Paperwork

 

 

Magnus massaged his temples, as he looked down at the papers and books strewn across his mahogany desk, his beak set in a thin line as he tried his best to focus, and not be distracted. 

 

Distraction wasn't an option, after all. He had to find the papers on this little monster that had decided to bond with him, without  his permission, and definitely before he was at all prepared for it in the slightest. Being a breeder was one thing, of course. Many eggs changed from his feathered hands to another set, feathered or not, to either give a surplus to the Milita's soldiers who came to him for numbers to bolster their ranks after dragons, or more likely riders, perished in the ridiculous war going on on his own home planet. 

 

Honestly, in his opinion, the Milita was the best damn thing to happen to this washed up rock in a decade, and with all the treasures they were willing to trade for him for his assistance? All the technology at their disposal? Wonderful, it would push their civilisation light years ahead of where they currently were, and where they currently  were, in his opinion, had been stagnating. Afraid of change, and the effort it would take to become something more.

 

So as a result, Magnus, with his acres of land and fondness for dragon breeding that had been passed down for many a generation through his family line, hadn't thought twice about it when he'd been given the small, unassuming egg from a passing general. 

 

He had found it on his travels, and since there weren't many trainers or breeders or, even riders in his barracks, he gave them to him free of charge with a stack of scribbled papers for a pedigree that Magnus had been dubious about from the start, but... the egg had been such a shining, dark, iridescent thing that he had been too intrigued to let slide out of his clutches. 

 

So he took the egg home with him, incubated it with his nursing dragon, and within a small span of time - here he was. And  he looked nothing like either of his supposed parents. The sheets must have been forged, Magnus slowly realized, because this dragon was completely see through, to the point where he could see its little organs sloshing around inside its chest cavity, and almost every bone in its body, though he was sure that there were some missing traits on it - like its wing frames. 

 

Further research proved it to be a side effect of something called Wither, something the Baron had never actually seen before in his own dragons. Before this creature, the one who was sat next to him this whole time, nudging his arm and squeaking little words of encouragement now and again through the connection it had decided to forge with him once it had exited its egg and come to find him, specifically him, to bond with. Not the independent dragon who nursed him, not any of his stable hands, not any of the nearby militia stationaries, no - him.

 

Before this dragon, a child he'd named 'Glassworm' for his - he was 50% sure it was a he, anyway -  penchant to stretch himself out to ungodly proportions and slither around his neck or over his desk any time the feeling overcame him. It was a sweet thing, he supposed, and since he couldn't very well try and work out where he came from or what kind of dragon he was unless he had him in front of his beak, he'd done something he'd never done before, and allowed a dragon inside his house. It had definitely been quite the experience, and one he'd not been keen to try again, but he was frightening enough to keep people who tried to oppose him, at least for a while, rather subdued more then his Jungle dragons before him had done. Poison and venom could only do so much after all, and it was a surprise that it worked at all - for a while he'd just killed them accidentally, considering how potent baby dragons of the Jungle element could be, and sure, he'd had other elements mix with his Jungles before. It was exceedingly hard to breed purely Jungle elemented dragons, with purely jungle element traits, when magic was such a malleable and volatile force, something you could neither predict or manage unless the dragon was willing to let you do so.

 

But the Dark element? No, he had never encountered that particular one. And he decided after the fourth complainer ran screaming from his home, when he'd showed his dark dragon expand in size, threaten with fangs, evaporate into a pervasive mist and scare the everloving soul out of anybody who decided to speak out to him? He'd grown... affectionate, towards the mischievous thing. 

 

Which left one problem - his lineage. For Magnus now had plans, that, if this dragon coud bond to him, then other Dark elemented dragons might to. Breeding a dragon that could not only poison, but also strike fear into the hearts of his people and his enemies? Even better. 

 

But to breed Glassworm, he had to know and understand what he was made of, and that proved even harder. So Magnus had been pouring over ever record of ever breeder or adventurer who decided to log their findings, to see if he could find a match. He had been here for hours, Glassworm at his side as he usually was, nudging scrolls curiously and nuzzling against his arm, that he eventually closed his eyes and gave up for a well earned nap. 

 

He wasn't getting any younger, and these breeding records weren't getting any shorter. There was always time, after all, to find the origin of his dragons. Perhaps he would make one of his serveants do it next time? 

 

Glassworm, hearing his thoughts, mearly squeaked and nuzzled into his chest.