Major work in progress, please do not post here. Thank you!
Begin Anew
Many years past, a mirror sought to carve his legacy into The Scarred Wasteland. Eradion, after narrowly escaping the annihilation of his birth clan, refused to surrender to the bleak wastes he'd been cast into. However weary he was, he was forced to hunt on his own, lest he become meal for another. Blood was lost, scars were gained, but in time he laid claim to a grotto that would be the start of his heritage, and the close of much more.
After hearing of Eradion's prowess and drive to succeed, Shawl was the first of his consorts. She was strong of mind, deft in the arts of magic, and offered a much needed counterpoint to his rather reckless schemes. Tempered by her wisdom, Eradion grew his lair instead of pushing all others out; they would be stronger in number. As dragons flocked to his banner, it became more apparent that a larger cavern network would be needed, and as a show of fearlessness, Eradion pushed them closer to The Wyrmwound.
With a new home established and their ranks growing, conflict could not help but knock at their door. Matriarch of a rival clan, Septic, a guardian as vile as her name, called her warriors for a raid on Eradion's lair. While her combatants were soundly defeated, she demanded to pit her strength against Shawl's. Mind roiling with bloodlust, Eradion allowed the contest, disregarding the opposition from his clan members who were fond of her composed nature.
The battle ended quickly. Shawl could not hope to match Septic's ferocity, and after an exchange of blows, she fell. Eradion exiled Shawl, battered and bloody, to an uproar from his clan. Any who voiced their dissent were exiled with her, on punishment of death should they be seen again. This left Septic as Eradion's new consort, her wicked conniving only fueling his brash temperament.
War overtook growth in the clan, with more battles fought than dragons recruited. The downward spiral and bleak outlook for the clan caused some to depart, rather than be lead to their death. Outraged, Eradion lead more audacious raids against rival parties, until the only dragons left were Septic and a handful of ruthless warriors. After a particularly poor outing, a group of dragons lead by Shawl and her exiles stole into the caverns and captured Eradion; the others were too weak to adequately fight against their numbers, and he was resigned to whatever fate these intruders decreed.
Seeking to end him in as vile a manner as his own, they threw him into The Wyrmwound, watching his attempts to scramble out of the cauldron of filth until he sunk below the surface. Satisfied that he had met his end, the group departed, celebrating the end of a barbaric tyrant.
A week passed, and a hideous monstrosity thrashed its way out of The Wyrmwound, collapsing on its banks with the effort. It seemed created from countless dragons' limbs, engorged and grotesque, with the very essence of The Wyrmwound replacing blood in its veins. Internally, an insidious parasite had been planted in the creature's brain, spiking its desire for annihilation, matched only by a gnawing hunger in its belly. This desire had only one target, the only thing it could remember; a lair, close to The Wyrmwound.
The abomination took large, lumbering steps, acclimating itself to the form it had been given. Something was wrong with it, it knew that, but it didn't matter. It needed to eat, and it knew where it could find a sizable feast. That would sate both of its yearnings.
Septic had made attempts to keep the clan together after Eradion's disappearance. They'd had time to recover, mend their wounds, and plan for what lay ahead. None expected the amalgamation of parts that slogged its way into their cavern. One of the more headstrong dragons approached, spouting threats at the creature until the moment its head was crushed beneath the weight of a massive foreleg.
None of the others survived. Septic put up a fair fight, but no matter the damage she inflicted, the fleshy beast never faltered, never paused. As she fell, it knew it had taken back its lair-- its? Yes, it had claimed this. It had been another-- Eradion-- but that was no longer suitable. It was Ruin. The Ruin of this lair, and more to come. As he feasted on the slain, blood pooled into a divot in the cavern floor. It was inconsequential to him, as the urgency to consume drove all else to the back of his mind, but he had started something; The Clot was forming.
Major work in progress, please do not post here. Thank you!
