Circe
(#31481087)
Level 1 Skydancer
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.7 m
Wingspan
3.88 m
Weight
382.24 kg
Genetics
Smoke
Iridescent
Iridescent
White
Shimmer
Shimmer
Cream
Contour
Contour
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
Probably in love with Adrastus but she would never admit it to anyone. The imperial loves first his books and then himself, and she doubts he has much room for anything else after that. Spends much of her time aboard the Crownjewel despite this, taking care of the captain's broods and using it as a base for her delivery business.
Being aboard the ship affords her the opportunity to explore new lands and meet many dragons, many of whom rely on her for getting their packages where they are meant to go. If a Crownfire dragon needs something important delivered promptly, they ask Circe.
Headstrong, talkative and bright.
She'd tremored nearly from birth. Her hands and arms trembled softly in the nest, sometimes more erratically if she grew excited. Her voice shook when she spoke, a soft lilting tumble of sound that made it difficult to understand her at first. Ornate stitch work, detailed painting, singing, acting, the careful exactness of cooking and brewing- these pursuits were not for her. So she was made to complete manual labor tasks, toiling in the fields or down in the mines, the elders in her clan thinking they'd found the perfect fit for a child whose hands were not careful enough to create.
As she grew older, her true talents became more apparent. In the air, those tiny minute details weren't so necessary. She did not have to steady her hands to some small measured task. Her wings were quick, and her eyes sharp. Items sent out with her for delivery made their way into their owners hands quicker than with any other dragon. She became a messenger before she'd even realized it, and once she'd seen the world outside of her home clan, she'd never wanted to go back to those mines. So she simply hadn't.
It was on a delivery that she'd spotted the airship nearly hidden in the clouds. She knew of course that she should likely leave well enough alone. But her adventures outside of her clan had made her brave and headstrong, and she wanted to know what dragons needed with a ship in the sky. So she'd made her way closer, gliding above the ship and looking down at the unsuspecting dragons who were milling about the deck. Suddenly, a group of nocturne fledglings had come barreling through the clouds before her, tumbling into her side with loud squeaks and giggles. Losing control, she'd spiraled down towards the ship below, the fledgling nocturnes right along with her. They'd hit the deck with a less-than-graceful series of thuds and yips, colliding with several towering piles and crates of books. She'd quickly extricated herself from the mess of books and young nocturnes and turned around to find a slightly confused yet mostly irritated imperial towering over her.
That was how she'd found the Crownjewel- a tumbling fall brought on by a pack of the captain's wild children, who quickly made their way up into the ship's rigging or leapt back over the sides to stretch their wings, leaving her to explain things to an unknown imperial and the rest of this suddenly focused crew, stranded suddenly in a cascade of books.
Being aboard the ship affords her the opportunity to explore new lands and meet many dragons, many of whom rely on her for getting their packages where they are meant to go. If a Crownfire dragon needs something important delivered promptly, they ask Circe.
Headstrong, talkative and bright.
She'd tremored nearly from birth. Her hands and arms trembled softly in the nest, sometimes more erratically if she grew excited. Her voice shook when she spoke, a soft lilting tumble of sound that made it difficult to understand her at first. Ornate stitch work, detailed painting, singing, acting, the careful exactness of cooking and brewing- these pursuits were not for her. So she was made to complete manual labor tasks, toiling in the fields or down in the mines, the elders in her clan thinking they'd found the perfect fit for a child whose hands were not careful enough to create.
As she grew older, her true talents became more apparent. In the air, those tiny minute details weren't so necessary. She did not have to steady her hands to some small measured task. Her wings were quick, and her eyes sharp. Items sent out with her for delivery made their way into their owners hands quicker than with any other dragon. She became a messenger before she'd even realized it, and once she'd seen the world outside of her home clan, she'd never wanted to go back to those mines. So she simply hadn't.
It was on a delivery that she'd spotted the airship nearly hidden in the clouds. She knew of course that she should likely leave well enough alone. But her adventures outside of her clan had made her brave and headstrong, and she wanted to know what dragons needed with a ship in the sky. So she'd made her way closer, gliding above the ship and looking down at the unsuspecting dragons who were milling about the deck. Suddenly, a group of nocturne fledglings had come barreling through the clouds before her, tumbling into her side with loud squeaks and giggles. Losing control, she'd spiraled down towards the ship below, the fledgling nocturnes right along with her. They'd hit the deck with a less-than-graceful series of thuds and yips, colliding with several towering piles and crates of books. She'd quickly extricated herself from the mess of books and young nocturnes and turned around to find a slightly confused yet mostly irritated imperial towering over her.
That was how she'd found the Crownjewel- a tumbling fall brought on by a pack of the captain's wild children, who quickly made their way up into the ship's rigging or leapt back over the sides to stretch their wings, leaving her to explain things to an unknown imperial and the rest of this suddenly focused crew, stranded suddenly in a cascade of books.
ixris 26035 wrote:
Bryant smiled. "Let me tell you a thing about dancing."
