Silver
(#15486347)
I was here before. I will be here after.
Familiar
Glittering Jeweler
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Female Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
24.43 m
Wingspan
22.8 m
Weight
8637.52 kg
Genetics
Silver
Fern
Fern
Maize
Myrid
Myrid
Platinum
Sparkle
Sparkle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 15 Imperial
EXP: 52820 / 60881
STR
50
AGI
6
DEF
50
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
The Fugitive
| Silver grew up in the Fortress of Ends, where she learned the art of metalworking on the giant sturdy chains holding the creatures within. It is of the utmost importance that these be forged flawlessly, as any weakness in the metal could cause the prisoners to escape. However, Silver never found passion for this grim work. She yearned to travel, to see something amazing and not a dingy ice prison. No one is sure exactly what caused her to leave home, but after traveling for some time and discovering a love of fine detail work, she settled down and ran a jewelry shop in the Mirrorlight Promenade for many years. When asked how she came to be in the Wasteland, Silver will only say that she has seen everything, and has nowhere else to go. Mysterious. Ironscale is usually the one asking, and he's probably a bit too interested for her taste. |
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“You have forgotten your history, child.” Silver flattened her ears back against her head, lowering her icy gaze. “I just don’t see why we all have to work at the Fortress,” she muttered, shivering. She knew it would only invite further scolding the second the words left her mouth. The elder Imperial turned, her long white body circling around Silver like a constrictor snake. “It doesn’t matter whether you think it’s important,” she spat. “It is our duty. If you cannot fulfill that duty, then you have no place in our clan.” Silver wanted to roll her eyes, but knew better. Instead, she said “Yes Grandmother,” hoping to be dismissed soon. It was the dead of winter, freezing even for their kind. If she was going to get another lecture, they could at least go inside first. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Because I hate it here. Because I wish I were anywhere else. Because duty isn’t the same as passion. But Silver couldn’t say any of that, and kept silent. The only sound was the constant drone of wind, howling over the spires that jutted out of the sea. Silver wondered if the boat she had been watching was still visible, a speck of hope on an endless expanse of blue, or if it had already disappeared beyond the horizon. Her grandmother sighed. She towered over Silver, who was still growing but was nonetheless on the small end of Imperials. Her grandmother was easily over a hundred feet, white scales glistening like freshly fallen snow. Silver’s were a muddled gray, snow darkened by footprints and mud. Sometimes she could swear her grandmother was longer, that the snaking river of her ran for miles. “Come with me.” An elder’s orders could not be defied, and Silver was eager to follow her back inside, even if it was to the confines of the Fortress. The wind would only pick up speed and ferocity as the day stretched on, until even the chains were straining with the effort to stay motionless. Silver followed the tip of her grandmother’s tail, aloft and dignified. Silver let hers drag in the snow, living a thin trail that she supposed could be followed by enemies. Because there were so many dragons just lying in wait under the snow, ready to pounce on Icewarden’s favorite children. It was just another thing that took effort, and all her efforts were wasted anyways. Like most things, Silver didn’t see the point. She supposed that the Fortress of Ends was intimidating. It was designed to be. Huge metal plates twisted into sharp corners, and wicked spires loomed over the dragons scurrying beneath their glory. When northern clans traveled here on pilgrimages, they stared with unabashed awe, marveling at the size and hostility of the Fortress, the land it rested on, and its people. Silver liked watching them. Her cousins that were little more than strangers, devoted to a faith she did not understand, freezing and terrified and persistent. She had asked a traveler once why they came to the furthest reaches of the icefields. There wasn’t much to see. Metal. Ice. Chains. It was the same from hundreds of feet away, to brushing your whiskers against the polished surface. “To pay my respects,” the wide-eyed creature had said. Their fur was a brilliant, blazing yellow. “What for?” Silver asked. “To thank you for your service,” the Tundra stumbled over their words. “And pray for your continued successes.” It was little more than superstition, then. Pray that the unknowable horrors trapped in the ice stay that way. Pray that someone will keep watch, and make sure nothing happens. Remind yourself, every once in a while, to be thankful that person isn’t you. She remembered every hair on her body bristling with envy, how her chest throbbed and ached until she could hardly stand. Silver shook herself out of the memory. The walls of the Fortress were nothing but a threshold to her, the difference between the windswept cold of the field to the milder, stifled cold of shelter. Grandmother stopped, her tail sweeping against Silver’s side, ushering her forward. She obeyed. They stood next to each other, close enough to feel each other’s body heat, but not close enough to stay warm. Ah yes, the Story Wall. Silver had been forced to sit facing it for hours as a child. It hadn’t taught her the error of her ways. All it did was make her better at avoiding getting