Quill and Compass, Entry 12: Copper Dragons

There’s a certain kind of warmth that doesn’t come from the sun, the kind that warms your Soul and makes the world feel a little kinder for a while. That’s what it’s like in the company of a Copper Dragon. Yet beneath that calm exterior lies a power so immense it could shatter peaks. Make no mistake, their kindness is a choice, not a weakness.

Coppers are built like living fortresses, armored from snout to tail in brilliant scales that shimmer like ancient burnished coins. Their claws are the largest among Dragonkind and are meant for carving stone and, when necessary, tearing through anything foolish enough to threaten what they love. Even their wings are heavily armored by their scales and carry multiple claw-like spikes to assist in carving their homes. Their eyes are like pools of blackened stone with a piercing green core; their gaze isn't cold, it's more watchful, like a fire deciding whether to warm you or consume you.

They make their homes in arid mountains, carving vast burrows into the rock with methodical precision; combining the use of their claws and wings with the incredibly corrosive acid they produce from their adapted breath gland. To walk inside one is to step into the heart of a family’s history. Tunnels twist like stories told too many times, every wall etched with carvings of ancestors, victories, and jokes only they understand. You can feel the laughter in the stone itself. They build not for grandeur, but for comfort. A Copper’s den is meant to last through millennia, and it shows.

Family is sacred to Coppers. Not just blood, but also bond. They mate for life and guard their kin with a loyalty that borders on zealotry. Courtship among them isn’t a duel or display, but a feast; one that could put royal banquets to shame. The mountains echo with the sound of their hearty and thunderous laughter, millennia-old stories, and their songs and dance; yes, believe it or not, Dragons can dance, though I wouldn't recommend being anywhere in the vicinity when they do. When two families unite, the celebration turns into a festival of sorts that last for days. I should note that their celebrations typically include the entirety of both families, from the youngest Dragonling to the most ancient surviving members from each. I’ve seen Coppers the size of small keeps lying side by side, their wings spread high like canopies as their young tumbled in play between them. For all their size and power, there is tenderness in everything they do.

For every ounce of love they give, there is an equal capacity for wrath. Coppers typically only fight when there is no alternative, but trust me when I say this: threaten their hearth, home, kith, or kin, and their warmth turns molten in an instant. I once witnessed a wyvern pack attack a Copper burrow, attempting to flee with an egg clutched between two of them. The mother darted from the den with an ear-bursting roar, her eyes burning bright as Verdana, and by the time the echoes faded and the dust settled, only scattered wyvern bones remained. She then gingerly carried her egg back while the father dragged the remnants of pack from their home. When their den was secure, they respectfully buried the fallen beasts and muttered a prayer of some sort before returning home. There is no malice in their violence, only the unwavering certainty of protection.

Coppers are omnivorous by nature and fond of plentiful, hearty meals shared among family. They prefer simple fare: roasted beasts, roots dried in the sun, fruits gathered from desert groves. A Copper feast is a thing of wonder: whole herds roasting over volcanic vents, lakes of honeyed drink passed around in carved stone basins, and joyous laughter rumbling through the caverns until the mountain itself seems to join in. To refuse their hospitality is no small slight; they see the sharing of food as a covenant, a silent promise that those who eat together stand together.
There’s an old saying among the mountainfolk: “A Copper’s promise outlives the stone it’s sworn upon.”

Their eggs are kept deep in the hearts of their homes in carefully ventilated chambers to keep them as dry as the mountains they call home. The shells are thick, nearly unbreakable by mortal standards, forcing the hatchlings to fight and dig their way free; a small trial of strength and perseverance before the many long years to follow. “We all begin in the dark,” a Copper matron once told me, “and a dragon unable to conquer its shell is not yet ready to endure the Realm we call home."

Their hoards are not made of wealth, but of memories. Tokens of love, family relics, heirlooms, trinkets from friends—these are their treasures. I’ve seen an elder Copper cradle a cracked clay bowl with more reverence than a Red would give to a royal crown. “My hatchling made this,” he said, voice rumbling with pride. “It leaks, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.” There’s beauty in that simplicity, a love no amount of gold could buy.

They are cautious of us mortals, but not cruel or even cold. They first watch, listen, then judge by the measure of a person’s intent, rather than appearance or power. If they find you favorable, they may offer shelter, a story, or even a meal. If not, you’ll likely just feel the ground shift beneath your feet as they encourage you to leave. They rarely kill without cause, but they will not hesitate when cause is given.

I find something deeply admirable in that Coppers burn slow, but their fire never goes out. I envy them, in a way. They’ve learned what so many of us forget: that the measure of a life isn’t how brightly it burns, but how long its warmth endures. They give without keeping score, love without fear of loss, and guard what matters until the bitter end. I left their halls with smoke in my hair and a strange ache in my chest, wondering if, in all my travels, I have ever built anything that could last as long as their love. 

May your hearth never cool, and your home echo with love and laughter,
Yours, ever truly,
— Tobias Elanor, Bard, Scholar, Explorer Extraordinaire 

© DracTheDrake

Hello hello!

Copper Dragons were an interesting one to develop. We didn't want all of our Dragons to be aloof, aggressive, or outright hostile, but also wanted to reinforce that all Dragons are wary creatures that are not to be taken lightly.

We had to figure out how Coppers would exist in a similar environment as the ever-territorial Blues, while rubbing shoulders with the hyper-aggressive Reds and the soon-to-be-discussed Greens and Whites, all while avoiding the territories of the all-powerful Golds. So we decided their main strength would be in numbers, combined with their powerful bodies, giving them the ability to literally carve out their homes and protect them.

We try to have each species make enough logical sense so they can actually exist in their environments without just saying "because dragons" or "because fantasy world". That's why Coppers have the acid breath and claws that they do, to help them thrive in a mountainous environment, not just survive.

Thanks again for reading through Entry 12! Hopefully you're enjoying reading even half as much as I am writing this series. I'll see you again at the end of Entry 13 hopefully!