Mephala

At the fringes of the Tangled Wood, where shadows kiss up against the dancing currents of the ocean — this is where Mephala once lived. Her clan made their home on an iridescent beach. By day, the sand-break was pale, pretty but unremarkable. At night, glowing creatures bobbed in the sea and washed up on the shore, painting the sand and water with little specks of eerie blue.
Even more than the shadow, ocean and shining shore, one thing was most important to Mephala’s clan: music. Her clan held singing contests with the Maren of the nearby waves. And, every evening as the sun vanished and the waters began to glow, dragon and sea-creature would join their voices. Some said the songs sounded like wind-chimes and spirit-bells.
Each hatchling of a certain age would come forward and sing a duet with a young Maren before both tribes, initiating both of them into their respective families. But, when Mephala came forward and opened her mouth, nothing came out but silence. No matter how hard the youngling tried, she could make no sound.
She was shunned from her tribe.
Mephala’s tribe believed that music formed the foundation of everything, even carrying one’s soul into the great beyond. It was a dragon’s way of connecting to the Shadowbinder. So Mephala wandered on, deeply grieved, questioning her place in the world.
Slowly, she began to recover her soul by listening to the harmonies around her. As she walked onward, into a lush, tropical jungle, nature’s song grew stronger. Cicadas, frogs, and Zalis all joined together, piping their own songs into a lush melodious tapestry.
But one night — just as the orange sun sank below the treetops and the night’s chorus began — a pack of Umbral Wolves set upon her. She fought back tooth and talon, but couldn’t cry for help.
Suddenly she heard an unmusical thwock! To her surprise, a friendly Tundra swept out from the shadows and began beating the wolves back with a musical instrument. He roared for her to get to safety, and bravely fought all the attackers off.
That was how Mephala met Bard, the courageous musician.
As the two walked on the road past the dazed Umbra Wolves, Mephala didn't know how to express her gratitude. But Bard was wise. Realizing she had no voice to speak with, he gave her a small harp and taught her to play.
She cannot speak in words to other dragons, but often plays melodies with the birds around her, and is happy to now have a voice.

History: Born to the Gryphonsong Clan, identical daughter of Tiffany.

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Further drabbles by myself, Catkinstarchild.

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lopika's Lore-A-Day prompt: The Silent Clansman
The most literally silent of the clansmen would be Mephala, who is mute. She was born of a clan whose entire focus was music, however on the hatchling initiation day, during which she was required to sing, it was discovered that she had no voice. The question of whether she was born without one or if her voice dissappeared in the face of her crippling anxiety, to create a trauma which ensnares her still, forms a mystery that is likely to remain so.
Nevertheless, Mephala is extremely expressive with subtle expressions and gestures, which the clan have long since learned to interpret- and she often uses her lyre as a voice to express a myriad of emotion. She's shy, but with a wicked sense of humour and a silent laugh that could match any harpy's mocking cackle- usually at Goldentop's shenanigans. Mephala's become a strangely close friend of the tiny kleptomaniac fae, despite their differences, and despite Goldentop's complete lack of social skills. Goldentop is a ferocious protector of Mephala, and any deliberate or even imagined slight directed at the demure pearlcatcher (chiefly by ill-fated outsiders) is met with the full brunt of rage that Goldentop can muster, and for a usually good-natured fae, this is quite considerable. The hapless outsider soon finds out the kind of hell their life can become, that only someone with limitless resources of inventive misdeed could come up with.

Mephala collects antique musical instruments, she keeps them carefully oiled and plays them on occasion, sending away for whatever might be needed to keep them in good condition. Her pride and joy is an ancient harp by the name of Nightingale, formed from a single piece of wood- or at least, no one can find a hint of a seam anywhere, and Bard refuses to tell where it came from. Some suspect magic, and Peleides has tried to conduct magical experiments to reverse-engineer it- but the simple grain and elegant curves will give up none of their secrets. Also, Mephala enacted her first act of wilful violence on the hapless fae who tried it, threatening- with no words needed- to feed him to an extremely territorial Frostbite. Needless to say, curiosity was curbed at last.


Mephala's Pride: Her sons, Spirit (Thane) and Shadowstrike
Nightingale: The name of her harp, also Bard's pet nickname for her.



Lore-A-Day Prompt: A Party for Mephala
Mephala had to have the idea carefully explained to her, that it was a party for her, where she was not to do anything other than enjoy herself. No, not perform music, not if she didn't want to, and certainly no one would sit to listen. No one expected her to do anything she didn't want to. No, and she wasn't to help out with the cooking, the serving, the preparation or the cleaning up afterwards, even if she WANTED to help, that would undermine the point. No. She was absolutely forbidden from helping anyone, in any way. (This last from Goldanna, who for all her kind heart, had a limit to her patience just like anyone else).

