Ilmarinen
(#12568308)
Level 2 Imperial
Muindas
Longneck Mender
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
29.03 m
Wingspan
18.21 m
Weight
6655.85 kg
Genetics
Silver
Crystal
Crystal
Maroon
Shimmer
Shimmer
Carmine
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 2 Imperial
EXP: 7 / 641
STR
10
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
10
MND
6
Biography
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 I L M A R I N E N Warrior and hunter 
╰ ╭ “A dragon’s heart is not defined by the colour of their eyes” is a frequent saying amongst those who, like Ilmarinen, refused to follow in their kin’s path and instead joined different flights – be it simply due to affinity for the element, like Anemone, or more because of their profession, like him. Indeed, he is the clan’s resident blacksmith and archaeologist, and can blabber for hours about any of his subjects of choice, be it the drastic differences between smithing armour of ebony or steel or Beastclan politics before the great unification (although most of his clanmates with the notable exception of Jormundgandr prefer to politely exit conversation at this point). However, despite making great use of it, he has little interest for mining or ores, preferring to leave that to Earth dragons, although he sometimes is forced to look for materials by himself (and likes to grumble to no end about it). Ilmarinen expressed an affinity for the smithy very early in his life, being drawn to fire like a moth to a candlelight, unlike other Nature dragons, which usually avoided it like the plague (both the flight and the disease). Upon reaching fighting age, he was named after his love of the flames, as is the custom amongst some clans living in the wilder areas of Sornieth - such as the Shrieking Wilds, where he hatched - for many hatchlings are lost to hostile clans, ravenous predators or worse before they can fend for themselves. His future lay not in the shrieking wilds, however. Sent to the Ashfall Waste to train in the noble art of blacksmithing, he swiftly proved an extremely capable apprentice, forging his first decent blade within a few months of his arrival. Around the time where most dragons usually start showing an interest in mating, Ilmarinen became a full-fledged blacksmith - again, he was uncharacteristically young for such a distinction. It mattered little to him, though. He had talent, and he would make good use of it. |
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He had established himself as a skilled smith for a few months before it happened. She'd been training alongside him - a young wildclaw from the Nature flight, not even past adulthood yet and barely half his size, and he'd later taken her on as an apprentice. He'd made the mistake of leaving her alone with the forge while he was hunting, and didn't think to tell her of why she should not try the arcane scrolls that were sitting in the back of his forge. They came straight from the Observatory, and he was keeping them simply out of interest - it would never cross his mind to actually try them out. She did, though. The explosion blasted the entire forge up in the air and killed his apprentice instantly, her flesh burnt right off, her bones blackened and charred. There was no way any dragon could've survived the explosion, they told him when he came back, and they should all consider themselves fortunate there hadn't been more losses.
Deep inside him, though, he knew it was his fault. It was no surprise, thus, when he elected to close his forge and set off to the Viridian Labyrinth with the bones of his old apprentice with him. Her parents had no harsh words for him - better than he deserved, he supposed. Later that day, they buried her remains under the sky, in a rare clearing between the trees, and planted a royal poinciana sapling on the grave, whose flowers would later grow fiery red, as the fires the young apprentice so loved. Legend held that trees planted on the tombs of deceased nature dragons would guide their souls to the Gladekeeper, and that such trees would grow taller and stronger than all others. May your soul find rest at her side, he thought forlornly.
For many months after he spent his life as many dragons do, hunting and fishing and foraging across Sornieth, without ever staying long in the same place and avoiding other dragons. He did never, however, forget himself - broken souls, they were called, those who had suffered a great loss, forgetting all those dear to them, with any thought of love or home or gods second only to a haunch of spoiled meat or a puddle of muddy water that would let them live another day. He always remained Ilmarinen of the Shrieking Wilds, who had been a smith in service to the Flamecaller. Today still, he has little interest in remembering those months, for in spite of all of Skemmdeljott's advice, he still feels shame at letting himself go thus, even if it never was the utter loss of himself it could have been.
