Creative Corner

Table of contents for the Clan History.

The Prologue:
A lost history: The Quicktalon clan, post 12
The rift (part 1): The Quickwind clan, post 13
The rift (part 2): The Taloncry clan, post 14
Desolation, Post 15
The Charge, Post 16
Memories, post 17
First Breath, post 18
The Mural, post 19
Gone, post 20

Zephyr Steepes (A new life):

The ReedCleft Ascent (unwanted change):

PLEASE NOTE: If you are triggered by gore or violence, DO NOT READ A LOST HISTORY or DESOLATION

A Lost history
The Quicktalon Clan. That’s my clan. I wasn’t born here, but I have never known anything else. I have never known what it is like to have a mother, or a sister, or a father, or a brother, or to be loved by anyone. I have never known what it is like outside the forges. I have never known many things. I do know that I do not belong here, cramped in the dark, hot caverns. I want to fly.

I don’t know how.

I know what you are thinking. How could I not know how to fly. The thing is, you don’t need to know when you live in the Great Furnace. You’re inside a volcano, inside great halls carved out of the stone itself and listening to the great Flamecaller. This clan has been here for ages, so of course who would ever want change. And I’m not going to be the one to bring it.

How could I? I have no charge, no means of finding one, yet my heart does not even yearn for one.

I am a guardian with nothing to guard. A failure.

I’m counting the days I’ve been here. Well, not days but more like months. It’s been 5. I think. I can’t even remember they just pass by in a blur of sameness. Feed the fire. That’s all i’m good for. I’m more than that, Terilynn, our mage sees it, and I think Xeroth believes her. He has started to watch me as I toil in the heat, a slave to him. He watches me with a smile, but his son watches with a sneer. Whatever Xeroth is seeing, Maroth seemed to think otherwise.

I probably should have been more careful at the old Guardian’s favouritism. Making his own son jealous was never my intention, but as I rose in the ranks of the clan, he was threatened. And he lashed out. I never saw him coming.

This was three days after I became the supervisor of the forges. I had come so far from the lowly dragon who stoked them to the top of the pyramid, second only to Xeroth and Maroth. He caught me from behind, in one of the back corridors. His intention must have been to finish me off away from the rest of the clan where no one would find me. He should have succeeded. I should have died.

It was not a long fight. He started it with a tackle, easily pinning me to the ground. I must be lucky he didn’t watch where he placed his arm though as I felt the power of a satisfying crack of scales, searing hot blood rushing into my mouth. I had always thought of Maroth as being larger than I, but as we stood there, facing each other with green and orange eyes, I realized we were almost the same, mirror images. The squabble continued, but neither of us has the desire to kill anymore, it became more of a playful tussle than anything.

I believe we discovered a newfound respect for one another that day. We were brothers of the fire. Brothers to the end.


I know I said I have never know what it is like to have a brother. But that’s not true. I do know. Or at least I know now. We sparred frequently, I had never fought before, but I learned quickly and my instincts became more refined to the taste of battle. We shared tactics we discovered off one another, we made excellent partners. But I suppose this was never meant to last.

It’s been one month since that first fight, well, more than a month I guess. Xeroth seems so pleased with our bonding, so pleased in fact that he has named me his honorary son. I guess now Maroth and I really are brothers, and that is fine with me. Maroth seems to agree.

The other day Maroth told me his father was going to declare that he was to be the next leader. I thought this was wonderful until I realized that Maroth and I were truly different dragons with vastly differing morals. Short sighted and cruel, Maroth confided in me that he was planning to murder his father so he could claim the title earlier instead of waiting for the able bodied guardian to die naturally. I didn’t say or do anything and now, I know that was stupid, because the next thing Maroth asked of me was to help him. And I agreed.

I don’t know why.

That’s a lie. I knew I did not want to lose my brother. It still did not matter in the end.

The day of the announcement dawned as all days in the caverns dawned. Dark and hot, ash blowing through the air from the fires being reduced to embers as everyone slept. The entire clan passed by the forges without a thought. It was weird for me to watch as the young guardian who had never spent a day away from the forges in my life. Some cast longing looks at the softly glowing embers, others stared sourly ahead, and others just chatted with family and friends. Perhaps they knew what a day off was like and I was simply too hard working to take one.

