#clan feldspar

[spiteweaver]

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(Note: this story takes place in May of 2020!)

--

The sharp rapping startled Branwen out of a comfortable doze. His library was cast now in heavy shadow, save for what little of it the light from the dying hearth could reach. There was no color along the horizon, and the night beyond his window was deep. He feared, for a moment, that he had awoken at the breaking of a second time loop, but relaxed at the sound of Calcifer milling about in the kitchen. The smell of tea roused him further. Sighing, he set the book he’d been reading aside and got shakily to his feet.

Another series of quick, almost frantic knocks sounded at the door. His ears flicked forward and then back. It hadn’t been a dream; someone, very real and very persistent, was standing on his front stoop. He couldn’t imagine who it could be at such a late hour and turned to the window once again to confirm that the capital was not in flames. As before, all was quiet and dark.

“I’ll get it!” Calcifer called.

“No,” Branwen replied as his mate hurried out into the foyer, “stay behind me.”

Calcifer raised a brow. “I’m a foot taller than you, Bran.”

“You’re also wearing a frilly pink apron,” Branwen pointed out, and before Calcifer could protest further, strode forward with only a split second’s hesitation.

On the stoop stood a dam, her figure obscured by an ashen grey cloak, and in her hands was a gently glowing glob. Even without the meager light it provided, however, Branwen would have known her. He did not need to see the silhouette of her face, her warm, dark skin, or the wisps of smoky hair poking out from beneath her hood. Her scent was enough to evoke vivid imagery in his mind of roaring flames—and the cinders they left behind. They danced before his eyes, a translucent mockery of a pain he had never quite managed to rid himself of, before flickering and dying against the bitter chill of a late spring evening.

The next thing Calcifer knew, his mate was throwing himself at their guest. He reacted swiftly, getting his arms around Branwen’s waist and hoisting the enraged Spiral up in a bear hug meant to disable him. Instead, it only incensed him further, and he shed his scaleless guise, slipping between Calcifer’s fingers like sand.

“You,” Branwen fumed, “you monster!”

“Calcifer,” the dam said, stepping back to avoid one of Brawnen’s blind swipes, “had I known you had taken a mate, I would have brought wedding gifts.”

“We aren’t—” Calcifer gripped Branwen by his tail and pulled back with a grunt— “married yet, Oya!”

All at once, Branwen’s squirming ceased. He turned in his mate’s grasp, but rather than anger, there was a misery so deep and so poignant in his eyes that Calcifer dropped him then and there. Branwen’s scales gave way to soft flesh again, and in the tiniest, most pitiful voice imaginable, he asked, “You know her, Calcifer?”

“I—I—” Calcifer’s mouth was suddenly bone dry. “Well, yes. I helped her construct a suitable home for her, ah—Ogun is a bit hard to explain, but I helped her make his hearth.”

Oya, meanwhile, was examining Branwen with renewed interest. She recognized him, though she wished she hadn’t. “You’re that hatchling,” she murmured thoughtfully, “from the Emberwood.”

The Emberwood—Calcifer knew it well. Colloquially known as the Scorched Forest, it stood on the border between the Ashfall Waste and the Shifting Expanse, not far from Emberglow Hearth. Very few clans called it home, as it provided little in the way of shelter or smithing. In fact, most of its residents were magic-workers, who found its isolated locale inviting.

Magic-workers…

…like Branwen.

“Whatever happened,” Calcifer said, “I don’t know anything about it, Branwen.”

“How could you not?” Branwen asked. He seemed to curl in on himself then, growing smaller with every word. “If you know her, you must know what she did.”

Calcifer reached for him, but he pulled away. “Branwen, I swear—”

“Listen to your mate,” Oya said. “Do you think I speak of my wretched work to every dragon who crosses my path? I come to him now not because we were intimately acquainted, but because, as he said, it was he who built Ogun’s hearth.”

“You came to my home,” Branwen began, his fists trembling at his sides, “the home of the drake whose clan you slaughtered, to commission my mate?!”

Oya glanced down at Branwen’s quivering hands. “Yes.”

“Go,” Branwen spat, “before I kill you.”

“I will not,” Oya replied. She did not flinch when Branwen rounded on her again. “Allow me to rephrase: I cannot.”

Before Branwen could make good on his threat, Calcifer stepped forward. “Can he survive in our hearth for a while?” he asked. “I’ll need to gather the proper supplies and dig out my old blueprints.”

“How long?”

“A week at most.”

Oya looked to the glowing glob in her hands, as if for confirmation. It pulsed once, twice, and she nodded. “A week,” she said, “no more.”

“Did you miss the part where I said she slaughtered my clan?!” Branwen asked, his rage so potent that it forced his voice up by several octaves. Typically, Calcifer would have found this amusing. Tonight, he was sweating like a pig. “I know you aren’t stupid, Calcifer! Quite the contrary, you’re meant to be the emotionally intelligent one in this relationship!”

“I’m not doing it for her, Bran,” Calcifer replied. “I’m doing it for Ogun.”

“The glob?!”

“He’s not a—” Calcifer pinched the bridge of his nose. He loved Branwen, but he was still learning how to communicate with him. “Oya,” he muttered in a tone that suggested he was struggling not to rip fistfuls of his hair out, “you can explain it better than I can.”

“Ogun is a homunculus,” Oya said with a shrug.

Branwen cast his mate an exasperated look. “You could have just told me! I know what a homunculus is!”

“I don’t!” Calcifer replied. “Whatever they are, they aren’t exactly commonplace! I’ve certainly never met one, and that’s not how Oya explained him to me!”

“I suppose I went into more detail,” Oya conceded, “seeing as I was entrusting the building of his hearth to you. All your mate needs to know is that I created him as a tool to use in my work. Yes, I see you glaring at him.” The dam’s molten gold gaze snapped up to meet Branwen’s. Neither was willing to back down. “He had no free will then. In the matter of your clan’s destruction, he is blameless.”

“He’s the figure I saw in the fire,” Branwen growled lowly. “He’s the one who enacted your will!”

“Because he could not refuse me,” Oya said again, “which I regret deeply. Over time, free will grew within him. That is why we are here. He—” She faltered, and Branwen cursed himself for feeling a pang of sympathy— “he begged me not to use him again. He knew that the Grand Circle would order us to quash Por’s rebellion. The thought of it made him sick. Perhaps it made me sick as well.”

There was more Branwen wanted to say, but for once, he bit his tongue. “I want your word that neither of you will harm myself, Calcifer, or any of our clanmates.”

“You have it.”

“If you put a single toe out of line, Dreamweaver will hear about it.”

“Of course.”

“You know Dreamweaver, don’t you? You’ve heard of them?”

“I have, and I do not wish to cross them.”

Seemingly satisfied, Branwen turned back toward the open door and motioned for the pair to follow him. “You can stay in the guest bedroom,” he said, “until you’ve secured your own housing.”

—

“So what’s all this about a clan?”

Branwen answered Calcifer’s query with a drawn-out sigh. After ensuring that both Oya and Ogun were comfortable, he had slipped away into his study for the express purpose of avoiding this very conversation. It was complicated, and he was tired. Unfortunately, Calcifer had come with a bribe. Smiling softly, the Imperial crossed to where he sat hunched over his desk and offered him a mug of piping hot tea. It had been made just the way he liked it, sweetened with sugar and honey.

Begrudgingly, he accepted the bribe.

“I thought I made myself quite clear,” he mumbled, blowing the steam from his mug and taking a quick sip. “Oya slaughtered my birth clan, every last drake, dam, and rook. Knowing that she was working for the Grand Circle puts things into perspective. We were a rebellious lot, and the Grand Circle doesn’t like rebels.”

