Unnamed

Alastrom sat on one of the mid-range ridges of the Wyrmwound, not too close for his comfort but close enough to be daring. He went through his supplies, and carved himself a comfortable nest to rest and meditate in. He meditated for many hours but felt no touch of infection. He guessed he'd try again the next morning.

Morning came and Alastrom stretched himself out and looked the sky. He then rummaged through his supplies. He had brought more than he thought he'd need, which meant he brought just enough supplies to last him the length of his trials. He then sat at the edge of his ridge and began his meditation for the day letting his eyes soft focus on the Wyrmwound before him.

When the sun rose on the third day of his vigil with no touch of the Plaguemother's gift, Alastrom grew frustrated. He'd heeded her call and returned to the land of his ancestors. The Abiding Boneyard was were The Plagubringer had let the first mirror dragons loose, and let them adapt and thrive, and yet here he sat frustrated and weary. He'd not slept the night before instead keeping a close watch over the Wyrmwound, and took note of a few of Mother's Left Hand, her Necromancers that wandered through the testing grounds. He continued to sit and gaze at the cauldron of disease before him. Praying to feel the burning touch of Mother's hand.

He felt the burning alright. A burning in his throat for a drink of water. He dug through his pack again, checking his supplies and took a long drink of his water. He then sat down at the edge of his ridge again a sour frown on his face. He still hadn't contracted his blessing from the Plaguemother yet. He still had plenty of time, but he couldn't help still feeling frustrated. He returned to his meditation and hoped that skipping another night's rest would help him grow closer to his goal.

Alastrom laid still at the edge of his perch, his body heavy and burning. Struggling he sat up and gazed at the Wrymwound, before looking over his shoulder at the stripes of infection forming across his scales. He thought about it for a moment and a grin crossed his muzzle. Mother had accepted him. Mother had blessed him. Now He'd wrestle with this new found power, until he stood tall and strong with it.

Summoning as much strength as he could, Alastrom began trying to force the plague burning through his body to calm it's self and work at his beck and call. He tried as much as he could but felt the plague stay unresponsive and still burning as brightly as it had started.

The scroll ends here, this dragon's fate must have ended poorly.