Wingripper

Clan of the Fivespirals:

Runaway clan

@TheRobinsBerry 's clan

wingripper had a lovely time visiting the newest clan, all the way in the Southern Icefield! He met a lovely Skydancer by the name of the Robin, though her Pearlcatcher friend didn't seem too fond of wingripper. The two said they often traveled alone, though from time to time they accumulate friends or other runaway dragons seeking refuge. It doesn't last long though; as they never have a permanent home.

Much to Wingripper's surprise, the Robin had explained to him why they were constantly on the move, while Cranberry, the Pearlcatcher, was gone of course.
The two got involved in something..they really didn't want to. Cranberry already being a thief was used to living on the run and in the shadows, but the Robin was a different story (that she didn't elaborate on).

They got involved with a Mafia after the Robin had been thrown into the Twisting Crescendo by one of the grunts and lived, though badly mangled. She told him she doesn't think she would've survived, if it weren't for Cranberry. He was a passerby when he found her mangled up body, though once he realized she was still alive, he slung her on his back and took her to a small den ripped within a cliff wall to heal. He's too proud to admit he did it out of the good of his heart, though, she says.

Wingripper enjoyed his stay with the small crew, and even spent a bit of time raising a nest with the Robin. She adored the hatchlings..

Moondust, Rue, and Rosaline.


Wingripper soon had to say his farewells however, as the Robin said he could visit anytime. ...If he could find them. The two exchanged a beak nuzzle, and Wingripper was off to find a new adventure. Cranberry seemed relieved he was gone..

---

The Horde

@Gula 's clan

It had taken some getting used to for Wingripper. Being a hero-for-hire in an army. It was not what he was used to, but his temporary compatriots seemed like decent enough folk. To get through the wasteland, one needs clean water and fresh food, but both of those cost a hefty sum. Marching in the file seemed like a good enough way of making up that cost at the time. The soldiers seemed glad to have a trained warrior among them. The Velites Wingripper fought alongside were mostly inexperienced and unaccustomed to battle. Wingripper provided a sort of figure to focus on, "Do as he does!" "Follow that Spiral!" "Duck!"

Wingripper's deeds did not go unnoticed either. The Legion was glad to have him, and they would be quite amiable to position another skilled warrior in their ranks, but something dragged at Wingripper. He would love nothing more than to fight alongside the young warriors, protecting them and bringing glory, but the horizon beckoned with great force. What lay beyond it pulled at his thoughts every time he glanced over to it. "A few more days." He would say to himself. His commission was short, just a few months for a bag of silver and gold to buy himself some provisions for the flight out of the no-man's-land. West seemed like a good enough direction at least!

On that last day, Wingripper marched along with his army one more time. As the Legate deposited the treasure into his claws, the Legionnaire saluted curtly, followed by the rest of the unit with a loud bellow-like shout. Wingripper watched as they turned and marched off into the misty, sanguine morning. The sound of armoured against bodies and the ground boomed through the early day for some minutes. Wingripper saluted himself into the distance as he took off from the ground, spiraling for a moment before careening his way west, the opposite direction of the army. "Had they marched him this way on purpose?" He wondered for a time.

One thing Wingripper did know though, that Army was a friend all its own.

---

@chimmy's floating island clan ;; 040618-110618

as it turned out, 'this way' was the bottom of a massive mountain, sloping up to a summit nearly hidden in the clouds. it's beautiful, green, and speckled with flowers. when he comes closer, the scent of magic is glaringly obvious. it floats all around him like so many wisps of smoke, but there's one that calls out to him.

it's the scent of scrying water from this side of the wind territories: spicy and sweet. it calls to him, and he takes to the air easily, curiously curling over the verdant slope until he can finally see the pretty spiral. she's decked out in blues to match her stunning scales, snowflakes swirling around her despite the fair green of her eyes.