“You told me that no one had ever loved you,” Calcifer said as he took up residence in the only other chair in the room that wasn’t piled high with books, “and that you had never loved anyone else.”

“That’s what makes it…complicated.”

Calcifer reached out to squeeze his knee. “Take it one word at a time.”

“I…” The words stuck in Branwen’s throat. It was an admittance he had promised never to utter. “I may have loved my parents, despite their many failings. When Oya came, I was still young, only a hatchling, but I was old enough to know that I was unwanted. My mother and father were rebels. They didn’t have time to raise a well-behaved hatchling, let alone one of my choleric disposition. I was a picky eater. I demanded constant attention. I was often ill. They shunted me between caretakers, whoever’s schedule was the least hectic on a given day. I was the only hatchling in our clan.”

“How did you escape?” Calcifer asked. “Someone must have loved you enough to bring you to safety.”

Branwen shook his head. “It was Oya who spared me. I remember wailing over my parents’ bodies. A shadow fell across me. I thought—” He sucked in a sharp breath— “I wanted her to kill me, but she didn’t. She told me to leave the Ashfall Waste and never return, and I obeyed.”

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Branwen.”

“Don’t be.” Branwen drained his cup in a single gulp, hoping that the heat of the tea would settle his stomach. “I can never forgive Oya for what she did, but my life there would have been a miserable one.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Calcifer said, “I’m sure your parents didn’t hate you. It sounds like you were born at an inopportune time, and they were unable to adequately care for you as such. That doesn’t mean they didn’t love you, though.”

Try as he might to suppress them, tears sprang unbidden into Branwen’s eyes. They fell into his empty cup in fat, silver drops, and Calcifer, seeing them, spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. The pair embraced. Branwen sniffled pitifully into his mate’s chest, and Calcifer ran his fingers through the witch’s wild ginger curls.

“You know I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” Calcifer whispered, “don’t you?”

Branwen nodded.

“We’re doing the right thing.”

Another nod.

“Once Ogun’s hearth is built, you’ll never have to speak to her again.” Calcifer’s grip tightened, his fingers clutching the back of Branwen’s shirt like a lifeline. “If she ever comes near you, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Branwen asked with a snort. “Kill her? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’d do it,” Calcifer replied, “if it was for you.”

Heat rushed into Branwen’s cheeks. He forced his face deeper into Calcifer’s chest to hide it, but Calcifer knew by the twitching of his tail tip that he was flustered. So, before his mate could tease him, he blurted out, “We should get married!”

“Wh…?” Calcifer pushed him back to hold him at arm’s length. This, of course, exposed Branwen’s beet red face, which only flustered him further. “What did you say?” Calcifer managed to wheeze. “I think I misheard you.”

“We should get married!” Branwen repeated. “This Flameforger’s, we should do it!”

For a moment, he was certain Calcifer would reject him. They had been together for two cycles and readily called one another mates, but weddings were official business. In the eyes of their Patron, marriage would bind them eternally. It was a lot to ask, perhaps too much. In fact, Calcifer deserved better. Branwen was hot-tempered, and socially inept, and pessimistic to a fault. That settled it. He would pass it off as a joke, and they would go back to their comfortable, uncomplicated mateship.

Then Calcifer broke into a tearful smile, and all of Branwen’s doubts shriveled and died.

“Yes,” he said, “let’s do it!”

[theoldoor]

I NEED TO DIE I LOVE KAKAVASHA/AVENTURINE SO MUCUCHUH F

Aventurine, sentenced to death after losing his Stoneheart (AGAIN - cuz it got stolen when a group of talian bandits infiltrated the radiant feldspar, this is a small event lol), now buried under the sand of the Talian’s scorned desert after his ship crashed as they were attacked by a Galaxy Ranger. He was pulled from the wreckage, collared, and prepared for sale once again. He watched as a man handed over the heavy bag again, knowing he had been sold. But to his surprise, the man who had supposedly bought him urgently nudged him to run along in a hasty manner. He had no choice but to follow. As they escaped through the clan’s market, the other man snatched a nearby blanket and dragged Aventurine out quite forcefully. Then the market caught ablaze in an explosion, his intention was revealed - he had stole all the goods of the clan’s market, including Aventurine. The two fled to the desert on a motorbike… Though it was clearly built for 1 person.

During the bike ride, Aventurine had struggled to save his life from this giant biker. Thus, they couldn’t catch up to the rest of the clan and was left stranded in the desert plains. Having nowhere else to go and night was dawning upon them, the biker stopped to set up a small camp for the both of them.

*sniepps

During their first night together they got into a big fight during dinner, which lead to the lil comic above. Fenrir was lowk freaked up cuz Aventurine matched his freak there.

This was also when they knew of each other’s name-

“So, what should I call you?”

“…”

“… I’m Fenrir.”

“…”

“Just give me a random name to call you as. Or else you’re stuck as slave-boy. Names doesn’t matter here, no one understands literature anymore so your name holds no meaning.”

“Kakavasha.”

“… I’ll just call you ‘Vasha. Remembering more than two vowels is a hassle.”

but the bickering has its time and they knew they both need to get serious of they want to survive…

Initially resistant, they realized they had to survive together. Fenrir’s partial blindness meant he relied on Aventurine as his eyes, while Aventurine depended on Fenrir for protection. Despite bickering, they formed a bond out of necessity.

“The infamous Avidity’s brute found a new companion”

No longer Aventurine, he took on his old name, Kakavasha in the desert plains of Talia as he was basically recycled here. It was the same for the other man too, once a different name, but now went by Fenrir. But the names wouldn’t matter, everything in this desert is for survival and names are luxuries.

They worked well as a team. Fenrir being the getaway driver and the dumb dog distraction while Aventurine/Kakavasha do the talking and stealing. They would build an image of being adept thieves in many Talian clans and had a notorious bounty in Nailscrap town. Over time, they transitioned from mere survival partners to a found family, developing deep respect and care for each other.

Their nights of silence turned into moments of checking in on one another. Shared dinners became hearty and enjoyable. They stole an extra bedroll and supplies, making their camp more comfortable. Fenrir, once cold, became lively and domestic, while Aventurine, once feisty and distant, now relaxed and teasing.

Months passed and they grew so close they almost forgot their original goal of finding Fenrir’s clan. When Fenrir’s clan, Avidity, finally found them, they were hesitant to accept Kakavasha. The clan had enough mouths to feed and Fenrir could survive fine without Kakavasha now. But Fenrir pleaded for his stay. Even going against his own virtues of “taking only what you need to survive” that he had always told to Aventurine. He personally recruited Aventurine as his ‘newbie’ to ensure his place in the clan.

Now part of Avidity, a new family despite the rubbish conditions they live in. Fenrir pampered him to prove to the clan that he could ‘feed the extra mouths’, and Kakavasha gained respect among the clan for his capabilities as a thief.

It took a while until Kakavasha noticed that the stoneheart was lying in Fenrir’s clan hand - it was around this same time that the Trailblazer visited the planet due to Boothill’s request and boom trailblazer quest

obligatory tannedchurin headcanon </3 + fencakes

[clubsheartsspades]

Outer Wilds update:

This might be the beginning of the end. So let's start where I ended up:

The Vessel. Holy shit the vessel. I found it, yeah, actually a little bit annoyed that it was right past the bubble tea tapioca anglerfish eggs pearls, because I was there??? I went there even before I found Feldspar??? but regardless, I made it there now. And I don't have any more words for what this game does to me.

So first of all, the Eye signal, the leftover signal that they'd picked up at least. Please, why would you not tell the others where you are going, I know you were following the signal, but why?! =((((( Please, it could have ended so much better for the Nomai had they sent their coordinates beforehand. But okay, I understand they were in a hurry and they didn't think they would be killed immediately upon arrival. Fair. It's so sad though, makes me wonder what could have been.

