Risk

I hardly even remember when Risk joined the clan. one day, we were preparing to investigate some strange surge occurrence near the generators. I overheard our clan leader grumbling about an insurgent guide. I assume that was in reference to her, as the next day, a creature thrice my size was perched comfortably in the dining hall, poised over a veritable cartload of fish. Every time she blinked, sparks cascaded, singing her meal, and ripples of electricity danced around her horns. Dust, her conversation partner, seemed bizarrely ambivalent to the phenomenon, I marveled for s while at the bizzare phenomenon, then quietly finished my meal and left. That may not have been the day she joined; we are quite often graced by the company of visitors, even as well hidden as we are. Sometimes they’re gracious travelers on the way to serve the stormcatcher, other times contractors or hired help, a relative or friend of one of our members.
Point is, I’m used to seeing strange dragons come and go, and gave the storm-eyed ridgeback no more than a passing thought until nearly the end of the proceeding month, by which time, as I watched a Risk sidle briskly into the mess hall followed by her well-groomed chipskink for the umpteenth time, I finally realized that whether by design or negligence, we had a new clan member.
I snapped my beak shut on a groan, and, dragging my heavy, gembond-studded wings, began to slowly make my way in search of writing supplies.
———————-
Unsurprisingly. She had found a nook at the highest elevation our complex allowed: a niche dug out inside the hollowed bulk of an upright finger of stone just barely large enough for a ridgeback.
The lair allowed for an impeccable view of the generators. Their crackling and wheezing was When I gently knocked on the rim of her doorway she twisted around as if startled, her eyes looked wild and sharp, her dagger like spines rose so abruptly that I nearly stumbled back. then she grinned in recognition, her spines lowered.
“Why,” She crowed, “If it isn’t our resident biographer. Mordred, I believe?)
“You’ve heard of me?” I inquired absently, still a little shocked, and preoccupied with moving an armload of quills and parchment through the pelt-lined doorway.
“I was warned of you by nearly everyone.” She guffawed. Perhaps in any other dragon, even of a breed, it would’ve been a more reserved laugh, but her voice was deep, she was expressive, and her strange, pupils-less eyes cascaded crackling sparks enough that I couldn’t help but be a tad intimidated.
I tend to translate intimidating laughter into guffaws.
“It hardly bears being warned against,” I said. “I’m only here as a matter of public record that others will access and read to understand you better. Whatever you say is what the clan will know of you.”
“I’m only ribbin’” she chuckled, and moved to offer me a more comfortable seat beside a violently crackling electric hearth.
I shuffled in, with my eyes on her curiously glowing claws, with which she graciously gestured that I may begin. “What is it that you wish to know?”