Windweaver
(#21724866)
Level 1 Guardian
Familiar
Crowned Roc
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Guardian
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
14.22 m
Wingspan
20.6 m
Weight
12702.19 kg
Genetics
Caribbean
Iridescent
Iridescent
Azure
Butterfly
Butterfly
Avocado
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Guardian
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
Windweaver
The Weaver
Clan Role: Citizen | Mate: None | Children: None | Friends: Ziva | Enemies: Dissension, Jeb | Loyalty: Anyone but Dissension and Monarch | "Cliques": ???
Mate
None Friends ??? |
Lore
He was an artist. He would weave different threads and yarns, and even materials together so swiftly and beautifully, that they said he worked with the wind in his clawtips. He always blushed, pleased at the praise that eventually won him the name Windweaver. He didn’t think that anything could ever stop him from weaving.
Then the fires came. Every piece he had ever woven but one caught into flames. The one that remained intact was a rather gruesome tapestry that had been ordered by an old witch in the lair. He hadn’t been able to take it to her yet, so when his wooden cottage burned to the ground and all the tapestries but that one burned up, it hung boldly from the metal rack, the desecration and death in dark colors waving like a banner. The image the witch had asked for was a great red dragon slain by a tiny, young human girl. The sword that should be driven deeply into the bleeding dragon’s side was to be as tall as the girl, and made of silver metal that glinted by the light of a bright orange sun. Shadows were to be cast across the dead grass that was being watered by the blood of the slain dragon, because of the clouds which were to be raining great tongues of fire. The girl was to be standing on the dragon. She was to be completely clean. Not a speck of dirt, not a streak of blood, just pure, pale skin. She was to be wearing nothing but what she had been blessed with at birth, but blood red hair was to flow around her body, covering her from sight. Her eyes were to be different colors, blue and green, and they were to shine. She was not to have pupils, but rather should stare out blankly. Her lips were to be in a straight line…she was not smiling. She was not happy. She was to have one hand on the hilt of the great sword, and she was to be standing straight. Other than that, the girl could be posed however Windweaver pleased. The dragon was to resemble a guardian, like Windweaver was himself, and be dark red, nearly maroon. He was to be lying on his side, angled to where his belly was toward the viewer, yet angled slightly away. His eyes were to be closed, and his tongue was to hang from his mouth, with blood staining the ground his head was resting on. He was to be covered in scars, across his muzzle, and his belly…but only one wound, the wound in which the girl had driven the sword. The sword was to be silver, which she had specified previously, with intricate looking weavings decorating the handle, and a black gem was to shine on the end of the hilt. She told him not to worry about the blade, for it would be driven into the dragon and out of view, but that the hilt guard should be straight, solid metal, curving down toward the blade, rather than up toward the hilt. In the background, were to be volcanoes, three of them, one to the right, one to the left, and one in the dead center. The center volcano was to be erupting boiling lava, a thin stream flowing toward the dragon and the girl. The flames falling from the clouds should be orange, red and yellow, but not necessarily all in one flame. The places where they should fall upon the gray and brown, dead grass should have embers scattered around them, and tiny flames should rise, casting more shadows upon the ground, girl and dragon, than what was already there. When the clan woke up, and saw how much the flames had claimed as they slept, and the dark, wicked picture that was waving freely, they drove Windweaver from that place, and although she paid her due, the witch allowed Windweaver to take that tapestry with him, as a reminder of what he would never do again…he would no longer make tapestries…no longer. When he at last arrived at the clan he would stay in for a long time, he soon met a beautiful nocturne, called Ziva. She took his breath away, and he longed for her to be his mate…but when he told her so, she ran from him, crying. He couldn’t understand why. She had become his best friend, but no matter how many times he asked her to be his mate, she would run from him, or turn him down, but look so sad when doing so. “Ziva…” he finally went to her, “I’ve asked you so many times if you’ll be my mate, but every time, you say no…why?” Windweaver asked her in confusion and frustration. “I love you, Ziva…I love you….” She burst into tears. “I love you too, Windweaver…but I can’t.” She turned to run, but he wasn’t letting her go this time, winced before he stepped on her tail, hoping to stop her, but not wanting to hurt her. “Why, Ziva…tell me why.” He was pleading. He hated to beg her…but he had to know. “Dissension,” her eyes met his in a fierce, bitter glare. Dissension was a monster. He wrapped her in his wings protectively…nothing could hurt his best friend, “Why does it matter what Dissension says?” “She…she said she’d have me killed in the night.” Obvious distress showed on her face. “I’d like to see her try, with a guardian protecting you in the night.” He growled, then whispered in her ear, “You’re my charge, Love. You.” He called her the pet name he had longed to call her for so long. His heart broke as he saw his love’s eyes well up with tears. “You…you think that…that you could protect me?” He growled angrily, sad that she even felt the need to ask, “I will protect you with my life.” She promised to think on it, and went on her way. But apparently, Dissension had other ideas. The horrors that Ziva told Windweaver made his heart break and filled his head with nightmares when he slept. When Ziva told him that Dissension refused to let her have a mate, Windweaver asked her to at least be his friend, and come live with him, spend her days and nights with him. She agreed. There were some nights that they would curl up close to each other, and pretend that they were mates. He would lay down, and she would curl into his side, as he wrapped his massive wings around her. They would nuzzle each other, and talk as if they were mates. “Tonight, we are mates,” he whispered in her ear. She