Prandaal
(#16061497)
Level 10 Coatl
Familiar
Glorious Dayjar
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 48/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Female Coatl
This dragon is under the permanent effect of a Silhouette Scroll. A toggle on the dragon's profile allows swapping between the artwork poses available for the breed.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.68 m
Wingspan
10.12 m
Weight
1058.21 kg
Genetics
Carmine
Iridescent
Iridescent
Obsidian
Shimmer
Shimmer
Carmine
Veined
Veined
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Coatl
EXP: 485 / 27676
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
6
Biography
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Prandaal The Fugitive Quiet | Cheerful | Inquisitive "I am the Heir of Clan Pyre, blessed be my mother's name." Prandaal is the daughter of a Queen, a great Plague leader of a Nature Clan. She was foretold to be a great and powerful dragon like her mother, and Prandaal was quickly lorded with all the importance of a prophecy. It was that reputation that drew the assassin to her. A dragon who wished to overthrow the Queen came in the night and attempted to steal her away. Killed by the Queen, the assassin was unsuccessful in their task but succeeded in sewing worry into the clan. After much deliberation, it was decided that Prandaal would need to be moved to another clan, a place where she would be safe. Onikaan agreed to take her in, and gave her the name "Prandaal" which means "Rest and Return". Prandaal currently studies the power of Nature under Wisteria. While not royalty of the clan, she is treated with the respect of a visiting ambassador, an acknowledgement of her royal status in her birth clan. One day she wants to return to her mother's side. |
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Draft 1:
A cold breeze tickled the back of Prandaal’s neck. Winter was singing its mournful tune, and despite her attempts to block the noisy drafts, her lush nest of pillows and feathers was cold. Prandaal sighed and leaned back, chewing on her cheek. That feeling had come back, distracting her at the worst times. She had already been chastised by the clan leader. Why was she making a habit of it now?
She turned her head towards the letter that sat on her desk, amongst other scraps of paper. On it was the loopy, delicate writing of a dragon who claimed to know her family. Her family, Prandaal surmised, was not the same as the one she had grown up with. This was common knowledge among her clan and was the reason for her status. Despite being blood sisters with Hahnumon, she was not born amongst the dark skydancers. It was obvious, by the colour of her flesh and the lack of coatl in her family’s bloodline.
But her other family had never reached out before. Why now?
Onikaan had left her when she had just reached young adulthood, leaving her sister in charge. Before she had gone, the old leader had told her of her history before she arrived. A powerful queen, a failed assassination attempt, a long journey to Onikaan’s borders under a red moon. She had never been bothered once by assassins whilst under Onikaan’s protection, so as far as she was concerned, the tale had more purpose being told around a campfire than attributed to her now plain life. But it had explained her odd colours, her odd breed, and the odd admiration she had received her whole life. Dragons would ignore her one day, then kowtow to her the next.
The noise increased as the door to her nest opened. What precious warmth Prandaal had accumulated in her nest was stolen in one gasp of the wind outside.
“Shut the door, Hahn!”
The long-legged figure wasted no time in entering, the chill already settling on her thin shoulders. The skydancers always felt the breeze more than Prandaal. Hahnumon was no exception.
“Mother’s blessing, this place is warmer every time I enter.” Hahnumon dropped more letters onto Prandaal’s desk, then flopped down next to the coatl. Wiggling down through the cushions until only her face was exposed, she shivered. “Can I just stay here until the storm blows over?”
Prandaal laughed and kicked somewhere in the direction of Hahnuman’s pile of cushions. A muffled ‘oof’ responded. “And give Briinah the full run of the clan? You might as well go and marry that eccentric oaf Vahriin while you’re at it, fully abscond, grow fat with little scientist babies and never do anything with your life.”
Hahnumon groaned. “He’s not that bad Prandaal, you’re just biased. Besides, it was only once, and there is no way he will forget the burn you gave him as a result. Anyway, I only wanted to stay for a little, not lock myself in this room for the next twenty years.”
Prandaal did not need to guess who that statement was aimed at. “Point taken.” Prandaal didn’t bother pushing the Briinah thing. She knew Briinah would give the clan over in a heartbeat if Hahnumon only asked. The problem was the proud dragon would never simply ask. “What did you bring in anyway?”
The pile stirred as Hahnumon waved her hand. “More ‘Royal’ missives, from seventh sons of lords and rulers of dirt patches many lands away. I don’t know why they bother; you never get out of here anyway. You and Briinah are terrible for it.”
“I don’t know why they even bother indeed; I’ve made up my mind,” Prandaal agreed.
