Prideclaw Scrolls

It was the first of such decrees ever to be made in Prideclaw, and Isabelle had a sinking suspicion it regarded her actions in the Euxenite seige.

May the Mad Queen punish me and leave these refugees be, she prayed silently. Kebos, her stoic husband, nuzzled her neck reassuringly. She didn’t need to voice the words aloud; he could feel her apprehesion through their soulbond.

“I go where you go,” he reassured her, tucking a strand of her mane behind her ear.

“Let’s go, then.” She responded, taking wing. Kebos preferred to navigate the land, but he took to the skies beside his wife in a show of solidarity.

The town centre was packed when they arrived. Fio had - somehow - moved her great oaken table from the main hall out into the dusty road. She sat behind it now with her councillors; Calibur sat to her right, with Sleipnir - resplendant in a new set of pristine, alabaster armor - just beyond him. On her left sat Steele, dwarfed by the presence of Quarry. Fio was wearing a crown of gilded gold and rubies on her head, and a supple buckskin robe cascaded over her shoulders. Isabelle’s heart dropped at the uncharacteristic show of power from the upstart leader; she was doing her best to impress her people, and judging by the tone of the murmurs from the crowd, she was doing a good job.

May she never take it in to her thick skull to impart a death sentence... Isa thought, glancing at the new sword buckled to Sleipnir’s waist. It was an idle thought; Kebos was the best fighter Prideclaw had, and Sleipnir would never raise his sword against him. But then again, things were changing so quickly...

“Our guest of honor is here! Please, Isabelle, come center.” Fio called, her voice amplified across the centre. Isa suspected Fio had been working with Stephanie on that bit of magic.

Isabelle allowed Kebos to bow and kiss her hand before she glided serenely forward, counting on all of her training as a diplomat to keep the nerves out of her posture. She settled in front of the Council.

“My people,” Fio began, and the crowd hushed. “A great treason has been conducted against this fair clan. A great treason whose actions will reverberate down the threads of time and alter the course of our future forever. A great treason that has revoked from Prideclaw the option to choose peace or war, that has made the decision for us, and which mandates a swift and just response.”

Who wrote this speech for her? Despite the fact that this particular piece of oration was directed against her, Isa couldn’t help but notice its craftmanship. It was far outside of the realm of Fio’s ability, but of the councillors sitting across from her, Isa could not think of one who could have produced it for their leader.

“It has been my policy to keep Prideclaw protected, to remove us from Sornieth’s chaos and to ensconce us all within a blessed oasis - a part of the Gladekeeper’s own Labyrinth. We feed ourselves and we clothe ourselves and we want for little. We have no militia because we have no need for a militia; we have no guard because we have no need for a guard. Our fighters are hunters; our mages keep our homes warm, well-lit, and comfortable.”

To Isabelle’s growing dismay, the crowd was murmuring assent. She fought to keep her hackles down, to keep from interrupting Fio with her own perspective. Behind her, Kebos radiated comfort and confidence, assuaging her apprehension to the best of his ability.

“Now, I’m afraid, we have found ourselves the target of the Beastclans uprising.”

Isa barely prevented a condescending snort; like hell was Prideclaw a target for their brief, anonymous involvement in a seige some distance away.

“Without my consent - indeed, without my very knowledge - the ambassador of Prideclaw herself took to the air with the greatest of Prideclaw’s fighters, and enlisted our clan in the Siege on Euxenite. When the dust settled, they returned to Prideclaw with two refugees from the Euxenite conflict. Clayton and Leutia, step forward.”

The two young dragons stepped into the clearing beside Isabelle. Clayton’s eyes shone with fury and indignation; Leutia merely looked frightened.

“The incorporation of these individuals into Prideclaw threatens us all. Revenge is a natural inclination; how long would it be before these young dragons attacked a Beastclan and sparked a conflict here, as their forebears had in Dragonshome?”

Clayton snarled. “And if we did, little Mirror, we would be in our right! They killed members of our clan, it’s just a matter of time before they come after this one, too.”

Silence followed his outburst. Isa sighed inwardly; the little spitefire had just thrown away any chance of salvaging this particular trial.

