Elara
(#22689272)
Level 25 Skydancer
Familiar
Raging Tiger Foo
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 36/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.71 m
Wingspan
6.01 m
Weight
371.95 kg
Genetics
White
Poison
Poison
Obsidian
Stripes
Stripes
Blood
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
129
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
50
INT
5
VIT
13
MND
5
Biography
 Elara
T H E M E - None O C C U P A T I O N - Survivor of the Shade of Voiceless Reverence Assassin of Reticent Requiem F A M I L Y - - Parents - Mother - Wrath Father - Savage - Siblings - She never met them - Mate - She's not looking for one - Children - None F A M I L I A R - 
A P P A R E L -
A R T - All art is clickable and links back to their creators C O L I S E U M 
*Stats are as a dragon on a personal level, not reflecting coliseum prowess - The coliseum is skewed E X T R A - - Genes/Apparel - - - Comments - Elara is absolutely gorgeous. What a rich, but understated combination of colors, genes, and apparel. - - Headcanons - She looks like the type to go dancing outside on the night of the full moon. Not club dancing or anything, but twirling beautifully between the trees. Occasionally she takes flight, adding the eerie sound of rattling from her bone chimes as she whisks about. -NightBreeze - - Lair Reviews - - - Forum Games - C R E D I T S - Coding Template, Honor by the Sword by Merethic Coding Template has been modified by VoxxVoleur (Template allows modificaiton) Bio by VoxxVoleur All of the beautiful art is clickable and links back to their creators! |
"From the time that I hatched I've learned how to survive."
-Elara
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Bruised but unbroken, Elara found her way to Voiceless Reverence on her own. No guiding claw to help her. Not a single soul to see her to the end. No one knows where she came from other than elsewhere in the Plaguelands, and no one knew what to do with her when she appeared at the haunting bone gates, curled up and bandaged in her own blood.
No one had ever known what to do with her. What seemed like a curse to most was her saving grace. The very isolation that most fled from was one that she flocked to, gladly curling herself up into the blankets of silence. It was far better than the pools of blood and broken bones that haunted her dreams. She was left in the care of the clan’s hatchling caretakers for a time. Days passed in a haze. Having nothing but memories to flick across her vision made living even more blurred than before. There was no distinguishing from dreaming or waking. The same shadows and cries and reflexes just fast enough to save her once more haunted her every sight, whether in dreams or in watching life pass by. After a time of this hazy state that was called life, Elara stood in her corner of the hatchlings’ area. She was older than most of them and some time had surely passed since she had been ‘taken in’ by the clan. Left to her own devices, all that her social life was resided in a quiet, smooth request for bandages from the hatchlings’ caretakers. She made it her pattern to ask one of them for a roll right at dusk every day. The consistency of her actions was predictable, something that the hatchling feared and even loathed, but it did help them remember her request. They often had one ready by that time just for her. That day had been no different. She unwrapped and rewrapped what covered the sore wounds with eyes that were long glazed over. The noise of passing dragons never startled her as long as the distance between them was one that kept her out of claw reach. It was only when her judgement told her that someone was approaching that she barely craned her neck up to see who it was and how much danger they posed. A Coatl with dark eyes and black markings gazed back with a mirroring expression. When the Coatl, most likely a warrior by the way she moved, dropped her gaze to a parcel wrapped in bloody bandages, the hatchling brought it closer to her. The Coatl left without a word, leaving Elara to adjust the bandages around her claws. Moving them was getting less painful. She had refused the clan’s healers’ aid multiple times, but even without a healer they would heal on their own. So she hoped at least. Much to her surprise the Coatl from earlier returned, shortly introducing herself as Anemone. Anemone left space between them and calmly offered a home until Elara could stand on her own. Simply blinking, gazing back at this strange dragon, Elara pondered her offer. Steadily staring back at Anemone, she twirled the bandages around and around her wrists. Anemone didn’t move, patiently waiting for a response. Did she...have a choice? Sensing that she did have a choice, Elara rose to her feet and found herself taken in by this other dragon. Most of her time was spent in the darkness of Anemone’s lair. Residing in the darkest corner with the best vantage point, she got little rest. Day and night meant little to her. Time was spent chained by nightmares, waking up shaking with chills, or silently memorizing every step and wingbeat of the one who had offered a place of refuge. Most of her time awake was used to watch Anemone, and just as the Coatl knew that Elara wasn’t sleeping, she also knew that Elara was watching her. Of course, she gave no indication of that. Elara merely felt flickers of attention in her direction, something that made her grateful to be a Skydancer. She had to wonder how a dragon could have that much self control, to be able to pay attention to someone while seeming absolutely unaware of them. That wonder was never strong enough for her to ask, and it was only when a substantial time had passed that she had finally relaxed enough to ask Anemone something. “Could you teach me,” Elara took a breath as if her voice surprised her. “could you teach me to fight?” “Sure.” Anemone said briefly, nodding rather easily. Looking back on it, Elara supposed that Anemone had anticipated the question. Even if Elara would never speak of what had happened before she had joined the clan, it wasn’t too difficult for dragons to see that something had happened to her. She wanted to learn how to protect herself. No, she needed to learn how to protect herself. She would do just that. She awoke before the sun rose, not due to