A single padded finger. That's how it began. A tail of incredible strength slammed into the curve of the sluagh's abdomen. The ice dragon was defending itself while attempting to protect the hatchling from a nearby night-stalker. What the other being wanted with the dragon the sluagh did not know. Still, as the smooth scales of the beast's tail dug into her skin with the force of a rockslide grotesque fingers wrapped themselves around the top of the oncoming appendage for dear life.
Glamour is a curious thing. It can be held and harbored by many of the fae race, but it must be exchanged or stimulated in a certain way before it can be harnassed and used as a force. Dragons are the best portal for the exchange and release of faery glamour. Thousands of years ago the sluagh had been servants to the great dragons of the East. Almost slavish in nature they would steal, hunt, and die for the beasts. A sluagh would collect souls in the blackness of their hollow beings and upon touching the winged reptiles their energy would be released and turned into power which could be used for their own devices.
A black substance oozed from the sluagh's fingertips whenever she latched onto the matronly ice dragon's tail. The scent of decay....the death of nearby a hundred harbored souls was released into the air. The dragon's power was stolen without her consent, and yet it would not drain her in any measurable way. The sluagh floated in the nirvana of being able to once again taste the power of Arcadia.
The exchange would last only a few seconds, but the benefits from that single touch would last the sluagh decades to come. Basking in the dragon's power didn't last for long as the piercing sensation of one sword and then another came crashing through the sluagh's dream state. The creature did not bleed as the metal slashed through her outer coating of pale flesh. Instead the guardians would see only shadow and a strange nether-substance lurking beneath the surface. The attack aimed at her neck caused the sluagh to let out a banshee's shriek. It was enough to ensure her escape.
The trouble with trying to kill a sluagh is that they are dead already. A creature welcomed in neither heaven nor hell is granted immortality whether they wish for it or not.
Glamour is a curious thing. It can be held and harbored by many of the fae race, but it must be exchanged or stimulated in a certain way before it can be harnassed and used as a force. Dragons are the best portal for the exchange and release of faery glamour. Thousands of years ago the sluagh had been servants to the great dragons of the East. Almost slavish in nature they would steal, hunt, and die for the beasts. A sluagh would collect souls in the blackness of their hollow beings and upon touching the winged reptiles their energy would be released and turned into power which could be used for their own devices.
A black substance oozed from the sluagh's fingertips whenever she latched onto the matronly ice dragon's tail. The scent of decay....the death of nearby a hundred harbored souls was released into the air. The dragon's power was stolen without her consent, and yet it would not drain her in any measurable way. The sluagh floated in the nirvana of being able to once again taste the power of Arcadia.
The exchange would last only a few seconds, but the benefits from that single touch would last the sluagh decades to come. Basking in the dragon's power didn't last for long as the piercing sensation of one sword and then another came crashing through the sluagh's dream state. The creature did not bleed as the metal slashed through her outer coating of pale flesh. Instead the guardians would see only shadow and a strange nether-substance lurking beneath the surface. The attack aimed at her neck caused the sluagh to let out a banshee's shriek. It was enough to ensure her escape.
The trouble with trying to kill a sluagh is that they are dead already. A creature welcomed in neither heaven nor hell is granted immortality whether they wish for it or not.