Kinship of Mind and Dreams
Twenty Fourth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
The moon hangs low and full above the crumbling houses of Gogossos, and even the beasts of the jungle are still, as though awaiting some signal. In the windows of the newly built fortress mage lanterns burn against the darkness and the tireless eyes of erinyes watch for the twisted beasts they have come to know all too well, formless misbegotten children of the Forge whose lifeblood thumps beneath their feet. But what they sense is not the approach of some ancient horror that had been lurking in the shadows of the broken walls or the hollows of rotted trees. This is a life newborn. More perhaps than anything else you have wrought by the arts of flesh-shaping, these will be beings to change the world.
You know the Valyrians of old would name it madness, but Valyria is gone, its knowledge passed on to the stewardship of the Old Gods. Other gods, other powers, may name it hubris perhaps, but you cannot afford to lend an ear to such words. The Spheres lie sundered and all across them stride horrors that could shatter armies by their very presence. Against such might what can you bring to bear, your own strength, that of your companions, your allies, but is that enough? You are few and they are legion.
What being of this world could be so mighty as to face the worst the Spheres can offer and stand undaunted even in the face of that which lurks beyond, you wondered. You did not wonder long, the answer was as close as a mirror of silver, or a still pool under the moonlight.
Varys stirs on your shoulder in anticipation.
"What do you mean you looked in the mirror?" she asks archly.
As you approach Dany, who waita for you by the fortified entrance of the Forge, you see the air around her is alive with tiny forms, scarce larger than a dragonfly but each a perfect dragon in miniature, eager for the awakening or perhaps just for their mother's praise.
Through the link to your familiar you feel her being bombarded with bright, young mind-voices, images tumbling over sound and sound over idea, of all the bugs they had hunted and all the strange things they had seen in Dany's company. They are not quite the same sort of greetings human children would give their mother, of course. Like all dragons, Varys' kin can fly and hunt as soon as they hatch and need no guiding hand to help them survive in the world, but like all young beings, they crave the praise and recognition of their elders.
Varys dolls it out, of course, with a generous hand, adjudicating the odd quarrel over a shiny coin or a strangely shaped bone that had been snatched away or lost.
"Did we really have to bring them here tonight?" she asks in mock-exasperation.
"They are to meet their kin, are they not?" you ask in like tone. The jest holds a deeper truth, however. Varys' breed of dragon has far more in common with those who shall awaken tonight than you or Ysandryx or even Relath. The kindly gregarious dragon-kin whose minds instinctively reach for those of other thinking beings, friendship had been the spindle upon which the thread was wound.
Ahead, you hear scratches of claw on leather or something like it and the steady thump of four great beats. As you step into the incubating chamber you are met with a cheerful Qyburn, smiling as proud as a midwife after a lucky birth, and a somewhat more reserved but still bright-eyed Lady Saenena. Hung in the four corners of the chamber are translucent pods, bloated to the size of an elephant, and quivering as though fit to burst. Within each an indistinct figure shifts. There a sky-blue wing is clearly seen, here a sinuous tail curling.
"It is almost time. Your Grace, Your Highness, they are getting restless," the former measter says.
"Well then, I am happy I was able to make it in time," you reply with a smile of your own. Mentally you project.
"Hail, my kindred, joyous is the day when you shall awaken from the Dream to aid me in the waking world."
Four voices answer, each in their own manner, for though their flesh is less than a moon-turn old, long have their minds wandered the Dragon Dream:
"Hail cousins, joyous it will be to greet the sky and those who dwell beneath it."
"Much there is yet to see of the world that is wondrous."
"Much askew to set aright."
"And in the doing learn that we may shape the world as it shapes us."
Four sets of eyes open, bright as the moon above, four sets of wings stretch out and with a great tearing sound the birthing bods are are ripped by claws and cut by lashing tails. Nameless arcane fluids wash over the stone, as for the first time in uncounted ages new dragons step upon the face of the world, the kindred of the mind wyrms.
Abruptly, the chamber darkens to all your senses both mortal and arcane, and in some indefinable distance you hear a roar of rage born of five throats at the usurpation of her most primal domain. The vision fades, the stone returns beneath your feet, the chamber unchanged, but the memory remains.
"I think
Someone may be a bit angry with us. Just a hint," Dany says, her voice shaking ever so slightly at the jest. Then her expression hardens. "All the better for us, She makes more mistakes when She is wrathful."
"She sought us with blandishments and lies, but they stank of Her malice," one of the mind dragons proclaims, thoughts cold and unyielding as thrice forged steel.
"What do you ask of us, cousin?"
What do you reply?
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OOC: Future Mind Dragons, whether forged or hatched, will not have to face Tiamat so long as their elders are present to protect and guide them through the Dream, but for these the Mother of Dragons invoked her domain to try to tempt them. 
