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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.97 m
Wingspan
7.47 m
Weight
551.28 kg
Genetics
Shadow
Ripple
Ripple
Carmine
Stripes
Stripes
Pumpkin
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Wildclaw
Max Level
STR
117
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
72
INT
5
VIT
20
MND
5
Biography
Elliar
Chief Sentinel
 Relationships: Mother: Spectre Father: Heraldic Mate: Voltaire Friends: Falenas, Tarquis Favored Items: 
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"If any honor existed in war, it was in fighting to protect others from harm." History : Born into the less than welcoming expanse of the Scarred Wasteland, Elliar seemed destined for death almost from the beginning. As youngling he was sickly and frail due to his egg hatching too fast, thus causing him to miss the critical period in which a baby plague dragon develops its tolerance to the surrounding pestilence. His susceptibility to the rot not only affected his health, but also the way he viewed the land around him. While others of his kind reveled in the contagion, Elliar found it to be disgusting. He scorned the twisting masses of bones and decaying flesh that covered the area, and began to despise his homeland. Because of his obvious differences to the other dragons of the area, many often targeted him, either bullying him or leading him into dangerous situations. His vulnerability led his parents to order that he stay close to the nest so as to avoid these problems. Elliar was far from happy about this as he was a deeply intelligent child and loved to explore despite his disabilities. Even so, he obeyed his parent's wishes and stuck close to home -- for a time. As he grew older, his desire to explore grew ever more intense, and his repulsion toward his home deepened. Time had also been cruel to his family, and his parents had become somewhat hostile towards each other and him. It was not an infrequent occurrence to have his parent’s woes placed on his shoulders, and he often blamed himself for his parent’s arguments. Eventually his thoughts began turning to finding a way out. He began sneaking out at night to observe the possible routes leading out of the wasteland. He knew that it was dangerous for him to be doing this, as all types of dangers lurked in the pestilence, but found that he simply couldn’t help himself. For years he did this, slowly and carefully mapping the least hazardous way of escaping without being caught or seen. Then one night, he finally put his plans into action. Though guilt tugged at his heart for leaving his parents behind, he knew that if he was ever to find happiness, he must do this. He trekked silently through the fields of festering decay, northward, and out of the wasteland. As he neared the edge of the Scarred Wasteland, the ground became cracked and rocky, and Elliar knew he had reached the borders of Dragonhome. Although he had only heard about this place through the few crumbling tomes that his parents kept, he was certain that this was it. He ventured further and further on until the sun and difficult terrain began to take its toll on the young Wildclaw. Try as he might to find proper shade, he found that he could not, and collapsed in the intense heat. When he awoke, there was loud rumbling and the sound of many voices surrounding him. At first he believed that he may have been captured, but later found that a wandering herd of Snappers had picked him up after he collapsed. These Snappers, though noisy and excessively talkative, treated Elliar well. The invited him to travel with them for a time so he would be more safe in the harsh expanse of Dragonhome. Elliar was appreciative, and learned many things under the guidance of his adoptive Snapper clan. As many well know, Snappers are walking encyclopedias, and over the time he spent with them, Elliar learned many things about Dragonhome as well as the rest of Sornieth. Even so, Elliar could not help but feel a bit smothered by his newfound clan. He felt that as a youngling, he had been sheltered far more than others, and even now that he had left the place of his birth, he was still being protected more than he should be. After many months of deliberation, he abandoned the group of Snappers and headed to the western horizon of Dragonhome. His flight lead him to the edge of the Tangled Wood. He traveled on, picking his way through the gnarled brambles of the forest. The knowledge he had gained from his time with the Snappers served him well, but there was still many things he did not know. Although close to Dragonhome, the inky blackness of the Tangled Wood was far different from the hot, dry expanses of his previous residence. Besides the creeping darkness, many ferocious creatures lurked in the cold, unforgiving fog that covered the area. One night as he was wriggling his way through the murk when the sudden snapping of a branch alerted him to the fact that something was watching