Chi
(#30463086)
Level 1 Imperial
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Female Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
29.9 m
Wingspan
23.61 m
Weight
5731.03 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Basic
Basic
Obsidian
Stripes
Stripes
Red
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
mate: Havoc
血
"Blood"
She awakens to the sound of soft footsteps and the unmistakable sound of muttered curses.
Someone is in her home, she realizes with a jolt of shock.
She stills, waiting, her breath a hush in the night air. She hears Havoc stir to her left, awoken from his light sleep. His breathing softens, and she hears the forced steadiness every time he exhales, feigning his unconsciousness.
A facade.
A trick in the books, fairy tales that twined around fiction and was never reality.
Alas, the world is cruel.
She kicks out when a hand clamps over her mouth, a sack thrown over her head. It’s the Shadows, she realizes vehemently, and she bites back a scream when she feels cool steel rest at the base of her throat.
It’s the Shadows, and they want her back.
But she will never show herself as disgraceful, and when she hears a hiss and a thump, she steps harshly on her assailant’s foot, tearing herself away for a brief, brief moment. For a moment, she’s free, and she sees crimson and gold. Something strikes her harshly on the back of the head.
The world descends in darkness.
She awakes in a prison cell. Stone walls that flicker with darkness, the fire of the torches diminished.
She’s back with the Shadows.
She’s back with the Shadows, and as she rises and watches through a curtain of dark hair, her violet eyes glittering.
Someone moves, almost invisible against the black, and she seethes as the guards pass by with barely a glance.
“You traitor.”
The words stop her in her tracks, and her face hardens, diamond hard and stone cold.
She’d lost everything.
Somewhere along the way, she’d lost everything, and the Shadows did nothing but watch.
Anger steeps darkly in her heart, black and shadow curdling, twisting.
Her hate for them will never end.
But she is grace, she is still, reserved and calm as she dusts her robes off unconcernedly, showing no reaction.
The night passes silently, and she regards her stone walls emotionlessly. She doesn’t deserve this, that she knows, but she refuses to give them the satisfaction of her despair.
It’s the silence that catches her attention, the disappearance of footsteps on cold stone. She presses herself back against the stone, eyes regarding the darkness warily.
A flash of red and gold, and suddenly, she’s free, and she sees plague and decay, biting its way through the guard’s bodies.
In the center, stands a lone figure, eyes glowing crimson in the shadows.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, she thinks when the figure suddenly jerks back and staggers. She reaches out, steadying him with a gentle hand, and he reaches out and pulls her against his chest.
“I cannot lose you,” she hears him whisper, his voice as soft and fragile as the wind. She can feel his heart beating, the way he tenses at her touch. She raises her eyes to meet his, and she’s close enough to see the pure, pure scarlet that glitters in his irises, flickering with hues of violet and gold. His pupil is dilated, slits under the moonlight.
“I cannot lose you,” he repeats, and buries his head in her shoulder.
It’s then when she realizes how much he truly means to her.
It’s also when she realizes just how scared, how terrified Havoc was at the thought of losing her.
Losing her meant losing everything again.
“You will not,” she says in reply, “You will not ever lose me, this I swear.”
She hears him huff a breath before he slumps against her shoulder, seemingly exhausted after using his abilities.
“You are the moon,” he says tiredly as she guides him through the prison, scattered with still bodies. “You are the moon, and you are my light in the darkness.”
She knows how hard it is for him to say this, how hard it is for him to truly get attached again.
And, well, it’s the same for her. So she laughs, throws her head back and lets her hair trail in the wind outside, looking up at the swirling skies.
“You are the stars. You are the stars, and you stand with me, for the moon cannot shine without the stars.”
