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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.97 m
Wingspan
0.9 m
Weight
0.98 kg
Genetics
Green
Falcon
Falcon
Chocolate
Safari
Safari
Charcoal
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Nocturne
Max Level
STR
126
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
58
INT
5
VIT
11
MND
5
Biography
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xx TYPHA TRAINER • SOLDIER VENGEFUL | BITTER | CRUEL |
The training grounds were alight with sound and movement. Older warriors ducked and dodged on the ground and in the air, their movements graceful and practiced. Sharpened claws hit well-worn armor with dull clangs that rang out across the mountains. Newer trainees practiced with their mentors, their movements less precise but still clear and purposeful.
A battle-wizened Mirror sat on a rock overlooking the small clearing, piercing ice blue eyes scanning the field. Her tail hung over the pink crystal, brushing lightly at the juneflowers that sprung out of the cracks in the ground and around the green and gold grasses. Her cracking orange scales were littered with scars both old and new, and she wore bronzed armor that was well kept but with chipped paint over small divets that decorated the pounded metal. A commotion drew her attention to the farthest edge of the field. She rolled her eyes, grumbling softly deep in her throat, a noise of vague disgust and disinterest.
A small group of hatchlings sat anxiously in the tall grasses. There were three of them in total, an odd collection of varying ages and dispositions. The largest of the lot was a coatl, young enough to have freshly molted feathers, though he still had a few left before his adult coat came shining in. He tapped his claws on the grass, pulling it up in nervous ministrations. There was also a little skydancer, head held proud with red scales gleaming. They turned to preen the feathers on their wings, decorated with constellations, shiny and new. They sniffed their nose at their surroundings. Last amongst them was a ridgeback, the smallest of the lot and the youngest still awkward on her feet and tripping over claws that were too long for him limbs, as she paced back and forth, wearing out the weeds and grass.
"Stand to attention!"
A voice echoed out across the training grounds. The field was still and deadened as the practicing warriors screeched to a halt, turning to face the newest on the field. Her armor was green, but so were her scales so it was hard to figure where one ended and the other began. A cowboy hat was balanced over her black skulled helmet. From beneath the shadow, green eyes glinted and glowed. Her weapon's chain wrapped around her waist and tail, a scythe on one end and a spiked club on the other, hanging from the drooping tip. Although it hung loosely, there was tension in her stance, giving the clear impression that she was ready to use it the second it was called for. She wore no armor on her arms, only fingerless gloves so that her bare scales showed off her many scars. And on her green breastplate there was an engraving of a vulture, poised in mid-flight with wings extended and curved.
She was not exceptionally tall -- there were many that surrounded her that dwarfed her in size -- but they all shrank back as she passed them, ducking their heads in either respect or fear. She waved her tail as she walked, calling for the other teams to continue their work and slowly the field began to come back to life behind her. She stopped before the motley crew of hatchlings who had loosely aligned themselves into something approximately close to a line (if you were being generous about it).
Her eyes scanned each one in turn, looking more and more unimpressed as the three little ones swayed under her silent gaze. The coatl, desperate to look anywhere but at her, turned to glance across the field at two burly imperials fighting with tooth and claw in a sectioned off arena. He turned frighteningly pale as one of them cut deep enough to draw blood. The ridgeback made her best attempt at a bow -- mostly to avoid looking the dragon in the eyes -- but stumbled over her claws and landing in the grass with a small 'oof.' She righted herself quickly, pink blush now staining her scales. Only the skydancer dared to meet the Trainer's gaze, their tail hung loosely over the grass and swinging their long mane back and forth in the wind.
The nocturne sighed heavily, turning to glare up at the rocks above her. The Mirror snickered quietly, a breath of ice flicking out from between her sharpened teeth, coating the rock with white and blue. She scratched one claw into the crystal surface, eyes twinkling with amusement. The two shared one thought: these useless hatchlings were canon fodder.
The Trainer stood up to her full height, stretching her wing claws in the grass and growling deep in her throat. The three young "recruits" cowered as she did, and she almost smiled, relishing in the scent of fear that washed off of them in waves.
"So this is the latest batch," she purred. Her voice was graveled and hoarse, like talons on a chalkboard, and the skydancer cringed away at the sound of it. "I can't say I'm impressed."
The skydancer puffed up indignantly. "How rude!" Their voice was light and lilted. "I'll have you know, my mother paid a great deal for me to be here. She claims that you're the best warrior in Sorineth." They looked the Trainer up and down. "I can't say I'm impressed."
The Trainer chuckled, a grating sound devoid of any genuine humor. She snaked her head towards the skydancer, tucking her black and green scales into their space and staring with unblinking emerald eyes. The skydancer reared their head back, gulping nervously, their bravado quickly beginning to wane.
"I am," the Trainer said simply. She held the skydancer's gaze a moment longer before they ducked their head, breaking the staring contest. Satisfied with the display, she pulled back. "Now then. Shall we begin?"
RELATIONSHIPS
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Friend Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
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DESCRIPTION
The nocturne was born to humble parents in a humble hole in the ground, deep in the forest. Her family was large, but welcoming and kind, and the young dragon knew no pain or loss in her early years. When the first of her brothers died, lost to an illness in only his second year, something broke deep within her. It was early in the year, spring had not yet arrived, and winter was still reluctant to lost it's grip. The year would bring many more deaths and loss to come. By it's end, a family of nearly fifty had dwindled to only two dozen. Typha, weighed and burdened by the black spot on her soul, could not allow herself to stay in her old home, not in that cursed place any longer. She wandered for many years, walked the land alone. She coated herself in armor, gathered it to herself to guard her heart and soft eyes. Anger festered in her heart and she trained hard, worked herself until she was nothing but a husk of a creature, lost to the world and herself. She eventually settled in the Kulya Cult as its trainer and protector, but the dragon who arrived was not the same one who left home, and never would be again.. |
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Typha holds a great anger towards the Eleven, especially the Gladekeeper. She cursed the nature deity for failing to protect them when they had all loved and trusted her so deeply. She would burn the land, sea, and sky to get her revenge on the gods who abandoned her and took her family. |
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ART
Art by DragonJade
Wonderful art by Permyriad
Icons and banners by Serpentra + Natron
Dividers by Banyan
Dividers by Banyan
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