Hahnumon sat up, surprise evident on her face. “Who did you accept? I thought you didn’t like anyone who offered?” Prandaal and her sister had sat there night after night going through the offers together, of dragons claiming riches and spoils, and only asking for one thing: her hand.
“Oh, I still don’t like them. I have not chosen any of them. No, there’s a rich clan in the wilds that claims they know my heritage.”
“Oh, those quacks? I thought we were redirecting their mails; how did you get one?”
“No, different clan. These ones knew how to spell my name correctly. Plus, they have given me information I haven’t seen yet. Information about my birthfather.”
Hahnumon reached over to grab Prandaal’s hand.
“What did they say?”
“That…. That he’s alive. He’s alive, and he’s been looking for me. When my mother sent me away, he agreed for my safety, but he immediately regretted that decision. He says he knew Onikaan, and he wrote this.”
Prandaal pulled a crumpled note out from her sleeve, different to the one still on the desk. This one was in far poorer condition, and a dark brown stain coated one of the corners. Hahnumon took it from her, going pale.
“Mother told me about this. She said if a letter or a dragon ever came to the clan with a Mystic Ticket, then they needed to see you. I don’t know what a Mystic Ticket looks like, but that’s her signature on the bottom, next to this small handprint. That’s Pyre’s mark, but I don’t know who these other tokens are. You’re not the daughter of Pyre, are you?”
“Onikaan never told me. She just said my mother was a powerful warrior.”
“Prandaal, if you’re the daughter of Pyre, that would be why mother accepted you in the clan for so long. Pyre’s a legend! Did it say anything else on the letter?”
“Not really, only that there is a place for me at the Tribe, and board will be paid. He said many things have changed, but he’s waiting for my response.”
“And have you responded?”
Prandaal hesitated. She had not. She was too worried about her sister’s response. If she left, then Hahnumon would have to run the clan on her own. She was ready, but Prandaal had expected to be there with her.
“Prandaal, if you’re concerned for my sake, then please don’t. I have my own place in the world, you have not found yours yet. What if this is your future? Would you really stay here for your entire life? I love you, but the shadows aren’t meant for you, you’re too bright.”
Hahnumon pressed the ticket into Prandaal’s hand, then hugged her tightly.
“Go, Prandaal. Go find your future.”
“Will you still write to me?”
“Absolutely.”
On the other side of the campfire sat a sullen, silent red Wildclaw. She had sat herself down and begun skinning a rabbit she had caught a few minutes ago, while Prandaal set up camp. Prandaal hated her.
She had stridden into the clan, eyes blazing but silent, letter in hand for Prandaal. It had been a week since her arrival, and she had dragged Prandaal over miles and miles of slimy forest. She had even seen the large river that separated the Wilds and the Woods, but the Wildclaw had refused to consider a boat. Instead she had sketched a small bridge that crumbled over the river, stabbing at the depiction till it blurred under her claw. After that, the Wildclaw had largely ignored her, save to roughly wake her, or pack up camp. Prandaal had tried conversing with her, ordering her around, even pleading with her to tell her anything about her clan, but the Wildclaw had stayed dead silent.
At one point in time Prandaal had believed she was her mother, but the Wildclaw looked to be her age. And when she asked, the Wildclaw had gotten so upset she bared her teeth and growled, before picking up a nearby stick and snapping it against a tree trunk. The sound from her had spooked Prandaal, and she did not bring it up again.
Now she sat, skinning a rabbit, while Prandaal studied her. She was not entirely red, though what parts were reminded Prandaal of blood. Scars crisscrossed a dark chest, while a bird skull sat in the middle of black feathers on her shoulder. It was a gruesome sight. Her gaze slid down to the large hacksaw on the log next to her. It was clean, which surprised Prandaal. Didn’t she use it hunting?
The Wildclaw noticed her looking at the saw and moved it behind the log, where she couldn’t’ see it. Prandaal preferred not having to look at it.
The Woods passed with little disturbance, save for one incidence near the border. The Wildclaw had reached over and squeezed Prandaal’s upper arm, shaking her head at the lack of muscle. Prandaal had opened her mouth to respond in offense when the Wildclaw had stiffened, looking behind her. Grabbing Prandaal and pulling her to the ground, the Wildclaw stepped over her and parried the attacker’s sword. Her second swipe dispatched the assailant before Prandaal had even realised. Screaming, she curled up in a ball while the Wildclaw’s massive talons danced near her face.
When all was quiet, the Wildclaw had knelt and patted her on the shoulders. Prandaal opened her eyes to see herself surrounded by 4 bodies. Serthis, blades still shimmering with poison. Bile had risen in her throat and she had struggled to keep it down, but the Wildclaw only patted her back and kept walking.
