Hearth

Hearth is the oldest of his siblings, but no less beautiful than the others. Where his sister is soft warmth and his brother is burning anger, Hearth is ice cold.

As the eldest he took it upon himself to be the protector of his siblings, distracting their would-be abusers with less than pleasant fashions. He has quite literally given up everything to try and keep his siblings safe, growing cold and aloof in his attempts to keep himself together and not rely on anyone else. His supposed indifference leads to many bloody fights with his brother.

After Firestorm crossed the king one too many times, he was ordered to have his tongue cut from his mouth. Hearth secretly stepped in and took the punishment and sentenced himself to eternal silence. He stood tall as he took the blade and comforted his weeping siblings even as his mouth filled with blood.



The triplets are beautiful. None before or since could match their beauty in the kingdom which they were born and so any teller of tales would be able to tell you that they were cursed to tragedy from the day they were born.

A king from a far off land heard of the three fire beauties and trekked to pay his respects, to pay...for them. He took no refusal for an answer, he came back day after day, his gifts becoming more and more extravagant until finally he had enough of their denials. The king had his men raze the village to the ground and simply took the triplets as his prize.

For years he kept them in his castle, locked away from the world. He was cruel, with a temper and a lecherous heart and while their beauty did not fade, the souls of the three siblings dimmed with each passing season as they were forced to dance. Time and again, they fought back and time and again their were brought low.

Firestorm, temper as hot as his name was often dragged away to be beaten, his legs permanently shattered beyond repair.

Ember, with her lovely Sweetheart claw gained more and more scars as time passed as she watched her brothers take the weight of the cruelty.

Hearth, ever warm to his siblings, was cold to the core. He stood tall and elegant with his crown of horns as he distracted the king, turned blows his way and eyes away from his sister. He bore it all in eternal frigid silence, his tongue long removed from his mouth.

---

The king held a banquet every year, inviting all to see his riches, his prizes. In the thirteenth year of their captivity, the triplets danced more violently than ever before. They threw their sorrow, their rage and spirit into their moves as they spun and tumbled for the king's guests.

During the entire night performance, a small and soft-looking Wildclaw watched them unblinkingly, his giant companion of an Imperial leaning close and nodding every so often though the Wildclaw never spoke a word.

At the end of the night, the pale Wildclaw approached the king, standing before the rest of the hall and dropped a bag of coins at the base of the throne's stairs. The king watched for a moment, confused and then insulted. How dare this new creature offer mere trinkets for his jewels, it showed that the Wildclaw was a pauper in new money for his insolence. He raged at the smaller dragon, taking a step forward before he stumbled with a look of surprise upon his face. He reached for his neck and fell dead at the Wildclaw's feet as his Imperial companion stepped forward with a a smirk and claws still bloodied.

"How rude." Ikol laughed.

The smaller dragon ignored the larger and stepped up to the triplets, as other kings and nobles screamed around them in horror.

The Wildclaw didn't say a word, but they heard him all the same.