He never knew what drove him to that fire, that night in the Shattered Plain, and if he is honest with himself, he cares little about it today. From what he says, it was just a good feeling that spurred him there, to seek the first draconic company he'd had in months. For someone who'd shied away from conversation for such a long time, he did surprisingly well, he thought. Ashitaka was on a trip to Cairnstone Rest, to 'commune with the ancestors', she explained. She was from the Water Flight, and as such, was learning to be an oracle, which, among others, involved being able to effectively summon a dead dragon's soul from its resting place and talk to it, all with utmost respect, of course. Briefly his thoughts wandered. Can she... No. Some matters were best left to rest. She gleefully accepted, though, when he offered to accompany her on her trip. Perhaps the Ancients could give him some counsel as well?
Of course, Ashitaka had to choose the darkest and deepest parts of the tunnels to commune, for, apparently, the souls of the ancients were the strongest here, and although Ilmarinen was not an especially spiritual dragon, it was true that the air here was oppressive, and he felt watched. However, while his companion continuously pressed him further on, the smith found he could not detach himself from the age-old scriptures on the walls. Oddly, language had not changed much in Sornieth since the First Age, it seemed. To his great disappointment, though, it seemed Ashitaka had little and less interest in history and lore, and thought only about reaching the final chamber of the funeral complex. It was larger than he expected, monumental even - several dozen Imperials could've fit in there - and its walls and ceilings were covered entirely in runes and claw marks. An entire library could not contain those stories, he thought. At the center, a shallow pool full of clear, cold water stood, and Ashitaka settled by its side. He'd wait until the ritual was over, and then hopefully seek counsel.
The ritual did work, in a sense. A skeletal Guardian burst in the chamber, wings extended, and laid upon Ashitaka with surprising strength for a being with no sign of muscle or any soft tissue. Neither of the two dragons were warriors, and it showed - she was tossed right across the room, while the wyrm bit into his wing, tearing a sizeable chunk of it off. Ilmarinen screamed in pain, the unconcerned undead dragon - How could it be concerned without ears?, the smith thought, and laughed madly - opening its jaws to snap its unfortunate victim's neck. Suddenly Ashitaka barreled into it, her antlers getting caught into the wyrm's ribs, and they both tumbled into a confused mess of muscle and bone. Ilmarinen reacted swiftly, whipping at the undead fiend with his tail to get his attention, and darting out of the way, just past the small pool. He supposed he should count himself lucky that Ashitaka's magical abilities were better than his, and the waters rose unbidden, slamming into the wyrm's wing and apparently breaking the magical articulations holding it together, as it fell apart with a loud clatter. Carried away by its momentum, the wyrm crashed into the wall... and brought the tunnel crashing down upon itself. Trapped.
Supplies were there, and they could always feed on whatever there was - bats, rats, a few bugs and some blind misshapen catfish in the pool. And of course, there was boredom. He settled for reading the scriptures and trying to remember them all, while Ashitaka concentrated - again - on her seering, trying to commune again. By the second day, she asked him what tale the cave walls told. And thus he explained - this had been some very ancient burial ground, and the dragons of that time had known little of the deities and of Sornieth's history, writing their own creation myths. "In the beginning there was nothing - the world was vacant and barren. From that void sprang forth one father god of the Sky, and one mother goddess of the Earth, and together they came and laid eleven eggs, who would later hatch as the dragon-gods of Sornieth. According to their myth, the hatchlings that came from those eggs didn't have enough place to live, as their parents were very close. The children rebelled against their parents to separate them, and it was the youngest child who cut their father's arms so he would not hold their mother anymore. Furthermore, they built a massive structure - the World Pillar - to keep them apart. It was then that the children were able to see the light and sky for the first time. However, all of them, apart from the oldest son - the Earthshaker, young and away from their parents' guidance, soon started fighting, about power, control, jealousy and anger. And so Flight Rising was born." By then, he noticed he'd already fallen asleep by his side, and, carefully avoiding waking her up, he laid his snout on her tail and let sleep claim him too.