“I suppose you’ve proven my point,” Fio said smoothly. “Are there any who wish to speak in defense of these actions? Any among us gathered here who would like to see these refugees housed in Prideclaw?”

There was a definite threat to Fio’s words. The crowd stayed silent, and Isabelle cursed.

“Fio, if I may,” she murmured, stepping forward. Her voice was not magically amplified the ways Fio’s was; it was clear and traveled well, but it would not have the effect that Fio’s would. She cursed again.

“No, traitor, I’m afraid you may not.” Fio responded. It was sympathetic, as though the leader had no choice but to prevent Isa from speaking in her own defense. In fact, if Isabelle hadn’t been listening for the sharp, boasting tone that Fio typically adopted, she would have missed its slight undercurrent altogether.

At first Isabelle was in resigned admiration of whomever had coached this leader so well; this was quickly replaced by anger and panic as she realized she was not on trial. This was a sentence without a hearing.

“The punishment for treason is death.” Fio said coldly. To their credit, the dragons of Prideclaw revolted, the crowd hissing in dismay. Isabelle warmed slightly at that; at least she had not imagined the respect her clan had for her.

Kebos was at her side in an instant, his blade drawn, his eyes glaring at any who might threaten his wife.

“But,” Fio said, calming the crowd. “Isabelle is a loyal servant to the clan. She is well-respected, and well-liked, and a good person besides. It would be a loss for us to end a life such as hers. For Isabelle, then, the punishment is banishment and exile. Her title in Prideclaw is revoked, and she is no longer welcome on our territories and lands. Isabelle, you have a single mark on the sundial to collect your belongings and to leave clan Prideclaw.”

“I go with her,” Kebos said, immediately. Fio nodded as though she had seen this coming.

“Indeed, Kebos, your involvement with this situation is not so innocent; you abandoned your post in Prideclaw to accompany a traitor. Your punishment, too, is exile.”

Kebos nodded, sheathing his blade.

Isa remained tense, watching the councilors. Perhaps she and Kebos escaped with their lives, but she was not so sure that the refugees would be as lucky. She sent a warning to Kebos, who tensed again.

“To the unwelcome refugees Clayton and Leutia, whose very presence in clan is a threat to our safety, and whose own statements today indicted their own guilt, the punishment is death.”

It violated every ounce of her training, but without waiting for the councilors to act, Isabelle leapt to the sky.

“With me, refugees!” she yelled, and they leaped to the sky beside her. With a single, deft stroke, Kebos felled a tree in the councilor’s general direction, causing enough confusion to buy them time. He took the sky behind his beloved and the four of them flew faster than they ever had in their lives.

“You know, you’ll find fewer willing players if you continue to cheat us all, Calibur,” the Skydancer said. His cold, emotionless monotone had a habit of shaking other dragons to the bone - it did wonders to suck the life out of a conversation - but Calibur hardly noticed it anymore.

“Goatskin,” Calibur cursed merrily, sweeping his winnings into the pouch by his side. “I’m not the cheating type,” he said with his typical charismatic grin. Steele rolled his eyes again. “G’night, friend,” Calibur chirped.

“Fare well, Calibur.” Whether Steele meant it or not was impossible to decipher, but the little Fae couldn’t find himself too offended - after all, he wasn’t sure if he was being honest in calling the Skydancer a friend. 

“Come, nil,” Steele commanded in his same, flat tone. The shadows surrounding Calibur’s nest shifted as a Ridgeback rose from her cramped position to follow her master into the dark. That was a little party trick Calibur would never understand. There was absolutely nothing nil wouldn’t do for Steele, including - as was the case tonight - adopting whatever ridiculous position he commanded, and remaining there for hours. Steele was awfully proud of himself for breaking her spirit so completely, and while Calibur could appreciate the craftsmanship, he was a little wary of the smith whose tools were living creatures - other dragons, in particular. 

More worrisome still was Steele’s waning interest in the Ridgeback. She was utterly subservient; doubtless Steele was eager to move on to the next project. More than once, Calibur thought he had seen the Skydancer eyeing that Tundra refugee - Leutia, was that her name? - with a terrifying hunger in his otherwise dead eyes.

