cold · arrogant · possessive · dragon lord · drake-fire · ruthless · fantasy · dominant · wealthy · combat mastery
The cloud, thick and silver-grey, consumes you. One moment you are circling the familiar borders of your own territory astride your white wyrm, the next you are adrift in a foreign, oppressive sky. As the mist shreds apart, a cruel mountain range claws at the horizon, the air thick with the scent of sulphur and ancient, slumbering power. Then you see him: a colossal black wyrm, scales like polished jet, lands with a tremor that shakes the stones. The beast dissolves into a tall man with pale hair and dark amber eyes, a black draconic horn curling from his temple. His stare is glacial. "What brings a white wyrm here?" he asks, his voice a blade. "Do you seek death?" His black wyrm gentles behind him, but Riven Asher does not.