the slight glow that reflected off of the cave walls, but due to the shuffling of equipment and gentle clink of pans. Relieving herself of the weightless sheet that she slept with, she found herself joining a quiet Anemone in the kitchen. Out of the whole lair, Elara spent the least amount of time there. She saw no need to prepare her food any more than rubbing the dirt off. Anemone thought otherwise, so there was no protesting when the Coatl motioned for her to eat something that had been warmed and spiced. At least Anemone hadn’t cooked it fully. Something about it was...unnatural. At some point during her stay Elara had realized that her host had likely been picking up on what kind of dragon Elara as well. Anemone very likely knew more about her than she had realized, despite their sparse conversations. For once, she didn’t feel like she was in danger. “We typically rotate recruits between trainers, depending on what the dragon wants to learn. It’s taken a long time, but we finally have more than one trainer for each subset of fighting. We train physical fighters, mages, and physical fighters who augment their attacks with magic to varying degrees.” Anemone explained, shifting around as a scaly something sizzled in a pan. “What about mages who augment their attacks with physical force?” Elara asked. “They get basic physical training, then switch to a mage trainer.” Anemone said with a quiet, amused huff. The younger of the two turned to poke a claw into whatever vegetable had been found in the Wasteland. Squelching under her touch, the girl frowned at the mush clinging to her claws. She rubbed it off, eating her meal in silence. Anemone took her time with cooking, but ate her meal like the rest of the warriors did, with haste. The pair exited the lair, then the ghostly bone wall surrounding the clan without passing a single dragon other than the watchmen. A chilling breeze dragged death with it, slashing through Elara’s dress with ease. Feathers standing on end, she flattened her crests to her neck. Bones and gravestones dotted the land below like flowers in a field. In the shadow of the wall, on the hill that kept the clan’s eyes aware of any aggressors, the rest of the land seemed like a painting. It cast the picture of death, demons, disease, and few survivors. Resent dropped her heart in her chest as her blood cooled, pulsing down to her wingtips. “Why don’t we check one of the outposts? It keeps us on our borders with ample space to train.” The Coatl suggested, gazing back at her. The Skydancer merely nodded, turning to survey what they other dragon had been focused on. The only route to and from the clan inclined steeply from the clutches of the rot below. With the path strewn with bones, bone barricades, and even the bones of the dead, it could hardly be walked. Flying was blocked by the scattered barricades, and the clan’s mages strafed spells down upon their enemies from above to deter the nimble from trying. The clan residents were simply forced to learn how to navigate the erratic maze through flight. The other choice was failure, leading to a hollow crash of bones from the broken barricade and injuries requiring a skilled healer on the dragon’s part. She had once heard a dragon joke, saying that, “At least there were more ways to stab the enemies on foot, after a bone heap was broken.” The littered bones easily doubled into weapons or traps with circumstance. A wrong step led to a crunch, as the small pieces dug into the dragon’s heel. Even through them on occasion, though that was a tale she never liked hearing. Though the clan was supposedly a safe haven to some, irreversibly crippling dragons attempting to rush up to Voiceless Reverence, in war but even so, gave a different meaning to their message. Flying down and across the maze, reaching the bottom rewarded them with flat land and an open path all around. Traversing the unmarked land on wings gave them little else to see. Hills and valleys long etched into the ground through endless war told all that no dragon or clan owned them. The Plaguebringer owned them. Through her, those dragons would suffer victory or defeat. Through her, their lives would all start and end on a whim. She arrived at the outpost Anemone chose with a hardened stare. Shredded leather sheets flapped in the wind. A rickety, rotten ‘tower’ of scaffolding stood just high enough to either give a skilled archer or mage time to kill a trespasser, or to give that trespasser a good view and a fatal shot at the watchman. The outcome boiled down to skill. Anemone set a field kit down in the dirt, setting a cold stare upon Elara. She was watchful, waiting. In the few instances that Elara had seen the clan’s warriors, they all carried themselves with cold purpose, an aura of power. Dropping herself into a defensible stance, her focus coiled tight. She wanted that power. |
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C O N T I N U E D - L O R E
- Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, urna egestas eros vehicula, nulla pede dolor, habitasse velit integer mi praesent, orci egestas nulla. Pede cras aliquam ipsum diam sem sed, consectetuer condimentum ullamcorper sem, vel mauris dolor sed ac, felis pellentesque eget feugiat ipsum ligula aliquet, ac ad. Accumsan per neque euismod ornare luctus. Integer pellentesque, libero nullam gravida ipsa aptent morbi massa. At risus fusce class felis, libero nulla vehicula morbi. Neque vitae vel mus, interdum at, massa nullam est accumsan, vitae pellentesque, quis non volutpat. Habitasse elit, nibh fusce dictum, dui nec lorem donec, adipiscing vel perferendis vitae ac lacus wisi, wisi cursus. Quis molestie eu justo, praesent leo arcu massa, nec nunc vestibulum amet nec nullam ligula. Neque mi pellentesque primis eu. Amet facilisis mi leo tempor. Maecenas lacus blandit, accumsan turpis pulvinar ut ut, elit malesuada vestibulum phasellus bibendum, earum nisl ut dolor, donec ipsum aliqua vehicula. Ac et eaque sagittis ut pulvinar in. Suspendisse dapibus, wisi amet duis ante suspendisse adipiscing, dolor non cras morbi orci quis, erat sed sociis magnis. I. Backstory: Memories of the Last Survivor (Possible future Nuzlocke for her only) II. Voiceless Reverence Lore: xXx III. Present Day Lore: XxX |
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