Black Marrows are named for their dark colored hides which are encased in a distinct exoskeleton. Their skull and the top edges of their spine push out from under the skin as they age. As such, their young need excessive amounts of calcium for this armor to develop. The older a Black Marrow dragon is, the more skeletal their appearance. They often use their skeletal looks to lure in foolish scavengers or terrify predators. These vicious dragons love nothing more than to crack open bones with their stony beaks and eat the marrow inside. Voracious scavengers, Black Marrows will swarm and devour corpses both old and fresh, sometimes even dragging larger finds to the water to allow them to “ripen.” Despite their dreadful demeanour and often horrid stench, Black Marrows are devoted mates and parents.

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.

Ophelia loved someone once, of that she is sure. But clarity of thought is so hard for her to come by now. Whom she loved, and who loved her, remains a mystery locked in memory. She knows that there is someone who used to be by her side, but he is gone now, long gone. Perhaps she felt love for him, but perhaps not, as the thought of whoever was once there is now tainted with regret so much that any other emotion is long washed away. She is sad, she knows that, but she is incapable of comprehending her own distress. Sad like the willow, as it weeps into the river's flooded banks. The willow would miss the river if it was gone, she thinks. And now the willow is gone, just like whoever it was she once loved, and she is embraced by the cold waters of the brook rushing by. It is comforting, relaxing, and although she grieves the willow's passing, everything is better when she is cradled in the arms of the river. Maybe she will lie here just a little longer. And a little more.