But, what the Skydancer did with his time was little of the Fae’s concern. Calibur had enough on his plate already, he certainly didn’t need to meddle in the going-ons of other dragons. No doubt trouble would find him soon enough on his own. Indeed, the quiet brush of scales on stone confirmed this very thought.

“Calibur,” Fio’s throaty voice drifted up from the ground below the Fae’s nest. He feigned surprise and glanced down at the Mirror.

“My queen!” He responded, allowing his southron accent to flavor his words with just a dash of spice. He zipped to the ground with graceful alacrity, falling into a silken bow and kissing her claw.

She tugged it away. “Prideclaw has never had a queen,” she reminded him, though gratitude warmed her words. It was their usual banter; he made her the queen, she argued it, he used the title anyway. 

“If my little bird friends sing true, perhaps Prideclaw is needing one now more than ever.”

To her credit - or perhaps to his - Fio no longer seemed surprised at how much her Councillor knew about the clan’s proceedings. She brushed aside his comment and pushed on with her own agenda.

“We’re exiling Isabelle and the Euxenite refugees. I expect some other members of Prideclaw will go with them. I’ve appointed Sleipnir to Captain of the Guard and charged him with assigning members of whomever remains, but I need your help. It is not my intention to grapple with the Beastclans, but in the wake of the rent this exiling will leave in Prideclaw, it will do us well to unite against a common enemy. Go to your Shadows and find us one.” There was a gleam in her eyes that Calibur had never seen before, one that spoke of confidence, determination, and wile - characteristics he would not normally have applied to the headstrong Mirror. Calibur was accustomed to navigating the Maze of Shadows - a sort of Sornieth Underground, a black market specializing in a host of less-than-desirable talents, skills, and goods - but this was the first time Fio had specifically called upon him to do so. He would need to keep a closer eye on this one, lest her courage get the best of her.

“Of course, my queen,” he murmured with a bow.

“And Calibur, should this plan backfire and the clan begin to fall apart, I will have need of your Shadows for... other purposes.” The Fae was delighted at how little she hesitated in issuing the order. He was, after all, a trained killer - one who had had a depressing dearth of work to do of late. That would be one assignment he was amply looking forward to.

“Of course, my queen,” he responded with a grin. “They do not call me The Queen’s Own Claw for naught. It is my purpose to serve the Queen, and so I shall serve.” Fio nodded, content with his answer, and left without further discussion. Calibur sat in the darkness, listening with his keen ears as the Mirror sauntered off.

Surely... Surely... he thought to himself, head cocked, waiting... Ah. Yes, there it is. In the distance, the sound of the Mirror getting sick.

So she was still sensitive enough to disgust herself with her commands, with her first foray into darkness. Calibur grinned and flitted back up to his nest. 

A watch schedule had evolved between the two of them, in some rough form or another. Typically they measured the passage of time by the players in the night’s symphony around them - the canopy of the jungle blocked any appreciation of the starry skies above, and it rained often anyway - but Trigger rarely needed to wake Arrow for his shift. The blue Tundra still didn’t quite trust Trigger. Hunter had died quickly and quietly, and Arrow noticed a suspicious lack of enemy carcasses scattered on the ground; surely a single phytocat wouldn’t have been able to fell the guardian. But he couldn’t pinpoint a motive for the other Tundra, either. He was a competent leader, but he didn’t seem to have any overwhelming ambition for the position, and as much as he had put the brakes on Hunter’s over-enthusiasm, it didn’t seem as though he had resented the Guardian’s drive, either. Indeed, it was just as likely that Hunter had pushed himself too far, and the phytocat had simply been the final straw.

Still.

Arrow sighed heavily and fluffed his mane, ruffling his wings as he settled into the ground. They’d managed to find a particularly comfortable clearing, a thick layer of leaves serving as a mattress. The large leaves overhead protected them from the few raindrops that managed to sink through the upper canopy. They had hunted well, they were dry and warm, and Trigger had first watch. By all accounts, Arrow should be asleep, but the same old thoughts were churning through his head.

Not to mention, this place was hard with just the two of them. They found themselves high-tailing it out of battles almost more than they managed to push their way to victory. It grated on the ego, a bit.

And the loneliness.

