Ariel

((warning / lore below so old it's rotting at its core))

Born 16-974, to a Fire-aligned mother and Water-aligned father. Although the couple weren't the closest (only really reproduced for the sake of the Clan - that was their first and last nest, of three) they loved their children a whole lot, and so stuck it together (however blatantly nonchalant they were about ignoring their spouse). They lived in a happy little cove at the base of a volcano, alongside seven or eight other families (all huge and mostly Fire-aligned and far too kind for the quiet little family).

Then, suddenly, the winter of 16-989 brought the explanation for the couple's coldness toward one another. A well-trained army, fierce and Water-aligned, raided the camp, in the dead of night. In his last moments, with his mother pleading for help, Ariel's father remained undecided on his loyalties. And they all perished.

Except Ariel, of course, who was picked up by the Water flight and sold at a very young age on the market. Thankfully, those who bought him weren't cold, or harsh.

Well, maybe they were cold. He grew up in a desolate Arcane camp, with about 10 dragons in total. It always smelled of must and dampness and wet rocks. Wet. Rocks. WET. ROCKS-

The closest to a parental figure he had was an older Arcane dragon, who wanted nothing to do with the strange child anyway, but eventually found Ariel (lowkey) endearing, and taught him the meaning of responsibility and having a moral compass.

When the Arcane camp eventually ran out of supplies, their ruthless leader-by-force decided to start selling the meagre things they COULD gather. This included all dragons younger than a century.

And so, the elderly Gaoler by the name of Spellswisher sent Ariel away undercover of night, to find his own path. It was a long night, possibly the longest Ariel had ever been through. Fire dragons are not well-equipped to travel in darkness and cold, and Ariel was definitely not prepared for the sudden onslaught of falling ice.

In the wee hours of the morning, he was tackled by an Ice dragon, of whom he remembers nothing but a high-pitched, gruff-but-feminine voice and piercingly blue eyes - "Oh, sorry, lad. Folks, turn 'round, it's just a wee one again, not them troops!" She shook her head, muttered something derogatory about the Arcane flight, and flew off, leaving Ariel to deal with the sticky mess of blood and ice shards on his wing.

In the end, he found refuge in a small dent in the side of a mighty (mostly inactive) volcano. This was truly where he belonged, among smoky ruins of long-forgotten tribes, the occasional carcass (wait, what!?) and the smog, the heart, the flame that was the Ashfall waste.

It was most likely thanks to this feeling of belonging that he healed as quickly as he did, but still, Faes are not the most hardy of creatures.

It was a humid summer day of (well, not like you could tell the difference in Ashfall anyways) 16-998. The sun was high in the sky and blazing hot, leaving no stone unscorched, and no dragon hydrated.

Ariel had been lounging about in his little cave. He had hardly managed to expand it since his arrival a year or so back, but he was proud of his efforts. The cave was full of gravel and sharp metal bits hacked off the wall. His stomach was empty and growling, but he was far too lazy and comfortable to find any food.

He settled on a stone just inside the cave, so as to avoid sunburns, and set a dull gaze upon the life outside his small home. Far out in the sky, a Fire Mirror was swooping in and out of the clouds, accompanied by his small hatchlings. Ariel felt something funny in his stomach, watching the smaller hatchling. The brilliant green spiral dodged between his siblings to catch up with his father, who grinned at him through a mouthful of bloody rabbit meat.

It was then that Ariel's brooding session was suddenly and rudely interrupted, by someone falling headfirst off the ledge above his house, and into his entrance.