Aldrin
(#33032599)
Level 4 Tundra
Familiar
Flamescale Lancer
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Tundra
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.78 m
Wingspan
3.41 m
Weight
404.62 kg
Genetics
Stone
Ripple
Ripple
Steel
Striation
Striation
Gold
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 4 Tundra
EXP: 2483 / 4027
STR
13
AGI
6
DEF
14
QCK
5
INT
13
VIT
10
MND
11
Biography
ALDRIN 
  
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Aldrin was among the first to call himself a Raconteur. His name is second, on the list of the clan's members in the Observatory's files - right after Myriad, his first love, who he adores no less than Nytheri and Umbra. To say the clan has grown a lot since then would be a severe understatement on more levels than one. But - take it from the dragon who vanished from its embrace for decades on end, returning in a burst at its lowest point - it smells the same. Aldrin is, above all else, fiercely loyal. He can be thick-headed, charming in his occasional oafishness, and certainly he tries a bit too hard in most areas. However, not one of his clanmates disagrees on this: He's indispensable. He's the best forager in the Starwood Cove, and a fearsome warrior, too. His endless pep talks can be cheesy and exasperating, but the good ones stick with you for a lifetime. He's the clan dad, basically, a gentle and nurturing force that makes the entire clan glow brighter and warmer. Hurt his feelings and the entirety of both sister clans will cut you. But, the rule that apples to every Raconteur doesn't falter on him: There's something off about him. Something uncanny, hard to pin down. His movements are either impossibly quick or slow and fluid. He can adapt to literally anything, no matter what shape he has to bend himself in to do it. Sometimes, at night, he'll stare at the starwood trees, as if trying to make some sense of them. Looking for something within the sparkling boughs. He's nice, he's a real proper dad. But no one knows what goes through his head. |
  
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On her way to the Focal Point after receiving word of the Luminous Raconteurs’ formation, Myriad happened upon a lost traveller. He was a tundra (naturally), who had forgotten both where the path was and where he was going (naturally). He was a bit distractible, a bit stuck-in-the-clouds, but his pink eyes sparkled with a deeper, more profound soul under all the fluff, and his smile had an honesty to it Myriad had never really seen before. She decided he was cute, and to take pity on the poor soul. His name was Aldrin. They found Lithian stepping out of the Focal Point with the official documentation of their new clan, before they had even written their own name down. Myriad declared with pride her desire to join, and before Aldrin could think to stop them, Lithian had written down both of their names, thus marking them as the clan’s progenitors. The three settled into a cavern low to the base of the Crystalspine Reaches, just high enough to evade the tide but low enough to breathe in the sweet salt… and scrub it out of things constantly. And take the brunt of radioactive typhoons. And deal with wandering monsters from the nearby Crystal Pools. It was undebatably perfect. As soon as it was clear enough that Myriad and Aldrin could hold down the fort, Lithian returned to their pilgrimage to gather the wayward souls they’d encountered. This cause, while noble, left Myriad and Aldrin alone together enough to decide if they loved or hated each other for better or for worse. Strangely, though, in the months they spent at each others’ sides, neither of them seemed to be able to decide which they preferred. They were both desperately insufferable, with exaggerated species traits, particular about their eating habits. Aldrin would bring Myriad pungent fish, and Myriad would ask Aldrin for useless trivia she’d shared with him not five minutes before. They could hardly communicate enough to keep things together on a day-to-day basis, forget about sharing emotions. And yet they did it. Aldrin asked for advice on reading fae finspeak. Myriad learned to remind Aldrin of the day’s tasks periodically, until they became muscle memory. They humbled and empowered each other, until the teasing was endearing instead of bothersome, and keeping the lair afloat became easier as a pair. It was when Myriad fell asleep on Aldrin’s back one evening, on the way home from the local market, that it sank in like a sweet scent: He wanted to spend every day with her, just like this. Lithian returned with a whole mess of misfits to a cozy, foliage-rich lair, the clan’s first nest filled with bumbling, spinning eggs. Kerys, Malia, Blaze, Spalder, and Colter. Aldrin memorized each name with a careful, methodical precision. He recited them every day when he woke up, and again until he fell asleep. He would have died for each of his children individually, without a moment’s hesitation, just to keep them safe - but why would he ever have to? How could things ever go so terribly? His children were safe. The clan was safe. Kerys, Malia, Blaze, Spalder, and Colter. Myriad was out hunting the day they were kidnapped. Aldrin pursued his hatchlings across the Starfall Isles with the determination only the most impassioned of fathers can have. He forgot where his clan was. He forgot his mate’s face. He forgot everything, but he clung to the scents of his children, and he clung to the memory of their names. Kerys, Malia, Blaze, Spalder, and Colter. Their little bodies were tucked into the furthest reaches of the flight, where their killer was certain no one would find them. Aldrin did. He spent