Mura
(#32879897)
Level 2 Veilspun
Familiar
Phoenix
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 46/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Female Veilspun
This dragon is an ancient breed.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.83 m
Wingspan
0.93 m
Weight
2.12 kg
Genetics
Tomato
Arc (Veilspun)
Arc (Veilspun)
Cherry
Loop (Veilspun)
Loop (Veilspun)
Red
Flecks (Veilspun)
Flecks (Veilspun)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 2 Veilspun
EXP: 122 / 641
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
A FAIR EXCHANGE
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Once upon a time, when the world was younger than it is now, the Flamecaller went to visit the Spiral Keep, deep beneath the waves of the Sea. “I would like to see my brother,” she said to the guards that barred her way. “I have something to ask him, and something to give him.” The guards were suspicious, but also afraid. What could they do to deny a goddess? And so, with heavy hearts, they opened the gates for her, and the Flamecaller went inside. She walked, and walked, every dragon she passed too afraid or too in awe to stop her. Yet she still walked. After a long time, her patience worn thin, she entered the throne room of the Tidelord without even knocking. “Brother,” she declared, stopping before his coral throne, “I have something to request of you.” 
“I know,” the Tidelord’s voice boomed in response. “I have seen you come here, in my scries, my tarots, and in my prophecies. And yet I still must ask: are you not afraid of being so far away from your home, of being so rash?” The Flamecaller laughed in his face. “If you have your gift of prophecy, brother dear, I have my eternal flame. It matters not how far I wander, from the Icefield to the Labyrinth; as long as I have it with me, and I have it with me always, I am warmed and I am brave. Why should I fear you, or the members of your seaweed court?” “You are the same as always, my sister.” The god shook his head. “That hubris may lead you into trouble, one day.” “What you call hubris, I call courage. And with that, I will prevail, whether trouble comes to me a minute or a millennia from now!” “As you say.” The Tidelord set aside his scrying tools and curled his tail around him. “Now speak, and tell me what you have come for.” The Flamecaller laughed again. “You have seen my coming in your oracles, but you do not know why I am here? Very well, I shall humor you: I seek a prophecy, in order to aid in my triumph over my enemies.” “Your pride is great indeed, sister,” her brother replied mildly, “if you are here to ask me for something so great for nothing in return.” “Why, brother, I am hurt!” she said, putting one claw to her chest where her heart would be. “I know of the ancient rules as much you do. I do not seek this boon empty-handed–I have, of course, prepared a gift.” “What is this gift, I ask you?” he asked. And the Flamecaller summoned a glowing orb of fire, which floated to the center of the hall before him. “Behold, my brother: the riches of my realm, beyond even your prophecies’ ability to show!” And so the flames danced and parted, and showed the god a vision of a cavernous hall, filled with endless, towering piles of shining gold and silver and jewels. An endless stream of his sister’s subjects were going in and out, carrying jingling sacks and drawing carts spilling things that rung a clear note as they fell, in order to add their contents to the glittering hoards. “Well, my brother dear?” she said. “Will you accept my offer?” The Tidelord gazed into the flames for but a moment before turning away. “What use have I for the toil of your miners, the toil of your silversmiths? The secrets the currents murmur are more valuable than gold, and the cracks of the turtle shell more valuable than rubies. In this, I am richer than you could ever make me, and the worth of a prophecy dwarfs even these. This is not a fair exchange.” At this, anger welled up within the Flamecaller, but she did not let it show. “You are right,” she said. “I apologize. But I have something yet for you. Behold, my brother: the masterwork of my forges!” And so the flames danced and parted once more, and showed the god a vision of an enormous smithy and armory. On the walls hung rack after rack of every instrument of war and battle known to dragonkind, enough to outfit five armies, spikes and helms and edges glittering wickedly in the dim light. On the floor, his sister’s subjects labored tirelessly at their forges, the sound a cacophony of hammers and steaming metal. “Well, my brother dear?” she said. “Will you accept my offer?” The Tidelord gazed into the flames for but a moment before turning away. “What use have I for the work of your anvils? No weapon is sharper than the words of my oracle, and no shield stronger than the certainty of my scries. In this, I am stronger than you could ever make me, and the assurance of a prophecy dwarfs even these. This is not a fair exchange.” At this, anger welled up within the Flamecaller, and she could not hide it any longer. “If this still is so,” she said, “then I have nothing left to give you. It seems you are as miserly as ever with your gift, brother.” She turned to leave, but right before she stepped over the boundary of the room her brother called out to her. “Sister,” he said, “I think you have forgotten something.” “What could that possibly be?” she asked as she turned to him, irritably. “What you possess, what only you possess, that would be worthy of the greatest prophecy.” “What could that possibly be?” she asked again, intrigued. “I have prepared nothing more of value to offer.” “You have not prepared it, yes, but it is valuable all the same. Perhaps even more in its spontaneity. It is your courage, sister, or the source of it. It is your eternal flame.” As the Tidelord uttered those words, his sister recoiled. “Heresy! Violator! You wish to take my gift from me?” 
The god raised a claw. “Peace, sister. I am neither one of your venerators nor an ignorant of ancient laws. Nor am I implying I wish to take your whole flame, as if a common robber. I simply ask you to consider this: is not the prophecy you are asking from me a piece of my sight? Do you think it is an easy thing, to watch my visions and signs surface unheard and forgotten? Or perhaps watching the same heard too much, shaking Sorneith so that one can feel it even here?” He shook his head. “No. All I am asking is for the tiniest spark of your eternal flame, and in exchange you will have your answer.” The Flamecaller fell silent and locked eyes with her brother. Neither moved for a long time until, gaze still pointed at him, she reached a talon to the nape of her neck, plucked the finest wisp from her flaming mane, brought it to her mouth, and blew. The tiny flame, by some ancient fire spell unaffected by the Tidelord’s wards, grew immediately into a roaring gout of flame which twisted and turned before the calm face of the god. After a moment, the Flamecaller blew again, and the blaze resolved itself into the shape of a Veilspun dragon, kneeling at the foot of the throne. “There,” she snarled. “A piece of my eternal flame, my living eternal flame. Now will you accept my offer?” “Dear sister, this,” the Tidelord proclaimed, “is a fair exchange.” When the last word fell from his mouth, a bubble removed itself from the cloud that swarmed around the god, floating unsteadily across the room and popping on the Flamecaller’s forehead. The eyes of the goddess widened in sudden understanding. “Yes,” she whispered, “I see!” Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving the new creation and the deity alone. The Tidelord watched his sister walk away, the barest of smiles on his face, before turning to the Veilspun that had curled up at his feet. Though she was no longer a being of flame, a trace of it remained in the color of her scales. “And who,” he began, “might you be?” “I,” the dragon replied, blinking her orange eyes, “am Mura.” bio by: Passerinde  Mura's original name was Flamebringer but I felt that was a little too on the nose. |
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