Chapter 29: Of Myths And Deities
“Give it back!” Jade cried out as she chased a group of boys on all fours.
At this time of year, running like that was tough on her paws, with thanks to the ashen earth having got churned into mud by the heavy rains of winter. Snow was a rare sight in the Dragonlands, with what little of it that fell showing a tendency to melt before it even landed on the ground. Instead, rainfall was the order of the day, sometimes for weeks on end, and with it would come the mud-slides, a hazard for the unwary dragon.
But Jade, like many children her age, didn’t have a problem with getting dirty, other than what her parents might say about it. Despite the risks, once the weather cleared up, the Dragonlands turned into a wonderland for children, all for one simple reason. The displacement of the soil opened up a fresh treasure trove of buried gems.
Sharing, however, was not exactly the dragon way. While the Feast of Fire was close at hand, Jade had preferred to try her luck out in the mud-fields, rather than win a story-telling contest.
She knew she should have eaten her gem the moment that she found it. But instead, she had wanted to save it, and perhaps share it with a certain drake she knew. As a result, now an extremely rude trio of whelps were tossing a rare breeze-emerald between them like a toy. She knew this game of keep-away all too well. They would try to tire her out until she gave up, and then they would brawl it out amongst themselves for the emerald.
There was only one flaw in their plan. Jade was a Spiketail, and they were nothing if not tenacious.
Spotting an opening as the gem again flew through the air, just a few feet away from her, she blew a trail of flame right at it. Impacted and obscured by the smoke, the breeze-emerald fell to the muddy ground with a clatter‘squelp’. Suddenly left without theira prize, the boys paused and scrambled for the jewel, giving Jade a chance to join the fray. Her plan was simple. Grab it, eat it, and run as if she were being chased by a Roc.
It was a wild struggle, and everybody got dirt on their scales. In the confusion, the gem got kicked out of the fray. Amongst her opponents, Javelin and Tuft were quickest to recover their wits and chase after it, with Jade herself not far behind, followed by Spear.
However, before anyone could reach the gem, a blur swooped down and grabbed it. Whelps clamored and looked about, trying to find the creature that had stolen their prize. They were rewarded, if that was the word, by what Jade thought of as an adorable little chirp of victory. Turning their attention to the sidelines, everyone saw the very drake she’d been looking for, a familiar purple whelp staring at them with a smirk on his face.
Spike held out an open hand, and the gem fell into his expectant claws, followed by a phoenix that landed upon his out-stretched arm.
“Good boy, Peewee,” Spike said, using his spare hand to toss a mouse into the air.
Peewee chirped happily, catching the rodent in his beak before gulping it down.
Spike had learned much regarding his friend in the last year. The phoenix was an omnivore, meaning a creature that could subsist on both meat and vegetation. Mountain mice were plentiful in these parts, so Peewee scarcely risked going hungry. Grandma Topaz would be mindful, bringing large sacks of seed for him to eat if he felt like it. However, Spike had been careful, making sure to feed his friend just enough, and the results showed. Peewee was still a fledgling, but anyone could tell that he was strong for his age. Quite the handsome fellow as well, if Spike did say so himself. To make sure dragons knew he actually belonged to someone, Peewee wore a harness bearing an emblem carved with a scale.
The most worrying time for Spike was during Peewee's molts. He’d gone through one already, shedding his feathers, igniting and falling to the floor as ash. Moments later, he’d emerged, a little taller, with a brighter coat. The hardest part for Spike was not assisting in the removal of the feathers, as Topaz had said it was best to let a phoenix shed naturally.
“Come on!” Javelin groaned. “You’re always cheating with that thing!”
“It’s not cheating when you get your friend’s gem back for her,” Spike said, examining his trophy. He felt tempted to keep it for himself. Jade always did have the best luck. Then he saw the angry looks his friends were giving him, and grinned. “To Jade,” Spike ordered, and the phoenix let out a chirp, before he flew over to Jade, landing on one of her horns.
Spike was merely seven, yet he was brimming with confidence. He exchanged glares with Tuft and Spear for a short time. They could see the excitement in Spike’s eyes, a hunger for a fight. Though not the best fighter for their ages, Spike was at least above average. Nobody was sure if they would be ready to beat him.
“Fine, keep the stupid thing,” Spear said, scampering off. “Come on, guys, I think we’ll find something good if we look hard enough.”
Spike grinned as Javelin and Tuft followed suit, but he was feeling a bit disappointed.
