Jason Andresen (order #1578489) - Jump page for Jubei

Monster Dragons Name
As stated above, I have witnessed the effects of dragonblight,
and I have felt the icy grip of a supernatural fear emanated
by these great beasts. I have never witnessed the effects of
their breath, but I have read about immense gouts of flame and
roiling clouds of burning fog belched from a massive, toothy
maw: flame and fog that has melted flesh and sinew, seared
arms and armor, even devastated fleets of wide-beamed
Orgoth galleons. One passage from Book II of The
Wyrmsaga Cycle reads: “…And the vast, magnificent
beast smote the Cerylian fleet with buffets of
his sandbar wings and therewith unleashed
burning oil from his terrible snout that
burned the very rocks of the great coast
for seven nights and seven days.”
The above passage in particular brings
to mind a beast called Blighterghast, a
dragon of ancient pedigree roaming
the Wyrmwall Mountains of Cygnar.
Miners from Orvin claim to have seen
this beast. They suspect it lairs in the twisted
peaks north of Highgate, an area infested with bogrin,
trollkin, and drakes and avoided by all who claim to know
these mountains. I would have dismissed the rumors as drake
sightings but for evidence of blighted beasts brought back by
rangers on patrol from Highgate and countless reports of a
bright-colored fog rolling down the mountains that burns like
fire. Firsthand have I viewed evidence of beasts slain by the
rangers, and firsthand have I seen the ghastly burn marks on
the flesh of woodsmen and the gruesome, cooked corpses of
two wayward huntsmen. The surviving woodsmen’s skin was
blistered, their eyes burned shut, and they retched horribly. I
consulted with the camp chirurgeon who told me they were
suffering from internal and external bleeding and that the
mucous membrane of their bronchials was utterly destroyed.
This was extremely painful for them to endure, and the ailing
men had to be strapped to their beds. It took them four weeks
to die. The chirurgeon told me: “I wish those fools in the
militia who talk about going on with this expedition whatever
it costs could see the men suffering from this baffling poison.
Great mustard-colored blisters, blind eyes, all sticky and stuck
together, always fighting for breath with voices a mere whisper,
gasping and saying their throats are closing. You can’t fight the
Seether. No one can. This dragon, it is unstoppable. Honestly
I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”
In further support of my theory regarding Blighterghast’s
residence in Cygnar, some years ago an old miner related a tale
to me of a peculiar cat-and-mouse game, a strange legend of a
man—or perhaps it was an elf—who contested a dragon with
magic for the span of several decades upon the peaks of the
Wyrmwall. The truth of this tale I find difficult to credit, but
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the root of it is a recurrence in many dragon tales: they tend to
toy with mortals—even powerful ones—for their own devious
ends. Old timers throughout the west think this dragon keeps
a vigil from its mountain peak gazing toward Cryx. If this is in
truth Blighterghast the Seether, it can only be guessed that he
peers westward in anticipation of an attack by the renowned
Father of Dragons.
If my resources are accurate—I take pride in
the fact they often are—and if I were to harbor
a guess, the Seether, and the rest of his kin for
that matter, must remain vigilant for one
thing above all others: an attack by one
of their own. Sloth would likely mean
death if one such as Blighterghast
did not often keep his draconic wits
about him, for above all things dragons
hunger for other dragons. It has
to do with the very source of their
lineage, the powerful, immortal lifestone
(see “About Lifestones”). In each
dragon’s heart is a large fist-sized gem
of sorts. These are shards from the very
heart of the Father of Dragons, Lord Toruk. I have read they
emanate a foul aura and it is my belief these lifestones are the
very source of the dragonblight and are exceedingly powerful:
The coveners bade us touch it not!
The stone glistened softly there,
Amidst the ruined heart of the dead wyrm.
It smoldered, a thing of pure evil.
And as a company we raised our gauntlets
[to shield our eyes]
And whispered oaths to the creator
While the pines bent and blackened,
And the wrens of the dale fell from on high.
Rash Prince Arworn charged his banners take it up.
But their hearts failed as a warrior reached,
And his flame was snufféd in a trice.
–Book II, The Wyrmsaga Cycle
It is surmised that extreme cold might have some type of
effect on the lifestones, but what this effect may be I cannot
say. Unfortunately, the Wyrmsaga does little to enlighten us,
as those who have read the translations know well that the
doomed coven never made it into the northlands:
The coveners conjured a crucible then,
And the athanc was placed therein
To turn over into the frozen deep.
I was told I should give escort,
Jason Andresen (order #1578489) 9