Blight
(#31520311)
Level 5 Guardian
Familiar
Salve Kamaitachi
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Guardian
This dragon cannot breed until Jul 03, 2024 (9 days).
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
15.22 m
Wingspan
14.21 m
Weight
13393.72 kg
Genetics
Silver
Poison
Poison
Silver
Toxin
Toxin
Fire
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 5 Guardian
EXP: 874 / 5545
STR
20
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
15
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
Blight
Blight was originally a Nature dragon, born in the Everbloom gardens. He was never as brightly-colored as the other hatchlings in his clan, who looked like tropical flowers and exotic birds, but with his purple scales and yellow underbelly, he fit in well enough. Back then his name was Aster, after the flower whose colors he shared.
Aster was happy in the Gardens, but never felt as though the bright foliage and gemlike blossoms were truly his home. When he came of age, he knew he wanted to leave. But he was a Nature dragon - of course he had to find a place for himself in the Viridian Labyrinth.
So he struck out alone, and wandered the Gardens and the marshy Gladeveins until he found himself in the Shrieking Wilds.
There, the thick tangle of branches overhead stymied his growing wings, and he found himself using his legs more and more, running through the undergrowth, leaping over fallen logs and snapping his way through twisted vines and curtains of coiling lianas. He grew stronger, faster, and smarter. There in the dimly-lit jungle, he became a hunter to be feared.
Over time, the darkness of the shadowed undercanopy began to leach the colors from Aster's scales.
If anything, it made him a better hunter. Like a mottled gray shadow, he slipped through the perpetual green dusk like a spirit of the forest. He never missed his prey.
Then the accident happened.
A hunt. Just like usual. He was following the trail of a Grasslands Trunker, tracking it through the woods. He came to a place where the vegetation was lighter than usual, and spotted the Trunker up ahead, browsing the low-growing leaves. He slid along the ground as low as he could, silent, and crept up to a fallen log, readying himself for the pounce.
Suddenly, a Spined Cobra reared up out of the brush right in front of him.
Startled, he had no time to leap away. It flared its hood in a brilliant green warning sign, and he did exactly the wrong thing - he flared his wings back at it and roared.
Everyone knows you can't face down a Cobra. They're fearless. And they have some of the most toxic venom known to dragonkind.
It lunged for him, fangs extended, and he jerked back and managed to dodge. For a moment it looked like he might make it out of the confrontation unscathed - the snake hit the ground upside-down and twisted, trying to get back on its belly, and he beat his wings and began to rise, fighting to pull himself into the air. He was going to make it -
But it had been too long since he'd flown in these dense, shadowed woods. His wings wouldn't hold him. He hit the ground less than a tail's length from the Spined Cobra, and it reared up again, hissed, and used its second line of defense: with the powerful muscles of its throat, it spat venom directly onto his scales.
It burned.
He roared, and fled on foot. The venom ate into his scales, and the leaves and vines slapping his hide as he ran painted it all over him. He searched desperately for a pond or stream to leap into and wash the toxin away, but it took too long to find one.
By the time he made it, the poison had changed him.
The toxin damaged his eyes, turning them white and glowing. It warped his colors, turning pale violet and straw-colored scales into an oilslick of black and poisonous orange. For the first time in his life, Aster's colors were as vivid as the ones he'd admired in the Everbloom Gardens - but if he'd gone back now, he would have stood out in a terrible way.
Worse still, the fiery markings on his wings now nearly glowed in the dark, and he was no longer the pale, stealthy hunter who'd made the Shrieking Wilds his home. With his new eyes he could hardly see in the deep shadows beneath the trees, but his prey could see him coming from miles away. He couldn't hunt. He had no choice but to scavenge for bugs and plants, but in the dark down here at the bottom of the towering rainforest, there were too few things that were edible for a growing Guardian. He was hungry all the time, and it was getting worse.
He had to leave.
He was still a Nature dragon, but the Viridian Labyrinth would be no home to him ever again.
Aster climbed up into the canopy, scrabbling from branch to branch of the largest tree in the Wilds, and scrambled up into the overstory, shaking the thin branches as he made his way into the open air where only the tallest trees stretched their limbs into the sky. With the last of his strength, he spread his wings and leaped. His wings trembled, but if he held them steady, he could manage to glide. He flew out past the Behemoth and over the water, and turned south, following the updrafts that swept the coastline to keep himself aloft. So the journey began.
Blinded by the sun after so many years in the deep green darkness, he flew only by moonlight. Soaring over the water, he trusted the full moon shining off the waves to keep his damaged eyes from missing the sight of land. He saw the Sundial of the Sunbeam Ruins glowing in the first light of dawn, and landed in its shadow just as the sun rose to rest his aching wings and try to get some sleep.
Just as he was settling down to rest, a Sickle Kamaitachi leaped out of the pile of rubble he'd chosen and attacked, ripping three long slash marks across his flank. He roared and leaped away. Even young as he was, Aster was three times its size, and he was ready to smash the Kamaitachi against the sundial to defend himself.
But then he saw the young it was protecting sheltered in the lee of the rocks, and realized he was the intruder here.
He fled south, into the Hewn City, and in the twilight there found refuge to nurse the gashes in his leg. After so long in the air, he was exhausted, but he couldn't ignore the pain in his leg long enough to sleep. He spent the day restless and awake, hungry and aching.
As night fell, there was nothing for him to do but spread his wings and take once more to the starry sky.
He passed the Shifting Expanse but hurried through it, blinded and pained by the constant flashes of lightning streaked between the clouds. On the very edge of the Ashfall Waste, he collapsed at dawn and rested again; comforted by the glow of the lava pools, he finally slept, not realizing that his toxin-altered scales were more resistant to heat than most dragons in Sornieth born outside of this fiery place. He slept through an entire day and night.
When he finally woke, he found a few fireflies and salamanders to eat, then a duskrat, and discovered that it wasn't too difficult for him to catch things that gave off their own light. Even better, the warm air billowing off the lava pools helped keep him aloft and made it easy for him to practice flying, helping him grow stronger by the day.
Perhaps he could make a home here? But over time, the smoke hurt his lungs, and after a while he knew he had to move on.
But maybe he could bring some of the light from this place with him, to help him navigate the cold, moonless nights ahead of him.
He fashioned a pair of panels for his wings from iron blackened by the smoke of Emberglow Hearth, and filled them with lava from the Molten Scar. Then he set out again.
Through long weeks of wandering, he tried to find a place that was comfortable. Sometimes the sky was friendly and gave him clouds to block the sun, and he flew by day, but more often the sun blinded him and he had to retreat into twilight, or use the light of his armor so he could travel in true night. Collecting scars and scratches, the marks of a traveler with no clan and no wealth to his name, he journeyed.
Wherever he went, local dragons asked his name, and the ridiculous contrast between a name for purple flowers and his own poisonous appearance was too much to handle. When he thought of himself, he thought of something that had been scorched by a strange disease. He took to calling himself Blight.
He stayed for a while here and there, healing, growing stronger, but never felt truly comfortable anywhere.
It would be a long time before he found a place fit to call his home...
Aster image from Gardeningknowhow. Lore written by Terhothyl.
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