His least favorite victories were those he obtained through intimidation. He’d had a few fights, some which he won, others which he lost, the rest brought to a standstill with he and his opponent laughing helplessly, sprawled on the ground. He wasn’t particularly good at any one thing, but he was adaptable, as his father put it.
“Here,” Spike said, tossing the stone to Jade.
“Thanks,” Jade said, smiling and looking away to hide a growing blush. Her smile quickly faded. “Aren’t you worried they might gang up on you? They really hate when you use Peewee.”
Spike shrugged his shoulders. “Not really. That’ll just prove they can’t beat me one-on-one. Besides, it’s not like I use him much, except to get stuff for me. Isn’t that right, Peewee?” he asked, scratching the bird under his chin.
He’d observed Smolder and even Ember when they fought his brother. Garble was fair, and tended to meet his opponents head-on, saving any tricks for dire situations and fights with real consequences. Strength was his main attribute, and he’d use his strength, his endurance and his raw speed to overwhelm an opponent. However, Garble had trouble with swift and nimble opponents. Not to say he lost, that rarely if ever happened, yet sometimes he struggled.
Ember focused more on agility and technique, wearing out her opponent, Garble, through multiple strikes and making sure she didn’t get hit. It was a risky play, though. Once she was down, or the plan went sideways, it was hard for her to recover. She knew to use her environment to her advantage, but she kept needing to change up her tricks after Garble adapted to them. Then again, if he wasn’t in the mood for a fight, Garble tended to exploit Ember’s greatest weakness; she was ticklish. One poke to the side, or where her neck and chin met, and she collapsed like a dragon with a broken leg.
Smolder also utilized her agility, but tended to use her mind in more devious ways. Some would call her style under-handed; she called her methods practical. She was like Ember in this regard, and did not hold back. Despite her small size, this combination made Spike suspect his sister could be an even better fighter than his brother, if it weren’t for one fact. Smolder simply didn’t seem very interested in fighting. He worried sometimes that she relied on other whelps going easy on her because Garble was her big brother, always ready to toss her a gem he’d won elsewhere.
As for himself, Spike tried to wed the three styles with each other. He was stronger than many, but not as strong as his brother, yet being quick on his feet enabled him to dodge strikes, while allowing him to return them quickly and painfully. He was also able to take hits better then Ember, it seemed. And Smolder’s under-handedness, well, his first tool was Peewee, along with anything else he could come up with. If one plan didn’t work, he would pivot to another.
Jade broke the gem in two, giving one half to Spike. “Thanks again, and thank you, Peewee!” Holding out her arm, she invited the phoenix to flutter down to his new perch. She nuzzled the bird gently, eliciting happy squawks. “Oh, Spike, can I borrow him for the Gathering next week?”
“Why?”
“It’s the Feast of Fire, and I need someone to talk to. The drakes that come All the other drakes suck!” Jade groaned. “When are you ever going to show up again? It’s been months!”
Spike’s hatred towards gatherings had only grown over the years. When he did go, he’d be swarmed with attention. Not that it was because anyone particularly saw him as desirable; the best analogy he’d heard came from Uncle Smog, whom Mom had wanted to shut up before he could say anything, for some reason. At a gathering, there was a mass of starving dragons, and Spike was one of the few gems thrown at them. He wasn’t a particularly good one as he rarely, if ever complimented anyone there. But rivalry's were fierce amongst any dragon, and if Spike paid a complement to one girl, she could be lorded over a rival, and that was priceless.
“If I did, it’d be just to hang out with you.”
Half-hearted as he sounded, what he said brightened Jade’s mood considerably. “So, do you have any plans for today?”
She had one idea in mind, but wanted to see if Spike had something better in store.
“Not really. Dig for a few gems, maybe? Garble’s out scavenging with Dad, and Smolder-" He paused, thinking about it for a moment. "I guess Smolder is off with Ember. Maybe they’re doing some reading? Ember’s been getting better at it.”
Spike still couldn’t figure out why Smolder and Ember hung out together. Given how Smolder adored Garble, it made even less sense to Spike that she’d want to hang out with Princess Ember, who’d been the reason Garble once got into big trouble with her Dad, if he remembered correctly. Girls were very confusing. But Spike thought he understood a little bit better since he’d started spending time with Jade. Smolder only had brothers, and Ember had no siblings at all. Jade came from a family with six sisters, no boys, a rarity in the Dragonlands.
Spike didn’t know what Garble would have done, but deep down, he couldn’t help wondering whether if he’d been in a place where he only had other guys to play with, he’d have soon gone looking for girls to make friends. He stroked Peewee’s forehead as he contemplated this.
A devious smile formed on Jade’s face. “Say, have you found out your clan ability yet?”
