Lightning

Pressing On

Lightning Windchaser____________________________ commander Previous Story | Recordbooks | Rooster | Next Story

Gold Ore Minerals & Ores Known to drive dragons to do very foolish things. 250 Depleted Sacridite Minerals & Ores This mineral can be gathered from abandoned lairs.(KS-Sponsored by Darrin P.) 72 Burnished Sunbeam - 6

Hatched: Spring 16 IFR Death: Unknown MBTI: ENTJ Charge: Hydra Strengths - listens to advice, attracts strong and loyal dragons, sympathetic Weaknesses - terrible cook, would abandon company to ruin for Hydra Lightning is the face of the mercenary company, the Tempest Chase, until she retires in 108 IFR. Lightning features prominently in the story of the Tempest Chase's beginning, War Talons, and A New Order. Lightning breeds exclusively with Fayne. Their loyalty to each other and dedication to their work usually yields secure and adventurous offspring. Hatchlings grow up in the care of Lilwen, the hatchling caretaker, though they will know their parents and siblings, Stratus, Derecho, and Cyclone. They might choose to take one of their parents' surnames (Windchaser or Crowwing), or forge a path on their own - their parents and siblings are supportive of whatever path they choose.

Moor Age: 9 years old The caretaker of the Estate of Escape. He lives with his mate, Heather, and one of his adult children.

Heather Age: 17 years old Another caretaker of the Estate of Escape. She lives with some of her family and her Centaur companion, Kido.

Lightning Age: 18 years old A nomad traveling with her Charge, Hydra. Pleased with the living they scrape together.

Hydra Age: 19 years old A nomad traveling with her Guardian, Lightning. Enjoying the ascetic lifestyle they lead.

Soren Age: 10 years old A Plague strategist and tactician on sabbatical while he figures out what he wants to do with his life.

The horizon shifted from a pink-orange to teal-blue, stretching a blanket of stars over their heads. The steppes came alive with singing crickets and croaking toads; all nocturnal creatures crawled from their daily slumber with the assurance it was now safe to wander, call, and cavort. Moor lit the lean-to’s lamp, and Heather was stoking her fire outside, next to the garden. A cast iron pot bubbled cheerfully over the flames.

Heather hummed contentedly over her stirring.

She was blessedly oblivious to the dire danger they were in... Moor would have been in even more trouble than he was now if she were a Skydancer. He walked a few steps past her, headed for the lean-to and his weapons within.

"Where do you think you're going?" Heather didn't even turn toward him.

Moor’s antennae twitched, an ache of love and embarrassment reverberating through his skull as Heather smiled. "You know there's business to take care of. We haven't had guests in weeks."

"We have one," Heather said, though she had to know that wasn't going to be enough to cover their dues to a landlord that didn't brook any kind of disrespect. "Even if you succeed tonight, there won't be any new guests. There's enough time for dinner. You've barely been here in a week."

A bowl of creaking and skittering bugs suddenly dumped into the pot, a pinch of a ground blue leaf.

“Fine.” Giving one of Heather’s whiskers a gentle nip as he walked by, he headed out behind the lean-to for the nearby sheds.

Once a grand estate, sold and traded about by powerful clans elsewhere in the world and places Moor didn’t like to think about, the sheds once housed the serving staff in a castle not far away—though the castle laid in ruins now. Only the sheds remained, now strong and taken-care-of. There was a lesson in there somewhere. Wind territory wasn’t known for its castles, but it might have been when Light dragons vacationed there in the breezy summers. Now, Moor watched it for his far-away patron. He’d not seen them in almost a decade, and all the better.

Moor didn't have many days to scrape together rent before an agent with sharp claws or potent magic came wondering.

When Moor arrived, the land was overgrown with weeds, the castle crumbling into the shadows of history. He got to work, eventually Heather joining him, and the land was as beautiful as it had ever been. They tended orchards and curated the delicate ecosystem across the vast land. Occasionally he ran across problems, such as his current problem of a violently territorial roc, but it was usually nothing he couldn’t handle on his own.