a full three days cradling the first corpse he found, heartbroken, and for every step after dread weighed his movements. He already knew he was too late before he found the last of his children, so heavy was the reek of death around his head. It was only a matter of time before he found the killer, and when he did, he showed not a shred of mercy. He stood over that mangled corpse, teeth dripping with blood, chest heaving, until all at once exhaustion crushed him. He could hardly move his leaden limbs, nor discern where one wound ended and another began, but he turned and he staggered back through the woods, clinging to the only scent he still recognized. Kerys. Malia. Blaze. Spalder. Colter. Kerys. Malia. Blaze… Arcanist above, what were the twins named? Kerys. Maria? Something to do with fire… It started with K… He found their names again as he fell from a cliff at the Starwood Strand’s edge, and landed on a slight, mossy outcropping with a hard jolt. His heartbeat was slowing, the scents around him were blurring, he couldn’t have long, he didn’t have long, he had to remember…. he had to remember… Kerys… Malia… Blaze, Spalder, Colter. And then he thought no more. |
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Years passed. While scouting the Starfall Isles for a stable, expandable residence for her clan, Myriad spotted the strangest thing - a Starwood birch tree clinging to the cliffside. She landed at its roots, poked around it, and ultimately failed to determined how the heck an adult Starwood tree grew there of all places. But it was comfy, in its weirdness, so she scaled its trunk and settled among its blossoming branches. She slept better there than she ever had before… at least since that unspeakable day, long since buried and bottled up. When Myriad woke in the middle of the night, surrounded by glistening blue blossoms, she had only one thought: This is home. She left only to lead Lithian to the spot and convince them to approve it. Thus, the Luminous Raconteurs dug their city into that cliff face. They planted more trees, which grew with Starwood Birch’s famous speed, though they were somewhat more purple than the original tree, which was evidently unusually golden. Still, the slight difference in coloration makes it easy for Myriad to find it, a book in her hand, to snuggle into it and lose track of time. No one knew. The clan was thrown into chaos the day Mesmer’s brew went off. A solid fourth of the lair collapsed, with over a dozen dragons buried under a hundred feet of rock and dirt. At the center of the wreck was the mangled corpse of a fae alchemist and the shattered, barely-breathing body of his mate, Myriad. No one knew. Every able claw, wing, and mage in the clan set to work, digging with a frenzy, unearthing coughing friends and cold bodies alike. It was over a day before they found the place where Mesmer’s workshop had once been, and the clan’s almost-dead manager with it. She was rushed to the hastily-erected medical pavilion, though the doctors and healers feared for the worst. No one knew. Her surviving mate was distraught. Her son was traumatized. Her clan was frantic. And still, for over a month she rarely moved and barely breathed. She was unresponsive. The clan completed most of their rebuilding, mourning, and investigation without her, though sans her guidance and logic, it was a messy affair. A local druid - in a last ditch attempt to bring her back - carried her to her favorite tree, and set her arcane tome on her lap. Then she realized there was a presence within the tree, and it, too, was slumbering. It was the clan’s only hope: Send a powerful enough pulse of arcane magic through the tree, with Myriad still in it, and pray to the Arcanist that Oberonna was onto something. Every arcane dragon in the clan gathered that very day. A runic circle was painted into the mossy roots, and along its edge, a sentence was written in a carefully encoded language: Kha’rys maligna, infern spel dyr kha’lter. Banish this illness, magic burn this wakefulness. The tree exploded, too, but when the dust settled, there was a weeping tundra, cradling his mate. She whispered something, claw raising to Aldrin’s cheek, and then she went limp. The rush began anew. Myriad was carried, by Aldrin, to the newly rebuilt medical wing of the clan, and by midnight, every mage in the clan was exhausted, but Myriad’s heart was beating. Never once did Aldrin let go of her, though he (with some reluctance) allowed Nytheri to hold her, too, and then with considerably more delight permitted Eksta and Starborne to snuggle in, too. The four fell asleep like that, just like that, finding some strange comfort in the warm, dusty embrace. As the years went by, Aldrin and Nytheri started to accept each other’s presence, and then each other’s love. Eksta and Starborne embraced Aldrin as a father figure, and he took to them like a moth to the light, nurturing them with the excitement and joy the clan’s oldest members recalled fondly. And slowly, Myriad unwound, settling into her new life. She’ll always grieve her losses, but she doesn’t have nothing. She never has to be alone. They’re a little family, a broken one, but still they’re a family. |
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MYRIAD ~ Clan Manager
Stuff about Myri goes here. |
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By Clya
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This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
Plant stocks are currently depleted.
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Exalting Aldrin 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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