- Written by enchantress DR45
Chi takes care of him that so ruthlessly sees to the ends of others. He worked hard to get to where he was; starting out at the lowest end of the plague hierarchy, fighting every day for survival. It was his clan leader that had nursed him from the brink of death to live on and survive, to fight another day, but it was his mate who would mend his wounds and give him the courage to do so. She is one of the few who is so privileged as to not fear him; known as the king of the battlefield, Havoc was a man of the sword, destroying on the battlefield with ease and intellect. One would be wise to fear the man and his brutal cunning, but for her, she harbors no ill intention or any sense of worry that he would harm her. The trust between them is far too strong for her to second-guess it.
It is not without that trust, that she is able to set the cold rag onto the knight’s shoulders and watch him whine with displeasure as his wounds were cleaned with antiseptic. Even as a battle-hardened man who was used to such pain, the liquid dug deeply into his wounds to clear out any illness, and as a plague, the simple act of healing caused him such pain. She often babied him, and he hated it; “If you’d taken care of yourself better, you wouldn’t have all of these scars,” her voice calm and soft like a thread of moonlight. He’d grunt, and one of his eyes would open, and he’d look at her with such frustration and stubbornness. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t have loved him so much if he hadn’t been so headstrong.
But he had to have more patience, and that was her high point. He would try to walk off some of his worst wounds, to say, “It’s no big deal,” and return to battle, when she knew wiser. She could see the pain in his eyes, the pain that he was too strong-willed to admit that he felt. For a man of the plague and pestilence, the last that he would ever admit to anyone was that he felt pain. Such, back when he was in the lowest of hierarchy, was showing weakness, weakness that could have gotten him easily slain by higher-ups. The way of the plague was to live and die and to celebrate the cycle as such, never to show fear or fragility.
She knew when to put her own foot down, to fight against his stubbornness. “I will fight,” he would say, his eyes shining into hers, and she would reply, “You will not,” without blinking or showing any weakness herself. He would stand up and try to brush past her, and she’d use her magic to bend his shadow to grab him by the ankles, preventing him from leaving, even if he wanted to. Then she’d repeat herself, to make her point known, “You will not. I am not losing you after I’ve lost everyone else already - I don’t care if you’re the strongest knight in all of Sorneith. You will stay with me until you are well.”
- Rebdomine
Mentions:
- Favorite Female Above You!
"Blood"
[ INTELLIGENT | STRONG-WILLED | INTENTIVE ]
She awakens to the sound of soft footsteps and the unmistakable sound of muttered curses.
Someone is in her home, she realizes with a jolt of shock.
She stills, waiting, her breath a hush in the night air. She hears Havoc stir to her left, awoken from his light sleep. His breathing softens, and she hears the forced steadiness every time he exhales, feigning his unconsciousness.
A facade.
A trick in the books, fairy tales that twined around fiction and was never reality.
Alas, the world is cruel.
She kicks out when a hand clamps over her mouth, a sack thrown over her head. It’s the Shadows, she realizes vehemently, and she bites back a scream when she feels cool steel rest at the base of her throat.
It’s the Shadows, and they want her back.
But she will never show herself as disgraceful, and when she hears a hiss and a thump, she steps harshly on her assailant’s foot, tearing herself away for a brief, brief moment. For a moment, she’s free, and she sees crimson and gold. Something strikes her harshly on the back of the head.
The world descends in darkness.
She awakes in a prison cell. Stone walls that flicker with darkness, the fire of the torches diminished.
She’s back with the Shadows.
She’s back with the Shadows, and as she rises and watches through a curtain of dark hair, her violet eyes glittering.
Someone moves, almost invisible against the black, and she seethes as the guards pass by with barely a glance.
“You traitor.”
The words stop her in her tracks, and her face hardens, diamond hard and stone cold.
She’d lost everything.
Somewhere along the way, she’d lost everything, and the Shadows did nothing but watch.
Anger steeps darkly in her heart, black and shadow curdling, twisting.
Her hate for them will never end.
But she is grace, she is still, reserved and calm as she dusts her robes off unconcernedly, showing no reaction.
The night passes silently, and she regards her stone walls emotionlessly. She doesn’t deserve this, that she knows, but she refuses to give them the satisfaction of her despair.
