GraveRabbit » Lair » Wenjo

Wenjo

(#23632026)

Has lore/art!!!

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.3 m

Wingspan

5.56 m

Weight

397.34 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Poison

Sky
Peregrine

Charcoal
Okapi

Hatchday

May 13, 2016
(7 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Light
Common

Level 1 Pearlcatcher

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Wenjo
The Shade-Touched, The Cursed, The Omen

Art by Soviett

Born on Friday the 13th, and known far and wide as the Omen of Misfortune, Wenjo grew up bringing bad luck to anyone around him, garnering great amounts of fear from other dragons. It isn't a surprise that he had no friends, no family, no lovers - even if he had them at one point, some tragedy would befall them, and once again, he would be left alone to wander the furthest reaches of Sorneith.

Druxia was concerned about taking him in at first, worried that the horrors that followed the Shade-touched Pearlcatcher would sooner or later fall upon the clan. Zayne, however, would have none of it, insisting on befriending Wenjo and treating him like his closest buddy. Wenjo had fully expected him to die a sudden death within the first week, but surprisingly, Zayne remained hale and whole even as they entered half a year of friendship. The Wildclaw was oddly impervious to Wenjo's figurative stormcloud.

It took a lot of coaxing to get Wenjo to open up - he's a silent, brooding character, and more inclined to stare darkly at you across the room than to initiate a conversation. Zayne does most, if not all, of the talking for him. Initially skeptical and depressingly somber, over time he grew to trust Zayne, and Zayne only - the best friends are inseparable, and while Wenjo still looked his old standoffish self, the Wildclaw assures everyone else that he's more content than he lets on. If someone needed to get something into Wenjo's head, or to get any response out of him whatsoever, Zayne's the only way to do it. At least, he used to be. It seemed that Romaine, the new addition to the clan, was starting to grow on him, too...

^{Best friend}

^Mate

Backstory
Lore by #193315

They say that, of every clutch born on a Friday, 13th of a month, at least one of them will be cursed by the Shade, thirsting for revenge on a world it can no longer touch, save for on a very special day. For it is on this day that it is the strongest, where it is able to reach its ethereal claws past the curtain between itself and the world, and spread chaos wherever it touches.

It is hatchlings who become their victims, because it is when dragons are newly born that their souls are the weakest and most susceptible to corruption.

My parents had prayed that their nest would not hatch on Friday 13th. Prayed to the Lightweaver that the Shade would not touch their precious children, that their children would be spared the miserable fate of a life that was sure to be unkind to them. When the first crack appeared on the first egg of three, on the 13th, Mother cried and begged for their deity's divine grace, for mercy, that her children would hatch whole, pure, unscathed. My brother emerged, the eldest, and the purity of his being told all of his untouched soul; my sister soon followed, riding on the coattails of his good fortune, similarly clean and untouched.

They were spared, and for that, my parents rejoiced. Somewhat comforted, they waited for me, their final egg, to hatch. Perhaps the Lightweaver has been merciful, after all, they said. Surely our youngest will come out just like his siblings. And so they waited, hours and hours, until night had fallen and the witching hour was almost upon them. They had thought, perhaps, that I might never hatch, that I was a bad egg and had surrendered my first and last breath long before my time. But still they waited, hoping, and they were ecstatic upon seeing my first attempts at breaking free of the egg's shell.

Only then, upon seeing the darkest of mists seeping out of the crack, did they realize that the Lightweaver's grace did not extend to their youngest child.

Father had wanted to kill me right then, to crush me where I lay, a sickly hatchling plagued by hallucinations and convulsions, screaming at nightmares a newborn dragon should not have. Allowing a child like me to live, an abomination, a monster created by the Shade, it was the birth of a nightmare that would one day see no end. He had reared back, his favored claw gleaming in the moonlight, poised to take my life. Only my mother's love and pity saved me, as she threw herself before me, begging my father to spare my innocent life. A child, only a child, she had pleaded, protecting me, shielding me with her wings. She loved me even then, bless her soul, although in retrospect, my father certainly had the right idea.

I was raised separately, alone, away from my siblings, away from the rest of my clan. They were all afraid of me, fearful to get too close, and for good reason. The nightmares never stopped, but once the convulsions ceased, things began to happen, things that happened too often and too closely to me to be considered coincidences. The river flooded the clan grounds, an unprecedented occurrence, the day after my mother bathed me. The plants that I touched withered and died the very next day, for no obvious reason. And the one hatchling who dared to play with me fell from a branch that decided to splinter at that very moment, snapping her spine in two, dooming her never to walk or fly again.

I was an Omen, they said. The Cursed, the Shade-touched, the Bringer of Bad Luck.

I was barely a year old when I ended both my parents' lives. Bad luck, it seemed, followed me around like a stormcloud. Not even my parents were exempt from the curse. A Serthis sect, virtually unheard of in these areas of the Lightweaver's domain, came upon us when we were alone in the woods. My siblings were in the den playing with other hatchlings, and I, the cursed child, had nowhere else to be. They were lured by the scent of the Shade, by the looming threat of a powerful force near them, and they sought to kill whatever it was that threatened their power. Laughable, indeed - the chance any mortal being had to end my life was lost with my father's abandoned attempt.

The first to fall was my father, seen as the initial threat, overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. He died with a curse on his lips, damning the day that I was born, proclaiming to the heavens that this was the fault of the Omen. My mother soon followed him in his death, her blood a scarlet rain over my head as she died trying to protect me.

And then it was just me, sitting still as a statue, unmoved by the deaths of what would have been my dearest loved ones. Blood matted my wispy mane and dripped down my face, but I was oddly calm, simply watching them with an unflinching amber stare. They saw their deaths in my eyes that day, their cries of victory and a job well done dying away as they realized that they had, in fact, killed the wrong dragons. What they found terrifying in a half-grown Pearlcatcher no one would ever know, but this day would be marked in history as the day an entire sect of several hundred Serthis was discovered collapsed around two dragons, irrevocably dead, with no apparent cause. Investigations would reveal bloody footsteps leading away from the scene, slowly fading away into the grass as it dried and crusted.

There was no doubt as to whose doing it was.

From that day onward, the Omen became a title to be feared. Tales were spoken, of how my golden gaze bleeding into endless black would be the last thing one would see before his imminent, painful end. Of how the Omen could kill you with barely a glance and make it look like an accident. Wherever I passed, misfortune would trail in my wake, and none could approach me and escape unscathed. I wandered Sorneith, alone - I had nothing to fear, none who would dare challenge me, for those who did were never heard of again.

How did I know, how did I remember all this in such startling clarity? Perhaps you might question this recounting, question how much I know about things I should never have been able to recall, or even be aware of, spoken as they were in the softest whispers behind closed doors.

I know of a great many things. My nightmares will not let me forget.

Wenjo Opal

#888246

Wenjo Spines

#888248

If you feel that this content violates our Rules & Policies, or Terms of Use, you can send a report to our Flight Rising support team using this window.

Please keep in mind that for player privacy reasons, we will not personally respond to you for this report, but it will be sent to us for review.

0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Wenjo to the service of the Plaguebringer 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?

Name

Names must be longer than 2 characters.
Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.

Name

Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.