#daggerless;

Was this just an excuse to show off that the new tradesdragon apparel lets me dress pig like a dirty mechanic? yes.

but I also need to establish more inter-personal connections to the dragons in my lore, so they can have a blurb to justify the activity.

Sometimes, you find a dragon that fits a character better than the previous one so now you've spent nearly 20 actual real life dollars to replace an already fully gened g1.

I'M GONNA TALK ABOUT DAGGERLESS AND MAL FOR WBW OKAY? OKAY.

I'm gonna mention The Child too, so tw for dragon death, emperor-type stuff, etc.

Daggerless {She/her} and Mal {He/Him}

A pair who have been in direct conflict since Mal's arrival in Earth Flight nearly 20 years ago, Nikaeli Daggerless and Mal Flintlock are two sides of the same tarnished coin. Both neglected or completely orphaned since childhood with a talent for fighting, rustling and treasure hunting, the two of them have a storied and particularly tense history with one another- Because despite their similarities that one might imagine would endear them to each other, their motives remain a sticking point that has led to The Diamond Riot and The Tarnished Dames operating against their rival crew on every dig, deal, or delve either's been hired to carry out.

The Tarnished Dames: Automa {She/It}, Revolver {They/It}, Aetumnal {She/Her}, Peeko {He/Him}

Daggerless is a preservationist- raised by a Snapper woman who studied the local history, legends, and mapped the tombs and temples she was made privy to in her cherished home of Earth, she instilled her young charge with the same reverence for the past, an affection for those who came before her, those who built the groundwork that modern clans operate on- tradition and culture left where it belongs, let to rest safe and sound in final resting places- only moved when those places of rest might fall victim to the march of time- or those who seek to pillage them- those like Mal Flintlock.

Raised by a wildclaw with a vested love of the Plague ideals that made her, Mal was trained to take, lie, cheat, and rustle his way to survival, riches, and success- and he proved incredibly capable of all of these tasks. Smaller in stature than many of his fellows, and given his strangely feathery hide for a Pearlcatcher, it's assumed he wasn't born with the pearl he now holds tight in cybernetic claws, but whatever species he resembled previously, he's remained rather tight-lipped over. The only people Mal seems to respect are his own crew, The Diamond Riot- or people willing to pay him for his work. A charmer with a gift of gab and a vested love for adventure, he delves into depths below for renown and treasure time and again, in a constant race against Daggerless and her crew to obtain the long-abandoned prize in dusty, dimly lit tombs- the way he sees it, it's of no use, buried deep below- surely, the person making his pockets fatter with coin has a better use for the dingy artifacts he and his crew procure than the long-dead dragon who was previously its owner.

The Diamond Riot: Tearmarsh {She/Him}, Shuck {She/Her}, Rezonant {They/She} Arizona {He/Him}

Both intelligent and capable in the face of danger, with a crew that's more like a family backing their movements, the clash of these two tomb-raiding titans leaves ripples across the towns, cities, and clans they pass through seeking rumors and leads, and it's upon their closely-timed arrival in a nondescript little ghost town in Dragonhome that their greatest adventure begins.

Some "treasures" are not to be coveted at all.

Jersey {He/Him}, Fool/"The Child" {All Pronouns, she/her preference}, Georgia {She/Her}

Some treasures, buried so deep below, are treasured only by those too sentimental to smite them- some treasures are like The Child. A massive, sprawling emperor made only of the progeny of a lesser God and a once-cherished Queen, The Child is rotten, exposed bone and flesh still bound in golden chains and thick stone, restraints that held and were maintained by the clan of Dusthide caretakers who monitored her resting place for centuries- at least, until drills broke ground on her hidden tomb. She stirs, now, huge in her labyrinthian cradle, sobbing for her parents to embrace her, a mother long-dead and a father no longer listening. In her sorrow, in their confusion- The Child lashes out, and the underground city of The Cradle now serves as a hunting ground-