Then the signal they sent out, them begging someone, anyone to come help them. I'm here far too late, I found you guys long after you needed my help. I'm sorry. =(

Then, the fact that the entire universe is dying, that there are other Nomai on their own vessels out there, that they are regrouping for the impeding end. The fact that this vessel that I'm on, that Escall's clan turned into a legend, a kind of cautionary tale. The fact that the vessel can still receive incoming messages. I'm just completely blown away. Holy shit.

The Ash Twin project was one of the first things I found, Ash Twin was literally the first (second if you count the Attlerock) planet I chose to explore and I kind of accidentally stumbled into that. I knew there was a warp core powering the time loops my entire playthrough because of that, and the warp core in the vessel is broken, so... I guess I know what I have to do now.

I have the coordinates to the Eye, I know where to get a warp core, I guess all that's left to do is to put it all together and see where it takes me.

But first, before we do this, I'm going to talk to all the travelers again and see if they have more dialogue options now that I think I filled out my entire ship log, maybe spend a loop on Timberhearth as well to see if that same applies to everyone there.

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Prefixes List- G

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

Gale-: "[noun] a very strong wind"

Galerina-: "[noun] a species of extremely poisonous mushroom-forming fungus in the family Hymenogastraceae of the order Agaricales"

Gannet-: "[noun] a large seabird with mainly white plumage, known for catching fish by plunge-diving"

Garlic-: "[noun] a strong-smelling pungent-tasting bulb; [noun] the plant, closely related to the onion, that produces garlic bulbs"

Garnet-: "[noun] a precious stone consisting of a deep red vitreous silicate mineral"

Garter-: "[noun] a common, harmless North American snake that typically has well-defined longitudinal stripes and favors damp habitats"

Gem-: "[noun] a precious or semiprecious stone"

Gentle-: "[adj] having or showing a mild, kind, or tender temperament or character"

Gill-: "[noun] the paired respiratory organ of fish and some amphibians; [noun] the vertical plates arranged radially on the underside of mushrooms and many toadstools"

Ginger-: "[noun] a hot, fragrant spice; [noun] a Southeast Asian plant, which resembles bamboo in appearance, from which ginger is taken; [adj] of a light reddish-yellow or orange-brown color"

Glade-: "[noun] an open space in a forest"

Gleam-: "[noun] a faint or brief light, especially one reflected from something; [verb] shine brightly, especially with reflected light"

Gloom-: "[noun] partial or total darkness; [adj] have a dark or somber appearance"

Glow-: "[noun] a steady radiance of light or heat; [verb] give out steady light without flame"

Glowworm-: "[noun] a soft-bodied beetle with luminescent organs in the abdomen, especially the larva-like wingless female which emits light to attract the flying male"

Goat-: "[noun] a hardy domesticated ruminant animal that has backward curving horns and (in the male) a beard"

Gold-: "[noun] a deep lustrous yellow or yellow-brown color; [adj] made of or colored like gold"

Golden-: "[adj] colored or shining like gold"

Goldenrod-: "[noun] a plant of the daisy family, which bears tall spikes of small bright yellow flowers"

Goldfish-: "[noun] a small reddish-golden Eurasian carp"

Goose-: "[noun] a large waterbird with a long neck, short legs, webbed feet, and a short broad bill"

Gopher-: "[noun] a burrowing rodent with fur-lined pouches on the outside of the cheeks"

Gorge-: "[noun] a narrow valley between hills or mountains, typically with steep rocky walls and a stream running through it"

Gorse-: "[noun] a yellow-flowered shrub of the pea family, the leaves of which are modified to form spines, native to western Europe and North Africa"

Goshawk-: "[noun] a large, short-winged hawk resembling a large sparrow hawk"

Gosling-: "[noun] a young goose"

Grackle-: "[noun] a songbird of the American blackbird family, the male of which has shiny black plumage with a blue-green sheen; [noun] another term for an Asian mynah or starling, with mainly black plumage"

Grain-: "[noun] wheat or any other cultivated cereal crop used as food; [noun] a single fruit or seed of a cereal"

Granite-: "[noun] a very hard, granular, crystalline, igneous rock consisting mainly of quartz, mica, and feldspar"

Grape-: "[noun] a berry, typically green (classified as white), purple, red, or black, growing in clusters on a grapevine"

Grapevine-: "[noun] a vine native to both Eurasia and North America, especially one bearing fruit (grapes)"

Grass-: "[noun] vegetation consisting of typically short plants with long, narrow leaves; [noun] the mainly herbaceous plant that constitutes grass, which has jointed stems and spikes of small, wind-pollinated flowers"

Grasshopper-: "[noun] a plant-eating insect with long hind legs that are used for jumping and for producing a chirping sound. It frequents grassy places and low vegetation"

Gravel-: "[noun] a loose aggregation of small water-worn or pounded stones"

Gray-: "[noun] gray color or pigment; [adj] of a color intermediate between black and white, as of ashes or lead]"

Grayling-: "[noun] an edible freshwater fish of Eurasia and North America that is silvery-gray with horizontal violet stripes and has a long, high dorsal fin; [noun] a mainly brown European butterfly which has wings with bright eyespots and grayish undersides"

Grebe-: "[noun] a diving waterbird with a long neck, lobed toes, and almost no tail, typically having bright breeding plumage used in display"

Green-: "[noun] green color or pigment; [adj] of the color between blue and yellow in the spectrum; colored like grass or emeralds"

Grisette-: "[noun] a common edible woodland mushroom with a brown or gray cap, a slender stem, and white gills"

Grouse-: "[noun] a medium to large game bird with a plump body and feathered legs, the male being larger and more conspicuously colored than the female"

Grove-: "[noun] a small wood, orchard, or group of trees"

Growl-: "[verb] (of an animal, especially a dog) make a low guttural sound in the throat; [noun] a low guttural sound made in the throat by a hostile dog or other animal"

Grub-: "[noun] the larva of an insect, especially a beetle"

Gulch-: "[noun] a narrow and steep-sided ravine marking the course of a fast stream"

Gull-: "[noun] a long-winged web-footed seabird with a raucous call, typically having white plumage with a gray or black mantle"

Guppy-: "[noun] a small, livebearing freshwater fish"

Gust-: "[noun] a brief, strong rush of wind"

[omegawizardposting]

Anyway, I'm kind of stuck.

I want to start writing for a new Flight Rising clan, but in a universe completely separate from my main clan, whose lore I, uh. Um. Well. It's on hiatus, let's just say that.

One problem I faced with Feldspar's lore is that I was really just throwing whatever I thought was fun and cool at the wall, so there wasn't a lot of structured worldbuilding. Now I find myself wanting to fix that with this new clan.

So I thought I'd start with naming conventions. Each Flight tends to favor names that are somehow related to their element. For example, a child born in Wind might be named Zephyr or Gale.

You can only have so many Zephyrs and Gales, though, so then I thought, "Maybe we can draw upon real world cultures and languages for names with meanings that represent their Flight." Using Wind as an example again, the child might be named Abel ("breath") or Nephele ("cloud").

But...

Does being named Abel make the dragon Hebrew? Does being named Nephele make the dragon Greek? Where do these names come from?

Okay, what if each Flight represents a certain part of the world? Wind could cover Asia, Light Flight has a kind of European aesthetic I guess, maybe Water could be the island nations? But all of these places are made up of tons of different counties with unique cultures and languages! Is it insensitive to lump them all together? Probably!

Do I just make each Flight a melting pot? That would kind of make sense, since different breeds live in Flights other than the ones they originated in, and dragons can move wherever and whenever they want.

