Enoth

(#25210866)
Level 15 Spiral
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Familiar

Sunrise Troodo
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Spiral
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style

Apparel

Magician's Staff
Magician's Herb Pouch
Golden Sage Shawl
Dusty Sage Sash
Golden Sage Tassel
Bamboo Dried Tea
Golden Seraph Tail Bangle

Skin

Accent: Scrimshaw King

Scene

Measurements

Length
3.69 m
Wingspan
2.06 m
Weight
90.29 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Crimson
Savannah
Crimson
Savannah
Secondary Gene
Buttercup
Trail
Buttercup
Trail
Tertiary Gene
Metals
Glimmer
Metals
Glimmer

Hatchday

Hatchday
Jul 06, 2016
(7 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Eye Type
Plague
Rare
Level 15 Spiral
EXP: 14951 / 60881
Scratch
Shred
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6

Biography

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ENOTH
Alchemist, healer
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Perceptive | Resolute | Impatient


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Inventory:
Bamboo Dried Tea
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Fishscale Basket
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Wrinkled Azurescales
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dragon?did=25210866&skin=0&apparel=15309,15308,23127,23120,23130,32974,24052&xt=dressing.png
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Familiars:
Spiral Capricat
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plaguemid.png

Written by Outpost
(AAAA TYYYY)

Enoth's Struggle

Enoth anxiously watched the silhouette of the latest fool to stop by the Starscope Citadel grow smaller, until the dragon vanished behind the curve of the neighbouring mountain.

The Cloudscape Crags are anything but forgiving, and usually his pride as a healer would never have allowed him to send a traveller on their way to the Fortress of Ends in such a state, but…

But.

Times were hard for everyone, and he had to prioritise his clan mates over a stranger. He hated not being able to help, but he knew where his limits lay. Feeding a stranger and using what few precious potions and bandages he had managed to scrape together was far beyond him when he’d had to force feed a foolish friend their meager rations last week when they tried to starve themselves to death in order to leave more for the rest of them.

How little faith did the idiot have in him, to think that he’d let an infected wound kill him, and that all food spent on them was thus wasted? ...how desperate was the clan, that he’d been the only one truly angry at the attempt?

How much longer did they have before the situation truly did get dire enough that they would have to make that choice? Decide who’s useful enough to get fed and who… isn’t?

Enoth tried to scavenge as much as he could, to supplement the clan’s stores, but fact of the matter was that after the Magmablood Rebuke had been wrenched from the sea by the searing blood of the Flamecaller, the Southern Icefield had been struck by ever-summer.

Three years without a proper winter, without a decent growing season.

Three years.

The dragons of the Southern Icefield were a hardy and well-prepared lot, his own clan included, but there was a limit to how far precaution and endurance could last… and this was it.

Stores everywhere had dried up last year, the landscape was picked clean of anything remotely eatable, the coastal areas were fished out and dragons had resorted to killing each other for what meager food stores they might gain from it. He’d even heard some rumours of cannibalism from the Reclaimer’s Glacier.

...they’d made a mistake in coming here. They should never have left the Sundial Terrace, and now their resources were low enough that they wouldn’t make the journey across the sea and into another elemental territory if they tried.

The only thing left to do was buckle down and hope that this winter would be the one to see the sun’s return. It was the month of the Arcanist. Just two months left to go, then the first harvest should come in, if only the Lightweaver’s rays could break through the Flamecaller’s furious ash.

Two months. They could survive two months.

Enoth determinedly put a leather scrap in his mouth to chew in order to distract his stomach from the biting hunger (no rations until sundown, be patient, be strong) and turned to his worktable. He’d found a field of undisturbed moss during his last foraging trip, and while he knew the damn thing was poisonous and had the nutritional value of dead grass… desperate times called for desperate measures. If he could just parboil out the poison and make a soup of it, then he’d be able to fill his friends’ bellies for a while longer.

Just a little while longer, he thought.

Winter will come.

This curse of a famine will end.

It has to.



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Health
✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦
Strength
✦✦✦✦✦✦

Magic
✦✦✦✦✦✦
Stamina
✦✦✦✦✦✦

Intelligence
✦✦✦✦✦
Dexterity
✦✦✦✦✦

Wisdom
✦✦✦✦✦✦
Speed
✦✦✦✦✦✦

Charisma
✦✦✦✦✦✦
Luck
✦✦✦✦✦
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Trivia:
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accent: scrimshaw king 600g bought jan 14 2021
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