DizziSpells' dragon Saint

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.34 m

Wingspan

5.84 m

Weight

679.45 kg

Genetics

Navy
Piebald

Navy
Facet

Storm
Glimmer

Hatchday

Apr 04, 2017
(7 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Ice
Unusual

Level 1 Pearlcatcher

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Rimi
Loya

Offspring

none

Biography

S A I N T

Poet

B I O G R A P H Y

Saint gently turned the weathered, aging piece of parchment paper, feeling the familiar wave of sadness wash over him. He didn't know why it hurt so much to read, or why he felt like he was being watched every time he pulled it out. He also had a reoccurring dream dealing with it. There would be a dragon, a female tundra, white as snow and just as beautiful. She seemed...familiar somehow. There was a sad gleam in her eye, and an equally sad smile. She'd whisper to him in a language he did not speak, yet he knew every word. He would be compelled to respond every time but could never get the words out. The white tundra would always say the same thing, words landing around him like gently falling snow,
"I miss you, my little Snowdrop..."
However, as soon as he would wake up, everything would seem fuzzy and he wouldn't remember what was said or what had happened. He could only feel that it was important, and he'd grasp to remember something, anything. It never worked. It was frustrating and he'd always wake feeling so much more lonely.

Saint doesn't remember much of his childhood. He remembers the blinding white of the icefields, the biting cold, a gentle smile, and a voice that rings in his head from time to time, carrying a soft song on it. It's an Ice lullaby that mother's sing to calm frightened hatchlings during snow storms. He can only assume the voice is his mother's. It's comforting, in a way. To think she's still looking out for him, even if he can't remember her entirely.

E X T R A

Through biting, bitter, barren cold
Come stories brought from time of old,
It has relentless, icy ways
That lead to snow-kissed, glimmering days.

Should you be, trapped deep in frost
Do not fret, not all is lost
You aren't alone, in this glacial land
There is a kind to lend a hand.

+A torn page from a personal collection of poems. The signature is horribly smudged and cannot be read. Saint carries it with him everywhere.

Bio template by @Mibella, find it here.

Art byHsinVega

Art byVelveteenSoldier

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Exalting Saint to the service of the Flamecaller 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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