Ramach

Mephala hadn't heard from her parents in many, many seasons. Not since she was scarce more than a hatchling herself, not since she was shunned from her birth clan as cursed by her lack of a voice. It was after one of Bard's particularly poignant performances of the Ballad of the White-Gold Feather, a tale of familial love and how its bonds could be strong enough to stand the test of time and impossible distance, how family would never give up on one another, even when all else fell away- that she started to think longingly of the family she'd not seen in so many years. In a reckless moment of teary recollections, still flying high on emotions with the song ringing in her ears, she wrote a letter, and handed it to Sparrow the messenger-dragon before she had time to reconsider.

In the old smith Warforge's favourite words; 'Err in haste, repent at leisure'.
And by the Glademother, did she repent. Scarce had she opened her eyes the next day before she panicked, searched the clan, but Sparrow the fleet was already long gone. Mephala even tried, in an act of desperation, sending Goldentop- with a very hastily written message of explanation- to catch up with the fleet-footed messenger, or even to steal the damned letter before it reached its target. All she got back was an exhausted and haggard-looking Goldentop, reappearing in her nest with a pop and a few sad sparkles, to flop down on a branch, gasping for breath and trailing sweat. "Have you, ANY, idea, how hard, it is, to catch a running-" Goldentop breathed hard for a few seconds, flailed a hand dramatically and finished- "Sparrow. Bleedin' eck, I tried... but sorry... NO chance. Why'd ya even post it if you didn't want it sent?"
Mephala gestured, with a brevity and clarity that was unmistakeable, that she had suffered a moment of temporary insanity- then she burst into tears, thrust a pillow over her head and refused to leave her bed the rest of the day.

In the weeks that followed, Mephala dreaded every sight of a messenger-dragon. She hesitated at every announcement of a new arrival at the clan. Finally, late one evening, she spied Sparrow returning, haggard and weary from travel. Mephala scrambled and hid in her nest high in the Heart Oak, refusing to answer to repeated shouts of her name- even as others took up the call, and a few went to go search for her. Her heart ached at the deception, but she could no more move her limbs to climb down, than she could summon her nonexistant voice to call out in reply. She strained her ears to listen as Sparrow found Raziya, the postmaster general, and they had a hasty discussion, before they both left. The calls for Mephala died down, evening fell, and Mephala had almost relaxed when Goldentop magically appeared beside her with a pop and sparkles that made her jump. "Gotcha!" Goldentop took a deep breath, eyes glittering triumphantly and started to shout- "I FOU-"
Before Mephala's hands whipped out and clapped around the fae's entire head. It's not easy to muffle a fae politely, but she endeavored to. Once the mumbling quietened, she opened her hands slowly, shaking her head firmly at the furious-looking Fae's shadowed eyes. Then she let go, slowly, and the gold fae wriggled free.

