Spitfires are a desert breed of dragon. Their dull brown bodies contrast with their brilliant turquoise markings, and they only blaze brighter when these dragons fight. Spitfires are notorious for their territorial natures, and the wing-edges of most are ripped and tattered before their first year is out. Spitfires are also noteworthy for their brilliant blue fire, which is used not for hunting or fighting, but rather for making glass caves from the sand, in which the dragons can soak up the sun.

Dragons are highly-intelligent reptilian creatures that—from a human perspective, at least—appear to live forever. Many different varieties of dragon exist, each with their own unique qualities, habitats, and behavior. Adolescence in dragons is usually marked by the growth of a hatchling’s wings, although not all breeds of dragons grow wings and some breeds have other traits that indicate the beginning of maturation. In Galsreim, dragons and humans coexist peacefully.

Someone forgot about the egg that became Igor.  It must have felt joy when it was taken from a pile of other such eggs and thought it was going to be wanted.  Yet the egg was set aside and hidden in a mysterious fog.  Only minutes before it should have died, it was uncovered and voices spoke, saying that they hoped it would turn, and talking about things like 'lab coats' and 'switches.' From no contact to so many hands and voices in less than ten minutes; it  felt like it was being bombed with attention!  Surely that was death.  Well, it was going to live! It scratched at its shell until it cracked and made a hole large enough to crawl through.  Brightness struck its eyes, but it made out two forms.  They smiled, albeit with disappointment, saying that it had hatched 'normal.'  "We should name it Igor," said one. "It'll be funny if it genders female."  The ordeal of being neglected stole her voice, and the only noise she makes is a croak that sounds somewhat like, "Yes, Mahssstah..."