Bloodmoon

Bloodmoon had been a weird one since hatching day.

She wasnt intrested in trees and sap,
She didnt like fae sign language,
She didnt like her own kind,
She only ever answered when a dragon of her flight were to contract one of the plague deity's concoctions, or Shadow binder would send good will on a blackened night.
Plague and Shadow.
Thats all that matters, yes a balance exists, but her facination lies within plague and shadow.
No one really knew until she revealled this.....


Or rather the day she appeared for all shadow to see, the blood and obsidian coloured dragon was nothing like a normal fae. She was obcessed with plague and what were to happen if the murky substance in the Shadowbinder's ruined pool were to meet a plague's pathogen. So she attempted exactly that. She flew and flew, battled and bled until she reached the place where plague spread. Before the pathogen, or the dragons of Plaguebringer, could catch and kill her for her madening scheme she had reached her goal. The oozing black substance had a entire bucket full of even more foul stenched grimey green and bubbling yellow dumped into the bucket of the murk. The substance than rose in a cloud of foul stenched, diseased black and bruised yellow that consumed the small fae.

Bloodmoon had been plain and only blood and obsidian.

Until it consumed her.

She had awoken back within her lair, except blood was all the fae saw. Until she grasped the bandages holding her body, only leaving the ones holding her wing structures, and began to rip and tear. Until forest green in a pattern that had burned her skin, began to creep in a boiling pain the fae could not describe with all of her will. A blackened foul twisting mark across her wings had also sprouted, burning and churning her wings. She had been told her genetics were changing and her pain was the price for meddling in the lives of plague dragons.