@decaffeinated
here's the lore for Ares.
Ares is a champion, an incredible talent, a phenomenal competitor, one of the fastest dragon there is and an insufferable braggart. An accomplished racer he might be, a famous warrior he might be known as, but he is anything but a pleasant person to be around for more then a couple of minutes. “I”, must his favorite word followed by “am” and “the best” complete the podium. It seems it was always like so from the moment he emerged out of his egg, early compared to the rest of his clutch as expected. He was the first dragon of his age group to fly and the first one to cast a spell, a frigid bolt no less. He was also the most performant pupil. He would mention to whom might listen that the reason he was golden was because the gods wanted everybody to instantaneously know that he was the best, a walking and flying gold medal. Ares might have been a great asset for his clan, a great messenger, scout and soldier, but everybody has its limits. The only friends he had were sycophants and few were able to stand and with time that group grew ever smaller.
Finally, one day, it was enough for everybody. Ares had been put in charge of some new scouts on a foraging mission, but so far they had been very unsuccessful. Other dragons had already reached and gathered all the edible plants in the area, but instead of turning back empty handed, Ares decided to press on. He had never returned empty handed before and was not about to abandon his perfect streak. A sudden late autumn blizzard struck, the group was too far to get to their shelter. They had to find a new one in terrible condition. When the blizzard finally stopped one young dragon had been lost never to be seen again. On his return, Ares was seen as responsible for his death. He had let once again his ego take over his judgement and this time someone else had to pay for it. He was thus condemned to exile out of the Frigid Floes and into the Ashfall Waste, enemy territory.
For the first time in his life Ares didn’t felt like a champion and a winner, not only because he had failed and was responsible for a death, but also because he just realised that all of his so called victories and records never afforded him like a family or even a true friend. And so lonely and half broken he was left to roam this strange, dangerous and foreign land. Ares didn’t know where to go or really what was the point of all this. No one would ever accept him within their clan he thought. He was a liability and a bad person. He did work as a scout and a gatherer for some fire clan once in a while for a handful of food, but never stayed, neither was he welcomed. That’s when he learned of a distant refuge deep in the Molten Scar where some exiled dragons like him had found a refuge, but the place was difficult to find in the ever shifting landscape. For the first time in a while, Ares had hope. Maybe there was a place for him. Maybe there would be redemption after all. All that he needed was some courage, which he still had in plenty, strong wings, which were stronger than ever, and a sharp mind, which had finally gain back its edge. He would find the Cinder Marsh.
here's the lore for Ares.
Ares is a champion, an incredible talent, a phenomenal competitor, one of the fastest dragon there is and an insufferable braggart. An accomplished racer he might be, a famous warrior he might be known as, but he is anything but a pleasant person to be around for more then a couple of minutes. “I”, must his favorite word followed by “am” and “the best” complete the podium. It seems it was always like so from the moment he emerged out of his egg, early compared to the rest of his clutch as expected. He was the first dragon of his age group to fly and the first one to cast a spell, a frigid bolt no less. He was also the most performant pupil. He would mention to whom might listen that the reason he was golden was because the gods wanted everybody to instantaneously know that he was the best, a walking and flying gold medal. Ares might have been a great asset for his clan, a great messenger, scout and soldier, but everybody has its limits. The only friends he had were sycophants and few were able to stand and with time that group grew ever smaller.
Finally, one day, it was enough for everybody. Ares had been put in charge of some new scouts on a foraging mission, but so far they had been very unsuccessful. Other dragons had already reached and gathered all the edible plants in the area, but instead of turning back empty handed, Ares decided to press on. He had never returned empty handed before and was not about to abandon his perfect streak. A sudden late autumn blizzard struck, the group was too far to get to their shelter. They had to find a new one in terrible condition. When the blizzard finally stopped one young dragon had been lost never to be seen again. On his return, Ares was seen as responsible for his death. He had let once again his ego take over his judgement and this time someone else had to pay for it. He was thus condemned to exile out of the Frigid Floes and into the Ashfall Waste, enemy territory.
For the first time in his life Ares didn’t felt like a champion and a winner, not only because he had failed and was responsible for a death, but also because he just realised that all of his so called victories and records never afforded him like a family or even a true friend. And so lonely and half broken he was left to roam this strange, dangerous and foreign land. Ares didn’t know where to go or really what was the point of all this. No one would ever accept him within their clan he thought. He was a liability and a bad person. He did work as a scout and a gatherer for some fire clan once in a while for a handful of food, but never stayed, neither was he welcomed. That’s when he learned of a distant refuge deep in the Molten Scar where some exiled dragons like him had found a refuge, but the place was difficult to find in the ever shifting landscape. For the first time in a while, Ares had hope. Maybe there was a place for him. Maybe there would be redemption after all. All that he needed was some courage, which he still had in plenty, strong wings, which were stronger than ever, and a sharp mind, which had finally gain back its edge. He would find the Cinder Marsh.
