Foliumalas
(#29426058)
Level 1 Wildclaw
Familiar
Barkback Boar
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Wildclaw
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.43 m
Wingspan
6.92 m
Weight
453.92 kg
Genetics
Eldritch
Crystal
Crystal
Shale
Butterfly
Butterfly
Platinum
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
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___________________Foliumalas___________________
The Necromancer |
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Foliumalas gazed up at the gentle away of the branches, calm light dancing on the forest floor, the ting of prayer bells and calling birds. He clicked up the stone steps and onto the worn platform of the shrine. The stone was cool, the floor carved with runes and swirling lines depicting tales and legends. He touched a wide, vibrant banner decorated with Nature's symbol and a powerful looking deity stitched into its threads. As a Plague dragon, he never thought he would come to a place like this; a place of healing. To him, the tree was merely a beautiful, mystic sight. The chimes in the bushes and vines tinkled peacefully again; a few golden butterflies flitted over his head. Healing. The word suited the place, he thought. He paid no attention to the dragons passing beside him. They came and went, silent. A soft call of a bird from ahead, humming insects snoozing on leaves, whispering branches; that was it. The peace was almost trance-like. Bright, soothing, and healing. And then, a drop of red. Warm, bright red on glinting silver across his neck. Foliumalas fell to the shrine's cool platform, the setting sun dappling across his now scarlet scales. Hooded figures, in forest green cloaks, murmured softly to each other above him. The tallest, a wildclaw grasping a glimmering knife, whispered something about "Sacrifice" and "Mother". The others snickered about "Pleased" and "rid of Plague". Unable to speak, he lay there, helpless. Why were they doing this? What had I done? A snap of bone and a dull thump of pain. Snap. His legs were twisted in a odd manner. His back now lighter than air. His wings were gone. Foliumalas closed his eyes, the fading sunset seemed too bright through the peaceful leaves. So harsh, too evil for such a place. Then again, this was a nice place to fade into the swaying shadows. His ears rang shrill; he couldn't hear another thing, blocking out his own dim heartbeat... A piercing scream broke through the black. His eyes cracked open. The ground closed up and their screams were silenced. He fell silent. A bird's chirp stirred him awake. Pale green light filtered into his claw in front of his face. His nostrils filled with the smell of fresh water and lilies. Where am I? He heaved himself on his elbows. His sudden movement startled a few butterflies and white moths settled on his back. They flitted around his head. Grasping onto a thick vine hanging down beside him, he stumbled to his feet. Creak. Creak. Creak. He looked down at two twisted, gnarled branches. They curved into strong muscles, green leaves and thin threads curled together. Two carved stone claws reflected the dappled light. He couldn't breathe. And....My wings?. He flexed his once powerful shoulders. A twisting noise followed his efforts. Two broad branches unfurled behind him. Wide leaves caught the faint breeze, gently lifting. Hanging moss fluttered. Their great shadows passed over his face, casting dark green shadows. Blessed by the GladeKeeper.. He was one with the forest. Stumbling, he made his way to the water, the moths following him. Resting on a rock that over looked a slow moving creek, he sat down heavily. Cupping the water in his claws, he drank. A gray moth landed lightly on his snout. "Shoo!" He flicked the air. It didn't move, just stared. "Fine. Be that way." He felt calm at last. Standing up on the slippery rocks, he turned to lie down again. Sudden pain shot through his leg, and he fell, slicing his claw against a stone. Aching, he held tight to the wound, a moth resting on a leaf in front of him. Then, a pulse of energy ran through the arm, down to his fingers. His claw pulsed and writhed to his horror. The wound closed, the torn skin weaving back together. The pain evaporated, his claw cold to the touch. He rested at the foot of the Behemoth for a week, the moths and creatures keeping him company. He could sense the glow of life in each creature; green and vibrant. Of course, he felt even the evaporation of life disappearing as a creature died; dissolving into the beyond. Creatures began to crowd around him. New found powers made him popular with the many creatures of the Behemoth. They brought him their injured, and he healed them, giving them his own life energy. Once, a wolf was dragged in, its side torn completely of flesh. Obviously dragon bites and tears; the poor creature had died painfully. The dryads spoke excitedly in their quiet tongue. Can you heal him? Bring him from the dead? they whispered. Foliumalas wringed his claws. Would it kill him? Take his own life force? He swallowed. He had to help. Bearing all courage, he placed his claws on the cold body. A smell had already started to catch in the air around it. He coughed. This would not be easy. He already felt the cold tingle in his claw tips. He sucked in air, right before it was torn away from him. A cold blast of light blurred his vision, pouring over his eyes, and having a piece of soul ripped away from him. His eyesight went black. A wet rasping tongue woke him. His eyes flew open, at the sight of a large grey wolf staring kindly down at him. Dryad chatter hushed at his side. Everything ached; his phantom feeling on his legs and wings. He blinked. Was this the wolf he had healed? The wolf growled her thanks. The fur on the side had regrown, no sign of blood. The dryads echoed their thanks, and glided away softly on their silent feet, leading the wolf away. It was all a blur. He couldn't remember even blacking out; everything he had inside poured out of his spirit rapidly, and something hummed heavily in his chest, spreading towards his wide branches of wings. A phantom wing still pulsed blood though the leather, and now only water. He stretched his wings out ahead of him, only to see the tips of the leaves curling and dying, a blossom dried and gliding peacefully to rest on the soil. Years passed. He had found a Shadow clan and became a member. He became a healer of familiars, but never dragons. The other's understood; it was far too dangerous. He was silent and reclusive. Hatchlings moved out of his way; had the wildclaw been a tough warrior to receive such a blessing from the GladeKeeper? Was that why he brought gifts to her every full moon? Nights were long in the clan when a dragon was sick. Healers would try to sooth the worried loved ones, for they knew that now, the poor dragon was now in the claws of the gods. They fell into sleep, both the sick and the worried. In the black of night, the silent wildclaw crept into the sick lair. The poor ailing creature was asleep. The dragon was almost gone; his soul growing chill, the passionate warmth drained. It was time for a miracle. Foliumalas arched his wings, letting the moonlight dapple the dragon's face. Rumors of a healer drifted in and out of the clan. A necromancer? Foliumalas would never raise a dragon from death. He swore to it. Never. But no one said he couldn't make life flow in them again. End. Foliumalas' Lair : A tight knit bundle of brambles, with animal bones strung up and around the entrance. A nature banner is torn and waving outside, a pebble mosaic in front. Inside, Firefly lamps illuminate the dim room at night, and small windows swing open in day to let in the sparse light. Personality : Quiet, calm-speaking and mysterious. Witty, and cool, even headed. Not one to anger easily. Foliumalas, silent bone and twig. Blessed by Glade's anger, peace to you. Of not rot nor toil, no. Foliumalas, silent ripple of leaf and broken wing. For you fear not rot nor toil, ill no more. Lore by OracleOreo00
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Exalting Foliumalas to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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