Shoz » Lair » Morros

Morros

(#27082726)

Caring friend

Familiar

Garden Gnome

Energy: 46/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.69 m

Wingspan

6.37 m

Weight

506.18 kg

Genetics

Maize
Iridescent

Antique
Shimmer

Periwinkle
Stained

Hatchday

Sep 20, 2016
(7 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 1 Wildclaw

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Morros
Botanist

The gentlest of souls, cares not for gender roles.

Takes care of his own garden. A serene, isolated place where he feels content.
Few clan members visit him there, but those who do are usually dragons in need of comfort or distraction.
Crocell, his mate, is there constantly when she's not working. As of late, a new warrior has begun visiting too. A great imperial named Israfil, who seems sturdy on his feet, but his eyes flicker with worry and anxiety.
The same way Morros helped Ametrine and Crocell, he's now helping the imperial calm down and step out of his duties sometimes.
Lately he's been there everyday, and when Morros wakes at the break of dawn, he sees his silhouette outside, watering plants or resting under the fruit trees.
He's become quite fond of him, and hurries to distract him if his expression goes distant and blank.

Family:

Morros met Crocell at a farmers marked in the Mirrorlight Promenade, and they instantly hit it off. Morros was very interested in the plants that grew in Hewn City, and decided to move in with Crocell in her clan.

Crocell and him had started growing plants and vegetables in a beautiful garden, not too far from the center of town, but far enough that they'd have the peace and quiet they wanted.
Crocell's fascination with herbs and minty flowers mixed well with his overall love for gardening. They'd have a small haven up and ready in no time!

Due to circumstances out of their control, however, Crocell could no longer partake in the daily work in the garden.
Not too long after their first three eggs were laid, she'd been called to Tendanor. With great importance, she was bestowed the.. honor of being the new clan Exalt escort.
She had no choice in the matter, as Tendanor was in desperate need for a new one, and Crocell's work had seemed unimportant enough that Morros could handle it on his own.

A bit subdued by the news, Morros had promised to tend to the garden himself.
"No worries, though darling," Crocell said with a smile.
"Escorting is a once or twice a month thing, unless they're having a push, and I'm still able to live here and help you when I'm not in the radiant eye area. I'm sure we'll figure it out."
Morros agreed with an answering smile.
They'll do this together. Whatever it takes they'll get through it together.

Three little hatchlings on the way, a garden to grow, and a new job to handle, they sure had their hands full.
Crocell left for the city, to get some more information on her new profession, and to pick up exalt lists.
Morros didn't mind watching over their children. They were both very excited to become parents, and he took them with him on his rounds in the fields.
A big wheelbarrow, dragged slowly by his moving turtle, he chatted away about nothing and everything. He made flowercrowns in the evening sun, putting them on top of each egg and declaring how beautiful they would be. And about how much he wanted to teach them, and how much fun they'd have.
"Oh! And your mother makes the most perfect stew! I'm sure you'll love it just as much as I do!" They never answered, but he firmly believed they could hear him, and took comfort from hearing his voice.
At least he took comfort from having someone to talk to.

Crocell's work took up much of her time.
She hurried home at the end of each week, more relieved everytime she was met with Morros' radiant smile and three small squealing hatchlings.
The hatching had been successful, though nothing had pained and gnawed at Crocell more, than the fact that she hadn't been there for hatching day.
Morros had comforted her to the best of his ability, saying that it didn't matter if she wasn't there the first, because she would always be a part of everything else.

She wasn't.
A part of everything else.
Malpirgi and Hubar, the oldest of their children, had finally flown for the first time.
As their wings beat through the air and Morros and Vucim hollered them on, Crocell had been carrying a nameless, frightened young dragon across to the exalting pillar, put him on it while the little one sobbed his eyes out, and walked away as the piercing light of the Lightweaver accepted him into her war.
She'd returned to see her children laughing and telling her of their first flight in the air, and she'd numbly plastered a smile upon her face. But all she could see was the empty, hopeless look of the child she had left today.
Vucim was the only one of the three who took her first flight with her mother present.
Judging by her skill in the air, she had saved it on purpose.