“No, Jade. At this point my Dad thinks I’m an Amethyst-Hide or a Violet-Scale. I really hope that isn’t the case, but it’s not like I have much to go on.” Spike let out a sigh as his body slumped. “Why couldn’t I get something cool?”
Her smirk only grew wider, more devious. “You know, my cousin says that Elder Blast knows every clan ability there is. I think he may be able to tell you yours.”
Elder Blast was one of the oldest priests in the land. Due to his age, he was left to his own devices for the most part, administering last rites or embalming the deceased if someone else could not. His main function now was to preside over only the most important ceremonies.
Spike knew from the title alone that Jade was suggesting they visit a priest, but he could already see the issue with that. “Don’t we need our parents to–”
“Not when you’re with me. It helps when your cousin guards the front door,” Jade said, winking.
A mischievous grin spread along Spike’s features. “Peewee, home.”
The bird nodded, and quickly flew off. And Jade dusted herself off as best she could. She wanted to look presentable when meeting a priest.
Hewed painstakingly from the rock of a dormant volcano, the Archfire Temple was one of the three foremost Temples in the Dragonlands. Spike knew there were temples and shrines scattered about the kingdom, built in honor of the gods, but none were as important as these three; the Archfire Temple, the Rainbow Temple near the heart of the Dragonlands, and Ruby Shrine at Bahamut’s Landing, where dragons flew during the Embertide. Legend claimed that there was once a fourth temple called the Greatwyrm Temple, now known as the Lost Temple. Spike had pondered endlessly how anyone could lose an entire temple, but Grandpa Furnace had told him it wasn’t actually lost, just hidden for a time by Six Ancient Dragons who’d long since passed, until there came a dragon worthy enough to learn of its secrets.
When Spike had asked what the secrets were, he’d received a rather dry response;
“If I could tell you that, then the temple would not be lost to this day.”
The Archfire Temple was where myriad rites and ceremonies were performed. It would usually be bustling with activity, and typically dragons needed an appointment to gain entrance, for reasons which varied from anything to last rites or offering a prayer. As a rule, children were not permitted into the temple without a chaperone. As though to underscore this forbiddance, a double-door forged of iron marked the entrance. Flanking either side was a set of carved statues depicting two fierce dragons, but in front of the doors was a single, albeit very large and tall adult keeping watch, clad in full body-armor that masked even his face, making sure that anyone who entered had a purpose to their visit.
Jade promptly avoided this entrance and headed for another, smaller pair of doors at the side.
An entrance intended to let young adults and adolescents in and out of the Temple, generally Platinum Paladins reporting in for practice on the spiritual aspect of their duties. Smolder had once let slip to Spike that there might be a future for Garble among the Paladins. A nice image, yet Spike could not quite see it happening, and he’d asked himself where Smolder got that idea. If he didn’t claim the mantle of Dragon Lord, his brother would grow into a mighty warrior, undoubtedly, yet not every warrior was a Paladin. Dad was no Paladin, for instance, despite being a capable and respected fighter.
It all came down to piety, and Garble took after their father in not being particularly devout. Little did Spike know that the branch Smolder was referring to were the Ruby Paladins, warriors that were loyal to Dragon Lord, who Smolder was hoping would be Ember.
Jade was one of the most religious dragons Spike knew, even at seven years old. And this was how he learned that she’d snuck into the Temple many times.
“You’ve done this before?” Spike mouthed to her, anxiously. He was ready to take on whelps twice his age and size, yet risking the trouble they might get into for doing this was testing his resolve. Even if he didn’t think the gods would strike them down in wrath, his Mom’s anger felt just as formidable a prospect.
Jade nodded calmly. “Watch and learn.”
“Wait, what were you doing in there?”
At this, instead of answering, Jade coughed and looked away, strangely flustered. “Never mind,” she told Spike, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the smaller doorway.
Like the main entrance, this one also came with a guard, clad in platinum armor and wielding a platinum-tipped spear. Spike noticed the similar scale coloring to Jade’s, and how the guard shared her clan’s signature spiked tail.
“Hi, Lance!” Jade said, greeting the guard cheerfully as she ran up to him, Spike in tow.
The Paladin gazed at Spike and Jade, giving his cousin an almost disappointed look. “Jade, we’ve talked about this, and I said ‘no’. Bringing him won’t change that answer.”
“It’s not about that!” Jade snapped, her cheeks flushing a deep red. She collected herself. “Spike and I want to talk to Elder Blast. Remember, when I told you he didn’t know what his clan ability was? I thought maybe the Elder might be able to find out. Can you let Spike and me in, please?”
