It was a warm, humid morning in the Driftwood Drag, mist curled around the reeds and settled over the stones and pools, making the glow of the mushrooms on the logs seem hazy. From the top of a moss-covered knoll, a massive form stirred. Rhizanthel opened one shimmering eye, an amaranthine orb against a sea of obsidian scales.
With a grunt, she heaved herself up, stretching like a lazy cat after her nap. The dragon beat her wings a few times, causing the fog to swirl around her before taking flight.
Beneath her, the mist suddenly parted, revealing a sprawling estuary. The guardian grumbled to herself as she inspected her domain. Swamp and peat bog dotted the landscape, giving way to sandy, shallow streams and rivers that fell into the sea beyond. The elder female squinted suddenly, a stubborn beam of light broke through the clouds. Rhizanthel sneered, but carried on. The eternal murk of the Tangled Wood was always thinner here, on the borders of the Sunbeam Ruins. Though, admittedly, she did enjoy how it made her jewelry glimmer.
Soon Rhizanthel came across a familiar narrow path, she could see the huddled shapes of buildings ahead. She tilted her wings and began her descent. As she drew near, she could discern the silhouettes of other dragons milling about.
The clan Matriarch landed in the center of the Black Bog Trading Post. To her left stood the center building, a teahouse and rest stop for travelers. The sound of hushed murmurs and the clinking of teacups floated from the little shack, sweet scents of exotic brews wafted on the air.
To her right, a slightly more lively affair. The second structure, a shop, loomed over a number of other, less permanent stalls. It had a number of rare materials and foods from the swamps. Rhizanthel nodded to the clerk, another guardian.
The younger female returned the acknowledgement before returning to her own duties. Around the shop dark and light dragons from all walks of life spread their small pile of wares, bartering, selling and arguing. Most were travelers or explorers, looking to earn extra bits of gold to fund the rest of their journeys. Others were regular patrons from the Tangled Wood, playing games of chance with the visitors and swindling more naive dragons out of their money.
A little ways off, bordering the water, was a tiny shack. A large sign above it read: 'Fishing Trips & Mist Guides'. A serious-looking Nocturne and a hopelessly bored Ridgeback stood by the sign, arguing about Shadow-knows what.
Rhizanthel snorted at them, but otherwise did nothing. She wandered over to the teahouse where a small platter with a single teapot and cup seemed to materialize. The Matriarch smiled wryly, Tenebrae always knew her regular order.
And so, Rhizanthel, head of the Black Bog clan and proprietor of the trading post curled her tail around her feet, poured herself some tea and watched as her small enterprise earned her money.