Drachenschwinge » Hibernal Den » Dystariel

Dystariel

(#2721270)

Level 1 Nocturne

Familiar

Duskthicket Bonepicker

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

0.51 m

Wingspan

1.33 m

Weight

2.15 kg

Genetics

Midnight
Iridescent

Mulberry
Shimmer

Obsidian
Scales

Hatchday

Mar 22, 2014
(10 years)

Breed

Adult
Nocturne

Eye Type

Shadow
Common

Level 1 Nocturne

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Ash
Acid

Offspring

Biography

Placeholder:

Quote:

Mordremoth
The Elder Dragon of Plant and Mind

Theme Song: Mordremoth

^{“Nature's blessing be upon you, friend.”}

Mordremoth, for all that he hardly looks it, was once a proud young plague dragon. He was a fierce warrior, who served the Plaguebringer with tooth and claw, spreading her glory and her pestilence. The toss of his sharpened horns, and the swipe of his vicious claws brought down many a foe. His most sought after enemies were the warriors of the Verdant Labyrinth. Plague and Nature have long vied with each other, and they are old and deadly rivals. Nothing made his heart sing more than to spread his homeland's blight into a patch of their verdant territory, and to take down all those who came to oppose him.

However, one day he found himself outmatched. He had always fought Nature's warriors, but this time he found himself facing one of their druids, who fought with magic instead of might. The very trees rose up against him, impossible for him to fight and win. He found himself bleeding out, far from his home and his clan who could carry out the death rites for him. Who would speak the ritual words over him and see to his body, to ensure that it didn't rise again, dragging his tormented soul along with it in a shell of madness and tattered flesh? His eyes caught those of the druid had felled him, and he pleaded silently not for mercy, which a Plague dragon would never ask for nor expect, but for a sure end. There was something surprisingly gentle in her eyes as she drew nearer, stroked the necklace of carved wood and flowers that lay around her neck, and began to speak. The words she chanted over him were unfamiliar, as he drifted away into the darkness, but he dimly felt the roots of the tree he lay next to wrap around him to draw him down into the ground.

For a long time, there was only darkness, like a deep sleep. Then a slow, gentle awakening. He felt the sun warming him and giving him life, the slow pulse of sap in his veins, the steady rhythm of day into night, darkness into light. He had never felt so at peace as he did now, in the steady cycle of following the sun. As a fighter, he had never known there was such virtue in peace until it was gifted to him. Gradually, slowly and gently rather than all at once, he became aware that his spirit now occupied the tree that had cradled his old body, wrapped it in roots and earth and taken its substance to nourish this new body. With awareness came greater understanding, slowly, but what need does a tree have for quickness? Slowly, his gnarled roots became claws, his leafy branches shaped themselves into branching horns, the amber hardening on his trunk glistened like a gembond, and leaves laid themselves over his wooden body like scales. Until finally, with a rustling of leaves and creaking of wood, the tree set all four feet on the ground in a new shape.

Mordremoth is a druid, for who could understand the pulse of nature, and the slow language of the seasons of growth and death as well as he does? Every now and then, he still goes out to root his feet into the soil and stand in silent contemplation, a state halfway between sleep and meditation. When he returns, he can tell his clan everything that troubles the land, whether it be blight, poisoned water, or a mine weakening to collapse. Quiet, and thoughtful, he brings an aura of peacefulness wherever he goes, and many of his clan members find great benefit in just sitting quietly beside him when they're troubled. His advice, though sparsely given, is always sound. He now considers himself a pacifist, avoiding all unnecessary fights, but like the druid who made him this way, extreme circumstances will push him into it. He still wears the emblem of carved wood and flowers around his neck that he found laying at his feet when he took his first step, and he wonders if he will ever meet again with the one who gave it to him.

~by Mirrorstone

^{“All things live, and die, and are renewed, each in their own season. As they are patient, so do I strive to be.”}

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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 Dystariel to the service of the Flamecaller 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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