
Stone Dragon
The namesake. Launches only from ledges, loves canyons and quarries; sitting still it is hard to tell from a boulder.
Bestiary
120 dragons in 15 families, 6 special dragons, plus the monsters of Gorevath’s hordes and the colossi. Knowing them gives you the edge.
(Disclaimer: our graphics have been edited with AI because we don’t have a graphic artist on the team yet. We hope to change that in the future.)
Every dragon belongs to one of 15 families – from rock to weather. Wild dragons are struck by madness. Once you catch them, the Guild of Dragon Healers cures them of it. Tap a family to see its dragons.

The namesake. Launches only from ledges, loves canyons and quarries; sitting still it is hard to tell from a boulder.

Heavy, slow, almost invulnerable. Roams scree slopes and old quarries.

Lives among hexagonal basalt columns, climbs them straight up and sleeps in the cracks.

Thin and flat as a slab. Uses slate slopes as a launch ramp.

Cave dweller. Eats lime and regrows its teeth from it.

Small and quick, lives in riverbeds and gravel pits; hoards round stones in its crop.

White skin with dark veins. Nests in abandoned marble quarries.

Carries a single boulder on its back for life and never sets it down.

Digs through soft ground, surfaces only to feed. Prefers farmland after rain.

Follows plough lines across fields; farmers take it for a lucky sign.

Climbs roots under overhanging banks; lives upside down in earth hollows.

Armour of dried clay that softens in rain and hardens anew.

Its breath speeds up decay. Lives in compost heaps and forest edges.

Announces earthquakes hours ahead by pressing itself flat to the ground.

Blind, huge digging claws, senses prey through ground tremors.

Inhabits man-made embankments and vineyard terraces.

Glides along dune crests, riding the updraft on the lee side.

Buries itself completely and waits with open jaws for prey.

Almost dissolves into a cloud of sand in flight; only the eyes stay visible.

Long-distance runner of the stony deserts, goes for days without water.

Appears only in dry spells; vanishes with the first rain.

Lives on dried-out salt flats, its skin coated in salt crystals.

Moves with the dune and never leaves it — its territory travels with it.

Guards a single spring pool. Never leaves its spring.

Long and slender, swims only downstream and walks back at night.

Climbs waterfalls and sleeps behind the curtain.

Follows river bends, avoids straightened stretches.

Flat, hides among river pebbles in the shallows.

Lives in flooded forests, wades more than it swims.

Seeks out the wildest water; calm stretches make it sluggish.

Clears weirs and locks with a run-up; follows canals right into towns.

Spends years motionless on the lake floor; mussels settle on its back.

Huge eyes for lightless depths. Rises only at new moon.

Rides the surf; its dorsal crest looks like spray.

Appears only between ebb and flood, out on the mudflats.

Inhabits shallow silting zones, camouflaged among the reeds.

Never left its flooded valley and now lives in the reservoir.

Creates suction funnels to draw prey towards itself.

Nearly invisible in clean water; murky water drives it away.

Moves silently through peat water, only its nostrils above the surface.

Its breath ignites swamp gas — hence the will-o'-the-wisps over the bog.

Digs out peat and stacks it into nests.

So light it climbs reed stalks. Only the swaying gives it away.

A huge jaw that buries itself in the mud and snaps upwards.

Lives in permanently waterlogged carr woods; wades between roots.

Glides along the fog bank just above the water.

Smells so strong that prey freezes instead of fleeing.

The classic frost dragon. Its breath freezes water on the spot.

Climbs into crevasses and lives on ice from the last millennia.

Leaves a trail of rime on everything beneath it as it glides.

Lives in permafrost, digging tunnels that never thaw.

Hangs head-down from rock overhangs, hard to tell from real icicles.

Swims between drifting floes and uses them as resting places.

Lives above the snow line on compacted old snow.

Appears only in fog below freezing and dissolves with it.

Transparent as clear ice; practically invisible under frozen lakes.

Glides with the driving snow; not to be found in still air.

Sets off avalanches with its weight and rides them down.

Whirls up so much snow in flight that it hides itself.

Sits motionless on summits for weeks and becomes a snow cap itself.

Climbs crusted steep slopes that its claws bite into.

Small and light, flies only while snow is falling.

Pushes whole snow slabs ahead of itself to trap prey.

Uses every gust for acceleration; almost unpredictable in flight.

Flies only in storms — the worse the weather, the livelier it gets.

Circles for hours in updrafts above sun-baked ground.

Plunges onto prey from great height on falling winds.

Spins up small whirlwinds to stir dust and leaves.

Runs along exposed mountain ridges where the wind never drops.

Cannot move when the air is still and sleeps until it blows.

Covers vast distances on steady winds without ever landing.

Lives in narrow valleys and street canyons where the wind picks up speed.

Rests in cloud fields; from below only visible as a darker patch.

Moves only in ground fog, avoids clear views.

Thin as an ice cloud, glides at great height.

Broods in storm cells; the young hatch at the first thunder.

Splits light into pale bands of colour in its hazy tail.

Lies flat over whole valleys and seals them from view.

Dives into valley fog in the morning and comes out only when it clears.

Where it circles, heavy rain follows. Farmers fear it at harvest time.

The classic fire dragon. Its insides glow visibly through the scales.

Moves in cooling lava flows; heat does it no harm.

Scatters ash in flight and darkens the sky.

Small and fast, leaves a trail of sparks; sets dry grass alight.

Climbs fumaroles and sulphur vents; its breath reeks acridly.

Lives in smouldering coal seams underground, often undiscovered for decades.

Over hot ground only visible as a distortion of the air.

Seeks out forges and ovens; warms itself at other people's fires.

Moves in zigzag leaps, too fast for the eye.

