Nightfire
(#26203783)
Level 15 Mirror
Familiar
Magma Runner
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Mirror
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.04 m
Wingspan
4.44 m
Weight
438.31 kg
Genetics
Fire
Python
Python
Violet
Noxtide
Noxtide
Coal
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 15 Mirror
EXP: 29018 / 60881
STR
73
AGI
12
DEF
10
QCK
14
INT
11
VIT
21
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- Bluember
- Tealrose
- Forestfire
- Nightshade
- Forestshade
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Kass
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Direeye
- Shanti
- Turek
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Moonsing
- Hunyr
- Faran
- Steladar
- Griffen
- Scyfax
- Brovia
- Pruthyra
- Tanika
- Beacham
- Zimri
- Cornwallis
- Eito
- Shesh
- Vyrek
- Aloadae
- Zephyr
- Oskeli
- Kirill
- Bigears
- Silkswift
- Nightstinger
- Arnold
- Iapetus
- Tiara
- Silvercircle
- Seryeshka
- Ahmet
- Malice
- Impkith
- Halcyon
- Challenge
- Nornan
- Adam
- Mortimer
- Hatuibwari
- Dipylon
- Polyphemus
- Raina
- Imelda
- Toyotama
- Shadowice
- Nammon
- Eurof
- Marchud
- Sharon
- Zikel
- Aurkene
- Fairlady
- Variant
- Pain
- Quaranir
- Euphoria
- Koray
- Mosca
- Illyan
- Delcie
Biography
Nightfire, a violent and angry name. Scorching the lands with his gaze, his horde of crimson looks up to him. Like a fire blazing in the dead of midnight, he stands out. His movements are followed by all, he lifts an arm, and a ripple of the same sweeps across the ranks of his disciples. He decides their fate. They would rush willingly to death if he ordered them to do so. And he will. Time and time again, he will use them, crush them, destroy them for the good of the rest of the horde.
Dragons look up and screech with fear, roars roll over the lands as Nightfire screams back, his tongue slipping between his fangs in pleasure at the screams of his enemies...enemies?
What have they done. To deserve this. Dragonets crushed beneath his claws cry from their place in the afterlife, begging him for an answer.
"What did I do? What have I done to deserve death by your cruel claws?"
So desperate, their voices echoed. Lovely, music to his ears. Until he listened closer.
Nightfire...oh god...Nightfire. A deity to them, do they even know of the gods that most worship? Lightweaver...that name emerges from the fog of his ravenous mind. Home, alone in his den, he cries softly with a hoarse, dry, throat.
"L...Lightweaver?"
No answer. No surprise. Nightfire grows tired of his throne...his name...grows tired of the blood. Dried onto his claws and imbued into his soul. His talons shake. Accusations of weakness are met by a swift death. He may be tired, but his skill will always remain.
He leaves. Away...must get away from this awful life, what a horrible land he lives in. A light eyed dragon living in the plaguelands, accustomed to the scent of sickness and blood. Always sick. Always bloody. A bath in the river makes him feel...light. So new. Red tendrils left his claws, flowing through the water like streams of smoke. Revealed, purple and cream wings, dark red markings nestled in light scales. A fresh new view of himself he had not considered before. Looking down in the water...he barely recognizes the dragon who stares back.
Donning only his hood and banner, Nightfire leaves behind the carnage he used to wear. Large skulls, carcasses he would drape across himself. Disgusted with who he was before. Even a warlord can grow tired of gore.
Dragons look up and screech with fear, roars roll over the lands as Nightfire screams back, his tongue slipping between his fangs in pleasure at the screams of his enemies...enemies?
What have they done. To deserve this. Dragonets crushed beneath his claws cry from their place in the afterlife, begging him for an answer.
"What did I do? What have I done to deserve death by your cruel claws?"
So desperate, their voices echoed. Lovely, music to his ears. Until he listened closer.
Nightfire...oh god...Nightfire. A deity to them, do they even know of the gods that most worship? Lightweaver...that name emerges from the fog of his ravenous mind. Home, alone in his den, he cries softly with a hoarse, dry, throat.
"L...Lightweaver?"
No answer. No surprise. Nightfire grows tired of his throne...his name...grows tired of the blood. Dried onto his claws and imbued into his soul. His talons shake. Accusations of weakness are met by a swift death. He may be tired, but his skill will always remain.
He leaves. Away...must get away from this awful life, what a horrible land he lives in. A light eyed dragon living in the plaguelands, accustomed to the scent of sickness and blood. Always sick. Always bloody. A bath in the river makes him feel...light. So new. Red tendrils left his claws, flowing through the water like streams of smoke. Revealed, purple and cream wings, dark red markings nestled in light scales. A fresh new view of himself he had not considered before. Looking down in the water...he barely recognizes the dragon who stares back.
Donning only his hood and banner, Nightfire leaves behind the carnage he used to wear. Large skulls, carcasses he would drape across himself. Disgusted with who he was before. Even a warlord can grow tired of gore.
Nightfire's Dream
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
Meat stocks are currently depleted.
Seafood stocks are currently depleted.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Nightfire to the service of the Shadowbinder will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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