Antisora

Night has fallen upon the forest. The phthalo green leaves shake with the wind. The rustling grows louder. You see a dark silhouette of a dragon in between the trees, blending into the darkness. The dark shape creeps closer. Suddenly it jumps out from behind a tree and razor sharp talons gleam an inch from your face. It’s a Wildclaw, you notice, as the talons land on your shoulder.

“TAG! You’re it!” They shriek in your ear before flying away, cackling.


She hatched alone in the Zephyr Steppes, her parents nowhere to be seen. A small group of Wildclaws, who had been traveling through the Steppes, took her in with the intention to drop her off at the next willing clan. But they found none and so she stayed with them, unwanted.

Throughout her childhood she struggled to prove herself, to prove she was more than a burden, someone no one wanted, not even her parents. She issued challenge after challenge, and though as a hatchling they were always ignored—there is no pride in beating a child—, as a teenager she managed to offend an important trade partner, causing him to sever all contact with the traveling band. The leader of the small group was not happy, and their arguing dissolved into combat.

She managed to escape but only with deep gouges on her side that left great scars. During her recovery she lived deep in the Shrieking Wilds, and established a small lair there. There was, close by, a clan that was always animated, always full of playful hatchlings and busy dragons. Lured in by her curiosity—there were no other children with her when she grew up—she spent weeks spying on the clan before a particularly observant young dragon noticed her. Instead of chasing her away, however, they became friends, and soon enough she became a member of the clan.

She found herself the sole hunter of the clan after the last one left.