Maldor

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There is an old wive’s tale, a story Broodmothers tell hatchlings, and that is the one of the Corrupt King.

No one knew where he came from. Some say he crawled out of The Wyrmwound, others that the Plaguebringer created him herself.

The truth is, his evil spawned from jealousy. His older brother, Onyxan. Always the favorite. Always getting the attention. He swore revenge. His parents didn't care for him. They acted like they did, but he could tell. He could see it in their eyes. So, Maldor left. He left his lair, his brother, his parents, and the lair. He took nothing but his pride. He carried himself as if he owned the land, and, in reality, he did. He terrorized the unfortunate lairs in the Abiding Boneyard, killing hatchlings, and stealing treasure. He was the Alpha around these parts, and made sure to show it. Blood covered his claws with every step. Nobody dared upset him, as they feared his rage.


One particular sweltering summer day, as he was prowling the Rotrock Rim for easy prey, he was confronted by his father and several dragons from his old clan. They fought, carved soon-to-be scars in his scales, and he was chased out of Plague territory, and into the Tangled Wood. The forest was intimidating to him, and he hated it. The way the trees mocked his every step, the shadows that dance at dawn, teasing, and the shadows that dance at dusk, taunting. Almost as if the Shadowbinder was welcoming this newcomer, he happened upon a small Nocturne. All of Maldor’s anger bubbled up and he lunged to kill it, when a blue Skydancer swooped in and snatched the Nocturne out from under the claws of the Imperial.

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