ThatIdiotSerge » Lair » Flint

Flint

(#13994362)

Level 11 Guardian

Familiar

Animated Armor

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

20.14 m

Wingspan

15.75 m

Weight

8708.93 kg

Genetics

Midnight
Piebald

Denim
Paint

Black
Thylacine

Hatchday

Jun 12, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 11 Guardian

EXP: 5326 / 34264

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Mazz
Zegai

Offspring

Biography

My journey began far across the sea in the realm of song and winds. I,

and my nestmates, hatched as our people prepared for the Brightshine Jubilee. I remember it, clear as the Day Goddess herself is bright. I remember my mother, singing with the gentle breeze that whistled through the caves. The sweet lady Zagai, was soft and fond in her affections, often teaching us songs and stories. My father, the noble Mazz, was a little more distant, but kind all the same. My brother Croak was sickly, even as an egg. He was small, and weak. Enamored, my sister Marva and I loved this, strange, tiny brother of ours with a passion, and the three of us quickly became nigh inseperable.

Our first introduction to the world took place during the Brightshine

Jubilee. The inhabitants of the Windswept Plateau celebrated together throughout the week. There were feasts, carnivals, games, and performances in honor of the Lightweaver. By day, the sky filled with dancing kites and dragons alike. By night, glowing balloons illuminated the night, and it seemed the sun had never set. The deities must be magnificent if even this extravagant display was for a foreign goddess. Awestruck, my nestmates and I were eager to explore a world protected by such majesty. With our parents' permission, we set off to join the celebrations.

Croak, despite his infirmities, was the most reckless of us three.

Always eager for adventure, he challenged us often with dares, races, and games of the like. Often he refused to quit a game until he ran out of breath or struck with some dizziness. A week of celebration was of no exception. To Croak's great delight, the three of us were light enough to rise with the balloons and kites that filled the air; the baskets and platforms that often hung from them were just large enough for us to stand on. Within no time, we were jumping from platform to platform, laughing and taunting one another as we found paths back to the ground. Again and again we rose up to where our wings could not yet take us. Eager to prove myself, I allowed one of the balloons to carry me higher, higher. The balloon passed the protective threshold of the rooftops. Racing winds jerked it to one side. I kept rising, higher, faster, too terrified to call out for help. Blown around until I had lost sight of Croak and Marva. Until my home was too small to make out. Until I was far above the blue sea.

The wind that had taken me was quick and fierce, determined in its

delivery of rain bearing clouds. I do not know how long I was in the balloon, time blurred between tears, hunger, and exhausted sleep. It seemed only a few hours before the racing wind dispersed the clouds, and the rain beat down my balloon. In a matter of moments I found myself tangled up in the branches an enormous tree. Cold, lost, and alone, I cried and cried until I heard a voice, “What in Shade’s name is that infernal noise?!” An imperial with large purple wings looked up, eyeing me with suspicion. He begrudgingly brought me deep within the Shrieking Wilds where I stayed until I regained my strength.

Not long after I recovered, a small, purple spirit visited me. This was

not the patron to the Emerald Falls. That spirit was more dismissive, less playfully curious, and not to mention green. The little violet orb shifted, transforming into a strange creature. It's true form resembled certain of the beastclans, though its eyes were devoid of malice. The spirit explained to me that I was to be part of great clan in the realm of Shadows. Through this new clan and its inhabitants would find a charge I could be worthy of. And so I left the Falls, waving to the few kind dragons that had cared for me. As I followed my guide through the marshes and the woods, my heart surged with some primitive recognition. I was home.

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A small chest sits with the lid propped open and you

happen to notice the odd assortment of items within. Curious, you can’t help but peek further into the box...

Sitting on top is a Windsinger puppet. The stuffed

dragon is limp and floppy, but just enough to be soft for hatchlings to cuddle or wrestle with. It is in excellent condition, the green satin still smooth to the touch and malleable, though it doesn’t show any signs of thinning. A few of the ribbon threads, however, have begun fraying slightly, giving an indication of its age. A small, faded tag on the tail identifying the seller or creator has been worn away, making the words practically illegible.

Around the stuffed puppet’s neck is a small string of

carved beads made of white stone, which you realize aren’t part of the original doll. Carefully removing them from around its neck, you inspect the beads more closely. The images seem to hold a history of sorts, detailed drawings carved in with care. The foremost and largest bead has the image of two guardian hatchlings looking expectantly at a third egg. The string of beads would never fit on a grown dragon, but seem to have been made for something much smaller. Gently hanging them back on the puppet’s neck you think it’s odd, you’ve never seen this color of rock in the Shadow realm.

As you’re replacing the doll, you notice a bottle nestled

snugly in the bottom of the chest. Slowly, you pull it out. Upon first inspection, the green tinted glass seems fogged up. But looking closer, you realize the bottle in fact is holding winds! Bits of dust fly to and fro, kicked up and swirled about by the restless air. A faint smell arises, first of sea salt and then of something sweeter, but more earthy. It reminds you of grassy fields sometimes found along the river banks.

You hear your name. Startled in your thoughts, you

fumble with the bottle, nearly dropping it. As quickly as you can, you fit it back in it’s place. The Windsinger’s ribbon eyes almost seem accusatory as you sit the green doll in the chest. Flint returns to find you sitting innocently.

"I was lucky to find it so quickly. Shade knows that hoard

needs to be cleaned out," he passes you a small book, "This should help you somewhat, though Mage might have further insight on the matter. I hope you were not waiting too long."

You assure him you hadn't and, after thanking him for

the book, hurry on your way. He bids you goodnight, and the large guardian turns to his nest, ready to settle in. Just as he does so, Flint catches sight of the chest. Wondering why it was now shut, he flips up the clasp and opens the chest. The beads on the necklace his mother had given to him clack together lightly as he lifts out the Windsinger puppet. The little doll reminds him of the street vendor he had received it from on his first Jubilee, a funny looking dragon with long ears and a fluffy tail.

Flint peers further in and upon seeing the bottle of winds

pulls it out. The glass is still intact with no sign of cracks or scratches. The seal on the stopper had not been broken. Satisfied, he swirls the bottle about, watching as the winds that had borne him across the sea dance about, holding with them the smell of the waters and of the plains from whence he had come.

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Flint 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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