HauntedHeart's Clan

The land of Plague is known for being eerie and sometimes violently beautiful.
In the shade of a cliff—upon which blooms poisonous heather and nettles—lies an abandoned hotel. The paint on the wood is faded and chipped, and travelers can scarcely make out the letters on a peeling sign: The Smoking Hearth.
The inside reveals a sort of abandoned glamor. The atrium is done up in red velvet, and dusty chandeliers sway from the ceilings. The off-white pillars are crowned with wreaths of faded silk roses. There are rooms on the upper floors, inaccessible because the grand staircases tumbled down long ago.
But watch.
On new moon nights, the Smoking Hearth comes alive again. Lanterns gutter awake; lovely music pipes from the ballroom. Gorgeous pairs nuzzle and slip away from the night. Graceful dragons are spotted in not just the hotel, but scattered across the lawn. Sometimes a silk fan or a lost scarf can be found in the morning.
Those brave enough to watch the spectacle from the clifftop speak of eternally gorgeous dragons that have a fluid way of moving. Sometimes they even catch the scent of cinnamon cake.
Those dragons brave or curious enough to join the festivities don’t return…until the next new moon. Then they reappear, arm in arm with a stunning partner, laughing and carousing until the sky turns white with dawn.
No one is sure what’s happening. A portal to somewhere different? A celestial event? A haunting?
They know only that there are beautiful, innocent hatchlings all over Sornieth that speak of the Smoking Hearth affectionately—as home.

by Caelyn


Dream Dragon: