Metrophanes
(#22138789)
Level 1 Skydancer
Familiar
Opheodrys Serthis
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Water.
Female Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.47 m
Wingspan
6.27 m
Weight
438.8 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Clown
Clown
Sand
Peregrine
Peregrine
Brown
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
Unnamed
❤ Ex-Warrior ❤ Clan Mother ❤ Dabbler ❤
_____ was raised to be a warrior, and a warrior she was. Fighting beasts and dragons alike, bringing home food and defending territory, she brought her clan honor. And safety, which was less romantic but all the more important in a practical world. _____ had always been a practical dragon, charging into battle with a plan A, a plan B, and an acceptance that there were things which could not be planned for, which could only be reacted to. She didn't believe in extremes, thought that a disorganized legion without a plan was inexcusable sloppiness, that one could never be taken off-guard right from the start and hope to come out on top, but also recognized the diminishing returns inherent in making plans. At some point, one had to accept the finite nature of their time and move on to do instead of just thinking.
She was a great fighter and an equally good leader, and although some criticized her for her lack of room for sentiment, she got results and she was never cruel or unfair. However, nothing lasts forever. She had always said that no amount of planning and no amount of tenacity could get you out of every bind every time, that there is always a danger, but those words were always supposed to be about death on the enemy battlefields, about not taking one's duty lightly. They were not supposed to be about routine hunting parties and young, wild-eyed harpies. The sharpest claws she could imagine tore straight down her wing, cutting deep into the muscle on her chest. The pain was loud, and she could not tell if she was hearing her shrieking, or the harpies', or something else entirely. Somehow she did not die, and she considered that a grave unkindness of the world.
After that, she could not fly. She could not easily move her right arm, even once the pain subsided. The best healers in the clan looked after her, the ones as respected as she for what they did, and yet nothing could make the feathers grow back in on her wing the same way, nothing would stop her constantly twitching fingers from being just outside of her control. She could not continue to fight, they told her, and she knew they were right, that she had become a liability, but it made it no easier to swallow. Plan A had been to die honorably on the battlefield, to buy her struggling comrades more time with her last fighting breath, and she had no plan B.
Improvising safely inside the clan's territory was nothing like improvising on the battlefield. She had no idea what she was doing, nothing before her but sitting around uselessly while she healed and then wandering aimlessly, just as useless, once she was allowed to walk again. One wing hung close to her body, slightly crumpled, no matter what she did, a flag broadcasting her weakness to everyone. She hung her head and could not manage to meet the gaze even of the clan's most modest and frivolous crafters, because at least they had a purpose. At least they had something to contribute and did not sit around like a weight that must be dragged along, or a leech.
It was the children, ultimately, that saved ____. They did not stare dumbly at her wing, did not show on their faces the pity that comes with knowing who she once was and how far she had fallen. They would ask her why her fingers twitched, but then touch her hand with theirs, where she could numbly feel their still-soft scales. It would still the twitching for a moment. Most importantly, it was the children who needed a leader. The clan was in silent chaos, trying to recover from the loss of a general who could watch on with guilt as dragons with no business on the battlefield had to be called out to replace her. There were often not enough dragons to go around, no one nearby to tell the hatchlings that they couldn't touch that or that they needed to practice.
The tipping point was when she saw a trio of hatchlings, on the larger side of still being allowed to stay at home and play, wrestling in the square. One on top was bragging about what a master he was, and _____ could not stay silent on the sidelines. "You wouldn't fare two minutes in a real fight," she told his smug face, and when he leaped off of his friends to stride over and puff himself up and brag some more, she pinned him with her one good arm.
"That's not fair!" he complained, but _____ had none of it.
"You may be young," she said, "but I'm broken. This is as far a fight as you'll get, you're just proud and sloppy."
She taught those kids what she knew, that day, and there were more who followed. Not all who followed are warriors-to-be with the thought of victory and conquest sparkling in their eyes. Some are bouncy, bright-eyed kids with knowledge filling up their heads, interested in plants or medicine or the turning of simple things into useful complexities. She can't teach all of them, but she can watch after them, listen to them, keep them on the right path, and spend time with them when other adults don't have the time to give. Sometimes, they teach her things, like which herbs do what, and how to make a chunk of metal into a watch, or a knife, or a necklace. Sometimes they teach her that she isn't useless, although she only sometimes believes it.
