Salem
(#31856639)
Level 1 Bogsneak
Familiar
Swarmsprite Deerling
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Bogsneak
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.38 m
Wingspan
6.15 m
Weight
875.77 kg
Genetics
Lavender
Falcon
Falcon
Grey
Peregrine
Peregrine
Mulberry
Capsule
Capsule
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Bogsneak
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
7
INT
6
VIT
7
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- Arey
- Newblet
- Kor
- Riddle
- Solo
- Shadowsong
- Bonooru
- Sparrow
- Demoxi
- Meadoweclipse
- Jayce
- Kunzite
- Rockknight
- Power
- Enif
- Verde
- Tulii
- Apollo
- Ulafin
- Ormissuth
- Mushroom
- Spellcurse
- Sinnafain
- Furyrage
- Fiona
- Kraad
- Longjaw
- Dawnmaiden
- Macrae
- Cleverclaw
- Beroke
- Tui
- Leolin
- Fernando
- Rohirrim
- Efren
- Tombknife
- Fafnir
- Stonebinder
- Xalvadora
- Golf
- Riot
- Torador
- Shining
- Fieldstone
- Gravedance
- Cohen
- Nimmi
- File
- Minley
- Rirasul
- Morgan
- Boris
- Dagian
- Teardrop
- Alexeon
- Prunus
- Juliette
- Pastoral
- Marcell
- Haimona
- Ethan
- Yen
Biography
Job: Scribe
Salem has never been suited to war, no matter how many scars he bears. Where some see glory, he sees only destruction, and that alone is enough to dissuade him from ever engaging in violence.
It is not, though, as if he has had much choice.
Born to a Nature clan with a penchant for violence, Salem was expected to learn the ways of tooth and claw, cloak and dagger. Weapons were more valuable to his clan than words, and though he strove to make himself useful as a scribe, his efforts amounted to full journals and an empty heart. No one seemed to recognize the immense effort that went into cataloging the clan's finances and resources, let alone the ongoing work of recording past and present events down to even the most mundane moments. In Salem's journals, every patrol sent into the Viridian Labyrinth since the day he learned to write could be found in exact detail.
Those journals have long since burned, however. He watched them fuel the fire that kept the slavers warm while he shivered in the barred wagon.
Even now, it's almost impossible to believe that his clan sold him as chattel. Despite the years that have gone by, the horrors Salem has endured, it stings that they sold him rather than accepting his usefulness as a non-violent agent. He might have learned to tolerate war if they allowed him to act as a scribe. Military missives would not have been beyond his ken.
But they threw him to the wolves and allowed slavers to take him away under the cover of night. He doubts they feel any remorse for it, either, or else they would have rescued him long before he was ever shipped out to sea.
He's lost track of the time spent on the rolling ocean. There, he was deprived of anything to write with, forced into hard labor with little respite. Even once the crew discovered he had his uses as a scribe, he was little more than another body, fed only to produce results. What little writing he did was preserving bawdy songs for his captors, or recording the apparent crimes of one of his fellows before they faced the captain's lash.
Perhaps it is for the best that he did not have access to a proper journal during those days, or he would have put every detail on the page, no matter how eternal it would make the memory.
But his captivity did not last forever, thank all eleven gods. During a routine stop to flaunt their wares, the crew left Salem posted near the ship, allowing him to scribble on torn parchment for whatever coin pitying passerby might give him. At the end of the day, none of the take would be his, and he dared not attempt to leave his post. He'd felt the punishment for that, meted out on everyone for the crimes of even a single escapee.
Arcidgale saw him, though, saw his plight and burned at the injustice. Later, Salem would learn the Spiral was searching for whatever peace he once had as a merchant, in the days before losing two mates in quick succession, and seeing the slavers' ship had lit a fuse he'd tried hard to bury.
To this day, Salem cannot be certain how many of the other captives were able to escape. In the wake of Arcidgale's fury, the port was alight with so much activity that no one could have hoped to record even half of it. All Salem knows is that he saw a way out, and he took it, clutching a quill and scrap of paper close all the while.
Now, though, there's little threat of returning to such a life, and Salem can enjoy his retirement from hard labor as he chooses. Which means barely retiring at all. He's become the head scribe of Clan Dark-Blood, putting his penchant for observation and inscription to work with a vengeance. With the help of Fester, the clan's young leatherworker, Salem has filled shelf after shelf with records of the clan's business transactions, historical happenings, notable hunts, and more. Nothing escapes his watchful pen, and it's a wonder Fester accomplishes anything around the sheer number of records he binds in leather and stamps in gold.
