Astor
(#22356189)
Level 7 Imperial
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
31.06 m
Wingspan
23.47 m
Weight
7661.65 kg
Genetics
Ivory
Cherub
Cherub
Seafoam
Current
Current
White
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 7 Imperial
EXP: 132 / 11881
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
OUTFIT: http://www1.flightrising.com/dressing/outfit/162343
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♕ A S T O R The Painter 
Expensive | Fine-taste | Abused ╰ bio template by squidragon adapted by Katalist
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Astor-god of thunder
Named for the sound his wings make Prefers to fly Very skittish, shy Prize-winning Watercolour Artist Has a crush on Leilani
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There's something about The words She uses Those names She calls you Those phrases meant to Elicit a response And you do respond All of you responds And your body betrays you Always
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Astor is another dragon running from his past. Except he knows it won't catch up. Astor was a slave in a past life, moulded to perfection by a sadistic master. Whilst he won't give away any graphic details of his past, the weight on his shoulders echoes with a past royalty. He can't train his shoulders to stoop, or his wings to relax. For to do so would elicit painful memories. Never will he drag his wings in the ground, for fear of injury. His current life however, is one of bliss. Mated to his only crush, a lady with colours like him and manners like a scullery maid, the comfort he finds in her makes up for the cruelty exposed to him by previous females. And she of course responds, showering him in pearls and shells to make into jewellery. Now he spends his days high on the clifftops away from the hub of the Tribe, painting intricate watercolours of the landscapes. His work is quite good, and often sells for a lot of money, but his real moneymakers are the coloured maps he makes in collaboration with Cynfor. He approves of the spiral's accuracy and penmanship, even if Astor can't physically stand him- that dragon has no elegance.
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The ink sunk into the canvas, bleeding out blues and greens into the ocean he was painting. The canvas ruffled in the breeze, the salt assaulting his senses. It wasn't a bad smell by any means, just different. The salt reminded him of his newfound freedom, away from the thin air of the clouds where he lived. Away from the gleaming palaces and kites of the nimbus, where his castle floated. Away from her. His thoughts drifted back to his master, a queen of her lands, a skydancer who commanded prescence. Always draped in billowy silks, and graced with a crown of pure gold, the only thing that outshone her beauty was her cruelty. Transparent for trigger warning She was vicious, vindictive, and vulgar when alone. And he, along with his 'brothers', were often alone with her. Picked from his parents for his beauty, he was raised as a child with other beautiful boys, training for the day he would be chosen to ascend - and lie with the Queen. She chose her favourites, and surrounded herself with her toys, and they begged for her attention, which she gave sparingly. Of course, they were given drugs, herbs that quaranteed their sterility. Any toy that infected the queen with a parasitic egg would be killed on sight, even if she didn't know who the father was. It was a toxic environment. Competition ran fierce among the brothers, and court accidents occured often. Dragons would escape during the night, only to be found impaled on her crystal spears and traps. Dragons would collapse at supper, riddled with poison from their goblet. Palatial swordfights would often become deadly, but the queen still laughed from her window up above. It was all a sport to her. And Astor was sick of it. Called that due to the sound his wings made, he was easily the biggest dragon amongst his brothers, but a tiny dragon amongst imperials. The palace wasn't suited for larger dragons though, and so dragons his size were very rare. But, alas, she favoured his ivory stripes, and he was picked to bed with her. It was at this point he was done. Sick of fasting so that his cheekbones stood out, sick of the sores his fine jewellry rubbed, sick of the constant jabs at his size and clumsiness, sick of the bound wings forcing him to waddle. He decided it was time to escape. He planned his own 'demise'. It was easy, everyone hated him. He wasn't the queen's favourite, so he wouldn't be missed. He collaborated with his brothers, who delighted in the chance to replace him. It happened at diner, a simple paralysis poisoning. He didn't know who did it. He didn't care. He felt his hand stiffen, then his limbs, then his diaphragm.
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He woke up. It was dark, dusty and hard to breathe. The straw covered him, as well as the smell of death, mould and garbage. His brothers had failed him. He never should have woken up, not caged like this. Letting his eyes adjust, he realised he was in a pit of bones. Glints of gold and silver hinted at past fallen. The idea, combined with the smell, reviled him. Standing up high, he spread his wings, no longer bound by her shackles, and fled, flying out of the pit and away from the Zephyr Steppes. He continued to fly until dawn, as low to the ground as possible. He couldn't risk being seen by her guards. This proved to be his undoing. Flying over the space of water between the Tangled Wood and the Viridian Labyrinth, he sunk deep enough to be clipped by a wave. Unable to steady himself, he fell into the water, and started to sink. Letting his tears mix with the salty water, he succumbed to his fate.
