Tomata » Clan | Lair | Nesting Grounds

Tomata's Clan

barely here

Ancient Lair

hidden within

Cairnstone Rest

Clan Info

[FR+3] Hi, I’m Tomata. Previously BettaFishy.

I flip hatchlings/buy fodder. No familiar means they'll be exalted. Named using randomizer!

The mercenary guild that lives at the Crescendo's Edge often travel across Sornieth doing odd jobs for hire. This sizable group live in a network of caverns carved into the cliffs facing the Twisting Crescendo.

Following bio written by PunchingSolas

“I’m starting to wonder if the Windsinger is truly the one doing all of the singing, given how eager you are to sing his praises.”

Misting would laugh as she teased Blanco. Returning from a fight was often the sweetest part of the day. The whipping winds became a strange smoothness upon their wings, the air smelling of fragrant springs and sun-touched flowers.

“Oh, that you should compare me to the Windsinger, himself! I feel I might faint.” Blanco returned with a chuckle and a beam of pride.

The cliffs seemed as if a beast of stone and grass. But as the pair braced themselves for the impact of heavy winds, the cliff’s face began to wriggle to life. Caverns carved into homes providing the perfect opportunity to take flight with little preparation. The largest cavern belonged to the clan’s founders. The pair settled inside, content to spill their shared rewards and count the collected coin made from mercenary work. The wind whistled in melodies that made Blanco positively swoon with delight.

How their family had grown. A meager pair of traveling mercenaries sick of hauling gear and supplies, seeking the perfect hideaway. Originally, Blanco claimed no desire for a home. His true duty belonged to the Windsinger. Upon exaltation, Misting settled down by the edge of the Twisting Crescendo. She could not contain her unbridled joy upon his return. His endless stories kept her hung on his every word, with the occasional jab of banter to keep him on his toes.

They were not expecting company. But Misting knew deep down Blanco’s personality could not keep him from the company of others. Other mercenaries seeking sanctuary away from wandering began to slowly carve themselves a home. Time braced them to the winds, in which those who were not careful were thrust from the cliff’s side and into the open air. Blanco told all potential inhabitants that it was a test, ‘The Windsinger’s Trial’. Only the most worthy could settle in such temperamental lands. Misting pondered over whether or not he was just over-singing the deity, but said nothing, preferring Blanco to joyously have his moment.

“We should set some aside for-”

“A shrine!” Blanco nodded. “Excellent idea.”

“...Iron supports for the caverns.” Misting finished. “If we want to expand our lair, or have any interconnecting caverns, we’ll need supports.”

“I still favour the shrine.”

“You would.”

But Misting could not suppress her smile. It was of little wonder she was the clan’s ultimate leader. Her calm collectedness lead to many confiding in her wisdom.

What had started as a means to put an end to the limitless wandering of a pair of mercenaries turned itself into a blessed joining of a group both Blanco and Misting considered to be a family of bonds rather than blood. Wings adapting to the harsh stream of winds offering them the advantage of a strong flight. A gathering of fearsome fighters who thrived in the hidden privacy of the Twisting Crescendo’s ever churning tornadoes.

Welcome home.

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