Its wingbeat sounds like distant thunder, audible for miles.

Climbs masts, towers and ship prows and glows blue up there.

Attracts iron; compasses near it are worthless.

Charges up as it walks; fur and hair stand on end nearby.

Floats slowly and silently; vanishes with a bang.

Digs in deep during storms and channels strikes into the ground.

Scales like mirrors; hard to look at against the light.

Hunts only in the brief span between day and night.

Visible only by moonlight, gone without a trace at new moon.

Moves only in others' shadows, never in the open.

Its tail glows in shifting greens; only in the far north.

Appears doubled and offset; only one of the images is real.

Shows itself only at the two solstices, never otherwise.

Splits light into rainbow colours; nests behind waterfalls in the spray.

Climbs trunks like a liana; hard to tell from ivy.

Real moss grows on its back; it fertilises it itself.

Glides from crown to crown, its wing membranes veined like leaves.

Secretes sticky resin in which insects and small animals get stuck.

Lays its eggs in dead wood and lets fungi regulate the brood climate.

Its body is grown through with roots; it wanders only slowly.

Sets off pollen storms in spring; flies only during blossom time.

Never leaves the canopy; the forest floor is foreign to it.

Lives in dense field hedges and banks at the edge of farmland.

Brings days of even rain; calm and slow.

Short, fierce, sudden — like the cloudburst it announces.

Collects morning dew from stalks and cobwebs; never drinks from puddles.

Flings hailstones from its crop at pursuers.

Appears in fine, steady rain; sluggish and hard to rouse.

Comes in with the rising surge and leaves with it.

Shows itself only when sun and rain coincide.

Its appearance heralds a passing front; animals grow restless beforehand.
Rare and mighty
They appear at fixed places and in the world seed – at the same spot for every player. First come, first caught.

A tree dragon in toxic neon green, with a long neck and a tail it coils around branches. Its breath wilts leaves before they fall.

Four-legged, twice the size of its kin, in glowing purple with crystal spines that look grown rather than made. Where it rests, amethyst is left behind.

A two-legged wyvern of riveted iron plates and brass, with a glowing furnace in its chest and wings of struts and canvas. Nobody knows who built it.

Pink as a sunrise, with wings so fine that light falls through them in every colour. Where it lingers, a rainbow arches for a moment.

The thunder dragon. Dark gold beneath a storm cloud from which only the head with its long whiskers protrudes. When the cloud bursts, he stands free for a breath — wreathed in lightning — before it closes around him again.

The cuddly monster from the deep water: three green humps, a long neck and a head with huge googly eyes peeking out of the waves. Turns up in seas and large lakes, snorts water and lets you scratch its chin — if you are quick enough.

Grown together from the bones of a whole battlefield. Every step sounds like scaffolding collapsing.

Skin like granite, eyes like embers. Stands still for days and passes for a boulder — until someone comes too close.

A mountain of mud, roots and rage. Whatever it grabs, it drags into the mire.

A forgotten war machine held together by rust. Rattles, groans and still hits hard.

An enraged earth elemental of glacier rock and eternal snow. Where it stands the ground freezes; its steps sound like breaking ice.

An enraged earth elemental of glowing basalt. Magma runs between its stone plates, its breath smells of sulphur.

An enraged earth elemental of sandstone and desert dust. An endless storm swirls around it, grinding skin and armour.

An enraged earth elemental of moss, roots and ancient rock. Trees grow from its shoulders, and where it strikes the earth breaks open.

Rattling bones with no will of their own. Falls apart at the first hard hit.

Gaunt and fast. Hunts in small packs at the edges of graveyards.

Four-legged skeleton, faster than any ghoul but even more brittle.

Small undead that guards grave goods and will not give them up.

A flock of undead birds; harmless alone, a nuisance in numbers.

Slow but tough. Takes many hits and never gives up.

Remembers its former life and still uses tools.

Spreads sickness; stand near it too long and you weaken.

Heavily armoured undead that never leaves its post.

Stitched together from several corpses, unpredictable in size and shape.

A tangle of dozens of skeletons that reassembles when smashed.

Shy, attacks only when you cut off its escape.

Stubborn and well armed. Sows with piglets are dangerous.

A loner, lurks on rock ledges and tree trunks.

Hunts in packs; rarely alone, and then usually a stray young wolf.

Small but extraordinarily aggressive towards anything bigger.

Defends her litter with a fury out of all proportion to her size.

Heavy, slow to get going, then almost impossible to stop.

The alpha wolf. Never comes alone and coordinates the pack.

Fights with horns and mass; eats only grass but tolerates nothing nearby.

A boar the size of a horse, with tusks like sickles.

Ancient relative of the brown bear, twice as heavy.

A loner with a bad knife and worse intentions.

Does not attack — steals and runs.

Properly equipped, fights with calculation rather than rage.

Keeps his distance and forces you to close in.

Never comes alone; leads two to four other bandits.

Moss-grown, easily mistaken for a boulder until it stands up.

Holds fords and bridges and lets nobody pass.

Bigger, stone-skinned, hurls boulders over long distances.

Wades through bogs and grabs from the water downwards.

Strings webs between trees; you notice the web first.

Blind, huge, follows tremors beneath the earth.

A wandering rock with no visible limbs.

Sets everything flammable within reach alight.

The ground freezes where it stands; moving becomes hard.

A standing whirlwind that sweeps objects along.

Lures you into deep water with will-o'-the-wisps.

Strikes instead of attacking. Almost impossible to hit.

Recognisable only by what it hides.

An awakened statue. Already in the catalogue.

Made of wrought iron whose origin nobody knows.

Rises from deep water only when you come too close.

Undead but unbroken — the strongest of the undead.

Older than any settlement around. Nobody knows what it guards.