Caol
(#21478499)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Charming Swan
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Energy: 48/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.31 m
Wingspan
16.7 m
Weight
5833.28 kg
Genetics
Steel
Cherub
Cherub
Sky
Butterfly
Butterfly
Teal
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
༻ C A O L ༺
  
he | him | his
O C C U P A T I O N - Imperial Squad Leader F A M I L Y - Dalila (mate) |
"I have often dreamed of a far off place"
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He shimmered blue, like the rain of gods. His scales looked very out of place in the polluted and cruel Plague surroundings. The dragons around him were heavily scarred and towering above him, and they all smelled absolutely horrid, as him and the rest of the hatchlings gossiped. They were almost adults, but still classified as so. More like teenage-dragons, they often flirted among one another, and he was a favorite. All the females came chasing after him because of his odd coloring. He played all of them easily, as he was not interested in any of their ugly blackened scales. He wanted to meet a dragon like himself. A dragon that wasn’t really from here… For even though he was born in this pit, he believed he was from another Flight. He wanted to find out which one it was. One day, he was lounging under the red sun in the marketplace. It was paved in stone and had heated up because it was summertime; it was rather uncomfortable to lay on but they didn’t have beds. The smell of sweat was in the air, and it was repulsing. All of the dragon wings brushed against one another and many bumped into each other, for Plague was very crowded and sickly. He stood up, panting, and decided to see if he could snatch a bowl of water from the water stall while nobody was looking. Caol snuck underneath the bigger dragons, weaving between their legs and staying out of their sight. The cool shadow of the stand was somewhat refreshing, but his parched mouth sung at the thought of the sweet cold water splashing down his throat. He reached the wooden shop, and his claws slowly went upwards as if to snatch the goods right under the shopkeeper’s nose… But he stopped and ducked under the fabric flap underneath the stall’s table. It didn’t seem like a smart thing to do, for why would he do that in a situation where he had almost gotten what he wanted? Was he about to be caught, or anything similar? Not at all. His blue wings folded behind him and ears went up; his fur stood straight and his tail twitched restlessly. He couldn’t see well through the dark, old, moldy fabric, but what he could see about stopped his little heart. It was a small female merchant, who was only a little younger him. Only a little younger, young enough to still be a hatchling. The female was a bright blue-white, and a shimmering pink that reminded him of the stories about flowers that grew in meadows in the springtime. He suddenly felt a great urge. That urge was to see that flower, to pounce on that flower, and to hold it between his claws… but to hold it delicately, and to treasure every petal and every shard of light that landed on it. He wanted to cup the flower in his paws and keep it forever. His mouth opened and his breathing increased, and he became closer and closer to the outside world again. He could feel the pavement sticky under his sweaty paws, and he leaned forwards, his red eyes flicking up. All at once he received a great kick to the backside. He came sprawling out on the ground before her, and grabbed at his aching tailbone. The shopkeeper, a big black and crimson dotted dragon, growled and bared her fangs at him. “What are you doing under my shop? Stealing water, perhaps? Young man, you know very well that we are in the middle of a drought and you cannot be stealing other’s water. I’m reporting this to your mentor.” Caol’s ears flattened back on his skull and he spat in the older dragon’s face. “I do whatever I like, madam, and I’m not staying here long enough to see my mentor again.” He turned to the right, expecting to see the merchant waiting for him, but instead he just barely caught sight of her riding away on a slave hammock. This was not at all frightening, for it was the most common way of transport in this city. He could hear the angry shopkeeper shouting behind him but he knew very well that she would not dare to leave her stand, or all the dragons would storm the small shop. Caol decided he had to move quickly, but he couldn’t. The adults almost stepped on him, for there were dragons four times his size that could have crushed him with a claw. He scrambled after her, but she seemed to be that simple pink flower drowning in a sea of disease. When he finally saw her again, she was quite far down a path that if he squinted very hard seemed to turn green at the end. A very pale green, a green that looked as if it was tentative to show its color and used to hiding. It was at this moment he ran. And this was the fastest that Caol had ever ran, and the fastest he would ever run, in his life. He was running to catch this angel, this fleeting glance at freedom and love in his fallen kingdom of darkness. When he caught up to her, he was even more overheated and exhausted. He hadn’t known, but he hadn’t been following her a very long way. This was the border between Plague and Wind. He had never felt at home, and this was because he was born right on the border. He never truly belonged to either side, and by chance he inherited the red eyes of his ancestors. He stopped and tried to catch his breath. She turned and looked at him with one eye, then sat up and turned around to view him with both. “You’re from Plague?” She asked tentatively, as if afraid of him. “Yes,” He struggled to answer between breaths. “How? You look like Poseidon or some other ocean figure. Maybe a sky creature.” Caol regained his footing, and no longer tripped over his tongue. He would talk smoothly, as this was his only chance. “And you look like an angel. How much would it take for you to be my angel?” He asked flirtatiously, voice almost sounding like a purr. “Oh, how much would it take?” Before she could actually answer, one of the Plague slaves pulled back his lips and showed his fangs. He was heavily muscled and a dark crimson, as well