Kanterkaas

Nobody is quite sure what he does, but many have found that if in need of a certain item, he tends to have it on hand. He prides himself on his array of ritual elements, though he may be the only one who understands the use of some of them. He has a tendency to stare at other dragons for no discernable reason, his eyes deep and devoid of some vital element. There are few Crownfire dragons who haven't been made uneasy by him.

Rumors abound that he is a cannibal but he is not. He can absorb the memories of a dragon that is dying. He carries with him the bones of dragons closest to him, and communicates with their spirits.

the empty feelings you live with

| Attribute | Attribute | Attribute | e̡̢͇̦̭̰͉̫̞̠͑̑́̈́̕͜v̧͍͙̞̻̪̗̣̦̩̦͈͉̬͇̞ͬ̋̓͂̒͌̂ͬ̏ͭ̈̕ê̒͋̎̒̄̌͒̏ͮ͏̕͟͡҉̯̮͈̗̳̖͙̫̝͖̞͈n̴̴̨̛͙̫̹̳̣͂ͣ̉̈́́ ̼̗̟̤̭̞̱̻̱̦̜͕̱͚̻͖̻͈͎ͬ̓ͧ̃͌̄̔̾ͪ̍̾ͪͪ̅ͧ̈́̐ͣ̿͜t̨͕̩͉͉̞̞͇̞͙̲͔̩̭̼͉̩̱͎̾͌ͣͧ́͘o̶̯̠͇̠̦̤̱͈ͯ͛͊ͫ͘͜g̸̸͖̫̰͊̋ͥ͗͆̔̅̌̐ͯ͂͊̔̉́̚ͅe͍̘̖͕̣͕͚̳̩̳̳͑ͤ͒̆̆̆́͝t̸̵̞̙̫̱̝̮͈̫̲͈͕̬͇͆̉͂̀ͬ̋ͮ̽̂̓̂̄ͨ̈́͂̃̐h̷̢͇͇̰̳̠̳͔̲͖̬̱̯̽̿͊͐͒̑ͦ̎͋ͦ̐̃ͧ̾̊̓̍ͅę̛͖̩̪̘͔̤̙͍̒̌̌̈͑̍̎̄̑ͪͮ͐ͬ̐ͭͥ͝͠ͅr̷̢͖̮͓̗̩͔̣̭̖̦̜͓͚͍͛̄͊ͦͣ͑ͬ̄ͧ͟,̶̽ͫͣ̿̈ͮͬ̂͗̏̂̂̒̅ͥ̅̚̚̕͠͏̫͇̱̮̯̦̙̯͝ ̸̹̣̺̯͍̀̀̈ͣͯ͐̐͗̈̍̈́̈̌̒ͦ̀́͠͡y̛͊̿́̄̔͊̿̎҉͇̞̗̲͈̕͝ơ͉͔̥̭̮̎̔̈́̌̎̓̈́̽̓ͯ͐̊́͟uͬͣ̆ͯͮ̇͗̚͘͘͘҉͚̗̘̜̲̘̬͎̠̳̲̗̙̞ͅ ̴̣͓̦͔̰̲͔͔͆̏̓̈̾̅́͟͞ą͍̫̖͎̥͙̪̯̄͊ͬ̅̎̔́͘͞r̸̵̪͎̰̳̞͕͔̥̱̗͚̣̩͙̠͈͉̙͗̔̽ͫͮ͗̽̅͌͋̉͊͑͐̉ͥͯ̾́͜eͮ͗̂̿̓͏̴̶̱͈͍̮̬̭͖̝̰̱̠̀ ̡̢̲͈̬̭̜̗̠̆ͪ͒̐ͫ͊̂̔̃͊͛ͨͮ̏̔̚ȁ̢ͧͣ̿̊ͬ͝͏̸̢͖͔͓͚ḻ̨̧̼̞̜͎̖̟̲̦͈̣̫̙̜̞̬̺͐ͮ̈́͗͡o̶̡̨̜̻̥̥̼ͫͣ̓ͩͩ̉̆͂̉̿̈ͮ̇̚ͅn̸̢͌͆̆ͤͪ̂̊̄̇̎̓̎ͧ҉̗̰̼̤͟e̡̨̛̱̱̣̞͍͖̙̠̟̪͖̼̔̀ͥ͆͑ͩ̂̕͞ X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Continued RPG-type lore

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You've met lore block

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Time... What was time anymore?

When he'd arrived, it had been a home. Of course there were the usual challenges, the growing pains, the settling in. But he'd seemed to fit in quickly, faster than he'd expected. He'd often thought of how before, he'd hated even the possibility of a new home. How he'd shuddered at the thought of making a life there. Somehow, they'd won him over. Or perhaps time had done that, worn him down like water against stone, eroding his resolve, and over time he took on a completely different form.

He hadn't noticed until he'd stepped back- retrospectively, he could see the changes. Retrospectively, he could also see that the growing pains had never really gone away. He'd simply stopped noticing them. There had never quite been happiness there, in that home. His memories stretched out, slowing down as he ran through them over and over. It was like being awakened, seeing the ugliness under the golden glow he'd tried so desperately to paint his world with.

His happiness was a facsimile, and they allowed that. They joined in, rejoiced with him in the lies until it all fell apart. They'd all looked away too long, turned their backs on the truth at the heart of their home. And when he finally looked in, it wasn't even on purpose. He'd simply opened his eyes one day and realised that everything was crumbling, rotting from the inside. The happy memories, the friends, the second family- they'd gone slowly at first, but now they were disappearing all at once.

He could feel the growing pains again, a raw edged wound inside of him. His skin was too tight. Their voices were lost on the winds of his thoughts. There were only those stretched out memories now, and he could no longer see the joy in them. He had nothing save a blank space inside, devoid of everything he'd thought he'd wanted. He cried for no reason, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, and just as suddenly collected himself and sat calmly, alone in the darkness.

He filled the blank space inside of him with the only memories he had left. They lay prone about their emptying home, eyes dull and faces pale. When he came to them in the darkness, they no longer cried. They closed their eyes together and whispered soft thank-yous, and when even those thank-yous dwindled to a halt, he wrapped himself in the bones of the past, running his hands across them in some useless effort to feel whole again.

Willing himself to understand.

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potential lore written by others