Seashell

Born among the gentle warmth of the Emberglow Hearth, Sandmelt felt no dissonance in his first few months of being. Speaking briefly of his days as an emberling, he spent his time catching salamanders, rough-housing with his brother, and watching other newly-hatched dragons play and prance among magma puddles. He surely kept more to himself than many other of his ilk, but the personal preference to be less sociable raised no questions at this time.

It wasn't until he had grown quite a bit, that an increasing restlessness would begin to take form within him.

Adolescence in the Ashfall Waste' means that you decide or in the least get a feel for your talent and craft. Whether it be mining or searching for ore's and minerals- smithing in the forges, or hammering metal into beautiful armor. Sandmelt felt at this point in his life that he was idly wasting time, and more prominently, that it was hard for him to get a feel for what he wanted to do. It wasn't that he thought the labor too intensive for himself, nor was it that he found his options uninteresting, but for a reason he could not clarify- the young dragon felt that choices he could make for his future belied something he would be much more proficient in. In an outsider's point of view, it was indecision and fear of turning in one's carefree days, for Sandmelt it was much more than that. It was not that there were so many choices, or that he wanted to laze about rather than work, but an itching thought that there was a larger purpose for his being than what he could do in the Ashfall Waste. It was a way of thinking that energized him, but also concerned him; he didn't know why he'd not gotten these thoughts before now, or why he couldn't see himself becoming an apprentice to his father like his sibling Goldforge. His home had suited his needs in every way, until now.

Expressing his problem was sensitive, he felt a great embarrassment rise within his chest when he tried to move his tongue on the topic. Even telling his brother, was a great challenge- he feared he would be seen as lesser for not knowing if he wanted to pursue the Flamecaller's cause. He had even more concerns about his father, a proud dragon who worked in close proximity to The Great Furnace. Fear took hold, and his personality suffered a great deal, he became more distracted- trying to keep his thoughts contained and pushed to the back of his mind. Even withdrawing from family- a move that greatly distressed his kin. The only thing driving him, was the possibility that perhaps he was just in some sort of "phase" that happened to some dragons around this time in their life.

This dream, was different then many he'd had before. It was the most clear and vivid he'd had. In it he was being pulled downwards by some mysterious force, going deeper and deeper into the bed of the Sea of a Thousand Currents. He heard whispers and murmurs of things from the past, the present, and things foretold.The pressure became immense as Sandmelt sank further. Even so, he felt at peace, there was nothing to be afraid of here. As the pressure became greater and greater, so did the wails, and bellows and murmurs until all at once all feelings of intense pressure and the ringing of voices stopped dead. The only noises that sounded were the push and pull of the ocean currents, and bubbles pouring periodically from something that could only be described as an impressively enormous sea shell. He landed hard on the sea floor in front of the immense structure. Visibility permitted only a pair of eyes, illuminated and blue, peering out of the opening of the conch and looking upon him. Sandmelt returned the gaze and astonishingly, the voices he'd previously heard- returned. However, it was as if they had all meshed into one thunderous, echoing, voice and made order of what had been many. It said to him "

His scales were forged by the Flamecaller, molded by melting sand into glass, but he imagined now his progression as something much more elegant. Perhaps best illustrated by something sharp and jagged like glass becoming smooth and beautiful in the Tidelord's waters, embedded in the sand while waves wash over it. Like a spiral seashell made of sea glass, getting that wonderful smooth but sandy texture over time.

The laughing of gulls in the distance woke him the next morning. He continued his journey full of new confidence to the Tsunami Flats. From this day forth, he no longer would be called Sandmelt, but something more befitting of who he was now: Seashell.