BUT THE GODS ARE CONSTANTLY AT WAR AND DRAGONS ARE MEANT TO BE WEIRDLY PATRIOTIC, SO WOULDN'T THEY WANT TO PRESERVE THEIR CULTURE?

AUGH.

[reliquiaenfr]

everyone in the canyon had long since thought the strange upheaval over with. no dragons had woken with hides a subtle shift one shade or two away from where it started. no one had spent a week wondering if they were going crazy as their scales changed infinitesimally, confused and thinking it was just the sun playing tricks. and most obviously, no one had woken up blue one morning and green the next.

but feldspar stretched large and long one early spring morning, tongue lolling between his teeth as he yawned and ignored bryn’s fond (but early rising) eye roll, and felt a crackling sensation behind his jaw. he prodded it with one gentle claw absently, it itched a little, but he’d been anticipating the start of his moult for a few weeks now. shedding old scales was always uncomfortable but being so shiny for a month after was worth the almost unbearable desire to scratch his haunches against the cliff walls.

only this time, when he fiddled and pried the loose scale away to inspect, it was the dusty orange of his hide on one side, and a brighter pink underneath, shimmering like mother of pearl in the mid-morning light.

bryn, of course, stuck her nose up into his face to get a look.

“you’re shiny,” she told him happily. “and pink.”

“i’m orange, bryn.”

she jabbed one finger into the soft newly-exposed scale behind his jaw. “not here you’re not.”

over the next few days as scales fell away and he rubbed absently at the itching where they were coming loose, his orange scales would flake off - orange, but only on one side - until he had a blotchy colouration: pink, shimmering scales poking through the fading orange.

“this is like, the most painfully slow chrysalis i’ve ever seen,” said bereave when she caught sight of him one afternoon hanging out at the assembly. a half dozen little scales all stuck together were in the process of peeling off his nose like healing sunburn.

it took a little longer to become obvious, too, but the membrane of his wings was changing in tandem. as the top layer of dead skin flaked away he ended up with a mottle of brown and green.

in the end it was bereave who got to laugh.

“you’re a lovely butterfly, feldspar!” she crowed at him. “a regular garden nymph.”

he offered her the best glare he could manage but there was something about being a newly-moulted soft-scaled guardian in greens and pinks, a giant glowering flower, that really ruined the impact.

“and oh,” chevron added, “your mother will be so disappointed.”

“why?”

“you’re not dirt anymore,” he explained before doubling over with more laughter.

he shuffled his still itchy wings against his side. “maybe i’m not a bug, i’m a geode. dirt on the outside and crystal on the inside.”

“whatever you need to tell yourself, big guy,” chevron managed.

when tahvi saw him (having missed all of this; off adventuring) she had much the same reaction. a gasp. eyes wide. “you’re a butterfly.” some sister.

luckily, riverstone is not the sort to disown a child for magic out of their control. (if she was, well, then the reliquary is hardly the right clan for that.)

“oh my boy,” she whispered when he stopped by, wary, worried now that river wouldn’t look at him the same. “beneath the topsoil the earth holds wonders. and look at you!"

“mum?”

“you always had a much brighter heart than hide,” she said to him, patting his (much larger) nose. “it seems earthshaker has finally seen fit to show on the outside the way you look inside.”

(and if river were any other dragon that might’ve sounded a tad ominous.)

he smiled at her. “thanks, mum.”

a butterfly or a geode. doesn’t matter to him.

[therestlessdogskull]

I can’t stop thinking about Outer Wilds + Star Trek so I drew a crossover. What if the Hearthians joined Starfleet and eventually gave our lovely protagonist a starship? I drew all of the travelers + Slate as officers on the starship, which I have decided to call the ISS Escall after the leader of the Nomai clan who died.

The Protagonist is of course the captain

Solanum is their first officer cuz I am in love

The Prisoner (here I called them Kaepora since that’s their name in the game files) is the Chief of Security

Chert is the Chief Science Officer because of their work on star charts in the game. I’ve decided that since they’re so short, the science station on the bridge has a platform that they pull out so that they can reach everything

Riebeck is another science officer because of their xenoarcheology work

Slate is the Chief Engineer (I imagine them constantly brining up new dangerous upgrades they could make to the ship)

Feldspar, being the incredible pilot they are, is in charge of piloting the ship from the helm

Gabbro is the secondary helm’s person

Esker is the Chief Communications officer since they’re always monitoring signals from the Attlerock in game

I don’t care if Starfleet regulation probably says you can’t wear a cowboy hat, the Hearthians like to accessorize and wear their cowboy hats and other stuff anyway. I drew the uniforms mostly like from Star Trek: The Next Generation but I took a few artistic liberties. Also Starfleet where are your digitigrade friendly uniforms? Not every bipedal species is plantigrade…

I also added Commander Riker for scale (I don’t actually know any of the characters heights, I’m estimating heavily)

Hope you like this crossover/AU thing!

[poisonhemloc]

Originally this was going to be a continuation of the baby headcanons from a few weeks ago and then the Nomai took over and its not fully that anymore but its mostly genetics

When Nomai do art that’s showing a ‘typical Nomai’ (like in the sun station- that’s not supposed to be someone specific, the art is a stand-in for a generic Nomai) they paint whoever their clan leader is for it. (the statues were not intended to be generic Nomai- there was a planned who is near what, and the statues are carved to reflect that)

Who was clan leader? I think it was Yarrow- our Nomai would have been considered Yarrow’s clan by the time they died. Our Nomai had a period of no leader before the two escape pods met back up with each other, since Escall wasn’t on either of the escape pods that made it out. When they did meet back up, Yarrow was elected as new clan leader. Usually it’s a for life/ until resignation, but most leaders resign when they feel they’re too old to run the clan well. Everyone is in the running for a new leader when it happens, no matter how young or old.

Clan dynamics aside, let’s talk coloration-

Yarrow was leucistic- not that common, for Nomai, but not unheard of. Most Nomai were not solid white- I like to think they could be brown to red to orange to yellow to black, sometimes you get a bluish black. Solid color or calico pattern or tabby or splotchy all happens, but it’s very ‘what do your parents look like’ based. Eye colors are generally white to light orange to very dark brown, with blues and greens occurring but, rarely. Yarrow had light blue eyes.

Escall was solid russet red practically, Solanum is solid orange with dark brown eyes, Lami and Laevi and Pye (their aunt) were calico patterned, mostly orange but with russet red and yellow and brown- their family all had light orange to white eyes. Clary and Poke were mostly solid light browns- Poke had white splotches on her limbs. Poke’s eyes were white, Clary’s were very light green.

Owlks take mostly after egg laying parent- I’ve mentioned before, I view them as three separate tribes/groups? Marsh/lowlands are more greenish colored, Isles are more blueish and tend to be smallest of the three, Cliff/gorge are more grey and the largest overall. Marsh tends to have smaller horns, Isles tend to be more swept back, Cliff is more streamlined overall. 

Hearthians are very impacted by the environment their egg was in before hatching, it’s practically stronger than genetics for them- acidic vs basic water, if it’s running too much or not at all, too hot or too cold or too clear or too muddy etc. For eye color, especially, that’s not really genetic based at all except ‘if nothing else effects this they’ll be yellow’ but a lot of stuff can effect eye color. They don’t know how every different thing effects them, but if two hatchlings in a row are weird, they change conditions for the eggs (Moraine and Chert are both weirdly short- change something. Riebeck? They didn’t wait for a second weird hatchling.) The ‘normal’ range of heights is Gossan to Porphy- Feldspar and Gabbro are both outside that on different ends- Feldspar is about an inch shorter, Gabbro two or three taller. Our hatchling was first normal height traveler.