Begin Anew
Many years past, a mirror sought to carve his legacy into The Scarred Wasteland. Eradion, after narrowly escaping the annihilation of his birth clan, refused to surrender to the bleak wastes he'd been cast into. However weary he was, he was forced to hunt on his own, lest he become meal for another. Blood was lost, scars were gained, but in time he laid claim to a grotto that would be the start of his heritage, and the close of much more.
After hearing of Eradion's prowess and drive to succeed, Shawl was the first of his consorts. She was strong of mind, deft in the arts of magic, and offered a much needed counterpoint to his rather reckless schemes. Tempered by her wisdom, Eradion grew his lair instead of pushing all others out; they would be stronger in number. As dragons flocked to his banner, it became more apparent that a larger cavern network would be needed, and as a show of fearlessness, Eradion pushed them closer to The Wyrmwound.
With a new home established and their ranks growing, conflict could not help but knock at their door. Matriarch of a rival clan, Septic, a guardian as vile as her name, called her warriors for a raid on Eradion's lair. While her combatants were soundly defeated, she demanded to pit her strength against Shawl's. Mind roiling with bloodlust, Eradion allowed the contest, disregarding the opposition from his clan members who were fond of her composed nature.
The battle ended quickly. Shawl could not hope to match Septic's ferocity, and after an exchange of blows, she fell. Eradion exiled Shawl, battered and bloody, to an uproar from his clan. Any who voiced their dissent were exiled with her, on punishment of death should they be seen again. This left Septic as Eradion's new consort, her wicked conniving only fueling his brash temperament.
War overtook growth in the clan, with more battles fought than dragons recruited. The downward spiral and bleak outlook for the clan caused some to depart, rather than be lead to their death. Outraged, Eradion lead more audacious raids against rival parties, until the only dragons left were Septic and a handful of ruthless warriors. After a particularly poor outing, a group of dragons lead by Shawl and her exiles stole into the caverns and captured Eradion; the others were too weak to adequately fight against their numbers, and he was resigned to whatever fate these intruders decreed.
Seeking to end him in as vile a manner as his own, they threw him into The Wyrmwound, watching his attempts to scramble out of the cauldron of filth until he sunk below the surface. Satisfied that he had met his end, the group departed, celebrating the end of a barbaric tyrant.
A week passed, and a hideous monstrosity thrashed its way out of The Wyrmwound, collapsing on its banks with the effort. It seemed created from countless dragons' limbs, engorged and grotesque, with the very essence of The Wyrmwound replacing blood in its veins. Internally, an insidious parasite had been planted in the creature's brain, spiking its desire for annihilation, matched only by a gnawing hunger in its belly. This desire had only one target, the only thing it could remember; a lair, close to The Wyrmwound.
The abomination took large, lumbering steps, acclimating itself to the form it had been given. Something was wrong with it, it knew that, but it didn't matter. It needed to eat, and it knew where it could find a sizable feast. That would sate both of its yearnings.
Septic had made attempts to keep the clan together after Eradion's disappearance. They'd had time to recover, mend their wounds, and plan for what lay ahead. None expected the amalgamation of parts that slogged its way into their cavern. One of the more headstrong dragons approached, spouting threats at the creature until the moment its head was crushed beneath the weight of a massive foreleg.
None of the others survived. Septic put up a fair fight, but no matter the damage she inflicted, the fleshy beast never faltered, never paused. As she fell, it knew it had taken back its lair-- its? Yes, it had claimed this. It had been another-- Eradion-- but that was no longer suitable. It was Ruin. The Ruin of this lair, and more to come. As he feasted on the slain, blood pooled into a divot in the cavern floor. It was inconsequential to him, as the urgency to consume drove all else to the back of his mind, but he had started something; The Clot was forming.
Spreading the Sickness
Rested and recovered, Ruin's mind settled upon one goal, that which had been his downfall in a former existence: The Clot required growth. In order to appease The Plaguebringer, the parasite she had bestowed upon him had to be spread. As the only carrier, it was upon him to do so.
