Vandre
(#14225412)
Level 6 Wildclaw
Familiar
Snowdrop of Crystalline
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Female Wildclaw
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.15 m
Wingspan
8.96 m
Weight
689.76 kg
Genetics
Ice
Iridescent
Iridescent
Ice
Shimmer
Shimmer
Ice
Gembond
Gembond
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 6 Wildclaw
EXP: 301 / 8380
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
- Plutus
- Buckeye
- Geek
- HeavenlyCloud
- Spar
- Tower
- Keys
- Caodai
- Squonk
- Glupyy
- BorEalis
- Helios
- MelonHead
- PlatTiger
- Kyer
- Redwings
- Bloom
- Gamma
- Griffen
- Mailu
- Shorty
- Thea
- Petro
- Moonmace
- Patrick
- Sacredscream
- Pember
- Underworld
- Tuck
- Nightball
- Gleeclaw
- Nightfrill
- Carlos
- Bucko
- Nimriel
- Admire
- Stonespine
- Ekim
- Tigerstar
- Taichi
- Xavtumal
- Morcant
- Amiss
- Mayes
- Unnamed
- Wright
- Justin
Biography
|
VANDRE Frightened | Creative | Submissive | Devoted | Gentle | Clever |
Warnings: Lightning Shadow Fire |
She loved the Master.
He had such... perfection. Only perfection would satisfy. And he understood the greatest truth- that perfection came through pain. And oh, the pain! oh, the perfection! Perfect as three whites! How could she help but bow? How could she help but adore?
Master was wise. Master was beautiful. Master knew perfection. And if he was cruel, well, that was right. Anything was right if it was with Master.
Oh, how she worshiped him when young- tiny, nameless Wildclaw. She knew the pain, loved the perfection, and was eager, oh so eager to press herself to the ice, cheek to the cold earth, when Master came. She would please him- oh, she would, glittering icy perfection that she was, perfectly obedient, never questioning, always adoring, always fearing. And if she was not perfect as three whites, well, she was perfect as three ices then, just as lovely.
Oh, to be given the name of Frej and to become one of Master's ranks of noble breeders. Oh, to serve the Master!
Shoved into the auction house. Confused, broken little Wildclaw- what had she done, to be traded to fill Master's coffers? Did she not please him? Was she imperfect? She knew, she knew she was perfection itself. None loved or feared Master as she did. None bowed as she bowed. But she was pushed away, sold for pennies.... No comfort, that the price she listed was a high one. She was rejected.
Afraid and alone, the tiny, nameless Wildclaw fled the auctions. She loved Master... But she knew she could never go back. She was rejected- if she returned to her Frejlandt, unsold, then she would go to the Slab, to the Warden. She would be given an X for a name and be forgotten- an embarrassment, a shame to the Master. That could never happen. She was perfection- perfection itself, perfect as three ices; did not her parents always tell her so?
So she fled, alone altogether. And she wandered. In confusion and fear she found herself out of the Icefields in the Windswept Plateau. She hid from all that moved, fled from beast and dragon alike.
That was when he found her- her Orome roam. She was afraid of him, at first- he was ugly, imperfect. Too short, with wings too long and snout too blunt- too thick-bodied by far. His eyes were garish green, his hide too blue, too bright with no shimmer. Ugly in the mirror. She did not know this ugliness. But he sought her out with gentleness and with soft words- if outside he was ugly as the Slab was ugly, ugly-in-the-mirror ugly, then inside he was as perfect as three whites. His voice told her so.
He brought her such fine things- sparrows and squirrels and mice to eat, funny stories and things to make her laugh. And she brought him gifts- little trinkets: stones that sparkled, fabric that was soft as fresh snow, an arrow that pointed always away from the Master. She told him what they were made of- pretty little stories that glittered like crystal and made him smile. She loved that smile. She loved it more than Master.
And then he gave her a name. Vandre. It was proud and perfect, as perfect as she was, as perfect as three whites. He gave her his name, too- Orome- which was perfect too when she said it twice, Orome roam. Perfect as three whites.
Now, she always looks forward to his visits- meeting with Orome roam. He comes every day. When he is not there, she is afraid- afraid of the Slab, afraid of Master- afraid that she will be left alone, alone altogether. Afraid that he will not come back. But there is the bird he gave to keep her company- the hum-bird that is made of the Warden's breath and the sound of moonlight on water and the dance that moonlight makes. It remembers her of him, and makes her safe. It is a proud, perfect thing, perfect as three whites, and it tells her that he will always come back.