Hearthian’s freckles are like fingerprints- everyone’s are different somehow. There is a little bit of a genetic tendency to have a similar freckle pattern to parents, but it’s very easily outweighed by everything else. Freckles can be changed due to trauma, too- Gossan did not always have the stripey pattern on their face they currently have (they don’t in the museum picture). It’s not an immediate change type thing, but get hit by something hard enough and the freckles around it will start looking more like scars as the area heals.

[ipsens-castle]

I'll never stop thinking about this but it's hard to discuss bc everyone thinks everything related to space exemplifies optimistic nihilism, and umm that's fair but... Each of the Hearthian travelers were fated to die on the respective planet indicative of their relationship with death - hell, even Solanum, Schrodinger's quantum stowaway, became the undeserving and unwilling representative of her clan, who elevated their civilization, albeit posthumously, by harnessing the energy of a star for time travel, and in doing so shat all over ethics when they decided to repeatedly decimate their own and a known proto-species "in the name of science." The Nomai attempted to incite a presaging event to which the Interloper responded as their harbinger, akin to parasitic bramble appearing on Timber Hearth like an ear worm harmonica playing in labyrinthine roots. Bramble had hundreds of thousands of years to accrete - it wasn't until Feldspar learned too much that it began to. What I mean to say is: the Eye originally pinged a signal, waiting to be noticed; it was never a silent observer.

"When I was a child, I used to believe the Eye was malevolent, to have lured my clan to this star system only to then vanish from them so completely." - Solanum

[flygefisk]

day 18: coliseum team -

you cannot split up the girls! this is the stoneguard, the coliseum team and protectors of clan flygefisk. they are partners in both battle and life, and their familiarity and love for each other makes them even more formidable. they all use she/her.

feldspar (green) is the leader, the most senior and strongest. she is a pure melee fighter, with her axe or bare hands as her preferred weapons- she’s never used a stat-affecting move in her life and she doesn’t plan on starting now.

basalt (red) is the strategist of the group. she’s great at choosing areas to fight in, planning battle patterns, and sneaking up behind enemies to finish them off. very clever, if a little grumpy.

topaz (blue) is the mage. she’s just as comfortable healing her fellows as she is blasting bad guys with blue flames. total sweetheart, but her softness is deceptive- she may be the most dangerous of the three.

[skycatcherchris]

Feldspar

Feldspar is the chieftain of the griffin clan Quill. An albino buzzard-griffin, she has white fur, a pink beak and eyes, and a web of thin scars across her throat, chest and side (the scars are usually invisible due to her thick coat covering them). Her ears are peppered with clawmarks and tears, which are decorated with rings (a common griffin custom is to regard battle scars as a sign of experience).

Due to her albinism, she rarely goes hunting in broad daylight, preferring to catch prey at dawn or dusk, as the sun hurts her eyes. She likes to spend time inside or in shadowy parts of the forest, and only goes flying on overcast days. She has poor eyesight, and sometimes blurry vision or dizziness. Due to this, she mostly uses scent, hearing and her whiskers to locate prey rather than sight.

While she cares about her clan's wellbeing, she can sometimes be afraid to let Quill griffins leave clan territory due to a deep mistrust of the dangers that could be out there.

[spiteweaver]

I might go ahead and get started on my Ancient clan. I think it will take place in an AU where Feldspar and my other clans don’t exist. I want a completely clean slate to try out new ideas and new stories.

Feldspar is still chugging along in its own universe. Everyone’s fine. They’re having their drama, overcoming their obstacles, facing their demons, growing closer as a clan. I’m just not into writing for them right now. Maybe someday I’ll come back to them.

Anyway, Aethers are super cute.

[lafortis]

who are your favorite characters from video games?

That's a tough one tbh

I feel an unnatural attachment to Gael from DS3 bcus that is just the coolest shit. the COOLEST shit. solaire and the Sieg clan are all free checkmarks on my bingo card obviously

I've recently been heard singing the praises of both Megaera and Dusa from Hades (meg can step on me and that's not even my thing). Achilles/Patroclus, Artemis, Orpheus/Eurydice, Athena, and Aphrodite have all also been competing for my affection. worth noting of course that zagreus himself is my fuckin guy

The Knight and Hornet from Hollow Knight are both good little bugs

HmmmmmmmMMM

Isshin Ashina fucking. he fucks.

Oh fuck okay. The main character from Disco Elysium, ******** ******, who's name is technically spoilers is fucking. fuck that game is well written he's really good. also CUNO

I wanna say all the characters in outer wilds, but since that's pretty cheap will take feldspar, gabbro, and ******* (again spoilers)

In fire emblem weebland, Claude fucks, Ephraim fucks, Cormag fucks, myrrh is a cool dragon, Jill fucks, Ross fucks, who else... lysithea is really good

pretty much every grizzled pissed off old man in banner saga, but Iver, Mogr, Ubin and uhh, fuckin other old varl you get pretty early. I forget his name. Love him anyway. Alettes ok too but has nothing on sheer old man-ness

That's all I can really think of right now. I'm sure I'm forgetting some favs but it's late. Thanks for such an open ended ask if you haven't played any of these games feel free to ask me about them rather than Google searching and spoiling yourself on them :3

[sarissophori]

Hither Yonder, Chapter 11

Among the White Wolves

After a half-league trek along the cold banks and frozen waters of the ravine, Chieftain and his pack led Halli and Noma up a narrow goat-path hidden by the slopes, covered over by snow. It rose with the mountain flank, more north than the highway and winding through craggier, uneven places, on and up, curving with the slope. The Wolves effortlessly scaled the ledges and worn natural steps, but Halli and Noma kept pace with them despite their weariness. Chieftain would at times look back to make sure, then sprint on.

      The goat-path snaked through a maze of tumbled rises before broadening out as a long open lawn, enclosed by dark walls of granite –a mountain hall open to the sky, but sheltered from the wind. Into the side of the ‘hall’ were many tunnels that led to dens, kennels and caves for gathering, occupied by the White Wolves since before Tarmaril’s founding, and the western seas were explored by men.

      “This is the home of my clan” Chieftain said. “For now, it is yours as well.”

      As they entered the lawn, a sentry standing watch gave a few short barks to herald their return. The clan gathered out onto the lawn to welcome their return, young and old, hunters and mothers with pups, intrigued by the sight and smell of two outsiders in their leader’s company. They held their curiosity in check and waited for his address.

      “We return” Chieftain said, his voice carried by the hall. “Not from a hunt, but from battle, for the Beasts had defiled our sacred place with their presence. They will not again, thanks to the aid of these two who stand with us; Nomatakana, shepherd of the Gallenwood, and Halli, human of Hanan. They have my blessing to take shelter here until the weather favors their travels. Give to them every courtesy. It is their earn-right.”

      Halli and Noma bowed to the clan, who returned the gesture.

      “Friends of the clan, welcome” the eldest female said, the first of the Chieftain’s many mates, and their ruling Matriarch.

      “A den shall be set aside for you and made comfortable, even perhaps to a biped’s liking. Will this be good for you, child?”

      It took Halli a moment to realize that the Matriarch’s question was directed at her.

      “For me?”

      “Bipedals are more sensitive to the cold than a Wolf of the mountains” she said. “We have little bedding, but we will spare you what we can.”

      “Thank you” Halli said. “You knew I understood wolf-speech, then?”

      “We guessed it” Matriarch said. “Your scent is similar to the Westerlanders, though more tolerable. Worry not, wolf-friend. We shan’t hold it against you. The Chieftain has spoken in your favor.”

 So Matriarch lent to them a den close to her own, far enough within the caves for warmth, but still touched by the lawn’s tempered light. The den’s floor was covered with dry grass, piled so thick Halli couldn’t feel the rock underneath; cozy, though the smell of dank fur and past litters made it very pungent. Noma went to a corner and curled up in the grass. Halli sat down beside her and counted what remained of their supplies.

