Sylphe
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The seed of Ahamocius.
A flower attuned to the Dark that has the power to dispel any curses of insomnia, no matter how powerful. A flower that has to be planted upon a single lonely hilltop surrounded with nothing but the night skies.
For the flower to attain its powers, it is to emerge from its prison in the darkest night of the year, and will only bloom in the brightest of nights, as the sky shines with galaxies and stardust.
What a finicky flower. Oh, and the worst part? The flower senses all ill thought, so you can't even say things how they are.
A dark, hooded figure waded through the meadow of waist-high wildflowers and dew only to finally rest atop the hill, with the skies open and the flower in sight. A cool raindrop fell on the mage's pale hand as he took to pluck the flower. He shivered, but quickly recovered. The flower was wilting under his touch. He quickly glanced at the sky as the clouds came chasing in to cover the stars, far faster than he expected.
Deep breath.
The night is still there, even if covered.
In spite of his shaking hands and pounding chest the mage managed to secure the bloom within an enchanted vial before his thoughts and the lack of stars would eat it up.
With the vial in his hands and pressed to his chest, Milo fell on his knees, buried his face in the grass and screamed. A black shadow blazed past the clouds, blocking out the last of the stars before the clouds ate them up. A weight nestled itself next to the mage, and a wing protected him from the heavy rainfall.
Milo raised his face from the ground, frowning, and spat out a few petals of enchanted dandetigers. "One more close call, and I'm using the brew to sleep forever," The mage mumbled before resting against the Wyvern's warm scales. The dragon huffed in dissapproval and moved Milo's hood off his face, his hot breath ruffling the man's hair. "I don't think the stars are coming back, Peregrine." Milo whispered, his eyes trained at the clouds above. "We missed them."
He realized he had been holding the vial to his chest the whole time, his hand all stiff. He held it up to the dragon. "Barely, but we made it. All it needs now is the..." Milo reached for a book by his side, and frowned. It was too dark for him to read anything.
Peregrine opened his jaws. There was a faint, warm light somewhere in the dragon's throat. "Nope. No. You're not setting the meadow on fire so I can read."
Peregrine hissed and shook its tail in dissappointment, but the mage was already out of the safety of his wing, taking the full brunt of the rain. Cape billowing in the wind, flower to the chest, he squinted in a direction. "The last town we passed?"
The dragon gave him a black eyed look, as if staring into his soul.
"It had lights," Milo mumbled, as if enchanted. "It had an inn, perhaps?" He blinked, and the cloudy look vanished. Barely any sound came out, and yet the dragon understood.
Lights. Inn. Let's head there.
With a roar, they took to the sky.
Crash.
I didn't say on TOP of the inn!
No! I'm nesting here! You made noise, so now you have to nest somewhere else!" Milo muttered at the dragon, this time out loud. His voice softened a little bit when he saw the dragon's stare though. "Besides, you wouldn't have much space inside."
Peregrine huffed, and settled next to the inn instead of on the roof. The mage ran a hand against the scales on its head. "Try to get some sleep, will you? We've flown far."
Once outside of the dragon's reach, Milo exhaled, and stared up at the doorway. He rested his hand on it for a moment, noting the iron bolts and claw marks, before pushing. To his surprise, it opened with unexpected ease. Mages of the dark art variety tended to have an ominous energy around them, and Milo was no exception. And besides, people with feathers were probably a little uncommon. His eyes darted around the warm room for a moment, trying to find any sort of indication that he'd be better off leaving. But there was no animosity just yet, and the keeper seemed to be warm enough. Milo gave him a thankful smile, and then opened the pin that held his cloak together and placed it with other coats and cloaks to let it dry.
Milo sat down in a corner. A leatherbound journal and a set of vials found their way onto the table. One contained some sort of a small worm-like creature, the other the purple blooming flower. Here, under the bright lights, it looked almost embarrassingly ordinary, with a green, slightly decayed stalk, thorns and a purple bloom. Milo took his journal and pen, and started scribbling notes, then glanced a few pages forward before going back to writing.
So the next step would be... dipping it in an axolotl pond.
He frowned. Where on Lore would he find that? He looked up, as if thinking, and finally went to remove his glasses and set then on the table. They were too clouded for his liking at the moment. So while he waited, he took a look around the tavern with his pale eyes. There was a slight pit in hus chest, a feeling of being watched. Almost instinctively, he ran a hand through the feathers on his arm, recoiling a little when one ended up accidentally plucked in his fingers.
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