---

Flute Trinkets Can lull the complacent to sleep with a clever tune. 27 Forest Field Guide Trinkets This tome provides detailed information on the flora and fauna of the region - it seems that many creatures have changed their habits since the forest began to regularly catch fire. 24 Mith Lorebook Trinkets A book of lore. Several entries have been blotted out and written-over. 27

Stories

Mith Spellbook Trinkets A book of spells. Some of these look familiar! 27 Toridae Mythology Trinkets Ever heard the one about the Toridae with three riddles? Or the one about the Toridae and the overly large hammer? Neither have we... until now. 37 Sharp-Eyed Ring Trinkets Somewhat uncomfortable to wear. 27

---

A blazing hot sun graced the Scarred Wastelands, carrion birds feasting on the bodies of the weak, and the weak attempting to get by by feasting on the carrion-dirt below their feet.

On a soul-searching journey beyond any mere animal's understanding, Deimos packed up the previous night's work. Then, he thought to try making the carrion-dirt of the wastes edible. But, much to his and Chioni's dismay, it didn't work. But he was determined to make something, if anything, work.

"I can't have left the Starfall Isles for nothing, Chioni. Surely I'm missing something." Deimos said, dejectedly. 'I don't want to be known as just the prosthetics guy!' He packed the last of the load on Chioni's back. He was always the one to carry the heavy stuff, and the wolpertinger the light load. At the end of the day, he knew both he and his companion would tire- a comfort that had been consistent since the journey began.

The wolpertinger Chioni gave the young dragon a glance, as if concerned about his intentions. But, confiding to his persistence, Chioni nudged him gently with her antler to signify that she's ready to move on.

And that's what they do.

As usual, they walked in solitude, taking in the scenery. Rotting trees. The squawk of a vulture. The squelch of muscle-mud. The guttural noise of an enormous eye blinking nearby. Being here for a couple weeks, they'd got decently used to everything 'Scarred Wasteland' at this point. But as they trudge and the eyes blink, both dragon and wolpertinger felt something was wrong. And they weren't wrong to assume that.

"Intruders!" a voice hissed. "Get 'em, girls!"

Taken off guard, Deimos thinks fast. Placing a magical wall between them and their assailants - not stable, regarding his ability to use magic, but enough to let them escape perhaps? Fearing especially for Chioni's safety, he scooped her into his arms and ran for.. that giant tooth in the distance.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Deimos turned his head to view what was happening. The dragons did break through... but.. was that another? He tripped, slipping and falling. As chioni and tools spilled out of his grasp, he was quick to notice that the dragons were.. flying away? Wait, one's coming here?
As this dragon came into view, it became clearer that she wasn't a threat. But, preparing for if she wasn't, Deimos repacked everything into Chioni's pack. Except for a wrench, which he used to hold the dragon at wrenchpoint.

"The readied claw are gone now, you don't need to worry any- hey, why do you have that pointed at me?" He was met with confusion. A ridgeback with an armored face and a rather lavish outfit was at the end of his wrench, and it was abundantly clear this dragon was no danger to him. he relaxed, dropping his wrench in relief.

"Sorry. I thought you were one of them for a moment.", he replied. As his grasp loosened on the the wrench, the ridged dragon took it, examining it. From one of her back pockets, she unintentionally gave him her own gift. A wheeled thing, slips out of the pocket. On impulse, the violet-gaze of the Nocturne calls him to inspect it.

It's unlike anything he's ever seen before. The chassis, the halo encircling this strange rectangular object. And this intricate build... it lights a fire within the young dragon. "What is this?" the entranced dragon says.
"Oh that? I don't know myself. Some bear-mirror gave it to me. And some other components that it's intended to be used with. But from what I get, it's pretty easy to make more." the Ridgeback mumbled meekly. She's clearly not talked about this much with anyone. There's an awkward slience as they both decide who's next to speak. Which goes to the ridgeback, who mumbles, "And your wings?"

