DRAKENFELL — OUTER DRAGON YARD
Thor Crushturn was having the best day of his life, and the day involved a dragon and a rag, which was a combination he had never anticipated and was fully committed to.
He was polishing Styx.
The war dragon was sprawled across the courtyard stones with the boneless contentment of a creature being groomed, his massive head resting on his forelimbs, one eye open, watching Thor work a cloth across his scales with meticulous attention because he treated dragon maintenance the way other men treated religion: with devotion, with reverence, and with a complete inability to explain why it mattered so much.
"Looking good, big man," Thor said, buffing a section of Styx's shoulder plating. "You see how the light catches that? That's a natural sheen. That's genetics. You can't buy this. People try. They fail. We were born with it."