Mephala, left listlessly to her own devices while the others bustled around, felt at a loss. She plucked fretfully at her harp, tuning and re-tuning, which would normally calm her, but as the decorations went up and the people started to arrive, she retreated further from the crowds with every arrival's friendly greeting, overwhelmed by the focus being squarely on her. It struck her suddenly that she had nothing to wear- she'd hardly the courage to wear anything more ostentatious than her beloved harp at all times strapped to her hip- but now, with everyone around her- even the trees, dripping with fineries, she felt dull and out of place. She slipped from the others' sight before the festivities began in earnest, and hid in her bower high in the Heart tree, where no one but she could perch. Once safe in her nest, she dropped her facade of cheerfulness. Her wings drooped, her tailed curled tightly around her, and she tucked her feet in close while she hid, despairing, hugging her pearl for comfort. Heart beating hard against her breastbone, throat dry, trembling with exhaustion and fear. She wouldn't fit in, her face hurt from trying to smile when no words came to thank people- she would let everyone down by spoiling the mood- she wasn't even allowed to help- what use was she?
She sighed, shook her head. Old fears, worries, disappointments. Nothing new.

"Wotcher, Nightingale!" Chirped a voice beside her; the soft pop and shower of glitter heralded an unwelcome intrusion, but nevertheless Mephala managed a halfhearted smile at the mischievous Fae. Her golden grin flashed huge and bright, triumphant- "I knew I'd find you here, nesting, with all them's massing below- but you gotta come out, they've got cake! Loads! I've already stolen more than I can fit under the table without people seeing the icing leak out, and it's marvellous! Ember did your favourite...!"
Mephala noticed the multicoloured icing staining the Fae's little claws and an ornamental sugar butterfly stuck to one of her ear-fins, but deigned not to mention it. The fae indeed looked as fat as a happy kitten, and it was actively surprising that she could fly at all- very nearly spherical, stuffed with stolen cake. She almost snorted laughter at the sight, but when her gaze slid back to the party glowing between the leaves far below, her heart sank with it- she just sighed, and shook her head.
"D'you mean you're not coming at all?!" The Fae looked crestfallen. "But you know you're the only one who talks to me, and doesn't stare at me like I'm about to steal the silverware. The bits I haven't stolen, I mean. Which is stupid, because it's all dull anyway these days, it's like they've made them all not shiny on purpose. Which is unfair."
Mephala stared into the middle distance, trying to emit a sense of wanting to be alone, because she felt suddenly too weary to attempt gesture-speak.
The fae stopped, mid-tirade against the unfairness of glitter-hoarding clans folk, and looked awkward- "Oh, wait, sorry, drat, I forgot- I'll be three beats," She popped out of existence again with a further golden haze of glitter, which made Mephala sneeze as it'd been rather too close to her elegant nose. Sniffling, promising herself it was just the irritation in her eyes, she blinked away wetness and blew her nose heavily on a kerchief.
She sat with a feeling of foreboding, waiting for the fae's return, seeing the crowd slowly building in the clearing far below. Mephala stared up instead, at the calm stars, and the gentle leaves of the canopy surrounding her in its tender embrace. Her nest wove beautifully in with the branches, not bending so much as a twig, letting the sunlight and moonlight in. She'd sat and played soothing music one evening early when the clan had settled here- and the Tree had responded, growing a nest around her, fit just for her. It was like a returning hug, from a tree, and she felt better every time she was surrounded by it. She stroked a bough lovingly, as she might her strings, and fancied she felt it shift under her touch.