It was a week before they exhausted their supplies, and another four days before they'd eaten the last fish in the pond - they had about as much taste as they had colour, and by then, both of them were effectively sick of it. The bats and bugs could only last so long either. It was Ashitaka, however, who first noticed how unusually young the wyrm's bones seemed: they were not bleached as one would expect, and those brown streaks looked suspiciously like... blood? Obviously, Ilmarinen would not hear of it. For all his blacksmithing skills and passion for history, he remained a dragon from the Nature flight, and would not feed on another dragon's bones, at least not before he'd starve.
All it took for him to collapse was one week, at the end of which she had to stuff marrow in his mouth and chew it for him, and it took him two full days to feel strong enough to wake up. And of course, when he did, it was not with pleasure, for to eat the flesh - well, the bones - of another dragon was generally not well looked-upon outside the Scarred Wasteland. I should have expected this, Ashitaka thought. What neither of the two Imperials foresaw, however, was a voice, seemingly out of nowhere, trying to speak. There was only one explanation to its presence: by feeding on the skeletal guardian's bones, they had freed its soul from its earthly confines. "I think not it even was so long ago that I walked this place - although of course, at the time, I was not but a toy for the spirits to play with. I have to thank you for this newfound freedom, for I know not how many years I might have otherwise spent here. I recall there being a passage to the outside, near the place from where I first emerged when you awoke me from my slumber. It collapsed upon me when I first came to visit, many months ago. I must go now, for the Earthshaker awaits - and again my most heartfelt thanks!" Gladekeeper guide you, Ilmarinen whispered after him.
Thus it was that three days later, two famished, exhaused Imperials emerged from a rather-ordinary looking fissure in the Shattered Plain. Ilmarinen was in no fit state to dig, so Ashitaka had been forced to use waterspouts, and later her own claws and snout to dig a way out, while he limped behind. They were found another day later, asleep under the stars on the bare rocky plain, by Styx, returning home from the Viridian Labyrinth. Generous as ever, he offered to take them back to his lair, where they would be cared for until they were fit to travel again. During the trek to Skemmdeljott, he hunted for the three of them without complaint - something both travellers would feel eternally grateful for. When they arrived, Ilmarinen, though, was appalled by the absence of a forge, and elected to stay, especially since Andrasta had cracked her favourite blade on a Serthis' skull a few days before. When he presented the beautifully ornate new - yet still dangerously practical - new sword to her, Ryukyu extended his original offer, and offered them both permanent stay.
Both Ilmarinen and Ashitaka have found their place amongst Skemmdeljott's permanent residents today, and are well-considered by clan members and guests alike. A smithy has been built in the back of the lair, where he can ply his trade in peace, and if he sometimes visits a certain royal poinciana tree in the Labyrinth, who's to stop him?
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╭- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I N F O R M A T I O N - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -╮
ETYMOLOGY - In Finnish mythology, Seppo Ilmarinen, the Eternal Hammerer is a god and master smith, able to create practically anything and knowledgeable about all metals. He notably forged the Sampo, a magic mill able to create salt, grain and gold.
RELATIONSHIPS - Friend
LIKES - Blacksmithing, history and lore, discussing about his preferred subjects
DISLIKES - Mining, an overabundance of light, cold temperatures
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Deep inside him, though, he knew it was his fault. It was no surprise, thus, when he elected to close his forge and set off to the Viridian Labyrinth with the bones of his old apprentice with him. Her parents had no harsh words for him - better than he deserved, he supposed. Later that day, they buried her remains under the sky, in a rare clearing between the trees, and planted a royal poinciana sapling on the grave, whose flowers would later grow fiery red, as the fires the young apprentice so loved. Legend held that trees planted on the tombs of deceased nature dragons would guide their souls to the Gladekeeper, and that such trees would grow taller and stronger than all others. May your soul find rest at her side, he thought forlornly.
