Slug

Slug is a Mirror of many names. She's called a wanderer, a disease, a monster, a beast of little intelligence, heartless, mindless, an abomination, a... mistake.
Admittedly, some of it was her fault. Slug filled out every meaning of her name, to the dismay of all those around her.

A creature that was the source of mass disgust, she was chased from her birth clan as a hatchling.

Sinful, wicked. She grew never knowing what a home was like, living on the fuel that was primal instinct alone. She bit, she slashed, she snarled like the beasts from lands afar. She killed.

She fought anything that moved with tooth and claw, 'slugging' them unconcious, rendering unable them unable to move. That was on a good day.

What was remorse? Was it a food? At first, Slug had no interest in the petty 'morality', that held no value towards survival. Just another invention those inferior, pitiful dragons thought up from their measly minds. Why act so prideful, why shed their mortality in the favour of short-lived pleasure? They were just another being, scattered throughout these wide lands.

... lands of which Slug had no clue to what they were called. She wouldn't dare admit that she may be physically strong, but when it came to general knowledge... she was lacking lacking.

'Perhaps they were right... perhaps I really was just meant for a life of feral cruelty, waiting with eager wings for the ground to welcome me into its cold, cold embrace...'
She had heard that from somewhere. From a voice travelling on softer winds, with a stench that could wake up the dead. That somewhere was kinder to her.

Slug would remember where it was, eventually.

Probably.


... unlikely.



Slug had been wandering. Wandering for a long, long time. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she left her birth clan.
She had seen much of the world through those four eyes, seen disasters. Seen life. Seen death. Seen it all repeat, over and over. Slug wasn't too sure what she wanted anymore. To travel the world was amazing, meeting many. Well, using the word loosely.

Not many dragons trusted a lone Mirror, especially with her permanent scowling-grin, dusty scales, tattered wings, and battered body.

A travelling monster, even if hoping to come to terms with the world, was still a monster after all.

One dreary, slow day, as Slug dragged her thin, malnourished body through the Shattered Plain, she spied a strange... thing, in the distance. Its skeletal form was gangly, spindly, terrifying. It was a tree. A tree covered in a strange, flesh-coloured... membrane. From her loose, faint memories, Slug felt like that hideous web of pestilence was familiar. Comforting.

She stretched out a shaky claw, eyes widening. 'Why? Why was it so wa-'

Slug collapsed in a pile of dust and green; a mass of bones and thin, thin, ever-so thin skin. She'd have died from the overbearing sun; under harsh rays, seemingly punishing her for her youthful misdeeds, and under a blue sky, as clear as its certainty in its punishment. However, Fate reared its head in that moment, in the form of an expanse of blinding, crystalised scales.

Slug, in her near-unconcious state, thought that the crystal spires of her birth home had compressed into some draconic shape; a Mirror, whose eyes shone more than his glittering scales. Whose eyes shone with uncorrupted childish purity.


She woke up with a start, four pupils widening in the dark. Slug's teeth bared at the unknown, challenging the very shadows of this strange, sinew-traced cave, as if daring them to step forward.

Slug was scared...

... but Slug was no longer alone.