The
sound of their wings could be heard from
the plateau below. Whelps, hundreds of them.
The tiny creatures, so integral to Nefarious
plan stood before us in uncounted magnitude.
Tiny dragons from every flight were present,
Black, Blue, Green and even Bronze. Flying
aimlesly, oblivious to the grim fate before
them. The Light only knew what terrible
horrors awaited these ones noble creatures.
One
thing was certain, without them Nefarious'
army would cease to grow. It would be
only a matter of time before the numbers
of the bastard Chromatic flight would
dwindle, leaving the Lord of Blackrock
unguarded and ready to be brought to justice.
At the end of the rookery we found him,
the Broodlord. He stood there, surveying
the multitude of baby dragons and occassionaly
barking orders to the patrolling Hatchers.
There could be no doubt Lashlayer held
the key to the corruption of the whelps,
without him there would be no chromatic
flight.
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