Redfoot's Clan

Born of the chaos of the Molten Scar, a young Guardian named Moldmelter grew more and more aware as he grew that this was not the life he wanted. Something dragged at him, an insistent calling that he didn't understand - being a rather practical and earth-bound dragon himself, you see. Feelings and prophetic haunting dreams were the realm of his eggfriend, Oreshaper the Tundra. He knew that he should talk to her about these yearnings, but that something was too insistent. One night, as the clan slept, Moldmelter slipped away, finally giving into the need for - for - for whatever it was that need was for.

By the time the sun came up, Oreshaper had caught up with him. All she said was "You smelt like sadness and leaving." And she smiled that beatific smile of hers, and Moldmelter sighed and didn't send her away. Together, they crossed the Ashfall Wastes, Oreshaper happy to follow where her friend led, knowing full well that he himself wasn't entirely sure where that was.

Moldmelter didn't want to leave the familiar lands of the Wastes, but whatever he was searching for was not there. They had stopped in the Emberglow Hearth, approaching the border of the Sea of a Thousand Currents, in the lee of a rocky crag. Here the cracked, rich soil sloped down to hot springs and magma vents. "We'll find it tomorrow," Oreshaper promised, as she had every night for the past eight months. Moldmelter did not correct her, absently watching her scratch around for a comfortable resting place. As Oreshaper lifted her paw, Moldmelter suddenly bellowed "Stop!"

Surprised at being yelled at, Oreshaper froze with her paw lifted, staring anxiously at her friend. His big body low to the ground, Moldmelter slunk forward, his head nudging aside Oreshaper's foot to reveal what she had been about to step on - a small leafy sprout. A single green shoot, forcing itself up between the flaking mud, leaves only now starting to unfurl towards the weak, smoky sunlight. Some combination of mineral-rich earth, heat and steam, and the protection of the surrounding rocks had captured these few small seeds, borne on the wind from more hospitable climates, and let them sprout.

"We're staying here," Moldmelter announced, settling his huge body down in a protective coil, his eyes fixed on the tiny hint of green life. His Charge.

Around that tiny sprout Oreshaper began to collect the things they would need to keep it alive, a jumble of parts and materials that she was enthusiastic but disorganised about. Moldmelter effortlessly shed his birthname and took on a new title, one that felt more suited to his new life - Greenshield.

With the help of a clever and short-tempered Fae who had blown in from Scarred Wasteland, the collection of scrap became a greenhouse of iron and glass. Oreshaper and Greenshield worked to bring new plants and new life to their corner of the wastes, terraforming it to their purpose, creating a comfortable lair, a sprawling greenhouse, and an ever-expanding machine shop - less charitable dragons would call it "scrapyard". Other dragons would come to share in the home and hearth that one little green growing thing had started.

When disease struck the greenhouse and Greenshield lost his Charge, the clan floundered. While Greenshield recovered with the help of his daughter, Oreshaper and Fiddlehead met with members of the clan to discuss the future. The explorers and messengers suggested a change of location, even finding a new home for the clan in Dragonhome. While Oreshaper was reluctant to leave her duties to the Flamecaller, she knew it was the right thing to do for her new home. While a part of her will always be loyal to Mather, Earthshaker also smells like a friend.