Everyone filed into the massive cave that opened up to the centre of the inactive volcano we called our home. For one split second as I took my place beside Maroth at the front of the gathering I stole a glance at the grey, ashen sky and longed to be there. Longed to stretch my wings. Longed to go…home. Wherever home was.

My attention was called back to the front of the room soon enough as a hush settled over the large crowd of dragons, their eyes all watching the three guardians who stood at the front of the cavern, silhouetted against what little light came from the volcano’s open top. I made eye contact with Terilynn, and she smiled. I did not know what that meant, and then Xeroth spoke and everything seemed to go into slow motion.

The only thing I remember was Maroth tearing into his father’s throat, me tearing them apart and wounding Maroth, and Maroth escaping out of the caverns into the volcano.

And just like that I was alone again, but I know who I am now.

My name is Ruston. Leader of the Clan.

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A note from Aureus: These are excerpts from a few pages out of a book which Ruston wrote while in the Quicktalon clan. It is not the most amazing writing because, well, I didn’t write it and I was attempting to translate what our old friend wrote with charcoal on these half burnt pieces of paper. Some things may have been left out due to smudges or a burnt piece of paper. Also, many of these pages are missing, and were only recovered recently when Ruston and Roninn left the clan for a week to revisit the site of this clan.

The Rift Part 1: The Quickwind Clan

That’s really it then. Xeroth is dead, Maroth is gone and I was named the leader. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to lead. I’m just an orphaned guardian who doesn’t even belong in the fire lands.

Who doesn’t even have a charge. That’s the worst part. All these memories that live in these dark and dreaded caverns are nothing compared to that resonating thought in my mind. But I can’t leave because the clan is my duty. Unless I took the clan with me. Ever since that first glance at the sky I have gone back day after day, stepped over the stained rock and poked my head out to look out of the cone of the volcano to the sky. It’s always grey and cloudy, but if I really strain I can see blue in the distance to the west. I feel the pull to go there, but who am I kidding. I can’t lead all these dragons there if I can’t even fly.

So I practice. Day after day when everyone is sleeping I fly. The volcano is small, but there is still plenty of room for falling and every time I fall it hurts my pride more than anything. Terilynn is watching me. She doesn’t even try to hide her smirks each time my wings fail me and I fall once more to the ground. I guess it is probably entertaining to watch your leader fail at something you’ve been able to do since birth. I guess I can laugh with her.

I’m sure the massive one known as Ruston has known for a while that I am watching him. I’m not trying to be secretive or anything, it’s just…well he is cute as he tries like a hatchling to jump and catch the air. Failing most times and I can’t help feeling a little emotion towards him. Yes, emotion. For a fae, that is saying something.

Days pass and suddenly he can fly. This dragon is no longer a hatchling. This dragon is our leader. I do hope he will lead us well. During all this waiting and watching and wishing, I have come up with a plan to make me larger. I suppose it is risky, but what can I say? I’ll do anything for him now, even though he does not notice me. I feel like a slave to him, and well, I guess that’s what I am if I am this desperate… Just a few more preparations need to be made, then…well…we will see.

It wasn’t too long after he learned to fly that he made his announcement. As everyone piled into the great hall once more, a place where they would not soon forget the events which transpired within, you could see there was a general wariness and dislike for this place that flowed through the crowd. But even so Ruston’s announcement did not please everyone.

“My brothers and sisters, my clan mates. I have gathered you all here because we have need to move on. These hallowed halls no longer reflect the greatness of our clan, they reflect the grief we have so recently known. And no one should be asked to stay within these caves to be reminded every time they walk in here of what happened.” I think that’s how he started…though he rambled for quite a long time, I’ll spare you all the boring parts.

It got interesting when he finally said he would be moving with any clan members who wanted too, to the west, where the skies were clear and we could build a new life for ourselves. A few of the older dragons freaked out, and many of the younger dragons shrieked with glee. You could tell that while some were enraged by what Ruson was about to do, the majority agreed with him, they had to find a new place to live.

Time will settle the decision.

We’ve finally arrived. A few weeks of planning, but everyone was just itching to get out. Just like me, some had never flown before, they were born in those caves and had never left it. The larger imperials were kind enough to lend them their backs, and the fellow guardians and ridgebacks carried the rest of our provisions and clan goods. We would sell our metalware to make some treasure for the new clan.