"Jeez, Meph!! Heavy tactics much, no need to dragonhandle me like that!" Goldentop straightened her garb irritably. Mephala tried to look contrite, but still stern.
"Dint mean to blow yer cover- you badly need lessons in hidin' proper-like." That was as close to an apology as she was likely to get from the offended way her frills were standing on end. Goldentop looked the Pearlcatcher up and down, measuring, and her sharp teeth flashed in a brief grin;
"What's got you as cagey as a snapper-in-a-box? You've gone blue. I mean, purple. Gray? Whatevs, jus' yer basic blood-chillin' terror kinda shade." Goldentop sniffed, and settled on a branch, a bit miffed but this was secondary importance to genuine concern for her best friend.
"C'mon, talk to me." She shrugged off Mephala's longsuffering expression- "Manner 'o speaking o'course."
Mephala signed hastily about the letter, and Sparrow, and Goldentop made a disgusted noise; "Urgh, yeah. That time. You don't 'alf ask for favours that are damn impossible, Songbird. I swear, the number of times I was THIS near trod on-"
Goldentop stopped, understanding at last. "OH, so you're dodgin' the reply, that it? Don't even wanna hear what they have to say to ya?"
Mephala shook her head with absolute finality.
"What 'bout just the word on the street then?" The fae rattled on, heedless. "I've got ears, me. I knows plenty more than they'd reckon." Goldentop looked smug; "Like, your old clan's not in Shadow anymore. Moved on, they says. Nature now, but your actual folks're just back from an Arcane lair, magic fair dripping from the stones in the place, 'nuff to make yer claws itch."
Mephala gave her a quizzical look, partly disbelieving, and Goldentop shrugged irritably. "Fell asleep in the delivery cake boxes again, didn' I? Woke up while they was talking. I swear that Marshmallow keeps puttin' sleeping powder in the top boxes to hope I drop off afore I get to his main event.... Anyhow," Goldentop's expression turned cunning; "Saaa-y, I could go and sneak a peek in the crate what the clankin' giant postmaster's carrying back. Whaddya reckon?"
Crate? CRATE?! Mephala signed carefully for clarification.
"Yep," Goldentop nodded smugly. "So, what about it?"
Mephala started to sign a reply, when a noise from below startled her. Bugles to signal an arrival, and in answer a flurry of dragons standing up to preen, or making themselves look busy. The snapper post-dragons arrived, carrying something between them. It was huge, had important-looking stickers on it, and was triple-chained shut. With spelled padlocks.
"Phwoar. That looks... expensive." Goldentop's voice was full of awe, her eyes wide as saucers, scuttling to the edge of the branches and peering down intently, frills flattened like a cat's ears, about to pounce. "Reckon it's a bunch of treasure so say sorry for bein' so unforgiveably rude, do ya? Backpayments on pocket money? Nothing says sorry like a pile of gems- and boy, does that look heavy."
Mephala looked. The two dragons were straining, but not upwards- it was as if they were trying to keep the crate steady, but it had a life of its own.
Then she realized, the crate had air holes.
"Kay-kay, I'll be two blinks-" Goldentop breathed in a rush, and before Mephala could gesture a warning, there was the pop and sparkle of vanishment and she was waving at empty air. Mephala leaned as far forward as she could, straining for sight or sound of what was happening, heart in her mouth.

There was a terrifying shriek from inside the box, and Raziya and Sparrow lost their grip, dropping it hard on the ground. It shook, roared- mad scratching noises, tearing wood, and screaming and baying voices echoed from the inside. Mephala leapt from the Heart Oak, threw herself at the box, scrabbling madly at the locks- other dragons had already rushed forward, shouting was all around for more guards and urging others to get back- strong, unrelenting hands gripped her arms, pulled her away, she tried to shout at them to let her go, that Goldentop was in there, but she couldn't make a sound. She cursed them all in her voiceless terror and anger, and struggled futilely. Guards levelled weapons at the crate, a wide perimeter was made, and Tara and some other mages rushed about madly, drawing a hex circle in dust around the pulsating, now almost glowing, crate. Light seared out from the cracks in the wood, the breathing holes bled forth magical smoke, and the locks were white-hot with magic keeping it caged.
Mephala started to weep, terrified and desperate- a pop and spattering of glitter in the dust in front of her was suddenly the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen-
"Medic!" Goldentop shrieked, writhing and dishevelled- "I'm dying here! Get Chimera! Get Cynnfor! Get everybody-!!"
The golden Healer, already there, raised an elegantly gloved hand, and a warm sphere of light surrounded the tiny fae, lifting it up and turning it for inspection, suspended in the air. "You're fine," The well-spoken Imperial lady inclined her head, smiling. "Barely a scratch. Stop wailing, you're not going to die."
Mephala was released, slowly, but made no move toward the box. Goldentop was alive, she finally remembered to breathe, and felt the tears well up again, this time in relief. She craned her neck to see, wringing her hands- there was indeed a scratch, on the fae's left wing, but it wasn't deep- more like a cat had swiped it out of the air with a lazy paw, but no fatal bite had descended.
"That'll teach you for teleporting before looking," Raziya the postmaster scolded her. "Stay out of my parcels, scoundrel!"
"Shut it, robo-wings. I'm barely not dyin', here. Lil' bit o' sympathy wouldn't go amiss-"
"Oh, jubilations, the rogue's not dead. I'll bake a cake." Ember the wildclaw remarked sarcastically, and Goldentop stuck out a tongue while her body was lowered back down slowly, safely, to the foot of the Oak.
A massive thump behind them made people turn, as Mal landed clumsily, rushing forward and almost stepping on other dragons in his haste- he fell to his knees and scooped up the haggard-looking Fae from the ground. "My Queen! Don't leave me, my love!"
His massive hands shook as he raised the fallen Goldentop up close and nuzzled her intensely. "Speak to me!"
"Awwww, stahp it, ya big softie, you're gettin' me soaked in tears-" Goldentop was muffled, but blushed furiously when she was released. Her glare dared anyone to comment, but she snuggled him back.