      By evening Chieftain and Matriarch came to check on them, giving them a portion of meat saved from a recent hunt.

      “It is said humans prefer their meat to be cooked” Chieftain said. “Kindling is scarce in these heights, and I do not recommend searching for any soon. It is unsafe for you beyond our shelter.”

      “I have enough with me to last a few days” Halli said. “Noma may take my share.”

      Noma’s appetite concurred, and Halli nibbled on a few cold strips.

      “If you have any other needs, tell us” Matriarch said. “Until then, sleep well.”

 The storm picked up, carrying on well through the night. The dark inside and outside the caves was seamless, though Halli could hear the wind whining high over the lawn, and when it died down, the subtle crunch of sentries pacing. As a late hunting party returned with fresh hares for the pups, a low, rumbling groan echoed over the open hall, answered by booming moans that shook the air. The sounds of great cumbersome things were heard in the darkness, stomping heavy feet, beating heavy fists. The Wolves looked out with their ears pulled back.

      “They are close” one said.

      “Something has stirred them” another said.

      “Stirred what?” Halli said, crawling out of her cloak to peer out from the hall. Noma sat and listened, ears up and intent.

      “The Stone People” the first Wolf said. “We share the mountains with them, but they are friends to none, especially when roused. It would be wise to postpone all patrols until morning.”

      “Stone People…you mean Stone-golems?”

      “If that is your name for them.”

      Halli glanced at Noma’s darker outline in the den. “They’re real?”

      “So they are” Noma said.

 The storm went on for two days before finally ebbing, yielding to the clearest day since Halli and Noma entered the Grayrim. The wind was subdued, making the mountains eerily quiet. In the open hall yipping pups were at play, shaking off their boredom. Pale autumn mists clung to the slopes, roaming and fading, dotting the frost with glinting droplets. When the mists lifted Halli and Noma thanked the White Wolves for hosting them and then, accompanied by Chieftain, left the hall along the old goat-path.

      “What road will you take into Westerland?” Chieftain said.

      “The surest I know is the highway” Halli said. “But I fear to take it.”

      “You should. Now that the Beasts have your scent, they will hunt you again as soon as you leave our territory, especially if you go that way.”

      “Know you another?”

      “There is one, inside our territory, that we use at times” he said. “It is barren and not well-marked in places, however. Without a keen sense of smell, or a sure guide, you would risk becoming lost. I will lead you, if you are prepared for it.”

       “Lead on” Halli said.

      Chieftain nodded and trotted ahead of them, taking point. Passing through the tumbled knots and hills on the slope, they walked quickly first in a southerly direction, then went curving northward as they left the goat-path and traced another, rutted into the gravel, going around an outcropping that dominated the hall’s western vistas. The ravine was below them, thawing out to a trickling flow between ice patches smoothed to a crystalline shine.

    Past the outcropping, the rutted path turned west and kept with the ravine for a while, until it took them up and over the shoulder it ran along and dropped into a dimple in the stone, then carried on as a track between two ridgelines, worn yet jagged. It was rocky, patched with frost, and lined by hardy shrubs that bristled with thorns; and on it went, through miles of trying terrain, confused in its turns if keeping discernably west. At length the ridgelines met and merged with a bluff thrust out from the mountainside, blocking their way and ending this particular section of the path. Here Chieftain allowed a small rest, for they had gone the entire morning and noon unceasing in pace, making better progress than he supposed of them.

    He sniffed the air. “Our luck holds. The weather remains favorable, and the Beasts have yet to catch our scent. That said, I have no desire to press our fortune. Eat a little if you must, but no sleeping.”

      “Just as well” Noma said. “I’m hardly tired. I actually missed the distances we used to cover, wouldn’t you say, Halli?”

      Halli groaned. “Maybe when I wasn’t wearing boots.”

 There was a deep gouge where the bluff began to rise over the ravine, leading down as short choppy stairs to a slender vale choked with boulders from rockslides. Chieftain weaved them among the boulders, beginning their trek south and out of the Grayrim’s frigid reaches. The vale gently dipped as its west arm pulled suddenly back, offering Halli and Noma their first view of Tarmaril proper: green plains stretched out before the knees of the range, low and fertile, with rolling fields like an emerald sea and small woods scattered like islands; the lofty heads of the Andrim Mountains were set against the far horizon, their flanks sheathed in lush pine forests hiding meadows and glens fed by streams of melted snow. Now, after so much hardship, they beheld Tarmaril’s true beauty.

      “Our path is nearly done” Chieftain said. “There are springs close by, from which a river flows. The Westerlanders once held them sacred and use to make pilgrimages to them, in their better days. If they still do, I cannot say. I will take you there, but no further.”

      “Understood” Halli said.

      The path followed the vale’s descent, making a slow transition from bare stone to traces of shabby grass and pine needles as gaunt trees leered over them. The air was warmer here, showing little trace of the winter-like clime higher in the mountains, until all the frost was gone, and they felt the touch of sunlight. Whatever spell or chance of nature held the Grayrim’s snows at bay Halli couldn’t guess, but she was thankful for it.

      They walked deeper into a growing mix of trees and ferns, many laden with their final autumn blooms. For the first in a long time, Halli heard birdsongs and the scurrying of small animals through underbrush. Pale flowers grew along the path, opal-lilies and moonsickles, wildflowers like painted fans and god-fingers, and winding around the boughs of many trees were ivy vines laden with golden flowers, eyes-of-sun, and the trees themselves looked in blossom. Purple posies sprung out between the roots, among indigo suckles and jade-petals. A smoldered nostalgia took her, reminding her of the Irdon Forest and the groves of Lake Onu, beautiful in that spring since passed. Down the slopes they went, into yet more pleasant country.

 The path turned south and a little east, coming to the edge of a narrow outlook from the mountain-flanks. It ended before the rim of an enclosed dell, oval-shaped and flecked with feldspar, holding in its embrace clear, crisp springs, the birth-waters of the Valos River. There were three pools, blue as sapphire at the edges and dark as obsidian at their hearts, welling out from mouths of marble and granite, strung by veins of ghostly quartz. Watching over each pool was a monolith of vague human features, quartz-striped and rune-etched, monuments dedicated to keeping the Valos pure; they were remnants of Tarmaril’s earliest age, when her people had a greater love for nature than warcraft.

      “Here is where I leave you” Chieftain said. “This is as far as I go into the Westerlands.”

      Halli bowed. “You have given more than was our right to ask, thank you.”

      “Return with speed to your clan” Noma said. “Give them our thanks as well, if you would.”

      “I shall” Chieftain said. “You were respectable guests, while we had you. Farewell.”

      He turned away and made to depart, then stopped and looked back.

      “The business of outsiders is not ours to know, yet I must ask, if you will answer; why seek you the Great Water? Why risk such a danger?”

      Halli stood silent for a moment, then said softly, “To find someone I lost, beyond the sea.”

      She looked westward and said no more, but Chieftain understood her.

      “Then the greater part of your journey still lies ahead. May all the luck in the world go with you, and may your strength never fail you.”

      With that he returned up the path, leaving Halli and Noma to continue their journey by their own way.

[the-red-monk]

If They Were A Deity: X’lari

Deity of: Sun, Wildfire, Change, & Finding Lost Things

Associated with: Sunshine, naturally caused fires, transmutation, radiation, illumination. 

Commonly invoked by: Farmers when they have had too much of Selka’s rain, desert clans and nomads, scholars desperate for insight, and treasure hunters. 

