Br'Kor

Br'Kor's soul bond with Xaneborr formed during the early days of the Green Dragon Legion, when both shared similar ideals about strength serving justice. As a great wyrm green dragon, Br'Kor brought centuries of tactical experience and raw power to their partnership, while Xaneborr provided the vision and leadership that united their forces.

When Xaneborr began questioning the Chromatic Council's true motives, Br'Kor initially resisted. His pragmatic nature saw the Council as the strongest path forward, and he viewed Xaneborr's growing attachment to Arties as a dangerous distraction from their greater purpose. The two soul-bonded allies engaged in heated arguments for months, with Br'Kor's blunt honesty clashing against Xaneborr's moral awakening.

When Xaneborr finally abandoned his post to join Arties in Verdant Hold, Br'Kor remained behind for several weeks in protest, his pride wounded and his trust shaken. However, the soul bond eventually compelled him to follow, and upon witnessing the Chromatic Council's increasingly brutal methods firsthand, he realized Xaneborr had been right all along.

In his final months, Br'Kor's every effort was bent toward destroying the Chromatic Council and exposing their corruption to the world, in no small part to prove that he and Xaneborr had made the right choice in abandoning it, validating their principles over political expediency. He hoped to see a realm where strength served justice rather than conquest, and where dragons could exist without being forced into roles as instruments of war. Toward that end, he spent his last days lending his tactical expertise and draconic power to fortifying Verdant Hold's defenses while planning strategic strikes against Council forces.

In the early morning hours of Frostmoon 1, 1304 the full force of the Chromatic Council fell upon the city of Verdant Hold. Thousands died, but the Heaven's Chosen held the city and defeated the council once and for all. In that fight, Br'Kor and his bond, Xaneborr, flew and fought together like true warriors, cutting down hundreds of foes together. When a ballista designed to fell dragons was launched at the duo, Br'Kor positioned himself to take the brunt of the damage and protect his friend and rider. As Br'Kor lay dying, his final words to his bond were: "Always beside you, my brother. Always."

Two years is not a long time to a great wyrm, not even in death. Br'Kor's soul, bound to Xaneborr's since the day their partnership as legion and soulbond was first sealed, had never traveled as far into whatever waits beyond as most of the fallen do; some tether of loyalty and old promises kept him close, half a step from the world he had died defending, waiting on nothing he could have named. When the wave that would come to be called the Second Pulse went out from the ruin of Goodberry, it moved across Haven and beyond it in ways no chronomancer has yet fully mapped, and by the time it reached the black stone of Verdant Hold it had grown, if anything, only more insistent. It found what remained of Blisterwing the Poisoner where he had fallen defending the city's sky, and it did not ask permission. Scale and sinew and the old green fire in his blood reassembled themselves in the space of a single breath, two years of stillness undone in an instant of light that lit the mountain from within.

Xaneborr felt it before he understood it, the soul bond flaring back to full and furious life after two years of carrying only half of what it once held, and he was already running before the dust had settled, already shouting a name he had not let himself say aloud in longer than he wanted to admit. What he found in the wreckage of the old defense line was a dragon very much alive, very much confused, and characteristically unimpressed by his own resurrection, more concerned with the state of his scales than the metaphysics of his return. Br'Kor's first words upon waking were not gratitude, nor wonder, nor anything so poetic as his last ones had been. He looked at Xaneborr, took in the sight of a friend who had aged two years grieving him, and said, in a voice like gravel dragged across slate, that he hoped somebody had kept the Council's remaining forces properly harassed in his absence, because he had work to finish.