He came back with silks and smiles and a present. This made Vandre happy, happy down to her absolute altogether bottoms of herself, because she had a present for him too. It was only right to give presents together. A present without a friend is lonely.
It was all perfect- the silks, the eating, and him there. And when it was done, he covered her in his warmth and gave her his present. It was earrings and a necklace, blue as Orome roam, with his heart in them. He told her so. She feels perfect to wear them- perfect as three ices and perfect as the aurora, and proud as gold that he gave them.
He had such... perfection. Only perfection would satisfy. And he understood the greatest truth- that perfection came through pain. And oh, the pain! oh, the perfection! Perfect as three whites! How could she help but bow? How could she help but adore?
Master was wise. Master was beautiful. Master knew perfection. And if he was cruel, well, that was right. Anything was right if it was with Master.
Oh, how she worshiped him when young- tiny, nameless Wildclaw. She knew the pain, loved the perfection, and was eager, oh so eager to press herself to the ice, cheek to the cold earth, when Master came. She would please him- oh, she would, glittering icy perfection that she was, perfectly obedient, never questioning, always adoring, always fearing. And if she was not perfect as three whites, well, she was perfect as three ices then, just as lovely.
Oh, to be given the name of Frej and to become one of Master's ranks of noble breeders. Oh, to serve the Master!
Shoved into the auction house. Confused, broken little Wildclaw- what had she done, to be traded to fill Master's coffers? Did she not please him? Was she imperfect? She knew, she knew she was perfection itself. None loved or feared Master as she did. None bowed as she bowed. But she was pushed away, sold for pennies.... No comfort, that the price she listed was a high one. She was rejected.
Afraid and alone, the tiny, nameless Wildclaw fled the auctions. She loved Master... But she knew she could never go back. She was rejected- if she returned to her Frejlandt, unsold, then she would go to the Slab, to the Warden. She would be given an X for a name and be forgotten- an embarrassment, a shame to the Master. That could never happen. She was perfection- perfection itself, perfect as three ices; did not her parents always tell her so?
So she fled, alone altogether. And she wandered. In confusion and fear she found herself out of the Icefields in the Windswept Plateau. She hid from all that moved, fled from beast and dragon alike.
That was when he found her- her Orome roam. She was afraid of him, at first- he was ugly, imperfect. Too short, with wings too long and snout too blunt- too thick-bodied by far. His eyes were garish green, his hide too blue, too bright with no shimmer. Ugly in the mirror. She did not know this ugliness. But he sought her out with gentleness and with soft words- if outside he was ugly as the Slab was ugly, ugly-in-the-mirror ugly, then inside he was as perfect as three whites. His voice told her so.
He brought her such fine things- sparrows and squirrels and mice to eat, funny stories and things to make her laugh. And she brought him gifts- little trinkets: stones that sparkled, fabric that was soft as fresh snow, an arrow that pointed always away from the Master. She told him what they were made of- pretty little stories that glittered like crystal and made him smile. She loved that smile. She loved it more than Master.
And then he gave her a name. Vandre. It was proud and perfect, as perfect as she was, as perfect as three whites. He gave her his name, too- Orome- which was perfect too when she said it twice, Orome roam. Perfect as three whites.
Now, she always looks forward to his visits- meeting with Orome roam. He comes every day. When he is not there, she is afraid- afraid of the Slab, afraid of Master- afraid that she will be left alone, alone altogether. Afraid that he will not come back. But there is the bird he gave to keep her company- the hum-bird that is made of the Warden's breath and the sound of moonlight on water and the dance that moonlight makes. It remembers her of him, and makes her safe. It is a proud, perfect thing, perfect as three whites, and it tells her that he will always come back.
He came back with silks and smiles and a present. This made Vandre happy, happy down to her absolute altogether bottoms of herself, because she had a present for him too. It was only right to give presents together. A present without a friend is lonely.
It was all perfect- the silks, the eating, and him there. And when it was done, he covered her in his warmth and gave her his present. It was earrings and a necklace, blue as Orome roam, with his heart in them. He told her so. She feels perfect to wear them- perfect as three ices and perfect as the aurora, and proud as gold that he gave them.
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Exalting Vandre to the service of the Windsinger 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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