felistopaz » Lair » Carmin

Carmin

(#7833890)

Level 5 Fae

Familiar

Carmine Serthis

Energy: 35/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

1.34 m

Wingspan

1.71 m

Weight

2.69 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Basic

Maroon
Basic

Thistle
Basic

Hatchday

Nov 17, 2014
(9 years)

Breed

Adult
Fae

Eye Type

Light
Common

Level 5 Fae

EXP: 2110 / 5545

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

Samael
Mate

Shadow
Son

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Clan Leader
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Confident, tough, practical, opportunistic and slightly manipulative, but would do anything for her clan mates. Good at making lucrative business deals and getting people to do what she wants while they feel it was all their idea in the first place. Does not have as much regard for the deities as most - disapproves of many of their actions. Usually keeps this quiet, though she would not lie about it if asked.

Banner by laticat

The Crimson Claw Merchenary Company

A large part of the Clawrift Clan is made up of the Crimson Claw Merchenaries. When they were originally founded, they offered their services mainly to scholars and explorers who wanted to venture into the Hewn City but lacked the necessary dragonpower and protection to do so safely. While contracts like these still account for a major part of the Claw's income, they have since expanded greatly and even established reliable business contacts outside of the Sunbeam ruins thank to the clever managment of the clan leader and her vice-captain. The Crimson Claws are mainly employed as guards for travellers or goods transports, but have also occasionally acted as additional reenforcements in dominance battles, intra-flight conflicts or fights with beastclan forces.

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The way ahead was dark, for it was still some hours before dawn and there was no moon. But Carmin did not mind in the least. She did not fear the darkness, for she was a dragon of Light. She did not fear what lay ahead, for now she was in control.

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Curious to know more?
Maybe visit the inn, you might get to hear a story or two...

The Clawrift Inn was a popular hangout, and the innkeeper, Silver, was well-liked by many. A genial drake with interesting stories to share, he wasn’t averse to talking about his clanmates—within reason, of course. So one rainy afternoon, when the Clawrift leader, Carmin, bustled past, some customers couldn’t help asking, “Off on a mission, is she?”

Silver smiled back. “I don’t think so. Ah...Is it that time of the year? She’s probably visiting Viridis’ grave.”

The bar patrons hadn’t heard that name before, and they said so. Silver chuckled gently. “I’d be surprised if you had. She passed on a long time ago. She was never very strong—she was soft and gentle, tending her flowers every spring....”

It was hard for many visitors to imagine anyone in Clawrift being soft and gentle, for ominous rumors preceded the clan. Silver understood where they were coming from. Sometimes he could hardly believe it, too. “How far we have all come,” he thought to himself. He sat down, idly cleaning a glass as his thoughts flew back to a long-ago time.

Outside, under the rain, the dreaded Clawrift leader used her talons to gently clean the gravestone. The rain washed off the gunk even as Carmin peeled it away. Etched upon the stone were a name and picture of a young Tundra.

“We’ve come so far, yet lost so many,” she thought. And then, a slight frown creasing her face, “Or is it the other way around?” She looked up into the gloomy sky, heedless of the rain. There was something comforting about the gray heavens arching overhead. Something...familiar...

~ ~ ~

Dragons learn to speak even before they hatch. Within their eggs, they hear the sounds of the world. Eggs, all nestled together, speak to one another, urging the slower ones onward or asking the faster ones to wait, so that their body clocks synchronize and they all hatch at the same time.

And on the happy day—bam! Hatchlings burst out in showers of shells, blinking at the new world. They looked around the dim room; it was creaking gently, moving from side to side. The curtain that shielded them was soon pulled away. A host of elated faces peered in. “They’re here! The babies are here!”

This was the clan Carmin had been born into: a group of nomadic dragons crisscrossing Sornieth, resting for a time, but never putting down roots. They practiced a community laying and childcare system, all the eggs tended and the children reared together by all the dragons of the clan.

Theirs was an exciting life. They knew the wildest roads of Sornieth and were accomplished gatherers, living off the land. Over time, Carmin became acquainted with all of Sornieth’s elemental regions. She also learned how to defend herself, for the life of a nomad is perilous as well. On the road, they were in danger from bandits, slavers, monsters, and Beastclans. Children of the clan were taught from an early age to recognize what might help or harm them, and Carmin’s studies were interspersed with bouts of arms training. She was unusual for a Fae in that she did not seem inclined to rely on magic. Her instructors were a bit thrown at first, but quickly made the best of it, and by the time she was nearly grown, Carmin was respected as one of the clan’s rising stars, a fighter who might become the clan’s chief defender someday.

Most young dragons would have been eager for the post—indeed, Carmin had many rivals. But she was also ambitious, and though the post of Guard Commander offered plenty of prestige and privileges, she wanted more than that.