Morros knew that the workload was doing bad things to his mate.
Crocell has the rare weeks off, and when she did, she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, frantic and out of breath.
Morros curled up close to her, radiating calm and peacefulness, and doing his best to calm her down.
It usually worked, and she'd be in higher spirits come morning.
Everything got harder as the kids grew up and moved out.
A big part of the calm after her work was to see her happy children running around and playing, nothing could erase her unease as much as the carefreeness of youth.
But when Malpirgi and Hubar left, something seemed to tear at her seams.

Vucim still stayed in the clan, old enough to try for professions. There was a restlessness to her daughter, Morros thought.
Vucim has always been the first to laugh when she was younger, but something changed over time as she grew.
She became.. if not colder, at least a bit more secluded.
It seemed she almost clung to her mother's side when she returned, and did her utmost best to find common interests.
Morros couldn't for the life of him understand where it came from, as it was his first children, and he lacked the experience.
But as far as thought processes go, he guessed she just missed having her mother around. Which he could understand very well, and tried his best to compensate for.
Nonetheless, Vucim decided she wanted to be a warrior.

Frightened, and not at all comfortable with the profession, Morros tried to talk her out of it.
"Are you sure? Absolutely sure? You know the risk of getting damaged, there's so many other peaceful things to do. Meaningful things to do. You won't be bored in a.. in another line of work! I can help you find something, anything," he almost pleaded.
Vucim was dead set on being a warrior, though.
"I want mom's opinion as well," she'd said, and Morros admitted defeat.

Crocell, to Morros' great relief, was not happy with their daughter's decision either.
"What are you seeking war for? When you can have a good life outside it," she'd growled, in a tone Morros had never heard before. She'd always been very mild.
Vucim seemed taken aback too.
"But mom I thought you'd be proud? I could do important things, good things! Like you do."
A deafening, pressing silence fell over them.
Crocell looked horrorstruck, her face turning a sickenly hue of pale.
Without a word she'd lurched outside, barely making it a few steps from the house before she emptied her stomach on the grass. She returned inside, visibly shaking, the dark circles around her eyes that much more apparent with her pale complection.

Vucim hadn't mentioned it again.
But she went to the prophet, and started training for war.

Autumn was well underway, and Morros was gleefully rummaging around his storage for one of his biggest tents. It was usually used in the rainy season, and was big enough to cover a small field of delicate calla flowers. This time though, it would be used as cover for his friend, who would be staying until. Well until he'd leave. Morros decided not to think about that.

Joyfully humming under his breath, he scattered piles of empty pots and a stack of gardening tools. Stumbling a bit as he went, the folded tent and ropes covered his eyesight as he stumbled outside, almost bent backwards under the heavy load.
Despite getting tangled up in the ropes and material, he hadn't been this happy in months.

Early that summer, his mate had acted quite.. out of the ordinary. She'd been down and antsy for a long time, and stopped talking about her work and worries. He'd always been there for her, helped her settle after long shifts, or god forbid, dom pushes. But in the last weeks of may she started.. doing strange things. He'd found her once, sitting by the kitchen table, surrounded by opened and unopened scrolls, all with the golden emblem of the clan. The tuft of feathers on the top of her head was in deray, and she was scratching an irritated wound on her arm. Making small huffing noises as she went, she seemed to be in the middle of organising the scrolls, one shaky movement at a time.

"Dear?" Morros whispered worriedly.
Crocell jumped in the air and her wings wooshed out in an uncontrollable movement, sending parchment and scrolls rolling around the room.
She gasped as she saw him in the doorway, her shoulders sagging down in exhaustion once she recognized him.
"Morros, gods. Sorry I," she looked around and took in the mess she'd made.
"My god this mess, I'm very sorry I forgot, couldn't sleep the time was. I, you startled me very, why are you up?" She scratched her arm again, the skin very pink and very bright against her light fur.