❤ Ex-Warrior ❤ Clan Mother ❤ Dabbler ❤
_____ was raised to be a warrior, and a warrior she was. Fighting beasts and dragons alike, bringing home food and defending territory, she brought her clan honor. And safety, which was less romantic but all the more important in a practical world. _____ had always been a practical dragon, charging into battle with a plan A, a plan B, and an acceptance that there were things which could not be planned for, which could only be reacted to. She didn't believe in extremes, thought that a disorganized legion without a plan was inexcusable sloppiness, that one could never be taken off-guard right from the start and hope to come out on top, but also recognized the diminishing returns inherent in making plans. At some point, one had to accept the finite nature of their time and move on to do instead of just thinking.
She was a great fighter and an equally good leader, and although some criticized her for her lack of room for sentiment, she got results and she was never cruel or unfair. However, nothing lasts forever. She had always said that no amount of planning and no amount of tenacity could get you out of every bind every time, that there is always a danger, but those words were always supposed to be about death on the enemy battlefields, about not taking one's duty lightly. They were not supposed to be about routine hunting parties and young, wild-eyed harpies. The sharpest claws she could imagine tore straight down her wing, cutting deep into the muscle on her chest. The pain was loud, and she could not tell if she was hearing her shrieking, or the harpies', or something else entirely. Somehow she did not die, and she considered that a grave unkindness of the world.
After that, she could not fly. She could not easily move her right arm, even once the pain subsided. The best healers in the clan looked after her, the ones as respected as she for what they did, and yet nothing could make the feathers grow back in on her wing the same way, nothing would stop her constantly twitching fingers from being just outside of her control. She could not continue to fight, they told her, and she knew they were right, that she had become a liability, but it made it no easier to swallow. Plan A had been to die honorably on the battlefield, to buy her struggling comrades more time with her last fighting breath, and she had no plan B.
Improvising safely inside the clan's territory was nothing like improvising on the battlefield. She had no idea what she was doing, nothing before her but sitting around uselessly while she healed and then wandering aimlessly, just as useless, once she was allowed to walk again. One wing hung close to her body, slightly crumpled, no matter what she did, a flag broadcasting her weakness to everyone. She hung her head and could not manage to meet the gaze even of the clan's most modest and frivolous crafters, because at least they had a purpose. At least they had something to contribute and did not sit around like a weight that must be dragged along, or a leech.
It was the children, ultimately, that saved ____. They did not stare dumbly at her wing, did not show on their faces the pity that comes with knowing who she once was and how far she had fallen. They would ask her why her fingers twitched, but then touch her hand with theirs, where she could numbly feel their still-soft scales. It would still the twitching for a moment. Most importantly, it was the children who needed a leader. The clan was in silent chaos, trying to recover from the loss of a general who could watch on with guilt as dragons with no business on the battlefield had to be called out to replace her. There were often not enough dragons to go around, no one nearby to tell the hatchlings that they couldn't touch that or that they needed to practice.
The tipping point was when she saw a trio of hatchlings, on the larger side of still being allowed to stay at home and play, wrestling in the square. One on top was bragging about what a master he was, and _____ could not stay silent on the sidelines. "You wouldn't fare two minutes in a real fight," she told his smug face, and when he leaped off of his friends to stride over and puff himself up and brag some more, she pinned him with her one good arm.
"That's not fair!" he complained, but _____ had none of it.
"You may be young," she said, "but I'm broken. This is as far a fight as you'll get, you're just proud and sloppy."
She taught those kids what she knew, that day, and there were more who followed. Not all who followed are warriors-to-be with the thought of victory and conquest sparkling in their eyes. Some are bouncy, bright-eyed kids with knowledge filling up their heads, interested in plants or medicine or the turning of simple things into useful complexities. She can't teach all of them, but she can watch after them, listen to them, keep them on the right path, and spend time with them when other adults don't have the time to give. Sometimes, they teach her things, like which herbs do what, and how to make a chunk of metal into a watch, or a knife, or a necklace. Sometimes they teach her that she isn't useless, although she only sometimes believes it.
Bio by Chronoimp
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Feed this dragon Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Metrophanes to the service of the Gladekeeper will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.