04-06-2021, 07:54 PM
![[Image: Untitled-4.png]](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/815039628704743475/829074776765104148/Untitled-4.png)
"Do you see the crimson scales I was born with, Lord Garljing?"
A new dawn rises across the Tarian Mountains, and I am left here in simple awe of the flame and magma that burn away the weakness that once was in this most holy place. While the Tribes and the Cities fight amongst themselves, more wyrms can rise out from their shells and begin their lives upon the Coat. It is a harsh life up here, but it is as it should be.
Forged by the frost and by the flame, we are made stronger than those who live below. One cannot properly grow their scales without facing the beasts and hardship- and it allows for the acquisition of youthful glory and honor.
My horns are finally coming in, and I can feel my wings about to burst forth from my back. The will of the Red God must be done.
Den-mother, Dragonlord- what would you have me do?
Forged by the frost and by the flame, we are made stronger than those who live below. One cannot properly grow their scales without facing the beasts and hardship- and it allows for the acquisition of youthful glory and honor.
My horns are finally coming in, and I can feel my wings about to burst forth from my back. The will of the Red God must be done.
Den-mother, Dragonlord- what would you have me do?