Morros stepped over the paper on the floor, and timidly lay his wing across hers, willing them to calm down. They dropped carefully, but she kept a stiff pose.
"Are you alright?" He asked instead of answering.
"It's 3 am and I saw the light flicker," he continued. His voice very soft and careful.
She moved her head in abrupt movements, looking worn beyond exhaustion. She jerked her head down to the scroll she was holding.
It was dated for July.
"I'm just organising," she said in a faint scratchy whisper.
"I couldn't sleep."
Morros made a sad inquiring sound, but she didn't talk further.
He tightened his wings across hers in silent support, but she turned her head away from his, still staring down at the scrolls.

Then withdrew her wings, shrinking in on herself to avoid contact.
"I'm going for a walk." She said, her voice very hollow.
"But it's raining," Morros said shocked.
The rain was splattering outside, soothingly but probably cold in the night temperature.
"Rain helps sometimes," Crocell said.
She stood abruptly, the table scratching a few inches away from her on the cold stone floors, the paper she'd been holding left to curl in on itself.

"Crocell.." Morros asked timidly.
She seemed dazed, her hand jerking a bit, as if she wanted to scratch the itch further but tried to stop herself.
"I won't be long, it's just a walk."
Somehow her words carried a sense of foreboding.
Morros didn't have the arguments to stop her.
She walked away from the mess, crunching paper as she went to the door.

Not turning around to say goodnight, she went outside, and the empty sound of the door slamming made Morros wince.

"-and you're sure I'll fit under there," Israfil's voice tuned in from somewhere far away, and Morros jumped in surprise, losing his footing and falling head first into the grass, tent and ropes tangling around his legs and wings.
"Woah!" The sound of running feet grew awfully close, and the imperial leaned over him. "Are you ok?" He asked, and Morros blinked up at him as the tent was lifted away from his face. He had mud on his legs.
He stared dumbly up at him, before time seemed to replace itself.
"I slipped," he croaked.
Dazedly, he tried to right himself.

Israfil seemed relieved. "Yes, I can see that.."

They stared at each other for a moment, before Morros again silently tried to right himself up.
Israfil grabbed ahold of the heavy material, and bunched it up and away from his body.
"It looks bigger when we put it up," Morros said carefully, standing up on shaky legs.

The imperial nodded wordlessly.
"Where should we put it?" He asked. "Somewhere close to your house I hope?"

Morros brightened.
"There's bound to be a dry spot over here somewhere. Not too far from the house, in an upwards slope so you won't get spontaneous rivers inside. If it rains," he added.
Israfil helped him carry it over to a small hill by the house, which evidently also seemed to be one of the only grassed hill without dirt and mud from growing vegetables.

The half an hour it took while they raised the tent held a companionable silence, one even Morros, usually chattery, was hesitant to break.
Israfil seemed to feel at ease working with his hands, calmly tying knots and righting corners. It was equally calming to watch.

"We should add some light in here," Morros pondered aloud. Israfil made a humming noise.
"Some lanterns would be nice?" Morros asked. "Or maybe a string of firefly lights, they're very nice as well," he added.
Israfil was tightening the rope to the entrance.
"Whatever you think suits it best," he said, smiling as he turned around.

"It's actually very roomy in here," he mused, he didn't need to bend his neck much to stay inside. "Roomy enough to stretch your wings if you need it," Morros smiled, then seemed to remember the state of his wings, and winced, readying an apology.
"Very true, very true. I think we'll need those lights though, it's getting hard to see," Israfil said before Morros could open his mouth.
Distracted, he nodded quickly.
"I'll see to those lights then."

Repeated mistakes

Long since Morros had been alone, he seemed to be doing much better.
With the changing of seasons, the wounds he carried didn't matter as much anymore.
He could handle himself. He really could, he did very well actually, he mused.
The garden was blooming, spring was arriving, he had enough food for both himself and his friend,
and the war hadn't touched his house since.. Well since.

He carried large pots outside, who had previously contained both drinks and paint.
After they had been used for their original purpose, he always filled them with earth and water, and repotted those who needed care, and gave the offshoots a new home.
He had already been to the city, and was more than happy to make himself busy back in the garden.
Not that Israfil couldn't handle it, of course, but he didn't want to burden him with everything.

