Information

Raghnall
Legacy Name: Raghnall

The

Storm Irion
Owner:

Celt

Age: 6 years, 2 months, 1 week

Born: March 13th, 2018

Adopted: 6 years, 2 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: March 13th, 2018

Statistics

Level: 26
Strength: 66
Defense: 63
Speed: 54
Health: 62
HP: 54/62
Intelligence: 32
Books Read: 31
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Label Placer

"Get him!"

The officer's voice drowns all others in the cacophony of screaming voices. Raghnall's nails scratch at the marble floor, desperately trying to find the traction they need to push the heavy Irion forward. He can feel his heart beating throughout his entire body, a deep boom-boom-boom pounding in his ears. His stomach is churning, his lungs burning, he wants to stop but he can't, even though his knees are buckling underneath his weight. There are two uniforms right behind him and he has to go, he has to run, has to flee.

Raghnall has no idea how he ended up here. He has no memory of the day before, or the day before that. There are some vague blurs of fading memories pushed to the back of his consciousness as he tries to focus on keeping his balance and not crashing into the objects in front of him. All he knows is that he woke up in this blinding bright light holding him in its spotlight, a sharp artificial smell attacking his nostrils and his body locked behind this thick, glass panel with humans staring at him from the other side. Raghnall had never felt so sick in his life, his mouth was dry, and his head hurt as if they had been hammering his skull all night. His wings were dangling limbly to his side, yet instinct kicked in with only one message:

Run.

Everything seems to be moving and he can hardly tell floor, walls and ceiling apart; all around him is this sterile white marble, blinding him as it reflects the fluorescent lighting. The building seems to be moving, but that is probably his own disorientation. His limbs seem to have a will of their own, wanting to carry him in every direction except forward. There is no place to hide in this endless white corridor. No nooks, no corners. Just keep moving. Keep running. As he's looking behind him to spot his pursuers, Raghnall loses his balance and crashes into some heavy object. He can hear swearing and glass breaking and something hot slides off his feathers, but he has no time no stop, he has to go, has to get out of here.

Alarms are blaring now. Their sound seems to rip through his eardrums and inject itself straight into his brains as a wave of pain instead of noise. Water is pouring down, soaking his feathers down to his skin and making the sleek floor even slippier. The bright white light has been replaced with flashes of orange, alerting everyone to his escape. He turns a corner only to find himself pinned between a locked metal door and the hallway behind him. If he turns back now, he will run straight into his captors. As Raghnall's panic builds, so does the power of his element; the powers of Tempest are brewing within him as he tries to force his way through the door. To no avail: his crimson-covered claws desperately try to pry a way out through the unyielding steel when a red dart suddenly lands between his claws, clanging against the metal.

They have found him.

His knees give way underneath him and he cowers to the floor as they approach, holding a syringe in their white gloves. As sick and disoriented as he feels, he won't come quietly. No. I don't know what you want, but I know I don't want it. One of them grabs him by the wing and jerks him backwards, needle at the ready. Anger and fear are stirring within him.

NO!

A crack of of lightning sears through the corridor, blasting the officers and the steel door aside. Raghnall stumbles out into the sunshine, feeling faint from the exertion. Suddenly someone lifts him by the scruff of his neck and pulls him into a van, the door slamming shut and the tires screeching as it speeds away. Raghnall is laying down flat on the van's floor, panting. As he's catching his breath again, he looks up, only to gaze straight into his brother's Domhnall's stern face.

"Dude, will you please stop drinking?"

CHAOS AT VETA MALL

"Yesterday, an intoxicated Storm Irion wrought havoc at Veta Mall, Centropolis. Subeautique staff found the drunkard snoring in the display window as they opened shop in the morning. The Irion seemed disoriented as they switched on the lights and security was alerted to escort them out. As they tried to flee, a hot dog stand was knocked over, setting off the fire alarms and sprinkler system. Centropolis Pet Control was called on site with sedative darts and managed to locate the Irion following a trail of ketchup and mustard. Nevertheless, the hooligan escaped capture as they broke through an emergency exit and boarded a getaway vehicle, a grey van.
The police have launched an investigation but the culprit is as of yet unidentified. Witnesses are kindly requested to step forward. VL Insurances Inc. has estimated the damage to be 11 million sP in real estate renovations, damaged inventory and missed revenue, as the mall will be closed until Friday for necessary repairs."

"Congratulations bro, you made it to Subeta Tribune's front page." Domhnall says as he hands his brother some aspirine and water. "I bet mom is really proud of you. Next time you go on a binge, tell me where you go beforehand so I don't have to track the police radio to locate you. How did you manage to lock yourself into Subeautique anyway?"