Deimos shuffles nervously, put on the spot. A still slightly shocked Chioni inspects what's happenings. But Deimos speaks regardless of what Chioni tells him. "These? My design. Built over several years of tinkering and improvement. Without them, I wouldn't be here." He looks at his prosthetics, proud of his accomplishments, written into the leathers that make his method of flight. Meanwhile, the ridgeback ponders. She has an idea.

"Hey, you wouldn't think about joining The Windbroken Breeze, would you? You get free protection from the readied claw, and you could probably find a good workshop space in our giant cave too! I'm Montoli, and I can guarantee that the space is really nice, and there's a lot of nice dragons!"

Deimos had his cogs turning at that moment. And any nice living space that could house a workshop was exactly what he wanted. He replied, making use of how Montoli worded her introduction."Why, I am Deimos. And if you and your clan leaders will have me, I will be glad to offer your clan my knowledge on creating prosthetics, and creating more of those interesting small devices..."

Montoli, plays along, excited to have a fellow enthusiast for her strange possessions. "Yay! Thank you so much Deimos! Please, follow me!"

---

In a tooth-carved workshop, Deimos slumps, tinkering away at his design.

Things seemed hopeless. With barely any hatchling population in the Windbroken, there were hardly any dragons (except for himself and Montoli) to test out the prototypes of the turbo-karts, as he was calling them. It didn't help that a few weeks prior he received a 'schematic' from 'the original manufacturers', which turned out to be a whole bunch of gobbledegook. It didn't help, when the design of the original Turbo-kart was already so complex.

And so, admitting defeat, Deimos collapses, completely done in. But, when there is no hope, there are apprieciators of the work. Montoli had been treat training Chioni to partake in Turbo-kart racing. Although that's what she'd like to believe. In Deimos's words, The best-adapted kart wins. But, looking over to the defeated inventor, it was clear that wasn't the case.

Montoli sighed, looking at her saddened friend. They'd bonded over the Turbo-Karts project, but now it seemed things were falling apart. "Given up again, Deimos?" She stands up, not bothering to see who won that race.

Deimos growled, upset with himself, and the turbo-kart he was working on. "By the name of the Arcanist, this isn't right! It's too complex. It will never be right!" He slammed the workbench in frustration, causing Chioni to snap out of the hypnosis of two turbo-karts trying to race eachother. She lets out a squeal, concerned for her companion. But Montoli.. she's had enough. "Deimos, this is useless. You've been working at this one Kart for at least 24 hours by now! And I just can't sit by and watch you shed your scales out figuring out a solution. Can't you have a break for once?!" And with that, she storms out, slamming the door behind her. Deimos reaches out in desperation, but it's hopeless - Montoli won't be coming back anytime soon.

With Montoli's outburst come and gone, Deimos feels grief, as he's left to ponder what she meant. He wanders the streets of the cavernous Windbroken lair, and looking into the aether quarters above. As he does, he gets prodded by what feels to be a jolt of cold air. It's an unfamiliar face to him, but a well known one in the eyes of many dragons who were born and raised in this clan.

"You appear lost, child," The frosty-eyed snapper asked him. "Care to tell me what's wrong?"

"It's my work," he replied. "I don't know how to get anything to... work."

Cantha shook her head, but looked toward Deimos with her ever-present smile. "You are tired.. perhaps you should consider taking a break?"

Deimos shrugged, accompanying it with a sigh. "I don't know... I don't know where I'd even start with a break."

Cantha stood next to him, as he leaned over a ruined wall, a relic of the days when this place was inhabited by different company. "Might there be something you're missing? Sometimes the best breaks come in things that were forgotten before your break began."

Deimos sighed. He knew one thing, at least. " A family reunion, I guess. But... I don't know. I've heard tales of my relatives. And.. Look, I just can't face them." After spurting this out, he fully slumped down, completely defeated.

Cantha put a wing on his shoulder. "Take your friend with you! She came to me earlier. Then you will have nothing to fear."

Deimos shook his head. "You insist?"

Cantha took her wing off Deimos, backing off. "If you are to partake in this, that is merely my suggestion."

And with that, Cantha silently leaves. But her words have touched Deimos, and he has a clearer idea of what he wants to do.

---