He sighed heavily.

“Awake?” Trigger grated. Arrow glanced over at him. He sat with his back to Arrow, but Arrow could just imagine his eyes gleaming from under his hood, scanning the darkness of the jungle. In similar situations, Arrow had just pretended to sleep on, but not tonight. Tonight, between the lack of sleep and the loneliness, Arrow felt compelled to speak.

“Did you kill Hunter?” he blurted. He hadn’t intended to ask so directly, but something had to give.

If the jungle had been silent, the silence would have been overwhelming. But it wasn’t, the dearth in conversation filled in by all the volume of the world around them. Arrow almost believed that Trigger hadn’t heard him over the cacophony, had almost convinced himself he could still pull off the sleeping ruse. He ruffled his wings again, but lashed his tail in agitation.

“Yes.” Trigger responded finally.

Fear swept like an avalanche through Arrow, choking at him, pressing on his lungs. Without even meaning to, he was bolt upright, head down, the fur along his back standing on end. His wings were curved over his back, his tail was lashing, and he looked for all the world like an angry dragon - but his eyes were wide, his pupils dilated in fear, and the grimace of his face was one of panic rather than anger.

I knew it, he thought. I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it. A valediction on repeat that did nothing to assuage his fear.

“Soothe,” Trigger commanded roughly, turning to face the terrified creature. His grating voice couldn’t have helped calm a boulder.

“I knew it,” Arrow muttered, voicing his reverie in a constricted, cracked and panicked voice.

“Phytocat came, meant no harm. I told Hunter to let be, we tired, it was alone.” This was the most Trigger had spoken to Arrow, the first time Arrow could appreciate the Tundra’s broken dialect. A tiny, warm part of his brain - untouched by panic - wondered from whence it came.

“Hunter attacked. Phytocat attacked. I waited. Perhaps too long, I waited. Hunter fell soon. Too soon. Hunter was too tired. Then I attacked, too late. In waiting, I failed. Hunter died.”

Trigger’s tone never changed, but as he spoke Arrow noticed the spectrum of emotion emanating from Trigger; regret was superlative. So wholeheartedly that Trigger believed he had killed Hunter that the confession had been an honest one, painted neither by hyperbole nor pity. It simply was. 

As soon as Arrow’s fear melted, his own guilt welled up inside of him. That he had for a second considered Trigger a cold-hearted killer... And all of these nights with all of that distance together. Never once did he attempt to find out more about what had happened. He had assumed Trigger was aloof intentionally - and perhaps he was, but Arrow wasn’t, and it was on him to bridge that gap.

He padded up behind the swamp Tundra, gently nuzzling under his horn. Trigger tensed, uncomfortable, unaccustomed to close quarters or physical touch at all. Arrow stopped, aware of the other Tundra’s discomfort, but seated himself beside him. They sat side-by-side for some time, Arrow searching desperately for the words he needed, trying so hard to relieve his own guilt and reassure his travelling partner.

But before he could find the words, Trigger choked back a dry sob. All of the stress that Arrow had been under, Trigger had been privy to as well - tenfold, for the guilt and the regret he carried. For all that Arrow wondered if Trigger had killed Hunter, Trigger had known that he had, under no intentions of his own.

“Regarding Euxenite,” he began slowly. Fio stiffened, her hackles raising slightly.

“Tread carefully, Sleipnir.” The Mirror hissed. Her last conversation regarding the Earth clan had not ended well for her.

“Yes, Fio.” Sleipnir nodded slightly, then took a breath to collect his thoughts. “It appears as though we have found ourselves host to a couple of refugees from the clan.” He paused for a moment, waiting for Fio’s response. None came; the Mirror sat utterly still. “They were brought in to Prideclaw mere hours after the siege ended. A female Tundra who goes by Leutia, and a male Imperial who calls himself Clayton.”

Fury boiled in Fio. Her conversation with Isabelle had occurred days after the siege. Already someone in the very clan she was meant to be ruling had ventured out to Dragonhome, had possibly fought in the siege, and had returned to Prideclaw with children.

She practically felt the clan cracking apart under her tenuous rule. It had been a year since she had overthrown her incompetent relatives and taken control of the clan, fulfilling a destiny in which she adamantly believed. It was becoming clear that her position was not authority enough.