"hello," she says, curiosity twisting the syllables. her voice is accented with something thick; it's like the grumble of frigid water running beneath the ice, down south. she extends a gold-tipped paw; he takes it as the invitation it is and winds closer. "who are you?"

from there, it's like a whirlwind. they slip through the boughs of the tree that forms the entrance to the island she lives in, and the clan welcomes him. apparently they're used to her bringing home 'strays', as an orange warrior lightheartedly jokes. he's passed over a few pieces of jewellery, and he settles in easily. it's in his nature, of course he does.

a day passes. he spends it with her - naisilla; her name is naisilla, and she spent much of her childhood in the southern icefields, like he'd assumed. two days, and he learns from one of their artists how to mix poison into the ink he tips his warbrushes with. three, and naisilla proudly pats a clutch of three eggs when he wanders into the nesting grounds after the soft-spoken sneak.

overall, his time is lovely - a welcome break from the previously somewhat hectic schedule of his last visit, but after the sixth day dawns pink and yellow across the sky, he feels himself start to get restless once more. he agrees to stay and meet his children; seeing them hatch never fails to bring something warm to his chest. each little one is offered a trinket to remember him by, and then naisilla - she clings a little to him, but in the end doesn't complain when he murmurs a promise to return.

he's good at goodbyes. after buttering up each cranky clan member that gathers for his send off, and comforting the more teary ones (mainly hatchlings outfitted to be sent off to their deity in a few days), he's looping off into the distance once more, ready to start yet another adventure.

---

Once again, Wingripper found himself in the realm of Shadows.

---

Just when Wingripper was feeling the urge to travel once more, he ever so conveniently recieved a letter, carried by a messenger magpie. A plea, really, from a clan who resides among the Tidelord's waters and various islands. The clan was simply named 'Anghora'. And the content of the letter read as such:

"To the Spiral known as Wingripper, we humbly require your assistance in a matter most dire. Our clan has been overrun by creatures of unknown origin. The sun has not risen. We cannot leave our territory. For those who have tried.... never returned. Nor had they ever arrived at their intended destinations.

We are not even sure, if you will be able to physically reach us. But please. We are in dire circumstances. We truly do need your assistance."

- Ikarem, of Clan Anghora

Deities above, what had even happened? Night of the Nocturne was but a few days away, and the days leading up to the festivities were supposed to be grand, as always. But what if.... that hadn't been the case, here?

He didn't bother dwelling on the idea too long. These dragons needed help.

×××××

It was admittedly difficult. He was encountering horrors at every turn, and at every corner, trying to navigate through the air, sea, and land. But he arrived, despite all odds. He barely escaped those horrors unscathed.

And upon meeting the clan's lair gates, he was immediately ushered inside by a large, armor-clad Guardian. She quickly explained that her name was Ikarem, and that they had to get underground immediately. And that, too, was done hastily.

Upon being met with the rest of the inhabitants of the clan, a large claim of about 50 or more dragons. They were all scared, hurt, or both. It was here, where he spent most of his time. Underground. And it was here, where he, alongside others, devised a strategical plan of attack. Ikarem was at the head of it, despite her obvious injuries. And behind her, was a rigid Mirror named Fade. Fierce, loyal. Despite her brash personality, she helped keep everybody calm. Or, at least tried to.

It was a long, long week. Which bled well into the actual Night of the Nocturne festivities - which other clans were no doubt - hopefully - partaking in. But it was managed. The evil had been beat. And it was with a victorious cry that rang out, when the Anghorans finally saw the light of day.

But more than two things were celebrated that sunrise. A clutch had been hatched, in the middle of that week. Nay, it may not have been the best situation to conceive and nest hatchlings.... but it had been a massive relief to find that the hatchlings had been ultimately unscathed by the horrors that surrounded them. Two little Guardians, bearing the runes of Ikarem, and the same markings as Wingripper.

The Night Warrior felt accomplished. He helped these dragons in their need, and they all had come out of the situation alive and well.

With a soft farewell to his two young children, and a more formal farwell to Ikarem, and the entire clan, he departed with a small smile on his face.