Mordrid

Mordrid used to be a part of a great pack of Bogsneaks. She was content to live her life like every other Bogsneak in all of Sorneith. Nestled underneath some great driftwood somewhere, all alone, still fully willing to ambush some threat, real or perceived, on anything within the territory. Like most mediocre Bogsneak families, they didn't do much other than annoy other dragons. There was something about a Bog attack that was more aggravating than harmful, and since they could on occasion, be reasoned with into some mutually beneficial deal, they were largely left alone. The Plague dragons on both sides can appreciate a decent Bog barrier.

None of Clan Nekrós is entirely sure who's idea it was to see what would happen if they were to attack a large chain of Bogsneaks. But someone brought up the concept of a possible domino effect, and that was the seal of the deal. They simply had to see for themselves. Would the Bogs keep attacking, coming to the defense of their territory and friends? How far the distance? Would they prove to be cowards? It was a great experiment, really. The dragon breed was too new to the Sorneith world to yet know.

Whatever else they expected, it wasn't the chilling.

The sudden cold in their bodies, the shivers, and the familiar oncoming of some new flu. They didn't expect the sudden wobbliness to their step, and certain older members of the clan certainly didn't expect the thought to cross their minds that maybe this was their personal end. But blood magic had no effect on Lasher or the Faes (whether it did on Titan or not, no one knows, as the great leader of the clan turned to watch his own members with bemusement, never showing any signs other than the glint of judgment that fell when he decided to do away with, or invite a clan member). The Faes immediately knew the problem, bee-lined for it, and obeyed Titan's unspoken order by merely buzzing overhead.

Before Mordrid could reach Titan in her lunge, he knocked her down solid with one blow. He didn't kill her. That was enough for the clan to know to leave her. They left her as their strength returned and their violent lusts were satiated. They left her there to survive or die, leave or come. Blood and blood magic’s drained dry, lying there a husk of the dragon she was...

She calls them family now, and this by names they never knew. She considers them to be Bogsneaks like her, though sometimes makes surprised observations, either about their actions or anatomy. She lives by, but not necessarily within the territory of the clan. Under the same driftwood log, with the very same plants. And even with a little mud pond that has since developed there. And she has things. She has things from the bog, and if any should ask where she got these things, she will only blink in confusion, "Why, I got them from the Elder Tree two steps down." or “the ferns across the lane,” or “Old Knobby gave them to me.” But there is no Elder Tree, or a lane to cross to get to nonexistent ferns.

She usually calls Titan “Old Knobby,” which turns out to be the name of her most admired grandfather, and he's certainly never given her a thing. All of her things, from driftwood, to muddy pond, to offerings to the rest of the clan, have an ethereal feeling about them. Too innocent for the territory, too light to be real. And always like it needs an anchor of some sort. Certainly if she gives something to "Crindel", then "Crindel" it is that must hold on to it, for it seems to pass from existence should he give it to another.

Mordrid never healed from her wounds, but neither did she suffer from them. She always looks a step between life and death. She speaks to the living as if they were they dead, and seems to live in a place unreal to her current surroundings. The only dragons in all of Clan Nekrós she acknowledges as being who they are, are the two Fae, who she glares at with the sort of hatred all the clan knows: if she could use her blood magics on them, she would, and they'd have long ago died from some swift plague.