When Vulcatrix died, her essence seeded the deep fires of the realms, and from those fires come the magmadroths: vast salamandrine drakes with hides of layered obsidian and hearts of liquid stone. The lodges hold them sacred — kin to the very beast their god died killing — and to bond with one is a privilege reserved for Runefathers, Runesons, and the great priests of the Zharrgrim.
A magmadroth in fury is a walking eruption. It vomits roiling fyrestreams that turn shield-walls to ash, crushes what the fire misses beneath talons of volcanic glass, and bleeds scalding ichor that maims the enemies wounding it. Lodges such as Lofnir raise whole clutches of the beasts, and there is no surer sign that a contract has gone to the highest bidder than the ground-shaking tread of droth-riding royalty.
Order of battle
