StrawHatPirate » Lair » AshenWatcher

AshenWatcher

(#72260845)

Level 1 Banescale

Familiar

Triple-Sight Firebug

Energy: 49/50

Personal Style

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

7.9 m

Wingspan

4.07 m

Weight

561.7 kg

Genetics

Hatchday

Sep 10, 2021
(2 years)

Breed

Adult
Banescale

Eye Type

Fire
Uncommon

Level 1 Banescale

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

AshenWatcher
Black Smith
”The light of an ember picked from the fireplace… it only lasts a second. But yet, it seems to hold on, wishing to make the most of that second.”

The room is a sweltering bundle of heat, the flames of the furnaces aroar. Savage and burning, the noises of clanking metal finding their way into the chorus. Weapons, armor, even that of mundane tools, hang from the shelves like medals.

In the middle of it all is a dragon that looks like he was pulled from the Great Furnace itself, ashes wafting up from his wings of lava and smolder. Forgery is no longer an ability most banescales possess, but the way the dragon expertly roams through the room, using his jaws, talons, even wings to hammer down on metal until sparks fly is of pure efficiency.

Engrossed in his work, the dragon watches as the embers fly, the metal becoming a color reflected in his eyes. He moves without hesitation, a heavy glare with a sense of refinement to it. Without a doubt, he’s in his perfect workplace.

In the shallow pits of lava and magma, a hatchling squirms through the crater of what is assigned as a nest, alone and clueless.

The newborn banescale’s first earliest memory was that of the winding lair he hatched into. He was surrounded by other hot springs of molten red, each sporting a select number of eggs, the distant coos of others like him sounding further away, out of sight. Overhead, the overwhelming bustles and voices sounded as other dragons flew over the underground hatchery in swoops, bouncing from one hole in a wall to another. Many of them from different breeds than him; indistinguishable features of varying sizes.

Not even understanding the meaning of the word, the hatchling was enveloped by loneliness. He felt small compared to the heavy beat of wings that didn’t seem to dwell, with no hatchling mates to bury a muzzle against. And so he retreated into the magma, attempting to protect himself with his small wings and bury his head underneath the pulsing liquid of oranges.

Even at the very beginning of his life, the banescale seemed too *soft* to face the troubles in front of him. This leaking anxiety and fear seemed to embody itself in the wraith of smoke that billowed across his scales. Hours after his initial hatching, a caretaker finally came around to the nursery, providing the hatchlings with food and checking a clipboard whenever they encountered a recently hatched dragon.

With that check of quill came names for every one of them, and when the focus finally landed on the curious, yet cowering young dragon… it only took a glance, until the caretaker deemed him “Kain”.

Acquire, warlike, the eastern sky… whatever the name had meant to the caretaker, Kain had no real need for it. The nursery was a free-for-all, after all, where parents left their eggs during the season to be cared for by others until inevitably handed over to a clan or the Flamecaller herself.
Kain, however, was quickly labeled what was known in his metalworker town as a problem hatchling. A young dragon that got the chance to be taken in by clan and as an apprentice, until they were inevitably thrown out into the wild because they were “unbearable” to keep up with. But instead of becoming solitary or deciding exaltation, they kept on putting themselves under the wing of a newer blacksmith, just for the cycle to continue repeating.

Kain had never known permanence. His life was as swaying as the licks of flames that he dedicated himself to, working from clan to clan in his early youth. Finding stable work was difficult; he was often looked down on for being a banescale, believed to be unfit for crafting due to his lack of forearms, but instead of finding something else as an occupation, he only worked harder and smarter.

He hungered for knowledge out of spite, working underneath as many diverse mentors as he could to establish his skills. Blacksmithing, glassblowing, even dabbling in the work of embroidery and jewelry… Kain knew nothing but work. Play and joy was hard to come across in the furnaces of the Ashfall Waste, and Kain didn’t feel like burrowing through the ashes of his youth to find it.

When he became old enough, he decided it conventional to make his clan hopping a job, with the treasure he made off his actual wares a side income. He catered to and worked underneath others, for a certain length of time, for a certain amount of pay. The idea of being stuck in one spot, one occupation, never appeased to him. He was sure that he didn’t very much like other dragons, and while he was efficient, many saw him as reserved and aggressive.

And that wasn’t a lie, entirely. Though Kain hardly ever talked to others, every crack of a hammer against iron, every forceful shove and aggressive thump against the floor when he grew even the slightest annoyed… the wraith that hung over him no longer reflected fear, but his ever repressed anger. Anger over his inability to bond, anger over his unstable life. Though Kain preferred what was temporary, he longed for something beyond. And yet, he was far from cruel, nor did he wish to unleash outbursts among the others around him, so he kept his wrath under wraps, with gritted fangs and a tongue that never talked.

But his anger was noticed one day, and was not treated with a concerned glance nor stern gaze. Rather, it was an old nocturne that took notice of the then young adult.

