Morgoth

W.I.P.

Not all places are gods-touched, not all beings are born of the light. In the twisting, untamed depths of the wilds beyond the Spire, many a beast lurks among the murk and ancient trees.

Morgoth is one such beast. She does not speak like the proper, civilized dragons of the Silent Skies, and carries the scars of a long life of pain and battle. Morgoth was called a monster from the day of her hatching, and has been hunted and feared by countless passing races over the centuries; and in turn the iron grasp of such a brutal existence turned her into the monster they feared. She adorned herself in the bones and broken weapons of those who came against her and fell hopelessly beneath the stroke of her blackened wings and the crushing abyss of her monstrous jaws. She claimed their fear and forged it into an unbreakable strength. Even other dragons would whisper of the terrible Morgoth and the unholy power she comanded.

And now, tired after all the fighting and fear, she takes refuge among the bleached boughs of the wilds, having finally found a place where civilized races don't come looking for her with their cruel weapons and their engines of death.

Only one dragon of the Silent Skies knows of Morgoth's existence, and he regularly comes to sit with her, and tells her of the world she never got to be a part of. He brings her food, even when he doesn't need to, and seems to genuinely care for her like nobody else ever has. Her cold, hardened heart struggles to interpret the feelings he makes her feel. It took months for her to trust him enough not to try and kill him on sight, and she still struggles not to lash out on occasion out of instinct. But maybe he's making progress.