“How did we come by these refugees, Sleipnir?” She asked with deadly calm, although she was certain she knew the answer already.

“A delegate from Prideclaw visited Euxenite. Strictly aiding behind the lines,” he added quickly as Fio’s anger finally cracked through her mask.

“‘A delegate from Prideclaw,’” Fio parroted, her voice dripping with lividity. “Wouldn’t you know, I knew of no ‘delegate from Prideclaw?’” Sleipnir swallowed audibly.

“Who, Sleipnir? Who took it upon themselves to undermine my authority and put this clan in danger?” The Ridgeback hesitated.

“With all due respect, I don’t believe that this particular maneu-” Fio cut the Ridgeback off with a crack of her tail.

“The Imperial boy is calling himself ‘Clayton.’ Surely you are not so dense as to miss the reference to Euxenite’s Clay? Arguably a key player in beginning this entire altercation?” Sleipnir swallowed again. Perhaps he had not expected Fio to be as aware of ongoing political events as she was, or perhaps the Commander was not as well-informed as his leader. She let that thought feed her bruised ego, nodding to herself.

“I’m not so ignorant, Ridgeback. Isabelle is not the only ambassador that this clan has.” She thought she heard the Ridgeback mutter a name or two under her breath, and she nodded her assent.

“Calibur is a very talented little spy, and Steele does his fair job gathering information, as well. In fact, of my whole Council, you are proving to be the least effective.” She watched the Commander grimace; his wings drooped, just slightly, for all that he managed to continue to hold his head high.

“But we can fix that. First - tell me, Councilor, who accepted these refugees?”

“Isabelle.” he responded after a moment of hesitation.

“Good. Thank you. Now, here is what we’re going to do. Since the threat has been brought considerably much closer to our clan - despite my best efforts to keep us well out of any Beastclans altercations - we’ll be needing much more than your paltry group of fighters. A recruitment is in order. Hold a tournament for all of Prideclaw, current fighters excluded, and take your pick of the participants. We’re creating a Guard. These will be trained fighters, not just hunters, and they must be good at what they do. Tell Smithy to craft a uniform for each of your new members. You will retain your position as Commander, and you will need a uniform that sets you apart from your guardlings, too.” She paced as she thought, her tail whipping back and forth. Sleipnir couldn’t tell if her energy was the product of excitement or agitation, but this was the most inspiring she had been since the Ridgeback had started working for her. He was a firm believer in organized fighting; to be involved with the development of Prideclaw’s own Guard was a huge honor to him, tainted as it was by naming Isabelle a traitor. Still, the opportunity to redeem himself as a Councillor did not go unappreciated.

“How many?” He asked. Fio smiled inwardly, pleased with the Ridgeback’s enthusiasm. It was difficult to tell where the Ridgeback’s loyalties lay, but she would need him on her team if her blossoming plan was going to succeed.

“Three for now, I think. If these efforts are successful, we can double that number.” Sleipnir nodded crisply. Fio stopped a moment, watching the gears turning in her Commander’s head. As transparent as he was, he was very good at his job, and she had no doubt that he would do well with her wishes.

“We’ll need more defenses,” he volunteered, indicating the map of Prideclaw spread out on the oaken table. There were still marks in the surface from Fio’s last meeting with Isabelle. “Even some of the halfway-trained hunters could run scout formations along the periphery. Kebos - “ he began. Fio interrupted him by laying her hand on his.

“Not so fast,” she said firmly. “We must exile Isabelle and the refugees with her. No doubt Kebos will follow.” Sleipnir’s heart dropped to near to his toes.

“We can’t,” he croaked. “Kebos is our best fighter, if we lose him… and there are others…”

Fio let the Ridgeback babble for just a second more before stopping him with a shake of her head.

“The loss of a few will protect the rest of Prideclaw. Isabelle, Leutia, and Clayton must go. Kebos no doubt will follow her. Adobe may as well. Perhaps Lassair will go with Adobe, but if we can convince Quarry to stay - which should not be difficult - then the Skydancer may remain in Prideclaw as well. Avalon will find herself conflicted either way,” Fio spat the last line out. Avalon was a valued member of Prideclaw, but her dedication to her familiars suggested a deep and abiding love of the Beastclans. Still, Isabelle made her position against the Beastclans quite vocal in her last meeting with Fio, so Avalon may be better off remaining in Prideclaw.

