Gather around closely children as I tell you a story. A story that happened long ago, between the twisted trees and bramble bushes of the Tangled Wood. But be warned! This story is not for the faint of heart, for you see, long ago, there lived a guardian named Mayday.
While he was small for a guardian, his wingspan was incredible and his hide was a shimmering pink. Those who had found his egg had named him Mayday in hopes that if their child ever got into trouble someone would come to his aid.
But despite the colour of his hide, Mayday was not a happy child. He knew that his parents did not sire him, and that those who did had abandoned him. He was determined on day to forge his own legacy. So he grew and he learned. He learned the woods could be dangerous, and tricky. That solid ground could give way, brambles could catch, and that the trees hid the sun shrouding the land in twilight even on the brightest summer days.
His parent’s doted on him, but despite their best efforts, he did not learn the most important lessons of the woods. The joy that comes with solving a riddle, the enthusiasm for games of all kinds. He did not learn how to cheat and trick. He decided these things were not the true nature of the woods.
This decision would lead to tragedy.
Before long, he was a grown dragon, with an impressive golden beard. His handsome bearing attracted many mates, but there was only one for him. Her name was Anjali.
With her purple hide marked with spots and strikes, and her speckled green wings, Mayday found her beautiful beyond compare. But more importantly, she too was from Dragonhome and she too had only learned the wood’s hard lessons. They were a perfect fit and they decided to strike out and create a clan of their own. One where they would rule, and create a new legacy for their family.
“I wish to have only one successor,” said Mayday, “too many children means too many to tell our family’s story. It will be changed and shifted.”
Anjali agreed.
“Our successor should be the strongest of our children,” she said. “Or the tales will die.”
It was Mayday’s turn to agree.
“We shall make ourselves eternal,” he said. “Our children will battle on the field and the strongest shall survive and learn the lessons we have learned, and teach them to their own child in turn.”
“It is settled,” said Anjali.
Neither saw much wrong with this plan, nor did they see in it the cruelty. For them it was merely common sense, the strong would survive, and the weak would perish. That was the way of the world, that was the way of the woods, or at least it was in their minds.
They wandered until they found a spot both liked for their lairs, in the soft silt and rotting wood of the Driftwood Drag. It was small, and cozy enough for the two of them, and their nest.
Soon the day would come when Anjali would be ready to lay eggs, and for the two of them, that day could not come soon enough.
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After dressing them up, I changed tact. Surprise! They're both terrible people with a twisted view of the woods and a grudge against their flight of origin.
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