Circe had just explained that the shaking wasn't strictly excitement. She liked the music, sure, but she always seemed like a leaf in a storm, even when she was standing still.
He whispered, "You only stop dancing when you stop moving. You only stop moving when you dead."
He'd been traveling, playing a few shows, having a few sit-ins and jams with some folks who really knew rhythm. And here was this lady - not a girl, mind, a lady full of class, even with broken nails and eyes that spoke a world of things she didn't want to talk about - who smiled gamely up at him and said, "Well I'm not dead."
Oh, she had him by the heart in that moment. Those pale eyes and that smile that twitched just a little, as if it were uncertain how big and grandiose it wanted to pull.
It was fun while it lasted. So cliche, but so true. Bryant liked Circe - he liked her fire and her poise and the way her voice quavered when she wasn't trying very hard to be articulate. He spent a while practicing, seeing if he could get his horn to mimic the way her voice tilted and pitched at such odd moments in the conversation. It was intriguing. It was beguiling. It was charming.
It was indelibly Circe.
He liked to draw conversations with her - not out, and not into, just draw them. Like making a line with a pen, and when you run out of paper, you just change direction, sometimes circling back on yourself. Conversations with Circe were excellent - she'd been all over, and they talked about what they loved and loathed about territories and clans all over the continent. And sometimes, she grew silent just to get the words right. He hung on every silent beat. They kept away from more complicated things like family and history. But it was definitely enough to fill time. Enough to let time get away.
Bryant stayed longer than he meant to. He'd cancelled engagements out on the Cloudsong just to chat with this hummingbird, just to take her dancing and see if she hopped as well as she shook. She hopped fine, even if she was nervous. He'd have stayed longer, too, if she was the staying type. Even though he knew her heart wasn't fully his.
Love doesn't have to be all-consuming to be real.
It can be brief and just as true.
He watched her pack up one day. She'd mentioned a parcel and a delivery, and she told him maybe sometime they'd catch up again. Her hands shook as she spoke, and he wondered how much of that was her natural flutters and how many were because she felt something worth keeping was being left behind.
He didn't ask.
He didn't want to know.
In the light after she left, Bryant sat down with coffee and horn. And he noodled a bit, but mostly he wrote.
It was complicated and tricky, and to play it you needed chops, but he nailed the notework for Circe's tremors. Runs of sharp little notes, quick fingers, and enough breath that even after you still felt breathless. It took him a few days to write it all down, as well as the note wishing her well. He sealed it and left it with the postmaster for next time she came through on work.
You know, provided she was still dancing.
Circe had just explained that the shaking wasn't strictly excitement. She liked the music, sure, but she always seemed like a leaf in a storm, even when she was standing still.
He whispered, "You only stop dancing when you stop moving. You only stop moving when you dead."
He'd been traveling, playing a few shows, having a few sit-ins and jams with some folks who really knew rhythm. And here was this lady - not a girl, mind, a lady full of class, even with broken nails and eyes that spoke a world of things she didn't want to talk about - who smiled gamely up at him and said, "Well I'm not dead."
Oh, she had him by the heart in that moment. Those pale eyes and that smile that twitched just a little, as if it were uncertain how big and grandiose it wanted to pull.
It was fun while it lasted. So cliche, but so true. Bryant liked Circe - he liked her fire and her poise and the way her voice quavered when she wasn't trying very hard to be articulate. He spent a while practicing, seeing if he could get his horn to mimic the way her voice tilted and pitched at such odd moments in the conversation. It was intriguing. It was beguiling. It was charming.
It was indelibly Circe.
He liked to draw conversations with her - not out, and not into, just draw them. Like making a line with a pen, and when you run out of paper, you just change direction, sometimes circling back on yourself. Conversations with Circe were excellent - she'd been all over, and they talked about what they loved and loathed about territories and clans all over the continent. And sometimes, she grew silent just to get the words right. He hung on every silent beat. They kept away from more complicated things like family and history. But it was definitely enough to fill time. Enough to let time get away.
Bryant stayed longer than he meant to. He'd cancelled engagements out on the Cloudsong just to chat with this hummingbird, just to take her dancing and see if she hopped as well as she shook. She hopped fine, even if she was nervous. He'd have stayed longer, too, if she was the staying type. Even though he knew her heart wasn't fully his.
Love doesn't have to be all-consuming to be real.
It can be brief and just as true.
He watched her pack up one day. She'd mentioned a parcel and a delivery, and she told him maybe sometime they'd catch up again. Her hands shook as she spoke, and he wondered how much of that was her natural flutters and how many were because she felt something worth keeping was being left behind.
He didn't ask.
He didn't want to know.
In the light after she left, Bryant sat down with coffee and horn. And he noodled a bit, but mostly he wrote.
It was complicated and tricky, and to play it you needed chops, but he nailed the notework for Circe's tremors. Runs of sharp little notes, quick fingers, and enough breath that even after you still felt breathless. It took him a few days to write it all down, as well as the note wishing her well. He sealed it and left it with the postmaster for next time she came through on work.
You know, provided she was still dancing.
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Exalting Circe to the service of the Arcanist 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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