Wyveiran

Wyveiran huffed and exhaled, berating the machinery in a quiet tone.

"I've replaced the conductor, the wire, checked the fuse sockets. Why aren't you working?" She grumbled.

Being the lone electrician and mechanical expert of the clan was an arduous task, but one Wyveiran accepted. She trained directly under the Stormcatcher's elite, learning every meticulous and necessary micro-process until her dainty claws could perform actions only the Ridgebacks could do. An up and coming prodigy, great things were predicted for her. She could have been anything. An asset to the Stormcatcher himself, a brilliant team leader, the pioneer for the latest functional machinery, but Wyveiran refused. She only wanted to give her skills to a home, not a collective engineer's guild.

"Oh, of course. I swapped the red and periwinkle wires. No wonder," she muttered to herself, deftly fixing her mistake.

Wyveiran thought back to how she came to be a part of this clan. It was a mishap, of sorts, but her resourcefulness and analytical mind proved to be very valuable. She had abandoned her post at the Tempest Spire - a certain act of treason, punishable by exile or death, and soared until a cacophony of bubbles grabbed her attention. The Sunbeam Ruins were a lovely region, yes, but far too bright for Wyveiran's eyes. She had spent so long cooped up inside with hulking machinery that the Tidelord's domain was very visually relaxing. The soft glow of the strange, unpredictable sea flora and fauna provided enough light to an area otherwise enveloped in complete darkness beneath the waves. Perhaps best of all, Wyveiran's ears were not drowned by the sounds of a thousand mechanisms churning at once. She could hear, and what things she could hear. The tiny fodder animals scuttling about, the churning of thousands of fish whizzing about in their schools. And dragon feet.

Wyveiran whipped her head around, only to be face to face with an imposing Guardian female.

"Not lost, are you?" The Guardian asked.

"Not yet," Wyveiran replied.

"I see. You seem very capable, little Fae. A mechanist?"

"Of sorts. There's nothing I haven't tinkered with."

"That's rather fortunate. Our lair machinery has started to malfunction, but we are largely incompetent with such things. We are hunters, scientists, and gatherers. We know nothing about mechanics. Would you care to join us, as our resident and lead technician?"

"I suppose I could. Just, please, tell me there aren't a hundred rooms of machinery that I am expected to maintain."

"What? Is that what they had you doing in the Expanse? No, no. We have two or three rooms, a whole lot of cables, and a bunch of transformers built into the walls."

"That will be no trouble. It's likely a connection is faulty, or one of the wires needs to be replaced. Perhaps more. Nothing I could not fix."

The Guardian eyed Wyveiran, scanning her up and down for a moment, before smiling.

"I'm Glacialius, the clan's Herder of Hatchlings. You are?"

"Wyveiran. Previously the Technical Subordinate of the Stormcatcher's Elite."

"Oh, my. Such a title."

Wyveiran smiled a little and gestured for Glacialius to lead the way. The Guardian dove beneath the waves and proceeded downwards into a dark and gloomy trench, then further still until the cavern that led to the clan finally appeared. The machinery in this eloquent lair was fairly straightforward, if slightly temperamental, but Wyveiran had been permitted to add her own flair to it and upgrade whatever she deemed necessary.

It was not nearly as monotonous as the Shifting Expanse, and she would occasionally be educating a rogue Sparkling Goblin or two - even the odd hatchling would stumble into her part of the lair and start asking a thousand questions. Wyveiran didn't mind. She was always happy to reward and entertain the curious ones. She also enjoyed being the technician for a clan based entirely underwater. Two things that should never be interwoven.