him. Before he could react, a pack of Umbra Wolves descended upon him, claws tearing into his flesh and teeth sinking into his back. He fell to the ground and curled in on himself, trying desperately to shield himself from from the ravenous pack. He lay as still as possible, and eventually the wolves backed off, likely figuring that he was dead. For a long while he was unable to move. His body in far too much pain to do much else but lay and wait for death. Another branch snapped. Fearing that the wolves had returned, he lay as still as possible hoping that whatever it was would leave. But fortunately for Elliar, it did not. The footsteps of whatever had caused the branch to snap grew closer, and Elliar feared the worst, but was surprised when a gentle pressure was applied to his shoulder. He felt a sudden, strange energy surrounding him, and the worse of his wounds began to heal. Elliar cracked open his eyes and saw the shadowy figure of a Ridgeback looming over him. The Ridgeback seemed slightly taken aback but proceeded to speak to him regardless. He told Elliar to come with him back to his lair, but also told him that he needed to be very quiet upon doing so. Elliar wasn’t sure whether or not to trust the Ridgeback, but in his injured state he dared not refuse. Upon entering the Ridgeback’s lair he saw the sleeping figures of many other dragons snoozing in the main chamber. The Ridgeback lead him past and down the twisting underground tunnels, into a hidden chamber off the main path. The Ridgeback left him there for a while as he returned to the upper chambers, then returned and continued to nurse him back to health. Finally the Ridgeback introduced himself as Voltaire, and began to tell him a little bit about himself. He learned a little bit about Voltaire’s past, finding that he had been adopted by his current clan, but was not treated very kindly under them. He was told that the clan’s leader, Kindralth, was disgusted by any dragon of non shadow origin, and because Voltaire was a nature dragon, was treated as a slave under him. Besides this, he also learned of Voltaire’s love of artifacts and exploration, which spurred Elliar to tell Voltaire about himself and his own travels. Voltaire was always very interested in listening to Elliar’s stories, and Elliar was more than happy to tell them. The two of them became good friends, and all initial apprehension faded. Eventually it became more and more difficult for Voltaire to sneak food and supplies down into the caverns without Kindralth or the other dragons noticing. The two of them decided that they would have to start sneaking out at night and collect supplies for themselves. This was often difficult as neither of them were very good at fighting, but over time their skills did improve. Eventually they were able to take most things head on and without trouble. Life was good for a time, and it is remembered fondly by both of them, but as all things do, it eventually changed. |
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One night as Elliar slept, Voltaire returned to the main chamber. Voltaire always slept upstairs so that his clan would not think that something was amiss, so at first it seemed like nothing was out of the ordinary. But suddenly Elliar was awoken from his slumber by a tremendous noise from above. Though Voltaire had told him to stay put within the chamber when he was not with him, Elliar’s curiosity got the better of him. He snuck quickly and quietly through the corridors until he had reached the main chamber. There, he was horrified by the sight that greeted him. In a pool of blood lay Voltaire, and over him Kindralth and another dragon stood clawing the helpless Ridgeback. Elliar’s blood boiled. How DARE anyone hurt his friend. Fueled by his rage, Elliar let loose a mighty roar, sending the other dragons present into an uproarious panic. He charged forward, strengthened by a strange, driving force within himself. The other dragons present scattered as Elliar clashed with the two assailants, falling upon them like the plague itself. Though most of his energy was focused on the fight, Elliar could not help but glance at Voltaire’s prone body. He noticed an odd green light surrounding his friend. For a moment Voltaire went still, but then the light got brighter. It seemed to dance and war with itself for an instant before shooting back into the dying Ridgeback. Elliar continued to fight, but watched in awe as Voltaire’s wounds began to heal and strength returned to his once lifeless limbs. As Voltaire rose from the ground and joined him in the fight, Elliar felt a sort of ease fall over his heart. All his life he had been protected by someone, but now, after all this time, he was finally able to fight to protect someone else. The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. Kindralth and the other dragon lay dead on the cavern floor, and though exhausted and wounded, Elliar and Voltaire stood victorious. For a while neither knew what