Prurath

Prurath Librarian

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Clanbound Unhatched Banescale Egg Dragon Eggs A tiny Banescale hatchling grows within. The thick, armored shell makes it unclear what elemental alignment it has taken. 0

A New Song Written by FourLeaf

Prurath slowly opened his eyes, immediately greeted with the familiar sight of the walls of his small cave. How long had he been here?

He paused for a moment, listening. Beyond the usual crackle and hiss of the boiling magma, he could hear the sharp clang of metal as the modern dragons' clans worked in their forges. He sighed, remembering the elders' advice — he was not to take up a weapon. It didn't make sense, really: if the modern dragons could fight all they wanted, then why couldn't he?

Still, he dared not to ignore his ancestors' advice.

The Banescale crawled upward, toward the entrance of the cavern. The sounds of metalworking grew louder, and he could hear shouting from the dragons above. Most likely something to do with that "Magmaforge Rebellion" or whatever they called it, which he wasn't allowed to participate in, thanks to his elders.

He could see the dragons now, brightly colored wings and legs and tails flying everywhere as dragons argued and complained about their work. But they didn't interest him.

He turned his gaze instead to the sky, to the familiar black smoke that had filled the air since the days of his ancestors. The fires that produced the smoke crackled and glowed brightly, but as Prurath watched the stray sparks dancing like fiery comets through the smoke, he realized something was off.

And indeed, something was different — the fire seemed to sing, but it wasn't the song of his ancestors. No, it was a new song. He could hear it clearly; in the sizzling sparks, in the crackling flames, even the very earth beneath his talons resonated with the eerie tune.

It was calling to him, calling him to fly. Beyond the fire, beyond the smoke, beyond everything he knew, everything he called home. But... was he willing to give it all up, leave it all behind?

For a few minutes, Prurath tortured himself with the question: stay, or go? The song called to him, louder now, then slowly fading into the distance. But he hadn't heard the end of the song yet — he had to follow it.

The Banescale jumped off the rock on which he had perched. For a moment he let himself fall, then spread his wings and soared upward. The song was faint now, but he could still hear it, and he was sure it would get louder as he got closer.

He stopped for a moment and hovered, casting one last glance at the place he had once called home. Then he banked sharply and flew north, slowly breaking through the thick wall of smoke that guarded what was once his world. As Prurath chased the new song, he realized that this was his future, his destiny — his ancestors did say "fly far and fly wide", after all.

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