The magic was slowly subsiding, the box settling again. The mages encircling it had finished their work, and some were chanting incantations softly in the background, or consulting a variety of instruments, making readings and remarking at them. Tara, the curse-breaker, was scrambling through her pile of books, thumbing hastily for something she'd half-remembered in a particularly ancient volume almost as big as her. The guards milled around anxiously, weapons at the ready, and parents had already filed out of the meadow with their children closely in tow, headed for a safer distance. The leaders had been summoned together, and were arguing about whether to even open the box, or take it away to be incinerated at a safe distance.
"Lemme up, I've gotta tell Mephala something." Mal relented, but only insofar as he bodily carried his beloved wounded pirate queen in both hands, holding her up and ahead of him like some precious idol of a deity. Normally, Mephala would have smiled at the sight, but she was still heartsick with worry.
"Yep, sorry, but reckon they still hate you."
"What's all this? Someone's got it in for our Nightingale?" Bard had just returned, pushing his way through the guards and frowning like thunder. It was a rare thing, seeing him genuinely furious, and even the other leaders shied back at that glare.
"It’s a trap. There’s a monster in there. And it's got 'To Mephala' written all over it."
Bard bustled forward to interrogate the guilty-looking postal dragons, while Goldentop continued in a hushed voice to Mephala- "Sorry, Nightingale. Hate to be blunt, but reckon your folks either 'ave a dodgy sense of humor or else they're nutters. I mean, it's a pretty decent 'trick or treat', but well early for Halloween. Not much of a present, is it though? Roaring clawed monster, all dressed up in a box like a fancy gift but it'll kill you soon as open it."
Bard returned, a scroll in his outstretched claw. "It came with a missive," Bard remarked; "Sealed, addressed to you. At least that isn't dangerous, I had Paladin check it carefully." Mephala flickered a look at the young knight, meditating in front of the crate, eyes closed. He looked for all the world as though he was asleep, but she knew he was scanning the box for shade influences, or worse. Tara was chattering excitedly, gesturing at something in her book to the other mages, who seemed in heated argument. She tried to express her emotions to Bard in signs, but could barely find where to start- the old Tundra
"Just remember," Bard reassured her with a nudge, "We're all your family too. You have people who love you, far and wide. Now go on, be brave."
Finally, cautiously, Mephala took the scroll from Bard, and opened it with shaking fingers.


(lore WIP moment)
The words; 'don't tell anyone. He's not really alive. Never was.

"He's silent, like you..." Goldentop read over her shoulder.

The fae shrugged, unrepentant, at Mephala's cross expression, and continued to scoff- "Silent? i don't call that SILENT! I call it rampaging wild crazy, but not silent. What, didn't it start growling until after it grew up?! Or didn't they bother talking to it afore then?" She snorted and shook her tiny golden head; "No wonder it's become a mad beast, keepin' it locked up in a box like that."


Goldentop continued to complain, loudly, to no one in particular.
"I mean, what sort of people send a monster by mail? That's just irresponsible, that is."
She threw a glare at a sniggering guard and raised her voice- "Sure I know what irresponsible means. Been called it enough. What about 'reckless endangerment' and 'neglect of duty', hmm? Wonder what Solus is gonna think when he hears about how a monster got through the guards without getting stopped at customs, eh! EH?!" The poor jouvenile started to look a bit white around the gills, realizing the truth, and belatedly started to back away- "Cos I can name names, kid! Think you'll be sniggering then?" The youngster tripped over a tree root, righted himself, dropped his sword and picked it up again, then hastily scrambled along the meadow's border wall and disappeared out of sight. Goldentop buffed her claws on her boyfriend's pirate king tricorn hat, and admired her reflection in them, grinning from ear to ear.
"Yep, still got it."

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Christmas Obsession fuelled by Secret Santa art