Malion

Head Architect

There is a song in every stone, a hymn of rock and crystal and ancient things. Few but Malion are quiet enough to hear it. His mind is full of crags and spires and elegant carvings, songs of the earth freed from dusty shells. Someday, he hopes, his nimble claws will raise a monument so grand that even the Earthshaker will pause in its shadow. For now, he busies himself with more mundane projects. A hollow here, a cavern there—bit by bit, he and his crew have carved a beautiful home for their clan. Stone is easy, after all. Stone is quiet. Dragons are strange and loud and confusing, their words wrapped in context and pitch. Malion prefers the stone-song. He returns sometimes to his elegant nook to find his blueprints missing, replaced by a fresh kill. Outside he hears Jotunn’s breathy heeeh hehh. Malion’ frills tremble and flare. He does not understand, but he feels the song cracking under some dark weight. New designs. A higher roost, a narrower entrance. Stronger bearings. Louder songs. Something to drown out the terror of dragons.

I am a builder, he thinks. Please, just let me build.