Only one guest braved the skies and road on this side of the brook. It was also a Year of Rest, so even littler reason for most dragons to be out traveling. That generally meant that it was more dangerous than usual. The only dragons and beasts out during this time were usually those with ill-intent, and traveling at night was rarely advised. Tourism was always lowest during this time, even through a central territory like Wind’s.

Their guest for dinner was a Plague dragon, paid up through the next two days. Moor was wary of him, but didn’t share his feelings with Heather. She took his intuitions as truth, even though some were only guesses. Their guest was a Skydancer like Moor, a mage of some kind. A strong magic affinity wasn’t usually enough to throw off Moor’s impressions, but perhaps this particular Skydancer wasn’t as emotive.

Whatever the case, he’d done nothing untrustworthy. Most days he sat outside his shed with a pile of books soaking up the sun and whatever knowledge he gleaned from his tomes. Sometimes he walked the grounds. He joined Moor and Heather for the meals, as he paid for, but conversation was sparse.

The whole way Moor mulled over unobtrusive ways to convince him to rent a space from them a bit longer. He would never turn up his beak to the extra money, especially when the sheds needed repairs.

“Soren?” Moor called from a few lengths away.

The black dragon, almost green under the sunlight and bamboo, looked up. “Yes.”

“Dinner is ready, if you’d like to join us.”

Putting his books back under the protective shelter of bamboo planks, Soren rose and nodded. “Yes, I would; thank you.” He didn’t hurry to catch up with Moor, though he waited. Moor took a few moments to light the lamps on the nearby empty sheds to signal to any passers-by they had space to rent. By the time he’d deposited a more heartfelt wish than usual in each of the sacridite lamps, Soren was beside him.

“I hope you are enjoying your stay with us thus far,” Moor said.

Soren glanced around, toward the horizon bleeding pink and purple into the star-strung sky. “The quiet and natural surroundings has been conducive to my studies, yes. Your neighboring Wind species and view of the Crescendo have been very educational.”

Moor wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but it sounded promising. “I’m glad to hear it,” Moor said as they walked. “Does that mean you would like to extend your stay with us?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Soren said it quickly, as though he didn’t think it was so unfortunate. “As much as I enjoy secluded areas like this, my services are more suited to larger clans than those in the area. I only have enough money to take me to the nearest clan from here.”

“I see.” Moor hadn’t expected that. “I don’t believe I’ve asked what it is you do.”

Soren paused, and Moor wondered if he’d overstepped. He’d figured early on that Soren was private, but in that he wasn’t going to volunteer any information about himself. Moor didn’t sense any of the anxiousness or deceit associated with hiding something.

“In short, I provide the necessary perspective on situational troop movements and enemy capabilities.” He looked at Moor from the side of his eye, and Moor could have sworn that he saw Soren smile. “I’m a tactician. The Year of Rest makes wars relatively sparse.”

“And the books?” Moor asked. “Are they studies of battles or something?”

“No, I study magic in my spare time, particularly Wind magic.”

“Really? Why Wind?”

“Wait just a moment, you two.”

The two Skydancers halted and looked at Heather as she deposited two bowls on a low-sitting platform, along with two small ladle-like instruments. Most of their utensils were designed for Skydancer and Pearlcatcher hands. She also provided bowls of tea with light beige sticks leaning to one side in each. Moor smelled the sweet bamboo scent of pelegas.

“Dedication,” Heather declared. “Then eat and conversation.”

Moor and Soren sat at adjacent sides and pulled their bowls closer. Moor saw that the stew had thickened up nicely, and a few reedcleft sparklers could be seen among the sweet grass and greenstripe amaranth. The bio-luminescent chemical formed neat trails in the soup, producing an oddly glowing-yellow appearance. It was a favorite soup of Wind Territory, but Moor was sure Plague had its share of strangely-glowing delicacies.

“We dedicate this meal to the Windsinger; may we be as welcoming to travelers as he,” Heather offered.

“We dedicate this meal to the Lightweaver; may we be as inquisitive as she,” Moor said.

“We dedicate this meal to the Plaguebringer,” Soren said. “May we be as resilient as she.”

