@Decaffeinated
Lore done! Could she be renamed Actiniaria, please?
In the warm, deep pools near the borders that separated the Flamecaller's soot-stained lands and the Tidelord's watery domains there lived a clan, or rather a cluster when you took into account their lifestyle and behaviours, of Coatls. Migration over the long centuries had lead to this particular group splintering off from their heat-loving brethren, and some say that bold explorers are still able to trace their route down from the treacherous cliff face of the Emberglow Hearth provided that they bring ample amounts of constitution and rope. Though exact timelines are dubious because of an almost exclusive oral tradition before the practice of keeping written records, extensive underground burrows and the weathered sides of these tide pools are evidence of the longevity of this settlement.
Mayhap it is the proximity to the heated lands of the Ashfall Waste which stops that hard-to-deny pull that beckons Coatls to return, but the Clan is proud of their iron-clad will. Fortitude and patience. Those words are more than just a motto, and their essence and meaning is not only prevalent in day to day life but also in the early education of the hatchlings born to them. Coatls of this Clan have no need for fancy nets, instead coating the edges of their feathers with a type of stinging venom. Water-proof and safe to use for Clan members this venom stuns any fish to come into contact with it. Younglings are trained to lay in wait for their prey amongst colorful coral outcroppings and are celebrated according to how many fish they are able to catch in this fashion. Indeed, it is one of the aspects of the coming of age ritual practised within the Clan.
Fortitude and patience. She rolls the scroll up and extends it to the dragon who has been watching her read it all this while. The feathers along his neck quivered with unspoken tension, and she clicks and hums comforting words to him. "Do not worry. I think the elder will like it."
"Easy for you to say Actiniaria. You're his favourite." His reply is low, feathers vibrating to denote grumbling but she has known him since they had both looked over the walls of their nests and made eye contact. Her with her feathers still damp from the amniotic fluid and he with the eggshell still on his head, they had been best friends ever since. Inseparable too until now. He did not mean this charge of favouritism.
"Promise you'll write?"
"Of course!" A series of thrilling chirps, she narrows her eyes at him playfully. "Though it will remain to be seen if you'll have any time to read any of my letters."
He groans and leans heavily against her, over-dramatic as always. "The elder is a cruel taskmaster. I shall spend the rest of my life under a pile of scrolls."
"Such is the fate of a junior scribe." She rests her chin atop his head and closes her eyes, enjoying the breeze wafting at them from across the blue expanse of the sea.
"I will miss you." It was a tender pulse of sound. He lifts his head to smile at her, and she could see the same sentiment mirrored in his eyes before he leaps. The resulting laughter and splashing from the tickle attack could be heard for miles.
I will miss you. Fate was a fickle thing and vicious indeed for those simple words came back to haunt her. During those long, lonely nights caring for a half-formed hatchling wreathed in shadows, to the terrible journey out in the open waters of Sornieth, to the Maren attack that had left so many dead and her trapped in a prision while they tried to discover the secrets of her magic. Fortitude and patience. The memory of his thrumming laugh and quick smile. It was all she had to get her through. She almost broke towards the end if it weren't for...
"Oh! She's awake!" While she understood common draconic the sharp, excited noises hurt her head.
"Cloud, do be quiet. Your bedside manner is appaling." A gentler voice, she looks up into the long face and curious eyes of an Imperial. "We will try to stall the Tree Wardens for now, but they will want to know about the Maren prison where you were kept so that they can make sure that everything is destroyed. I am Haunted, and this is Cloud can we get anything for you?" Beyond his hulking form, she could see a smaller one at the open doorway. A Fae who's fins moved lazily as they spoke to a crowd of Wildclaws at the door.
"Parchment...quill...some ink." Her voice was flat as she tried to wrap her tongue around the common language of their kind. What had happened to the hatchling that had been in her care? Was she dead? Still a prisoner? Lost at sea? "I've some letters to write."