It seems likely that the clan will require a second library expansion at this rate, and more still after that if Salem proves to be long-lived. His work has already required an overflow shelf to be established as a new cavern was carved out for the library, and he is fast on his way to filling that as well.
These days, he only seems to set his pen down when spending an evening with Arcidgale. Since Salem's rescue, the two have become fast, if unlikely friends. Salem is a calm counterpart to Arcidgale's sometimes explosive emotion, but the two share a great love of sitting by the fire and sharing stories from their heyday.
Bio by Tues.
Salem has never been suited to war, no matter how many scars he bears. Where some see glory, he sees only destruction, and that alone is enough to dissuade him from ever engaging in violence.
It is not, though, as if he has had much choice.
Born to a Nature clan with a penchant for violence, Salem was expected to learn the ways of tooth and claw, cloak and dagger. Weapons were more valuable to his clan than words, and though he strove to make himself useful as a scribe, his efforts amounted to full journals and an empty heart. No one seemed to recognize the immense effort that went into cataloging the clan's finances and resources, let alone the ongoing work of recording past and present events down to even the most mundane moments. In Salem's journals, every patrol sent into the Viridian Labyrinth since the day he learned to write could be found in exact detail.
Those journals have long since burned, however. He watched them fuel the fire that kept the slavers warm while he shivered in the barred wagon.
Even now, it's almost impossible to believe that his clan sold him as chattel. Despite the years that have gone by, the horrors Salem has endured, it stings that they sold him rather than accepting his usefulness as a non-violent agent. He might have learned to tolerate war if they allowed him to act as a scribe. Military missives would not have been beyond his ken.
But they threw him to the wolves and allowed slavers to take him away under the cover of night. He doubts they feel any remorse for it, either, or else they would have rescued him long before he was ever shipped out to sea.
He's lost track of the time spent on the rolling ocean. There, he was deprived of anything to write with, forced into hard labor with little respite. Even once the crew discovered he had his uses as a scribe, he was little more than another body, fed only to produce results. What little writing he did was preserving bawdy songs for his captors, or recording the apparent crimes of one of his fellows before they faced the captain's lash.
Perhaps it is for the best that he did not have access to a proper journal during those days, or he would have put every detail on the page, no matter how eternal it would make the memory.
But his captivity did not last forever, thank all eleven gods. During a routine stop to flaunt their wares, the crew left Salem posted near the ship, allowing him to scribble on torn parchment for whatever coin pitying passerby might give him. At the end of the day, none of the take would be his, and he dared not attempt to leave his post. He'd felt the punishment for that, meted out on everyone for the crimes of even a single escapee.
Arcidgale saw him, though, saw his plight and burned at the injustice. Later, Salem would learn the Spiral was searching for whatever peace he once had as a merchant, in the days before losing two mates in quick succession, and seeing the slavers' ship had lit a fuse he'd tried hard to bury.
To this day, Salem cannot be certain how many of the other captives were able to escape. In the wake of Arcidgale's fury, the port was alight with so much activity that no one could have hoped to record even half of it. All Salem knows is that he saw a way out, and he took it, clutching a quill and scrap of paper close all the while.
Now, though, there's little threat of returning to such a life, and Salem can enjoy his retirement from hard labor as he chooses. Which means barely retiring at all. He's become the head scribe of Clan Dark-Blood, putting his penchant for observation and inscription to work with a vengeance. With the help of Fester, the clan's young leatherworker, Salem has filled shelf after shelf with records of the clan's business transactions, historical happenings, notable hunts, and more. Nothing escapes his watchful pen, and it's a wonder Fester accomplishes anything around the sheer number of records he binds in leather and stamps in gold.
It seems likely that the clan will require a second library expansion at this rate, and more still after that if Salem proves to be long-lived. His work has already required an overflow shelf to be established as a new cavern was carved out for the library, and he is fast on his way to filling that as well.
These days, he only seems to set his pen down when spending an evening with Arcidgale. Since Salem's rescue, the two have become fast, if unlikely friends. Salem is a calm counterpart to Arcidgale's sometimes explosive emotion, but the two share a great love of sitting by the fire and sharing stories from their heyday.
Bio by Tues.
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Exalting Salem to the service of the Lightweaver 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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