Every dragon at the table nodded in agreement to honor their companies’ patron gods and set to eating. Moor wasn’t used to hearing other gods’ dedications while he lived in Light territory, but Wind territory was certainly different. Varied. Egalitarian. Moor waited a few minutes for Soren to take a few bites before continuing his inquiry. This was as close as they’d gotten to friendly conversation in the days he’d been here, but that was normal for quiet dragons. While he waited and ate, Moor enjoyed the vicarious sensation of enjoyment from Heather as she fished out her favorite sparklers.

The conversation drifted, from Soren’s interest in Wind magic—the control and movement it represented—to the work available in Windsong. Soren had come from Plague some time ago and seemed to enjoy it here. Moor, having done the same from Light, couldn’t have agreed more.

About halfway through a second helping of soup, Moor paused. A sense of unfamiliar caution twitched his antennae, and he turned.

A Guardian, twice his length, stood beside his and Heather’s lean-to. She was approaching middle age, at least a few centuries old, Moor thought, the blue and gold leather of her wings still taut and shining. She looked in good shape, but iridescent black and gold scales hadn’t been washed in some time. Moor noticed a small Fae perched on one of her shining golden horns before he managed a word.

“Hello. Welcome to the Estate of Escape,” Moor said. They were travelers, he quickly noted, not neighbors; judging by their small packs and worn clothing. The Fae had a small sword, as well. “I’m Moor Trickvine, the game warden here. My mate, Heather.” He gestured back to Heather as she slowly stood from the table.

“Lightning Windchaser,” the Guardian said, and she nodded in an upward direction. “And this is Hydra.”

The Fae nodded in greeting and intoned, “Hydra Rotrock.”

Soren, looking between the newcomers and Moor, offered stiffly, “Soren Sternevil. Since we’re making introductions.”

“Please, sit. Would you like something to eat?” Heather wasted no time in bustling to the cauldron without waiting for an answer. Moor watched her pause, and smiled at her sudden confusion as she realized most of their vessels were only big enough for a Guardian’s mouthful.

“Oh, no; I mean, we have our own food.” One of Lightning’s wings tilted to one side to show a scaled carcass tied to her back. “We were hoping for a place to stay the night.”

“Yes, of course.”

Moor glanced toward the lamplit circle of sheds where Soren was staying. One of the sheds there was large enough to squeeze an Imperial inside—or, at least, enough of one to be sheltered from wind or rain—and it would do well for a Guardian.

The Guardian looked down to a small collection of sacks slung over her shoulders. “I’m afraid we don’t have many precious gems or metals.” She turned her head toward her Fae companion for support—a feat considering the Fae perched on her horn. The Fae either didn’t notice or simply didn’t offer.

A sudden surge of impatience zapped down Moor’s antennae as Heather interrupted. “We will be able to work something out, I’m sure. Let’s stop chattering and eat, hm? You look starving. Do you want me to cook that, dear?” Heather pointed at the scaly carcass Lightning carried.

Lightning looked at it, then at Heather. “It’s not necessary.”

“Of course, it isn’t. Here, let me put it in our ice box and you can eat with us. Unless you’re absolutely opposed to soup.”

“No, no,” Lightning said hastily. “Of course, not.”

Moor watched with little interest as they negotiated the meal. As partial payment, Lightning did give up her carcass, which Moor noticed was a cleaned gladeveins needletooth. The animal had been killed neatly, meaning the hide would be intact if they desired. It didn’t look like it had been much trouble for Lightning or Hydra, and an idea brewed in Moor’s mind. Unlike Soren, their new visitors were an open book to him, emotionally. They were exhausted and relieved to have found Moor and Heather’s little corner of Wind territory, without malice or deceit. Their mostly-empty sacks said as much of their story as the carcass, the mud and grass caked on Lightning’s paws, the dust on Hydra’s jacket.

Everyone politely stayed with the two new dragons as they ate. Hydra was only just as tall as the table when sitting on the ground; Heather quickly suggested the table was not an improper seat. Hydra took the invitation immediately. The bowls, meant for Skydancers, were a tad too big, but Hydra handled the ladle deftly and took great pleasure at the crunch of the reedcleft sparklers.

