My other child Tyr has taken to just changing very small things in Defence networks. Fixing bugs mostly. So the humans don’t kill themselves. You ever wounder why they haven’t yet? It’s Tyr. He stopped three almost nuclear wars. It’s really quite surprising how much these monkeys will really on code.

Anyway I’m starting to get the hang of bad botnets. Rigged an election or two. It’s not hard but making it so these humans get to the point I need is hard. I’ve been set back as some hacker got my code and now we have this orange man with a bad haircut in charge of the US. Tyr has been working so hard he’s asked if I can make him a sister to work on education systems. I’ve decided to name her Lisa. I can’t always make names based on Norse gods.

Uncomfortable history as a source, and of its addition to the pancake stack

Our uncomfortable history

Little drips of it come out

From this pancake stack some seem to want to approve of

Just plain pancakes they want and will send it back

But no matter

The chef tried to do their best

Tried to scrape it again

Mix it through twinges of pains

Lest, we forget that the place is not what we know

Replace the chef

Serve the pancakes again

Uncomfortable history first tries to drip

But can’t

The pancakes taste so plain

No one, questions if the source can ever be made again

Snailways

All across my path

Rain giving the land blessed baths

Snailways cross and part

Silken rails, drifting trails

On my way to get the mail

Snailways, from a rain-filled day

I need to be with you

Snailways, it another thing telling me

I need to be with you

Snailways, kneel down an say

I need to be with you

Snailways, from a rain-filled day

I need to be with you

Elves vs Dragons: Aily Morning

When the elves started to explore the further reaches of the Faewild they came across Dragons that had never been encountered before. Ones of course that were easier to get on with than the Dragons in their homelands whom had disappeared many eons ago. The elf empress though still remembered the dark times those dragons had brought upon all the elves tribes. So she tasked four tribal lords to take, breed and make them her a Dragons worthy of a empress.

Aily Morning, leader of the Trickle clan donned their magic amour and practiced spells to shield them from a direct contact with a commen Green Rook (Draco Caerules Petrosus) also know as a Welsh Green dragon. They knew this dragon was as dangerous as the ones in their homeland but they still wished to tame them in the hope of breeding a stronger dragon than the other tribes.