Calanthia
(#27924848)
WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE?
Familiar
Spirit of Light
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 46/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Female Aberration
This dragon cannot breed until May 14, 2024 (3 days).
This dragon is an ancient breed.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.88 m
Wingspan
7.34 m
Weight
306.13 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Basic
Basic
Obsidian
Basic
Basic
Gold
Kumo (Aberration)
Kumo (Aberration)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Aberration
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
I.
When they beheld her now, they’d never know she was shade-touched. Her scales glimmer with every color of gold, from auburn to aurum. Her egg was a different story. They say one of Clan Yulon’s novice healers discovered a sickly egg cast into the mud on the fringes of the Hewn city. Having a weakness for hatchlings, the healer took it back to the curio lab with her. She spent many spare hours gently scrubbing at the surface of the shell. Where the mud came off, the Ice Egg revealed white-blue radiance, with little sparkles suspended in the shell like stars in the sky. But there was a thick oily crust that refused to bulge, no matter how hard the healer plucked at it with her talons. Eventually the novice’s master happened by, saw what was happening, and demanded that the egg be cast back to the ground and shattered. The worst case of Shade I’ve ever seen, the healer shrilled. Pure evil, ready to bloom and make all of us dead. But look, the younger healer breathed. In places, the shell was worn translucent. They both could see a beautiful, well-formed baby Imperial dozing head-to-tail within, suspended in golden vitreous liquid. Her scales glistened. The older healer harrumphed. Though the egg was spider-webbed with black, it was hard to kill such a fragile creature. Even if the shell spoke of evil… Convinced by her beauty, the healers took her to the priests. There, she was incubated in a nest woven from sacred texts, kept warm by drops of oil.
II.
Kill them. The Shade was gone from her scales, but still manifested itself as a quiet, humming voice in the back of her head. She could scarcely lift her chin from the floor of the temple, where the other adopted hatchlings were screeching and squabbling over the temple’s deity dolls.
Kill them. The piercing voice of a fae made her ears flatten against her head. Her talons flexed. A low cry grew in her throat. She buried her face against the floor, hissing to herself.
The priests looking over the children exchanged glances, then looked to the elderly Wildclaw in charge of everything for guidance.
“Father Abraim,” one ventured. “Wouldn’t it be best to turn her out?”
“Do we turn any of our own out when they have troubles?” Father Abraim rumbled. “No, I think not.” As he watched the golden Imperial girl’s struggle against the darkness, he formed a very different destiny for her in his mind.
III.
“You want me to become a priestess?” Calanthia blinked up at him.
She was still a youngling, but growing fast. Every day, it seemed, she shed golden scales until they littered the floor—and she examined all of them for traces of black.
But though she was large, the ancient Wildclaw seemed to tower over her. “You listen intently to all our prayers,” he intoned. “You show great promise.”
Me? After the Shade? “I—thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until you learn our duties.”
Who knew the Holy Ones’ duties were so hard? That first week, Father Abraim put her to work carrying the sacred Lightweaver statue from temple to temple. She struggled and cursed beneath the crystalline weight—but at the end of the day, she slept without nightmares. Next she baked the rush-wheat bread to feed the Purified. Her claws ached from kneading the dough, but she laughed and sang along with the other cooks. The voice didn’t trouble her once.
The older priests and priestesses watched in amazement as, on the opening morn of Brightshine Jubilee, Calanthia offered up a flawless prayer. The sunlight struck the amphitheater and illuminated Calanthia’s perfect scales. Clan Yulon blinked in wonder as the light reflected from her: holy white, glowing gold, shining red.
IV.
But what’s most important, Calanthia wrote. Most important, I have accepted that I am not perfect. Even if I hear the Shade from time to time, I realize it’s just a dark part of me, and everyone has those. And still, I owe everything I have to Father Abraim.
She placed down her quill and smiled at the stone Wildclaw topping his shrine.
When they beheld her now, they’d never know she was shade-touched. Her scales glimmer with every color of gold, from auburn to aurum. Her egg was a different story. They say one of Clan Yulon’s novice healers discovered a sickly egg cast into the mud on the fringes of the Hewn city. Having a weakness for hatchlings, the healer took it back to the curio lab with her. She spent many spare hours gently scrubbing at the surface of the shell. Where the mud came off, the Ice Egg revealed white-blue radiance, with little sparkles suspended in the shell like stars in the sky. But there was a thick oily crust that refused to bulge, no matter how hard the healer plucked at it with her talons. Eventually the novice’s master happened by, saw what was happening, and demanded that the egg be cast back to the ground and shattered. The worst case of Shade I’ve ever seen, the healer shrilled. Pure evil, ready to bloom and make all of us dead. But look, the younger healer breathed. In places, the shell was worn translucent. They both could see a beautiful, well-formed baby Imperial dozing head-to-tail within, suspended in golden vitreous liquid. Her scales glistened. The older healer harrumphed. Though the egg was spider-webbed with black, it was hard to kill such a fragile creature. Even if the shell spoke of evil… Convinced by her beauty, the healers took her to the priests. There, she was incubated in a nest woven from sacred texts, kept warm by drops of oil.
II.
Kill them. The Shade was gone from her scales, but still manifested itself as a quiet, humming voice in the back of her head. She could scarcely lift her chin from the floor of the temple, where the other adopted hatchlings were screeching and squabbling over the temple’s deity dolls.
Kill them. The piercing voice of a fae made her ears flatten against her head. Her talons flexed. A low cry grew in her throat. She buried her face against the floor, hissing to herself.
The priests looking over the children exchanged glances, then looked to the elderly Wildclaw in charge of everything for guidance.
“Father Abraim,” one ventured. “Wouldn’t it be best to turn her out?”
“Do we turn any of our own out when they have troubles?” Father Abraim rumbled. “No, I think not.” As he watched the golden Imperial girl’s struggle against the darkness, he formed a very different destiny for her in his mind.
III.
“You want me to become a priestess?” Calanthia blinked up at him.
She was still a youngling, but growing fast. Every day, it seemed, she shed golden scales until they littered the floor—and she examined all of them for traces of black.
But though she was large, the ancient Wildclaw seemed to tower over her. “You listen intently to all our prayers,” he intoned. “You show great promise.”
Me? After the Shade? “I—thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until you learn our duties.”
Who knew the Holy Ones’ duties were so hard? That first week, Father Abraim put her to work carrying the sacred Lightweaver statue from temple to temple. She struggled and cursed beneath the crystalline weight—but at the end of the day, she slept without nightmares. Next she baked the rush-wheat bread to feed the Purified. Her claws ached from kneading the dough, but she laughed and sang along with the other cooks. The voice didn’t trouble her once.
The older priests and priestesses watched in amazement as, on the opening morn of Brightshine Jubilee, Calanthia offered up a flawless prayer. The sunlight struck the amphitheater and illuminated Calanthia’s perfect scales. Clan Yulon blinked in wonder as the light reflected from her: holy white, glowing gold, shining red.
IV.
But what’s most important, Calanthia wrote. Most important, I have accepted that I am not perfect. Even if I hear the Shade from time to time, I realize it’s just a dark part of me, and everyone has those. And still, I owe everything I have to Father Abraim.
She placed down her quill and smiled at the stone Wildclaw topping his shrine.
bio by Caelyn
Calanthia's shade-touched status has, over the years, advanced a bit. But she retains a bit of her formerly glittering gold body, and accepts the blackened scales for what they are: a part of her.
Calanthia's shade-touched status has, over the years, advanced a bit. But she retains a bit of her formerly glittering gold body, and accepts the blackened scales for what they are: a part of her.
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