Sitting upon the immense roof of her den, Ariespes overlooked her hatchlings playing together in the grass down below. Three little blessings… Or maybe more if one counted the child with two heads to count as more than a single individual.
Ironically, the one who had inherited part of his father's most noticeable attribute–His three heads–Was also the only one who had actually gotten his scales and draconic breath from Ariespes.
Making for a two-headed dragon with a strong predisposition toward wielding death and necromancy in particular. Though at the moment, he was still a baby. The eggs had hatched several years ago, but because of Ariespes's strong affinity for death, it seemed like they were growing at a very slow rate.
It was fine by her. Ariespes had believed for the longest time that all of her eggs would come out rotten and incapable of bearing life within them. They were miracles… Sinistre miracles.