She gave her cousin a heart-meltingly sweet look, the one that typically got her into the Temple.
Lance Spiketail was Jade’s older cousin, and she had repeatedly used their family relationship to get inside the Temple without adult supervision, in order to pray before the altars within. She most frequently prayed to Tamara, Goddess of Mercy, Marriage and Motherhood. Jade would often pray for a good mate, while listing off details that just so happened to describe Spike, and thought Tamara would tip matters in her favor after a few decades.
Lance sighed and opened the door. “Be quiet, be respectful, and be obedient. If Elder Blast tells you to get lost, you listen.”
Both of the children nodded. “Thanks Lance!” Jade said. She moved quickly, grabbing Spike’s wrist once more.
However, inside, they walked through the halls at a regular pace. Their presence did cause some heads to turn amongst the priesthood, guards and visitors, but so long as they kept quiet and strode with purpose, none gave them a second glance.
This was not Spike’s first time inside the Archfire Temple, of course, but it was the first time he’d been able to wander without his parents or grandparents looking over his shoulder. Even Garble was too young to come alone. And now here he was, with only a whelp his age for company. Having Jade at his side did help ease his worries a little, he noted with some surprise, as she strode confidently forward. Still, although the fear of punishment was lessened, Spike would have found the Temple a rather intimidating place to be in.
There was no other place in the Dragonlands like the Temples. Simply put, they were buildings, which were not usually the focus of dragon artisanship. Many a dragon worked in metal and jewelry, but rock was the domain of miners, or carvers who used hammer and chisel to shape a sculpture – not architecture. He was sure he only knew that word because he’d read it in one of his books, and his family were of the few dragons who could read or write, anyway. Spike didn’t know exactly how books were made. While he’d seen the priests use scrolls, they tended to favor stone tablets.
But here, there was design, every room made for a specific purpose. Many housed altars, depicting the gods of dragonkind and their patrons, the Primal Dragons. Of the halls Spike and Jade wandered through, several had been built as walkways, stretching across flowing rivers of lava that heated the temple. In one such chamber, they saw a number of Paladins, most of whom were kneeling and praying. His favorite, however, was a sparring room, filled with some of the strongest-looking teenage drakes he’d ever seen clashing against one another using either their fists or arms and shields. He watched for a minute or two, mesmerized until Jade pulled him away.
Deeper into the Temple, they passed a room filled with statues of dragonkind’s greatest foes, of which he himself knew little, save for their names. The mad being Chaos. The monstrous Aberrations. The mighty and unyielding Titans. Finally, the betrayer herself, Tiamat. There were statues of lesser foes such as Flash Magnus and Grimhoof, though Spike felt these depictions lacked the gravitas of their greater brethren.
At last they descended down a sloping hall, into the deepest recesses of the Temple, situated below the level of the lava pools. This place was lit by odd metals, somewhere between gold and amber, which cast a dim but warm light. In the space farthest from the slope, just finishing his prayers for the day, was Elder Blast.
Jade made a motion for Spike to remain quiet. “Excuse me, Elder Blast?”
Blast lifted his head and turned to see Jade.
“Oh, joy. It’s Paladin Lance’s little cousin. I have told you already, girl, you are neither betrothed, nor the appropriate age to make such a decision. Bringing a drake here does not change my answer.”
“It’s not about that!” Jade said, before clamping her claw over her mouth. “Elder Blast,” she added, hurrying before Spike could ask questions, “Heathspike was wondering if you could tell him about his clan ability. I was told you knew them all, and he doesn’t know which one he’s got.”
The old wyrm craned his head and raised a scaly brow. “An odd thing to ask. Wait. You’re the Ironscale boy, aren’t you?”
Spike nodded. “Think I might be a Mythic Dragon? My Grandpa Furnace tells me about them all the time! Is it true that there were ones that could beat up the pony princess?”
Blast let out a noise of amusement, and motioned for the whelps to sit.
He was a chief practitioner for all of dragonkind’s most cherished ceremonies. Such as the Embertide, where every dragon flew through Equestria to Bahamut’s Landing, so they may celebrate their clan and the many blessings the gods had bestowed upon their race. Or the Ashen Remembrance, when dragons would honor the deceased from Paladins to family members. And the Feast of Fire, when dragons would celebrate the day Asgorath roared, and gave birth to dragonkind.
Besides, this was the season of the Feast of Fire.
He could spare a few stories. They involved the pantheon, so where was the harm? No one had come to him requesting last rites, and no doubt the boy would find the story enlightening.