This new clan. Who am I kidding, we are still the same clan, even if we’ve moved, changed ourselves. We are still the Quicktalon clan, but that name no longer sits right with me. That name fell when talons killed out leader. Yet another reminder of my…my father.

This new clan needs a new name. Thats the end of the conversation. Nothing more ever comes from bringing that up. I have been informed by some of the dragons who came from this place that this is the Zephyr Steepes that we have landed upon, in the wind domain. There aren’t many dragons around and most seem to be rouge in this specific place. I don’t know how I feel about that, but perhaps we will get some fresh dragons in our clan.

The Quickwind Clan

The clan is so different here. It’s growing, and changing, adapting to the customs here. I’ve taken to asking Zedra and Thalis for help. They are native to the windswept plateau, so they know the customs here. The only problem is that there really doesn’t seem to be any big role for the entire clan to engage in. I’ll need to come up with roles for all of them, and that is such a big task! No one seems content to just lie around and relax, but I guess it runs in their blood. They are all workers by heart, born to fuel the fire.

Wind fuels fire too. The fires we build for the night grow large fast, they keep away the predators who circle, looking to pick off the weak, or the entire clan. I’ve seen guardians, seemingly crazed from the loss of their charge. Pearlcatchers with no pearl. Longneck, Raptorik, Talonok. We need to train warriors to defend out land, but it is so peaceful here, no one seems to be up for the task. I suppose I shall fight myself.

It was one of these outings, during which I was training to better protect my clan when I found…her. Or she found me.

I believe I was fighting a peacock scorpion, just about to go in for the finishing strike when piercing green fire blocked my shot, and the scorpion scuttled away. I chased after it for a bit, but it was long gone. And so was she, like a ghost, she melted back into the swirling clouds and was gone, nothing but green jeweled eyes to remember her by.
I didn’t see her again for a whole month. I searched the waterfall endlessly, hoping that between the bamboo, I’d see her form again. Clearly she had not wanted to be found. I don’t entirely think she enjoyed the fact that I found her as well, but I could not take my eyes off her, and somehow, I think she felt the same for me.

Her name is Divinity. She has a hide as white as the southern ice field, with a mane that shimmers like the moonlight. And her eyes. Oh her eyes they shine as bright as the sun, but with such a full green they could make an emerald envious. There is not way to describe her until you see her for yourself. So pure. So stunning.

She followed me back to the lair. Everyone seemed excited to see a new member, excited whispers and chit chat flowing on the wind. She paid no attention to their stares though, her regal stature stepping daintily through the landscape, careful not to misplace even a single strand of grass. I have never seen am imperial like herself. So lighthearted. So gentle and carefree. She seemed like nothing more than a legend.

She wants me to stop hurting the animals. That is her reason for following me here. She does not have feelings for me. She could care less about what I feel for her. Her only intentions were protecting the fauna of the waterfall. I should have know. I should have been so gullible. I shouldn’t have let my heart get smashed on the ground by her. I should have known better, and if I cannot even protect myself from the heart, how could I ever protect the clan.

Thank the Flamecaller. Y’know what? Thank the Windsinger too! Thank all the gods that she will not stay in this clan. That perfect beauty who stole my loves heart from me. That horrid white imperial who walks with an air of selfishness and haughtyness. Who made her queen of this lair? NOBODY! At least she’s gone now. Back to whatever hole she crawled out of.

I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Like a little jealous child. But I can’t help it, her looks would make even me fall in love with her at the strike of the anvil, but who am I kidding. I’m jealous because she is an imperial. I’m just a tiny fae. So small Ruston can’t even see me unless I want to be see, and I bet she couldn’t see me either. I wonder if perhaps I could find a way to change myself. To become an imperial like herself.

I can change the genetics of other dragons. Why would I not be able to change my own a bit. A little experimentation might be in call for that though. If I could just catch some of those critters who hang about around here. See what happens with them so I don’t further mess myself up blindly trying on my own hide.

I’ll get Ruston’s attention, if it’s the last thing I do.

I must have Windsinger’s blessing. She has returned to me! Again!