to do as they took in the destruction the fight had caused. Little of the original clan’s horde remained, and the scattering of so many dragons at once had caused many of the cavern’s walls to collapse. An unusual sense of calm fell over them, and they realized in that moment just how important they had become to one another. Each finding an odd sense of comfort in the fact that they were willing to risk their lives for each other, and knowing that the other would do the same. It was decided there, between the two of them, that they would not leave each other’s sides, but would instead depart from this harrowed place and form a clan of their own. Elliar went on to become the new clan’s chief sentinel, in charge of protecting its members. His devotedness and strong will helped lead to the clan’s rapid population growth, and he now serves as a kind and valiant protector. _____________________________________________________ Currently : After the incident involving Voltaire’s previous clan, Elliar and Voltaire set off to find a home for themselves. As they went on, however, they found that they actually enjoyed the nomadic lifestyle, as it allowed for both of them to satisfy their need for exploration and freedom. They decided that they would continue to traverse the lands of Sornieth in search of its great secrets. To their surprise, a great deal of other dragons began to join them in their travels. Wherever they went, dragons of a similar mind would follow. Eventually the number of followers reached such a number that they could officially call themselves a clan. This group of dragons, now known as the Wanderers of Sornieth, is led by Voltaire and protected by Elliar. Although Elliar is not the most physically menacing, his wit and experience make him the perfect protector for his clan. Personality : Because of his past, Elliar often has trouble feeling totally comfortable around most dragons. Even if it seems there is nothing wrong between them, Elliar has a tendency to find even the slightest bit of strife and blame himself for it. He does not necessarily mean to do this, but his childhood experiences often inadvertently cloud his thoughts. To help alleviate these feelings, Elliar works tirelessly to protect his clan, hoping that doing so will somehow make up for the things he blames himself for. In reality, there are very few that dislike Elliar, as they admire him for being so devoted to his cause, and remaining humble despite his dark past. Elliar prefers to live peacefully, similar to his mate, but is more willing than most to put himself in the direct line of fire to protect the ones that he loves.  |
 Strengths: Devoted, always willing to listen and find a solution to a problem, intelligent, excellent strategist, very humble and always willing to lend a hand to those less fortunate Weaknesses: Often overworks himself, blames himself for other people’s problems, sometimes has difficulties controlling his emotions Likes: Having a sense of freedom, being allowed to do what he wants without feeling guilty, being with those that he cares for Dislikes: Plague dragons and territory, unnecessary violence, people with no ambitions Familiars: 
Battle Abilities :
Listen to playlist x
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Other Info:
Age: Young Adult Birthplace: The Wandering Contagion Residence: Cairnstone Rest Alignment: Chaotic Good Enemies: LeafBlood, Cain 
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STR ███████████░ INT █████████░░░ AGI ████████░░░░ |
MAG █░░░░░░░░░░░ CHA ██████░░░░░░ VIT ████░░░░░░░░ |
The wildclaw blinked, and saw the subject of his dream tucked into a spiny, sleeping coil beside him. Anxiety seeped into his chest, as his mind started chasing its own tail.
Elliar had inadvertently caused Voltaire to lose his clan, his home, everything he’d ever known. The ridgeback had never expressed any regret, had never blamed Elliar to his face, but then why would he? Those who claimed they loved their mates often kept their conflicts to themselves, as Elliar remembered vividly from listening to his own parents. He held no doubt, Voltaire would probably snap sooner or later, and everything that Elliar had done wrong, every time he had failed to protect Voltaire or another member of the clan, would come rushing back in a massive argument that would drive them apart.
And he would be alone. Again.
Elliar felt his chest tighten. Perhaps he should go patrol the borders? Ensure that nothing could sneak up on their clan, so that he didn’t fail and no-one was injured by unchecked intruders? The others had been more prone to slip lately, perhaps due to tiredness or stress; Voltaire had been pushing himself to the point of exhaustion just to make sure everyone was cared for.
The least Elliar could do was pick up some of his own slack.
As he rose to attend to the border, the tip of a spiny tail looped around his ankle. He glanced back at his mate, expecting rebuke but finding only a sleepy smile.