“Very well, I will tell you a tale of the Fall of the Mythic Clans.”
Blast watched as Spike’s shoulders slumped in disbelief, and allowed himself a chuckle before beginning his tale.
To know of the Mythic Clans’ fall from grace, one must know how they obtained their power, and to know this, a young dragon must first know the origin of dragons. In the beginning, the world was but a ceaseless void. Then, there came a word. One spoken in a whisper, but which carried power. The word shattered the never-ending emptiness, and the gods appeared in a flash of light.
The gods are four, each one gifted with wisdom, power, and purpose. They are the Divine– the nameless Shaper of The Cosmos. After him is Asgorath, our own god, Father of Dragons and Keeper of the Spheres. You may have heard of Concordia, Mother of Hooves and Giver of Life. And last of all is Shimara– the Guide of Small Creatures.
Though unseen, they are ever-present in the world, ever-watchful. When they walked the world, it is said they donned raiments for a moment, called aspects, mere fractions of their tremendous power, so their children may know them. Still, to a dragon, no god is more significant than our father, Asgorath, the Rainbow Dragon.
He who made the Sun, the Moon, the stars, and this planet we mortals walk upon.
Spike’s hand shot up into the air, and Blast paused his musings.
“Yes, little one?”
“If our god made the sun and moon, why aren’t we moving them, instead of that pony princess?”
A fair question, one that Blast had researched extensively.
“Once, long, long ago we did, but we were a different sort of dragon back then. Our power waned at our request. Afterwards, there were only two clans that could manage the feat. The first no longer exists, the other clan wishes not to do so unless needed. But the other races are just as capable of moving them aside from Celestia, the centaurs being one example. Perhaps this is what the gods intended to happen.”
Spike seemed to accept the answer.
“Now, where was I? Right, the gods.”
Their home is the Seven Heavens of Mount Cronias itself, with the Eternal Halls resting upon the Summit. From this mountain, they shaped the world, filling it with countless wonders. We call this labor the First World. But after the gods had appeared, there came a second word, one shouted, which carried with it a new power. This word fell into the shadow of Mount Cronias, and from that darkness arose Chaos.
Though powerful and considered their sister, Chaos was a different being. She did not have the power to create like the gods did, instead she was meant to give the world unpredictability through nothing more than her ethereal presence. However, she grew envious of the gods’ power and their creations, and rebelled. In secret Chaos twisted her siblings’ work, and spawned the Aberrations, monsters that would plague the fledgling world for eons. When her treachery was discovered, she unleashed her children into the First World and did what the gods dare not do, manifesting within the First World itself, cracking its foundations.
Swiftly, the Divine, Concordia, and Shimara acted to defend their work. Through a song which, though gentle at first, grew into an overwhelming ballad of destruction and ferocity, the Celestials were born, the messengers of the gods. These creations descended from the heavens, into the world itself, and fought against the machinations of Chaos.
As for Asgorath?
Asgorath veiled himself in a body of invulnerable rainbow scales and, like Chaos, descended into the world he and his siblings had labored to create. His manifestation fractured all creation. When he manifested, the armies of Chaos descended upon him, but Asgorath let out a terrifying roar towards the stars. The Aberrations were blown back, and the stars he had created ignited with a rainbow fire. From those stars, in a burst of light, the Children of Asgorath came forth.
Dragons.
A great war raged between the abominations of Chaos and the armies of the gods. While Asgorath confronted their sister directly, the other gods used all their power to keep the world from shattering. Soon the Father of Dragons was able to fatally strike his foe, and without their mother, the aberrations fell into disarray. Some fled to realms yet unseen by the eyes of mortals. Others hid and tried to bide their time, but these monstrosities were soon felled.
Asgorath and his brother wove Chaos’s corpse into the fabric of reality itself, so that her original purpose may be fulfilled. Though triumphant, their victory was not achieved without cost, nor was Chaos the end of the gods' troubles. Many trials and tribulations followed her rebellion, leaving the world greatly wounded.
The First World died in its infancy. So a new labor began, new gods came into existence, though all were lesser than the Quartet born of the first word.
Together with the Father of Dragons, comprise the Six. Three came into being during the Titan Wars. The last two came about when Asgorath granted the ultimate gift to his children.
Asgorath. Bahamut, Null and Tiamat. Astilabor and Tamara.
“What about Sardior?” Spike’s voice interrupted.
Elder Blast paused his story. Aside from being rudely interrupted, there was something supremely worrying about Spike wondering why Sardior wasn’t mentioned. “Why would I add him to count?” Blast asked, raising a scaly brow.
