Some remember us from the Skeezick Rebellion. We used to charge rats for a living, hiding in caves and escaping all conflict. Back then, we used our ugly faces to tackle down our enemies, and every month we leapt to the top of a mountain to admire our dragon ancestors who could reach the skies. Soon after, two fellow shamans and his followers crossed our homeland, and most of my kind joined the herd and abandoned the dunes. Time went by and we visited all lands, we crossed the swamps and met pirate turtles, went further and fought demons and elves, we climbed mountains that could speak and crushed walls of thousand ages, until we met the dead and got sick of it. On our return home we met talking dogs and some of them joined us, but they smell too much to voil sheet in my opinion. The herd entered to a new empire and each of us found a place to stay in, when we were not in the back of our saviour shamans. You know the rest of the story, we fought side by side on several battles, and after our mutation we can now breath acid as much as myxs and still look handsome as draksars. The time has come to my kind, our lack of wings and blindness was a gift of our Dragon gods, we know the battlefield from the bottom, we can hear what cannot be seen, our time on the battlefield gave us much other senses our ancestors couldn't even imagine! This is the time for my kind to command you all!
