Porthos

The very first hatchling of his home lair, alongside his two brothers Athos and Aramis. Energetic and chaotic as all children seem to be, they greatly disrupted the peaceful, quiet life of the older dragons. Even more so as their wings and bodies slowly grew bigger, while their minds remained full of curiosity and adventures. Soon, it became obvious that the three young dragons needed an outlet for their boisterous energy - preferably one that would keep them away from the lair and their denmates for a while...

Eventually, the three were tasked with patrolling the territory as a team, fighting off beastclans and intruders, exploring the lands and reporting their findings back to the clan. But it didn't take long for the brothers to grow bored of the Southern Icefields. Confident in his skills, Athos was the first to leave his siblings behind to join a much larger, much more battle-driven clan in the Starfall Isles. He hoped to earn glory there, as well as the honour to serve under their deity. Infected by these ideas, Aramis too left the lair to chase after glory, although he chose to join the ranks of the Icewarden instead, the protector of his homeland.

Porthos was the last of the three who remained at home, but without his brothers, he grew restless. He didn't want to serve a deity quite yet - not with so many adventures still out here, waiting just for him. He missed his brothers, but they had chosen their paths. He would have to make his own. Right now, he couldn't stay. Not even a second longer!
So his adventure begins...

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"... And after that I came here," he finished, a twinkling in his eye as he spoke to the clouded nocturne Albion.

She nodded; "then I came here- but I before you, from a family far away in shadows set!"

"And we happened to meet here?"

"Indeed!"

His clutchmates, having both left and joined into the endless petty wars between the eleven countries, had for most of a month been out of his mind. Only occasionally would some thing would bring them back into his head, and he would be forced to recall their choice to fight- seeing a statue of the Arcanist, seeing a stone bearing the rune, and Athos, the sibling, who had chosen to fight alongside the Arcanist's troops would flash across Porthos' mind.

"Porthos?" Albion nudged him, an expression of concern upon her face.

"I... I can't stay here." He did not know what fate came to his brothers, when they gave themselves to the gods of magic and ice.

"What?"

"I have to go." He stood, shaking himself from head to toe, as though he could shake a physical manifestation of the memory off. He'd enjoyed it; her company. Albion would have known that, he was sure.
Whether he had to go to find his brother in the Arcanist's temples, or to leave the country entirely, he didn't know just then. But the urge to move was inescapable.

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Porthos had decided to go to the Shifting Expanse; the Stormcatcher's nation was suitably distant from both the Arcane and Ice countries. It would have to do for now; Porthos knew he had to confront the knowledge of his brothers' fates eventually.

In the Highland Scrub, he found a clan that took in weary travelers like him; he stopped there for a while, to rest and resupply. But the itch to travel remained; he had to move, lest something terrible happen to him. Of course, it was just a feeling, but it was a strong feeling nonetheless.

Later he told the clan about his instinctual drive to travel. The clan leader said she had seen it in many travelers; whether they were seeking something or simply traveling to see all the world had to offer, many travelers couldn’t stay in one place for very long. She understood him, at least.

The next day Porthos resupplied and gave farewell to the clan. They had been kind, and he appreciated their help; however, he knew, deep down, he would find out what happened to his brothers one day. Before then, all he could do was wait... and roam the world a free dragon.

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~ continue his story here if you'd like!

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