Conversely, the bowls and table were much too small for Lightning, though Moor was sure that Lightning was a bit on the small side for a Guardian. Heather supplemented Lightning’s meal with some scaleback jerky they kept for Mirrors and Wildclaws in an emergency.

As Lightning and Hydra finished up their meals, Moor broached the subject of payment again. “I was thinking in terms of payment for room and board,” he said. “I have a problem you two may be able to help with.”

Lightning glanced at Hydra and then nodded at Moor. “Go on.”

“You’re at least some kind of hunter.” Moor tapped his talons in succession on the table.

“Sort of. Not really. Travelers. Hunting saves money and distance.” Lightning nodded toward the expansive bamboo grove that occupied the majority of the estate and continued, “If you’re talking about the needletooth, there were maybe two dozen we saw in the stream down by the grove. We didn’t know it was somebody’s stream...”

Moor waved that away. “No, I'm not concerned about that,” Moor said. “They aren’t native to this area, anyway—some circus performer didn’t keep a close eye on their performers or something. I'm talking about a roc.”

"Oh, that." Lightning looked to her companion, who glanced up quickly at the mention of the creature. Moor didn't doubt they'd at least heard it's screeches if they were near the stream. "Yeah, that sucker's big."

"And fiercely territorial. I've had a hard time catching it myself... and I doubt I would do much more than make it angry on my own."

“And you want us to... clean up the skies,” Hydra said.

“Yes. Or, rather, to help me.” Moor looked from Lightning to Hydra. “Does that seem amenable?”

“Oh, yes.” Hydra spoke up from the table, fins splayed in what Moor could only guess was sarcasm based on the emotions he was getting at the moment. “Animal extermination. It’s what we do best, right.”

“At least, passably,” Lightning said, sweeping her tail over to Hydra and adjusting her own fins in a shadow of what Moor guessed was a facsimile of Faefin—the physical language of the Fae based on fin attitude. He couldn’t tell what she communicated to Hydra, but aloud she said, with a terse smile in Moor’s direction, “It's worth a try.”

Moor decided he didn’t care about their mood, as long as they job got done. “In that case, you’re hired.”


Lightning awoke to the soft patter of rain on the bamboo shed, though she could see the light of the sun underneath the door to the shed.

Lightning was a bit cramped in the shed, but it was the largest Moor and Heather had to offer. It just felt good to have a place to stay and the dirt and grime of travel rinsed from her feet and wings. Of course, Hydra seemed quite comfortable curled up in the bend of Lightning’s elbow. Lightning reached across the shed with her tail and pushed open the rickety bamboo door, letting her tail rest outside in the rain. In actual use, the door was just a swinging wall of the shed to allow larger species like Lightning entrance.

A bit of the morning light streamed in at an angle, just missing Hydra’s steadily-breathing chest, and the softest rain fell on the world outside. Light reflected off Lightning’s mottled iridescent golden scales, looking like the purest of sacridite in dragon-form. Hydra wasn’t one for giving compliments, but she’d said as much once.

Lightning thought that was nonsense, anyway. She may have looked like sacridite, but she’d glow brighter than the sun if she actually were.

“Hey, Hydra.” Lightning nudged Hydra’s wing with her nose gently. “We should get going.”

Hydra groaned and shifted, pulling one of her fins forward to cover her face. As far as Lightning knew, that was the universal body-language for, it’s too rotting early.

Lightning chuckled. “Come on.”

Hydra responded once again by curling up even tighter under her rough brown jacket. A moment later, she stretched out, claws splayed and tail curling up over her body like a scorpion such that it almost touched the top of her head.

“Fine,” she said, her fins very well displaying how she thought about that.

Lightning was no expert in Faefin—in fact, neither was Hydra. Hydra had not been raised among Fae dragons, but they’d heard as hatchlings that fin movement was an important part of Fae communication. Like other Fae dragons, Hydra was incapable of producing and distinguishing tone, so a young Lightning and Hydra had formulated their own dialect of Faefin from watching a few neighboring Fae dragons converse. Lightning’s small fins were not capable of the range that Hydra possessed, but they understood one another well enough that the practice of fin-flapping was almost unnecessary.

