Smolderhearth

Age: ~150 Mate: Azarani Role: Probationary member Alignment: True Neutral

"I'm so proud of you," Azarani whispered into Smolderhearth's ear. The coatl shuffled his wings bashfully, then carefully readjusted his clothing; he was dressed his best today, in his finest coat and vest, tricorne cocked perfectly, and his sabre and spurs polished up to a mirror shine. It still in many ways didn't feel real.

Hearth stepped away from Azarani, giving one last look to his truest friend and mentor, and strode to take his place on the crystal dais in the centre of the chamber. The flock--his flock--the entire extended Waypoint stood fanned out in front of him, a menagerie of colours and sizes, scales and feathers and fur. A bubble of sheer joy rose in Hearth's chest, and he couldn't help but let out a fluttery laugh.

Oh, how time changed everything.

When he had first stepped into the Lunar Chamber, so many years ago, it had loomed impossibly dark and imposing over him. His dread echoed against its unforgiving stone walls and the strange, starry void of its ceiling taunted him from above. He had cowered before them, the dragons who would become his flock, and begged for a chance...

Hearth silently thanked the deities that the Waypoint gave him that chance. His gaze passed over each of their faces, then up the intricately carved stone walls to reach the unlit ceiling of the cavern, that glittered and pulsed with the light of thousands of tiny glow-worms. It was a captivatingly beautiful sight. How had he ever been afraid before?

Midnightsun stepped out to stand beside him, her full regalia draped in shimmering waves over her, and she raised her wings high to call for silence.

"Dragons of the Waypoint, allies and oath-takers, bear witness! This one before you wishes to take the Oath, to become servant of this refuge and this world. But before, we must find him worthy." The mirror's wings folded against her side with an air of finality.

The coatl could feel his tail twitching. The old anxiety was coming back as he stood there, frozen, staring into the expectant faces of his flock. The bubble of joy shriveled and was replaced by pinpricks of shame, and Hearth fought to keep from cringing in on himself. Where was his voice?

There in the crowd, he saw a small flurry of movement. Azarani scurried his way to the front, and the skydancer looked at him with an expression of such trust and encouragement that Hearth's fear started to drip away.

"I, Smolderhearth," he began, almost jumping at the sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat, and tried again:


Silence.

A shuffle here or there, the quietest whispers that might've been mistaken for wind had they not been in a cave.

More silence. The pinpricks were back, and this time Hearth couldn't stop from trembling where he stood.

Ashsong moved to stand by his side, opposite Midnightsun, head held high. "I speak on behalf of the Waypoint when I judge Smolderhearth worthy to join our ranks. May he now step forward to be honoured as a true flock-brother!"

Flock-brother...

Tears of happiness prickled in Hearth's eyes.

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Alt Titles: South Sea Marauder, Sky-Fury, World-Burner Art by me


Adopt by me