Unknown to Ruin, it would be a simple process for the warlike behemoth. The parasite increased a dragon's production of saliva dramatically, where many of its eggs would lay dormant until contacting the blood of an uninfected dragon. As well, the host dragon's own blood would harbor the eggs; one way or the other, battle would spread the sickness.
It took great effort for Ruin not to kill those he attacked, unused to his enormity and the strength that lay behind it. A handful of smaller lairs had been laid to waste before another dragon was infected, strangely, of her own accord. Witnessing Ruin's indomitable might, and with no clanmates left, she left herself to his will. As a devout follower of The Plaguebringer, his tale-- however garbled and sluggish it was told-- intrigued her, and as a show of solidarity, she lapped at his wounds, regardless of his dismissive assertions.
Her name was never uttered, thus one was given to her: Gorse, the first true Coagulant. In time, the infectious parasite showed the telltale signs that it had taken root; the verdant mirror grew more aggressive, and began to salivate uncontrollably. Ruin understood this well enough. The plague could spread through blood, and no battle ended before much was spilled.
Faster and more agile than Ruin's massive bulk, Gorse was sent out further than Ruin could feasibly move himself. She was simply tasked with finding dragons separated from their clans, biting them to spread the parasite, then returning. Since her infection, Ruin had noted that he inexplicably knew she was there, as though the parasite created some sort of connection. It was then assumed that if others were infected, they would find their way back to his lair; if things went exceptionally well, they may strike at their own clanmates before making the venture, perhaps bringing more than just themselves.
As surrounding clans began to die out, Sirith, a clan matriarch, took note of the similarities. There were only two recurring causes; these clans would be destroyed by a hulking monstrosity, or one of their own. Seeking to keep herself and her clanmates alive, she sought out the disturbing creature, and pledged her numbers to Ruin. Following infection, she became known as Drogher, The Clot's messenger, should the need ever arise.
With a sudden swell of numbers came rising interest from a scavenging bogsneak. Surely there must've been something within The Clot's lair worth aligning oneself with them. Skulking throughout the cavernous lair found her nothing but bones, an all too common sight in The Scarred Wasteland, but she refused to believe that was all of worth. Eventually, she was found and captured, forcefully infected, then left to do as she pleased. Fen, a lifelong swindler, traded theft of goods for theft of life.
Spreading the Sickness
Rested and recovered, Ruin's mind settled upon one goal, that which had been his downfall in a former existence: The Clot required growth. In order to appease The Plaguebringer, the parasite she had bestowed upon him had to be spread. As the only carrier, it was upon him to do so.
Unknown to Ruin, it would be a simple process for the warlike behemoth. The parasite increased a dragon's production of saliva dramatically, where many of its eggs would lay dormant until contacting the blood of an uninfected dragon. As well, the host dragon's own blood would harbor the eggs; one way or the other, battle would spread the sickness.
It took great effort for Ruin not to kill those he attacked, unused to his enormity and the strength that lay behind it. A handful of smaller lairs had been laid to waste before another dragon was infected, strangely, of her own accord. Witnessing Ruin's indomitable might, and with no clanmates left, she left herself to his will. As a devout follower of The Plaguebringer, his tale-- however garbled and sluggish it was told-- intrigued her, and as a show of solidarity, she lapped at his wounds, regardless of his dismissive assertions.
Her name was never uttered, thus one was given to her: Gorse, the first true Coagulant. In time, the infectious parasite showed the telltale signs that it had taken root; the verdant mirror grew more aggressive, and began to salivate uncontrollably. Ruin understood this well enough. The plague could spread through blood, and no battle ended before much was spilled.
Faster and more agile than Ruin's massive bulk, Gorse was sent out further than Ruin could feasibly move himself. She was simply tasked with finding dragons separated from their clans, biting them to spread the parasite, then returning. Since her infection, Ruin had noted that he inexplicably knew she was there, as though the parasite created some sort of connection. It was then assumed that if others were infected, they would find their way back to his lair; if things went exceptionally well, they may strike at their own clanmates before making the venture, perhaps bringing more than just themselves.
