Mareth
(#29515803)
Starting over? I guess that means it's time for a new gig.
Firenze
Flamerest Fiendcat
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Tundra
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.67 m
Wingspan
3.79 m
Weight
246.21 kg
Genetics
Sunset
Petals
Petals
Sunset
Butterfly
Butterfly
Olive
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
Mareth
Soft-Spoken | Unfazeable | Sly
——-
|
Current Status: Healthy Current Age: Adult Time of Birth: Winter Mate: none Relatives: his adopted brothers. Friends: none Charge: n/a |
Gene Plans: Complete Occupation: One of the "Three Kings", "Oracle", Conman, all formerly. Likes: Whiskey, subtly messing with people. Dislikes: Nothing too notable. Hobbies: Card games with the rest of his group. |
"The balance of light and dark is paramount."
- Biography
A young conman who lived on the streets from a young age alongside his adopted brother and mentor, Vasig.
Mareth is endlessly calm and patient, and incredibly intuitive. Unsurprisingly, this made it very easy for him to convince strangers he was in fact a gifted psychic. He made a pretty penny under the guise of communing with dead relatives and peering into the future.
Whenever folks grew suspicious, he and Vasig would move on to the next town.
When Vadim - still an infant - fell unceremoniously into their care, the two changed up their story to that of princes who fled their kingdom after the murder of their parents.
When their new little brother grew enough to speak, it became much easier to convince others - Vadim was raised believing their lie was true.
It was for the aforementioned reason that, when the opportunity came to marry into royalty, they both pushed their little brother into it.
But in the end, when everything went to hell, they both had Vadim's back - and would later leave on a quest to help his wife and daughter as well.
- More Info
Please see The Solanus Arc for his full lore.
——-
Bio code by Squidragon
The ruins Solanus took root in are of ancient, dating back to the dawn of dragonkind.
It’s uses, however, are of uncertain and often contended origin. Some say that it was home to devout followers of the Lightweaver who only abandoned it out of absolute necessity given the encroaching desert sapped all their resources.
Others say it was a place of great sacrilege, devoted to bringing dragonkind and the Shade together as one.
Either way, it was abandoned for centuries, much of its ornate, labyrinthine walls crumbling away and allowing the artifacts within to be worn away as well. It was a treacherous place to attempt to enter, with most treasure-seekers returning empty-handed and injured - or never leaving the decrepit fortress at all, presumably losing their lives in the attempts of plumbing into the deeper reaches of the building.
Naturally enough, rumors began to spread of the ruins being cursed, and fewer and fewer souls dared to tread there.
Until, one day, a traveler stopped by one of the villages nearby. He was a holy man, it seemed, who called himself The Father. He asked a few questions about the ruins to the East, but in a way that implied he knew a great deal about them.
It wasn’t long before a great caravan made a pilgrimage through that same village, stopping only for food and supplies before continuing on.
They were a strange folk, dressed in wraps and rags and speaking as little as possible. They left the townsfolk uneasy, but they’d done nothing wrong - in fact, their little stop had been quite a boon to business.
Days passed, and the caravan - and The Father - were forgotten.
That is, until reports of lights and smoke around the ruins began.
The travelers had taken up residence in the ruins.
After generations of warnings about the nature of that place, the townsfolk could only be shocked by the news - disbelieving, even. But, sure enough, those strange pilgrims would come in to buy supplies.
With how little they spoke - and how the wraps obscured them, it was impossible to say if the same person ever came twice, but one or two would come every other week. It was another thing the townsfolk grew used to over time.
Months later, another caravan came, but this time it was was a lavish affair. A cart pulled by perytons rode through the village’s main street, bedecked in gold and red cloth. The three young men riding within it were dressed to match: wearing rich, flowing silk that echoed the colours of the setting sun.
Guards armed with spears and shields kept pace on each side, preventing any of the townsfolk from getting too close. They came and left without a word to the villagers, again in the direction of the ruins to the East.
Far behind, The Priest followed astride the back of a rambra. He lingered to speak.
They’ve come to try for the hand of the true heir of the ruined kingdom to the East, he told them. And together they shall restore it to its former glory.
The townsfolk were left with more questions as he, too, headed East.
The ruins Solanus took root in are of ancient, dating back to the dawn of dragonkind.
It’s uses, however, are of uncertain and often contended origin. Some say that it was home to devout followers of the Lightweaver who only abandoned it out of absolute necessity given the encroaching desert sapped all their resources.
Others say it was a place of great sacrilege, devoted to bringing dragonkind and the Shade together as one.
Either way, it was abandoned for centuries, much of its ornate, labyrinthine walls crumbling away and allowing the artifacts within to be worn away as well. It was a treacherous place to attempt to enter, with most treasure-seekers returning empty-handed and injured - or never leaving the decrepit fortress at all, presumably losing their lives in the attempts of plumbing into the deeper reaches of the building.
Naturally enough, rumors began to spread of the ruins being cursed, and fewer and fewer souls dared to tread there.
Until, one day, a traveler stopped by one of the villages nearby. He was a holy man, it seemed, who called himself The Father. He asked a few questions about the ruins to the East, but in a way that implied he knew a great deal about them.
It wasn’t long before a great caravan made a pilgrimage through that same village, stopping only for food and supplies before continuing on.
They were a strange folk, dressed in wraps and rags and speaking as little as possible. They left the townsfolk uneasy, but they’d done nothing wrong - in fact, their little stop had been quite a boon to business.
Days passed, and the caravan - and The Father - were forgotten.
That is, until reports of lights and smoke around the ruins began.
The travelers had taken up residence in the ruins.
After generations of warnings about the nature of that place, the townsfolk could only be shocked by the news - disbelieving, even. But, sure enough, those strange pilgrims would come in to buy supplies.
With how little they spoke - and how the wraps obscured them, it was impossible to say if the same person ever came twice, but one or two would come every other week. It was another thing the townsfolk grew used to over time.
Months later, another caravan came, but this time it was was a lavish affair. A cart pulled by perytons rode through the village’s main street, bedecked in gold and red cloth. The three young men riding within it were dressed to match: wearing rich, flowing silk that echoed the colours of the setting sun.
Guards armed with spears and shields kept pace on each side, preventing any of the townsfolk from getting too close. They came and left without a word to the villagers, again in the direction of the ruins to the East.
Far behind, The Priest followed astride the back of a rambra. He lingered to speak.
They’ve come to try for the hand of the true heir of the ruined kingdom to the East, he told them. And together they shall restore it to its former glory.
The townsfolk were left with more questions as he, too, headed East.
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