It’s the silence that catches her attention, the disappearance of footsteps on cold stone. She presses herself back against the stone, eyes regarding the darkness warily.
A flash of red and gold, and suddenly, she’s free, and she sees plague and decay, biting its way through the guard’s bodies.
In the center, stands a lone figure, eyes glowing crimson in the shadows.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, she thinks when the figure suddenly jerks back and staggers. She reaches out, steadying him with a gentle hand, and he reaches out and pulls her against his chest.
“I cannot lose you,” she hears him whisper, his voice as soft and fragile as the wind. She can feel his heart beating, the way he tenses at her touch. She raises her eyes to meet his, and she’s close enough to see the pure, pure scarlet that glitters in his irises, flickering with hues of violet and gold. His pupil is dilated, slits under the moonlight.
“I cannot lose you,” he repeats, and buries his head in her shoulder.
It’s then when she realizes how much he truly means to her.
It’s also when she realizes just how scared, how terrified Havoc was at the thought of losing her.
Losing her meant losing everything again.
“You will not,” she says in reply, “You will not ever lose me, this I swear.”
She hears him huff a breath before he slumps against her shoulder, seemingly exhausted after using his abilities.
“You are the moon,” he says tiredly as she guides him through the prison, scattered with still bodies. “You are the moon, and you are my light in the darkness.”
She knows how hard it is for him to say this, how hard it is for him to truly get attached again.
And, well, it’s the same for her. So she laughs, throws her head back and lets her hair trail in the wind outside, looking up at the swirling skies.
“You are the stars. You are the stars, and you stand with me, for the moon cannot shine without the stars.”
- Written by enchantress DR45
Chi takes care of him that so ruthlessly sees to the ends of others. He worked hard to get to where he was; starting out at the lowest end of the plague hierarchy, fighting every day for survival. It was his clan leader that had nursed him from the brink of death to live on and survive, to fight another day, but it was his mate who would mend his wounds and give him the courage to do so. She is one of the few who is so privileged as to not fear him; known as the king of the battlefield, Havoc was a man of the sword, destroying on the battlefield with ease and intellect. One would be wise to fear the man and his brutal cunning, but for her, she harbors no ill intention or any sense of worry that he would harm her. The trust between them is far too strong for her to second-guess it.
It is not without that trust, that she is able to set the cold rag onto the knight’s shoulders and watch him whine with displeasure as his wounds were cleaned with antiseptic. Even as a battle-hardened man who was used to such pain, the liquid dug deeply into his wounds to clear out any illness, and as a plague, the simple act of healing caused him such pain. She often babied him, and he hated it; “If you’d taken care of yourself better, you wouldn’t have all of these scars,” her voice calm and soft like a thread of moonlight. He’d grunt, and one of his eyes would open, and he’d look at her with such frustration and stubbornness. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t have loved him so much if he hadn’t been so headstrong.
But he had to have more patience, and that was her high point. He would try to walk off some of his worst wounds, to say, “It’s no big deal,” and return to battle, when she knew wiser. She could see the pain in his eyes, the pain that he was too strong-willed to admit that he felt. For a man of the plague and pestilence, the last that he would ever admit to anyone was that he felt pain. Such, back when he was in the lowest of hierarchy, was showing weakness, weakness that could have gotten him easily slain by higher-ups. The way of the plague was to live and die and to celebrate the cycle as such, never to show fear or fragility.
She knew when to put her own foot down, to fight against his stubbornness. “I will fight,” he would say, his eyes shining into hers, and she would reply, “You will not,” without blinking or showing any weakness herself. He would stand up and try to brush past her, and she’d use her magic to bend his shadow to grab him by the ankles, preventing him from leaving, even if he wanted to. Then she’d repeat herself, to make her point known, “You will not. I am not losing you after I’ve lost everyone else already - I don’t care if you’re the strongest knight in all of Sorneith. You will stay with me until you are well.”
- Rebdomine
Mentions:
- Favorite Female Above You!
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