caught. “Look into the ice,” Grandmother commanded. Silver did. “What do you see?” She already knew the answer to this question, having given it a thousand times in school. “The Traitor,” she said, for his name must never be spoken out loud. It was stricken from history, erased along with his treacherous family line. She also knew the lesson already. The ice was translucent, so everyone could look upon this monument and morality tale. But it also had a layer on top, a glossier coating half warmed by the breath of eager faces pressed too close, so one could see their own reflection when they looked long enough. “The Traitor used to be one of us. He could be one of us again, if we are not vigilant. It is not our place to dole out judgements, but to uphold them. Nothing that enters the ice can ever leave,” Silver recited. Her grandmother was not satisfied by this answer. The tip of her tail flicked, something she only did when they were having a conversation together. Only Silver could disturb the calm waters of her family. It was not a good punishment. As a hatchling Silver had often wondered about the beautiful Guardian encased in ice. They had lived hundreds of years apart, and yet they were sitting face to face, eye to eye. His body was the darkest blue Silver had ever seen, so dark it almost looked black. He had hailed from her clan, her ancestor’s failures. A reminder from the first moment you stepped into the Fortress that mistakes would not be tolerated. “I only want what’s best for you,” Grandmother said eventually. Silver was not in the mood to argue. Anyone a day older than her thought they could tell her that, and it meant she wasn’t allowed to disagree. Her people followed the Old Ways, the right ways. And everyone was glad, every dragon who lived anywhere close to the Fortress and knew what contained, as long as someone kept the Old Ways, as long as someone wasn’t them. Silver tried to hold her tongue, but the words fell out of her mouth. “If we can’t leave, then we are just as trapped as they are. And we didn’t do anything wrong.” “It is not a punishment,” Grandmother said. “You are growing into a fine metalsmith. You will be ready for your first link soon. Why do you not wish to use your talents to help make the world a safer place? Is that not the highest calling one can follow? What else could be more important?” Silver squirmed under the gaze of Grandmother and The Traitor. She was right. Silver was vain, and selfish, and straying from the path. If she wanted to honor her family, she would need to swallow the injustices more smoothly. She would need to be better at hiding. It was easier to look into The Traitor’s eyes than Grandmothers, having studied them all her youth. Foolish child, they seemed to say. Nobody escapes the Fortress.
It was not a test to prove herself. Today was a day of celebration. That’s what every elder told her, over and over, and after only a couple hours Silver was already sick of it. They must have thought she was nervous. She simply wasn’t in a celebratory mood. Grandmother was proud, in that stiff-backed, restrained sort of way. She had molded Silver into a fine young smith. She had changed Silver’s wild ways, forged her into a proper young lady and a dutiful steward of the End. Either everyone believed it, or they pretended to. Silver looked down at her work, and had to admit it was everything they wanted it to be. The chains that bound the entities of the ice also bound the blood of the clan together. Every dragon who had ever lived to serve was linked together by these pieces of metal, wrought by their own hands. No matter how many the Fortress contained, there would always be more threats to the realm, more chains to shape. This was the first of many links that would be her life’s work. Outside her chamber, the sounds of jovial conversation and laughter echoed around the Fortress. It wasn’t loud enough to drown out that wild, thrashing animal of wind. It clawed at the walls of the fortress, shaking the chains in a desperate attempt to wrench something free, but the sturdiness of Ice held. As it would always hold. The ritual was to be performed privately. The chain link formed by Silver’s hands was plain. Easily the size of a full grown Imperial curled in a circle, it was a dull gray steel composite strengthened by decades of ancient magic. And Silver must add a bit of her own. The only thing she liked about the process was stealing scraps of metal that had been shaved off. The tiny, fine ligaments bent easily, and Silver spent hours turning them into earrings, then a ring, then an anklet. She threw them away before she was caught, but it was a reminder that her gift had other applications besides her duty, that she was not losing herself just yet. But how many years would it take? Would she ever stop looking towards the water? She needed to get this over with. Silver took a deep breath, watching it cloud in the air around her. Ice magic was protection. It was a creator of barriers. It defied time, providing stillness, stretching a moment out to infinity. The chains could not be engraved, as any flaw in the perfectly smooth surface could be exploited. Instead, they were inscribed with magic. Wards of protection, calm, stillness, complacency. Each one unique to the dragon that performed it, but linked together with the others of their clan, they would make up for what each other lacked. They were strongest together, and today Silver would join their ranks. She closed her eyes and ran her paws over the chain, trying to follow her training. She could still hear the laughter, how it bounced up the high ceilings of the Fortress until it filled every room. The voices were so light, so