While traveling, she had seen other clans in castles, towns, cities...Many of them had been owned by the same dragons for generations. They recounted their ancestors’ stories with pride, and Carmin had always been impressed by how even the most distant progenitors were remembered and honored. Among the nomads, lineage was not important, and those who passed on were buried alongside the road and then largely forgotten. Carmin wanted to be a part of something that would last, something that would have a legacy. Something she could be remembered for.

And so she took counsel with the clan elders. She expressed her desire to leave the nomads and establish her own clan. The elders listened with understanding, for she wasn’t the first dragon who’d decided to attempt to establish a clan elsewhere. Most of them had quickly faded into obscurity—they were probably nothing more than piles of bones by the road now, too.

But this one...Carmin would be sorely missed, but she had already done so much for the clan and had so much potential. The elders felt it would be unfair to tie her down, and so they gave her their approval.

The very next day, Carmin left her birth clan. The way ahead was dark, for it was still some hours before dawn and there was no moon. But Carmin did not mind in the least. She did not fear the darkness, for she was a dragon of Light. She did not fear what lay ahead, for now she was in control.

~ ~ ~

Art by NordicCowgirl

~ ~ ~

The Hewn City had always seemed to belong more to the Shadow than the Light, though it had to be said that many Shadow dragons weren’t too keen on the place, either. Carmin, fearless and bold, was more intrigued than intimidated by it. One afternoon, she looked to the west and saw a single sharp peak rising beyond the wreckage. Or perhaps “single” wasn’t the right word, as some cataclysmic event had bisected it, creating a deep rift in the middle. “Clawrift,” the local dragons called it. The strange formation had been there for centuries, and travelers sometimes passed through it. But nobody actually stayed—that part of Sornieth had an ominous reputation, and it was believed that the mountain had been cloven by the same disaster that had unleashed the Arcanist.

Carmin didn’t mind. Whatever disaster had befallen the mountain had happened long ago, and she had learned that sometimes the most desolate places are ones that are worth exploring. And so she continued west, guided by the setting sun as the shadows lengthened behind her.

It was dusk when she arrived. She was tired from her journey, but it quickly faded as she looked round at the landscape. An eerie—but not unpleasant—sensation settled on her.

Before leaving to establish her clan, some nomads had challenged her, saying, “Life on the road is all you understand. How will you even know where to begin?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she had stubbornly replied. And right now...She was seeing it, and she knew it.

She clung to the side of the canyon and examined the slopes. The tough, scrubby plants were few and far between. No wildlife seemed to be out and about; there was water, but it was in a river that roared far below, across the canyon floor.

It was a desolate place. But something about it told her, louder than words could, that she belonged here. The ever-present rumble of the distant river, the sigh of the wind rattling the scrub, the triumphant scream of an eagle unseen—they all called to her, urging her, “Stay...”

But where? She couldn’t cling to the slope forever. She let go and glided onwards, buoyed by air currents from the river. Shadows now gathered among the rocks, but there was one that...wasn’t a shadow, but a cave.

A lantern shone dimly from within. As Carmin settled onto the floor, the light was quickly concealed. There was the rasp of a knife being drawn.

“Hello?” Carmin called. She kept her voice low but steady; if whatever was in here was hostile, it would probably be better to try again another day.

She saw a pale shape moving, four golden eyes that blinked. A voice answered from the darkness: “Um...Good evening, Lady...?”

“My name is Carmin. I am a Fae in search of a home. Is this your lair?”

“I’m just passing through,” the other dragon sighed. He didn’t sound much older than she was, but there was a world-weary quality to his voice already. Carmin approached, and he uncovered his lantern again.

As she had guessed, he was a Mirror. He was leaner than normal, his ribs showing through his pale gray hide, and his eyes were tired, sunken. As he moved, Carmin saw that one of his hind legs was twisted and stiff.

“You are alone?”

The Mirror let out a huff. He nodded curtly. “Yeah. Been living up here for the past few weeks...Never thought someone would come here. You?”

“I have left my clan. I am looking for a new home. What is your name?”

“Silver,” he answered her. He eyed her for a long moment, obviously still wary. And then he let out another loud “what the heck” sigh and finally held out a paw in greeting.

~ ~ ~

Silver had been a nomad like Carmin. His pack roved ceaselessly, and he had hunted with them until an injury had put him out of commission. The pack had eventually decided to leave him behind. He was an accomplished trapper and had been able to feed himself, but out here in the mountains, pickings were slim. He had been seriously considering taking his chances on the road when Carmin arrived.

He couldn’t help laughing when she explained her intent to found a clan here: “What, in this dried-out place?”

“Yes,” Carmin answered. He looked ready to chuckle again, but her grave, firm expression stopped him. He looked at her with exasperated admiration instead.