Lore done! Could she be renamed Actiniaria, please?
In the warm, deep pools near the borders that separated the Flamecaller's soot-stained lands and the Tidelord's watery domains there lived a clan, or rather a cluster when you took into account their lifestyle and behaviours, of Coatls. Migration over the long centuries had lead to this particular group splintering off from their heat-loving brethren, and some say that bold explorers are still able to trace their route down from the treacherous cliff face of the Emberglow Hearth provided that they bring ample amounts of constitution and rope. Though exact timelines are dubious because of an almost exclusive oral tradition before the practice of keeping written records, extensive underground burrows and the weathered sides of these tide pools are evidence of the longevity of this settlement.
Mayhap it is the proximity to the heated lands of the Ashfall Waste which stops that hard-to-deny pull that beckons Coatls to return, but the Clan is proud of their iron-clad will. Fortitude and patience. Those words are more than just a motto, and their essence and meaning is not only prevalent in day to day life but also in the early education of the hatchlings born to them. Coatls of this Clan have no need for fancy nets, instead coating the edges of their feathers with a type of stinging venom. Water-proof and safe to use for Clan members this venom stuns any fish to come into contact with it. Younglings are trained to lay in wait for their prey amongst colorful coral outcroppings and are celebrated according to how many fish they are able to catch in this fashion. Indeed, it is one of the aspects of the coming of age ritual practised within the Clan.
Fortitude and patience. She rolls the scroll up and extends it to the dragon who has been watching her read it all this while. The feathers along his neck quivered with unspoken tension, and she clicks and hums comforting words to him. "Do not worry. I think the elder will like it."
"Easy for you to say Actiniaria. You're his favourite." His reply is low, feathers vibrating to denote grumbling but she has known him since they had both looked over the walls of their nests and made eye contact. Her with her feathers still damp from the amniotic fluid and he with the eggshell still on his head, they had been best friends ever since. Inseparable too until now. He did not mean this charge of favouritism.
"Promise you'll write?"
"Of course!" A series of thrilling chirps, she narrows her eyes at him playfully. "Though it will remain to be seen if you'll have any time to read any of my letters."
He groans and leans heavily against her, over-dramatic as always. "The elder is a cruel taskmaster. I shall spend the rest of my life under a pile of scrolls."
"Such is the fate of a junior scribe." She rests her chin atop his head and closes her eyes, enjoying the breeze wafting at them from across the blue expanse of the sea.
"I will miss you." It was a tender pulse of sound. He lifts his head to smile at her, and she could see the same sentiment mirrored in his eyes before he leaps. The resulting laughter and splashing from the tickle attack could be heard for miles.
I will miss you. Fate was a fickle thing and vicious indeed for those simple words came back to haunt her. During those long, lonely nights caring for a half-formed hatchling wreathed in shadows, to the terrible journey out in the open waters of Sornieth, to the Maren attack that had left so many dead and her trapped in a prision while they tried to discover the secrets of her magic. Fortitude and patience. The memory of his thrumming laugh and quick smile. It was all she had to get her through. She almost broke towards the end if it weren't for...
"Oh! She's awake!" While she understood common draconic the sharp, excited noises hurt her head.
"Cloud, do be quiet. Your bedside manner is appaling." A gentler voice, she looks up into the long face and curious eyes of an Imperial. "We will try to stall the Tree Wardens for now, but they will want to know about the Maren prison where you were kept so that they can make sure that everything is destroyed. I am Haunted, and this is Cloud can we get anything for you?" Beyond his hulking form, she could see a smaller one at the open doorway. A Fae who's fins moved lazily as they spoke to a crowd of Wildclaws at the door.
"Parchment...quill...some ink." Her voice was flat as she tried to wrap her tongue around the common language of their kind. What had happened to the hatchling that had been in her care? Was she dead? Still a prisoner? Lost at sea? "I've some letters to write."
