Turpentine Dragons are named for the oil that covers their scales. This oil resembles turpentine in odor and is mildly toxic; it will not kill but it burns to the touch and will cause illness in anyone who ingests it. Turpentine Dragons roam in large packs, often stealing food from larger dragons, though they are able to hunt for themselves if necessary. Many other breeds consider Turpentine Dragons to be pests, so they primarily breed among themselves.

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.

Terp doesn't know what to believe anymore. He hasn't ever since he read the Scrolls of the Gone.

On one side, he knows the Gone existed. His Before-Memory shows him so. On the other... He doesn't know if his Before-Memory is accurate, for what he sees defies the records.

He sees mountains erupting in great spews of fire and wrath, Magma dragons roaring in pain as their element tears from their control. He sees glaciers and great plains of ice cracking, breaking—shattering completely and utterly, Ice dragons howling and screaming. He sees tornadoes and storms flooding the land and scarring it, the Thunder dragons struggling and failing to fly in the chaos.

Then he sees the Guardian, sitting upright in perfect stillness. His chest is stained a deep red crimson, His eyes are closed as though He sleeps. Humans have reveled in His death; objects for celebrations lay around His corpse.

Terp does not know what to believe, but if this is truth, then perhaps the massacre was karmic.