As surrounding clans began to die out, Sirith, a clan matriarch, took note of the similarities. There were only two recurring causes; these clans would be destroyed by a hulking monstrosity, or one of their own. Seeking to keep herself and her clanmates alive, she sought out the disturbing creature, and pledged her numbers to Ruin. Following infection, she became known as Drogher, The Clot's messenger, should the need ever arise.
With a sudden swell of numbers came rising interest from a scavenging bogsneak. Surely there must've been something within The Clot's lair worth aligning oneself with them. Skulking throughout the cavernous lair found her nothing but bones, an all too common sight in The Scarred Wasteland, but she refused to believe that was all of worth. Eventually, she was found and captured, forcefully infected, then left to do as she pleased. Fen, a lifelong swindler, traded theft of goods for theft of life.
A Cognitive Enigma
The Clot's growth inherently brought with it an increase of dragons infected by the parasite. In turn, this lead to dragons that would be captured and studied by those of a more studious mind. The first to analyze an infected dragon proclaimed it as "Clot-Rage Fever," noting tremors, headaches, and exceptional irritability as parallels to a standard fever, though a dragon did not otherwise appear ill.
Though its existence as a parasite went unknown for years, concrete symptoms of Clot-Rage Fever, some strangely beneficial, became clear. Those infected became outright aggressive, and seemed to lose prior memories, often attacking close friends unprovoked and without remorse, as they were perceived threats. To varying levels, they became numb to pain, often noting injuries sustained in combat well after they had occurred.
Violent twitches and tremors were also well-known symptoms. Some parts of the body would repeat motions made, forcing speech of the infected to become short and brusque, lest their jaw reciprocate uncontrollably for a time. Profuse drooling was, until the diagnosis of a parasite, quite a mystery to clan healers, though later known to increase likelihood of infection via bites.
Captive Coagulants would not bathe, given an opportunity, though it was widely questioned whether or not this was a result of captivity, or another symptom of their sickness. In time it was deemed that the dragons did not seem to care for it, even when given ample chance. Their minds seemed solely focused on necessities: eating, sleeping, and spreading their plague. It was a rare clan that survived study of a Coagulant without risking infection.
Perhaps unsurprising, the parasite created a hive mind within the Coagulants. While tempers could surely flair, two infected dragons would rarely attack one another on sight, and though most communication between them would be grunts or growls, there was an absolute understanding of intent.
Yet, the Coagulants were not all one collective creature. The parasite would often draw a dragon's strengths and dispositions to the forefront. Already aggressive dragons would become even moreso, and while some emotions would be dampened, those that may contribute to a stronger dragon would be heightened. As such, with more temperate dragons, their moods may not shift near as much as one more impulsive.
A Cognitive Enigma
The Clot's growth inherently brought with it an increase of dragons infected by the parasite. In turn, this lead to dragons that would be captured and studied by those of a more studious mind. The first to analyze an infected dragon proclaimed it as "Clot-Rage Fever," noting tremors, headaches, and exceptional irritability as parallels to a standard fever, though a dragon did not otherwise appear ill.
Though its existence as a parasite went unknown for years, concrete symptoms of Clot-Rage Fever, some strangely beneficial, became clear. Those infected became outright aggressive, and seemed to lose prior memories, often attacking close friends unprovoked and without remorse, as they were perceived threats. To varying levels, they became numb to pain, often noting injuries sustained in combat well after they had occurred.
Violent twitches and tremors were also well-known symptoms. Some parts of the body would repeat motions made, forcing speech of the infected to become short and brusque, lest their jaw reciprocate uncontrollably for a time. Profuse drooling was, until the diagnosis of a parasite, quite a mystery to clan healers, though later known to increase likelihood of infection via bites.
