Thunder

If Thunder had emotions, she would have been surprised to find the dragons living in the middle of a desert, worming their way through broken stone columns. Instead, she simply pauses to analyse the group, look for stragglers and the vulnerable. None out here, but perhaps deeper in the unidentifiable ruins, there is something.

"Oh! A visitor!" A Pearlcatcher comes hurrying out; a greeting party, Thunder thinks. She looks sort of important, with a great deal of jangling jewellery, and dragons trail after her like they do back in the hive. Live snakes twist and hiss in her mane. "It is so wonderful to meet any new believer. I am the High Priestess of this humble temple to Osiris. May I ask your name?"

Name. Something registers, deep down: she knows this definition. How wonderful! "Name: A word or set of words by which a person or thing is known, addressed, or referred to. Example: My name: Thunder."

There is an awful, awful silence at this. Even the snakes don't dare make a sound, as the Pearlcatcher fumes.

"Thunder?!?"

"Yes?"

Thunder puffs herself up, and hisses like a wild thing. Several of her loyal soldiers come scrambling to her command, eager to impress the High Priestess of Osiris out of her terrible mood. This could be a promotion, right here. Or a meal. The new dragon doesn't look so edible, but when you live in a secret desert hideout, you're willing to try to eat pretty much anything.

"Such insolence! Don't you know who you're talking to?"

The hivemind Thunder watches the display with something like boredom. Perhaps it is merely idling out. It's kind of hard to tell with things that don't have brains. Meanwhile, Thunder's mane is standing on end, and she approaches the Spiral on two legs, staring down her nose at it. It would be an intimidating display, if a creature of a hivemind could actually be intimidated. "Answer me!"

"Input invalid. No question has been asked."

"INVALID!" shrieks Thunder, and her tail lashes, sending sand into Thunder's face. It's a hostile gesture, and Thunder responds in kind, lowering her body to the ground with a growl. "You're the invalid one here!" Thunder rants on. "Daring to use my name! Names have power!"

Name. Something registers, deep down: she knows this definition. How wonderful! "Name: A word or set of words by which a person or thing is known, addressed, or referred t-"

"No!" Thunder waves her head, side to side; a snake about to strike. All the soldiers dutifully quiver in utmost terror, but Thunder only continues to idle. This makes Thunder very annoyed indeed. "I- I'm exiling you! Fear me! Don't you know what fear is?!?"

Fear. Something registers, deep down: she knows this definition. How wonderful! Yes, Thunder knows what fear is, and so Thunder very reasonably tells Thunder so: "Fear. Noun: an unpleasant, often strong emotion caused by anticipation or awareness of danger. Verb: to be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or harmful. Example: You fear me."

Apparently this very helpful explanation isn't so helpful after all, because Thunder snarls and spits and makes noises best left unprinted. "I- I do not-" And then back into the unprintables. The guards seem quite shocked by the language.

"You're banned, Thunder", says one of the foot soldiers, and only then does Thunder understand that Thunder should probably leave Thunder alone.

(Thunder may or may not have cried herself to sleep, that night.)

The hive drone named Thunder winds across the Shifting Expanse, head twisting from side to side, searching for something not quite apparent. The hivemind is not sure what to do with it, given its odd capabilities; for now, the drone will scout the barren desert while the searing sun keeps its too-hot gaze on everything on the ground. If the drone dies, it is no matter; it is expendable, after all. But it will serve its purpose to the hive.

Thunder can feel pain. She can feel the sun beating down on her coppery scales, the scorching sand burning her talons, her hunger and thirst. However, she cannot feel anger, or frustration, or desperation. She only exists as a drone can: an empty vessel without emotion or sapience. It is a simple life.

The sound of wingbeats overhead causes Thunder's head to snap up; she spots a Ridgeback in the bright, cloudless sky, with white scales and bright purple wings flaring to steer. She is wearing some kind of fancy armor. It is nothing important; Thunder catalogues the dragon in her mind as a potential asset and turns back to the desert.

The Ridgeback, however, is not as quick to dismiss a fellow dragon, if Thunder can be considered a dragon. Fighter spots the Spiral below and wonders what a dragon is doing out here, out in the Highland Scrub, traveling by foot instead of on the wing. She tilts her wings to start her descent to the sandy, cactus-speckled dunes.

Thunder notices the dragon flying toward her. She moves the Ridgeback to potential threats and shifts into a defensive stance, claws splayed and wings spread. She does not understand why the Ridgeback is flying toward her. Does the dragon want to attack? She thinks so—or, at the very least, what qualifies as thought for a drone, which can be considered communication between the hivemind and its vessel.

As soon as Thunder coils into a defensive stance, Fighter flares her wings to stop her mildly sloped descent and hovers in place. "Whoa, whoa," she says, confused. Why is the Spiral entering a defensive stance? Fighter doesn't know about Thunder's true nature—at least, not yet. She thinks the dragon is too weak or tired to fly, which is why she is traveling along the ground, and her defensive stance comes from anger and desperation; after all, the desert is quite inhospitable, unless you know where to look for food and water and temporary shelter. So this Spiral is a newcomer, then.

“Who are you?” Fighter calls out. “What’s your name?”

Name. Something registers, deep down: Thunder knows this definition. How wonderful! She speaks in a sun-parched voice: "Name: A word or set of words by which a person or thing is known, addressed, or referred to. Example: My name: Thunder." She stays in her defensive stance—just in case.

Fighter frowns. This dragon—Thunder—is definitely addled; perhaps the desert sun had cooked her brain. “Do you need help?” Fighter asks, tilting her head, continuing to hover in place. She had to be careful; sun-addled dragons were known for violent outbursts.

Thunder blinks. Help. Something registers, deep down: she knows this definition. How wonderful! “Help. Noun: The action of helping someone to do something. Verb: To make it easier or possible for someone to do something by offering one’s services or resources, or to improve a situation or problem; be of benefit to. Example: I do not need help getting out of this desert.”

Thunder is definitely sun-addled, then. Fighter is tempted to help her, but knew she could be dangerous, especially given that fighting stance. She should get help. “Stay here,” she says. “I’ll find someone who can help you.” She wheeled in the sky, beating her wings to soar away.

Thunder—or rather, the hivemind—has no intention of staying. The hivemind, in fact, knows if Thunder spoke oddly, others would think the desert had affected her. This is good; if dragons think the drone is crazy, they will not suspect the truth.

When the Ridgeback disappears from the sky, the Spiral drone turns and slithers away.

The clan of Crow Callers got some serious deja vu after meeting Thunder. Turns out Thunder's sister, Bolt, visited this clan earlier.

Thunder left soon afterwards, in pursuit of Bolt. They hadn't seen each other in a long time - hopefully that could change.