Ksarrakra

There are still whispers of her, among the bubbling fire pools of the Emberglow Hearth. Of the Imperial born with too much fire, that it leaked out of her eyes. Who was so large that she dwarfed most of those who knew her in her short stay at the hearth. Who communicated in nought but roars and throaty grumbles, still accented with the rich, rough accent fire dragons possessed. Those unafraid and brash enough to speak of devils say that she'll end up an Emperor one day, just you wait.

("Just you wait," they'll say, "just you wait.")

It is a rare thing, to be born with too much fire, but it happens. When upset it leaks out of her eyes, molten tears that hissed and sputtered when it splashed onto the ground and cooled into piles of lava rock. She breathes fire often, great gouts of orange and yellow flame erupting from her jaws when she feels the need to let it out. Her vocal cords found themselves unable to form anything but words when the usual age of speaking came to her as a hatchling. Roars and cries were her spoken tongue, even as her siblings progressed to speaking in full sentences. Ever resourceful, she found a way to make it work, to form a rhythm in her vocalisations that could be learned if they so much as bothered to wish to understand her. But of course they didn't, so she resorted to scrawling her messages in the dirt when she wished to say something.

Ksarrakra grew up quickly as a youngster and stole away in the night, leaving the warmly glowing Emberglow Hearth behind for the underground cave systems that ran under the crust of Sornieth. Her path led to self-isolation, making a home in one of the many spacious underground caverns that remained unmapped and unknown to the rest of Sornieth. Great veins of gold and other minerals are embedded in the walls, along with glittering chunks of unrefined gems. For underground caves, it is more comfort than she feels she deserves. She fits in among the precious stones, with the opal growths that coat her midnight scales and the sanguine (she ignores how much they resemble the colour of dried blood) leather of her wings.

(And isn't that a funny thing, for an Imperial to dislike herself so, for such a proud species of dragon.)

She internalised many of the things she overheard about herself as a hatchling, letting their harsh words fester inside of her like an open wound on her self-esteem and feelings of self-worth. Ksarrakra struggles with how she handles her emotions, often distancing herself from them and continuing her internal torment. She finds it easier to dwell on her pain than to confront it, and mulls over the dense knot of anger and bitterness and sorrow when it is too late at night to know whether or not it is the next day already.

She does not know whether or not she wishes to prove them right, or to prove them wrong.

https://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=283042
leviathanmouth