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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.12 m
Wingspan
1.78 m
Weight
1.49 kg
Genetics
Azure
Starmap
Starmap
Purple
Rosette
Rosette
Magenta
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Bogsneak
Max Level
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Biography
 |
As vast as the underground lair of this clan may be, Prophet is almost always never to be found residing there. The way the walls seem to close in on you, the occasional bump on the head when the roof gets too low for one to walk through comfortably… either way, she never quite liked the thought of living beneath the ground. Her home is in the temple, and while her room may be small, it contains all she ever wants - the ceiling to the floor is just about entirely covered in all sorts of personal artifacts that ooze comfort, whether it’s a fluffy carpet or stuffed deity plushies. It does make getting out of bed a bit of a chore - who would want to leave the warmth of a bed and blanket so soft? - but Prophet manages fine on most days. It helps that her duties, for most part, are carried out in the temple. Her clanmates turn and offer small greetings as she strolls past them, Prophet returns these with a wave. Her place is at a desk in a quieter corner of the temple, where stacks of scrolls, memos, and other Arcane documents await her perusal. It’s here where her talents are put to use - at least, Xyshaun calls them that, but it really isn’t anything that amazing to Prophet, anyway - in soothsaying with a touch of magic here and there. While her magic is somewhat limited at best, Prophet makes use of it wherever and whenever she can. In this case, the foresight her magic grants her is enough to smooth over the clan’s decision-making processes, as well as helping them to prepare certain things in advance. A wildclaw draped in pastel shades hurries past with an equally hurried question. “Should I hunt in the forests or those new grounds we discovered recently?” “Try the new ones, I think the forest creatures might be dying out a little too quick if you keep using the same hunting grounds.” A monochromatic coatl pops by, smelling faintly of embalming chemicals. “Do you reckon we should look into new rituals for our dead? I have new tomes for translation, they might prove handy.” “That would be good. That graveyard of ours won’t last forever, and I sense that the next few nights will be restless ones for the spirits.” He thanks her, and Prophet is about to turn back to her documents before a cheery voice greets her. “Morning, Prophet! Tell me, is this a good day for more readings to be done?” The skydancer’s tone is light, almost teasing as she passes Prophet’s little desk, the bogsneak returns her smile with a grouchy scowl. “Your readings will always turn out the way you want them, so don’t ask me, Daisy.” “Hah, fair enough. Turn that frown upside down, or your heart’s desires will never be met, dear.” “Please don’t patronise me with fake readings.” “Yes, yes, Prophet. Love you too, you grouch.” An exasperated sigh breaks from Prophet as she waves the chuckling skydancer away, before burying herself in the clan books once more. At least the rest of the day is fairly productive, and Prophet would be lying if she said being able to attend to the clan’s day-to-day questions doesn't feel satisfying. It's good to put what little magic she had to proper use. Lost in thoughts, she fails to notice the figure standing before her desk until their shadow blocks the words she was reading. Before she can think to glance upwards, a familiar voice snaps her out of her musings. “Hello, Prophet.” She would know that voice anywhere. With a warm smile, Prophet sets her papers aside to face Xyshaun, eyeing the tome in his hands somewhat curiously. It isn’t uncommon for him to bring her texts and various artifacts now and then, after all. “Another book this time? You’ve got your claws full of these tomes, don’t you?” She extends a curious hand, claws brushing across the leather-bound volume and studying it carefully. “Picked this one up while digging the other day. I cleaned it up, but I’ve yet to open it. You know how it is with these things - sometimes it’s better to leave these things buried.” Prophet barely pays his words heed, instead focusing on the magic she can feel coursing through the tome’s pages, the way it seems to almost spark when she touches on it with her own power. There is no sense of violence or malevolence emanating from it, instead it almost seems to radiate with a strange warmth that pulsates at her touch, almost akin to a living heartbeat. There is something oddly entrancing about it, a deep-seated urge to open it and take a peek at the contents within. Without thinking, Prophet nearly flips it open, but catches herself at the last moment. It was obviously enchanted with some form of arcane power, but who knows what lurks within those pages? “It’s not evil, I can tell you that. It should be safe to open.” Prophet declares, handing the volume back to Xyshaun. However, instead of taking it back, Xyshaun pauses, gaze flickering from the book to Prophet’s outstretched hand, and he shakes his head. “Keep it. Call it a gift, from me to you.” “Xyshaun, really, that’s not necessary…” He presses it back into her hands, the set of his jaw determined. “Even I can see that it intrigues you. I’m not that cruel as to deny you a chance to investigate something new. Perhaps it’s a long-lost book of poetry for you to read, from the gods. Not that your poetry needed any more work, but who knows?” His tone was playful, met by a roll of Prophet’s eyes, though she admittedly does flush a little under the praise. Trust Xyshaun to make jokes about finding such odd things, really. Hesitantly, gingerly, Prophet tucks the tome away under her desk, where it will be safe from prying eyes. Later that night she pulls it out to flip through the pages - which, surprisingly, hardly look old compared to the weathering of the leather cover. To her immense bewilderment, the pages are filled from top to bottom with all manner of poetry - haikus, odes, limericks, you name it, it’s in there. Magic colours the words all sorts of vivid hues, brings the images to life as if upon a screen, Prophet has never seen anything like it before. With wonder, Prophet settles herself to read through the dense volume, even if it takes her the whole night. The style is strangely familiar - somewhere in her life, she’s sure she has seen similar phrases before, similar rhyming patterns, though Prophet can’t quite place it. Then she turns to the final page - blank, save for a last scribble in written in a familiar hand. To my dear Prophet May you always keep my words with you, even if I’m not by your side. written by rei711 #412398 |
(archived thoughts pre-lore)
The road is long
and longer still,
the day is soft and clear,
and I could leave to-morrow
or I could leave next year.
The road the same
and day unchanged:
these will not fade. I do.
So, foot or wing, a friend’s the thing;
I’d leave to-day with you.
-Xyshaun
-doesn't enjoy being in the burrowed sections of the clan's territory
-has a very cozy den in the temple packed full of soft things
-the weakest magic user out of the dedicated magicians in the clan
-lots of heart
-has a kink in her tail where it was broken as a hatchling
-not fond of Daisy and her 'craft'
Scrawling letters in books torn with age
Filling them faithfully, page by page
Someday my humble scripts will stand
With those of great dragons, hand in hand
Practice makes perfect, practice takes time
and patience is a virtue as I write out these rhymes
Ugh. I'm nowhere near as good as Xyshaun, no matter what he says. It reads so choppy...
by twiinArmageddons (309793)
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Exalting Prophet to the service of the Lightweaver 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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