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Battered Shields Trinkets Scavenged and refit multiple times, these shields have yet another new owner. 65 Dryad's Saddle Plant There's an old story tied to this fungus, and the moral is one should never try to saddle a dryad. 35 4 Tarnished Chain Trinkets Rumored to belong to a dragon named Marley. (Special thanks reyechan.) 70

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Hellebore was born a dragon of the nature flight, and grew into a stoic adventurer. No challenge was too demanding, and no monster could draw his fear, but in his courage and his heroism, there was a lingering vice. Hellebore wanted more. He was consumed by envy, growing up on tales of gladiators and champions, he dreamed of having his own name immortalized in the musings of storytellers. He wanted to be the very best of them, and vowed to see his every journey to its end, no matter the costs.

In an unforgiving winter, the southern icefield was plunged into a seemingly unending night. Hellebore, in his tireless search for glory, came upon a poor, sequestered clan, ravaged by hunger and cold. They begged him for aid in their sorry state, and he agreed. Hellebore, growing ever bolder, sought to speak with the Icewarden himself.

Sources told him that the Icewarden made his lair in the indomitable mountaintops known as The Fortress of Ends, so it is there he set off. Of course, the gods have eyes and ears all over their lands, and the great ice dragon was quick to pick up on Hellebore's plan, and quick to interfere.
Hellebore was scaling the cloudscrape crags when a voice came to him, speaking, "Why, why do you continue down this path?"

Startled, he soon realized it was the voice of a sprite. "I have made a promise, to the the dragons of the southern icefield, that I would find a way to end their suffering. I'm going to find their Icewarden, and make him see his error."

"His error?"

"He sits idly by while his own flight suffers in this unending squall, all the while having the power to end it. What kind of a god could abandon his children this way?"

At his words, the sprite seemed taken aback, "You would make demands of the Icewarden? You, a dragon of the Viridian Labyrinth?"

"I would. And I will. I may not be of his flight, but I am just as worthy to speak with him as any other." Hellebore continued on his way, not wanting to waste time speaking with a fairy.

"If you continue, you will fail," the sprite said finally.

At this, Hellebore halted, as if to respond, but ultimately continued forward. The sprite bothered him no more.

By the time he met the Fortress of Ends, Hellebore could no longer spread his wings, as they had frozen to his body. He could scarcely move at all, yet still he pushed on, further and further into the endless night. When at last he collapsed, feeling gone from his legs, he spotted them: a pair of piercing eyes, white like crystals. They loomed over him, and in the last might he could muster, Hellebore parted his jaws, but no sound escaped him. He had reached the end of his journey, immortalized in the Icewarden's frozen collections.

In the end, he had gotten what he wanted.