I was tending to our farms and what do I find but a bright green eye watching me from the distance. She approached carefully, her gently stepping form missing all of the newly budding plants played out here. As she drew closer I could see she was injured, her hind leg a mess, red blood staining her scales. I rushed forward to her, no longer caring about any of the plants I crushed in my mad rush to her side.

She needed my help, but she wanted nothing to do with a healer, I didn’t know why, but I did not want to go against her wishes. After all, she wanted help with a different kind of problem. Poachers.

No matter what tactics she had tried this poacher had always been two steps ahead of her. New traps set each day, including those meant to kill a dragon. She was probably lucky she still had her life, let alone her leg.

The Rift Part 2: The Taloncry Clan

Desolation

Ruston twirled on the ground, his wide tail whipping the air and adding energy to the flames rising high above him. Smoke filled the already dark sky as the tendrils of flame licked at the wind. Wind fuelled the fire. He had fuelled Maroth. Exhaling slowly, he refocused. That couldn’t get to him anymore, it was over and done, now there was a fight to win. He closed his light green eyes, feeling the power growing within. He would win as they were on his territory, he knew the lay of the land, and he could outsmart them. He could kill them. The light of his eyes lit up the scorched grass below as wings black as the sky unfurled and he pushed himself into the sky with the grace of a falcon, silent and deadly.

The air was thick and heavy, like swimming in soup, but he pushed through to gain altitude and survey the scene below. The broken bodies of his enemies and clan mates alike lay on the once peaceful soil, staining the ground with a web of red. It was an awful sight, too much for him to bear, so he turned away, right into the black guardian Maroth.

The black guardian’s scales glinted like oil, deep recesses of light. His eyes glowed a bright orange like his golden belly and fire danced at his lips. The two guardians were equal in size, but Maroth out-weighed him, so when his body slammed into Ruston’s mid-flight, both plummeted to the ground, spitting insults back at each other. Bird brained! Hot Head! And some more colourful names were tossed to the wind on the heated breath of the two friends. Enemies.

As the ground quickly approached, Maroth peeled away, using Ruston as a spring board to get away from the ground and land smoothly a few seconds later. Ruston cried out in pain as Maroth’s pressure pushed him hard into the ground onto his left wing, denting the soil. The bone seemed to shatter into a million pieces as the heavy weight of the guardian slammed it into the hard earth under the soft layer of grass. Grunting, he slowly maneuvered his way back to standing, favouring the disfigured wing and trying to not look at the bits of bone that sliced through his skin.

“You coward. This is what happens when you hide behind your clan for your mistakes.” Maroth stood facing Ruston, one midnight wing gesturing out towards the carnage that had fallen upon the peaceful land. “They pay the price for your stupidity.”

“Maroth, this isn’t about them, why did you have to involve them?” Ruston spoke calmly, even as he panted from the pain, speaking between breaths and trying to block out the noise that surrounded them. “These were our mistakes, you made them too, why could we not have just settled our differences peacefully?” Fire dragons had always been so hot headed, Ruston grumbled under his breath.

“This was your mistake, not mine. You chose to flee instead of face the consequences. If you had not been such a coward, maybe I would have taken pity on you, given you a chance. But that was not the case.” Maroth turned away from Ruston so that his face was obscured and the firelight reflected off his back.

“Maroth, we were once friends, what changed in you?” The red guardian implored, “Why did you have to change, you were a better leader, a better fighter.” The last part was mumbled, not meant for Maroth to hear.

“Friendships always end, something you might have to get used to. It’s just a fact Ruston that good things don’t last forever. Let it go!” Pausing for a second Maroth digested what Ruston had said. “You think I am the poor leader, then you must be looking in a mirror, I attacked with my people because you could not govern your land properly, you were given too much space to wiggle around your problems by the other clan leaders, now, It’s about time someone showed you your place.” Maroth paused again. Over his shoulder, orange eyes blazed. “You just called me a poor fighter didn’t you? You thought I wouldn’t hear. YOU THOUGHT WRONG!” The ear-piercing screech shook the surrounding area as Maroth lunged for Ruston, his black and red claws scraping for Ruston’s bloodstained scales.

