Mookaite

Mookaite (Mook/Mooka)
Archivist/Seer
23/Male/?????

Insubstantial Illusionist Familiar Elemental acolyte of the Shadowbinder. (Trickmurk Circus Holiday Item 2016.) 0 Reaper Guise Apparel Be wary of donning this cloak after midnight or dragons may find themselves unable to remove it... 0 Seeker Orb Dragonmade Seeker eyes are desirable commodities; dragons believe that jewelry crafted from these smooth stones may provide insight into their dreams. 30

Mookaite just sort of showed up one day and never left. Little was known about the spindly Spiral except that he was hatched in a Lightning Flight nest (even then, only known because of his eye color) and introduced himself as Phosphene. Cricket found Mookaite as a hatchling, sleeping on a warm rock on the edges of their territory. It took two or three days just to wheedle a name and age out of the little one, but eventually Iris and Cricket learned that the hatchling had no clan and no intentions of going back. They more-or-less shrugged, gave him a new name, and took him in.

Mookaite has perhaps the strongest foresight of all the Garren, but he hides it well with a laugh and a preference of physical attacks to magical gifts. He bottles up his emotions and fears about whatever it is that he sees, choosing to present as a good-humored and mischievous hatchling in a grown dragon’s body. A few minutes alone, however, and he’ll revert to a shaky, twisting mess. Since joining the clan, many of his distant relatives and fellow spirals have joined, and he seems to be doing a bit better now that he has dragons who understand his struggles.

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Before there was Mookaite, there was Phosphene. There was a desert where the air crackled and the stars were engulfed in the lightning arcs of a great spire, the cumulation of a deity and all his followers' efforts. There was yelling. Always harsh words spat back and forth between clan mates, even if they were usually followed by grins and giggles. Always the whispers of time slipping into his conscious. Phosphene was still a hatchling, too young to understand deeper, darker things, but he never dared to let his clan know about the screams he heard even in the dead of night. With a child's logic, he still understood who those screams belonged to, but he feared that they'd blame him if he told them what he saw. Somehow, seeing and knowing and telling was as good as doing to adults, so he smiled. He learned the pin up the corners of his mouth and brush wings with those who had only days left. He loved them, flawed as they were. They didn't deserve what was going to happen. Besides, father always said to show the deepest respect for the dead. It only made sense to show similar manners to those near the end.


The time came. It went. He remained. Trembling under the too-still wing of his older brother, Phosphene secretly, selfishly wished he'd gone with them. Standing in the wreckage of their lair, there was nothing left to keep him there. Nothing. No one. So he didn't stay.


The journey was perilous, but the whispers and pulls were all dragging him in one direction. He traveled in the safety of numbers when he could manage it, but he often spent days hiding from hostile clans, dragon and beast alike. Further. Further. He couldn't go back. It would break him. Eventually he found it, and for once, the unseen practically sang to him. He curled up on a warm stone, not caring if some wild creature ate him then and there. Something in him said "This is safety. This is your fate. This will be your home." He didn't want a new home, no matter how pretty the wild growth was. He wanted to curl up in his parents' crevice with a chorus of soft snores and a single lantern hanging by the lair's entrance to chase away the bad dreams. The things that told the truth didn't listen, but they did quiet down long enough for him to drift asleep.


He woke to a pair of wide eyes boring into his own and a dark, scarred wing shielding him from the midday sun. He raised his head to get a better look at the strangers.
The Guardian stepped up first. "You're far from the Shifting Expanse, little one." She cocked her head, heavy fins drooping in concern. "Where is your family?" She came to regret the question when all Phosphene's distress finally came to the surface. His legs trembled as he barreled forward, pressing his face into her non-metal side and let loose the first hiccuping sob.
The Fae, who was previously scowling, glided down from the Guardian's horn and gave a few stiff pats to Phosphene's back. He looked about ready to cry or scream himself, but he dug his claws into the grass and sat there quietly until the little Spiral's tears were spent. "Better?" The Fae asked. The reply was a mute nod, but it was enough for the Fae to nod back and return to his perch on the Guardian's horn.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the Guardian wrapped her pale tail around Phosphene like shield. She was actually trembling, eyes distant and trained on her own ghosts. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry."

Eventually they all calmed down enough for the pair (Iris, the Guardian, and Cricket, her Fae mate) to coax the hatchling to come with them for a decent meal and a safe night of rest. Phosphene didn't say much that night, except his name. He dragged out the consonants as he remembered how everybody in the clan could say it with a million different meanings. He didn't want to talk much after that. The whispers were, thankfully quiet for the rest of the night. Phosphene slipped into fitful sleep within the shelter of the friendly Imperial's (Howlite, but she practically bubbled over with giggles when he called her Owl by mistake) dust-coated wings.

The next day, they only asked him for three things:
One, they asked him to remain in their clan with the other abandoned hatchlings who'd found their way there. He agreed with an indifferent shrug.
Two, they asked that he train under their tutelage. They told hihim about the whispers they'd heard as well, the pulls and dreams and songs. He agreed with a tentative, searching nod.
Three, they asked for permission to give him a new name, one without the weight of memories, an empty tome that would only be filled with what he wanted to tell, and the promise to bear the weight together as a family. He agreed with a tear-streaked smile.

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Theme song: Quiet - Lights
So here's my heart, and here's my mouth
And I can't help if things come out
'Cause there are words I want to shout
But maybe I'll stay low

I could wait a thousand hours
Stay the same in sun and showers
Pick apart a hundred flowers
Just to be quiet
Tell me when you feel ready
I'm the one, there's not too many
Hold my hand to keep me steady
Just to be quiet
Adoptable by RainbowSuss:

Adoptable by Viviana

Art by GhostNyx:

Human art:

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Trivia by Crysi102:
-Along with visions of the future, Mook is haunted by shadows of the past. What he witnessed as a child scarred him, and sometimes mix with his future sight. It's a weird mix of familiar and new in a vision, so he only rarely shares what he sees.

-The tome he was given when he joined the clan is now one of many he keeps hidden away. Some are filled with the past, others with his visions, and others... well, with stories. Stories of those who passed and what could have been. He's quite the budding author, even if he doesn't wanna admit it.

-Honestly? He looks like he loves strawberries more than anything on the face of the planet. Sometimes, after one particularly rough vision, he'll seek out a strawberry shortcake and eat it in silence. The clan knows what that means.

-He doesn't know how to swim. Coming from a desert has made water... more than a little frightening to him.

-He smiles all day after having a good vision, one that shows a positive outcome and is free of the darkness of his past. He just becomes a genuinely bright and happy, positively bouncy seer for the rest of the day.