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Excerpt From Ancalagon's Notes...

SUBJECT:01
A beast.
A creature of the muck.
A monster born of the wyrmwound, of the stars, of shade and fear.

No one was sure of where this...this thing had come from. Stories ranged from plausible to mythic, with those claiming it had been born of the wyrmwound, that it had fallen from the sky, that it was shaped by the shade itself to end the world it found itself in. Yet, even with all of these wild stories, no one was entirely sure of where this dragon had come from.

It resembles a mirror, with the carapace of a machine and the eyes of an insect. With wings that shimmer and shine like stained glass, and a mouth that foams with a black substance that drips from its throat. All resemblance was superficial, however, as one would learn. And those eyes. They watch the world around them not with curiosity, but with hate. Where a normal mirror's eyes are, sit an insect's primative compound eyes. Around its body, though...sit a grotesque number of green, leaking eyes that bulge out from the carapace of this beast.

We aren't sure where it came from, but we need to make damn sure we know where it goes.

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Infect. Spread. Decay. Rot. Destroy. Create
Disease. Purity. Infect. Disdain. Devour. Decay. Adoration.
Assimilation. Decay. Obtain. Attack. Defend. Infect.
Decay.
Infect.

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