---Out-of-Character Introduction---

I have only been playing Istaria for a bit over a month now, starting with a free Human character for a few days, just to get the hang of the game and to see if I liked it; it didn't take long to make the decision to purchase a "non-plot" subscription (I'll almost certainly upgrade once I'm capable of Lair Shaping!). Because of this, I am every bit as much a "hatchling" as is my character, Morinare Blackclaw, and the "two of us" are discovering the world around us at the same time.

Mori, as he's being called, is on the Order shard, as I enjoy role-playing. As with many other players I've encountered so far, rather than setting up specific times or conditions for role-playing, I prefer to *always* be in role-playing mode. That is, when I'm in-game, I *am* Morinare, and I respond to events and conversations the way (I think) a young, slightly impertinent dragon would respond. So, if you happen to see me in-game, you needn't ask if I'd like to role-play...I already am!

---In Character---

With a contented sigh, Morinare Blackclaw settled down into the cool, slightly damp grass and felt his muscles slowly relax; the young dragon's head lowered until it was resting on the rose-quartz gauntlets he wore on his fore-claws. It had been a busy day, and it felt good to simply pause and allow the world to go on without him for a few minutes.

Gazing out over Dalimond Bay, Morinare half-listened to the Dragon voices in his head; several adults and an ancient were discussing the Ancient Rite of Passage and, while the youngster knew the subject would one day be important to him, the discussion was totally incomprehensible, so, with a soft grunt, he tuned them out. He wasn't at all sure *how* he heard their voices, but, then, there was so much that Morinare wasn't sure about. He *did* know that if he did this, he'd be listening to other younglings from various races, dragon and [I]naka-duskael[I] alike, as they asked questions of the elders who may or may not be listening.

It was in that very "channel" (as Morinare thought of it) that a new voice had popped up, earlier that morning. A Gnome named Awdz had offered a general greeting, to which Morinare had responded. Immediately discerning that Morinare was a hatchling, the gnome had begun several minutes of teasing, but, in such a gentle, friendly manner that the young dragon couldn't help but join in. With a grunt of pleasure, Morinare knew that Awdz was yet another of the elders who would happily offer help, advice or suggestions; in the gnome's case, though, Morinare was also quite sure that the advice would come with a fair share of teasing.

A contemplative mood settled over the dark-grey hatchling, as he thought of all that had transpired over the frenetic several weeks he'd been "alive." Morinare accepted the fact that he was one of "The Gifted," but, only because he'd had that fact drummed into his brain. He didn't feel particularly gifted, although he'd been given absolute proof in an encounter with several undead; that first dying and re-birth had been unsettling and confusing, but Morinare was slowly beginning to understand his "role" in the world at large.

Once again, Morinare tried to cast his memory back to the time *before* he'd been Gifted...once again, he was frustrated by the mists and clouds that filled his mind, allowing nothing more than glimpses...quick scenes that just as quickly dissipated. A very large, pure white "presence"....another dragon? Morinare wasn't sure, but, even so, felt a warm, protective embrace from the almost spectral memory. A larger, darker presence...more stern, but, yet...the same warm embrace. Mother and Father...he knew it without knowing how he knew it. Fleeting glimpses of other dragons...other places. Places he knew, without knowing. Places he'd been, without a memory of being there. The first time he'd entered the city of Chiconis, having made that harrowing run along the road, he'd nearly fallen on his face when a memory washed over him as if he'd run into a stone wall: he'd been there...he *knew* where he was, and knew that there was a shrine just up the hill...there was a sudden feeling of being home.

Had he lived in Chiconis before whatever had befallen him...bringing him back to Istaria as a Gifted? If so, were his parents still there? Or, had they....had whatever had befallen him...had they been there? Were they also Gifted, and somewhere in Istaria now? Or....was he alone, with only wisps of memory to warm his heart?

Morinare knew that he had had two missions in his new life. First, while he didn't understand all of what was expected of him as a Gifted, the hatchling instinctively understood that he had a duty to the world of Istaria, and that this duty now meant that he needed to train and learn all he could from dragon and naka-duskael alike. But, his second mission was to do all he could to retrieve his past. Were his parents or other members of his family still alive? If so, where were they? Would they remember him (was he even the same as he'd been...then?)?

A low rumble suddenly issued from the hatchling's belly, and Morinare realized he was famished. Just as suddenly, he noticed the sheep grazing in a field below him...surely, the farmer wouldn't miss one or two....or, a half-dozen...would he?