Apotrophia

"I'm beautiful? Why should I thank you for telling me so. It's just stating a fact."

The beautiful Apotrophia cuts a strange figure in the Wastelands. She moves through Wormrott Grotto like a perfumed cloud, her silks following after her like something alive. Her laughter rings throughout the dismal grounds of the clan, well aware that she's attracting attention and curiosity. Just what is a dragon like this doing here?

Nobody knows.

Many rumors float about Apotrophia. She's the manifestation of some unknown love goddess. She's a scheming spy come to look into the Plague flight's various concoctions. She's actually a hideous witch using some sort of mysterious magic.

Rumors, rumors. Each more elaborate than the last.

Perhaps the strangest of all is the one about a pink dragon on the run from all she's known because she couldn't take the stiffling nature of her home clan any longer. Of a dragon accustiomed to luxury who fled into the dark of the Wastelands because even that was better than where she came from. Of magic so frightening that plague seemed a balm.

Of a pink dragon with no silk or perfume that was found by another with enough sympathy to share a bite of food when both were at their lowest. And when that other traded in her rags for a crown of bone, she offered her associate a place of safety amongst the ruins.

...But of course, those are all rumors.

And Apotrophia doesn't kiss and tell.