Smith was born on the clan's territory to two visitors passing through. The clan is divided on whether he should be kicked out or drafted to battle in their war with the Waterway. A tense trade relationship has been set up between the Clan and Smith, who just wants to tend to his apple orchard in peace.

He is but a humble farmer tending to his crops - just leave him alone, Commander, he ain't no soldier

---

For miles around Ghostlight, the land has been barren for centuries. It is a land where nothing grows but hungry Beasts and vague feelings of sorrow.

But in a little corner of the Clan's territory, where barren land begins to merge with the distant greens, one may stumble across a field of lush trees and grass. This is where I make my home, vigilantly caring for my grove of apple trees. I dug the furrows myself to the river, allowing water to flow to my land. I raised my trees from saplings, through years of trial and error and adjustments to my irrigation. I have diligently cared for my apple trees for so long that my magic has begun to alter to reflect this. When once I was only Light, there is now Nature, though it seems to only affect apple trees.

The only contribution to my orchard not made by me is that of Appleseed, a small dog who takes care of the gopher infestations that occasionally plague my land.

I was born within the Clan's borders to two travelers passing through. I was not born into the clan's war, and thus I feel I have nothing to contribute to it. Though many of the clan disapprove of my apathy towards their struggle, I must sympathize more with the Dwellers of the Waterway than the Clan Vibrant. At least the Clan is free to roam - or to leave Ghostlight if they choose.

This is neither here nor there. I am not here to discuss politics. I simply want to tend to my grove. Perhaps one day the Clan will leave me be. I would certainly not disapprove should they decide to give up on their plans to recruit me into their battle.

That's not to say that I wouldn't mind a visit once in a while. It's not often anyone ever comes over for pie and cider or a chat. But alas, I must as always make that trek to the city. I have apples to sell, after all.

And if a few apples should go unaccounted for or fall into the grates to the Waterway... well, I ought to survive the loss of a few coins.

---

---

A yawning cavern stooped over the form of a vibrantly-colored Skydancer, dwarfed in size by two equally-vivid Imperial dragons. The two shot glares at one another over the head of their leader as she gazed warily into the darkness. Just before either could bare its teeth at the other, the Skydancer spoke.

"Smith," she began, eyes still on the emptiness before her, "you know why Clan Vibrant finds itself here today."

The red-and-green imperial shifted his gaze away from the other to glance at the dragon who'd allowed him to live on his farm for so long. Although, he thought somewhat bitterly, that may change very soon.

After a moment of silence, Smith realized she was waiting for him to respond. "Yes, Cempasuchil," he said quietly. "I know what you intend to do to end this war."

"Is this war?" The skydancer finally turned her gaze to the apple farmer. "If one side is comprised of beings, and the other of beasts, can it be called war?"

The other imperial scoffed. "This is an extermination, encroacher," he said with a sneer at Smith. "You wouldn't go to war with insects, but you'd stamp out the wasp's nest."

Smith bristled. "And you would know pests, wouldn't you, Tinctorius?" he spat the name like venom.

"Enough, both of you," snapped Cempasuchil, her patience with the two waning. "Smith, I know you have your opinions about these creatures and how you feel order should be kept, but I must put the safety of my people above the personal feelings of a single dragon who was not raised into our history." She turned back to the cavernous entryway, shoulders squared.

"Cempasuchil, please-" Smith took a step forward, flinching back at the warning snarl of Tinctorius.

"Not another step, encroacher," the other imperial hissed as his patience for the rogue snapped. His teeth clacked sharply by the farmer's ear as he warned him back.

Smith stepped back, ears pinned to his skull. He glanced from the dark, hateful eyes of the larger dragon before him to the furry back of the dragon he'd previously come to see as a sort of friend. He'd been silent for far, far too long to simply leave this.

"...Please, Cempasuchil. This won't bring peace. Open your eyes to them. I'm begging you, if nothing else, just look at them, and tell me they're-" the farmer's words were cut off by a vicious club to the side of the head. He stumbled sideways, forced to his knees by the blow, and glanced up with blurry vision to the blue-and-violet swirling patterns of Tinctorius, turned away from him to the blurry blueish form of Cempasuchil.

"...nctorius!" she was snarling when he regained his wits. "If you can't control your temper you can wait in Ghostlight with the families."

"What need do I have to control my temper when we're about to end these monsters for good?" The high-society pomp was evident in his snide remark.

The leader did not respond, her tired glare morphing into something like thoughtfulness when it fell upon Smith, still crouched over the stone ground. Then she turned away, taking her first steps towards the end.

"Call for the rest," she commanded the smug zealot over her shoulder. "One way or another, this ends today."