Dursky's dragon Eriathos

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

20.06 m

Wingspan

16.76 m

Weight

8870.71 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Crystal

Obsidian
Shimmer

Forest
Glimmer

Hatchday

Feb 01, 2016
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Light
Common

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

................

T H E M E
E R I A T H O S

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known

╭~~- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -~~ LORE ~~--- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -~~╮

“I think he’s sleeping again,” one dragon whispered to another.
“Oh, no, no.” The second dragon grinned and flashed teeth. “He calls that meditating.”
Certainly Eriathos looked comfortable. He was coiled on a small leather bed in the corner of the main building of the clan. Life went on without him. Food was cooked, gossip exchanged, and through it all, Eriathos remained unmoved.

The only sign of life from him were his sides gently heaving in and out, and a small coil of smoke escaping his nostrils.
“I’ll give you ten thousand treasure if you go tickle his nose,” the second dragon snickered.
“No.” The first dragon sighed. “I…wish I could be as peaceful as that.”

Eriathos’ mind was a mystery even for those close to him. Clearly a dragon with a forest-heart if there ever was one, no one knew why he had appeared in the Fortress of Ends.
Understood even less was his relationship with the clanleader. Those in charge of the clan were forever taking offerings of burning branches and incense to Eriathos, in exchange for visions of the future.

Some of these visions were mundane and obvious. For example, hunting would pick up in the spring. Even the hatchlings of this clan could’ve predicted that.
What Eriathos was known most for throughout the clan was the thunderstorm prediction.
Living so high up in the Southern Icefields, storms were wild, dark and unpredictable. Thunderstorms were virtually unheard of, but any dragon caught out in one was as good as dead. The storms had the teeth and claws of the deities, and were known for ripping dragons straight off the cliff and hurling them into the sky.

Now, the Sun’s Return Festival was the most celebrated event in this clan. After several months of unending darkness, the sun would reemerge from the eastern snowy horizon, a pale white disc, then sink back into the ground.
The clan always greeted the sun with extra food, little crafts, and much drinking and dancing. It was a sacred ritual, but also much needed fun after the harshest part of winter was over.
Eriathos, knowing all this, predicted a thunderstorm for that day.
And the clan almost lost its mind.

Those who did not believe in the wisdom of the old, mysterious dragon were quick to call him a crack, a despot, and worse. Those who feared the gift of prophecy foretold that the thunderstorm would end the clan itself.
The clanleader, distraught, was unsure of what to do. But finally, amid all the outcry, the Sun’s Return Festival was scheduled for the next day.

That morning, several stubborn dragons staunchly awaited the day. They adamantly stood outside their homes, eyes fixed on the eastern horizon, awaiting the sun.
The sun never came. Instead, a bleak yellow light spilled across the snow, sickening and rotten. Then the hated black thunderheads, limned in faint dawn, appeared in the sky, hovering like massive crystal castles.
Blue-white lightning lanced the sky. The razor-wind howled. The few sun-saluters hurried back down into their basements, locking doors and windows, as if the sky itself would open them and snatched them into its jaws.
In the main building, surrounded by whispering onlookers, Eriathos slept. He dreamt, smiling.

In Eriathos’ spacious mind, he dreams of a different world.
A primordial stew of heavy, roiling mist, soaking umbrella leaves. Water clings and drips from hot-house rainbow blossoms. Vines cling to flesh; the sun is only seen when painted faintly green.
The world is dark and smells of earth. The cradle of life molds to his scales and gently rocks him.
Inside him is an ancient soul, one born from a mossy cavern deep in the earth, when the earth was new; a soul given form and breath by the deities themselves.
As a result, he is sent wherever he is needed most. It isn’t up to him.

Still, he dreams of the Viridian Labyrinth.
No one in this Fortress of Ends suspects it, but this ancient, weathered, cracked-clay body is a chrysalis. Inside, his soul is gathering and storing energy, waiting for when it can reemerge again in all its forested glory. He sleeps and dreams, and the soul-dew drips from a vine onto his unspeakably old heart…

“Eriathos?” The small voice stirs him from sleep.
One of the young girls, a precious branch clutched in her paws.
They bring him wood because wood is sacred up here in the tundra, where few things grow.
“Yes, child,” Eriathos rumbles. “What is it?”

“Can you tell me if this boy will like me?” Her voice comes out in a whisper.
And Eriathos smiles. The more life changes, the more it ever remains the same.
He grabs the branch and places it beneath his bed, then sighs and settles his body. “Well, let’s see? When’s your birthday, and what’s his name?”

~~- - - - -~~ MISC ~~- - - - -~~

NAMESAKE — n/a
KEYWORDS — aristocratic, powerful, wise

LIKES — silence, forests, meditating
DISLIKES — crouded places, loud noises, arrogance

╰~~- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - -~~╯

Biography written by Caelyn
Biography layout by Zarane

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Eriathos to the service of the Windsinger 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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