“El. It’s not even sunrise yet. Come back to bed.” Voltaire murmured. His verdant eyes met Elliar’s for half a moment, and the sleepiness vanished from his expression.
“El, what’s wrong?” Voltaire asked in a concerned tone. Elliar swallowed, shaking his head.
“It’s nothing.” The wildclaw replied gently, hoping that that warble in his voice had only been his imagination.
“Elliar. What’s wrong?” Voltaire asked again; this time, with the gentle sternness he reserved for resolving squabbles. There was no room for excuses.
So, Elliar haltingly explained the nightmare. His voice hitched a couple of times, and he hesitated under Voltaire’s expectant gaze, but he told what was there to be told.
Voltaire didn’t interrupt him. Instead, the ridgeback listened quietly, patiently, even when Elliar had nothing left to say. As it had many times before, it seemed as though Voltaire knew that Elliar’s mind was chasing itself down dark pathways.
Before the Wildclaw could make his escape, his mate pulled him into a gentle but unyielding embrace, back down to the bed.
“El. I’m not going anywhere. That didn’t happen, we are ok. You’re safe. I’m safe. The clan is safe, and you’ve done well.” Voltaire thrummed softly, curling back into a lazy ball with Elliar held close to his chest. Elliar, feeling only mildly rebuked, let himself be tugged back into the hazy half-sleep that permitted conscious thought to dance with unconscious dreams.
In the back of his mind he still followed the spiraling dread over the future of his and Votaire’s relationship, but the majority of his consciousness was content to be tucked next to his bondmate, surrounded by the rest of their clan.
For the time being, all was well.
You Make Me Home Written by: Voidspeaker
“A wager!”
The forest canopy lit with wings fanning, brilliantly adorned with flowers and strips of cloth.
“A wager!” shrieked more dragons from above. “A wager!”
“A duel,” said the leader of the pack, and then his eyes settled on Elliar with a rapacious glint. “One of our finest warriors, against the Plaguespawn.”
“A duel!” echoed his clanmates, in laughing unison. “A duel!”
“Win, and I will supply you with the complete riddle of Inym Taesi, in its entirety, and allow you to pass through my territory. You have my honor. But lose...”
He paused, and Elliar wondered to himself if all Nature-born Wildclaws had such a flair for dramatics.
“...and you forfeit your safe passage. You will either turn around or take your life into your own hands, as we do not take trespassers lightly.”
“This is ridiculous.” Voltaire burrowed his face under a forearm and groaned. Elliar approached him, hesitant as he rested a comforting hand on Voltaire's shoulder.
“Being honest with you, I can't believe myself either.”
“We could have found a way around,” Voltaire said, peeking up through two massive claws. “I just… don't want you getting hurt on my account anymore. Not if it can be avoided.”
“I know.” Elliar winced inwardly at himself—some words of comfort, those. “I mean, we've been through worse, haven't we? Besides!”
Lowering into a hunter's crouch, he roused Voltaire with a playful swat of his toe.
“I bet you no one here's sparred with a Ridgeback before. I'll make short work out of a weak little Wildclaw.”
He yelped as an arm came down around his back, Voltaire pulling him close to the ground.
“I happen to be mated to a 'weak little Wildclaw,'” he laughed, and then the sound of a throat clearing sent them both scrambling to their feet.
“I'm absolutely interrupting something.” Ciyradyl grinned. “Ready to have a go, boss? Get the muscles nice and loose before the match?”
Elliar took a couple unsteady steps forward, shaking out his wing.
“I… think I am, yes.”
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The pack of Wildclaws chose a natural arena for their stage—overgrowth and knotted roots wove themselves into the flooring, and spectators crowded into shadowy pockets of the treeline, constellations of emerald green eyes encircling the competitors. Elliar's foe, one of the clan's most renowned warriors, richly adorned and much larger than any Wildclaw Elliar had seen before. She paced the radius of the stage, stopping to whet a toe-claw against the floor below while fixing her eyes on him.
“I hear the Plaguespawn and thorn-snout are mated!” she jeered, stalking ever-near. Reading the bemusement on Elliar's face, she added, “The wilds have eyes and ears. Do not expect anything to pass our notice!”
