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Personal Style

Apparel

Alchemist Eyewear
Crimson Aviator Helmet
Red Mantle
Leather Aviator Satchel
Crimson Aviator Gloves
Nomad's Sandwastes Socks
Glowing Orange Clawtips

Skin

Accent: Cloudsong Guard

Scene

Measurements

Length
19.71 m
Wingspan
17.29 m
Weight
7135.39 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Banana
Vipera
Banana
Vipera
Secondary Gene
Maize
Shimmer
Maize
Shimmer
Tertiary Gene
Obsidian
Okapi
Obsidian
Okapi

Hatchday

Hatchday
Nov 25, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Eye Type
Shadow
Common
Level 8 Guardian
EXP: 10248 / 16009
Meditate
Contuse
Dark Bolt
Dark Acuity Fragment
Dark Acuity Fragment
STR
7
AGI
12
DEF
11
QCK
20
INT
32
VIT
21
MND
11

Biography

Windfall

tumblr_ntigqpU4ag1uc01tdo4_400.png

+ Bee subspecies
+ Wasteland wanderer
+ He minds his own business
+ He guards a bee hive and the bees within

105.png2413.png
I care for the bees and their little lives are delightful. The honey is theirs to keep. They are so tiny. So small. How can such small things really be? It is miraculous, marvelous. I need a special lens just so see them and not little fuzzy dots on a ball woven from spit and regurgitated pulp. So intricate and so, so, small.

And then as I let them do their busy bee thing, I feel the emptiness creep in. What is it that I need right now. What would make me feel whole again. It doesn't have to make me happy. But this worry gnawing at a little hole left in the center of the life I built around the tragedies that used to consume me, that did consume me, until using "me" to describe what was consumed feels inaccurate, because that was all eaten up and time and peace built a new one around the absence, from spit and regurgitated pulp, and there are no bees in me, and there is no honey. I am elaborate and carefully constructed and I am constructed and I am empty.

The heart died and I kept on. And even in peace there is only the appreciation of the sweetness of others, so precious, so wonderful, this sweetness of others. And I feel sweet to be around it, and I reflect the honey like a dandelion held just below the chin, glowing yellow, bright with sunlight and cheer. It doesn't have to be happiness. Please let me just be whole again. The honey of others can never be the same as having my own, filling the dried up bitter self that's left after all the things I don't even want to talk about again. I used to talk about it. So much, the stories would spill out and I'd watch the words tumble into the air and take flight and buzz buzz buzz, words, words, words, carving out therapy sessions from time spent with anybody who would listen. But I'm tired of the telling.

And I'm tired.

And I'm getting old now.

And I'm needed, I can't give up.
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Exalting Windfall to the service of the Earthshaker 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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