Iocane

Iocane hails from the same birth-clan as Eirwyn. One would think that the shared trauma of living under Zal's reign would bring them together. Sometimes, having someone who understands accelerates healing for these kind of...situations.

This is not the case.

While Eirwyn had the strategic ignorance granted to him as a Frejchild and safety by way of his chaotic powers, Iocane had no such luck. Her father was not shy about his horrifying role in the clan. The other dragons fled his presence and glanced at her with pity as her auction days ticked down without offers from other clans. They had no illusions about his affection for her. In a place where you can do nothing but observe, it's easy to recognize who you shouldn't get attached to.

She was observant too.

She was also a survivor.

She had heard of Frejdarani's son. The ice sculptures he made had been outside for years before the Za had them torn down one day seemingly out of nowhere. He had ordered her and her mate to do it alone. To 'take responsibility' he said. They obeyed, and that night Iocane offered to help treat the magically induced frostbite on the tired guardian's hands.

She learned a lot that night.

She learned that it's possible to be too dangerous to dispose of directly.

There are ways of getting the things you need if you give the right amount of kindness to someone with a grudge and there are always sicknesses hiding under the ice. She developed a tragic magical condition seemingly over night. Every water source she touched from teardrop to snowflake was suddenly poisonous . Even her blood spread the sickness. Half of the clan was bedridden within a week.

It's a good thing they were a merchant clan above all else. It would be a shame if an alchemist deduced that it was all more serthis than plague.

The resulting quarantine offered the perfect cover for her escape.

Well, almost perfect. The master had eyes everywhere of course and no matter how careful she had been with her ruse, she'd basically been stewing in poison for days. she was sick and lost and she couldn't stop. She could hear his footsteps when she rested. She didn't dare go airborne, her colors would give her away instantly.

Her father was doing his job. She had to keep running.

She didn't get far.

The blow knocked her off her feet. It was...confusing. Like less of a slap and more of her entire body being forced to just stop. Something warm and soft fell on top of her and she heard a cheerful voice call out.

"Yoo hoo! She's over here!"

She tried to get back up. She almost made it until the 'stop' hit her again. The gold guardian woman standing over her gave her a pat on the head and a "Well done," before walking in the direction of the approaching furious wingbeats.

She cried into the snow. She was succeeding! She could have done it!

She wanted to rip this woman's throat out.

The guardian waited until Apharahn came close and threw a sack of treasure at his feet "There you go sir. And a little for the trouble..." He kicked it aside and continued his advance. She showed her teeth in a way that most people think is a smile and cleared her throat.

"I gave you your money. That is how these things go." She moved to loom over Iocane's prone body. "This one still has a clan price on her no?"

Apharahn kept his eyes locked on the crying girl. "The Za wants her back. She has-"

"She has been paid for," she said, straightening her vest and 'smiling' wider. "And That. Is How. These. Things. Go."

She wanted to kiss this woman right between her icy white eyes.

They stared at each other for a few moments until a agreement was silently made. The guardian woman picked her up as her father picked up the sack of gold pieces. She wrapped her in the scarf that had been thrown over her and held her close as they took off.

He watched them from below for only a second before he turned to head back.

Iocane didn't take her eyes off of him until he was a speck in the distance.

The wave of relief knocked her unconscious.

When she woke up, she was lying on a cot in the corner of some kind of medical station. The guardian woman was reading beside her, and when she noticed she was awake, she called for a breakfast tray. A gruff female voice called back, telling her to "Get it your own **** self Charlie, I'm busy." She watched a...slug? No, that was a tail tip? Whatever it was it crawled across the floor beside her cot. A small fireball hit it dead on.

"Great shot Vena!"

"Shut the **** up Hema and get back into bed. I'm trying to cultivate a ******* peaceful environment for the new girl and you come in here dropping bits all over my ******* office. I hope it doesn't grow back this time you *******."

There was the sound of a blown kiss and an exasperated growl.

Iocane was concerned.

Charlie nudged a bowl of fruity porridge into her hands.

Iocane turned from concerned to ravenously hungry.

Charlie chuckled cheerfully. "Oh ho! A little deux ex machina really revs the appetite eh?"

Iocane slurped down the last of the porridge an turned to her, wiping her face. "Does that make you a god?"

Charlie took her bowl and looked down at her fondly with plague-red eyes. She tipped her hat and smiled.

"No ma'am. I am the machine."

These days Iocane works as the clan poison expert. She finds safety in studying and brewing them, which sounds insane to dragons who don't know her story, but has been encouraged by the clan leaders since day 1 of her proposal. She has forged strong bonds with one of the nearby serthis clans and regularly hangs out with Jacob, a potion master who specializes in cures and antivenom. They make a good team.

She never went back to her old clan and doesn't ever talk about them. It's part of the reason she doesn't really like Eirwyn. He's much more obvious with his pain than she is, even if he thinks he hides it well. He makes her remember.

Remembering doesn't do any good though. She needs to focus on the future . She needs to be prepared if something happens to her new family.

She's a survivor.