Helana

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Once, perhaps, there was a wildclaw that wandered too far into the reaches of the Scarred Wasteland. Once, there might have been a dragon filled with fear for her life, futility attempting to claw her way out of the Wandering Contagion. Those days have long since passed, as well as the creature to which those memories belonged to. Helana was born the day virus crawled into her veins and morphed her being to the monstrous size it is today.
At the end of her rebirth, she fell into the claws of a group referring to themselves as Animos. Desperate and lonely, she fought to find uses and belonging in an environment that snuffed out any hope of prosperous growth. The group was yet in its infancy, and in order to cement her value, she turned to the caldron. In a mark that turned toward her favor, the clan had never closely interacted with a bogsneak before, citing possible sightings but no definite presence. She rapidly turned the unknown into fear she could wield as a weapon, hissing at those that would cross her path and interrupt her study. As one could have predicted, she quickly gained reputation as someone not to be trifled with, a bog witch that would wip up a brew in the form of Plaguebringer herself to curse her foes.
Out of fear rose respect. The first memorable ally to arise and make themselves more than a quivering wyrm was Chervine, another of her breed looking to avoid his blood joining that of those spilled out on the floor. In time, his help became more of an assistance, and then a dependence. Helana was impressed, this drake had done what she had set out to accomplish prior: becoming useful. With his constant gatherings and expedition for ingredients, she was surprised to find that she was making progress in her art. Gelatins and goos would cool and leave food for their group, while her more powerful spells slowly began to alter others around her. To her greatest amusement, not only was there a way to infuse others with the contamination that infected her, but there were other ways to alter her fellow dragons. Growths from swabs of potion would sizzle and crackle, previously pure areas would erupt into a different shade of color, and intricate designs would repeat in tandem if she so chose. It made for amusing light shows, and favor from the young ones. At times the brave among them would jest her power was better spent in entertainment and benefit rather than a weapon of war. There was the cold comfort that she could strike the clan down with ease.
They were all lies. Comforting, safe lies.
It was true that as she rose in seniority, her claws no longer needed to graze as close to the hides of others that they previously had. However, with every benefit that was in imposing her figure to the hatchlings and new stragglers, there arrived hindrance after hindrance. There were some that challenged her, ones that had predated her entry to the clan, though those numbers were diminishing, slowly. Khairi was one, her foresight and knowledge of the magical arts opening her eyes to blunders and insight the rest of Animos were not privy to. Najka the archdruid remarked how fearsome she must be at the height of her power, all with the knowledge glimmering in his eye. With the two withholding their forbidden knowledge, fear was starting to set in. Time was melting her facade as she had not been able to produce anything her words brought to the imagination. Change was once again integral to her propagation and survival. With change would come more allies. In particular, one that would mold her life forever.
Ferro was as much as an elder to this clan as she was. They had entered at roughly the same time but never spoke, presumably out of fear of one another or of respect. It hardly mattered; the two were practically identical within the hierarchy of the clan regardless. Their chance meeting in the midst of the Rotrock Rim was heralded by a dark sky. Helana set out to gather, Chervine momentarily lost in his own pursuits. Ferro went to watch the stars blink out one by one under the storm. Upon their meeting, words were hissed with the strength of tempered steel, and threats bounded back and forth among the crater. Helana left with her herds stolen from the beastclans, sentenced to being reduced to a thick black substance. Ferro left with curiosity, a dangerous mindset indeed.
He crawled through the rafters of her hut, listening to ramblings and words one might have mistaken for mad had they no context. He listened to her blasphemies and open thoughts to the clan, to the hatchlings that crushed her beakers in acts too stupid to be pure carelessness. He listened as she admitted to herself, breath bating between her fangs, that her might would inevitably crumble like the illusion it was. Then, he slipped down.

“You need them to fear you,” his tongue wove out of his jaw. She stood, final weakness and desperation culminating to nothing as she had always feared.
“It certainly could help.”
“Then you must create a blight so terrible, Plaguebringer will shudder.”
If dragons could chuckle, she would have. “They do not fear disease.”
“They fear signs from above.”

So the seeds of the plot were sown. As it turned out, there were other minds one could trust than their own. More and more creatures vanished into the hut as vast amounts of swirling black were carefully hidden under furnishings and regent piles. The plan worked wonders outside of their time in the dead of night as well. Acquaintances watched two dragons with a tolerance of one another spit spite in ways not meant for harm. Ferro was allowed to stay with her in the hut, awkward at first, but far more practical than sneaking to and fro every night. The plan grew closer and closer, and as he tried to leave one morning, a week’s time from the Event, she hesitantly called for him to stay. As she slept, his eyes watched the swirling brew, thoughts far from the plan or worries of the event. On the first dark moon of the month, Helana and Ferro hauled the jars to the top of the clan’s camp, and stayed by them until morning, Ferro wrapping himself around her neck in an intimate way set to disappear by the morn.
That was not the only thing to be hidden away at daybreak.
As Mavras crawled from his fire pit to the cliffside, ready to bask in the sun’s rays, Helena emerged from the spine-littered ground.

“You ruin the rest and name of those underneath Plaguebringer.”
He sneared. “I watch the Lightweaver rise, witch. Return back to the hole you crawled from.”
“The light brings and means nothing to me, Mavras. You humiliate us as an ambassador, seeking time away from the Wasteland. Rumors circulate. They say you hate this place and wish to sit among them in constant.”
“You can do nothing to stop me, heresay aside.” He rose on two feet, moving up to match her eyes with his own in defiance.
“Oh?” She could hardly still herself from shaking. “Your light is nothing to what I hold. What you speak your death wish of.”
“I am not afraid of mars on my skin, bogsneak. Out of my way.”
“Then today, we remedy that. Now, and forever. Look and see what your precious light has against me, coatl.” Helana rose, her stature covering the celestial body as her words pierced ruptured into the clan’s wound into the landscape.
Ferro watched this signal and smashed the tens of jars beneath his feet.

It is said the sky had not yet cleared from the darkness by dusk, light flickering away and then out with the night time again. Helana and Ferro retreated. The stories spun themselves.
It is true this is a tale of deceit. This is the story of a dragon who changed time and time again to fit the mold of her surroundings, and break it. This is a dragon whose existence was built upon lies. However, somewhere in those lies, the foundation held strong, and Helana the Sun Swallower will never be reduced to mutterings and myth again.
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