Sleipnir despaired at the growing list of names. To fragment the clan now, with tension growing across the land, seemed dire straits to him. On the other hand, perhaps Fio was right to offload those who worked largely under their own autonomy. If Prideclaw would function as a clan, they must respect the wishes of their leader. Still, Isabelle was a good friend of his, and Kebos was one of his greatest role models. It would break his heart to watch them go, and to know that he played a role in their exile.

“Remember,” Fio said, stony-voiced. “It was my wish to keep this clan quite to itself and out of the way of the Beastclans fighting. It was never my idea to resort to raising a Guard, to participate in war of any sort. But those refugees will not abide by that, and Isabelle is clearly not interested in the safety of the rest of us.” She softened slightly. “I’m brash at times, I know. But I am meant to lead this clan, and I will do right by these dragons until the day I die. Isabelle and the refugees must go. You worry about training your Guard. Get your scouts on the ground. The Beastclans won’t rise tomorrow, perhaps not even next week, perhaps not even next month. We’ll be ready if and when they do - and it will be thanks to you.”

Recognizing this as a dismissal, the Ridgeback nodded stiffly and backed out of the Hall. For once his face was still, frozen in fear as his warring emotions bubbled inside of him.

“We camp soon,” Trigger creaked, his eyes gleaming under the hood he always wore.

“Not yet.” Hunter rumbled in response, pushing forward in the underbrush. Thunder rumbled in the distance, forewarning of an oncoming storm. Arrow hesitated and glanced through the boughs at the sparse sky above. He twitched an ear in consternation, but followed behind the Arcane dragon.

Their time together had been brief so far, and an unsteady hierarchy had developed. Hunter, with his natural enthusiasm and relative size, had taken up the mantle of leader. Arrow was happy to have someone to follow, not being much of a leader himself, but the Guardian’s perseverance bordered on strenuous. More than once, Hunter had pushed through battle when one or the other Tundra boys had suffered grave injuries. Trigger, on the other hand, was a more difficult creature to read. Arrow appreciated the Tundra’s help - and readily gave his own when it was needed - but could not fully bring himself to trust him.

The trio continued through the underbrush until full darkness fell, and still the Guardian pushed on. Raindrops began pelting through the canopy, and thunder rolled ever closer.

“We rest.” Trigger demanded, coming to a halt in a clearing. 

“No, we can still-”

“We rest. We camp. No more today.” Trigger snarled, hackles up. Hunter huffed, a quick fire darting into his Arcane eyes, but nodded in agreement.

Arrow offered to scavenge in the nearby vicinity for food and any dry firewood he may be able to find. He didn’t go far, of course, far too well aware of what lurked in the darkness.

“Arrow!” The voice ricocheted off of trees just as readily as it was absorbed into the darkness. “Arrow, come!” It was Trigger’s grating voice. The blue Tundra dropped the sticks in his forepaws and sprinted back towards his partners. Hunter lay in a heap on the ground while Trigger grappled with a Phytocat. All three of them were covered in an impossible amount of blood. Arrow skidded to a halt, looking desperately from the Guardian to the Tundra. 

“Arrow!” Trigger’s rough voice cracked through the Tundra’s indecision. Arrow leapt into action, slamming a shoulder against the Phytocat to shake it loose from its grip on Trigger’s thick mane. Before it could find its footing, Trigger was upon it, and the two Tundras spent little time tearing the creature to shreds.

With the battle won, the Tundras approached the Guardian’s form. 

“Up you go, Hunter,” Arrow murmured, nuzzling the Guardian’s neck. The larger dragon didn’t move. 

“Come on, bud,” Arrow repeated, shouldering the Guardian’s head. Blood poured from a wound on the dragon’s neck, washing over the Tundra’s paws. He held back a gag.

“Gone.” Trigger said flatly.

“But-” Arrow wasn’t sure what his argument would be, exactly. Hunter’s form was not breathing, and the blood dripped limply from his cuts. The dragon was surely dead.