“Isn’t he a god?” Spike asked. There were several stories that he heard from Furnace regarding Sardior, each one grander than the last. “I thought he could go to heaven whenever he wanted and talk to all the gods. And didn’t he rule over dragons for a thousand years?”
Blast took a moment to formulate a response. “The later part of your statement is true, but neither importance to our lands nor divine privileges make one a god, child. He was certainly more than a dragon, but less than a god.”
“Then what was he? Wasn’t he like, the strongest dragon to ever live?”
“Oh, he was a Primal Dragon,” Jade quickly explained. “Lance says they were stronger than the Mythics!”
Blast couldn’t deny he was impressed with such a young whelp. Not many cared to learn about the Primal Dragons so young, typically the first time they ever learned was during a ceremony after succeeding their first molt. Whatever the girl’s ulterior motives, she was learned of their lore, and devout for a child. Her bending the rules could be forgiven as a young child’s missteps. When she grew up, Blast felt sure she would be a pious dragon. Perhaps she could rub off on her little crush as well.
Spike’s ears perked at the new term. “What’s that? Could I be one of those?”
“No,” Blast said.
“But what if I am?”
“You’re not.” Perhaps Blast could talk with the Ironscale patriarch, perhaps have Spike and his siblings come in for lessons regarding their forefathers and their history. A little additional Temple attendance would not hurt the family. Another time perhaps. For now, Blast proceeded with his story.
When Asgorath roared and gave birth to our forefathers, they were everlasting creatures of metal and stone. Their roars commanded the sun and moon, their breath could bring about calamities, and their might was surpassed only by the gods themselves. However, as they watched the world, they soon desired the mortal lives the other races led.
They pleaded with the gods to make them like their other races and the gods granted them their wish, changing them into the dragons we are today. Creatures of flesh, capable of feeling joy and sorrow, hatred and love. Creatures capable of bringing forth new life into the world. Creatures that are destined die one day and return to the god that created us.
The Six also granted our forefathers blessings of their choosing. Some dragons were vain, and asked for traits that many would see beautiful. Others were humble and asked for what they thought was a small trait that would give them an advantage in life, like the Shadowside, the Spiketails, or the Ironscales. However, there was another group that desired power.
The Mythic Clans. Though many existed, few are remembered.
First and mightiest were the Wishstars, who could influence this earthen world by their wills, their hopes and their dreams. Then there were the Manaclaws, whose raw magical prowess matched the Alicorns crafted by Concordia or the Centaurs of the Divine, wielding fire that may burn even a dragon. There were the Bloodstalkers, who had such control over water, bile and essence, they could bend the minds and feelings of others, while themselves remaining immune to such meddling. Finally there were the Stormchasers– long serpent-like dragons, wingless, with horns and hair, who commanded the heavens, their roars calling forth gale, tempest and lightning.
Thus, these Mythic Clans would claim the Bloodstone Scepter, time and time again. For an age, their reign over dragonkind was undisputed.
However, their desire for power and pleasure was to twist them. Their clan name became all they cared for. The sons of Mythic Clans would take females of the lesser clans by force, sometimes three or four at once, breaking the laws that Asgorath and the gods had set for their dragons.
The cries and wails of their victims echoed throughout the kingdom. And the lesser clans came to beg the gods for relief, in this very temple before Asgorath. Their voices did not go unheard. The Six heard every cry, every prayer, every whisper, and convened. Sardior himself, the First Dragon Lord, was called to give counsel. Even Tiamat, who by then had fallen into darkness, was allowed to attend, bound in unbreakable chains of adamant. Rage-filled was she– her roar shook Mount Cronias.
A fierce debate raged. Tiamat the Vengeful, Null the Inexorable, and Alibastor the Ostentatious ardently wished to smite the Mythic Clans. Tamara the Merciful and Bahamut the Just, joined by the humble Sardior, begged for a different punishment.
It was Asgorath who gave the final decision.
The other people of the world trembled in awe of the powerful dragons. If he were to merely smite the fallen brethren, the outsiders would know, and they might attack, lured by the wealth of dragonkind. So he devised a punishment that would erode the Mythic Clans, without losing a single dragon. Asgorath roared, and so it was done.
A curse fell upon the Mythic Clans. Tamara the Merciful, wearing the guise of a Cleric, appeared before the fathers and sons of the Mythic Clans, and imparted upon them her revelation– their names and abilities had been cursed forevermore. In the future, whenever a child was to be born with their ability, it was to be a daughter who hatched from the egg.
