Naj's Clan

After an accident in the mines nearly decimated the Clan, a new rule was called for. A simple clan could no longer grow and survive here. Change was needed.

So the Council was founded. The Thirteen strongest females, one from each of the currently known dragon species, and at least one female of each flight rule the rest of the Clan fairly but with little patience for dragons that can't (or won't) pull their own weight.

The cramped confines of stone and gemstone were no longer enough; the Spirals and Skydancers longed for the sky, the Guardians begged for water, and the Wildclaws were adamant about returning to jungles.

The Snappers however were loath to leave their comfort zones, and the Coatls argued for the warmth of the deep earth; but in the end it was decided and the Clan migrated at the first thaw to their new home in the Gladeveins.

---

Everyone has fallen ill. We moved to the Gladeveins so recently, we didn't recognize the dangers; a recent lair expansion was our undoing. Unwittingly we crossed into the territory of a young Serthis sect. Our warriors would have managed them without problems, but that is not how the Serthis chose to fight. Instead they hid and watched and waited until they discovered how best to hurt us. They poisoned our water supply. Now we wait and watch and hope. Hope that some will survive this plague, hope that the nests that have been laid were before the ill deed took place, hope that the clan will survive...

---

The poison is taking it's toll. Nests are withering and dragons are fading. Hapmeht, worried for the clans safety left in the night, I don't know how he had the strength to leave, but he headed in the direction of the Serthis sect. For their sake, and ours, I hope there are no other fallen Imperials in the area.

---

The alchemists still have found no solution to the poison and moral is low. Every dragon and every nestling is affected. The lethargy makes it seem unlikely that any cure will be found. Each day they worsen and each day more are taken.

---

In the end, the deaths were staggering. Sixteen of the Sixty-some Clan remained and just as hope was fading, a new day dawned, color flooded the land again, and it seemed that coughs were finally fading. They would survive and they would rebuild.

And though their losses were astounding, a new clan was forming, with new blood and old, fighters and healers, and a new rule of the clan was yet to be established...

(a Nuzlocke/Colorwheel lair lore event that preceded the 3rd Anniversary)