Been a long time since we’ve had any dragon lore! For anyone that needs a reminder, this lore has to do with my dragons on a petsite game called FlightRising, so credit to canonical events and draconic breeds and things go to them. However, the story detailed here is my own, and builds off of previously established lore I posted a long while ago.
I highly recommend reading the rest of the Tempest Order History posts before this one, as it provides a great deal of context. However, without any further ado—
The Immortal Era — Continuation
With time, the war faded bit by bit from the recent memory of the Tempest Order. The clan rebuilt and resettled the territories they called home, though it took much longer than expected to reclaim the honeycomb-like chambers of their prior excavation sites.
Built into and beneath the large mesas that surrounded and protected the Agriden from all manner of weather and intruders, the colloquially termed “Beehive” was meant to be a massive expansion of the clan’s living quarters, able to safely and efficiently house at least another hundred members of their ranks.
It being underground, though, the Hive had suffered serious damage in the conflict with the Warren. After all, its deepest levels had been burrowed into by the Warren during the conflict, and indeed were the location of the subterranean kingdom’s final stand against the Tempest Order, causing a partial cave-in.
As other preparations and repairs were being made, the Hive fell largely by the wayside, the whole place deemed an environmental hazard at best and a death trap at worst.
In the meantime, they focused on other things. Trade routes were safe once again, no longer requiring guards and escorts for caravans — though, it had become such a standard practice that most of the dragons in the Order preferred it that way. It’s rare these days to see any delivery going without at least one warrior to protect them, though they no longer feel the eyes at their back the way they did when the Warren was pursuing them.
There were a few months in there that rogue defectors from the Warren would attack or set up ambush points, but these disruptors didn’t last long before the Order was able to root them out and drive them off.
On the other hand, there were small bands of loyalists still showing up from time to time, eager to follow in the lead of the true heir to the throne. It was a title that Carnage, the once-Prince Konoran, didn’t feel any true claim over. Though many of the loyalists began to call for the Order to push deeper into the caverns beneath their feet, to strike the Warren at its heart for attempting to end the bloodline… Carnage had no interest in taking back the throne, rightful or no.
His place was here, with Athanasia and the clan they had built together. Beneath burning suns and charged storms with the dragons that had stuck by their sides through thick and thin.
Many of the loyalists were not happy to hear it, but he made it clear to them all the same. Carnage welcomed them readily into the clan, but it was imperative that they understood that he was no King of the Warren. He was Carnage, his mate’s stalwart enforcer and one half of the leadership of the Tempest Order. His legacy was one of his own design, not his bloodline.
Their loyalties to him were appreciated, but they were free to proceed as they wished.
In the end, many of them stayed. More than a few still call him Your Highness, even when reminded that he lays no claim to that title. Others left. Some in a huff. Others, amicably, eager to explore the world topside and see what new life it might hold for them.
Many of the loyalists who stayed behind were part of the teams poking around the partially destroyed Hive. It was their expertise that deemed the place to be unsuitable for living, at least in its current state. They knew tunnels and chambers well — and collapses too.
Even after all was said and done and life had returned to normal, it was deemed too dangerous to attempt to reclaim the Hive without the proper resources, or expectation for a second cave in — one that could potentially destroy areas above ground as well.
Athanasia and Carnage were beginning to consider that the project — rather infuriatingly — might have to be scrapped altogether. To continue to expand their forces and ability to self-sustain, they needed more room for more dragons, for more commerce, for more everything.
When word started to spread through the desert of the discovery of another ancient draconic breed, what piqued the leaders’ interest the most were rumors of their hard work and uncanny knack for labyrinthine tunnels.
It was said that they could be found beneath the Charged Barrens, a vast expanse of white sands crackling with rolling waves of expelled electricity. A dangerous place, to be certain, but a familiar stomping ground for the Tempest Order’s nomadic numbers.
With a mission of expansion in mind, they set out into the desert. With the help of former Warren burrowers, they located an access point deep beneath the earth, and deeper even than the Warren’s usual tunnels, into rock the likes of which the kingdom usually avoided altogether.
Breaking through this, bit by bit, they eventually emerged into the fabled, sprawling tunnels of the Sandsurge dragons.
It was a hefty cost to convince even a handful of the large, frilled dragons to return to the Agriden with them, but it was a sum paid in full and without question by the two leaders.
Armed with these new assets, they returned to their territory and the Hive, presenting the situation to the Sandsurge. Though offput by the obvious lack of structural integrity, the hired Surges just couldn’t leave the place like this! It was a matter of principle! And craftsmanship!
With their new hire-ons taking charge of coordinating the excavation and stabilization efforts, they made consistent and quick progress on setting the Hive right once again, even expanding it further than it had been before.
In response, the Order’s numbers had room enough to swell past five hundred, then past six — drawing in all manner of dragons to their fold with the promise of good work and a fearsome clan to have at their backs.
With them came new knowledge, new crafts, new trades, new traditions, and new techniques and technologies.
One of these was Warrior’s Way, a widespread series of contests testing the resolve and fighting prowess of the world’s dragons. Happy to entertain the idea, a similar festival was held within the clan, boasting all manner of physical challenges and duels for members to compete in.
As part of this, General Athanasia found herself presented with a set of pristinely crafted armor as a gift from the crafters of the Rusticaeris Family. It was beautifully well made, stonewash blue like herself and in a design she’d never seen before. It was both highly functional and highly effective, sharp and battle-ready. Truly armor befitting of a warrior of her rank and prowess.
And yet, there was hesitation. For as long as the clan had stood, her claim to leadership had been the alabaster-colored chestplate she wore. It was a savage, jagged thing, with spikes along the ridges of her shoulders and long grooves carved by past battles.
It was the symbol of her leadership. Each gash and mark of wear spoke to her long years fighting and defending her clan, and she alone was allowed to wear it. It was of the same make that she once stripped from her contemporaries in her takeover of the clan.
And therein lay the seed of issue. Symbol of her leadership though it may have been, it was also a symbol of her tyranny. She could not deny that some of the marks it bore were from her very own clanmates.
Though with some pause, and great care, Athanasia made her decision. After all these years, she finally removed her alabaster chest piece, exchanging it for the new armor.
With this, she would build a new legacy. One unmarred by the sins of her past.
The alabaster chest piece has since been relegated to a special place in the clan’s hoard, where it remains on display for all to see — a grim reminder of dark times long passed, and a solemn promise from the dragon that had, at long last, decided to shed it.