Amaranth
(#16912375)
Level 12 Spiral
Familiar
Duskthicket Bonepicker
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Female Spiral
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.84 m
Wingspan
1.82 m
Weight
68 kg
Genetics
Lavender
Iridescent
Iridescent
Sky
Paint
Paint
Obsidian
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 12 Spiral
EXP: 12836 / 38956
STR
47
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
41
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
Amaranth, the Desert Shrike.
Rogue l Sister l Ex-Harpy
"Shrike (n.) a songbird, often referred to as a butcherbird, that has a screeching call and impales its prey on thorns. She lives up to her namesake. On the field, Death is far less frightening. Her mask has seen to that reputation. Scientifically speaking, it is a remarkable marriage of craftsmanship and magic! Like a reed instrument, her mask has small holes and, under the surface, pipes. When she screams or talks, it triggers wind magic. The wind whistles and filters out through the holes, all based on intensity, like pistons letting off steam... or a tea kettle. Ah, that banshee charm. Bloody music to my ears." -excerpt from Fenriel's log.
A fortnight after Jettie joined the clan, she left. As a scavenger, setting off on outings was not unexpected, but they are scheduled. When she didn't return that night and several nights afterward, the clan thought she was gone for good. She came back a week later with Amaranth. The Treasured Mother, upon seeing the unsettling stranger, immediately went on the defense and demanded an explanation. And she got one: Amaranth explained that her and Jettie were not simply nomads. They were once a part of a band of scavengers—the Dune Harpies—picking through the belongings of the dead and hawking their spoils. For a time, they enjoyed the good life. Indulgences, gold, and a fellowship that embodied the saying 'as thick as thieves.'
It didn't last.
"All it took was picking the wrong bones," she rumbled.
Her group was eliminated by a vengeful Serthis tribe. Jettie and Amaranth escaped by the scale of their hides. Her monstrous appearance and her mechanical, resonating screams gave them the hesitation they needed to slip away. Jettie was traumatized. She doesn't speak anymore. A Stormcatcher doll and the clothes on their backs were all they had left of their family and the hubris that doomed them.
Amaranth was wracked with anger and grief. She didn't function. She just screamed, a mangled lament. Her sorrow song echoed for nights across the sands. It took almost losing Jettie, little more than a fledgling those years ago, to starvation to break her from her mourning.
Sympathetic to her tale, Vitoreva invited her to stay. Amaranth now serves primarily as an escort for trade caravans, protecting supplies that travel between clans from marauders. Since the raid, she has become seasoned in combat and Serthis poisons. While weak at close quarters, her agile, twisting form gives her an edge in battle. Her mask, imbued with magic that warps her voice into a keening, whirring banshee's wail, strikes fear into the heart of her enemies.
When she is at the lair, she unveils her face and unwinds. She has no trouble shooting the breeze with her lair mates and playing board games to pass the time. If their returns coincides, Jettie seldom leaves her hip.
Rogue l Sister l Ex-Harpy
"Shrike (n.) a songbird, often referred to as a butcherbird, that has a screeching call and impales its prey on thorns. She lives up to her namesake. On the field, Death is far less frightening. Her mask has seen to that reputation. Scientifically speaking, it is a remarkable marriage of craftsmanship and magic! Like a reed instrument, her mask has small holes and, under the surface, pipes. When she screams or talks, it triggers wind magic. The wind whistles and filters out through the holes, all based on intensity, like pistons letting off steam... or a tea kettle. Ah, that banshee charm. Bloody music to my ears." -excerpt from Fenriel's log.
A fortnight after Jettie joined the clan, she left. As a scavenger, setting off on outings was not unexpected, but they are scheduled. When she didn't return that night and several nights afterward, the clan thought she was gone for good. She came back a week later with Amaranth. The Treasured Mother, upon seeing the unsettling stranger, immediately went on the defense and demanded an explanation. And she got one: Amaranth explained that her and Jettie were not simply nomads. They were once a part of a band of scavengers—the Dune Harpies—picking through the belongings of the dead and hawking their spoils. For a time, they enjoyed the good life. Indulgences, gold, and a fellowship that embodied the saying 'as thick as thieves.'
It didn't last.
"All it took was picking the wrong bones," she rumbled.
Her group was eliminated by a vengeful Serthis tribe. Jettie and Amaranth escaped by the scale of their hides. Her monstrous appearance and her mechanical, resonating screams gave them the hesitation they needed to slip away. Jettie was traumatized. She doesn't speak anymore. A Stormcatcher doll and the clothes on their backs were all they had left of their family and the hubris that doomed them.
Amaranth was wracked with anger and grief. She didn't function. She just screamed, a mangled lament. Her sorrow song echoed for nights across the sands. It took almost losing Jettie, little more than a fledgling those years ago, to starvation to break her from her mourning.
Sympathetic to her tale, Vitoreva invited her to stay. Amaranth now serves primarily as an escort for trade caravans, protecting supplies that travel between clans from marauders. Since the raid, she has become seasoned in combat and Serthis poisons. While weak at close quarters, her agile, twisting form gives her an edge in battle. Her mask, imbued with magic that warps her voice into a keening, whirring banshee's wail, strikes fear into the heart of her enemies.
When she is at the lair, she unveils her face and unwinds. She has no trouble shooting the breeze with her lair mates and playing board games to pass the time. If their returns coincides, Jettie seldom leaves her hip.
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