smiled, “Tonight we curl close to each other and sleep.” “When we wake up, our two hatchlings will be hungry and ready for food.” “In fact,” Ziva continued, “they will be what wakes us up.” “Our girl, Lydia, will want a sandwich,” Windweaver told her. “And our boy, Ronald, will be wanting a steak.” “We will have neither to give them.” Ziva giggled, “So we’ll tell them that they just have to wait until feeding time, then eat whatever they’re given.” “They will throw a fit.” “Undoubtedly.” “But of course we’ll forgive them.” “Because they’re only a few days old, and are still learning how to behave.” “And Ronald will beg to have his named changed, because he hates the weird name his mother has given him.” “Hey!” Ziva complained. Windweaver smiled at her, and nuzzled her with his nose. “Goodnight, Love.” And when they woke, they had to go back to being only friends, mateless. They went on like this, pretending to be mates once a week or so, imagining hatchlings they didn’t have, and eggs they didn’t have, until one day Ziva came to him with her eyes wide and terrified. A new dragon had come to the clan, and he was a guardian as well. But unlike Windweaver, and many of the other guardians in their clan, who claimed their mates as their charge, his charge was his business. And his business, was a tavern. His new tavern had three rooms. One was for the actual selling of spirits and place where the dragons could play games, another was where the dragon himself would live, and one was a mystery…except for Windweaver, Ziva, Dissension, and Jeb himself. Ziva had been threatened in the past by Dissension, to make her be the harlot of the clan. She had had strength to deny Dissension that, which was why Dissension was so adamantly against Ziva taking a mate. The new dragon? He had the strength to make Ziva stay in that occupation…that hideous occupation. When Ziva told him, Windweaver was broken in anguish. How could they do this? They couldn’t take her away from him! She assured him that she wouldn’t be sleeping there, but that she couldn’t leave anyway. Then Dissension came, and took Ziva. He followed. Ziva was forced to go up to Jeb, who looked not at her, and into her eyes, but looked through her, and at only her colors, her scales, her size and shape…then told her that she wasn’t even good enough to be a harlot. Although she had just been put down, he could see Ziva’s hopes rise, and his rose with hers. If she wasn’t “good enough” to be a harlot, if this monster had “seen better”, then maybe he would send her away. But no. She “would do”. She began to beg the monster dragon not to make her, but Dissension interrupted with talk of harlot garments, and Windweaver exploded, his agony spilling out onto the ground around them. “Why are you doing this?” He bellowed in agony. “Why can’t she have her own mate, why can’t she—” “Because!” Dissension interrupted with a snarl, “She is neither a water dragon, nor a dragon that can benefit me or this clan in anyway! Anyway other than what I’ve chosen for her, that is….” She ended with a smirk. Jeb ignored them, and told Ziva to follow him. Windweaver had no idea what happened while she was gone, only that when she came home she was badly shaken and scared. He was sure that he would be as well, if he were in her position. He tried to comfort her. He tried to ask if she was okay. But she only shook her head, then went and laid down, where she cried herself to sleep. He had sworn he wouldn’t shine badly on her, or make other dragons think things that weren’t true, but he had to go. He had to see her. He marched into the tavern and growled at Landrian, the prince, “How much to see my Ziva?” Landrian lowered his gaze, as he should. “Don’t tell Jeb. Just go see her. She doesn’t deserve this.” Windweaver looked at the royal with new eyes, “Then why do you let him do this?” Landrian sighed. “As far as anyone is concerned, she’s doing this of her own free will. I’m sure that Dissension has something to do with this, but I don’t know how to shed light on her evil actions, or make her stop…” He shook his head sadly, “I checked on her earlier…she’s very shaky. I don’t think anyone has…” he coughed awkwardly, “but…she’s terrified. The dragon that would do what they’ve paid for will be a monster forever in my eyes.” “And I will kill them.” “No.” Landrian said quickly, “Don’t sink to Dissension’s level.” Windweaver felt his jaw tense. “We’ll discuss this later. May I go see her now?” Landrian nodded, “Go ahead, pretend you’ve given me money.” When Windweaver slowly opened the creaking door and looked in on the love of his life, his would be mate, his heart sank and broke. She was dressed too brightly…too…too awfully. That wasn’t how Ziva would dress. She turned to the door and her eyes filled with tears that threatened to overflow at the sight of him. “Windweaver? Why are you here? Please, no! If we’re to mate, I want to do it as mates, not—” His heart broke. How could she think that that was what he was here for? What had she been told? What had she seen? He quickly shook his head, hoping to dispel her feras, “No, no, it isn’t that at all! I’m here to…well…just be with you, and talk. If you want to take a nap, you can, if you want food, I’ve brought some…nothing will happen that you don’t want.” She nodded in understanding, a tear still spilling over, and slowly came to him. “May…may I take a nap wrapped in your wings…in safety?” He nodded. She could do whatever she wanted. As she curled up in his wings, the hard metals of her wing clips pressing against his chest, her small body shaking slower and slower, they talked about how someday they would be mates. Not imagining as if they were, but about the day that they would be mates. “We will leave this place…you will be safe. No one will know what you were forced into when you lived in a place that should have been safe.” She nodded, hoping he would go on. “We will have hatchlings of our own…and they will be real…not imagined. Dissension will no longer exist.” He whispered softly to her, until finally, she fell asleep. Then he watched over her, and guarded the love of his life with his own. They both knew that when she awoke, she would still be in that terrible occupation, but for now…they were okay. |
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Wishlist
Nothing |
Diary
Unfilled
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Exalting Windweaver to the service of the Icewarden 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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