Quill and Compass, Entry 16: White Dragons
There are places deep within Gaiaxia where light has never touched. Where the air is heavy with moisture and the silence is broken only by the flow of underground rivers pushing through the dark. These caverns feel ancient in a way the surface rarely achieves; eons may pass, yet this limbo can remain largely unchanged. It is in this lightless realm that the White Dragons make their home, and the dark welcomes them where little else wishes to remain.
Calling them Dragons is technically accurate, though most of their kin would scoff at the notion. White Dragons are all but scaleless and ghostly pale, their skin has lost nearly all pigmentation and is smooth and leathery like that of a cave salamander. They have no eyes, only shallow indentations where sight once blessed their kind; though calling them blind would be a dangerous misunderstanding. They do not see as we do, but they perceive everything: the faintest tremor in the water, the shift in a cavern’s air, the sound of a boot scraping stone half a league away. Gill-like frills trail from their heads in place of horns. Their bodies are serpentine, ending in an incredibly powerful finned tail, and their wings have become broad, fin-like limbs built for swimming rather than flight; I have yet to see one successfully take to the air. Their teeth form regrowing rows of jagged, uneven blades sharp enough to pierce chitin and shred armor; I have, regrettably, seen exactly what they can do to a man who stepped where he should not. In their element, they move with unsettling ease, slipping through water, mud, and stone as if all three were the same substance.
White Dragons shape their homes into sprawling labyrinths of wet tunnels, where channels of cold water weave through chambers carved by their own claws. Some rooms are flooded to the ceiling, others are only damp, but all are filled with the constant drone of dripping mineral-rich water and the surge of underground springs and rivers. Walking those tunnels, you cannot shake the knowledge that the Dragon knows every current, hears every echo, and feels every breath you take long before you know it's nearby.
Their movement unsettles me in ways I struggle to put to paper. In the water, they glide with a ghostly elegance, slipping through the dark like pale ribbons caught in a current. Through stone, their claws shear through even granite as if tearing through fresh bread. On land, they slither in low, deliberate arcs, but are capable of surprising bursts of speed. Their Draconic Breath is no less disquieting. White Dragons do not exhale fire or frost, but instead compress the very air around them into concussive bursts of force, powerful enough to shatter bone in open air or rupture the bodies of creatures still submerged nearby.
Though they mate for life, finding a mate at all is a monumental challenge. Males wander blindly through the lightless world, following faint pheromone trails that may lead them to a female or to their doom. Females, meanwhile, spend years carving a home stable enough for her eggs: flooded chambers with tunnels shaped to funnel water from nearby underground sources. When a male finally finds her, the meeting is tense and unceremonious. There is no traditional courtship or flashy presentation; only an instinctual threat to protect her home, followed by a brief recognition, then acceptance. They mate, and the male leaves to hunt, bringing back whatever prey he can find while the female protects the nest.
She wraps herself around the eggs for the entirety of incubation. Their leathery eggs must remain fully submerged; if they rise above the waterline, even briefly, they quickly dry and wither. A nesting White Dragoness is the most terrifying predator I have ever observed. She kills anything that enters her domain that is not her mate, and she does so with an efficient brutality unmatched by any other Dragon. When the Dragonlings hatch, they are already capable swimmer and snap at anything that isn't a clutch-mate or parent. The parents tend them surprisingly dutifully, teaching them to navigate and hunt, ensuring their offspring can survive in their harsh environment. The young mature quickly compared to other Dragons, reaching independence within years and maturity within decades. Once they can fend for themselves, the young Dragons vanish into the dark, and the cycle begins anew.
I find it oddly endearing that a White Dragon, being one of the most aggressive and instinctually driven of their species, can recognize its kin centuries later, and even share a forehead press almost like we would a hug.
White Dragons are carnivores to a fault. Anything that moves in their tunnels is prey. Insects, fish, burrowing beasts, the occasional unlucky spelunker… all feed the endless hunger needed to survive in a realm with no sunlight and few resources. Their instincts are simple but effective: if it moves and isn't kin, they kill it. If it stops moving, they wait until it does, and their patience can almost rival a Gold's. I have witnessed a White Dragon feasting on a platter of foraged subterranean fungi, so they are capable of eating vegetation, however this is more of the exception rather than the rule.
Their hoards are practical rather than precious. They don't hoard gold, treasure, or really anything of physical value; they simply hoard water. They carve complex networks of channels to redirect underground rivers and reservoirs, shaping the flow to keep their lairs saturated. Water is their lifeblood, their wealth, their legacy. Some caverns drip with so much gathered moisture that it falls like rain from the ceiling. A fresh spring is worth more to a White Dragon than any jewel perhaps because every one of their children depends on it. For nearby settlements, this instinct can cause disaster. Wells run dry, soil turns to dust, and sinkholes bloom like open wounds across the land. It is rather difficult to sustain a population when a White Dragon has claimed every drop of water for itself.
We mortals are food. That is all. White Dragons have no use for our language or customs. They do not warn trespassers. They do not negotiate. They are pure, primal instinct given draconic shape. And yet, there is a strange, brutal honesty to them. They do not deceive. They do not toy with prey. They do not kill for sport. In a realm ruled entirely by necessity, they have become perfectly adapted to its demands. This is partially what has led them to be ostracized from Draconic society, their "blatant" disregard for Ikozra's mortal decree. Though there is definitely some nuance there if you care to look for it, White Dragons have had to evolve and adapt to their merciless environment; sound travels much further in water and echoes through caverns, so when you combine the two, a warning to one is a warning to all, and starvation follows shortly thereafter. My advice is to take great care when spelunking, and if you hear a heavy slithering in the dark, flee as quickly as you can, or prepare your prayers.
As I write this, I find myself strangely saddened. White Dragons are not evil, nor cruel, nor entirely deserving of the disdain their kin cast upon them. They are creatures shaped by darkness and necessity, surviving in a world that demands brutality and offers little in return. Perhaps, had they lived beneath gentler skies, they would be something entirely different; possibly even something revered. Instead, they have become exactly what their world requires. There is a lesson buried somewhere in that truth, though I confess I do not enjoy contemplating it.
Remember that even the fiercest creatures are only surviving the world given to them, survive it alongside them.
Yours, ever truly,
— Tobias Elanor, Bard, Scholar, Explorer Extraordinaire
© DracTheDrake
Hello hello!
With White Dragons, we wanted something that kinda flirted with the line of what makes a Dragon a “Dragon”. Scaleless, sightless, isolated, and borderline feral; quite the departure from the rest of their kin.
They were heavily inspired by blind cave salamanders and axolotls. I say this about all of our Dragons, but these were fun to theory craft and think on as well. How does a Dragon evolve if its environment is entirely subterranean? If it’s blind, how does it hunt? How does it mate? What’s their family dynamic like? But the hardest one to answer was actually what should their Draconic Breath be? All of the elements were covered. That’s when the inspiration from the pistol shrimp hit us; just adapt it to the Dragon’s Breath and voila! Fearsome White Dragon.
Thanks again for reading through all of the Dragon entries! Next, we’re tackling the mortal species of the world! But would you prefer to start at the beginning with the El’Koryn or focus on the in-universe modern day species that populate Tobias’ world? I’d love to know!