BlueSpectre » Lair » Jam

Jam

(#13622955)

Level 1 Tundra

Familiar

Ember Mouse

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

2.57 m

Wingspan

4.15 m

Weight

249.17 kg

Genetics

Banana
Iridescent

Rust
Shimmer

Maize
Underbelly

Hatchday

May 30, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Tundra

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 1 Tundra

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Jam
Code:

J A M

• Cook •
Main Theme : Possibly

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S T A R T

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Lost somewhere in the midst of the sprinkled flour, the dried berries, and the haphazardly scattered mixing bowls and stirring spoons was a pair of gloves. No one wanted Tundra fur in their cookies, no matter how clean that Tundra was.

Speaking of which, she was supposed to be back by now. She went out to seal a deal with a traveling seed merchant. She’d made a batch of delicious scones for the peddler in exchange for a pouch of assorted seeds from Shadow territory. Some of the seeds, the peddler said, would glow in the dark.

“Ah,” he said after scanning his counter again. “There you are.” He snatched the gloves up and started sliding them over his fluffy claws.

“Talking to your truffles again?” Peanut Butter pranced into the kitchen. She wore a floppy chef’s hat on her head to keep her lucious mane out of her beautiful brown eyes.

“The nicest thing about them is they don’t talk back,” he snipped good-naturedly. “Did the peddler like the scones?”

Peanut Butter beamed. “I think he’ll be back once he’s done in the Isles. Might bring some magical Arcane plants with him. How would that be? Magical biscuits.”

“That’ll get them talking,” Jam chuckled, handing her a mixing spoon. “Care to help me?”

Peanut Butter smiled and nodded, taking the spoon eagerly. “What are we making?” She picked up the nearest bowl and awaited contents.

Jam smiled at his lump of dough and then at Peanut Butter. “You know, I don’t know yet. I think we’ll find out soon, though.”
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B I O G R A P H Y

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It was a windy day in the steppes when Jam was hatched. Of course, that might be said for any regular day, but it was nearing the end of the Greenskeeper Gathering. This day saw the hatchlings playing and tumbling through the grasses in delight, the adults milling about with their wreaths of flowers, and some few of the clan’s more industrious members cooking up every bit of greenery they could find. Jam was hatched to the sounds and smells of a boiling pot of well-spiced soup, the tinge of berry brandy, and the aroma of baked petal crisps. What else could Jam decide to become when he grew up but a cook?

Jam is the kind of dragon that everyone likes, but isn’t sure why. Not many can point to a particular circumstance when they had fun with Jam, or when they found out what a nice Tundra he is. Rather, he is quiet and kind, and that’s the sort of thing that dragons notice in passing. He has a poetic sense of humor, if one ever sticks around long enough to see it, and he can typically be found passing time with the hatchlings when he isn’t cooking. His mate, Peanut Butter, says that there is not an aggressive bone in his whole body, though he is protective. No one has ever seen what Jam would do were one of his loved ones threatened, but it’s safe to say it might involve a sound thrashing with a frying pan.

Jam was hatched and lives in Wind territory. Though he doesn’t have the insatiable travel bug that affects other Wind dragons, he does like to explore different tastes from all over the world. He often gets the opportunity to do so, seeing as Wind territory is usually an amalgam of all sorts of dragons from one place headed for another. Every dragon, whether large or small, hefty or tiny, have one thing in common. Everyone eats. Jam is happy to share a meal and a few recipe cards with them. It can only make his clan’s life better. He has mastered the finer points of Earth cuisine, thanks to his mate, Peanut Butter, and he knows many comfort foods from each of the territories to help any new dragons in their midst feel welcome. After all, there’s nothing like a taste of home when you’re far away.
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Jam

A dash of salt, he thought, then he could add the basket of beautiful, ripe blackberries he had collected that morning.

Jam remembered peeking up onto the table as his mother folded ingredients into a huge wooden bowl. She reached over with one floury paw and batted his nose. leaving a puff of white across his creamy fur. He giggled.

He stirred with a large wooden spoon, the berries mashing and leaving deep purple streaks in the yellow batter. He dipped a claw into the mixture and lapped at the dripping liquid, grimacing at the sour taste. Needs more sugar.

"Too many cooks spoil the pot, little Jam tart." she said, when he started to speak of leaving. "All cooks must find their own recipes. Maybe it's time to go seek your own hearth." He wouldn't go far, he promised, too fond of the land of many winds and the sumptuous breezes. But somewhere close, a small clan who needed him...

Jam poured the batter carefully into a clay dish and set it inside the massive stone oven. Slowly it bubbled, then began to brown. With carefully padded paws, he withdrew the vessel and flipped the fragrant loaf of sweetbread onto a floury table. Almost immediately, Jam heard voices approaching, drawn by the scent of pastries. He hastily sliced the cake and turned, distributing pieces to his clanmates. Their voices were quickly replaced with sounds of appreciative eating. He smiled. It was nice to be needed.
Story by: Hatterlet

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