She gave them a warning as well. If they did not wish to face the dark fires that consume Tiamat, they would treasure their daughters, and deliver their stolen mates back to the rightful clans.
Of the Mythics, though bitter about their fate, Clans Wishtar, Manaclaw and Bloodstalker soon understood the futility of seeking to lift the curse under their own power. Mighty though they were, they were but mortal. However, seeing that their powers would soon fade from the world, it was the Stormchasers who rebelled against their creators. They challenged the Six, threatening to break the egg of every last dragon if the curse was not lifted.
While the gods care little for challenges, the threat was something that they could not ignore. Asgorath became enraged, as did Bahamut and Null, the Just and the Inexorable alike. With the last shred of mercy he had for the Stormchasers, Asgorath warned they’d be eradicated if they harmed a single egg. In their arrogance, the Stormchasers sought to unleash lightning upon the hatchery. Yet, when the lightning fell, the bolts struck the Stormchasers themselves, reducing them to dust.
The rest of the Mythic Clans accepted their fates, heeded the word of Tamara. Generations passed, and now the Mythic Clans are no more than a memory.
“So, I’m not a member of a Mythic Clan?” Spike asked.
“I hope not, they were all jerks!” Jade said, fuming. She recalled the punishment that had been placed on them. “Elder Blast, if I pray hard enough, can the gods make it so my Mom only hatches boys from now on? I have six sisters, and would really like at least one brother.”
Blast pretended not to have heard her. “You are not part of the Mythic Clans,” he told Spike, not unkindly yet firmly. “There are no mythic dragons left. And please, little one–” This was addressed to Jade, “–the gods are not vendors, that’s not how prayer works.”
“But there aren’t any left?” said Spike.
“When I was younger than you,” Blast conceded, “I heard rumors that one clan managed to persist, but I hardly think them true.”
“So, I could be descended from that clan?” Spike asked.
“You’d be a girl if that were the case. Besides, can you do anything like the clans I’ve described? You have not the serpent body of a Stormchaser. You cannot cast spells–” Spike blew a stream of fire as hot as he could on Blast’s claw, who had to admit, it tickled, “–nor can your flames harm a dragon, try as you may. You did not peer into my mind and see I knew it impossible for you to be a Mythic Dragon. And if you were a Wishstar, well, your life would be one of constant fortune. How many of your fights do you win?”
“I win enough,” Spike grumbled, kicking the dirt on the floor.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, child, but if I had to guess, you are perhaps a Lavenderscale, or a Limespine. Perhaps a combination of the two. I know many would love your color palette.”
Blast couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of utter disappointment on Spike’s face.
“I believe that’s enough for now, your face certainly tells me so.”
He bid them goodbye, and the two left the Temple.
“Any reason you're so gloomy, Heathspike?” Amber was asking her son as the sun set that day.
Over in their cave’s designated ‘kids’ corner’, both of her older children were rummaging through a pile of Feast-time gems. As happened very often, Smolder had been the winner in their little family story-telling competition, and thus collected the lion’s share. Yet she was being uncommonly generous and had given Garble an extra portion.
Taken up with their holiday treats, neither of them were paying much attention to their little brother, unusually enough.
Admittedly, Garble needed a little cheering-up of his own. Amber knew her oldest son to be a champion in a fight between whelps, but he had his weaknesses. Possibly the greatest was that Garble, quite simply, did not like water. Winter, the rainy season, was a miserable time for him. He’d stay inside, spending less time with his friends, often not even joining them to go gem-hunting in the mud, for fear a cloudburst might occur while he was outside.
But it was Spike who really looked down in the dumps tonight. Spike had returned home and immediately fallen face -first on the floor. This was Spike’s way of telling his family that he was moping, but this was a problem that was quite literally impossible for them to solve.
Only Peewee seemed to try and cheer him up, nuzzling his fins, not that it seemed to help.
“I’m not a Mythic Dragon,” Spike grumbled into the floor.
Amber was aware of her son’s hope to be a Mythic Dragon. It was about as realistic as her dream to breathe underwater or in lava. One side of her could understand her son’s disappointment, especially when he didn’t even know what he could do. When she was young, part of her always felt envious of other clans, especially Clan Opaleyes, who had gorgeous blue eyes she would have killed for when she was younger.
Perhaps part of growing up for young dragons included accepting the ability they were given. Easier for some to do than it was for others.
“And what is wrong with that?”
Spike shrugged. “I want something as cool as Dad’s ability.”
“Oh, and what about my ability?” Amber said jokingly. She showed her tail, a hint of silver shown in the remaining daylight. “I can name a few dragons that would love a tail like mine.”
