Volitant

The maintenance room is lit by the eerie glow of soft humming of coils and rattling machinery. A dragon is hunched over some pipeline, fiddling with one of the rivets, then cranking at one of the levers. There is a shimmering of scales as a tail is flicked, perhaps in irritation. The tip curls up again, wagging once, twice, thrice, and bringing with it the steaming smell of rusty vapor and ozone. "Come on in!" the wyvern bellows, and he turns around, lightning crackling as scales slide with a smooth clack-clack-tack. Suddenly his eyes are close, dangerous and sparking with power, but creased in a kind smile.

You did travel the shattered plains before, walked among the lightning farms and the calm of the highlands. The barren ground barely changed, but when the blanket of storm lay on the land, it seemed a different place entirely. With this banescale, the room too remained much the same, it just felt more dangerous. Much like the desert, the dragon seemed to bear the lightning in him. It gave him a tense look, casting flickering light on his vibrant scales, shimmering glow threading over supercharged flesh like coiled copper, threading softly through rusty fumes, trailing translucent shadows.