“I’ll only pay you for six days,” he had specified in his contract, “but if you stick around for a few more, I’ll teach ya something no one else was willing to.”
Kain gave the peculiar request a suspicious glance, but he accepted, anyway. Work was difficult to come across during certain periods, and as long as he was getting paid, he expected this to be a short excursion. After all, he was certain he’d already learned everything he needed to.

The nocturne was a metalworker, and a highly respected one, at that. He had taken many apprentices and workers, but none of them lasted very long, apparently. He enlisted Kain to help him in manufacturing a handful of requests, but strangely enough, as the banescale worked, he’d constantly hover over him.

For the next five days, he worked with him, they only communicated when the nocturne told him what to craft next. And whilst Kain did, he did nothing but watch, not saying a word as the ember glows roared and the finely crafted weapon glowed a piercing red, or as Kain’s tail slashed with agitation.

Until, finally, he did speak.

“Metalworking is a fine and delicate craft,” the nocturne mused, even whilst Kain never met his gaze. “With every slam against mineral, every ember that flies up, nothing stays forever. A piece of metal is reformed into something more useful, in the end, whether that be weapon, armor, or a decoration to pin on. And if the maker of that weapon or armor does not pay careful attention, then their faults may result in the crisis of another. Life, too, is temporary like that.”

“...”

“...Tell me. Will your sword break due to the mistakes and fleeting embers of the ones that forged you, or will it protect others alongside you?”

Kain did not answer, but he did not suspect the Nocturne had expected him to.

When the sixth day had ended, and the old dragon gave him his pay, Kain hesitated. He told the Nocturne that he was willing to train under the other for a few more days in order to “learn more”. But the elder merely gave him a chuckle, and a piece of parchment.

“The fact you wanna stick around is proof enough I’ve already teached ya something. Aside from yourself, the only who’d be able to teach ya anymore is that lady in the Millmeadows. Go train under her, kid; and when you’ve learned enough, make a sword of your own, and send me a letter.”

Kain was confused at the crypticness of the statement, but agreed, at least to build his own sword. The parchment the nocturne had given him was, as expected, directed towards the Windswept Plateau, where he was meant to find a clan lead by a guardian of the name GentleBreeze.

Kain was hesitant; and of course, why wouldn’t he be? He had never stuck claw outside the region of fire even once, and to drop everything to go over to an entirely new region to train under a clan who he didn’t know anything about sparked that repressed anxiety back in him.

But when he looked back at his life, he had to question what really he would be dropping. In terms of a home, Kain had far outgrown the suffocating atmosphere of the Ashfall Waste, its endless heaps of smoke and blinding magma reminders of the burning embers that called forward his rage. He only needed his wit and skills, his memories, that while not entirely positive, still made him who he was. The furnaces had shaped him, but he would not let it break him.

Kain only took a few tools with him on his migration. But the first taste of fresh air on his tongue, completely different from the smoke that constantly filled his homeland, was almost addicting.

When he arrived at the fated clan spot, he was surprised to be met with such warm arms, that only became more friendly after he explained his reason for coming and offered the lead guardian the parchment the nocturne had written.

He didn’t understand how long his “training” would be, but GentleBreeze had merely given him a soft smile when he inquired about it, stating that he was welcome to stay for as long as he felt he needed to. Similarly, what he was going to learn in the first place would be his own choice, but he knew it in his heart. The banescale yearned to learn how to start anew, how to control his wraith and create a life and sword of his own.

He took on a clan job as a metalworker, finding it the skill he was most fond of. Besides, he also needed to make work in creating that sword he promised to the nocturne. But only after it became truly his; when he could wield it and see himself in the shine of the blade.

And during his stay, he made unlikely friends with another nocturne of the clan, who treated him with care and gentleness he was unsure of, but was still able to match his temperament and stubbornness enough for him to respect her. Her name was Moonshine, and like him, she too was attempting to start life anew, and find herself. She was one of the only dragons that the banescale grew talkative with, discussing nothing or about each other’s respective works and hobbies. She told him about the story of her branded wing, and he told her about the loneliness he had felt since he was a hatchling, which she could relate to.

In a way, she also mentored him, teaching him how to healthily vent out his anger and take care of herself, due to her job as a healer. She taught him peacefulness and joy he never thought he would have been able to acquire anywhere, and along with her, he grew more mature and steady-going. That was when he made his decision; that he was no longer Kain.

One night, he asked of GentleBreeze that he be able to stay with the clan permanently and that he may be granted a new name to start his new life with his new clan.

She deemed him AshenWatcher. For he had finally learned to watch carefully over the ashes that brew inside the furnace of his ribcage, simmering the flame that threatened to burn.

“...I can see why that old nocturne is your friend.”

His response seemed to startle the guardian for a moment, but then she laughed, ever taken off guard by his normally straight-faced facade falling a little.

And for once, AshenWatcher laughed too.
Lore created by @winterleaves11

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Bio code by Zikitty
Graphics and flags by osiem
Dividers by Voratte

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