Zorion
(#19309684)
Level 25 Nocturne
Familiar
Psywurm
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Nocturne
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.8 m
Wingspan
5.06 m
Weight
536.28 kg
Genetics
Banana
Iridescent
Iridescent
Gold
Shimmer
Shimmer
Rose
Contour
Contour
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Nocturne
Max Level
STR
129
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
50
INT
5
VIT
13
MND
5
Biography
Zorion (Happiness)
Moody // Artistic // Laconic
Moody // Artistic // Laconic
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"No." Zorion is a rather difficult dragon to describe, mostly because if you ask the drake himself you will get nothing but a look and the above quote, and if you ask his clanmates you will get varied responses that may or may not be true--that is, if they don't bowl over in laughter at someone actually being interested in him. Generally, though, their answers say this: he is a dragon of few words and fewer emotions, his range mostly consisting of surliness, annoyance, grumpiness, and poetic melancholy. This last one, though the rarest to be outwardly shown, is also arguably his greatest strength, along with his creativity--after all, he is an artist. ~~ Zorion was born in a mixed-dragon clan, the son of the clan scribe and record-keeper. He and his brother, Poza, were complete opposites in terms of personality, even from birth--as their parents told them many times, the latter literally kicked himself out of his egg clawing and screeching, with the former cracking open the top of his shell almost hesitantly a few hours later. This set up the stage for their general dispositions later on: Poza was the more outgoing, athletic one, with a take-no-prisoners attitude that he applied to practically everything in life, while Zorion was, while no less sociable, a lot more shy and reserved, with a particular quickness to both his movements and his mind. Despite these differences, though, the two genuinely enjoyed each other's company, which, combined with loving, supportive parents, made for a happy, strong family unit. The clan that he lived in was as good in that regard as well, the philosophy of helping one's neighbour and tending to each other being the norm rather than the exception. All in all, it was an mostly idyllic life, full of love and laughter... ("So," Sadama says in the silence that followed, "hate to ruin your concentration and everything, but what's the twist?" Zorion was, at that moment, trying to keep his emotions in check as he told his tale, though the fact that every once in a while his scales would suddenly light up and flare showed that he wasn't completely succeeding. Nevertheless, he is able to grunt out a reply, even managing to sound rather incredulous. "What?" "The twist," Tristesse pipes up; the Coatl narrows her eyes at that before rolling them instead and yawning. "You know, what went wrong. Maybe a great evil visited your clan? Or you have a character flaw that brought the whole thing crashing down on your family, and that's why you act the way you do now? There's got to be something--there always is." The Nocturne stares at her. "I'm a writer," he says, not kindly, "and I think you've been reading too much." "Oh, c'mon, Zor," Zavist coaxes, seeing his mate's crest droop. "As Tris said, there's gotta be something; else, why are you even here instead of with your perfect family and clan? Arcanist, the way you describe your life before all this is so good I might be jealous!" The Tundra had meant it as a joke, but as even the Fae perched on top of his head participated in the silence that followed, he realizes that perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing to joke about that when he recently admitted he had killed a dragon. "Uh, guys," he says nervously, "I didn't mean t'--" "Don't," the yellow he-dragon interrupts. "I agree with Metus for once: this is my turn to say something." "Eww. I don't want you agreeing with me, Bore-on!" "Me, too." He sighs at what he was going to say next. "And I have a suitable twist for you all, I suppose.") ...except, he supposed, for one tiny thing, and even that turned out to bring him a fierce sense of joy: his self-expression. Nocturnes were creatures of mimicry; that was known well enough in Sorneith. Born supposedly out of a way to integrate with and ingratiate themselves to dragons of other breeds, they could and did copy habits and mannerisms with near perfect accuracy, from voice inflections to movements to whether they ate a bird beak or tail first. Zorion was not exempt from this urge to imitate; in fact, at first he was perhaps seen as born to do so, with his father being the clan's transcriber and therefore being surrounded by the copying down of events from an early age. It was also expected that at least one of his sons, if not both, would follow in his footsteps; after all, Nocturnes were wonderful at that sort of thing. Why wouldn't they? With that burden of expectation heavy on him, the yellow he-dragon was taught his letters and how to read as soon as he was able to hold his eyes open for more than five minutes, and was deemed his father's successor once it was clear that he was better at it than his brother, who was far more interested in sports and athletics than his bookish, quiet younger sibling. (Metus rolled his eyes. "And let me guess," he simpered, "you hated it, right? We all know where this is going!" The Nocturne, to the surprise of everyone, smiled thinly right back. "Oh, really?) He was perfectly fine with it. The training wasn't too difficult; at times, it was even pleasant, being surrounded by the smells of ink and paper and copying down his parents' low murmurs in his sharp hand. He took to it, like most thing involving reading and writing, quite quickly, and it wasn't as if his father was anything but kind when he made mistakes. Yet, admittedly, there was something missing--though he was perfectly content copying down what others said, he wasn't completely happy. "When I copy down words, see them coming to life right in front of my eyes," his father told him once after training, "and I read them once to make sure they're what was just said...I feel alive. Not only do I help someone, not only am I touched by what I read, but my records assure that someone will read it in the future as well, and learn something like how I just learned." He smiled down on him. "Other than my family, it is my life's greatest joy." That was all fine and good, Zorion thought, loving what one does for their clan. Who wouldn't hope for the same thing? But, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how pleased he was, he didn't feel that same spark his father did. It was, he realised, just a job instead of a passion--there was an 'it' missing. But what was 'it'? He found out what on his very first assignment as a junior scribe. ~~ - Didn't really like speaking or copying other dragons, so he decided to write his original thoughts as a way to express himself - Was convinced by his parents to join the clan poetry contest; entered and won first place - Was so happy with it that that he passed out and it became his core memory - When he woke up his passive magic field blew the roof off the infirmary and injured several dragons, and was exiled for it - Was drawn to the Crystalspire Reaches where he met the gang |
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Age: Adult Gender: Male Sexuality: Asexual Mate: None. Relatives: Two parents and a borther back in his birth clan. Friends: Sadama, Arger |
Likes: Books, the smell of ink, peace and quiet Dislikes: Hatchlings, his current predicament, being reminded of his past Hobbies: Reading, writing, being sarcastic |
STRENGTH ██████████ MAGIC ██████████ AGLITY ██████████ |
INTELLIGENCE ██████████ CHARISMA ██████████ VITALITY ██████████ |
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Exalting Zorion to the service of the Arcanist 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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