For many months after he spent his life as many dragons do, hunting and fishing and foraging across Sornieth, without ever staying long in the same place and avoiding other dragons. He did never, however, forget himself - broken souls, they were called, those who had suffered a great loss, forgetting all those dear to them, with any thought of love or home or gods second only to a haunch of spoiled meat or a puddle of muddy water that would let them live another day. He always remained Ilmarinen of the Shrieking Wilds, who had been a smith in service to the Flamecaller. Today still, he has little interest in remembering those months, for in spite of all of Skemmdeljott's advice, he still feels shame at letting himself go thus, even if it never was the utter loss of himself it could have been.
He never knew what drove him to that fire, that night in the Shattered Plain, and if he is honest with himself, he cares little about it today. From what he says, it was just a good feeling that spurred him there, to seek the first draconic company he'd had in months. For someone who'd shied away from conversation for such a long time, he did surprisingly well, he thought. Ashitaka was on a trip to Cairnstone Rest, to 'commune with the ancestors', she explained. She was from the Water Flight, and as such, was learning to be an oracle, which, among others, involved being able to effectively summon a dead dragon's soul from its resting place and talk to it, all with utmost respect, of course. Briefly his thoughts wandered. Can she... No. Some matters were best left to rest. She gleefully accepted, though, when he offered to accompany her on her trip. Perhaps the Ancients could give him some counsel as well?
Of course, Ashitaka had to choose the darkest and deepest parts of the tunnels to commune, for, apparently, the souls of the ancients were the strongest here, and although Ilmarinen was not an especially spiritual dragon, it was true that the air here was oppressive, and he felt watched. However, while his companion continuously pressed him further on, the smith found he could not detach himself from the age-old scriptures on the walls. Oddly, language had not changed much in Sornieth since the First Age, it seemed. To his great disappointment, though, it seemed Ashitaka had little and less interest in history and lore, and thought only about reaching the final chamber of the funeral complex. It was larger than he expected, monumental even - several dozen Imperials could've fit in there - and its walls and ceilings were covered entirely in runes and claw marks. An entire library could not contain those stories, he thought. At the center, a shallow pool full of clear, cold water stood, and Ashitaka settled by its side. He'd wait until the ritual was over, and then hopefully seek counsel.
The ritual did work, in a sense. A skeletal Guardian burst in the chamber, wings extended, and laid upon Ashitaka with surprising strength for a being with no sign of muscle or any soft tissue. Neither of the two dragons were warriors, and it showed - she was tossed right across the room, while the wyrm bit into his wing, tearing a sizeable chunk of it off. Ilmarinen screamed in pain, the unconcerned undead dragon - How could it be concerned without ears?, the smith thought, and laughed madly - opening its jaws to snap its unfortunate victim's neck. Suddenly Ashitaka barreled into it, her antlers getting caught into the wyrm's ribs, and they both tumbled into a confused mess of muscle and bone. Ilmarinen reacted swiftly, whipping at the undead fiend with his tail to get his attention, and darting out of the way, just past the small pool. He supposed he should count himself lucky that Ashitaka's magical abilities were better than his, and the waters rose unbidden, slamming into the wyrm's wing and apparently breaking the magical articulations holding it together, as it fell apart with a loud clatter. Carried away by its momentum, the wyrm crashed into the wall... and brought the tunnel crashing down upon itself. Trapped.