Grudgingly, he said, “I s’pose if you put your mind to it, you can do it. You think you might need some help? I know I’ve got this gimpy leg, but if your startup clan needs a trapper or hunting instructor...”

Carmin was pleased to have him stay. Silver, gimpy leg or none, was a useful dragon to have around, and he was pleasant company, too. He enjoyed sharing his stories of life on the road and happily traded hunting tips for combat advice.

The rains came to the Sunbeam Ruins some weeks later, and the canyon exploded into a riot of color, flowers clinging to the slopes. Silver pronounced it a good omen, and Carmin, though she wasn’t superstitious, became surer than ever that her clan would grow.

~ ~ ~

Months turned into years. Travelers did pass through Clawrift. Many came to see the flowers or relax in the wilderness. There were artists, traders, gatherers, even fighters. Most of them moved on—but some decided to stay. Carmin and Silver welcomed them to the lair, and soon the small, tight-knit community could be justifiably called a clan.

Carmin was particularly impressed by one visitor, a fighting master from the Tangled Wood. The Nocturne was aged but still spry, and unlike many warriors, he remained enthusiastic and eager to learn. She commented on this at one point, and he laughed gently. “Yes, so many self-professed ‘experts’ say they know all the martial arts there are to know. Their minds close, and they refuse to learn further. It’s sad, really.” He shook his head. “There is still so much to learn, especially from young, inquisitive minds like yours, dragons who push boundaries and want to try new things.”

After another piercing look at Carmin, he said, “I might send one of my students to you. She’s a bright young thing, but so, ahem, headstrong. I’m getting old....I can’t keep up with her. But she might learn a thing or two from you.”

Carmin didn’t mind. Many dragons promised to visit again but never did. It wasn’t unusual, and it wasn’t really something she dwelled on....So when said student arrived a few months later, Carmin and her clanmates were quite surprised.

It was a misty morning. Silver had risen early to check his traps and livestock. He had begun giving serious thought to opening a business, and a bar, inn, or restaurant seemed like lucrative choices. He soon meandered into the scrub to retrieve his snares.

He nearly aged ten years in the next instant when another Mirror leaped out of the fog. "Clawrift dragon!" she bellowed. As Silver sputtered for breath, she spat scornfully, "In my clan we began training long before sunrise. And we'd never let ourselves be surprised by an intruder!"

"Young lady, who in Sornieth d'you think y' are?!" Silver shrieked back at her.

Her name was Vilia. Carmin eventually managed to extract both a story and a message from her: She was the "headstrong" student the old Nocturne had spoken of. Carmin gathered that his health was declining and he had sent his students away to receive further instruction. For some inscrutable reason, the old drake had decided that Clawrift Clan was a good place for Vilia.

Vilia was energetic, almost hyperactive, and dangerously so—"But as a combat student, she has probably had a hard life, and the fact that her master sent her here means she probably has nowhere else to go," Carmin thought. "She has no other home....Her Master will probably pass on soon, too." Something in her strengthened at this realization, and she stood a bit taller and straighter. For the first time, another leader had entrusted a subordinate to her. She truly was the head of a clan now.

~ ~ ~

Carmin quickly tapped Vilia's energy, directing her to channel it into labor and training. Vilia growled and grumbled at first, but she went to work—first out of respect for her late master, then out of respect for Carmin herself. Carmin slowly grew into her role as a leader, and Vilia's arrival set the pattern for dragons who later joined the clan

Pearl was one: A cultured Skydancer, he descended before the lair in a beat of shimmering wings, his armor blindingly bright. Dragons gushed over him, but Carmin noted that his armor was just a bit too spotless, his words a bit too soft. She was soon proven correct—despite his grand appearance, Pearl was no warrior. He desired to become one, but he was woefully inept and about as dangerous as a chicken feather. What he did have was a talent for diplomacy and a keen mind. As a child, he had enjoyed accounts of battlefield heroism. They had instilled in him a desire to become a fighter—and a good grasp of combat strategy. Once he stopped putting on airs, Pearl was a very agreeable fellow, and he stayed with the clan, resolving to become a true warrior someday.

Indeed, most dragons who passed through the clan wanted to be warriors. Carmin's expertise shone through, and many aspiring fighters came to learn from her. Inevitably, where there are fighters, there must be healers, too.

Styx came to the clan as an all-around helper. She had dabbled in various crafts and knew many things; in time, however, she became valued more for her caregiving skills. She was a competent enough nurse—and her warm, no-nonsense attitude was just as valuable. In a clan comprised mostly of warriors, Styx’s sisterly warmth was a rock all could lean on.

They also quickly learned to appreciate any softness or gentleness that came into their lives. Perhaps that was why Viridis’ passing affected them all so deeply later on.