“It’s okay, but Dad’s invincible!”
Flare chuckled at the declaration. “Spike, if I was invincible I’d be the Dragon Lord, your mother my consort, and you all would be royalty. I know it’s hard to hear, and it’s harder to admit, Torch got the better of me when we fought. Our ability is useful, but it is not without its flaws.”
“But that was, like, a thousand years ago!” Spike protested. “I bet you could win if you fought now. Even if you can't, it's still a pretty cool power. My power is being purple or green.”
“Well, I for one think you are a darling shade of purple, that any whelp would be lucky to have. You could be an Emeraldeye. Not as flashy as you would have hoped, but many dragons would die to have your color scheme. Chin up, you’re still an Ironscale, impenetrable scales or no.”
Even Spike had to admit that was true.
In seven years, no other dragon clan had come to claim him, but nor had he sought to find any other family than the one he had – Amber and Flare, Garble and Smolder, and Jade, even Ember, he guessed. Not all dragons lived in the Dragonlands, with some preferring to make a life for themselves in the far reaches of foreign lands, living off what these places provided. Such dragons were usually those with a touch more greed than the norm, jealous of their hoards.
Maybe someday, Spike would find out how his egg came to lie, untouched, in that nesting ground. What he really wanted to know was if he had an ability that could match, let alone surpass the Ironscales. He had his pride.
Still, being a member of this family was what made him feel proudest.
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Happy Holidays🎄🎆⭐️
Well, well, well. An addition to this story makes an already decent Christmas Eve even just a bit better. REALLY liked Spike playing with Peewee and hanging with Jade (though he'd better watch out when she starts getting jealous of the ponies). Also liked Spike reflecting on how he was training to combine the best aspects of his adopted family's styles into his own (especially learning to combine brains and brawn). And, yes, finding out more about the Mythic Clan of Dragons was definitely some welcome world-building (and, yes, I have a feeling that, even if Spike ISN'T a Mythic Dragon, the information on the Clan will probably be very useful in other ways in later chapters). And really loved that very appropriate family-focused ending of this chapter.
And yes, given that the holidays tend to be about family and friends, the fact that this chapter was released on Christmas Eve is really appropriate.
Definitely looking forward to more of this. And Happy Holidays to you and your family and friends.
Nice Xmas present with this chapter, not only with how Peewee's growth & fitting into Ironscale's family, Spike's creative fighting style taken from his older siblings, but also the huge dragon lore dump on this chapter alone, especially with Mystic dragons!
Here's hoping we get a glimpse of his real power soon, plus him finally meeting some young ponies (that aren't racist jerks that is) on a future chapter! Still wondering if the dragon migration's still happening on this timeline given recent events?
Thanks for the sweet informative chapter, Happy Holidays!
Aww~
Now that is a perfect team right there
Yeah seriously I was not expecting that at all back in season 1 but it is interesting how they did came back after burst into flames and scary
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Spike, your power is handling neurotic all powerful purple horses
well, this chapter was a rather big letdown
you build us up to the idea that he could be someone powerful, someone chosen, then you kick it out from under us with the biggest trollish grin on your face
That last Mythic clan he mentioned- could it perhaps have been called something like, Sendflames? The only clan to avoid the curse as they had already been forgotten and shunned by the other mythic clans for not being rude jerks?
One thing I would like to point out, it's impossible for EVERYONE to think feel and act the exact same way. If "a clan" rebels, I can guarantee that some disagreed with it.
To claim that "all dragons of this group were evil/prideful/power hungry, is either the passing of time eroding the truth, pride speaking, or someone purposefully hiding the truth. Or lazy writing but I don't think that's the case.
It's kinda like saying that all Germans were Nazis, or that the USSR collapsed because absolutely EVERYONE was corrupt and evil.
And for the gods to smite all dragons of a clan because of the actions of a few..... sounds like someone needs to be overthrown/replaced.
I don't know how to feel about that 😥
To be honest I only knew Bahamut and Tiamat from Final Fantasy
Hey nice to see the story again so it looks like Jade is having some problems but luckily Spike and PeeWee help her with a couple of bullies but also Jade invited him to go see the eldest dragon which he was pretty interested he wants to know about his history and once they got there he did give a pretty interesting other mythical dragons and everything but it didn't help his origin where he came from and he was pretty upset but I'm sure he'll find out sooner or later I wonder what else could happen guess we'll find out next time although I'm still waiting for the Cutie Mark Crusaders and also again this is a huge push or something but I was hoping that smolder will meet sandbar but who knows