Captive Coagulants would not bathe, given an opportunity, though it was widely questioned whether or not this was a result of captivity, or another symptom of their sickness. In time it was deemed that the dragons did not seem to care for it, even when given ample chance. Their minds seemed solely focused on necessities: eating, sleeping, and spreading their plague. It was a rare clan that survived study of a Coagulant without risking infection.
Perhaps unsurprising, the parasite created a hive mind within the Coagulants. While tempers could surely flair, two infected dragons would rarely attack one another on sight, and though most communication between them would be grunts or growls, there was an absolute understanding of intent.
Yet, the Coagulants were not all one collective creature. The parasite would often draw a dragon's strengths and dispositions to the forefront. Already aggressive dragons would become even moreso, and while some emotions would be dampened, those that may contribute to a stronger dragon would be heightened. As such, with more temperate dragons, their moods may not shift near as much as one more impulsive.
Reawakened
Following an ill-fated endeavor, Gorse returned to the lair bloody and weak. Lacking for dragons adept at healing, the Coagulants were forced to seek help from outside The Clot. Of a fortuitous nature, their needs for aid were answered by a travelling wildclaw, who agreed to assist so long as he would be protected. While Ruin would have the final word, the Coagulants that found him accepted his offer, bringing him back to the lair.
Though he took great efforts to mend her wounds, by the time the wildclaw arrived, it was too late for Gorse to be saved. She succumbed to her injuries, and the wildclaw would've met a similar fate at Ruin's ire had Drogher not stopped him, explaining that should other Coagulants require aid, it would be beneficial for a healer to be among their ranks. Though not verbally spoken, his continued life meant he would be welcomed, and Bramble joined the Coagulants.
Gorse's body was taken to The Wyrmwound as a show of favor. The Plagubringer had given Ruin life, and though that debt could never be repaid, he felt it only adequate to give something in return. As the mirror's body sunk below the surface, thus began The Clot's offerings of their dead to The Wyrmwound, however few and far between those may be.
Dissatisfied with simply spreading their parasite, a handful of Coagulants took to raiding lairs that specifically held nesting mothers. They would either destroy the nests while leaving the parents behind to grieve, or steal an egg to be brought back and raised by The Clot. During one of their longer ventures, they stumbled upon a nest belonging to a clan of water dragons. One egg was stolen, the rest were destroyed, and any dragons that attempted to reclaim the egg were slain.
Once the egg hatched, it was decided that the hatchling would be thrown into The Wyrmwound, to test its affinity for 'water.' If it drowned, The Clot would not lose one of its own, but if it survived, they may lay claim to a potently deadly dragon. After moments of panicked thrashing, the hatchling did indeed thrust itself from The Wyrmwound, tired yet irate. Thus, Umber had been crafted, forever wrathful and distrustful of all, yet a potent warrior.
Within closer reach of The Wyrmwound, another lair was found that suffered the Coagulants on two occasions. The first visit resulted in the loss of a brooding snapper's first nest, and many other dragons; the second claimed the life of her mate, and the remaining dragons that had not been dealt with the first time.
As the only survivor of both attacks, grief-stricken and enraged, the snapper tracked down The Clot's lair, fighting to near death as she tried to avenge her clanmates. Ruin struck the blow that nearly ended her life, but was once again counseled to let her live as a Coagulant by Drogher, who needed only direct his attention to the corpses left in her wake to indicate her strength. With resentful agreement from Ruin, Bramble was assigned to tend her wounds.
Upon waking from the torpor her wounds had inflicted, the snapper resigned herself to life as one of the very dragons she had intent to destroy. She'd already been infected by their parasite during her battle; she had no dragons left to return to should she leave. Still mourning the loss of those she had known, a wholly ironic thought crossed her mind: these dragons were the only family she had. From then on, Gloom was brought any eggs the other Coagulants scavenged. They would never replace those she had lost, but they would give her some semblance of comfort.
