Incus

Incus had a lot to think of during the long march back. The battle had ended in great loss, the dead and dying fed to the mass of flesh of bone that was left of Bloodsurge. He struggled to wrap his head around the visage of her resurrection, a concept he thought was frowned upon by plague dragons. Or perhaps he was wrong, or didn't understand.

It all ended so rapidly after Sharptalon fell. It should not have been the end, but the command structure crumbled as their captains withered, quite literally. It was a smart move. Their dragons might have been able to continue the assault, but with no one to delegate the focus of their attacks, it was over anyway.

Incus had hoped they had never made it past the gate, but as the non-combatants weere forced out, he knew their clan was gone forever.
Not many made the journey either. The sickness had truly seeped in deep, and the trials of wandering the Scarred Wasteland took its tool. Sharptalon was surprisingly doing slightly better, but she had not said a word since they started walking. Incus could only imagine the sorrow she was going through. He too knew their clan was going to become fodder to the horde.

Observing the plague clan, it did not take long to discover they were ruled by a complete iron fist. No one could escape without being immediately hounded down. To his surprise, some of the plague dragons at times attempted to flee. Perhaps victims of other wars, falsely believing they would be free that day. They were not.

With no family left to fall back to now, Incus wondered what he was to become. A crazed warrior like the rest? A cruel leader, like the generals that controlled them were? He wondered if he could perhaps fake it and reach that rank, but something told him the higher-ups had the insight to strain out usurpers with the same idea. Perhaps he had to think more simple. Protect whatever of his clan was left, and then... survive. Until they could get away.