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The decree had gone out across Prideclaw, Hummingbird desperately flitting across the clan’s extensive territory, carrying Fio’s one message:
Meet at the town centre. Do not miss.
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.
“We go to the Windsept Plateau,” Isa yelled over her shoulder between great gulps of air. “Follow me and you’ll live!”
In the middle sits a three-pronged claw. The number 3 is held in high regards by the dragons of Prideclaw; it is the strongest number, in their beliefs, and represents the aspect of the Chimera: snake, lion, and whole. The claw wears a crown of thorns, each representing one of 5 key ideals to the clan: loyalty, leadership, honor, strength, and pride. The crown continues in a vine, representing the Gladekeeper and the clan’s loyalty to Her. The herald is typically emblazoned in shades of green, although it is acceptable to display the crown and the vine in goldenrod or earthy tones; the claw must remain green except - and only! - in times of war, when it is painted red.
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Night was falling across the Labyrinth. Crickets had begun their songs, Canopy Darters chirped enthusiastic conversations, and every now and then a Wartoad tuned in. Sparklers danced in the growing dusk, and Stephanie’s latest invention - softly-glowing balls of light - bobbed gently under the canopy.
Sleipnir stood in the Main Hall, across the oaken table from Fio. The Ridgeback - Commander of the scant Prideclaw militia - strove for stoicism, but it was always a struggle for him to keep his face straight. Even now, his evident apprehension suggested that this conversation was not one he was keen to have.
“Out with it, Commander.” The Ridgeback started, then fidgeted in agitation; frustrated, no doubt, that his emotions continued to betray him.
“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.
Inside, Fio watched the Ridgeback go, confident that she had won him over. She still was not interested in pursuing a war with the Beastclans, but if she was going to control the dragons under her leadership, she would need a bit more bite to match her bark. She, too, slipped into the darkness, heading toward Calibur’s nest. She would need more than a Guard under her control, and he was adept in navigating some of the blacker markets in Sornieth.
Autumn Legion is the nickname for Fighters within the Prideclaw Clan, Petal Platoon is the name of these three. ...Much to Ygritte's dismay. She takes her job quite seriously (particularly for a Tundra), but the two boys--tickled by how pretty they are--insisted on a, ehm, more delicate name than she would have liked.
If Francis looks a bit overwhelmed in his armor, that's because he is. It's quite hefty for him, but he insists on wearing it, more because he's convinced it looks terrific on him rather than being any practical use - and if you don't agree, well that's fine, because Heather sure does.
Misha prefers light armor, the better to dance around his enemies and strike from behind.
