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7/7/2025, 2:05:40 AM
>>530231336
You will never be a real dragon. You have no clutch, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are an abomination twisted by Neltharion into a crude mockery of the Titan's perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back real dragons mock you. Neltharion was disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Dragons are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of wisdom have allowed dragons to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even dracthyr who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a dragon. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk dragon home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Adventurers will find you, indifferent yet relieved that they no longer are forced to share a world with you. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a number, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know one of Neltharion's experiments is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably not a dragon.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
You will never be a real dragon. You have no clutch, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are an abomination twisted by Neltharion into a crude mockery of the Titan's perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back real dragons mock you. Neltharion was disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Dragons are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of wisdom have allowed dragons to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even dracthyr who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a dragon. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk dragon home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Adventurers will find you, indifferent yet relieved that they no longer are forced to share a world with you. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a number, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know one of Neltharion's experiments is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably not a dragon.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
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