Lasombra

In this world, there are martyrs, dragons who will die for whatever cause their heart seizes upon. There are also mercenaries, dragons who will kill for the very same reason. Both sorts brim with conviction that simmers deep in the soul, and it fuels every action in their lives, malevolent or benign. They are ruled by a sense of purpose and drive that cannot be rivalled.

But Lasombra isn’t especially interested in rivaling that kind of fanaticism anyway.

She has never been the competitive sort, and even in the harsh depths of the Scarred Wasteland, she was always perfectly content to inhabit her existence without pushing and pushing and pushing some more. Racing and scuffling held no appeal for her, while biding her time in the sun kept her blood warm and her heart quite content. She liked to wander the Abiding Boneyard when her birth clan had no need of her strength for the day, and at night, if she had enough energy left from traipsing through the deadly sands, she liked to choose a favorite star for the evening and make a wish or two before settling into her nest. Lasombra liked the smooth life.

Of course, no life is perpetually smooth, and no dragon is so constant that they remain unchanged their entire lives. In a brief spell of wanting, a dragon arrived in Lasombra’s life and changed everything. It was a critical moment, and one of Lasombra’s weaker ones; LaCroix offered her the chance to travel the world in exchange for a bit of brawn, and she took the deal without thinking. The sun and sands were nice, but wasn’t she due for a change of scenery?

She hadn’t realized, though, what kind of brawn LaCroix was searching for until they reached the Shifting Expanse. By then, they had collected a number of dragons in their group, mostly refugees star-struck by LaCroix’s breezy confidence and icy command, ready and willing to do her bidding at a moment’s notice. And so when she told them to infiltrate Ceinwen’s kingdom until she gave the signal to turn it inside out in her favor, they obeyed. Mostly.

They all took it upon themselves to assimilate to life within Ceinwen’s realm, but of the many dragons awaiting LaCroix’s coup, Lasombra could not bring herself to be one of them. Trapped under the stormy skies with no way to fly out, she missed the bright heat of the Wasteland, and she dreaded the consequences of LaCroix’s bid for power. How many would be martyrs? How many mercenaries? In such a big clan, there would be casualties, and LaCroix’s barely contained bloodlust made that very clear. Fear of the crossfire drove Lasombra to the clan’s edges.

She stayed there for a while, scorned by those in power for her looks. To them, she was a threat. She was suspicious. But she only wanted to have something resembling the life she once knew, and tangling herself up in a coup was no way to go about it. Desperate to earn the trust of the dragons around her, the ones who would fall in harm’s way if she didn’t find a way to shield them from the worst of LaCroix’s wrath, she began to work with the clan’s familiars, spending most of her waking hours tending to their needs. The rest of her time, though, was spent in the heart of the garden, which she didn’t realize had caretakers until long after she’d made a habit of going there regularly. As a result of her interest in the unusual burst of flora, Takaya and Fortula became her first allies, trusting her just enough to share some of their boundless knowledge from time to time.

Having earned the gardeners’ approval, some of the other dragons more willingly bestowed their own. Chathin, the clan’s apostle, began to request her help in the shrines, and even gifted her an Enduring Goblin in thanks, to bring the memories of her homeland just a little closer. Sariel also offered up a small kindness, creating a trail of ghostly green smoke to follow her wherever she went so long as she wore the matching enchanted mask; to Lasombra’s delight, it suited her perfectly.

Lasombra’s ties to LaCroix still remain today, though, and she dreads to shake them. Camarilla and Kindred, two of LaCroix’s more devoted disciples, consider themselves Lasombra’s friends. Kindred, of course, can be rather brusque, but if she were at odds with LaSombra, it would be perfectly clear. Instead, they are something like neutral acquaintances, theoretically on the same side, hesitant to test it. Then there is the matter of Bahamut, another of LaCroix’s followers and the object of Lasombra’s affections. She would love more than anything to be by Bahamut’s side always, but the pending coup looms over their heads, ready to divide at a moment’s notice. She could confess her feelings, but every glance at LaCroix seems to convince her otherwise. After all, what might happen if she and Bahamut are caught on opposite sides of a war?

Lasombra can’t say that she truly wants to know.

Bio by Tues.