Day 1
I'm not sure what I'm doing here, it's very dark and cold. The one they call master has given me this book so that I may write my thoughts on what is to come. My limbs ache, my skin burns, and my head… gods, my head is heavy, like I’ve been drunk for days. But I remember now. They took me. They took us. The cloaked figures, the whispers of power, the promise of something greater—what lies! We were shackled like cattle, blindfolded, taken beneath the earth where the air stank of incense and rot.
And then he came. The Master.
He spoke of transformation. Of “gifting” us with the power of dragons. A gift. They cut into me. They seared my skin with molten scales, forcing them beneath my flesh. The pain was blinding, searing, inescapable. I screamed until my voice shattered.
Day 2
The scales have already started to rot. It seems like they were an unfit addition, my body rejects the scales and they are starting to get infected. The area is tender and hurts. The master seems disappointed by this. He says I will be reprimanded tomorrow.... I'm not really sure what that means, it's not like this is my fault.
Some of the other prisoners were more successful than me, I can see their scales glow in the night, they look fresh and fused to their skin. From a distance, I can't even see the stitching marks. This is insane, it's only been a day.
Day 3
My arm is decomposing at a rather fast rate. the scales have turned to boils and my arm is in so much pain. I die here, I'm sure of it...
It's... gone, they cut off my arm... They beat me until I had no more strength. Master says I will either gain the strength to endure, or die here with his other failed subjects. It seems strange but it's almost like he's beating my body into submission so it's more willing to accept the scales.
Others have already died, they carry their corpse out at night. Even those who accepted the graft still died.
Day 4
They've brought another scale to me, this one is black. The obsidian scales shimmer when the light hit them. They've stitched it to my right arm, it glows with an unnatural heat, patches of obsidian scales breaking through the skin. They itch. They feel Wrong.
I must find a way out of this place.
Day 5
I cannot escape.
The others are already… changing. Some scream in their cells, others beg for mercy that will never come. One man—Serren—his eyes are slitted now, his fingernails blackened into claws. He will not speak to me anymore.
I'm far behind my piers, while others have full arms attached, I still learn to cope with my small addition. The black scales have already started to fuse to my skin, The stitch marks have faded and little indentations on my skin indicate the scales are growing.
Day 6
The Master visits us, watching, waiting. He smiles when we writhe.
And yet… my arm no longer burns. The scales feel… firm, strong, unbreakable.
Day 8
The Master has brought me more scales, my arm is almost completely covered in them now. The grafting process was much smoother this time, It's almost as if my body is open to the change now.
There's only a few of us now. It seems that we are quite disposable. As the changes occur, it's almost like their bodies grow in size. Serren is now almost 8 foot tall where he used to be only 6. There's a... symbiotic relationship here I'm certain of it... The more the dragonflesh corrupts you, the more your body morphs to take on the superior body. This is unnatural... I need to get out of here but my body is weak. I have no more will to fight.. These modifications seem to be the only part of me willing to move on.
Day 12
I lifted a hot iron rod today. The scales that now wrap around my hand protect me, where my skin would surely have blistered, my new hand is unscathed.
There is strength in this.
No—NO. I must not think this way. I must remember what they have done to me!
I must remain… me.
Day 18
Serren is now at least 10 feet tall, they've given him wings and although they don't work yet, I can feel the breeze when he flaps them. He no longer talks, he only speaks in draconic and the funniest thing... I can almost understand him...
Day 22
It is spreading. The scales have crawled up my shoulder, merging into the skin of my neck. I feel something beneath the surface, something shifting.
When I breathe, I swear I feel heat coil in my throat.
The Master calls me “his favorite.” He's laid out a few dragon arms for me to 'pick'. Green, Black, or... amethyst? how on earth does he get these? but the purple hues of the amethyst arm call to me... what powers it must hold... it would be perfect.
Day 37
I do not remember my mother’s face. My father’s voice is a fading whisper. It is as if the past has been bled from me, siphoned like marrow from bone.
And yet I remember the Master's words.
“You were weak before. Look at what you are becoming.”
The amethyst arm is much stronger than my own flesh and bone could ever be.... I can't help but think my own body is weak, these new parts are... strong. they do not bend and break the same as my own arms. Perhaps the master is right, perhaps he only wishes to make me stronger... no... No! I can't let myself fall into this trap, I'm an abomination...
(The rest of the passages are difficult to read, the penmanship is not as clear and the lettering is much larger)
Day 45
They have grafted something new onto me. A talon from a blue wyrm, fixed where my right hand once was. At first, I wept. Now, I trace the sharpness of the claw, and it feels like it has always been mine.
The fear fades. In its place, hunger.
Day 50
I heard them dragging a body through the corridors. Another failure. Another corpse tossed onto the pile.
But I am not a failure.
The Master is pleased. He says I will be whole soon.
Day 71
Another graft... another gift... A crimson membrane—leathery, veined—attached to my back.
When I stretch, I feel wings.
Wings.
They do not yet move. But they will.
They must.
Day 94
I saw my reflection today.
It was not me... it was better.
Day 117
I was given... a head.
It was a black wyrmling once, its skull split from its body. Now, it sits atop my left shoulder, stitched and fused. It twitches when I dream. I can hear its thoughts.
It hates me.
I hate it.
The Master says I will learn to control it. Soon, it will speak my words. Soon, we will be one.
I feel the wyrm's breath stir inside my lungs. The crimson wings twitch in my sleep. My talons click against the stone.
I no longer recognize my own voice.
Day 136
A second head. White. It wails in the night, screeching like the dying wind of a blizzard.
The Master does not silence it. He says it is beautiful.
(the rest of the passages are not labeled but it's clear they were all written at different times.)
Day ???
I dream of fire. I dream of storms. I dream of flight.
The chamber is cold, but I do not shiver. The other failures—lesser than me—whisper my name in fear.
My old name is gone. I am not Veydris. Not anymore.
I am becoming... better.
(The rest is written in draconic)
Day ???
I killed Serren today... he was weak, once my superior, not my supper.
master seemed please, master seemed eager...
I need no master...
Day ???
A third head, a blue head, it was the most resilient yet but it breaks under my will...
Day ???
My own head is that of a dragon now, I can smell, I can hunt.
Gold hoards fill my dreams. The time to escape is now...
Day ???
During the attachment of my last head, I escaped. I am too majestic to keep hidden.
Day ???
Some humans have found me... they wish to become me. They'll never be close... but perhaps they can be of service....
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