Pyrris — The Rocketscale Firework Dragon

On the nights when the valley fills with laughter and the sky is painted bright, a dragon rises from the far meadows of Mystmere—scales rattling like paper tubes, tail trailing sparks that never quite land.

Pyrris is not born of fire. He is born of waiting.

His body is lined with cylinders like tiny rockets yet to fly, each one a promise of something brilliant about to happen. His golden fuse-tips glow with the patience of a wick not yet lit. And when his tail uncurls—that glorious burst of tendrils fanning outward—it is the shape of every firework you ever watched as a child, frozen at the moment of bloom.

He does not appear for grand occasions. He appears for the small ones—the birthday no one else remembered, the quiet midnight of a new year spent alone, the moment you looked up and needed something beautiful to believe in.

To meet Pyrris is to remember that joy does not require permission. It only requires the courage to strike the match.

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A Keeper's Oath

You who hold this dragon now—

May you never lose your sense of wonder.

May every dark sky hold the promise of colour, and may you always be the one to light it.

From the workshops of Mystmere Forge, their story continues in your hands.

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