Israfil sat on the grass, the misty sky highlighting the lights he had strung up. Around him were various pottery and seeds, his curiosity making Morros smile.
"I'm repotting," he said loudly as he sat the pots he was holding down.
"Most of these have outgrown their homes, and I think they all deserve some breathing room."
He began brushing off the pots, and smelling them for left-over possibly poisonous residue.
"I see," Israfil said with a smile, endearingly paying attention.

Morros began working, and they both worked in silence.
Israfil sorted offshoots, and Morros planted them gently, ever so careful not to lose anything. As it can easily break.
The smell of the spring and the flowers got Morros smiling, and started chatting about his trip to the city.
He mentioned the lovely flora that could be bought this season,
and the banners others had started to decorate with. How he had almost bought one just for Israfil's tent, which had made them both smile.
He carefully navigated away from something bigger, something he really wanted to share, but was too afraid to.

It churned in his stomach to think about, but he did feel it was good news.
Israfil would understand wouldn't he?
Morros didn't realise he'd made an awkward pause mid-conversation, and hummed to break the ice.
"I.. I met someone in the city," he said, puzzled by his own reluctance to look Israfil in the eye.
Israfil heard the change in his voice, and turned to look at him, patient as ever.

This is a good thing, Morros kept thinking to himself. It's a good thing, why can't I just tell him?
It didn't matter that the meeting had been.. what it had been. This would be good.
"I met.. Yperil in the city," he said, coughing to himself.
He could hear Israfil thinking.
"I believe I've heard that name before, who is she?"

Morros coughed. "She is.. she is the mother of Sprout. The little guy we had visiting a couple of weeks ago, if you remember.."
Israfil's look dawned on understanding.
Morros sighed.
Sprout is one of his younger children, a little coatl who.. well he used to be a very loving little child, but lately he'd been distant and.. He'd been kind enough to visit, Morros mused. His mother had barely allowed it, but Sprout had been to visit and to see how he was doing.
Which is more than most of his children have ever done.

"We, uh." Morros swallowed, and continued. "You and I will have more than plants to take care of this spring." He said, careful to not meet Israfil's eye.
"Yperil," Israfil said again, his voice with a raspy edge to it that Morros had not heard before.
He looked up, and to his surprise saw that Israfil looked almost struck, which was for him, very unusual.

But this is a good thing.

"Is she not the one who you have several children with already, all of whom live with her even though-"
Morros vinced, and interupted him.
"I mean. We will most likely have a few small ones to take care of." Morros met Israfil's look finally, his voice harder. "And however that happened, I like having small ones around!" He said almost defensively.

"Well of course, I'll take care of them! You don't have to, I just meant, we will have company! And I'm sorry, I never asked if that was alright with you.. it just happened. As it does, but it will be very nice, I promise." It was very nice with the young ones, and Israfil shouldn't look so confused and angry, he should be happy for him! Morros chose this, and he chose to be happy and content with his own choices.

Israfil looked strucken for a moment, before he straightened his neck and breathed out. His look that of deep disappointment.
"How did she fair this time? Is she coming to stay with you as well? Has she grown into a loving mother since you heard of her last?"
Had Morros not been so stricken by hurt at his words, he'd have thought about how surprisingly blunt Israfil had become. A friend who barely spoke words with him in the beginning, to someone close enough to know these things.
Even close enough to hurt him this way.

"No," he said defiently.
"She won't be living here."
"I'll.. I'll take care of the young ones, as I've done before, and when they're of age they.. they can choose," sadness and regret leaking into his voice, "they can choose wether to stay with me, or go with her."
Not to mention, all of them had chosen her.
"She doesn't have the time.. she has other things to do," he added as an afterthought. Bitterly choosing not to look at him.

"So you're saying.. You met Yperil in the city. She had "other things to do" and as she was done with you, plans to give you the full responsibility of her children?" Israfil tried to catch his eyes, but Morros averted them.
"Our children, actually," he added.
"That is not the point," Israfil answered.
"I know." Morros said. "I know. They will go back to her once they grow up, you saw how Sprout was faring, it's not my responsibility alone, and mind you, I love children." he added, not recognizing how low his shoulders had falled, how downbeat he'd become throughout the conversation.

