Nyveen

It seemed almost ironic that the God of Fate would father a child lost at sea. As the egg had left the nest and descended into the murky depths of the rippling tides and unforgiving frothy foams, it seemed that he must give up the hope of ever finding the lost egg. They mourned the loss, but as the egg caught the current of this cruel sea, it bobbed along in the water and sent it careening away from the nests of anyone who may have been able to catch her.

Beyond the edge of the water flight's territory, lay the plagued and diseased lands of the plague flight. Had this egg been hatched, it would smell the rot drifting off the land, and smell the Wyrmround's pustule-like odor rising from the epicenter of calamity.

But this little egg, though unhatched, seemed brave as it bumped along the edge of the land, tapping at the barrier of the two worlds. There seemed to bear no life, if one could call anything here alive at all. However, a few fateful dragons had made their home here; proudly declaring themselves and whoever wanted to join their decrepit lives amongst the rot, "viruses."

A particular band of misfits had found themselves camped at the edge of the land, having always been wary of the ever-growing reach of the disease that could eventually wipe them out. The Wandering Contagion, though disgusting in appearance, made for a home for a family that perhaps didn't look so right to the naked eye.

But a clawed hand had scooped up the egg, watching it tremble in his palm. This egg was fairly recognizable as the cratered and crusted egg of a water dragon; though this one seemed to glimmer and shine with an almost god-like power. How strange, it seemed. Marrow, the skull-faced leader of this gang of rag-tag dragons, knew this well. As he, too, had been washed away by those cruel currents and found himself, as a young hatchling, along the edge of this scattered wasteland.

Perhaps he felt a kinship with this little lost egg, and couldn't bear to turn away from it. But as he spread his wings out to curl around the egg, it began to tremble and crack. With each little break, light seemed to pour out of the egg; a divine being was being hatched.

As the egg finally cracked wide open, the curious eyes of the hatchling looked up at her new father, a chirp in her voice as she unfurled her elegant wings. The ocean seemed to swirl and crash upon her arrival; welcoming what seemed to be a child of the sea, no doubt. She exuded a power in her that he was not sure how to harness; however, he knew better than to send her on her own. She would find herself in the den of disease or the treacherous tides, and neither sounded appealing to him.

So, he gently scraped away the goo of the egg with a claw, watching as she nuzzled his palm. She was so innocent, chirping and snapping her jaws playfully. She had no idea of her vast potential.

As they returned back to their dank nests, he presented their new child to the group. She would be one of them; a queen of rot in the making. Perhaps he was overly fond of her, seeing her as the daughter he had wanted. Someone who was like him. A child of water and rot.