She had tried thanking the Wildclaw for saving her life, but they only shrugged.
The edges of Dragonhome brought heat and a caravan of rowdy dragons. Greeting the wildclaw with cries of “Azula! Azula! How are you, you sour old sop!”, they had crowded her and Prandaal with colours, flashes of metal and bad breath. Azula had pulled a dagger on a nearby spiral, but no one seemed to react. A large imperial leant near Prandaal and laughed. “Don’t worry about him lass, he cheated your chaperon out of a few coins when she came through last. That’s not the first knife he’s had pulled on him by a wronged woman.”
Prandaal gazed in shock. “Wait, you know her? Who is she?”
“Azula was an old mercenary, who ran with us for a bit. But she was sent to kill someone and we never heard from her. Last we know, she’s off hunting you and she’s gone and wound up with a little spell on her face. Can’t say a word! Very interesting.”
Prandaal considered this. “So she’s not ignoring me?”
“No lass, you thought she was ignoring you? Didn’t you see the spell?”
“No?”
The imperial looked at her oddly, then moved on quickly. Prandaal went to follow her but a red arm slammed in front of her, halting her progress. She shrunk back and avoided the gaze of Azula, who had finished tickling the spiral with her knife. Azula pointed at the imperial, whose tail was dragging in the sand, and shook her head. Azula pointed at the imperial, then her eyes, then circled her horns with a finger; the imperial looks crazy, Prandaal guessed. “Visions?”
Azula shook her head, chewing on her words. Shaking her head as if to rid it of flies, Azula pointed up to one of the nearby hunks of metal. The other dragons had started climbing the hunks, and some had started to rattle and rumble.
“Ho, new kid!”, a skydancer from the nearest hunk cried. “Hop on to Crematory here, he’ll look after ya!”
Crematory, the hunk in question, had begun to smoke. Azula had already climbed up the ladder, planting herself near the top with an arm out. Prandaal hesitated and the hunk began to move. It picked up speed, as did the other rigs. Not wishing to be left behind in the desert, Prandaal quickly decided to chase after the retreating rig, much to the skydancer’s cackling delight.
What happens next?
The pair meet Pyre, who’s not as she seems. She’s not the one who put the curse on Azula, but she knows who did.
Prandaal learns about Azula’s history, about how she wanted to kill Pyre. A male at court tells her all about Azula, but she doesn't doubt where he gets the information from. The curse was to protect Prandaal. Prandaal is betrayed by this knowledge, and doesn’t want anything to do with Azula, who is appointed as her bodyguard. Azula cannot talk yet.
Azula slowly falls for Prandaal, as her bodyguard, but Prandaal rejects her, choosing the male at court. The male threatens Azula to leave and never come back, as she brought failure to his clan, and he's come to finish her job. Azula leaves.
Meanwhile, Prandaal feels empathetic for Azula’s torture as her bodyguard, so she seeks out the witch who put the curse on Azula. She doesn't now that Azula's been banished by her new mate.
She learns that the curse can only be broken when Azula can express a lack of desire to kill Pyre or her daughter. She needs to put aside her hate for Prandaal’s mother. Prandaal wonders why her mother didn't simply exile her assassin. The witch doesn't give away her secrets.
Neither of them realise that happened ages ago when Azula fell for Prandaal, but she’s so used to being unable to talk that she hasn’t tried to speak.
Turns out the male at court is a not nice guy, and when Azula is released as her bodyguard, (but still can’t speak), the male starts trying to use Prandaal as collateral against her mother. Prandaal fights back against him, but in the process gets herself tied up and knocked out.
In a glamourously dramatic turn of events, a dragon smashes through the door, and begins to fight the other male. Prandaal in her semi-unconscious state thinks it’s her mother come to save her again, and cries, thinking she’s going to be sent away again. However, at that point her mother bursts in the door and finds a bloodied Azula reaching out, knife in hand, towards a tied up Prandaal.
Pyre goes to attack Azula, Azula screams out “No!”, and races to protect Prandaal, who is struggling out of her bonds. Pyre attacks Azula, Prandaal yells at Azula to stop and she immediately turns and faces her, resulting in a giant slash to the face. Prandaal struggles out of her bonds and throws herself on Azula (so dramatic) and commands her mother to stop. Her mother stops, stunned, while Prandaal sobs over Azula.
Healers rush in and pull Azula away from Prandaal, who follows them out. Pyre looks down at the incapacitated dragon left in the room and spits on him, then walks out.
Epilogue – Modremoth comes and slaps Pyre on the back, laughing at their luck for having gay disrespectful children.
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This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Prandaal to the service of the Gladekeeper 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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