paintminion » Hibernal Den » Avenmoor

Avenmoor

(#37086418)

Level 1 Imperial

Familiar

Bramble Guardian

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

29.47 m

Wingspan

16.84 m

Weight

6766.89 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Crystal

Obsidian
Facet

Purple
Opal

Hatchday

Nov 03, 2017
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Ice
Common

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

_____

_____________________________

M O R R O W

She was Morrow

Gnarled claws scraped the calamitous ruin, watching its chalky layers gather on the underside of her talon. She resonated with the ruins. They were like her, aching and longing for life to gather at its feet once more. Spirits left to rot amongst themselves, creatures of hellish mutilations whinnying and hissing at the limited glow of the candles, retreating into the shadows to birth themselves their energy.

Morrow held no comfort in these crumbling walls. Lanterns strung from her body kept the spirits from snatching her into the darkness. But she did not detest their company. She did not loathe the way the spectres coiled about her limbs, brushing by her feathers. Her vacant gaze held the dim light as she watched them. She felt the pull of her soul’s cords start to wither around them, but she held an affinity for their appearance that she could not explain. Deep within herself, she pondered whether or not she simply desired the illusion of a playful companion.

The halls she wandered were a testament to the life drained from its very core. She scooped up the skulls of lost and passed birds, sewing them into a morbid necklace to keep upon herself. A reminder of a living she could not delve herself into.

But she could hear the world evolve around her. Eons of listening, perched high upon the cracking, decaying towers, where the light could bleed and stain the bleached stone and brick. The chatter of the living, the laughter, the joyous company was a land she did and could not know. Her claws found themselves firmly dug into the stone, lips peeling back and teeth snarling, the pain of an aching heart mutating into a contorted hatred for the land she was not allowed to inhabit. She stole herself away and kept in wait.

Morrow did not find the adventurers brave, for entering. There was no courage in this land, no fame and glory to be had. She remembered, her little body dragged and dumped to be forgotten. A mistake. A memory best left to the dead. Wide eyes dripping thick with tears and mouth open to scream for her departing family. She knew nothing but grief. And when the phantoms began to slither upon her coiled body, she realised that not even in parting can one be free of such heartache. There had been no soul to challenge her, no creature to confirm her living status. And so, she allowed herself to die. Another spectre, crawling about the fine spaces of the ruin.

She felt the ghost of fingers, the blueish tint against her wings, cobwebs illuminated and brushed past. A malevolent spirit, hunched over and drifting by. Skeletal and colossal in size, Morrow’s heart began to fill with an abnormal love, wings fluttering up to scale the beast’s skull. She offered it a wind between the rags of its cloak, claws clung to its bones and perching as if a trained pet. Her brambled cloak scraped against its body, and she could not stay for long, before finding herself fearful of the beast’s pull. It was a death she knew she could not return from, lest she perform a magic she did not know.

In the recesses of the night, her ignorance gave means of an idea. She began to contemplate, stroking the feathers of her wings and retreating to the breaching darkness. Morrow desired to bring the forgotten back. Years of abandoning, years left to fall to ruin and crumble. She found her body shaking and a laugh escape her lips.

She could create a new world, with merely an idea. She would seek her revenge, and build her forgotten empire back from the very jaws of the reaper. She cackled, claws clinging to the bricks until they started to crack. She needed it. Her plan would come to fruition, and she would find her means of making it happen.

She perched upon the archs with new purpose. She screamed a laugh at the rising sun and let her body bask in the glow of dawn. The world would be quick to wake with the skies, and challengers would be approaching. She would find herself a new home. A new world in which to invade, to study and learn, to create. A journey unto which her plan could develop.

Morrow heard them. She heard their distant chatter, the singsong conversation of adventurers willing to plunge into the depths in the hope of finding reward greater than risk. Her body skid from the arches, whipping down to infest the cracks, squeezing back into the darkness.

Now, all she must do, is wait. A game of tricks, and one requiring patience.

A game she could play, and play well.

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best
shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends,
and where the other begins?

~~ Edgar Allen Poe ~~

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Credits

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bio Layout by @Paintminion 3/5/2018
Story by @ ???
Haunted Candles and other misc elements from
@PoisonedPaper found here.
Animated Haunted Sidebars by @Nirwana found here.
Shadow Shadowdancer by @Drytil found here.

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Avenmoor to the service of the Windsinger 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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