Ruston hissed as Maroth’s claws raked down his neck, twisting around, he bit deep into Maroth’s own neck, warm blood spurting into his mouth, the taste bitter and salty. The black guardian squirmed like a snake, finally causing Ruston to let go, but not after the deep red lines had cut through half the length of his neck. Tooth and claw lashed out and tails attempted to trip their opponent, but each was evenly matched.

Rivers of blood flowed on the field, each dragon breathing heavily and sharply at the pain that tore through them with each new injury. This was no longer a simple fight; this would be the end of one of them.

The two Guardians faced each other in their stalemate, their expressions enough to tell any onlooker of their feelings for one another. Claws splashed with stolen red pawed the ground restlessly. Neither made a move, neither swayed. The battle raged around them, but they were still. Silent. Calculating. Out of the corner of his eye, Ruston saw a white dragon, swooping through the smoke, her body glowing in the fire’s light. His sudden eye flicker alerted Maroth to the approaching dragon and the black guardian spun around into her waiting claws. Her bulk pinned him to the ground as she sunk her claws under his hide and into the soft flesh.

Maroth squirmed as Ruston casually walked over and pinned his head into the ground, claws dangerously close to his eye. Ruston nuzzled the newcomer, “Hello wonderful, funny seeing you here.”

“Ruston this is war, how are you so light hearted?” The newcomer nuzzled him back, cautiously, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, what are you going to do with him?” The white Imperial looked at Ruston, light eyes matching her pearlescent body, questioning. They were bright eyes, bright as the sun and full of love.

“I can’t do it. I know I should but I can’t” Ruston removed his paw from Maroth’s face, but not without leaving his mark first, a line of red followed his claw. He looked down upon Maroth, still flattened against the ground by the white imperial, with compassion. He could be forgiven, with time.

“Ruston, what happened to you? The strongest dragon on the battlefield, you took several lives without a thought right off the bat, why is this any different. If you don’t kill him, I’ll do it myself.” She looked over him with confusion. “ Be the hero Ruston, do what’s best for our clan.”

“There is no honour in killing. Tell me, Divinity, what good do you find from the killing of your own kind!” He snapped back. “Get off of him now,” he faced the black guardian “Maroth, I will give you a second chance, call off your clan. We were friends, that doesn’t have to change because of one petty argument.”

“You can’t be serious…” Ruston hushed the imperial and gave her a small shove with his good shoulder. A glint of maliciousness flashed in Maroth’s eyes, but Ruston did not notice. “Fine, you know best.” She bowed her head to Ruston as she stepped off Maroth, allowing him to stand.

“Thank you friend, I once thought you wise, but now, I believe you to be the most stupid Guardian alive.” Maroth whipped around and careened into Divinity. She had not been unguarded, but she had expected Maroth to attack Ruston, not her. Maroth’s claws tore into her throat as red rivers made their tracts through the dirt. Divinity collapsed in a heap, her white coat splattered with hers and Maroth’s blood.

“Div!” Ruston rushed forward as Maroth took a step back to survey his work. “No, no don’t leave me! You were right…no…no…Divinity!” She said nothing as her gasping breaths turned silent and water stained eyes hardened to glass. The blood red guardian felt his heart clench up as the warmth left her body and she was left a cold hard shell. He set her limp head gently on the grass, her blank eyes still seeming to stare right through him. “How dare you!” Ruston turned around with fury only to find Maroth standing right beside him, much closer than he had anticipated. Ruston was about to take a swipe at his smug face, when the black guardian clamped down on Ruston’s left wing and twisted. The pain that shot through the already broken wing grew greater and forced the powerful guardian to his knees.

“Fool. I would not give up that easy.” Ruston’s head was bowed in defeat to him, bloodstained tears dripped down his cheeks, “Now you pay, but not with your life, I would rather see you whither from her loss than an easy and swift death at my claw. Take your land back, but remember that it cost you the lives of all your clan members. And you did not die for them.” Maroth looked at Ruston with disgust before sending one more painful twist of his wing and taking to the skies to continue the fight against the few who remained.

Ruston laid his head down, facing away from Divinity’s lifeless body. He had nothing and his heart hurt worse than all the wounds on his war torn body. He had let his charge die. He was worthless. He closed his dull, light green eyes and his body went limp, left lying in a field of his friends and allies who had died because he couldn’t protect them.

The sound of some-dragon calling his name frantically brushed the edges of his conscience before the world around him went black.