( Events take place November 8th, 2006 )



For as long as Icarus could recall, he hadn't been in any relationship in, or around, his birthday. In a way, this year was no different; he and Dris had no true relationship, even if all the intentions and implications were the same. Ica excused himself from the bard's company for a few days, likely without too much explanation other than "business" to suffer through the time alone.

After all, his birthdays always began with a bang.

Down the street and into the marketplace, cries were blooming with the morning sun. Icarus's eyes snapped open and he lurched to the side, snapping up his cane instinctively; old habits never really died. What day is it? He couldn't recall. "Damnit," he murmured huskily, rolling out of bed. Pants. Where the hell were his pants? He stumbled awkwardly into a pair of cotton slacks, otherwise bare-skinned. By the time he was jogging groggily down the stairs, the screams had erupted with the punctuated sounds of destruction which he knew so well.

He scrambled out the front door, cane in hand as he headed toward the market not too far off. Briefly, he questioned his chivalry-- what the hell was he doing? He was no hero. He wasn't even good at being a hero. Scowling at his own twisted morals, he stopped short of a small building that suddenly shot up in flames as sharp curves of lightning and gaseous air hit the roof. Icarus threw a hand in front of his eyes and abruptly remembered.


It was the eighth of November. His birthday. "Good gods," he growled, and continued forward with renewed vigor.

The marketplace was in complete chaos. Buildings torn asunder, flames slowly rising as men, elves, and things he couldn't name ran from the silhouette which basked in the destruction behind them. It was a dragon of immense size, yellow scales tipped in black with age, meandering slowly through the marketplace and hunting-- no, searching-- for something. It was nosing through buildings and carts with frustration, the pupils of its emerald eyes gone wide as webbed feet stomped carelessly through produce and product alike.

Icarus felt like a salmon swimming upstream, wading through the crowd that was pushing desperately against him to depart-- it wasn't until after the mob had thinned from fleeing that he rested, leaning on his cane and panting. The sun went dark. Picking his head up, he looked up at the massive bronze beast which loomed above him. Its eyes narrowed. Icarus cleared his throat and stood, smiling nervously. "Hello, mum."

"Abraxas," she rumbled, tipping her large head down to sniff at him; it was like a small tornado. "Happy birthday, son."

Icarus squinted into the breeze, coughing. "Thanks, mum. It's, ah-- it's good to see you. Do y'think you can avoid.. well, destroying the town next time you come t'visit?"

The dragon lifted to sit on her haunches, eyeing him severely. "What do you expect? With all these munthrek building up and up and crushing the air our of the earth-- you should not be living here. I saw a nice place by the shore with cliffs and woods, you should live there, Abraxas. This town is smells of pigs."

Icarus kept smiling, quietly zoning out her nagging. "I will make sure to spray some Febreeze over the market before the next time you come and visit, mum." The dragon quirked her head, confused. Icarus waved his hand. "Nevermind. How are you doing? Everything at home is good?"

"It is well. The house of Kalseru thrives and the peace between munthrek and vaecaesin remains strong. War will not come in my lifetime." Idly, the large creature observed a man who had somehow got trapped in the din, now running away and screaming. She flicked her tail after him and Icarus gave her a scolding look.

Ica shook his head after a moment, but smiled at her affectionately. "As long as the elves and humans are at ease, I doubt our family will have to get involved again. How long are you staying, mum? I, ah-- I don't know if I'll be able to accommodate you like this, but if you're willing to.. compromise, I can hold host for a few days."

The dragon shook her head. "No, Abraxas. You are growing older. Your body, this body you have chosen, will begin to change. You must go through these movements alone, my son."

The half-dragon went quiet then, nodding slowly. The smile finally began to slip from his face, cracking at the edges. "I know, mother. I think.. if all goes well, I may be leaving in the spring. If I do, I will come and see you."

She tipped her head, voice going quiet-- which, really, wasn't that quiet at all considering her size. "You have something. Something is holding you here."

Icarus bowed his head, looking away from the dragon's piercing green eyes. "I.. suppose I do, yes."

She lifted one hand, bringing a claw just below his chin; it was disturbing just how gentle such a large and intimidating creature could be. "It is good, Abraxas. Whatever or whomever it is, I can see the happiness in you. It was not so for you, at home. Let it be." Dropping on all fours again, the dragons stretched her semi-transparent yellow wings. "Be well, my son. Bensvelk haurach."

Icarus could not help the smile that reformed-- a gentler one now. He watched his mother prepare to leave, offering a respectful bow. "Goodbye, mother. Martivir."

The dragon looked back at him once before leaping bodily into the air, the force of the downward flap of wings causing Icarus to stumble back a few steps and throw a hand in front of his eyes to guard from dust and dirt. It took a few more powerful pumps of her wings for the great bronze dragon to lift off and head toward where she came, leaving Icarus to stare at the chaos in her wake. It was going to be.. an interesting day.

It was in the evening, dead in the calm of night, that the next choruses of November the 8th began. It started as a whimpering, barely audible hiss of moans through the streets, like ghosts wandering an unseen procession of mourning-- lyrical, musical, but too pained to be pleasant. Eventually the noise began to crescendo back through the market and bounced off the woodland trees; moans, became cries, became screams-- and all from one.

Icarus had not made it so far as the ocean before the pain began to burn him so badly that he could only drag himself between seizures which jerked his body, with all its strength, like a twig in the wind. He could smell the ocean current beyond the fringe of the woods, he could feel it.. but still, too far. He stumbled, a hideous monstrosity of half-dragon, half-man-- a patchwork of body parts they refused to connect correctly, bleeding and breaking at every failure of transformation. His skin flaked and burned away with yellowing scales in some places while it remained pale and untouched in others. Two wickedly curved horns were beginning to forcefully rip apart his scalp and peel their way through the skin above his head, leaving hot blood to course down into his eyes.


Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,


A trail of blood followed him out from the woods and to the cliff as fetal wings broke apart the skin of his back, exposing muscle and bone.. yet they were too young, too small to ever be used, malformed and twisted by defects that kept them hanging limply, painfully from his shoulders. His legs refused to work any longer; one had turned into a twisted, disjointed limb that only twitched painfully in the wrong direction. Icarus dragged himself, clawing at the turf as he weakly lifted his chin to look up with suddenly colorblind eyes at the moon. It was almost midnight. Gods, let it be over--


Happy birthday, dear Icarus,


The horns twisted and curved above his skull, bone spikes and plates suddenly building out from his jaw and breaking skin, tearing muscle as they formed just below his chin. Icarus, long unable to make his vocal chords work correctly, whimpered a week, animalistic cry. He could feel the water brushing his fingertips now, though he could not see it. Could he wait for the tide? Would it come for him? Icarus whimpered his dismay as the water remained steady and unmoving. Above, the moon's eye remained steady above him as the crescendo of pain suddenly throbbed higher.


And as suddenly as it had began, it was over. The pain snapped away and the waves washed forward, easing Icarus slowly, gently, back into his own skin. Bone receded back, skin meshed into skin, joints aligned. Everything was in its right place again. Except for one thing. As Icarus sucked in a free, shaky breath from his lungs, he felt something new. Clawed fingertips slowly began to sift up through his hair... and there, hidden by the dark length, were two horns, perhaps only an inch long, curved.

Fine, he thought. He could accept that. That would do. Business would remain business, sex would remain sex, and he could pretend to be human for a few decades long, maybe more. Gods willing. But for now, weary and worn, Icarus collapsed into the sand, naked, until the tide was ready to rouse him once more.


Happy birthday to you.