content. She thought about living here forever, for hundreds of thousands of years, half asleep in the aching slowness of time. She focused on the wind, its defiant wail, how it never really stopped. Sometimes it was quieter, more docile, and sometimes it swelled with rage, but it was always there. Always fighting. “Silver, it’s time.” Upon hearing Grandmother’s voice, she opened her eyes. The link shimmered, the rune inscribed. It seemed like there should be more to it than just thinking and feeling, more of a rote process like smithing or any other craft, but the evidence didn’t lie. It was done. They walked to the heart of the Fortress, Grandmother in her elder’s robes, Silver in her Link-Day attire. It was sheer, light as snowflakes seconds from melting, and Silver had to be careful not to trip on it. They would stand side by side before all the clans of the Fortress, and Silver would be bound to them forever. She was ushered in front of the Story Wall, placid as a frozen lake, just like Grandmother. Silver glanced over the crowd. She only recognized a handful of faces. In the center was her birth clan, the smiths beaming with a joy she had never felt in her life. Guarding the hallways, every entrance and exit, were Gaolers. If Ice dragons were too serious, then Gaolers were worse, for the Warden’s first children never even smiled. They stood watch as dutifully as Grandmother had always wanted Silver to. They were more like chain links then they were dragons, expertly crafted for one purpose, a purpose they fulfilled without feeling. If only. The ceremony proceeded. Silver’s link, that perfect circle, was presented before the crowd. The chain it would join was fragmented, a piece lying to her left and right. Links were typically forged with one end open, and sealed together with the ritual. Once Silver had more practice, she would craft them this way as well. In the meantime, ancient masters stood next to her, ready to add her to the chain, to the clan, to the makeup of the Fortress. The crowd was deathly silent. The masters cast their spells. The links were connected, and the chain was lifted up by a series of pulleys operated by only the strongest and oldest dragons. She still didn’t care. Even as she turned around to face the Story Wall, Silver couldn’t focus on the ceremony. She had watched others go through it before, and there was no variation between them, so maybe she was bored. Maybe she had decided that if she couldn’t be somewhere else physically, she could be somewhere else in her mind. As the chain was lifted and wrapped around The Traitor’s prison, Silver was supposed to admire it, marvel at it, and become fulfilled at last. Instead, Silver found herself lost in the blue depths of him. A cheer broke her out of her reverie. The chain had been mounted successfully, another powerful barrier to keep their ancient failure at bay. It was time for each dragon to come congratulate her, welcome her as a smith and equal. Her job was to bow her head and accept these well-wishes gracefully, and maybe she would have, if things had gone differently. Instead, she listened to that wild wind, its voice barely above a whisper. The chains it usually tormented were still, and yet they groaned against an invisible pressure. Chaos. A cloud of gray smoke rose from the crowd, which she noticed first before ever hearing the screams. Silver couldn’t understand what was happening. Dragons rushed back and forth, most of them pushing towards hallways blocked by Gaolers. Someone was yelling her name. Silver thought she was shivering until she realized the ground was shaking. She looked up at her link, the centerpiece of the new chain, and saw that it was snapped in half. If her magic was poor, that would be one thing. Disastrous, embarrassing, but fixable. Instead, the rune she had inscribed with her heart still shimmered brightly against the dull metal of the broken link. The ice cracked, a single fissure line across the glassy, reflective surface of it. The blue inside shifted for the first time in ages. Nothing that enters the ice can ever leave. But it was happening now, right before her eyes. Silver had found a way out. The sound finally kicked in. The high ceilings echoed with screaming now, the panic bubbling in Silver’s chest like laughter. Everyone else was so stoic at all times, so perfectly calm, and Silver was the only one who couldn’t do it right. Not so calm anymore. Drawn by an unseen force, Silver approached the Story Wall. The crack was getting deeper. It was fragile, she realized now. The thin kind of ice that gathered along paved streets, where children would stomp on it just to hear the shatter. Grandmother scolded her whenever she caught Silver doing it. Their role was to create. It was not fun, she said, to destroy things. But Grandmother, they are the same thing. Was this not the creation of something new? Silver pressed her claws against the Wall. Grandmother’s voice rose above the tide of the crowd. Someone was trying to close the Fortress’s main door, but Silver knew somehow that the wind would keep it open. It would not be denied any longer. For the first time in her life, her chest felt light, as light as the stupid dress draped about her shoulders. She turned her head to look at Grandmother, to savor the expression on her face. For once, it was not a sour scowl of disappointment. For once, it was something close to awe. “I remember my history,” Silver said. The ice snapped beneath her claws. |
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Credits: Limanya for round bio icons osiem for flight dividers Poisonedpaper for chain dividers |
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