Octavia

From the day her four gummy, sleep-bleared eyes blinked open, Octavia had been painfully unremarkable. One of a clutch of dozens of hatchlings. A small and weedy body. The kind of drab brown colouring that eyes just slide past. She was no-one, from nowhere, destined for nothing. And perhaps her nestmates could live like that. Perhaps a dragon who didn't crackle with intelligence and a burning ambition could have been satisfied with that kind of life - a quiet life of craft and companionship. But not Octavia.

It's no doubt a story you've heard before. For dragons who are sharp-tongued and quick-witted, there will always be opportunities to seize. She wormed her way into the heights of society, studying under the greatest lore-masters, alchemists and craftsfolk of the age. She plastered over the shortcomings of her body and heritage with a razor-sharp smile and boundless charisma. And still she wasn't satisfied.

Without the brilliant colours and resources of the dragons around her, she learnt to use more alternative methods of influence: words hissed into the right ears, a clawful of gems slipped into a pocket, a long memory. Some dragons hoard treasure, Octavia learnt to hoard secrets. Secrets are a tricky currency; they foster a unique resentment, fear, and distrust. So too, though, do they foster a unique power. Beauty can be lost, treasure can be stolen, but a secret can last a lifetime.

There's scarcely a soul left who could remember that drab, resentful hatchling, fewer still who would dare mention it. Today, Octavia is known for her shining jewels and wings, for her powerful allies, and for the fear she can inspire with a single glance.