Ballast

Get a bogsneak scroll?




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It takes a little less than a week to get through kick-bite-scratching out of an eggshell to being declared a (young) adult by Lionstar. Five days plus hatching.

When you hit two months, your parents nudge you from your lair to another - a trade between friends, treasure exchanging claws as you settle in with a lair full of neon dragons like yourself. You're special, though, the only one really like you, and proud of your inability to really suit an outfit and you feel far too young to pursue breeding.

You never notice the wartoad, out training with Mixie.


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Little less than a week later, you're blinking in front of Lionstar as you're declared an adult. You go through two months in a fugue state, deja vu plaguing you constantly, but you settle into the lair well. You never join the hunting group. Someone asks you to help with an egg they found in the river, and a week after that you're brought a bright little chirping ball of feathers and scales. They're enthusiastic, and love to climb all over you. You get called "coral" for weeks.

Somehow, the noxious part of your coralclimber never occurred to you, until you went to trim the little brat's claws and you got nipped. Last thing you see is your concerned, warbling pet.

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This time around your anger lasts you even after the fight to break your shell. Lionstar eyes you with concern as you're an adult three times over but still for the first time, and your parents make soft noises of concern. You end up at the lair again, much less treasure exchanged this time and whispered warnings that they thought you didn't notice.

You watch the dragon who had asked for help regarding your 'climber pause by your den before carrying on to the beastmaster. Seeing the little peeper climbing around on someone else ignites the anger you held burning inside you, and in the ensuing fight the other dragon smacks them aside. Before you can even Scratch someone, you turn right into an Eliminate.

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You wake up screaming, Scratching desperately at your hatching-shell, wanting to feel scales and blood under your claws than another damned round of this particular hell. Shells meant it was time to go again. You shudder, and curl up. You don't want to be so angry ever again.

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This time you do everything you did the first time, and get your coralclimber back. You peacefully slink around the lair and look pretty, doting on the little lizard that doesn't remember you fighting so hard to get it back.