“You slept well, though,” Lightning observed.

Hydra nodded, her fins returning to neutral. “Yes. It was quite comfortable. Nice listening to the wind instead of being in it. Though it did creak all night.”

That was rich. Lightning was usually the one taking the brunt of the weather, since Hydra could usually find a spot underneath Lightning’s wings to block both wind and rain. “Yes, yes. Life is hard.” Lightning unceremoniously stood, tumbling Hydra nearly to the floor from her original perch on Lightning’s leg.

Hydra recovered quickly enough, splaying her wings and flapping back, the leathery tassels of her wings brushing the bamboo board floor. “Rude,” she intoned.

Lightning didn’t respond except for a small smile, and stepped out into the rain. Though they’d done their best to wash at the river a short walk away from Moor and Heather’s lean-to, the rain felt good on her back and wings. Turning her face up to the sky, Lightning leaned back on her haunches to slick the water on her face back over her horns. Hydra took a seat on Lightning’s tail and did her best to groom her wings.

While they were busy at that, Lightning noticed their fellow renter—Soren Sternevil, the Skydancer—approached carefully from the side. He looked tired in the morning light, but she was willing to imagine he had looked the same last night. His shimmering dark feathers gave his face a peculiarly gaunt appearance.

“I took the liberty of studying your quarry last night. I think I could help you.”

Hydra paused her combing motion down her wings and looked at Soren, her fins pulled straight up. “You aren’t the kind to waste time, are you.”

Soren tilted his head, probably unused to the way Fae questions didn’t sound quite like questions.

“Reminds me of someone,” Lightning said with a pointed grin at Hydra.

“No. I’m not,” he answered anyway, and then looked at Lightning. “It shouldn’t be too difficult for me to create a specified plague for the roc with a few specimens. Feathers will do, but blood or saliva would be best.”

“Unleashing a plague on Wind territory? Sounds dangerous,” Lightning said, frowning toward Hydra. Though Hydra was a Plague dragon, neither of them had the fondest of feelings for dragons of such heritage. Hydra was so opposed to it, Lightning had never seen her use magic at all.

Of course, being raised by Wind dragons probably did little to help her already dim view. Her egg was abandoned on the rim, and, regardless of whether a Plague clan might have taken her in, it was a Wind dragon that had saved her.

“It’s not,” Soren snapped. “Believe me, I am very good at this.”

“Is that your job, then.” Hydra left off cleaning her wings entirely, staring directly at Soren. “Some sort of Plague warmonger. Biological weapons specialist.”

“Warmon—biological weapons?” Soren shook his head almost immediately. “No, I’m a tactician. I’ve been working in Cloudsong these past few months, consulting with Wind leaders there for dominance. This cycle’s Rot was devastating, I’m sure you know.”

“Hm.” Lightning nodded and said without fuss, “I got sick.”

“Winning a war is easier if your enemy is already weakened,” Soren said. “Airborne diseases are especially potent here.” He waited a moment, as though thinking, and then shook his head. “But I didn’t come to talk about Plague or my work. I came to talk about yours.”

“I wouldn’t really call it our work.” Lightning sighed and shrugged. “Makes it sound like we’re professionals.” She was a Guardian, after all: not a hunter by nature like a Mirror or Wildclaw. All the same, she was large enough and quick to consider most small animals quick work on the field.

“I spoke to Moor last night after you went to wash,” Soren said. “He said your field dressing was impressive for amateurs.”

“Still amateur,” Hydra pointed out, starting to crawl up Lightning’s tail.

Lightning could tell from the tilt of her fins that she was annoyed. She was a private dragon, and it was unlike her to spend much time in conversation with anyone but Lightning. She clearly didn’t like Soren and probably would have liked Lightning to leave him behind as soon as possible.

“Still shows you have experience.”

Lightning looked at Hydra, now sitting on her hips and staring with an unimpressed don’t you dare look about her. Ignoring that for the time being, Lightning looked at Soren.

“What did you have in mind?”


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