as obviously blind in the right eye. “No matter how much it would take, I’m sure this lady would rather die than take a mutt like you for a husband. You’re lowly and have no royal blood, unlike me,” He boasted. It was obvious he was showing off for her. To be honest, it was also pretty sad. He only wanted her claw in marriage because she was obviously important back home. “And what riches do you have for your name? How much time would you spare this blossom, this beautiful angel come down from heaven? You would spare her five minutes, and soon enough have her assassinated by one of your cruel underdogs just so you could inherit her treasures. I know your kind very well, I know because my father was but the same. He slunk the streets with his head and tail low, and did just the same to my mother.” He growled, and despite the obvious side difference the slave looked a little afraid. “And see how just now you flinched at the teeth of a hatchling? You are no worthy mate.” “What riches do you have to offer, either?” The slave shot back, obviously still wanting the lady’s gold. “I doubt you have anything,” He scoffed. “I may not have gold, but I have sand. Not physical sand, but sand in an hourglass, the hourglass of my lifetime. And I offer this metaphorical hourglass to you, to hold in your claws, whether you treasure it or crush it in your paws. I wish only for you to hold it, despite the sand being blackened or cursed, or even if you see it as pure gold or silver. My worth is entirely in your eyes, for you are all that I see.” The shimmering Imperial paused for a second, as if to consider something. Her tail moved strangely, a stray thought wandering. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could: “How silly. You are nothing but an ignorant hatchling, and the hourglass you speak of is non-existent-” “It’s called a metaphor. Did I say it existed?” Caol said, raising his eye ridges. The slave roared, but could not strike Caol because he was holding up the Princess. “You need to stop and shut your mouth. All of your words are of a fool’s, and you have no idea what you’re-” “You do not deserve the right to live, scum!” The female shouted, backhanding the slave with her claws drawn. She leaped from the silk he had been lifting her on and climbed atop him. Her and the slave were snout to snout, and not in a romantic way. “Listen here. If I see you past this border, in my territory… This spot right here, let’s just say I’ll be adding a trophy to my wall. And that trophy will be your tail,” She murmured, her tongue flicking in and out as she spoke. This was a thing dragons only did when they were very nervous, or very angry. And it was obvious she was the latter. Surprisingly, for she was a hatchling and he an adult, he fled the scene. His scrambling run was amusing to watch, as was the bleeding of his claw wounds. She had absentmindedly stabbed him, it appeared, while she was speaking. It was a problem with long claws. The rest of the slaves that had been carrying her ran with him, for even though they had not been involved they served under him. “Now that that is done with…” She turned to Caol, and she was so close that he could feel her flowery breath gracing his fur. “I am Dalila. I am the Princess of my Wind Clan, the Rose Tempest Clan. I haven’t seen much of you, but you seem like quite the gem from Plague. There aren’t many others like you out there… So yes, I will take your hourglass. I will take it and keep it safe in my claws. It will not shatter in my grasp, I will protect it,” She whispered. “And you are my angel, my flower… I will make sure you never wilt, and I will shield you with my own body if necessary. It may sound silly, but even the sound of your name brings the song of the heavens to my tongue, and it is a thousand times better than a drink from the deepest, wettest well. I am Caol, and I will be your Prince.” He whispered back. She was not like the rest. She was not a dumb animal. She understood his feelings. It was as simple as that. To any other, it would seem that two total strangers had met in a frantic way, and after all their talking had sat down in front of one another in an uncomfortably close fashion. In his eyes, they were not strangers. She was glass, and he could see right into her soul. She was pure, and she was no stranger. He knew her better than he knew himself. This was a bond that no other two dragons shared. This was their bond. What he was doing got away from him, and before he could stop himself he realized she was getting closer at an alarming rate. His heart skipped, and then it rose to thump at his throat as he got more and more nervous. Despite all of the females liking him, he had never kissed before. And something told him that she hadn’t either, but that she knew how to much better than he. Her deep green eyes sparkled, and then she closed them. Her fur glittered a deep pink, and her snout was a darker blue that matched his wings perfectly. They were like a puzzle. Without the other, they were not complete. His eyes closed, and then the lovely enveloping scent of her was all wrapped around him, as were her fluffy wings. It had been a horrid hot day over in Plague, but now that they were at the border a breeze had picked up and touched the two of them like a blessing. She tasted sweet, and though he had been wishing of a drink of water, a good long drink of water from a beautiful fountain all his life… Though that had been his only wish, his cracked lips and dry tongue, his thirst; all of it was quenched by her. And this was how a poor, lowly dragon from the bottom class in the Plague region full of disease and drought, came to marry the most perfect dragon, a Princess who loved him not just for his shell but what lie within. And still the sand flows in his hourglass, and the flower is still in full bloom. They each hold them in their respective claws, and they hold them close, just as they do each other. Caol is descended from an ancient line of wind imperials who traveled all of Sornieth and now reside in light; his ancestors Kyriel and Treaios are a progenitor and a gifted magic user respectively. |
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Exalting Caol 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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