Stark

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Outside, the winds howled. Stark lifted his head from the forge he had been staring down, warm and lively – a stark contrast to the cold and slumbering life that existed outside his clan’s lair. Stark tossed a handful of ingots into the grand forge – smelting a necessary component for his latest project. The blizzard outside cooled his forge slightly. The cooling was not enough to impede his work, but enough to lengthen the time that the metals took to melt. Gold may be a malleable metal, but melted metal was easier to work with and thus Stark set the smelter in the coals, tossing some aside to nestle it deep in the forge. This would take at least an hour, he realized, turning his head to the doorway.

Slowly, he raised himself from his sitting position at his forge, making his way out of the smithy and down the long hallway to the lair’s entrance. A small group of hatchlings huddled at the threshold, their parents no doubt having told them not to venture out in the storm. They spotted Stark long after he spotted them, a mutual enmity crossing everyone’s face. He stepped past them, and out into the cold, winter blizzard. Snows crunched beneath his feet as he leapt into the sky.

Upon reaching his favored cliff, Stark landed gracefully, his great wings staying unfurled to take in the winds. His mane whipped around his snout and he turned northward. The snow dulled visibility, but Stark knew that on clear days the Ashfall Waste could be seen from here. Often, gargantuan plumes of smoke rose from the Great Furnace. He knew from his time there that the bigger forging projects always made for bigger plumes. Stark took a moment to reflect on this. Despite his love for his clan and residence among ice and snow, Stark was born in the heart of fire.

The blood of a forger pumped through his veins, and a young Stark became a gifted smith early in his life. He created dozens of armor sets during his time as a hatchling; he had always been especially proud of the first as well as three other, especially well-made sets. His parents were unimpressed. His father had been a well-known smith, sought after far and wide for his skill in armory. As such, Aulon was absent in his son’s life. Hippolyta, too, never spent much time with her son. The rare instances that Stark saw his parents were full to the brim with excuses for their absence and criticisms of their son’s work.

All his time growing up, Stark wanted to hear praise from his parents. The few that he knew and interacted with during this time were quick to note that Stark showed more potential than even Aulon had at the same age. They promised a career even more fulfilling than his. Partially to fulfil this promise and partially to escape the crushing weight he felt in regard to his parents, Stark left his birth-clan. He wandered the Ashfall Waste for some time, hopping from cave to cave, lava tube to lava tube.

It was not long before a particularly bad ash storm saw Stark accidentally veering south. Blinded and disoriented, Stark kept flying. When the ash and soot finally cleared, Stark could make out the distant northern shore of the Southern Icefield. He nearly crashed into the first snowbank he saw, exhausted from his dangerous trek across the channel. It was a nearby Ice clan that found him, huddled and shivering under a long-dead tree. They took Stark back to their lair, offering food and warmth for the Imperial in his time of need.

Grateful for the hospitality, Stark decided to stay for a time. Members of the clan seemed particularly interested in the armor that he donned and were ever inquisitive of how he managed to forge such amazing works of art, practical yet beautiful. For the first time in his life, Stark felt as though his work was being appreciated. It took only a few months before Stark started calling the clan his, and they started calling Stark a fellow member. Around dragons who he felt as though he genuinely cared about, Stark’s personality came to light. Sarcastic and witty, Stark is a genius with a love of pushing buttons and boasting of his accomplishments. Even though he can be a bit arrogant and more than a bit prideful, Stark has shown again and again his great amount of compassion and loyalty for the clan that took him in during his time of need.

Now, as he sits atop his favorite peak, Stark finds serenity and happiness in his new life. The Ice dragons are nothing like the Fire dragons of his homeland, but his family nonetheless. They allowed for him to carve out space for his own forge deep in the lair, a private place to work on his blacksmithing. The induction of such a talented blacksmith has been beneficial for his clan, which now has someone to create powerful weapons and humble nails and bolts alike. He breathed a sigh of content, snow whipping past him on the harsh winds. This was the weather he loved. It was a storm that brought him to his new home, and it was the storm in his heart that kept him.