[ He smiles fondly and takes a sip of his energon as he gathers his thoughts together. He leans back in his seat and spreads his arms out grandly. He loves talking and he loves drama and recounting an old story gives him ample opportunity for both. He's in his element so to speak. ]
A long time ago when Cybertron was very young and Titans still walked the lands, the ancient ancestors of modern Cybertronians set out across the planet. One by one groups began to settle and build villages and towns and cities. There was one group however that never could find a place to set down foundations.
They wandered without end, without satisfaction. Others began to refer to this group as the 'Seekers', as they constantly sought but never found. They were often out in the wilds of Cybertron, far away from any other civilization in their long journey to find their home.
Among them was a young mech, who's name has been lost to the ages. He was a whimsical sort and claimed the wind would come running to him like a cyberhound whenever he whistled. The other members of the group wished he'd stop whistling so much and do a few more chores. There was no helping it though, he was a dreamer.
There came a time though when their happy days of wandering came to a halt. Their chief had fallen where he stood one morning, overcome with Rotting Rust. One by one more members of the group began to see the symptoms. Back then the only cure known was oil from the great crystal springs. It was so far away though, even their fastest would never make it there and back in time before the plague killed the whole of them.
The young dreamer though... he was hit with an idea, a plan so absurd that had he shared it with the group they would have laughed at him. No Cybertronian had ever done what he planned to. So he told no one. He stripped every piece of bulky armor plating from his frame until he was left with the barest minimum. And the plating he had stripped? He used it to construct himself a pair of grand wings.
He had never felt such determination in his spark as he stood at the edge of a nearby cliff. He took a moment, to vent, to prepare himself for what he was about to do.
[ Starscream's voice lowers in that moment, almost reverently as the tale is recounted. It grows louder then as he continues. ]
He whistled. He whistled louder and harder then he ever had in his life. A moment passed, and then another. And then... the wind came. Roaring across the plains it charged and enveloped him, embraced him like a long lost brother finally coming home. It pushed on his new wings and lifted him, higher and higher. The Dreamer had thought he'd be afraid but he felt no fear. All he felt was joy the moment he touched the sky.
He couldn't allow it to distract him for long though, he knew he had save his people. It felt as if barely any time at all had passed be the time he got to the crystal springs to retrieve the oil, and but the time he returned the sun had only begun to set.
His people were overjoyed that they were saved when all hope seemed to be lost but they asked him: How did he make it all the way to the springs and back so quickly. Excited, he told them of his journey and the glory of the sky.
One by one he began to help his people craft wings of their own so they too could experience what he did. It was then the Seekers realized why they could never find a place to call home. The'd been looking in the wrong place. Their home was not on the ground, it was in the heavens.
They celebrated and danced in the air and called the young mech who had saved them their new leader. They gave him a new name that day, one befitting of his role, and of the gift he'd given them. Winglord.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-05-09 11:31 pm (UTC)[ He smiles fondly and takes a sip of his energon as he gathers his thoughts together. He leans back in his seat and spreads his arms out grandly. He loves talking and he loves drama and recounting an old story gives him ample opportunity for both. He's in his element so to speak. ]
A long time ago when Cybertron was very young and Titans still walked the lands, the ancient ancestors of modern Cybertronians set out across the planet. One by one groups began to settle and build villages and towns and cities. There was one group however that never could find a place to set down foundations.
They wandered without end, without satisfaction. Others began to refer to this group as the 'Seekers', as they constantly sought but never found. They were often out in the wilds of Cybertron, far away from any other civilization in their long journey to find their home.
Among them was a young mech, who's name has been lost to the ages. He was a whimsical sort and claimed the wind would come running to him like a cyberhound whenever he whistled. The other members of the group wished he'd stop whistling so much and do a few more chores. There was no helping it though, he was a dreamer.
There came a time though when their happy days of wandering came to a halt. Their chief had fallen where he stood one morning, overcome with Rotting Rust. One by one more members of the group began to see the symptoms. Back then the only cure known was oil from the great crystal springs. It was so far away though, even their fastest would never make it there and back in time before the plague killed the whole of them.
The young dreamer though... he was hit with an idea, a plan so absurd that had he shared it with the group they would have laughed at him. No Cybertronian had ever done what he planned to. So he told no one. He stripped every piece of bulky armor plating from his frame until he was left with the barest minimum. And the plating he had stripped? He used it to construct himself a pair of grand wings.
He had never felt such determination in his spark as he stood at the edge of a nearby cliff. He took a moment, to vent, to prepare himself for what he was about to do.
[ Starscream's voice lowers in that moment, almost reverently as the tale is recounted. It grows louder then as he continues. ]
He whistled. He whistled louder and harder then he ever had in his life. A moment passed, and then another. And then... the wind came. Roaring across the plains it charged and enveloped him, embraced him like a long lost brother finally coming home. It pushed on his new wings and lifted him, higher and higher. The Dreamer had thought he'd be afraid but he felt no fear. All he felt was joy the moment he touched the sky.
He couldn't allow it to distract him for long though, he knew he had save his people. It felt as if barely any time at all had passed be the time he got to the crystal springs to retrieve the oil, and but the time he returned the sun had only begun to set.
His people were overjoyed that they were saved when all hope seemed to be lost but they asked him: How did he make it all the way to the springs and back so quickly. Excited, he told them of his journey and the glory of the sky.
One by one he began to help his people craft wings of their own so they too could experience what he did. It was then the Seekers realized why they could never find a place to call home. The'd been looking in the wrong place. Their home was not on the ground, it was in the heavens.
They celebrated and danced in the air and called the young mech who had saved them their new leader. They gave him a new name that day, one befitting of his role, and of the gift he'd given them. Winglord.