The audience cackled wildly.
“I will rend apart your union with tooth and claw and liberate him from your rot! Ready yourself, Plaguespawn.”
Elliar was silent, wriggling loose his toes and paws. His opponent had entered the arena weaponless and lightly armored, so he was honor-bound to leave his blade with Voltaire—though it would have at least made up for the size difference.
“I suppose I'm ready,” he said, affecting an air of easy indifference.
“You ought to close your eyes and count, Elliar!” came Voltaire's voice. Elliar located him on the sidelines, meeting his eyes. “Make a fair match out of it!”
“Stay out of this, glade-traitor!” hissed Elliar's opponent, whipping around to bare her teeth. Elliar managed to check his laughter, but he knew Voltaire had done more than introduce a bit of levity to their side of the match—he was also testing the Wildclaw's temperament. Cooler heads always prevailed, after all, and if she seemed to lack anything, it was much of a cool head to speak of.
Elliar's own words rang in his head: “We've been through worse, haven't we?”
The warrior started at him with a sprinting leap, wings spread aloft. Elliar fell back and they rolled; he held them apart with his feet braced against her belly, and managed to kick her loose before putting more distance between them.
Yes, he thought to himself, we have been through worse. All the motions of battle came to him with practiced efficiency. Elliar perceived everything with a strategist's clarity: the warrior across from him, twisting from her back onto all fours; the cheering of his clanmates; the grinning visage of his mate, Voltaire; the warrior rushing him once more, springing overhead to land behind him. Elliar wheeled round, but not quick enough to escape her jaws as they clamped over his prosthesis.
She recoiled from the unpleasant sensation.
“What is this?!” she spat, and Elliar seized the chance to twist around and close his teeth over her neck.
He could see, with the same clarity, the battles that had not gone as well. He could see all four of Kindralth's dark, unblinking eyes. Elliar could see himself tearing through scale and flesh, as if the wrath of the Plaguebringer had taken hold of him; he could see Voltaire's body limp on the cold floor.
Elliar stopped himself just short of puncturing the warrior's throat. The crowd had fallen to a hush, and the Wildclaw was quiet when she spoke.
“I should kill you,” she growled. “Why spare my life? I could gut you where you stand.”
“Bikaush,” Elliar started, and then he paused self-consciously to remove his mouth from her jugular. “Because it may be your way, and it may be the way of the Plague, but it's not the way of the Wanderers.”
More silence. At length, Ciyradyl's voice rang out: “Woo! Way to go boss!”
As the remaining Wanderers followed her lead, the tension in Elliar's legs eased. His opponent cast her eyes to the ground between them, tail limp and curled around her toes, before retreating back into the brambles. Immediately, dragons of the Wanderers emerged to congratulate their Sentinel—first Voltaire, bounding up to greet him, with Falenas following shyly behind, and then Ciyradyl flying victorious hoops, and then Tarquis, and one-by-one, the rest of the clan.
“They were fools to pick a fight with our Chief Sentinel,” said Voltaire, with barely-restrained pride.
“Perhaps so,” came a voice—the clan leader—from behind their celebration. “But could you blame us? Your Chief Sentinel would be seen as a runt to my people. Last egg to steal from rival nests.”
“That's not exactly how eggs work,” Elliar cut in, but the leader ignored him.
“I am not so foolish as to go back on my word,” he shrugged. “As such, I will pass on to you what my clan's elders had told me of Inym Taesi. Listen close, child of the Gladekeeper.”
Elliar and Voltaire exchanged glances, and Voltaire nodded.
The both of them had always known, from the outset of their journey, that hostility would greet the Wanderers at every corner. That oftentimes, the parts of Sornieth that so demanded exploring were hostile and fearful towards outsiders in equal parts. More importantly, however, they knew why they had no reason to fear. What ties Elliar and Voltaire lacked to a permanent settlement, they possessed with each other. Bolstering their flagging courage with the strength of their bonds, the Wanderers pressed onward.
A Duel Written by: msnoodles
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