As I promised, here's five sample characters I whomped up, one of each Heritage, at various stages of their careers, from just starting out to near-Elder. I gave them about half as much draconic xp as regular, and used a slightly buffed chargen build that we're using in my current CofD group, but that'd be easy enough to modify. Needless to say, I'd be honored (and more than willing to tweak or expand on their backstories) if you wanted to use them in the book. The first one is actually a reskin of my current Beast character.

Blaze (Warren Sylvanus Blackstone IV)
A thin, nervous looking young man crouches on the fire escape above you. He's dressed in battered jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie that may have started out grey but is now stained nearly black; a backpack stuffed to bursting is strapped securely to his back, with a can of spraypaint in the side-netting, and another in his hand. What you can see of his hair is a nondescript brown, and his face would be unremarkable, if it weren't for the signs of hunger and close calls. He looks at you curiously, trying to decide between fight and flight, after you've interrupted him while painting a complex design on the side of the building.

There's a gust of wind behind you; you turn, and see something impossible. A long, lean... reptile of some kind has alighted delicately in the middle of the empty street. The creature is the size of a small horse, built along greyhound lines, with a graceful neck, fanged and frilled head, and a pair of gloriously colorful, bat-like wings that span twice its body length spreading from its shoulders. Dragon, your stunned mind supplies the word, as the monster looks at you with the same curious expression as the boy from the alley last night.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets...it?usp=sharing

Eros'atar (Richard Johnson)
He's too handsome, is your first thought, and he damn well knows it. The kind of looks that make women flock to him, and other (straight) men hate him on sight. From the perfectly styled hair, to the almost-pretty face, to the manicured nails, the clothes that cost more than most houses, and the lean body that's obviously put in just enough time in the gym, he looks like the sex symbol he's made a career of being. The arrogant swagger and habitual cocky smirk only complete the picture. You wonder what poor girl he abandoned on the curbside this morning, and hate yourself for taking the sleazebag's money as he walks into your office.

The harsh white light fades, but seems to leave an afterimage through the room; an... echo of the light, if that weren't nonsense. At its center, where Richard stood, is an enormous serpent, like a python or something, only covered in reddish-gold feathers. A pair of wings spread from just below its head, where a cape might be if it had arms. It - no, he, the snake is visibly, almost frighteningly, male - is one of the most beautiful, even majestic, things you've ever seen. He reclines into a lazy coil and looks at you with Richard's eyes. Your overwhelming awe is quickly mingled with returning disgust; even without lips, the bastard somehow manages to smirk.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets...it?usp=sharing
(Yeah, I dunno where this one came from. He just popped in my head almost fully formed, and I wrote him down mainly to get him out of there. If you read his fluff page and find him contemptible, it's working as intended.)

Valeregon (Cole Parker)
The swimmer breaks the surface, and wades up onto the beach, shaking out his blond hair. Clad only in a pair of trunks and a cord necklace hung with shark's teeth and chunks of obsidian, he has the sculpted, muscular figure of a supremely dedicated athlete (or a Greek god). On his guileless, boyishly handsome face is the wide smile of of a man who lives life to the fullest and wrings every scrap of enjoyment he can from it. His green eyes almost glow in the bright sun as he jogs up the beach. He's also carrying a fish under his arm, nearly the size of his leg, which he apparently caught with his bare hands. He digs a smartphone from the bag on the beach, and asks you to take his picture with his catch.

It has to be the strangest animal you've ever seen; it's terrifying and unnatural, and you feel you should be running away, but it doesn't look the least bit aggressive, despite its predatory features. In fact, it seems almost... friendly, as you stare at it in dumbfounded amazement. It has the furry, striped body of a tiger, supported on four scaled, muscular legs with the claws of an eagle. The wings of an owl sprout from its shoulders, and a crocodile's thick, scaly tail waves behind it. Most bizarre of all, it looks about and sniffs the air with two canine heads; one resembles a wolf, the other (of all bloody things) a golden retriever. It gets closer, and you realize you've misjudged its size, the thing is freaking huge. All four ears perk up, and it turns towards the waves crashing on the beach; the chimera puts itself protectively between you and the water, as something tentacled begins to rise from the deeps...

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets...it?usp=sharing

Kalamainu'u Mo'o (Makana Haumea Jones)
The luau's hostess comes by to check on you, and just as you have been every time since you first met her earlier in the week, you're stunned by her grace, poise, and effortless control of the situation. The fact that she's gorgeous doesn't hurt either; she has the smooth brown skin, rounded features, and midnight hair of Hawaii's native people, with a lithe, toned figure from the surfing and swimming that she enjoys. You can't help but be impressed at how the traditional grass-skirted costume, the conservative pantsuit from her office earlier, and the surf suit from the photos on her desk all look equally natural and comfortable on her. And then, she smiles, and asks you about that donation you hadn't decided whether to make, and suddenly you can think of nothing at all except those eyes, dark and deep enough to drown in...

You're part of a silent crowd, gathered around a kind of platform, or altar maybe, in some old ruins hidden deep in the jungle. Makana climbs up on to it, and the others gathered around start chanting something, you have no idea what they're saying, and don't even try to follow along. You're wondering how you got here, when the lovely woman's form blurs in the torchlight, like you were seeing her through several feet of water. The blur expands, and then snaps back into focus. Where she stood, is now a huge, serpent-like creature. The dim light shimmers off its blue-green scales, and it maneuvers itself around the altar on four stubby legs. The head, like the rest of it, isn't quite a snake's, and not quite a lizard's, but its fangs are plentiful and sharp, even as the eyes gleam and draw your attention. It looks something like a Chinese dragon... and even more like a painting you saw in Makana's home before the party. Unable to help yourself, you fall to your knees with the rest of the dragon's congregation.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets...it?usp=sharing

Baalathrax (Viktor Mikhailov)
You sit down across the table from the most frightening man you've ever met. Nevermind the fact that he's seven feet tall, slabbed with muscle, with scarred knuckles and elaborate mob tattoos peeking out of the collar and sleeves of his custom suit. His face seems carved from granite, all planes and sharp angles, with more scars, and a five-o'-clock shadow that no razor could erase, and set in a studiously blank expression. But that's not the scariest part either. Nor is it his eyes, an odd, almost reddish shade of brown, that seem to be tallying up the value of everyone he looks at. The terrifying part is the reputation that precedes him. Viktor Mikhailov is an extreme case of the classic Russian hardass; anyone who goes against him and can't be bought off is either killed memorably, or simply never seen again. As you clear your throat, Viktor's lips curl briefly in a small, cruel smile; with everything you've heard, you wouldn't be surprised if he could smell fear.

A monster of nightmare tears through the warehouse wall, bursting out onto the street to a chorus of terrified screams. Longer than a pickup and far more massive, everything about it screams "predator." It is shaped something like a gigantic bat, in the way that a Smilodon resembles a Persian kitten. Every inch of its long body ripples with muscle covered in crocodilian armor, with two powerful legs and a long, lashing tail at one end, and vast wings that double as clawed forelimbs at the other. The beast's head looks like nothing so much as that of a Tyrannosaurus rex, except for the wicked, ram-like horns that curl over its skull and up under the deadly jaws. The dragon's eyes glow a baleful crimson as it roars fury into the night, and exhales a blast of white-hot flames into the fleeing gang members. One stands his ground, pulling a pistol and aiming for the eyes, only to be swallowed whole for his trouble. The other side of the brief turf war are prostrating themselves; the monster snorts over them, as if accepting their fealty.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets...it?usp=sharing