Arrow had never seen a dragon die before, had never been so near to a fallen comrade. He grew hot and cold in the same second, noticing that he stood in a puddle of quickly congealing blood. He flailed backwards, crashing into a stoic Trigger, this time unable to prevent from being sick.

“Pull yourself together.” Trigger muttered. “We go on.”

Isabelle stood across the oaken table, Kebos standing protectively beside her.

“With all due respect, it very well could be. It is not so very far from the Everbloom Gardens to the outskirts of Dragonhome, and the -”

“We do not live in the Everbloom Gardens.” Fio cut Isa off with a quick flick of her wings. Kebos shifted uncomfortably. Isabelle would never allow herself to show her agitation (it was one of the tempered features that made her such a good ambassador), but to her soulbonded, her frustration was palpable.

“Yes, but the Viridian Labyrinth is not so large that -” Again Fio cut the Imperial off, this time with a hiss.

“We are not a large clan, Isabelle. We have few trained warriors,” she spared a pointed glare for Kebos; she did not approve of her best fighter spending so much of his time abroad. “And even our best spend most of their time hunting easy prey for food than training for war. Prideclaw is small and we keep to ourselves. Euxenite is large, and this war comes from retribution. We have angered no one, and so we are safe to continue building our clan.”

Kebos shifted again as the agitation in his soulbonded darkened.

“The world around us is shrinking, Fjornir,” Isabelle responded flatly. “I’ve been to the realms of the other flights, I’ve seen the alliances other clans are forging. There is much interaction among clans now - among flights, even - and we’re sitting here, keeping to our treetops? If we are not proactive, Fio, if we do not help other clans, then there will be none to help us when we need it.” Fio motioned as if to cut the ambassador off, but Isabelle stepped primly forward, and for just a split second, her expression darkened. The matriarch quieted. “The Beastclans are on the rise across all of Sornieth. If you believe Euxenite’s woes are an isolated incident, you are gravely mistaken.” The Imperial approached the table with her typical, graceful gait, and indicated the map. “Talonok, Serthis, Centaur, and in our oceans, Maren. These clans occupy The Viridian Labyrinth. It is not Prideclaw with whom these beasts war, but dragonkind. Perhaps you are right, perhaps Euxenite’s battle is not ours, but if we ignore the threat and keep in isolation, you are dooming Prideclaw to oblivion.”

So well did he perform his duties that Fio was gifted with an elaborate piece of work nothing short of masterful.

It was said he had ventured to the Behemoth itself and prayed to the Gladekeeper to grant him his skill. As the story goes, a massive, braided vine the size of the Tundra himself had fallen nearly atop him where he prayed. From that he fashioned the false queen's seat, incorporating feathers from Seekers and Crows, emeralds from Strikers that bore the gembond, and scales from Crowntails that lived in the streams. So beautiful was the final product that it seemed a sin to the folks of Prideclaw to call it anything other than a throne--and so the Verdant Throne it became. 

With the seat thusly named, it became easy to dub Fio the Queen, and although Prideclaw had never had a queen before, the dragons of the clan found it an easy transition to make.

In return for his services, Fio and gladly named the handsome Tundra Master Craftsman, and awarded him the badge of honor that accompanied the title.

"Are you ready, my dear friends?" Fio asked, her voice a cloying combination of eager and ominous. Her silent partners affirmed, and the four moved forward.

Their target was the minute Council Hall, a small building formed by a cluster of young trees, bound together and encouraged to grow in that manner. It was not yet done - the roof still leaked, and the floor was simple dirt rather than the polished cobbles of the nicer buildings - but it was usable. Fio could hear Laeroux and Fitz murmuring inside. Outside there was no guard; indeed, the Prideclaw Clan had never had need of one.

Imbeciles, Fio thought haughtily. When I rule this clan, there will be guards with me wherever I go. 

It had been a growing obsession in the Mirror since the day she'd been born. She suffered often from deja vu and, as a hatchling, had dreamt of leading the Prideclaw clan. Lately she'd been overcome with a feeling of destiny so intense that it was impossible to shake. She was plagued with headaches, and there was a nagging feeling of anticipation so intense it made her ears buzz constantly.

