Shei
(#26806518)
Level 1 Imperial
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
25.27 m
Wingspan
23.85 m
Weight
6763.99 kg
Genetics
White
Crystal
Crystal
White
Facet
Facet
White
Gembond
Gembond
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
mate: Xiu Hua
SWORDSMAN
[ STRONG-WILLED | ENDURING | HARD-WORKING ]
"The inky clouds fly in, but do not hide the hills,
As random drops of white rain leap into the boats.
A sudden wind arrives and sweeps across the earth,
Below I see the lake a mirror of the sky."
- Su Shi
As random drops of white rain leap into the boats.
A sudden wind arrives and sweeps across the earth,
Below I see the lake a mirror of the sky."
- Su Shi
She’s a sketched picture; a lady of white marble and high, scalloped roofs. A lady of flocking doves; of black ice and of feelings whispered into the fire. It crackles, hungrily snapping up her softened words, her deepest thoughts and insecurities. How Shei wishes he could embody the flames, to cradle her, and to warm her milky skin, his fingers tracing over her shape only so he would never forget its lines and to let it set, concrete, in his memory... And how Shei wishes that when he spoke to her, his words did not blister her lips and seem to whip her back a step or two.
Her eyes always seem to flash darker, but I swear, I’m not trying to. It’s my tongue: I want it to stop. I promise. I really do. And the fireplace that lies in the corner like a curled beast, this one in my very room, seems to glare at me. And I smear the ink, and I glare back. The wind roars outside, and I step across the paneled wood floor, half wishing an ember would fall astray and light this whole room afire.
The poker lies on the floor, and I step over it carefully. The fire continues to sway, staring me in the eyes, refusing to lower its gaze. I crumple up my paper, and I toss it into the mouth. It raises to consume, satisfied, and then lowers once more, ravenous.
I have no words for you, dear flame.
I am not the maiden who you have been bound so close to. I am a calloused man, whose wounds have been rubbed so often I grow scars. And it’s not my fault, it’s worn into me. I’m too clumsy, I bang my knees - my shoulders are too wide, I scrape the doorways. My tongue is too barbed, I scald women.
Grrrrr.
My knuckles whiten, my fists curled up into balls and my nails biting my palms. I kneel down by the fire, and I unsheathe my sword. I take a second to compose myself. Rushing water, petals in a stream; oh, my sweetheart, this can’t just be a dream… Why do I think of this song, right in this moment?
Why do you place it at the forefront of my mind? To taunt me, to punish me? What have I done wrong, besides have been born to a family whose favorite theme is abuse?
It’s a very early hour in the morning. Sweat forms on my brow, and my stomach turns and turns. I’ve spent too long by the fire, hypnotized by the curls of scorching orange. My chin trembles, but there are no tears.
The sword I have gripped, I hastily use to slash a cut in my other hand. My teeth grit, but I can withstand the sting. My green eyes enlarge, and I hold back a shriek. I refuse to look at the wound, forging on with the ritual. I take a deep breath, and I shove my fingers into the fire.
My vision goes blank for a second. My skin feels like it’s being pulled apart in a thousand places at once, and a searing pain pangs, sending a wave crashing over my body, willing it to shut down, my eyes to lower.
And then, the fire hurts no more. I slowly pull my hand out of the flames, and I find it pure and clean. There is no wound, and there is no flame licking my skin.
My sword bursts, spitting out embers and growing warmer in my hand, but the metal does not ever dare to sear me. I feel the smolder, I feel the blaze; the torch is strong in my grip. And I hope that this fire, brought to glow on the darkest night of my miserable life, will protect my lady in the time she needs it most.
And may it never burn her, as I will never again.
- NightRising
Her eyes always seem to flash darker, but I swear, I’m not trying to. It’s my tongue: I want it to stop. I promise. I really do. And the fireplace that lies in the corner like a curled beast, this one in my very room, seems to glare at me. And I smear the ink, and I glare back. The wind roars outside, and I step across the paneled wood floor, half wishing an ember would fall astray and light this whole room afire.
The poker lies on the floor, and I step over it carefully. The fire continues to sway, staring me in the eyes, refusing to lower its gaze. I crumple up my paper, and I toss it into the mouth. It raises to consume, satisfied, and then lowers once more, ravenous.
I have no words for you, dear flame.
I am not the maiden who you have been bound so close to. I am a calloused man, whose wounds have been rubbed so often I grow scars. And it’s not my fault, it’s worn into me. I’m too clumsy, I bang my knees - my shoulders are too wide, I scrape the doorways. My tongue is too barbed, I scald women.
Grrrrr.
My knuckles whiten, my fists curled up into balls and my nails biting my palms. I kneel down by the fire, and I unsheathe my sword. I take a second to compose myself. Rushing water, petals in a stream; oh, my sweetheart, this can’t just be a dream… Why do I think of this song, right in this moment?
Why do you place it at the forefront of my mind? To taunt me, to punish me? What have I done wrong, besides have been born to a family whose favorite theme is abuse?
It’s a very early hour in the morning. Sweat forms on my brow, and my stomach turns and turns. I’ve spent too long by the fire, hypnotized by the curls of scorching orange. My chin trembles, but there are no tears.
The sword I have gripped, I hastily use to slash a cut in my other hand. My teeth grit, but I can withstand the sting. My green eyes enlarge, and I hold back a shriek. I refuse to look at the wound, forging on with the ritual. I take a deep breath, and I shove my fingers into the fire.
My vision goes blank for a second. My skin feels like it’s being pulled apart in a thousand places at once, and a searing pain pangs, sending a wave crashing over my body, willing it to shut down, my eyes to lower.
And then, the fire hurts no more. I slowly pull my hand out of the flames, and I find it pure and clean. There is no wound, and there is no flame licking my skin.
My sword bursts, spitting out embers and growing warmer in my hand, but the metal does not ever dare to sear me. I feel the smolder, I feel the blaze; the torch is strong in my grip. And I hope that this fire, brought to glow on the darkest night of my miserable life, will protect my lady in the time she needs it most.
And may it never burn her, as I will never again.
- NightRising
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Exalting Shei to the service of the Windsinger 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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