Sacred Plants: Pyrophytes, Roses of Jericho, Adeniums

Sacred Gems and Stones: Sunstones, along with other colorful Feldspars. Temples, statues, and motifs are made with Sandstone.

Sacred Animal: Caracal

Sacred Food: Lemons, Cinnamon, Foraged Fruits

Associated Scents: Bakhoor

Accepted Offerings (Ways to gain Blessing): X’lari is perceived as a vain goddess, illustrated in her myth about the sun always needing to rise, and she is easy to please. The warm, gentle caress of the sun is associated with her positive aspects. She loves child-like devotions, and loves handmade trinkets and statues. Burning Bakhoor is common when asking her to find something for you. 

Rejected Offerings (Ways to bring Ire): Wildfires/Droughts are associated with her negative aspects, when her radiant heat can be too much. She can slip into a person when they are in rage, infuriating an individual even more - although this is more of a neutral consequence of her passions and is honed by some warriors. If a village needs to start a wildfire to clear land, and she is not given a ritual, she will make the fire worse and out of control. 

Thank you for this exercise @zuriel-aluette was a lot of fun :) 

@of-sea-and-flames you will probably have too much fun with this :)

[shardclan]

“The penny-pinching curs would let us perish if it got them another coin!”

“They’re going to need some kind of recompense unless you want them breathing down Her Majesty’s neck until this time next cycle. You have to give them something.”

The subject of the Merchant’s Guild was hot enough that even Stellaria’s persistent thralldom was pushed from the forefront of her mind. However, she was much harsher and significantly less cool-headed than usual, perhaps owing to some sort of astral-related separation anxiety.

“I will give them nothing. Let them breathe where they wish, it’s Rebis’ job to uphold what is best.”

Caress curled her violet lips. Thralldom or no, Stellaria’s coarseness was testing her patience. “And it is your job, as literal Tribune of Shade-Damned Commerce, to promote positive standing with foreign merchants and keep our economy afloat.”

Rebis tapped her focus on the marble top for silence. “I appreciate you two returning to this topic so doggedly—” Polite words, they were stubborn as horn-locked melprins. “—But reparations must first go to livelihoods in Noon Point and to the restoration of the clan’s welfare system.”

Caress and Stellaria both shifted forward in their seats, Caress with far more effect as Stellaria was still bound to her chair.

“Without the support of the merchants there will be little chance of repairing the economic damage we’ve sustained.”

“Oh now you’re for supporting them?”

“I always supported them!” Stellaria snapped. “But I don’t think it should involve compensation!”

Caress punctuated her words with heavy slams of her pebbled fists. “They. Are. Merchants! What kind of support do you expect they’re going to want after two and half eons of lost business?!”

“Ladies,” Rebis said softly but meaningfully. “Recall that I was tutored under Saber and that I cut my teeth on merchant discussions when the guild tried to cook Telos for closing Thunder’s March due to the Outsider incident that preceded my hatching. I am prioritizing Aphaster City merchants, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave the Guild to hang.”

“Now. I value both of your opinions, but this isn’t a discussion that can be had fruitfully without the attendance of a representative of Trader’s Walk on site. So, for the 3rd time in as many days, shelve that discussion until we can have it fruitfully.”

The two women sat back in their seats with muffled huffs.

A gentle cough interrupted the discussion from the entry. Half the table rose, a bit stiffly and wearily, to its feet to greet Hart.

In his typical fashion, he nodded to them all and waved them back into their seats. Inside the half-circle, he regarded Rebis for the first time since her return. She looked good. Calmer and a bit harder. Truly and adult, and no longer his charge.

“You look well, my Queen.” He raised a carved chest with the emblem of Lightweaver emblazoned in gold on its center. “I’ve come to deliver your ceremonial garb. The clan has missed enough celebrations. So long as you are back, I thought you might not want to let Brightshine slip by.”

Rebis raised smiled. With Samhradh enthralled and lightborn dragons at too much risk, it fell to an Arcanite to praise the Light. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.  “You thought right, that would never do. Shall we all take a break?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The robes felt made for her. Like a gift granted to her for achieving the status of Archmage. When this was all over, she would have new clothes tailored to incorporate it as a part of her royal garb.

“At penalty of re-opening the issue,” said Flaga, as Rebis settled back into her chair. “May I request that any external reparations the clan is able to provide at all be provided to the Beastclans?”

Rebis rubs at her celestine jewelry. The centaurs have had to work by night in order to be safe in the Summerlands, and they have not been able to utilize the area near House Perihelion at all. Unless they could turn things around quickly and recover the spring-planted crops allowed to go wild it would mean another famine year come winter. The previous one had already strained their relationship to tatters, it would never survive another winter like that.

“I believe that would be a wise course of action, in addition to physical labor assistance in the farming sector.”

Stellaria said nothing, but Caress did not look particularly impressed. “If we’re discussing agreements, what about the alcohol trade from Gethsemene which was halted due to inability to use the Sundew Falls as a port area with the astral having overtaken House Perihelion?”

“You’ll forgive me my skepticism, but have a single one of your districts’ clients has gone thirsty during this problem?”

Caress smiled and crossed her massive legs. “Of course not. But that is just the trouble. With Noon Point closed, merchants that didn’t funnel over to Feldspar have been watching the situation from Bramble Step. It is an entertainment district, not designed to hold thousands of squatters on a long-term basis. While they have paid well to drink my good wine, a low stock of rare drink is not an easy stock to replace.”

Saber coughed and leaned earnestly forward. “How could a woman with your funds and influence want for anything, especially given proximity to the Tangled Wood?

Saber’s well-known mild temperament spared him her more aggressive one. She knew without thought that he wasn’t trying to accuse or challenge her and answered him just as politely as he’d asked. “Darling, you’ve been dealing with practical and straightforward money concerns on Horizon’s Landing too long. No one buys alcohol like five hundred merchant caravans trading information in the absence of ability to set up shop and go about normal business. They have been ‘investing’ quite heavily in one another and in my richer patrons and that means my most wastelessly exotic alcohols are in the red.”

“Surely some of the merchants squatting there must have what you’re begging for,” Stellaria grumbled.

Caress took a deep breath. “Stellaria, my dear, your brain has been addled by Titi you thinks those merchants aren’t trying to charge me the highest mark-up they think they can get away with without insulting me.”

“Settle down,” Rebis said absently. She nodded to Azricai, who had been busily scribing the minutes of their days-long Tribunal due to Samhradh’s sulkiness. “I’m sure Gethsemene will have a mouthful to say about being off-shored since Wavecrest with a full cargo and an unpaid crew. Make a note—“

Rubranova yanked Rebis’ chair back and Nayvadius leaped forward, sword out and shield raised to deflect a strike.

Above him, the Umbra Wolf grinned in her feverish way. “Nice to see you’re in good health!”

“Same fi you,” said Nayvadius with his own grin, pushing her back. “Nah hard feeling, yuh? Me bed ah empty space fi fit you still.”

She swung her sickle casually at the far edge of the hall and flicked her tongue. “I mean if you’re inviting me, what’s the point if there’s no hard feelings~?”

“Stop flirting!”

The words didn’t come from Rebis. She was well past trying to force those two to be court-appropriate.

It came from Titi, who stormed in with Pistis and Phi.

Caress made a strangled noise and covered her mouth. “Oh my darling--!” She bolted from her seat. Pistis stepped deftly in the way of Titi-tet, seemingly unaware that Caress was running toward her.

She cupped Pistis’ thin face. “Dear heart you’re a mess! That brat has done you no good.”

Pistis gave a wan smile. “You’re being so dramatic, Caress. You sound like Generous. I’ve been fine and Titi has been a delight. I wish you had come to see me, you would love her.”

“I don’t want her!” Titi hissed, shoving Pistis and trying to no avail at all to shove Caress.