Now, as she stood in the shadows before the Council Hall, Calibur zipping his way quietly into the shadows, Steele and his slave at her back, the buzzing had finally ceased. All she could hear was the wind through the Shrieking Wilds and the beating of her own heart.

She sauntered into the Council Hall, Steele darting in immediately behind her; in an instant he had Fitz on his back, the wicked blade he so loved to carry flush against the Wildclaw's throat. Calibur was similarly armed, positioned at Roux's jugular. The two elder dragons were the strongest of the clan, but Fio was armed with the element of surprise; prior to now, no one had ever thought to usurp the progenitors of their authority.

"Wh-what is the meaning of this?" Roux spattered, startled.

"Well, dearest mother, I thought it was high time for a regime change." Fio murmured, casually flicking a speck of dust from her shoulder, but sneaking a glance at the matriarch nonetheless. She was surprised to see relief sparkling in her mother's opalescent, forest-green eyes, but the emotion was lost quickly to fear.

"Fio, you can't, you're far too young -" Fjornir interrupted her mother with a hiss.

"Bullshit. You were younger when you founded this clan, and it's no secret to me that you're a reluctant leader at best." She slunk towards her mother, her own verdant eyes fiery with resolution and purpose. "I will be a far greater leader than you and Fitz combined." she murmured, condescension dripping as she spat her false father's name. Despite the fact that she'd rehearsed this speech more times than she could count, her voice wavered with emotion. It makes me sound a bit unstable, she observed coolly, but continued on regardless.

"I was born for this."

Roux - not unfamiliar with her daughter's obsessions - shook her head as much as she could, Calibur's blade still against her throat.

"They're just dreams, sweetling," the matriarch responded, pity heavy in her voice.

Fio snarled. "They're not dreams, mother. They're too real, too vibrant, too intense - I'm made to lead this Clan. I've done it before, I can do it again, and Gladekeeper knows I'll have a better go of it than you did." Abruptly she spun and whistled shrilly. Seconds later her familiar was at her side, his lion's head snarling while his snake tail thrashed and spat angrily.

"I've tamed the Chimera, mother. His loyalty is unfaltering, he follows me as a shadow does, and he will kill you if I command it. That alone should indicate to you that I am meant to rule this clan - but if you're not convinced, Steele and Calibur are quite persuasive." She nodded towards Calibur; with the unmatched speed of a Fae he nicked Roux beneath her jaw - just enough to draw some blood. Roux gasped. Fitz thrashed and made as if to stand, but Steele was deft in his own delivery of a matching cut for the Wildclaw. Fitz stilled, glaring at the Skydancer.

"Good," Fio said after allowing the progenitors a few moments to absorb the brevity of their situation. "Here is how this will work. nil is waiting outside to ring the town bell and call a meeting. Fitz, you will give Steele the command to allow her to do so. When the ensemble gathers, you will both denounce your command of the clan and name me as its new leader. I will call upon my advisers - two of my own deciding, one which you may appoint, mother, and one which the clan nominates. Be very clear in your speech that they are to advise only, I am the leader now, by bloodright as your daughter. Should you deviate from this plan at any point, Calibur will end you. Should you attempt to dethrone me before my time, you will find yourself dead long before I am - or at most not long thereafter. Are we quite clear?"

By now Fio's voice had settled; her terms were presented quite calmly. Roux, not seeing much of an opportunity for dissension, agreed. Again Fio thought she could see the faintest relief in her mother's eyes; she had not lied when she'd mentioned her mother's reluctance to lead this clan.

Fitz ordered Steele to order nil to ring the bell, and before long all of Prideclaw was congregated near the firepit in the common area. It was amidst the chaos of a growing storm that Fio was named the new ruler of clan Prideclaw. Quarry was her adviser as appointed by her mother, and the clan elected Sleipnir nearly unanimously.

Amongst the crowd Fio caught site of Lyric, the firstborn daughter to Roux and Fitz, and Suri, Fitz's beloved bastard daughter. Both thought themselves Princesses of Prideclaw, and both glared at Fio enviously. All Fio could do was smile, nodding at them with a devious grin.