"Boo!"
Mephala very nearly dropped her pearl in surprise, and fast clutched it to her heart in fright, breathing fast. Eyes wide and scales pale from shock, she glared around until she caught sight of the golden scoundrel, practically disappearing behind a large soft parcel nearly bigger than herself.
"I pinched it off Jimbu's parcels pile while nobody was looking, earlier. I mean, there were dozens there, just about anyone could've pinched any of them- I'll give them back of course- minus maybe the odd glittery thing here or there, not so's you'd miss- but yours was the prettiest wrapping, which is why I nicked it first thing. I like the wreath on top, it's made out of umber petals, those are hard to get ahold of- a bit dull for my tastes, but they'd sure match your belly and spots, turn it into a crown of petals for yourself, real festive."
Mephala turned the parcel over in her hands, curiosity alight in her eyes. Goldentop shifted guiltily from foot to foot, and handed the note back that'd been attached. "Look, not that I've totally looked at the letter or anything, but they've even put your name, in curly letters. And," She added with a massive grin so wide it made her head look as if it was about to split in two- "It's got 'S.W.A.L.K' written on it!!! THAT means, like, somebody fancies you something fierce!"
Sealed With A Loving Kiss…? Mephala mused; knowledge garnered coming in handy from the few secret books of love poetry hidden in her pillows- well, sewn into her pillows- Goldentop came here often, after all, and had all the subtlety and discretion of a train derailment. And now she was learning to read, she was unstoppable.
Mephala pulled a face of disbelief though, and disdain, and looked pointedly away from the tempting parcel, staring back into the abyss which lapped around her heart. Surely some kind of trick was being played here, and she wasn't going to be party to it. If it was Goldentop's, it was unusually cruel and thoughtless- though klepto, manic, cake-obsessed and self-serving, Goldentop was overall a good-hearted rogue who wouldn't likely cause undue unhappiness to anyone. She just had very unusual ideas about things like relative ownership.
"Don't look at me, I don't understand males at all. I mean, Goldenglow, he and I were soul mates, then all that garbage about looking for a person less obsessed with glittery things and then he only goes off with someone with glimmer scales! Talk about being in denial! Well, I showed him- he and his new giant birdbrain of a coatl haven't been able to find a single important thing for the last three weeks." The fae made a harrumphing noise, folded her arms and sat down heavily on the package, glaring.
They sat in their parallel pools of unhappy silence awhile, before Goldentop lost interest. "Sooo...? Open it!!"
Mephala shook her head sullenly and tried to push it away, but Goldentop pushed it back at her-
"Take my advice; never, ever, say no to something shiny when it's offered to you. Whatever's inside, it's expensive. And probably shiny. But not cake." She shrugged a wing casually; "How do I know? It's a knack." She hopped down off her perch and tugged at Mephala's arm, staring momentarily with pride at the glowing blue claw tips she'd spent so long enchanting, which had been her own gift to the big softie- "Come on, Nightingale, where's the harm? If you don't like it, I can steal it, and we'll all be happy. Please?"
Mephala threw her a recalcitrant glare, but it was a residual one- she pulled the parcel towards her and slowly undid the ribbon. The moment she unfolded the last thread of the knot, and let it slide, the ribbon disintegrated into silvery dust and drifted away.
"Oooh, pretty!" Goldentop fell upon it at once, chasing the plumes in the air as they disappeared, and fell through the branches as she did so, completely forgetting about Mephala.

The pearl catcher took a nervous breath; it was a showy enchantment, not like she'd seen before- perhaps a travelling merchant had shown someone, perhaps it was from someone beyond the clan- but no, they wouldn't have given it to Jimbu, more likely someone like Cookie, who would've given it to her directly, not been silly enough to leave it somewhere long enough that Goldentop could've stolen it. It had to be a clansman, but who? She wondered as she pulled back the fragile wrapping paper- and gasped.
It was a magical dress, known as an 'accent' by the more well-to-do dragons; Mephala had never been this close to one before, let alone owned one. She picked up the antlers with trembling fingers, admiring the way the jewels and pearls dripping from them glittered in the light.
A long breathy sigh interrupted Mephala's own reverie. Goldentop was again sitting on a branch staring with her mouth open, thunderstruck. Mephala ran her fingers through the spidersilk drapery and touched the ornamental rose to pin at the back, and the pale beltline where a small harp might hook safely to her hip. It was practically tailor-made for her.
"Try it on!!" Squealed Goldentop at the top of her lungs, suddenly regaining her powers of speech with added interest.
Mephala obediently raised the headpiece towards her head- but then hesitated. She looked back at the dancers below, the party just getting into full swing- their finery, their beauty and confidence- the thought that she could fit right in, for once- but she looked away again quickly and stared back into the abyss of the night sky, mirroring her heart. She laid the beautiful thing aside in despair, and shook her head, refusing to look at it.
"Don't be like that," Goldentop urged, using an unusually soft voice. "Of course you can. Think of it like a costume- in it, you can be whatever. It's like Aqua and his hero paint; costumes transform you. Look at me," She tugged at her pirate's hat- "Now I'm a pirate queen, not just a petty thief! D'you know why? Because in these clothes, I'm more 'me' than I am without anything! They show on the outside what I am in my heart."
Goldentop hauled on the antlers with some effort, pushing them back into Mephala's hands- "And on the inside, you are beautiful, Nightingale. Deal with it."
Mephala closed reluctant fingers around the beautiful pieces of apparel, wishfully fingering the strings of pearls draping them- Goldentop wouldn't let up. "You have every right to pretty things as the next dragon. And the next dragon's ME, and I have a right to anything that glitters in the whole entire world! So go on, put the thing on, party, enjoy yourself. It's your night!"
Mephala finally nodded, and the Traveling Illuminations accent was applied, tenderly, with much care taken to place the ribbons and pearl threads just so. Goldentop conscientiously helped tug the pieces into place, then sat back and grinned hugely.
"Cor, you look the bee's knees, you do. C'mon, while there's still some cake left I haven't eaten!"
They descended to the party below- but the card, with a note written on it, was left in the bower atop the tree, unread, forgotten, with only the moonlight to read it- and the stars that turned their faces that way, shone just that fraction more brightly at the beautiful words upon the page.

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Scry of her with glimmer and slightly different tert, because they're pretty and easier to show when ordering adopts :)
http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=1&body=11&bodygene=11&breed=4&element=7&gender=1&tert=11&tertgene=10&winggene=13&wings=48&auth=527298a559f875db96a889ba06ed32052c8a2007&dummyext=prev.png