[Cards] Nimbus, First Staff of the Thunderbirds (Patreon)

The storm within him brewed and twisted, looking for something to lash out at. It wasn't like him to feel this way, to feel this angry. The wind inside him whirled and thrashed at his emotions, stirring up feelings long-since forgotten.

The ferocity never waned. Days turned to weeks. He felt breathless. He felt trapped and fragile. He felt dangerous.

On the 24th day he screamed to the wind. He was never taught the ceremony or the traditions, but he knew that the wind could hear him all the same. Precautions be damned.

"Spirits! Why is this tempest inside me? What have I done, or what must be done to end it? Please, I seek your wisdom! I must know answers!"

A brief pause. For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of the roc's feathers fluttering against the sky as it flew. Then, a whisper:

"Go."

It wasn't a threat or a command: it was the word of a knowing parent. A loving advisor. It was time for him to seek out his own path, his own adventures as a rocborne. He would travel where the wind carried his feet, and would build his own stories, line by line with each step.

Without a second thought, he leapt. He watched as his home, his family's roc, fell away above him. The solid ground loomed below as he hurtled toward it. The colors and terrain were new and strange, but he was undaunted. This was the start of something greater.

With a word, his descent slowed to become gentle. He drifted down, landing softly on the loamy floor of a open meadow. The birds here sounded different than the ones he was used to: not many could survive at that high an altitude. The air was thick, and the breeze that rustled the trees' leaves was hot against his skin.

The storm inside him settled. The hurricane of his thoughts quieted, and he could once again feel at peace.

He took a deep breath and looked skyward, where he knew his Home still flew on without him. Then, a small flash of lightning, and the silhouette of something falling—no, careening— toward him.

A crooked staff, coated in rain and twisted glass, pierced the glen of flowers and brush in front of him. It was sparking and shuddering like the storm inside his heart. He grasped the crook and lifted it from the earth, holding it carefully in his hands. He looked at it with wonder and admiration, and though he knew nothing about this staff, he felt like he had known it all along.