Venin

(Venom rune rep)

Fathoms...leagues...miles.

There was power behind the meaning of a name, and he wished that his own could have conveyed mystery or cleverness instead of being a reflection of how isolated and lonely he was. Being adopted into a clan of thieves wasn't all that it was cut out to be, especially when you were a Ridgeback and everyone else were Nocturnes. Compared to their slender and streamlined forms, even the most agile of the other species would look like bumbling buffoons and he with his clumsy size and ungainly spines fared worst of all. It seemed that even the slightest of movements could result in him being hopelessly tangled in thorny brambles. His coloring did not help either as he stood starkly out in the dim blues and rich purples that swathed the Shadowbinder's domain.

"The Shadow-Mother herself couldn't create a shadow big enough to hide the likes of you." His adopted siblings would tease, and though he would swipe at them for their snide remarks, his irritation had eroded over the years. As the truth in their words became more evident after every failed heist or scheme, so too did his determination falter. It wasn't all bad. His surrogate parents, leaders of the Clan who had found him floating downriver on a log (or so the story goes) were loving and kind. Despite their reputation for being ruthless cutthroats, his father would patiently set aside the time to go over their plans (which were heavily modified for his sake), and at his lowest, his mother would still offer to sing him to sleep.

"You do not have to be like all the others." She would tell him as she tucked the blankets over his much larger form, still as gentle and as attentive as she had been when he was but a hatchling. "That is why we love you so. You're our splash of color." She would say before laughing and adding, "Several splashes in fact." They encouraged him to find his niche. They tried to tell him that his sincerity and his way of getting under other's defensives was a boon and not a disadvantage.

"You've a way of lying with the truth, my boy. Use it! You don't have to worry if it's a slow burn. Results will come in the end!" His father had advised. He had tried to do as they said, he really truly did, but in the end, something was missing. His mother had cried the day he left for parts unknown, it was the first time he had seen her shed any tears. It would have been a touching last memory of them had one of his siblings not lean over and hissed,

"Once a foundling, always a foundling."

He made for Dragonhome, thinking that perhaps since home was in its name, he could finally find a place for himself. His fear of water led him to shun taking a boat across the straits, and as he traversed the underground pathways, he became hopelessly lost. Instead of the craggy lands, he came to verdant ones. That wasn't to say his journey was at an end. They did not call it the Labyrinth for nothing, and he ended up turned around and upside down more times that he could count. It was the scent of food that lead him to the clearing and his hunger that stirred his rash decision. Wait in the trees until everyone was gone and steal whatever was left. He'd never been very good at climbing and in the middle of his ascent a branch had splintered sending him tumbling down, down, down.

Broken legs or a broken neck, he had been sure either would have been his fate, but there was a flash of bright white light, and his fall was slowed. It was quite hard to tell who had helped him as there were not a few magic users in that clearing, but he was slowly lowered to the ground.

"Mind your snoot!" Someone shouted cheerfully, following by a grumbling answer.

"Carter, it is not a snoot. Don't call it a snoot."

"Snoot! Snoot! Snoot!"

"That's not even a real word! You-"

"I will have silence." This new voice was soft, but it cut through the inane argument, and as he got to his feet a Tundra walked through the crowd towards him. The eyes that regarded him were resigned and perhaps more than a little exasperated. Wordlessly the Tundra reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew what looked like a rune. He had only a second to glimpse eye burning colors akin to his scales before the rune dissolved and seeped right into him. It didn't hurt. In fact, he sighed as a sense of peace flowed through him.

Without addressing him, the Tundra turned and strode away. "Verglas, call a meeting of the architects in the morning. We will need to begin expansion again."

"You don't have to worry about father." Someone else had approached as he stood there gaping. "He's been worried about Clan territory for a while now." She was a Skydancer with faeries fluttering around her like twinkling stars. "I am Theodora, but you may call me Teddy. Be welcomed in Clan Warwillow. We're happy to have another rune-barer in our midst." His must have failed to pick his jaw up from off the grass because she continued, "Rest your feet and have some food. I'll explain everything. What do we call you?"

Miles seemed inappropriate now that he had reached his destination.

"How about Venin? Yes...lets go with that." It was a play on something his father used to say, get under their skin like unshakable venom. She didn't bat an eye at his request, making him wonder if the dragons here changed their names all of the time.

"Venin it is. If you'll follow me..."