Vita

The dragons who came from the Fortress of Ends spoke of a terrible storm, one that stole the breath from even the strongest of warriors, that would freeze the wings off smaller drakes. None could fly through it and see from whence it came--and those who managed to return knew it had to come from somewhere, as no normal storm would stay so strong, so still.

Vita was not concerned about the stories. He had heard more than a few tales of terror and fright from newly minted warriors, still damp in the scales of their wings from the egg. They had not known true pain, true panic. They had not flown through the tempests he had seen the Stormcatcher make, the ones that had driven him to the ground in agony, the ones that had struck him and pushed him to find his own way through the lightning. He'd found an artisan who lived on the edge between the Ashwall Waste and the Shifting Expanse, and they had been able to fashion him a set of voltaic stormclaws, and with them he flew with the swiftness of the storm itself.

But a storm of ice...this was new. This was something he was eager to try.

He had no true clan, not anymore. He hadn't truly felt a call to a clan since he was a hatchling. Perhaps he would find something new among the ice. The woods had not been a place of solace in too long.

---

Through the ice and hail he flew, climbed, struggled, but never stopped. He would not let those who came before him have the final say. He would find his way through the storm and find out what was at the other end.

And when the maelstrom finally calmed...there was nothing.

Vita wasn't sure what to make of it. He had always assumed that there would be a great kingdom, or clan, or who knew, maybe an Emperor on the far side of the storm. He was a drake o action, of strength, of power that knew the touch of too many of the gods.

But to be faced with nothing...

It was some time before the first dragon found him, sitting with his wings still mantled, waiting for the fight that wasn't coming. They ushered him in, let him warm himself, commended him on coming through the storm, when so many would not have made the effort.

Who is your clan? Where have you come from?

Who was his clan, indeed. He had to think to himself--what had this journey been for? Simply to see what lay beyond the icy wind? To prove to the others that it was possible? But what would he have had to show for it? What would they care that he had been there and back again...if he had no way to prove that he was telling the truth?

Why had he come?

There aren't many of your skills we've seen come through. If you need a den to call home...

The soft words of the fae who had greeted him, the strength of duty and honor of the paired tundras who headed the clan... He found himself glad to stay as their storm knight, helping to keep their clan safe from the others, turning the fierce ice storm into a true terror of a thundersnow. He still often keeps to himself, quiet and reserved, but seeing why such precautions have been taken to keep the clan safe, Vita knows that only the worthy should be able to weather the storm and find their way to Maroke.

And he remains thankful that he was found worthy.

Recently, a youngling who somehow made it through the storm on foot and on her own had arrived at the clan's lair. He didn't know how she managed this feat, but he had great respect for the tiny hatchling. When he heard Sythlar took the youngling on as her personal student, he knew this was no ordinary dragon and after confronting Sythlar about the matter, he was assigned to be the little creature's guardian. A role he took up out of respect for both Sythlar and the little dragon called Janka.

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