Marmaroth

MARMAROTH
Second In Command

"Cool quote goes here."

Marmaroth was born into a small clan that scraped for survival at the edges of the Frigid Floes. They were eventually caught between a larger Ice clan to the south, and an aggressively expanding Fire flight clan to the north. The massive sheet of jagged ice on which they made their home was shattered.

They scattered to find new clans, for their combined strength was not enough to carve out new territory. Marmaroth eventually came to Clan Renegade, made up of outcasts and castoffs, like him, a clan whose goal was to be a home for as many of the lost and forgotten as possible, and whose powerful matriarch was willing to fight and fiercely defend her territory so that her charges might prosper.

When Marmaroth first joined Renegade Clan, it was small and struggling. He devoted himself to its protection wholeheartedly, forging a deep friendship with the clan's Matriarch, Abrasaxia. As they wandered, searching for a place to begin again, Marmaroth's stories of his home territories' beauty and remote peacefulness led her to choose a new home in Ice Flight territory.

It was not the easiest transition. Hostile wildlife and violent loners, mostly exiled from other Flights, made it difficult to find and defend a home, and Renegade Clan moved several times. At last they found a haven in a great buried palace near the Fortress of Ends. It was not their final home, but it was quite grand, and suitable at the time.

Later, Abrasaxia moved them to Wind Flight territory, a better place from which to both conduct business and research, as well as the original home of many Renegade Clan dragons. Marmaroth would have preferred to remain in the icy wastes, but he follows his clan loyally, and loves them just the same. From time to time he does fly south to visit the cold steppes and ice floes of his original home, and pays homage to the Icewarden there.

Marmaroth spends a great deal of time getting to know all of his clan members, learning their strengths and weaknesses, and allocating resources for defense and for training of new warriors.

He is somewhat arrogant, but his handsomeness, his prowess in battle, and his fierce devotion to his clan excuse that. He is also easygoing, which makes him easier to handle.

His fierceness aside, he is a gentle dragon, and considers violence an unfortunate (if somewhat enjoyable) necessity. It should not be a way of life.

FLIT
Frostbite Hummingbird

"I need something powerful to battle at my side," Marmaroth said as Hadriel perused the menagerie records. "Something fierce, something big, something impressive." He shook away a tuft of drifting fur or feathers -- omnipresent in the menagerie.

"Very good, very well," Hadriel grumbled, tail flicking as he fussed and picked through some papers. "We'll see if we can find you something this time. Where are those new acquisitions? Where did she file them?" After several minutes his dark green eyes flicked up for a moment, a look that seemed to say I forgot you were there.

"Aren't you fierce and impressive enough, O Mountainous One?"

"I am fearful!" Marmaroth agreed, gravelly voice gaining a grinding edge as his frustration began to surface. He had come twice before, rejected a dozen potential matches. This was becoming ridiculous.

"Our clan is ever-growing. Refugees come with enemies behind them. Old rivalries rekindle. War looms. We are at peace now, but it won't always be so. I must have a familiar fierce and powerful enough to fight beside me, to help me defend our clan. Think of the little Fae who hatched this morning. No bigger than my eye. So frail I could not even touch them for fear of causing them harm. Think of the injured, and think of those who cannot care for themselves. They must be protected and provided for. This home, hard-won, must be held. And I must have a familiar that can survive the battles that will always, always entail."

He thought of his clan and it was like holding his heart in his own claws, so dear it seemed to him. That was his Purpose. That was his Calling. His clan. And Hadriel didn't seem to take that seriously at all.

Hadriel shuffled his papers together and turned to watch Hasdiel and Hariel as they moved some crates housing a few recent arrivals, supervising the Tundra brothers' work. "You do not need to choose today."

Marmaroth sighed, again snorting away some floating fluff with a resigned sigh. It was beyond pointless to display temper to Hadriel, who had no fear of anything whatsoever, only a sort of blustery exasperation. Threats would only make the Skydancer even more prickly.

"I will come again, when you are not too busy to hear me out," Marmaroth said, and began to laboriously turn. "As you say. I will choose some other time."

"I said you do not need to choose today," Hadriel said curtly. "I did not say you were not chosen."

"Marmaroth ground his teeth in confusion. "Speak plain, friend. My patience grows short."

"Your understanding is shorter. Pay attention." The Skydancer gestured with one nimble arm. "Look around you."

Marmaroth scanned the caves and crates and tunnels, saw nothing but animals sleeping or eating or doing anything but looking interested in him. The indifference was mutual. He looked skyward, through the great glass dome, up to the bright white sky above, pleading the Icewarden for patience, and then it was almost as though the snow that fell outside drifted before his very eyes.

He blinked once, twice, shook his head to clear his vision, and looked again. There, hovering near his snout, was a mote, a frozen white speck the size of his smallest scale. Snow drifted down from the churning of its wings, which moved so quickly the eye could not follow.

Marmaroth grunted in surprise, raised his face, and the little hummingbird zigzagged nearer, darted back and forth, studying him as he studied it. The sheen of its feathers was like light striking rainbows from fractured ice, and its black eyes betrayed an intelligence every bit the equal of his own. It was so tiny and so beautiful, a magical little thing, one of only a few he had ever seen.

"If you didn't notice her, I daresay your enemies won't either. Care for her well," Hadriel said distractedly.

Marmaroth caught his breath, held it, then raised a massive claw. The little spirit lit upon his claw-tip, barely a snowflake in comparison to the Guardian's bulk. "Oh," he sighed. "Oh. Hadriel, thank you."

"Winds and floods," the Skydancer grumbled. "It is not me you should be thanking. Mind your elders, son of the Ice."

Marmaroth lowered his head, looked at the hummingbird, now preening her wings. They were not flesh and blood birds. Rather, they were nature spirits given form by the Lord of Winter himself. Without true life, without breath. But not without wisdom, and not without magic. And they were messengers. A very real connection.

"I shall mind him, indeed," Marmaroth purred softly, then his voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for his new familiar, and for its true master. "Thank you."