Okeer
(#18316517)
Level 1 Imperial
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
22.8 m
Wingspan
24.51 m
Weight
7786.57 kg
Genetics
Stone
Jaguar
Jaguar
Blood
Safari
Safari
Blood
Okapi
Okapi
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
| xxxxxxxxxxxx |
★★★ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "Close your eyes, Omanatl. It will all be over soon." ★★★ Hallanvaradu vigilantly watches over the nest- allowing Xoatallis a moment of rest and respite. After everything she's been through, it's only fair he plays his role in guarding their young. A single, shining egg glistens amongst the feathers; it's a humble clutch. He slithers to the ground, coiling his slender, scaled body about his young- before a piercing cry echoes forth from the world beyond his lair. He frowns, brows furrowing. Has another dragon been exalted? Fur bristling on end, the imperial strays from his enclave, his gaze fixated upon the distant rise of the clan's sacred temple. One of his own kind falls down from atop its precipice, landing with a bone-shattering thud within the pit-- the mass-grave surrounding the ruins like a moat. He frowns, watching, waiting. Finally, Hallanvaradu's gaze drifts back to his nest, to his egg. Would the child, too, meet such a grizzly end? He leans forwards, gently scooping it up into his embrace. Remorse tears at every fibre of his being- but Xoatallis would understand. Xoatallis would forgive him. Their child deserves protection of another clan; it's not safe here. It has to be done. ★★★ He walks with halting steps, bloodied palms leeching red into the bandages wound around his paws. The gembond is harsh, splitting through skin and fur without remorse, encrusting his soft pale hide, weighing down heavy on his joints. To see him limping through the Wasteland, one might think to pity him. Okeer might pity himself, too. If he could recall who he is. The name was picked up in passing, a half-thought word offered by a passing gathering of mirrors that had found him, feverish and confused. He’ thought they’d tear him apart, and even wounded, even barely able to stand, he’d near torn a lump of flesh from the leader’s hide. If anything, it endeared him to them. So, he became Okeer. Okeer, Okeer, the name of a Warlord they said. He didn’t think it was fitting– he didn’t feel like a Warlord. But, his name was lost, a distant itch in the back of his bruised mind and nothing more. Who was he to argue? Rangda was the one who’d set him on his path. A grizzled old mutt of a mirror, blind in one eye and half-blind in the other, scarred stump where a front leg might have been, but quick as a whip– and all of those teeth were very much intact. She’d drawn the poison from his veins as best she could, lips drawn tightly when the first spindly shards began to push up from under his skin. “Aye, gembond. And not the decorative kind neither,” she’d groused, something almost like sympathy in her voice, before she’d drawn him aside and taught. Rangda had been a fighter first, but wounds had turned her eye to the healing art. “The pack din’t know a thing, must’a had more infection than I can count”, she’d crowed, bandaging his palms for the first time, small single paw deft and gentle . “Useless! You want somethin’ done, you gotta learn yourself.” So, Okeer learned. How to care for his own wounds, for the wounds of others, how to chase away sickness and prevent it from scuttling back in. The gembond worsened, but Rangda was always there to settle the pain with her careful touch. Until she wasn’t. He’d only stepped away to gather herbs on Rangda’s orders, mirror pups nipping at his heels until he disappeared beyond the boundary of their ‘camp’. It couldn’t have been more than an hour, but he’d returned to a bloodbath. The entire pack, slaughtered in a sitting. Okeer had crashed through the camp, catching the attackers by surprised, Pain or not, his fury carried him through. They bit and clawed and struck, but everyone fell under the crushing weight of his bloodied palms, their blood soaking into the bandages Rangda had done mere hours before. When the fury cleared, despair crawled in deep, matching the ache in his chest. Blood slicked his path as he walked, pain lancing through his body– but he found her. Old she might have been, but there she lay, surrounded by bodies of those who had tried to take her. Okeer had buckled to his knees, drawing her closer to his chest. He’d bandaged his wounds, buried his packmates, and set out alone. His wounds were slow to heal, a constant ache, a physical reminder of his loss– sometimes he wondered if he even did want them to heal. But, Rangda’s teachings kept him walking, and let him help others. The same claws that crushed bones, set broken ones. He was Okeer. Pack-mate of the Sawtoothed. Student of Rangda. Healer. ★★★ Life changed for the better once he met Morrigan. She was brave, strong in ways brute force would never measure up to-- but she had suffered greatly. Okeer sought to soothe her pain, give her comfort, and it was inevitable that he fell for her. He never dared think he could match up to her lost love, but gave her his all. Surrounded by his new burgeoning family, Okeer was happy, for the first time in a long time. ★★★ | xxxxxxxxxxxx |
"KILL YOUR GODS."
"devour your oppressors."
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Exalting Okeer to the service of the Stormcatcher 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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