Adalon

It’s always inevitable - soldiers of the godly wars being killed, swallowed, snatched away by the Shade’s claws. The only thing the rest can do is to fight harder, vengeful of their comrades. For those taken, who knows what happens to them? The dragons could become mere sustenance for the gooey mass of blackness, or morph into the consciousness of the Shade themselves.

However, some hopeful, or based on how one looks at it, pessimistic, dragons, think there’s more. They claim they’ve seen them - the shade-touched ones. The mere few of the thousands who have escaped the clutches of the void.

They were lucky, though only in contrast with their other fallen brethrens; they did not come out unscathed, unchanged. Their bodies have changed, adapted, had been morphed for survival in the outer space. The leathery wings have disappeared, leaving behind tough membrane that glow with stardust, ghostly patterns on their body that seemed like galaxies and gaping black holes. The wyrms twist around in orbit, absorbing the feeble magical energies radiating from Sornieth below for survival.

Only a few are ever seen low enough in the skies, twisting in the clouds. No one knows how much they remember of their previous lives, if at all. One thing is for sure: they don’t belong to the gods anymore.

Lore by Chalkolate