Once more, dead were carried to The Wyrmwound, those who had fallen during Gloom's frenzied attack. The bodies sunk below the murky filth, offerings to The Plaguebringer. When the last corpse submerged, the Coagulants turned to leave, when muted shrieking was heard under the surface. A skeletal revenant hauled itself from The Wyrmwound, loosing shrill screams as filth dripped from its body. Once it settled, the creature of bones identified itself as Gorse, long presumed dead.
With flesh clinging only to necessary parts of the body for movement, and no skin remaining, there was no way to be certain; yet the Coagulants that questioned the claim were silenced when Ruin solemnly welcomed her back into their ranks. Alongside the first Coagulant once more, they returned to their lair, wordlessly celebrating her rebirth.
Reawakened
Following an ill-fated endeavor, Gorse returned to the lair bloody and weak. Lacking for dragons adept at healing, the Coagulants were forced to seek help from outside The Clot. Of a fortuitous nature, their needs for aid were answered by a travelling wildclaw, who agreed to assist so long as he would be protected. While Ruin would have the final word, the Coagulants that found him accepted his offer, bringing him back to the lair.
Though he took great efforts to mend her wounds, by the time the wildclaw arrived, it was too late for Gorse to be saved. She succumbed to her injuries, and the wildclaw would've met a similar fate at Ruin's ire had Drogher not stopped him, explaining that should other Coagulants require aid, it would be beneficial for a healer to be among their ranks. Though not verbally spoken, his continued life meant he would be welcomed, and Bramble joined the Coagulants.
Gorse's body was taken to The Wyrmwound as a show of favor. The Plagubringer had given Ruin life, and though that debt could never be repaid, he felt it only adequate to give something in return. As the mirror's body sunk below the surface, thus began The Clot's offerings of their dead to The Wyrmwound, however few and far between those may be.
Dissatisfied with simply spreading their parasite, a handful of Coagulants took to raiding lairs that specifically held nesting mothers. They would either destroy the nests while leaving the parents behind to grieve, or steal an egg to be brought back and raised by The Clot. During one of their longer ventures, they stumbled upon a nest belonging to a clan of water dragons. One egg was stolen, the rest were destroyed, and any dragons that attempted to reclaim the egg were slain.
Once the egg hatched, it was decided that the hatchling would be thrown into The Wyrmwound, to test its affinity for 'water.' If it drowned, The Clot would not lose one of its own, but if it survived, they may lay claim to a potently deadly dragon. After moments of panicked thrashing, the hatchling did indeed thrust itself from The Wyrmwound, tired yet irate. Thus, Umber had been crafted, forever wrathful and distrustful of all, yet a potent warrior.
Within closer reach of The Wyrmwound, another lair was found that suffered the Coagulants on two occasions. The first visit resulted in the loss of a brooding snapper's first nest, and many other dragons; the second claimed the life of her mate, and the remaining dragons that had not been dealt with the first time.
As the only survivor of both attacks, grief-stricken and enraged, the snapper tracked down The Clot's lair, fighting to near death as she tried to avenge her clanmates. Ruin struck the blow that nearly ended her life, but was once again counseled to let her live as a Coagulant by Drogher, who needed only direct his attention to the corpses left in her wake to indicate her strength. With resentful agreement from Ruin, Bramble was assigned to tend her wounds.
Upon waking from the torpor her wounds had inflicted, the snapper resigned herself to life as one of the very dragons she had intent to destroy. She'd already been infected by their parasite during her battle; she had no dragons left to return to should she leave. Still mourning the loss of those she had known, a wholly ironic thought crossed her mind: these dragons were the only family she had. From then on, Gloom was brought any eggs the other Coagulants scavenged. They would never replace those she had lost, but they would give her some semblance of comfort.
Once more, dead were carried to The Wyrmwound, those who had fallen during Gloom's frenzied attack. The bodies sunk below the murky filth, offerings to The Plaguebringer. When the last corpse submerged, the Coagulants turned to leave, when muted shrieking was heard under the surface. A skeletal revenant hauled itself from The Wyrmwound, loosing shrill screams as filth dripped from its body. Once it settled, the creature of bones identified itself as Gorse, long presumed dead.