Supplies were there, and they could always feed on whatever there was - bats, rats, a few bugs and some blind misshapen catfish in the pool. And of course, there was boredom. He settled for reading the scriptures and trying to remember them all, while Ashitaka concentrated - again - on her seering, trying to commune again. By the second day, she asked him what tale the cave walls told. And thus he explained - this had been some very ancient burial ground, and the dragons of that time had known little of the deities and of Sornieth's history, writing their own creation myths. "In the beginning there was nothing - the world was vacant and barren. From that void sprang forth one father god of the Sky, and one mother goddess of the Earth, and together they came and laid eleven eggs, who would later hatch as the dragon-gods of Sornieth. According to their myth, the hatchlings that came from those eggs didn't have enough place to live, as their parents were very close. The children rebelled against their parents to separate them, and it was the youngest child who cut their father's arms so he would not hold their mother anymore. Furthermore, they built a massive structure - the World Pillar - to keep them apart. It was then that the children were able to see the light and sky for the first time. However, all of them, apart from the oldest son - the Earthshaker, young and away from their parents' guidance, soon started fighting, about power, control, jealousy and anger. And so Flight Rising was born." By then, he noticed he'd already fallen asleep by his side, and, carefully avoiding waking her up, he laid his snout on her tail and let sleep claim him too.
It was a week before they exhausted their supplies, and another four days before they'd eaten the last fish in the pond - they had about as much taste as they had colour, and by then, both of them were effectively sick of it. The bats and bugs could only last so long either. It was Ashitaka, however, who first noticed how unusually young the wyrm's bones seemed: they were not bleached as one would expect, and those brown streaks looked suspiciously like... blood? Obviously, Ilmarinen would not hear of it. For all his blacksmithing skills and passion for history, he remained a dragon from the Nature flight, and would not feed on another dragon's bones, at least not before he'd starve.
All it took for him to collapse was one week, at the end of which she had to stuff marrow in his mouth and chew it for him, and it took him two full days to feel strong enough to wake up. And of course, when he did, it was not with pleasure, for to eat the flesh - well, the bones - of another dragon was generally not well looked-upon outside the Scarred Wasteland. I should have expected this, Ashitaka thought. What neither of the two Imperials foresaw, however, was a voice, seemingly out of nowhere, trying to speak. There was only one explanation to its presence: by feeding on the skeletal guardian's bones, they had freed its soul from its earthly confines. "I think not it even was so long ago that I walked this place - although of course, at the time, I was not but a toy for the spirits to play with. I have to thank you for this newfound freedom, for I know not how many years I might have otherwise spent here. I recall there being a passage to the outside, near the place from where I first emerged when you awoke me from my slumber. It collapsed upon me when I first came to visit, many months ago. I must go now, for the Earthshaker awaits - and again my most heartfelt thanks!" Gladekeeper guide you, Ilmarinen whispered after him.
Thus it was that three days later, two famished, exhaused Imperials emerged from a rather-ordinary looking fissure in the Shattered Plain. Ilmarinen was in no fit state to dig, so Ashitaka had been forced to use waterspouts, and later her own claws and snout to dig a way out, while he limped behind. They were found another day later, asleep under the stars on the bare rocky plain, by Styx, returning home from the Viridian Labyrinth. Generous as ever, he offered to take them back to his lair, where they would be cared for until they were fit to travel again. During the trek to Skemmdeljott, he hunted for the three of them without complaint - something both travellers would feel eternally grateful for. When they arrived, Ilmarinen, though, was appalled by the absence of a forge, and elected to stay, especially since Andrasta had cracked her favourite blade on a Serthis' skull a few days before. When he presented the beautifully ornate new - yet still dangerously practical - new sword to her, Ryukyu extended his original offer, and offered them both permanent stay.
Both Ilmarinen and Ashitaka have found their place amongst Skemmdeljott's permanent residents today, and are well-considered by clan members and guests alike. A smithy has been built in the back of the lair, where he can ply his trade in peace, and if he sometimes visits a certain royal poinciana tree in the Labyrinth, who's to stop him?
╰
╭
ETYMOLOGY - In Finnish mythology, Seppo Ilmarinen, the Eternal Hammerer is a god and master smith, able to create practically anything and knowledgeable about all metals. He notably forged the Sampo, a magic mill able to create salt, grain and gold.
RELATIONSHIPS - Friend
LIKES - Blacksmithing, history and lore, discussing about his preferred subjects
DISLIKES - Mining, an overabundance of light, cold temperatures
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Exalting Ilmarinen to the service of the Plaguebringer will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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