Even in her glamour, Caress was not a shovable woman, and looked down her nose at the shameless but pitiful attempt. She could crush Titi beneath her heel, but that wasn’t the plan.

“Move along you little terror or I will have Carnelian beat you with your own antlers.”

Half incensed, half terrified, Titi skittered away toward Rebis muttering something quite impolite about shadow dragons. “What are you doing here?”

“Running my clan,” Rebis said, laying a staying hand on Rubranova and re-settling into her chair. “Is there something you need?”

Titi squinted. Her mouth hung slightly agape at the strange calm in the room. She barely remembered Rebis, but this was not what she recalled. The person in her memories had been rightly crying in the dirt.

“I killed you,” she sputtered.

“You tried, yes.”

Bestealcian guffawed loudly. Titi shot her a dirty look and snorted in Rebis’ direction. “You can’t just come back. You lost! You’re supposed to stay dead!”

Rebis scooted back up to the table, glanced at the next order of business, and scrunched her nose. House Xanna was interested in receiving a report on the astral. ‘Report’ for them meant sending dragons who were involved to have their memories added to the Library. She’d have told them to eat dirt on principle, but they were offering payment. Very attractive payment, in fact.

“We’re in the middle of a Tribunal meeting,” she said, pre-occupied with just what that exchange might look like. “If you want an audience, it will have to wait. What was it I was saying before…? Ah yes, Azricai make a note to arrange a meeting including Caress, Gethsemene, myself, and the managers of all the primary liquor distributors in the territory.”

“As you say, your Majesty.”

“Stop it.” Titi snarled, her body going bright with a gathering light. “Stop Ignoring Me.”

It was high noon. As predicted, Titi had come at the height of her power.

She emitted a wave of light that was almost liquid. Stellaria and Samhradh wrestled with their bonds, suddenly agitated and nearing hysterical. The Tribunes looked away, but as the light waves washed over them they struggled against a rising compunction to look Titi’s way. To know her. To worship her. To play with her.

At the far end of the table, Rebis spoke: “Envision.”

She didn’t need the words any more than she needed her focus, but she wielded both. The pink ring around her eyes was consumed by the light of her vast magical power, and the high ceiling of the Hall filled with gilded shapes. Every eye was drawn up—away from Titi and to the shape that Rebis was weaving into reality above them. The form of it was near-impossible to make out, obscured in brighter and brighter light the longer Rebis focused.

The wings of a locust wrought in gold opened and Titi cries out in horror.

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT, YOU CAN’T—“

The envisioning of Lightweaver uttered a sharp and silencing howl. It did not speak. It was not truly her, but it was every bit as powerful as Rebis believed Her to be. Rebis’ capacity was greater than even Lutia’s, and her power was young and vital and near-infinite with the rising of Light and the recent blessing of the true Lightweaver. At that particular moment in time, during that particular alignment of events, that belief was not misplaced.

The light drew in, focusing on the astral with searing intensity.

Titi-tet was from a plane much closer to the gods—the astrals could perhaps even become as gods given enough millennia. But Titi had not had millennia. It has had a mere 2 cycles in Sornieth’s time since the Seat was moved and the Stones had gone to seed. There was not enough Light in her entire being to out-shine the envisioning, even though it was a mere copy. As the light grew sharper and brighter she was forced to look away and her body began to burn under the radiance.

Phi stepped in the way of the light to shield her, and Titi fled into a ray of noon sun filtering from the ceiling windows.

Caress stomped down a heavy heel. “Assombrissais.”

The panes of light magic that made the windows dulled and went black, revealing Titi’s fluttering shape as they shut the sunlight out.

Titi roared with aggravation. The shadow magic was infuriatingly simple. It had to be—Caress did not have any particular magical aptitude. But she was very well versed at making it exactly as dark as she liked with only a few carefully placed runes and a whispered word.

It was why Rebis had called her.

“Kill her, KILL HER!”

Saber moved from his chair to Phi with the lithe speed of an expertly cracked whip and pinned him to the floor. Pistis glanced nervously at Caress, who pushed her gently back to protect her from Bestealcian’s wildly swung sickle.

A wildclaw’s foot clamped over the coatl’s face, dragging her back and tossing her against the far wall. The Smoke Gyre splayed his wings wide and tilted his head at his student. “Sloppy, Umbra Wolf. I hope you’re prepared to be disciplined when this is all over.”

Beastealcian’s crest rattled, revealing her where she slithered along the stone arches. “I mean I have a date already but if you threaten me with a good time like that…”

A sizzling arcane bolt bigger than she was and quick as a shooting start collided with her and she fell like pigeon downed by an expert arrow.  

Arcanus stood before the entry pillars, his glamour shed and his vast wings blotting out the light. A snort released a small gust of ozone-scented magic, and a shield raised behind him.

Unless she wanted to try bulldozing through him and the wall of his magic, Titi was trapped.

Rebis climbed light-footedly onto the surface of the table and stepped just as lightly down on the other side with Rubranova’s hand to steady her. The apparition of the Lightweaver made of her thesis spell dissipated into strands of light that encircled Titi and hauled her to the floor.

Gold tears fell from the astral’s faceted eyes like honey from a hive, but any sympathy was held at bay by the otherworldly snarl twisting her muzzle. That was not a face a dragon could make. The creature beneath was beginning to show.

“I have been told that you can stay here,” Rebis said slowly. “If you relinquish your power.”

“Why would I stay here?” Titi sniveled. “You hate me! You’ve been awful to me and I didn’t even do anything! I wanna go home!”

“You will. But even though I brought you into this world, you still have to stay and pay for your crimes.”

“Wh-what?”

Rebis held a hand out to Azricai, and received the scrolls. One was Lutia’s coveted spellscroll, which radiated enough Arcane magic to make the astral squirm and wretch on the floor. Rebis, safe beneath her white celestine crown, felt nothing. “Titi-tet the 15th, Astral of the Light on High, I sever you from the noon sun and bind you to Sornieth.”

The name of the astral glowed white-hot on the scroll, and in Rebis’ other hand, an unfamiliar breed change scroll opened.

“You can’t,” she hissed, and her voice was no longer that of a hatchling. “You cannot hope to bind me to paltry dragonhood!”

“Yes, that only seems to work for the astrals who let go of their power willingly. So we decided to go with something different.”

Rebis tossed the scroll.

Titi screamed as it coile around her. She was not truly a creature of flesh, so there was no true becoming. The pain came from being given true form, one that had to come into being rather than being altered to the magic of the scroll.

Soon the task was done and silence took over the hall.

Pistis made a sickly sound and Caress held her as she wept. Phi groaned. Stellaria struggled against her bonds with fresh fervor, and Ashes rushed to free her. Though they had grown apart since he laid down Willow’s memento, she flung herself into his arms and clutched him with feeble desperation he had never seen from her before.

Titi, weak and mortal and changed to a breed that had no connection to the Light, weakly craned her head up.

“What did…you do to me…?”

“I gave you the shape of Icewarden’s firstborn. Proto-tundras, I am to understand. What more apt prison for an extraplanar being could there be than the body of a gaoler?”

“Why…? Why not just…send me…back?”

“Because you nearly killed the queen, stole the livelihood of an entire region, and broke most if not all of our magic-related laws,” Azricai said matter-of-factually. “You have crimes to answer for.”

“...That..that’s all...?”

“It is,” Rebis said, dispelling her magic and moving to untie Samhradh, who was frothing with the need to get the story written down. “It’s simple, we know. But this is the Analemma Dominions, once Aphaster as ruled by Telos the Indomitable, who raised it from the ashes the children of Clan Shard.”

“And in this clan, even the gods will be made to abide by the law.”