Ogarth

Within the dark of night - or, rather, however dark it ever manages to get in Light - deep within the forest - if one could call the landscape of Light a forest - there is a little shack. Decrepit and appearing to exist solely because the wind has been kind to it, it could be easily missed if you weren't looking for it, as the moss and lichen grows thick on its roof, and vines hang off its wooden walls. The interest does not lie on its outside, though, but rather, on its innards.

Blocking out nearly all of the outer light, the inside is decorated with vials and jars of all varieties, with shelves nearly over flowing. Even the boards that are used to keep the ceiling in place have been turned into a type of overhead shelving unit, and many with hanging planters dangling from them. To the other side is a sleeping area, surrounded by books, with a sort of nest on the floor. Above the nest is strung two hammocks.

In the centre of this shack is a fireplace, and hung above it is a cauldron, bubbling with something thick. Beside the cauldron there sits a Coatl, all violets and greens with golden wings, who is stirring the pot and reading over instructions they have held up with their tail, their Cursed Bat familiar hanging upside down from the rafters and peering at them with interest.

"If this works, I'd have summoned Eldritch energy into living beings," they spoke, and a shuffling of feathers could be heard from one of the hammocks.

"You were the one who was so adamant on trying to do this, Tarogol."

Tarogol huffed, some of their frills ruffling. "Yes, I'm aware. And whatever the results are, I'm at peace with. I just never expected this to be so simple."

"You have failed six times." Tarogol's feather fluffed up at this, defensively, and they shot a glare in the hammock's direction.

"Three complete failures, yes, but three near-misses," they corrected. "With that pattern, this one should be successful." Returning their attention to the mixture, they glanced over the manuscript one last time before nodding. "Zenai. Come stir this while I collect the.... final ingredients."

Zenai obliged, emerging from the hammock and taking over stirring, while Tarogol slithered away, wings pulled in tight to their body. Tarogol soon returned, with them four eggs, and they sat across from the other Coatl. Tarogol sat still, reading over the manuscript once more, and then looked at the eggs that sat in their lap.

"This is the first time you've not used stolen eggs," Zenai observed.

"Yes," Tarogol agreed, their voice terse. "The disappearances were beginning to get questioned."

"You don't feel differently about doing this now, do you?"

"Of course not," Tarogol snapped back. "It makes no difference." They looked at Zenai, and although they could not see his face, they were sure he had a look of amusement on his face. They took a deep breathe and closed their eyes, and in this shack in the forests of Light, the ritual was completed, and from the eggs were born four dragons whose bodies contained not the soul of a dragon, but the soul of an Eldritch horror.