With flesh clinging only to necessary parts of the body for movement, and no skin remaining, there was no way to be certain; yet the Coagulants that questioned the claim were silenced when Ruin solemnly welcomed her back into their ranks. Alongside the first Coagulant once more, they returned to their lair, wordlessly celebrating her rebirth.
Consuming Like Flesh
As their numbers grew, the Coagulants found themselves lacking for food. Particularly harsh seasons in The Scarred Wasteland hampered their hunting parties, and dragons were beginning to go hungry. Finding a food source became a necessity, and Ruin showed his cruel hand once again with a plan to solve their hunger.
The Coagulants had not bred since infection; the parasite subdued such urges, pushing dragons toward its own agenda. As there were few that cared for hatchlings, Ruin would have dragons pair and produce eggs. Once hatched, the dragons inside would be overfed as they grew in size, until large enough to make for apt meals.
Bramble, somewhat less affected by the parasite than most, occasionally made attempts to shepherd some of The Clot's hatchlings to safety, curing them of their infection before setting them loose to what he could only hope would be more fulfilling lives. However, The Clot boasted considerable numbers, and he was only one dragon. He was often questioned as to his disappearances, and while capable of giving reasonable answers, it simply became too dangerous to attempt alone.
The practice continued for many years, and it became more ritualistic than a necessity. Many Coagulants would only devour meat that had been "strengthened" by their parasite, and swore off game completely. The few that did not care for cannibalism could forage for their own meals, though were often considered weak for their reluctance.
As corpses were stripped clean, bones were left in their wake. Instead of leaving the osseous matter where it lay, Ruin ordered the Coagulants to use the bones as a marker of The Clot's territory. Opposing clans quickly learned just how far reaching the Coagulants' grip was; along their borders, grotesque effigies of bone were built. Some were simple towers, while the more creative crafted theirs as mockeries of dragonkin, sporting additional limbs, heads, or tails, held together with haphazard materials. Even if they fell apart, dragons began to grow accustomed to the signs: finding either a pile of bones or a cobbled statue meant they had strayed far too close to the territory of demented cannibals.
Consuming Like Flesh
As their numbers grew, the Coagulants found themselves lacking for food. Particularly harsh seasons in The Scarred Wasteland hampered their hunting parties, and dragons were beginning to go hungry. Finding a food source became a necessity, and Ruin showed his cruel hand once again with a plan to solve their hunger.
The Coagulants had not bred since infection; the parasite subdued such urges, pushing dragons toward its own agenda. As there were few that cared for hatchlings, Ruin would have dragons pair and produce eggs. Once hatched, the dragons inside would be overfed as they grew in size, until large enough to make for apt meals.
Bramble, somewhat less affected by the parasite than most, occasionally made attempts to shepherd some of The Clot's hatchlings to safety, curing them of their infection before setting them loose to what he could only hope would be more fulfilling lives. However, The Clot boasted considerable numbers, and he was only one dragon. He was often questioned as to his disappearances, and while capable of giving reasonable answers, it simply became too dangerous to attempt alone.
The practice continued for many years, and it became more ritualistic than a necessity. Many Coagulants would only devour meat that had been "strengthened" by their parasite, and swore off game completely. The few that did not care for cannibalism could forage for their own meals, though were often considered weak for their reluctance.
As corpses were stripped clean, bones were left in their wake. Instead of leaving the osseous matter where it lay, Ruin ordered the Coagulants to use the bones as a marker of The Clot's territory. Opposing clans quickly learned just how far reaching the Coagulants' grip was; along their borders, grotesque effigies of bone were built. Some were simple towers, while the more creative crafted theirs as mockeries of dragonkin, sporting additional limbs, heads, or tails, held together with haphazard materials. Even if they fell apart, dragons began to grow accustomed to the signs: finding either a pile of bones or a cobbled statue meant they had strayed far too close to the territory of demented cannibals.