Israfil had been breathing steadily heavier this whole time, before he seemed to lose control over whatever he was holding back, and stood up straight, knocking a pot that crushed instantly to the ground.
"Why do you always do this?"
His strong emotion took Morros by surprise, but he refused to look up at him.
He flinched, biting his teeth together.
"Even after the way she's treated you.." Israfil's voice was booming, and it never used to be so loud, Morros thought.
"I don't cry for any mockery of reason, Morros. Show me your face, let me show you how good my reason is."

Morros straightened up then, and watched him in return, something unknowing swimming there, something clearly full of pain and break. His breath stuck.
"Israfil.."
"Do not." Israfil answered angrily, as angry as he'd seemingly never allowed himself to be.
"I don't understand," he said loudly, confusion and something painfull clumping together. "How can you keep doing this to yourself?"
Morros took a deep breath. His voice a little hollow. Something building in his throat that he was not aware of, blazing his insides, making them hot and cold at the same time.

"We don't talk much.. we lay eggs, I'm good with them. It just keeps on happening." He gritted his teeth and stared at his friend, really willing him to understand.
Of course, he does not.

«You’re being used, Morros. You’re being stepped all over and you’re laying down willingly." Israfil pushed out with gritted teeth.
"And for what? I thought you only strived to carry good emotions-" he started.
Morros felt a rise in temper he rarely did, and something within him shattered. He angrily stared up at him, no longer holding his voice tight.

«I DO carry good emotions, Israfil.
I DO and I carry them well, and good, and they’re heavy and I CARRY them.
Like I carry my children." He breathed.
"NO ONE carries my children like I do. They give them to me, they let me raise them. And every time they grow up, they find faults in me that I cannot see. I cannot see a single thing I must have done to make them despise me this way.
And yet," he said angrily, sorely with a voice he wished he could hide from Israfil. «And yet it keeps happening. I’ve lost count, Israfil, actual count over how many of my own offspring despise me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I want all the good in the world for them, and yet I barely see them once the air takes hold. They fly away, and I never see them.. never.
They don’t visit, they don’t send letters.
I get demands from their mothers, always with this and that.»

He stares unseeing, and turns to meet Israfil’s eyes.
«The only one, who never treated me this way, was Crocell.
She never raised her voice at me.
She never claimed I was a bad parent. She never felt afraid when she left me with the kids. She knew I would take care of them, do everything for them.
And then.. and then she left me. She left me, and she left them, and now they’re all leaving me.» His voice breaks.

"I keep repeating mistakes, and I am too naive to see them. I’ve only ever had one or two children return to me in good moods. The rest hate me, and I cannot… I have birthed children with broken hearts. And my love is not nearly enough to mend them." He croaked, finally breaking down, almost falling to the ground, emotions too heavy for him to bear.
He can't help but think, how terrible I must be, to make the world such a painful place.

Israfil is silent, and Morros dares not look at him. Not after this.
He's never broken like this, and god. Israfil was the one to see it.
As the seconds ticked by in silence, Morros had the sudden fear that.. his friend would now leave him.
His only.. He would leave.
He'd never been so terrified of being left alone, of not having anyone at all.
And so he tried to look at Israfil, get it done with, see whatever damage he'd done shine through to him, like the thousand eyes of the young ones he'd disappointed.

If Israfil leaves me, Morros thought, there is no proof he himself is kind enough to hold on to.
Then, he truly, truly has nothing.
Morros' tears hit the grass in steady streams, but he dares not look up, for Israfil has said nothing.

