Attack / Sec
| Bonus Protections: Up to 25 Magical and Physical Protections
In dragon form, this ability deals increased damage that ticks 3 times over 3s. Also, the cursed pulse shreds Protections in addition to Slowing.
Damage: 100 / 140 / 180 / 220 / 260 (+50% of your Magical Power)
Stun: 1 / 1.1 / 1.2 / 1.3 / 1.4s
Dragon Damage per Tick: 50 / 70 / 90 / 110 / 130 (+25% of your Magical Power)
Dragon Protection Debuff: 20%
Cost: 60 / 65 / 70 / 75 / 80
Cooldown: 15 / 14.5 / 14 / 13.5 / 13s
In dragon form, this ability has a larger area of effect and can buff multiple allies.
Attack Speed Buff: 10 / 15 / 20 / 25 / 30%
Bonus Damage: 4 / 8 / 12 / 16 / 20% of the target’s power
Self Heal: 50 / 70 / 90 / 110 / 130 (+30% of your Magical Power)
Cost: 50 / 55 / 60 / 65 / 70
In dragon form, Fafnir can leap much further. Also, this ability deals increased damage that ticks three times over the course of 3s and Fafnir Stuns the enemy god closest to him for 2s in addition to Disarming.
Damage: 80 / 120 / 160 / 200 / 240 (+60% of your Magical Power)
Dragon Damage Per Tick: 40 / 60 / 80 / 100 / 120 (+30% of your Magical Power)
Damage Per Tick: 80 / 100 / 120 / 140 / 160 (+40% of your Magical Power)
Duration: 20 / 25 / 30 / 35 / 40s
Dragon Breath Damage: 20 / 30 / 40 / 50 / 60 (+10% of your Magical Power)
Among these wretched kin is Fafnir, son of Hreidmar, with a swollen smithing arm and a ravenous hunger for violence, both of which are eclipsed by his avarice.
Once Spring, Odin, Loki, and Honir visited Hreidmar’s realm, bearing an otter pelt they’d skinned on their journey. Horrified, Hreidmar entombed the Aesir, for the otter was, in truth, his third son. Freedom would not be theirs until Loki returned with the hide filled with gold. Refusing to be outdone, the Trickster God, stuffed the pelt to bursting with the cursed treasure of Andvarri. Hreidmar, unaware of the maligned hoard, greedily exchanged the Aesir for the wealth. That night, curling his powerful arm, Fafnir strangled his father and vanished into the frosted night with the cursed gold.
And so it was that madness took him. Paranoid his last brother would steal the treasure, Fafnir guarded it jealously while the curse whispered in his ear. Slowly, surely, twisted he became, scaled and nightmarish. His breath turned to poison, his maw, fanged, his demeanor, fouler. A dragon, he became. The very symbol of greed.
For centuries Fafnir kept no company, but the War of the Gods grows ever closer, and the clink of coin runs rampant; a bulging sack on the belt of every warrior. He craves every piece, and spares no thought to shed blood for the glittering gold.