Plans

Flamecaller Terracotta Figure

Trinkets

A clay likeness of the Flamecaller that was fired in the Great Furnace. It still maintains a smolder.

105

About/Personality
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Story
Life brought the hammer down upon the anvil in a rhythmic pattern of clangs and clanks. Heat rippled off the top in waves of shimmering distortion, the metal beneath her tool glowing in a white-hot light. A heavy layer of black soot had built up on the scales and claws of her hands, but it was left ignored in the intensity of her concentration. Hammer, flatten, fold, heat- a pattern that formed an almost dance-like sequence of steps. An intricate whirl of activity, made fluid by practice and the need to stave off any real thoughts.

She would have continued as such for hours, absorbed in her work and need to forget the day, had a wind not gusted through the forge. Her hand stopped mid-strike, the hammer still raised above its target. The warm breeze swirled about her, gently caressing her wings, horns, snout... A faint flurry of sounds flitted by her ears, as if from some far-off locale, or perhaps she had imagined the ringing of another, smaller hammer, the hearty chuckle, the tinkling of chimes? As the wind made a final swirl, and disappeared back out the shutters of the forge, she slowly lowered the hammer, setting it on the forge. Her eyes began to tear up, though it had nothing to do with the soot and smell of iron in the air.

She closed her eyes as the suppressed memories bubbled up unbidden, brought by this sudden wind. Herself, as a young hatchling, with her brother, playing together. Inseperable, the two did everything- sleep, fight... apprentice even. As a pair they signed on to learn the art of blacksmithing under a well-known fire master. For most of their childhood they worked in tandem to build small items- buckets, tongs, wind chimes. Always working together; applying themselves to the utmost. Once they grew into adulthood, they graduated from their apprenticeship and traveled over the border to Wind Territory. She could picture it so clearly- her apprehension at the move; his reassuring words that it was a good plan. Fire was a turbulent place right now with all the uprisings and riots; Wind needed more smiths what with all the traders and craftsman that moved through the area. It was foolproof. And it was at first. They found work without issue. They settled in; made connections; forged and crafted around the clock; became at home.... even felt a sense of pride for their new territory. Maybe that had even been the problem.

A pang of bitterness rose up as she remembered the day he had brought the battered poster home- a call for volunteers to join the Windsinger's ranks. All trades and skill levels needed. His brilliant orange eyes had shown with excitement- just think of it! Blacksmithing for a deity! The honor! ...but she had bit her lip at his joy. She knew that she could never dedicate her life to such a calling. She wanted this; needed this mundane life and rhythm as much as she needed her craft and tools... as much as she needed her brother. But she just couldn't bring herself to ruin his enthusiasm. She held her tongue, and he in his excitement did not notice the quiet way she buried herself in her work the next few days, waiting for the date on the scroll.

Tears started to fall once more as she remembered what happened earlier that horrid day- the day of exaltation. He so much wanted the both of them to go; to stay together as they had for their entire lives. She couldn't. The pain of saying 'no', of stepping back renewed all over again, mixing old tears and new. The brief pang of hurt had crossed his face. Yet still he had told her he loved her; had gifted her the delicate set of chimes he had crafted with her as a child. Had warmly hugged her and said that he understood her decision, though he had hoped that she would have decided differently. He had boldly set forth to the exalt platform with the other kites. Forlornly, she had followed at a distance. Her eyes traced his every movement- greeting the regiment leader. Handing over the letter of exaltation.

...his body, almost as if in slow motion, disappearing before her very eyes. It was as if his entire body was collapsing from the edges inward- more substantial than just turning invisible, but also not exactly something she could describe or pin down. She wasn't sure if she had called his name aloud or not- but it had felt as if every scale of her body was screaming it. A mass of swirling wind had whisked around her, warm, familiar, and yet still intangible. Through the tears and snot streaming down her snout, she could have sworn she heard his voice, as if from a great distance away. "Don't cry," it seemed to say.

And now that same wind had whisked through the forge, renewing this pain from earlier in the day. For a moment she paused by the anvil, overcome with emotion. Her empty claws flexed, almost searching for the comfort of her hammer.... or perhaps her brother's touch. In a flash, she darted outside, abandoning the still-heated iron on the anvil. The wind was still gusting between buildings, shutters rattling and tree branches swaying. She took to the air, chasing after it in a mad frenzy. She powered her wings, uncaring of others sharing the lower skies with her, pushing them out of the way or simply barreling past, knocking them spinning. All that mattered was keeping the gust of wind within sight. Not an easy task, but it finally seemed to swirl into a mild eddy about an old airship dock in the side of an abandoned gorge. She landed on the dock, and the breeze- much smaller now- twined through her horns before falling still, the windchime attached to her antlers tinkling faintly.

Perplexed, she stepped along the dock towards the doorway within the cliff face it was attached to. Within the dim interior of the room, she picked out the dancing of flames, the smell of iron, and the ring of a hammer on an anvil. Her claws continued to step carefully into this forge, mildly in shock of being led to another smithy by the wind. Suddenly, a brilliant shape moved away from the main body of fire at the forge, and she realized that it was a golden, crystaline tundra, brightness from the fires dancing off his reflective fur. He looked up from his work, his warm orange eyes blinking at the light from the dock entrance. "Hello there, may I help you?" Her gaze travelled over the piece of brass he was currently working with; on the large, partially built bell that he was crafting.

"I-I believe you might.... I don't suppose that you are looking for a smithing partner?"

A smile even warmer than his eyes filled his face. "Indeed I am, Miss." His eyes flitted over the soot on her claws, the windchime attached to her horn, and the surprising orange intensity of her eyes. "It would be a pleasure to work with you."

Unhatched Fire Egg

Dragon Eggs

A smoldering, unhatched fire egg. It is almost too hot to hold and is rocking back and forth constantly. Its cragged surface is pulsing with embers.

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