~ ~ ~

One spring, when the flowers were again in bloom, Viridis arrived: a young Tundra, bright violet eyes shining out from her face of moss-colored fur. She seemed almost like a nature spirit as she moved through the meadows, butterflies dancing around her.

It was Styx who first spoke to her. She adored engaging visitors in conversation, so she approached the Tundra, saying, “Come to learn combat, have you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m here to look at the beautiful flowers,” the Tundra politely replied. As she looked around, a somewhat critical frown settled onto her face. “They are lovely,” she mused, almost to herself, “but I think I can make the place a little bit better.”

Styx thought she might be confused. “This is the Clawrift Clan. Warriors come here to train…”

“Yes, I know—but such pretty flowers...!”

That was their introduction to Viridis. Earnest, forthright, and always cheerful, she definitely wasn’t the stereotypical Shadow trickster. She secured a spot as the clan’s gardener and went to work with a will, training vines to grow over the walls, curtains of flowers and leaves decorating the dry stone. The fighters couldn’t be trusted to care for a cactus, but they knew beauty when they saw it, and they appreciated it very much. It was always a bit saddening when the dry season came and the flowers all withered. But under Viridis’ care, they bloomed again next spring without fail.

Clawrift was flourishing, too. It continued attracting fighting dragons, and Carmin was considering organizing them into her own company of mercenaries. As Ssinjin - Carmin's latest "rescue" and now the clan's self-appointed treasurer - had pointed out to her, running a combat school paid well—but actually using those skills generated larger profits. Silver shied away from such warlike dreams, concentrating instead on his humble inn. It was unlikely he’d go back to hunting and trapping ever again. Vilia was now one of the clan’s strongest warriors, Pearl kept the peace, and Styx patched dragons up when Pearl couldn’t keep the peace. All in all, they were doing well.

Except Viridis. Her flowers bloomed more gloriously with every passing spring, but as though by some sinister exchange, her own health waned steadily. The diagnosis was soon clear: It was a congenital disease, and there was nothing anyone could do.

Viridis received this news with great serenity. Carmin, recognizing a bit of herself in the young Tundra, realized that that was probably why she’d come here: She’d desired to be a part of something great, to leave a lasting legacy, before… “Is there anything you’d like us to do?” she asked Viridis. “Some message to take back to your family, perhaps?”

Viridis shook her head. “No more loose ends behind me,” she said, confirming everyone’s suspicions that she’d already known. She looked out the window to where the flowers were starting to open again.

“I liked this place from the very beginning,” she said with a sudden smile. “It smelled like a good place.”

“You mean...the flowers?”

“No. It was a good place—and you guys, too.”

Carmin could only excuse herself then. She needed to prepare herself for what was about to come.

Viridis hung on for a few more years. One cool spring, as the flowers bravely opened beneath a grim gray sky, she finally passed on. Raindrops speckled the dusty ground, but the sun managed to peek through, and a rainbow crossed the heavens.

“A good omen...I suppose,” Silver sighed. He and the other clan members had already said their goodbyes, and they looked at Viridis’ grave, where she slumbered eternally beneath the blooms.

“She will be remembered,” Carmin vowed. “In my old clan, she would simply have been buried by the roadside and then forgotten....I always disliked that—how sad it was that after everything one had done, they were simply thrown away....”

“I don’t like it, either,” Silver agreed. Carmin nodded to him. “Yes...That’s why I put down roots here.”

Silver looked hesitantly at her. “Styx is always talking with those artist types. She should know someone...Some sort of monument would be nice, I think. Nothing ostentatious, just something to remember Viridis by....”

Carmin nodded to her oldest friend. As he limped away, she looked at the grave, and she patted the sweet-smelling earth. Viridis had passed on, but she would still be a part of the clan. Flowers would bloom each spring, reminding them of her....Dragons would come and go, but Clawrift was here to say.

“This is a good place,” Viridis had declared. The Clawrift Clan Leader smiled faintly at the flowers. “I know. That’s why I put down roots here, too.”

~ ~ ~

Silver had sent his staff home for the night. He was closing up the inn when Carmin returned, and she kept pace with him as he hobbled through the rain. “Telling stories again, were you, old friend?”

“No, Carmin...Just remembering.” Silver paused, sniffed the air. “That’s a good scent, a growing scent...You think the flowers will bloom soon? I mean, it’s raining pretty hard.”

“Of course they will. They always have.”

“I guess you’re right. They’re not going anywhere, are they?” Silver asked. He grinned gratefully at her before receding into his den.

“Neither are we, Silver,” Carmin murmured with a smile. “Neither are we.”

She glanced at her own den. A light still burned in the window; Samael had waited up for her, as always. Soon she would be warm and dry. Safe. Secure...

Home at last.

~written by Disillusionist (254672)
edits by felistopaz

Bio layout by Poisonedpaper

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Exalting Carmin to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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