Njall

Njall is the High Chancellor Lord Mayor of Drakkontown. He is certain of this. It does not matter how many times the other dragons explain to him that the lair is governed by the Clan Mother and Council of Elders...or that it is called the Lair of the Saurus Clan, not Drakkontown. No matter what they say, he merely nods, smiles, and makes a jovial exclamation or strange demand.

'Crumpets for all, my good fellow! I will not rest until every citizen of Drakkontown has a crumpet, a jumper, and a wooden spoon. See to it, Reginald!'

'Njall. Nobody knows what a 'crumpet' is. Or a 'jumper'. I think a spoon must be some kind of woodworking implement...maybe they have one in the workshop. And for the last time, my name is not Reginald. It's Erru. Stop calling me Reginald!'

'Very good, Reginald. Keep up the good work.'

Maybe it's the fancy clothing going to his head. Maybe he lives in a world of his own and is only tangentially aware of the other dragons around him. Maybe he is completely out of his mind. Whatever the cause, it is clear that Njall is unbalanced somehow, though the Elders are sure he is harmless. As Fiago put it, 'he has a few screws loose, but nothing a little welding couldn't mend.' Erru has offered to check if there are indeed some screws loose, but the Elders have rejected this proposition.

In addition to his conviction about his own role within the lair, Njall is convinced that his mate Ferrica is an exotic desert queen. She encourages this.