Mantis

No one knows where Mantis hails from. Whenever anyone asks, she merely changes the subject. Everyone remembers the day, or night rather, she arrived at Pan's Brewpub. It was the first night of the Bacchanal Masquerade. Everyone was in costume, wearing fancy skins that concealed their identities. So it was understandable that the clan dragons assumed Mantis' shimmering skin and skeletal face were merely a costume. Initially she herself didn't realize she had inadvertently crashed the clan's annual All Hallows celebration. It was obviously a celebration of some kind and since they all made the unknown dragon welcome, she happily joined in the festivities.

Finally, Mantis cornered a tall turquoise Guardian to ask what event was being celebrated. He explained that the clan's week-long harvest celebration began on Hallows Eve, the one night (according to superstition) when spirits could pass freely from the afterlife to play mischief on those still living. To protect themselves from ghostly pranks, the dragons donned skins to hide their true identities. And because it was primarily a celebration of the harvest, they gave offerings and thanks to the Windsinger. The Masquerade provided a certain amount of anonymity in nest pairings and while typically a few of the subsequent hatchlings stayed to join the clan, the majority of them trained to exalt and serve the Patriarch of all, the Windsinger.

The Guardian, Cohen, remained by her side throughout the festivities. He was an amiable and welcome companion and Mantis happily listened to his rumbling baritone as he regaled her with stories and gossip about the clan while she sipped her Honeymeade. It was an easy comraderie and at the end of the week they decided that they, too, would give thanks to the Windsinger.

The dragon mentioned something about a greenhouse. You trek forth into the gardens to find its whereabouts. There are no maps to help you, the old stone pathway is too worn to follow to its entirety, and the more you venture in, the more you wonder whether or not you have seen this part of the garden before. Just as you begin to give up hope finding the greenhouse, you notice the flicker of a dull, pale light. You fight your way through the tangles of overgrowth covering the cobbles. The path you tread has unlikely been followed for quite the while.

The greenhouse is as the rest of the garden is: dilapidated and abandoned. Cracks in the glass mean there is no heat to preserve, the beds of flowers are shriveled and petrified, weeds have consumed all spaces in which once there were gaps. You are a bit hesitant to trawl in, but push on in the hopes of finding something to bring back.

It is there you find an outstanding sight. A miraculously living tree, still potted. Its gnarled twigs twist and curl, and along its spiny branches you spot a delicious looking fruit. It is plump and ripe and you swear you can hear it call out to you. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach forward and pluck the perfect fruit into your care, inspecting it with a rather smug, proud feeling in your chest.

You look up at the tree and find it is no longer there. You blink, turning around and scouting the nearby surroundings for the tree. It is nowhere to be found. When you turn back to the tree’s original location, you let out a noise of alarm upon spotting a creature reaching for your basket. You flee, leaving no time to say farewell to the dragon at the entrance, and leaving no time to check behind you as the creature gives pursuit, eagerly hoping you will share your tasty fruit.