- description written by [prior owner unknown]

He was supposed to be a sharpened blade. He was supposed to be their weapon, clothed in silk and honeyed poison, deadly to the touch.

But they forget, they always do. A weapon is only as strong as the one who wields them and...

And where do discarded weapons go?

.-.-.

(Unnamed) grew up in the icy scapes of the Southern Tundra, even though his clan was of Arcane origins. The young Skydancer never knew any of his clan members save for the dragons who had spawned him - and his siblings. Solitary and isolated, (unnamed)'s early existence was a repetition of exercises and challenges. His parents would observe him, study him, dissect his every movement, as if searching for something that simply wasn't there. Hope and expectation soon turned to disappointment and disdain.

As (Unnamed) shifted from clumsy hatchling to a healthy young dragon, he learned to expect the disgusted reactions and the sneers often thrown in his direction. Still, he worked with his siblings and learned to use his body as the weapon that it was. Blessed by his rare magical genetics, his wings had grown slightly metallic - not enough to weight him down, but enough that it would turn his feathers into fine, sharp blades if he so wished (not the mention the spines that ran down his spine and tail).

His... different upbringing made (Unammed) a cold and distant individual. He can easily see things from a logical point-of-view - and often does - even when it might seem downright cruel to others. He can be brutally honest both in his words and in his actions. (Unnamed) has some difficulty understanding ethics and morals and why some things are wrong and others right. The Skydancer was raised as a tool, useful in many ways, but also lacking in things that would seem simple to a young hatchling. After all, a weapon doesn't think.

A weapon doesn't feel. Does it?

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