These dragons are for sale in by CR, in my Hatchery, or on the realm-wide AH. Going through my Hatchery nets a discount for Arcane, Plague, Light or lore clans. Dragons up for treasure on the AH have had their prices adjusted to account for the deduction fee.
The dream begins like this. He’s standing at the roots of the Tree of Mourning. He is not an adult yet. He yearns to be old enough to run free, and yet he shies away
from the idea of leaving the safety of the nest. His hair is short about his
face, and nubby horns that could branch into antlers if something was
different sit acrest his head.
There’s a small hand in his, soft and familiar.
The sun shines in shafts through the tangle of branches, warming his face. His
eyes flutter shut from the glare, and he stands, simply letting the heat soak
into his bones.
He’s missing something. He’s forgetting something.
There’s a bird, high, high above in the tree. He can’t see what it is, but he
knows he has to get to it.
Come down, he thinks, come down.
It doesn’t.
Kyrja felt pricklings of frustration–she had done her part and yet it
still burned that she couldn’t do more. She knew Kalea was unique, all
of CrossPoison’s children were. It was simply their nature–Kalea had
always taken to magic easily and she always wielded a strange hybrid of
shadow, arcane, plague, and nature–a volatile mixture of magics
stemming from combining and intertwining bloodlines. Kyrja had known as
well that her sister constantly exuded magic–a subtle influence on
others that occasionally erupted explosively were it not for the
necklace she wore around her neck, but this? This was different.
She had never heard of a dragon burning through so much of their magic
that they nearly destroyed themselves. Kalea had blasted through the
enchantment meant to contain her magic and simply unleashed everything
she had and Kyrja was grateful her sister wasn’t dead for it. But being
unable to help beyond watch…surely she could have done more.
No time for doubts. Kalea would recover. She turned her attention to the
bogsneak, head tilted ever so slightly. Kyrja could sense similar magic
of sorts coming from the bogsneak–almost but not quite like Kalea’s.
And the gleaming of the scarf was certainly proof of that. Kyrja dipped
her head, easing slightly, “Then I thank you for your aid, brother of
mine.” It was formal, a tactician’s phrase–but true at heart. If Kalea
and this bogsneak were kindred, then she would consider him sibling as
well. She owed him this debt regardless.
Kalea stirred further, trying to stagger upright. “Didn’t know we had
fallen in with another clan, Kyr.” She mumbled sleepily, trying to
focus. The exchange of magic certainly seemed to be working–her
movements were less stiff and clumsy as she oriented herself, shaking
the fatigue off of her. “What’s their name now?”
Mellori froze at Quiver’s words. An Emperor was bad news, and if the
tideseers lost contact with their deity that was grave indeed. Few
elements were closer to their god than water. But Quiver’s final
statement…
“The Lightweaver is a fool to try and harm her children. And if she
wishes to take my daughters, she is more than welcome to face my fangs
first.” There was cold anger in Mellori’s voice, the fierce
determination of a mother ready to fight and die for her children. Even
with dried blood streaking her hide, even with silver furs dotting her
hide, she still looked more than ready to enact that threat. “I hope the
Queen is well, however. She has long held the loyalty of the Pack and
we always wish well for her health.” She exhaled, relaxing slightly,
“And I am sorry for your plight. Thank you for aiding my children. The
Pack will not forget this debt.”
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