A single, talon sized ice sculpture of an icewing sits before you, its stance frozen in a regal sit, head held low in curt modesty. The detail is breathtaking, a product of undoubtably hours of skilled work and practice.

“Haze, dragonet of the third circle.” The otherworldly talon shifts the sculpture. Below the base, a signature of the aforementioned icewing. “Born into a life of luxury, stability, or perhaps too much of it...” With a flick of the wrist, the sculpture hums in response.

Before your very eyes, the sculpture appears to age. Its posture remains fixed, sitting in silence, head hung in shame. The finer details fade and recede, as if eroded by a never ending storm. It was as if it were more a relic than an art piece

“Only months before the war’s official end, an unfortunate attack on an innocent icewing caravan. To stoop as low as kill even a dragonet for selfish politics. Hmph. How barbaric. I am surprised a dragonet could survive such grievous wounds. Or, well, if he had been alone, even if he didn’t realize he was not. A small fortunate chance amongst a nebula of horrific fate. Condemned upon his return, branded a traitor and cast out. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. He doesn’t realize escaping such a place is a blessing in disguise. What I would give to raze such a... Ahem. Never mind. This dragon provokes a grew interest in me. Perhaps because of the irony of such a fate. How a system could destroy a dragonet in the span of a year. I take pity on such a creature.”

(Neutral, hostile, friendly, old, and blank scenarios available)