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Water spewed out of his water, as a pain wracked his sides. he tried to breathe in, but more water gushed out. Standing up, he felt the pressure tumble off his sides and land on the ground next to him, squeaking angrily. After rasping in some ragged breaths, he finally thought to observe his surroundings. The sun dipped into the sky, silhouetting a very angry, soaked, coatl. He was on the banks of the Labyrinth. From what he could make of her squeaks, he nearly chose a painful way to die. If it wasn't for her and her nets, he would have died. He also owed her a new net. Bowing his head, he noticed the ragged, gleaming netting around him and wished he was dead. Turning to thank his victor, he finally saw her features. She had moved out of the sunlight, letting it instead illuminate her features. She was almost identical in colour to him, except her stripes ran along her body, enhancing her delicate colouring. His stomach ran cold, and he started to panic. He didn't want to go back, and the beautiful coatl couldn't make him. She dogged his every move, however, trying to herd him towards dryer land. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and he forgot his initial exhaustion. Growing desperate, he wheeled to face her, ready to fight - and passed out where he stood.
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He woke to the smell of mint and flowers. Lying on a reed mat, in a dappled opening, and completely dry, Astor was lost. The coatl was gone, replaced by another ivory figure. Draped in silks. The queen had come to collect him. He started to get up and look for a means of escape before he saw him, but a wave of calm flowed through him. Feeling sleepy, he sat down, eyes drooping. He had never felt so meek and happy in his life. There was nothing to worry about. But there was, the queen was here! But she wasn't, the soothing voice sang in his mind. The queen is far away, high in her castle, completely unaware that her toy is missing. No search warrants have been given, no one is looking for you. No one can recognise you now. His vision cleared to see the ivory skydancer walking towards him, head poised. ""Welcome, young one. Do not be afraid. I am a healer of mental ills, and yours are great. It is only now that I have chosen to wake you up. Your body is healed, now it's time to work on your mind. My name is Sahara, and I am no Queen. Your nightmares have shown me your dark story, but do not fear. Only one such other knows of your story, and she insisted on knowing. She would be here now, if I hadn't sent her away to sleep. She worried about you, Astor."" ""...who?"" he coughed out. His voice sounded raw and ugly. ""Our Sea Gatherer. I am surprised she never gave you her name. She found you in our waters whilst helping our Head Fisher pull her nets in. She never let anyone touch you, either. We don't know how, but she managed to drag you up the bank and to our clan. We never expected our little Leilani to do that for a male."" Giggling, she whispered, ""You must be pretty special to her. She's been alone for a while now."" A cough filled the air, and they both turned. There she was, a little annoyed at the conversation they were having in front of her. Astor studied her carefully. As usual, she dripped. Soggy flowers sank down over her eyes, her gold filigree was slightly rusting due to the salt water, and beads of water clung to her net. She held a basket of pearls, abalone and various pretty shells and river rocks. Yet she still held herself as if she was decked in gold. She was beautiful, even if they shared colours. ""That gene works on you, Astor"" she mumbled, indicating to his body. Looking down, he realised. His stripes were gone, his one feature that She liked. Instead, swirls ran across his body, creating mesmerising patterns. He looked different. He felt different. He felt free. Bell-like peals of laughter filled the air as Sahara laughed, obviously reading the air between them. Blushes filled their faces as Sahara giggled. ""It's okay, Leilani. You've finally found him. He's not going anywhere."" Blood red by now, Leilani hid her face from Astor as she asked about Ember, another dragon. ""She understands. It's okay. That holds another story, but for now, celebrate yours."" Leilani turned to look at Astor, and smiled. He smiled back.
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Her face blurred as Astor focused again on his painting. Lost in his thoughts, he had lost all concentration and had forgotten about his painting. It was different now. What was an unfinished painting showing the seascape in front of him was now a dried scene of a salty river winding through cliffs and banks. In the river lay two ivory figures, one lying on the bank while the other one danced on his back, trying to get the water out. He smiled, reminiscing. He'd have to show that to his mate tonight. His new pearl and abalone jewellry tinkled in the wind. Carefully arranged by her, it didn't choke or bind him. Gone were the golden shackles of his past life. Now his life consisted of salt, watercolour painting and dripping flower crowns. And on a cliff high above the ocean, whiskers dancing in the wind, an imperial laughed with sheer happiness. A coatl poked her head out of the ocean and smiled, before diving down. And a little chef kept working hard on her cinnamon buns.
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ETYMOLOGY - Astor: Occitan astur meaning ""hawk"". RELATIONS -
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