Lisbeth

It was his fourth day of wandering. His throat was parched, his body exhausted. Any day now he would collapse.

Home – oh, home! The mere thought of it was almost enough to fell him where he stood. The huge clan he came from, swarming with so many fae there was neither breathing room or any opportunity to be alone, where everyone buzzed in perfect sync with their lightning environment, where storms fell from the sky…

That was home. Plains and static electricity and overcrowding. Not this. Not a boneyard filled with the damned and dead. Here he was weak, unable to access any of his environmental magic. He was weak and alone, his clan mates having long found refuge elsewhere or perished in this place.

He was the last of his outfit, and he suspected that he would never find a permanent home. What did one wayward lightning fae have to offer any clan? There was a reason he had been one of those chosen for “relocation” (another word for exile) – he had nothing special. No training.

It was while wallowing in self-pity that he saw another fae ahead – also alone. She was young, quick and dangerously thin. When she spotted him she froze, about to take off. Her eyes held the red curse of this place, all its malevolence and disease.

He took a risk. Flared his frills in greeting. When that didn't elicit a response, he tried draconic. “I'm Mirek. Who are you?”

She hissed in response, nonverbal, hulking.

“Where is your clan? Your parents?”

“Don't know.” The strange fae hadn’t run yet. He tried to take comfort in that.

He pushed over a handful of the insects he kept in his pouch: a peace offering. She accepted.

Over the weeks that followed, the fae pair became fast friends. Mirek shared what he could about environmental magic and she picked it up unsettlingly quickly, overtaking his peak level in a number of days. Eventually she confided her name, a secret she held close to her chest: Lisbeth. She'd been born alone and followed various large clans around, picking at their remains as a scavenger, barely avoiding predators.

Later on, when she stood proudly as matriarch over their ragtag army, she would admit that without Mirek she wouldn't have lasted long. She was strong, talented, resourceful, intelligent – but it wouldn't have been enough to save a lone orphaned fae. Not in the Wandering Contagion.

After about a month they met Alyosha, and that was when things really began to change. The guardian was huge compared to them.
When on the Search you're supposed to find something worthy of protection. For Alyosha, an endlessly ambitious dragon, a true charge would just prove to be baggage. He'd decided, very calmly, that he'd claw his way up in this world. His charge would be ornamental, a social necessity to prove he was an adult.

And then he saw the two fae. The smaller one – plague like him – she, he was less interested in. It was the other that caught his eye – he – he was so – Alyosha couldn't look away.

“I'm Alyosha.” He said, flaring his wings, eyes intently focused on the larger fae. “I was on the Search.”

The fae paled. “Was?”

“You're my charge.” Alyosha replied, simply. “I can feel it.”

The smaller one hissed. “Mirek, what is he talking about? Do you want me to fight him?”

Alyosha almost laughed at the half-threat – that was, until he noticed the way the air shimmered around the fae. She was already gathering powerful magic, ready to attack.

Mirek knew guardians - he'd had to pass through their birthplace, the Sea of a Thousand Currents, on his pilgrimage after all. They were formidable and dedicated... If he could get one on board... Well, he held no illusions. The two of them couldn't make it out here, clanless, subsisting off fireflies.

“No, Lisbeth.” Mirek’s voice quivered with hope. “This is what we've been waiting for.”

A few weeks later, they had a hoard of kinds and a cave that was more borrowed than occupied. They were all young – or in Mirek's case, inexperienced – and they were still working it all out. Alyosha and Mirek were growing closer, but not yet mates. They were painfully aware that a triad of misfits did not make a clan.

Skywall found them like that – three kids in a cave playing at making their own family. If he'd been on his own he wouldn't have interfered – maybe advised them to move to the Arcanist's territory instead where things were kinder – but at that time he was accompanied by an imperial, Svetlana. She'd just seen her sister killed and something about these two tiny fae and a guardian trying to protect them spoke volumes to her.

At first, Skywall stayed because she did, because before she'd joined him he’d been alone and now he was used to her company, but then he began to see potential. Then it was another short break from his wanderings – until he saw Alyosha and Lisbeth single-handedly nonviolent trick a neighbouring clan out of their territory and hoard. Then, he knew he'd found something special. He began helping in earnest, teaching them all he knew and shaping the structure of a clan in its earliest stages.

The next member to join the clan was Adamska. He was ambitious like Alyosha – but not for power. He was looking for a physical challenge. His old clan had offered him no excitement, for it had been populous and life had been easy. But life solo gave him no joy; he was highly social and craved to contribute to something – to build something.

He hadn’t intended to stay long in the Wandering Contagion, it was dangerous for dragons like him. Only, when entering prime hunting territory he was shocked to find it seemingly unoccupied. He investigated and came across an eclectic “clan” – a plague guardian and fae, a lightning fae, an arcane pearlcatcher and an imperial. From then on he asked them their story – how did such a small group come together and to what end? How did they obtain this territory?

It wasn't long before they were all pushed out by a rival clan, they were to small to defend their gains. Adamska saw promise there, something he could nurture and protect, something in need of a competent fighter. He formed the groundrock of the army, with Svetlana lending him her competent healing magic.

They were still more family than clan. Life in the Wandering Contagion was tough, more so for the non-plague denizens, although none of them caught anything Svetlana couldn't cure. Although they excelled at acquiring territory they could never hold it, and frequently found themselves pushed into a tiny space between larger clans, struggling to survive. They were in such a place when they met Warren.

He was arcane, like Svetlana and Skywall, and he immediately offered the clan his assistance. The first attempt he made to rob them was met with a calm yet powerful Lisbeth taking him down. The second was a confrontation with Alyosha. A third never came – despite his anticipated attempts at theft they did not cast him out. In fact, Adamska began teaching him how to fight. It took longer than it should have (Warren's ridgeback body was vastly different from Adamska) but before long he became the second offensive member of the clan's army.
For months he rationalised staying in one place as integrating himself so he could pull off a heist – but the itinerant clan had very little they could carry from place to place and gave it all to him readily. They tolerated his urges to possess things and trusted him, gave him a place among them. Warren never left.

A group of six is hardly a clan. But their numbers slowly grew – adding the ex-bandit Spiegel to complete the military triad and others as Skywall came and went, bringing members. Their core was solid and grew, but they attracted many more lone dragons who would come by for refuge – lending their skills for a few weeks or months and then moving on. It was a long time before they had enough presence to lay eggs without risk, but when they did they found that as the hatchlings grew they often left. Their clan had become a home for wanderers, a group with a core large enough to make an impression, then the rest of the ranks swelled and diminished as time passed.