EPICdragon99 » Lair » Permafrost

Permafrost

(#12739653)

Level 25 Tundra

Hunt

Dire Hyena

Energy: 49/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.63 m

Wingspan

3.18 m

Weight

333.86 kg

Genetics

Platinum
Iridescent

Thistle
Facet

Mulberry
Spines

Hatchday

Apr 29, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Tundra

Eye Type

Ice
Common

Level 25 Tundra

Max Level

STR

113

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

Permafrost

Knight • N/A • Dedicated • Fierce

Lorum ipsum dolor sit amet, bla bla bla, totally legit latin, etc. etc. etc. Veretan olo corimbus ceri, deleth arcour grandi heretanth. Variunsoth garulia corimbus eti, goroli filleri takeupspacei. Text, text, text. Draco drago draconic draconian, dragon draco drake.

"Ah. More Tundras. And a child, no less."

These were the first things Permafrost heard upon meeting the exaltee ambassador. He was a towering Imperial with crystal-blue wings that seemed to block out the sun, and eyes that could glower through glaciers. "So, you want to become exalts, do you?"

"We don't have much other choice," her mother stammered. "When our clan moved further into the mountains, it became harder and harder to find edible plants. Once the famine hit, there was very little left over for us to eat; we had to resort to eating old leather and papyrus, stealing rations from Beastclans, or harvesting plant matter from the bellies of the clan's prey to survive." Her father shuddered at the mention of the last option. "When Permafrost here was hatched-" her mother gave her a gentle shove, at which she let out a tiny snarl of indignation- "the clan decided there were too many obligate herbivores to care for, and began casting us Tundras to seek our fates elsewhere. We couldn't leave our daughter to visit the Icewarden alone- she was bound to be exalted anyway- and we had nowhere else to go."

The Imperial sniffed. "You do realize the famine affects nearly the entire Flight, exalts included, correct?" "Yes, but-" her father blurted in, before quieting timidly. "My advice would be to head for the borders and lowlands, where there's at least pines, shrubs, and maybe even seaweed to munch on alongside the lichens. That, or flee to another Flight's territory until ours stabilizes. Besides, you're not particularly exalt material anyway. Look at yourselves; you're all weak and bony."

Permafrost looked down at her thin, drooping pelt. It was the only one she'd known, yet the tufts of fur on this Imperial were twice as luscious and sparkling than anything on her. She began to grow jealous and fumed at the insult. "I'm strong enough!" She squeaked, puffing out her bony chest. "Ha. Sure, a pipsqueak of a Tundra who's barely alive will be an asset to the Icewarden."

"Face it, kid; the only value you could serve is as an adult, and as things are now, it's doubtful if you'll get there. Besides, between your age and your breed's tendency towards amnesia, you probably wouldn't remember enough instruction to be useful anyways. Honestly? Your best bet is to settle in with a clan somewhere and let the past inevitably sink away, taking on a more... domestic role. Icewarden needs soldiers, police, and watchdogs; clans need just about anything a soft little dragon like you could accomplish. We're dealing with enough stress as it is; we don't need absent-minded refugees to look after on top of all that."

Her father gazed into the ambassador's eyes sternly; her mother lashed her tail back and forth. "We'll die if we don't find food and shelter soon. At the very least, take care of our daughter and leave us frozen until we can be made useful." Her father, finally speaking, clawed at the frozen soil and gravel below him. "I already told you, she's a liability," the Imperial stated. "Your offer is noble, but pointless. It would be better the other way around."

Permafrost shivered at both concepts, but stood her ground. "I can fight," she said. "Teach me and I can be the strongest fighter in the whole Flight. I already know how to use my claws. I've had to tear out guts t' get to food before. N' I know I'm tough 'cause I can swallow the stuff inside when Mom and Dad can barely stand near it!" She stood up straight and tall, chest puffed out and tail held stiff. Her mother leaned down to lick at her forehead; She blushed under her fur and glared petulantly.

The Imperial rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Look, I'll make you all a deal: The adults come with me and join the Icewarden, as requested, and the tyke'll be escorted by some trainee to the nearest clan. Alright?"

Before she could protest, the decision was done; set in stone, out of her claws. She remembered latching onto the tail of a stony-gray Spiral that smelled like dust and frozen hay. She remembered the cold of the blizzard, her pelt offering little comfort when she already felt so alone. She remembered the fearsome musk of wolf seeped into a set of muddy footprints, her guide tugging her more anxiously to get away from the knife-toothed beasts. There was a distant sting of broken pine on the wind; from what direction, she could hardly tell. "Come on, let's go. You can't get lost out here." A half-frozen compass chittered in their claws, smelling like blood and soot and snow.

