Balaur

There is a hill on the Zephyr Steppes where dragons compete to claim the title of King. Balaur is one of many in this lair who have participated in the contest.

The young imperial was lounging happily on the hill as the sun began to set.

As the golden orb fell below the horizon, dark shadows stretched over the land. But one, in particular, loomed over her.

The dragon jumped to her feet, but the sight that met her eyes was so terrifying that she was momentarily frozen to the spot!

A creature moved in the shadows, so dark that she couldn't distinguish the outline of its body. How big was it? Bigger than her, surely. She stepped backwards uncertainly.

"Boo."

A skeletal face with glowing green eyes materialized before her face. The imperial yelped in terror and sped away, practically tripping over her talons in her rush to get airborne.

Balaur settled down on the hill, nosing absently at the trinket the young dragon had left behind.

The following day, a letter arrived at the Syrinx Clan's doorstep. This letter came placed in a pretty chartreuse envelope with the looping sigils of the Windsinger painstakingly written around their edges by a cautious claw. This letter came tied with a pretty silky ribbon and wrapped around a brick.

"To The Dark Imperial with the Boneyard Tatters"

It landed with a heavy thump at the the feet of a dozing Balaur, just missing his front claws.

On opening the parcel, and after a surreptitious glance skyward for the sender, out fell a little snippet of paper, which settled face-up to read:
"Very clever use of costumes, but do please stop scaring your cousins."

- Your father

((Part Two by Amut. Slight edits because I didn't want to deal with embedding the image.))