"You have my heart." The stoic voice, calmer and shakier than he's heard, broke the silence.
Morros gasped, before even realizing what had been said.
He could hear Israfil's ragged breathing, even feel his breath not too far away,
and the words couldn't ring through.
And yet..
"You have my heart and my deepest respect. And I fear.. I fear if I give it to you,"
Morros looked up, and was met with the unbelievable sight of Israfil crying.
"If I give it to you," Israfil continued, voice croaked.
"It will be treated too kindly," he looked at Morros, who looked back in disbelief.
"I cannot take as good care of it as you can.
So please," Israfil did not bow his head, nor cover.
"Please do not give it back to me. There is no other place anyone can be as well taken care of, as they can with you."

The rain fell heavy, and as Israfils words really revealed their true meaning, Morros shut his eyes tightly, and couldn't hold back a loud sob for the life of him.
Oh gods it hurts, he kept thinking, gritting his teeth through the absolute break of every barrier he had held up. Sobbing and sobbing, with no end nor wall in sight.

He could feel the rain hitting him, just as hard as that night, the night Crocell left him.
But as the rain tried to soak him through, it just as suddenly stopped hitting him.
Perplexed in his grief, he looked up, and with awe saw a foiled and damaged wing, gently folding over his covering posture, assured, warm and safe.
Morros had no thought other than to grab on to the little piece he could reach,
and he kept holding on for dear life.

Suddenly he was no longer the only one to ever bring out and give comfort.
To fold his wings over those left crying.
His own wings close to his body, wet and useless,
Israfil's dry wing held high above him, promising him something he had never been promised before.
The safety and protection that comes, when someone finally reaches out, and choose to comfort him as well. The real safety, and care, of being on the recieving end of the love he always tried to give.

Warmth, kindness, is never a coincidence

Israfil's lore︱Crocell's lore

ART

Art by: Chantric

Art by: charidoom

Quotes

(assuming quirks) Troutfish wrote:

-Will spend hours grooming the tuft of feathers on his head.
-Obsessed with any and all sorts of jewels.
-Probably thinks of his gems and stuff as pets.
-Every dragon in the clan owns a flowercrown made by him.
-Paints stuff literally everywhere, be it on trees, ground, or on a sleeping dragon's wings.

Pick 5 above, TenebrousAmanita wrote:

I love gender non-conforming dragons, but you could probably guess that because of how many of my male dragons are decked out in silk and sylvan apparel. Anyways, Morros is a gorgeous dragon. I never would have thought to put that specific dragon in those specific colors but the combo of his light blue colors and the greenish yellow of his apparel is actually really aesthetically pleasing.

I also read his lore and gosh, how cute. He seems like an absolute sweetheart which only serves to make me like him even more.

Card reading, Carina wrote:

Hmm, let's have a look here...born in September, and...oh, it looks as though you were blessed by one of the Major Signs of the Arcanist, the Fallout Streak. An auspicious sign, with the current festival ongoing! However, all things do come to an end, and the sun will soon move on from its position. Best to act quickly on any opportunities that present themselves, lest they slip away.

Now, then. What does your future hold? Let us see what the cards say...

This first card represents where you stand now. It is the Radiant Eye, representing a time of peace and stability, a moment of recuperation. In the here and now, you have the opportunity to rest and plan for the days to come. Enjoy the bounty that you have, and look to the future with hope.

The second card in this drawing represents the challenges that lie before you. It is the Five of Staves--no reassuring sign. This card suggests that there is conflict ahead, difficulty and strife. You may find yourself clashing with others whose desires conflict with your own. But this card offers hope as well: so long as you have faith in yourself and your loved ones, you will rise above.

Lastly, this card represents the final outcome, the future far ahead. It is the Exalt of Cauldrons--a good card for you, I think! As a dragon of the Cauldrons suit, the Exalt is a portent of happiness, creativity, and bountiful life. She protects those things in life which are most beautiful and treasured--family, love, and happiness. She is also a dragon of great energy and purity.
Altogether, the cards suggest that peace is in your future, but you must work for it. Happiness will not come to you unbidden. Like the Exalt, you must actively safeguard those things which are most important to you, and fight whatever forces would tear them away. But so long as you maintain faith in yourself and your loved ones, you will emerge victorious and find the stability and joy that you seek.

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Exalting Morros to the service of the Lightweaver 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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