It was clear from the start her new clan was reluctant to take her in. Famines aside, she had little practical skills, not to mention she came with the dependency inherent in her youthful fragility. Perhaps she would grow into an asset for the clan, but for now, she was scrawny and unassuming. She often found herself hunting instead of gathering, stalking various creatures to both locate caches of food and steal what they had on- or in- them. Often she had to resort to food she could barley eat, taking her meager share of the clan's collective resources. Between the starvation and the mismatched diet, she was often in pain, but she grew to ignore it. In the least, the heightened protein in her diet helped build muscle.

In terms of clan life, Permafrost was tenacious to a fault, desperate to claw out a place for herself. Some said she was like a Wildclaw in a fur coat; others snickered and called her a lost cause. It wasn't her fault she was hatched into famine, built like a puppy when others wanted a wolf.

But oh, she would learn. In time, she sharpened her fangs and claws on pure spite.

Her Clanmates were horrified the night she brought home an elk's corpse, shredded with a sudden- and lethal- ferocity. They told her she shouldn't be hunting, that it wasn't very Tundra-like of her; she told them she'd eaten her food bloodied for so long it was hard to remember what it was like to eat real, fresh plants. Besides, they should thank her. She had fed the clan, had she not?

Half out of fear and half out of duty, the dragons decided that the fostered hatchling had grown strong enough to serve the Icewarden. At first, she was honored; why shouldn't she be? But when she saw the side-eyed glances her Clanmates gave her, the refusal to offer anything other than the most basic provisions, she realized she was not being honored. She was being outcast.

Her anger swelled with every step on the journey to the Fortress of Ends. She bit her tongue, carefully following the same Spiral that had led her the other way those many years ago.

"You. The purple Wildclaw, with the yolk-colored eyes." A flustered dragon bogged down in wooly layers and thick times looked up at her. "You're the current record-keeper for this station. I have a question for you." The Wildclaw nodded hesitantly. "I need information from your archives. A pair of Tundras- a drake and a dragonette- were registered to this same exalt regiment several years ago. Maybe five, maybe ten. Both Ice dragons." Details. Think. "Sm- looked a bit like me." The other dragon tapped her talon against the hoary granite below them. She ruffled through a few of the books in her claw., and shrugged. (It was probably too old to be on hand. No surprise there.) She beckoned for Permafrost to follow, placing her current clawful on her desk and striding into the subfort's meager library.

Vellum and parchment and leather and oil, piled over shelves of slowly-corroding steel.. Very little plant matter was used here, from what Permafrost smelled. It didn't matter.

She waited for what felt like ages until the Wildclaw motioned her over. A dense smell of animal skin and squid ink wafted over Permafrost as she stared down at the massive scroll the archivist had unravelled, gaze following her claw to a list of names. Permafrost inhaled deeply, hoping to spark a memory. "Anything about a hatchling with them?" The Wildclaw paused, and skimmed through several sections again. Finally, a single talon tapped into a short paragraph of runes.

"Merlino and Irani, Tundras of the Ice Flight. Interred during the month of Wavecrest, assignments to be decided. Hatchling rejected, sent to nearby clan. Current course of action dictates she remain there until further notice (i.e. end of vegetation shortage); reclamation possible, but unlikely at the moment. Recruits fully grown, but may need further training depending on capability. Contact initiative forces as a preemptive measure."

Permafrost's tail lashed, smashing into the cold steel and dense leather of her surroundings. "That's... That's gotta be me. I think. Merlino and Irani... Blasted books only smell of their components. Maybe a little of who wrote them, but never of who's described! Augh." She snarled. Olfactory confirmation would be nice, thanks! "Whatever. It's a start, I suppose. Thank you." The Wildclaw nodded. "Do you know where they were sent next? I'd assume further into the Fortress, but they could have been deployed immediately, for all I know."

The Wildclaw shrugged tentatively. How should she know, Permafrost figured? It had been years. Decades, even. (Had it really been that long? Damn.) It wasn't like she herself would (could) remember any better. "Alright. Uhm, who's... 'initiative forces.' I'm guessing they help train and establish new recruits, yes?" The Wildclaw nodded. Yes, seems obvious enough. "Where are they located? Or, rather, where is the local branch headquartered. Do you at least know where they would take dragons, maybe?"

The Wildclaw sprang to life, talons twitching with a manic fervor as she slipped away to retrieve another scrap of vellum. Permafrost stood rock-still in waiting, tail twitching subtly. Finally, the archivist swirled back to her guest, a bulky mapscroll piled within her talons. She scuttled in next to Permafrost (who scooted away disconcertedly), sprawling the map out across the icy floor.

As typical of the Ice Flight, it was little decorated, but precise in regards to proportion and topography. After a moment's hesitation, the dragon before her reached out a single claw towards a small rune etched over the landscape. Permafrost nodded once in acknowledgement. Glancing to the edges of the illustration, she searched for the legend to determine travel distance and direction. "Alright. Fiftyish miles north-northeast, overlooking a mountain passage." A pause. "Thank you, genuinely." The Wildclaw grinned and flicked her tail happily.

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Exalting Permafrost to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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