Osmanthus
(#37284866)
Level 1 Wildclaw
Familiar
Infestation Hound
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.41 m
Wingspan
6.82 m
Weight
522.96 kg
Genetics
Tarnish
Poison
Poison
Swamp
Butterfly
Butterfly
White
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
NOT FOR SALE, TRADE, OR LENDING
 Necromancer O S M A N T H U S { os - MAN - thoos } Nickname: Osman x. Ancient Greek: fragrant flower ♦ AH Purchase  Osmanthus by Yura Mari
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STATS
     
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RELATIONSHIPS
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INVENTORY
|
~ lore ~
written by Disillusionist Osamthus was born into a small clan where witchcraft and superstition held sway. The tribe's lead seer was an old dragoness whose powers were quickly fading. She would have to give up her position soon -- but she guarded it fiercely and was loath to surrender it to the next generation, whom she deemed callow and unworthy. Sooner or later, she would be replaced....She knew that. Through glaucous eyes she beheld the new hatchlings, and a bit of her sanity slipped away. Most of the hatchlings were saved from her some days later, when she acted on her mad jealousy. Osmanthus was not so lucky. His eyes had been gouged out, and for many days the young Wildclaw drifted in a fever. Where there had been the shifting shadows of the Tangled Wood, there was now an impenetrable darkness. "Osmanthus, can you hear us?" His parents tried to call him back. He struggled feebly towards them, in the darkness both inside and outside his mind, reaching out with his claws. He was very young; he could not grasp -- or accept -- that he was now completely blind. He believed that if only he concentrated hard enough, light would come to him again.... One day, a butterfly appeared. It was a mote of soft light that fluttered through the darkness, moving as though fighting against a phantom wind. Osmanthus felt much the same way. He bent his weary head, and the butterfly meandered forward and landed on his nose. It was like a kiss of spring rain, cool and soothing, with the promise of growth, of new life. After that, he was less afraid. The hound came to him some days later. Its flesh had begun to rot further in the tepid air of the swamplands, yet it struggled on. Osmanthus saw it staggering towards him, a luminous form drawn in silver and gold. The tribe gasped and whispered uneasily, but he did not hear them. He stretched out a paw....The light shimmered, and he imagined that it felt like silk in water....It did not. He touched a bare skull, tatters of decaying flesh. The tribe groaned in disgust, but the next instant the disgust gave way to wonder as the hound bent its legs and laid its head on the ground. It had found a new master. Osmanthus' fever broke the next day. His near brush with death had bound him closely to it: The old dragoness had thought he would supplant her as a seer, but this proved to be untrue. He could only see and commune with the dead, or those who were near it, as once he had been. Nonetheless, necromancy, like many brands of magic, is worthy of respect. After Osmanthus recovered fully, he began training. He sharpened his ability to commune with the dead, and he learned the mundane rituals that go with this field, such as funerals and prayers. He also learned the darker secrets of his art, though not very eagerly. Once he had the knowledge, he sealed it away, kept it at the back of his mind. There were those who would use such secrets to acquire power, but he preferred to think of them as last resorts. When he was grown, he bade his clan farewell. He drew a hood over his ruined face and then set out into the wide world with his faithful hound at his side. His tribe had no place for a necromancer, but he didn't doubt that there were clans out there that needed his talents. The seers of his tribe had told him so. He soon came to a park shaded by many tall trees. To ordinary dragons, the place was hushed, but Osmanthus heard the murmur of many voices, whispers of those who had gone on. This park was a graveyard, and the hound told him, in the language they had put together over the years, that there was a Fae nearby, a gravekeeper. "Welcome, stranger," she buzzed to him. "You have found the Disillusionists' Grove of Memory. Visitors are welcome to pay their respects, though I must let you know that you are encouraged to move on as soon as you can." "Move on?" Osmanthus echoed. He was half-listening, for the hound was now describing another dragon to him. "Or stay," the Fae admitted. By the sound of her voice, she seemed to be turning away. Then the hound finished speaking, and Osmanthus realized there was another dragon: a great black Guardian crouched beneath the trees. He now rose to his full height, his wings rustling mightily as he did so. But the voice with which he spoke was very gentle. "Welcome to the Disillusionists' grounds. My name is Haruspex." "Harus...pex? You are...a seer?" "Indeed I am, young drake. I've been waiting for you." There was a smile in that voice, and Osmanthus understood that his journey was over. He had found his new home. |
Stat bars made by me. Vista BGs are from Hazeledpoppy's FR blog.
"Theme" music graphics made by Diamondsuits.
♥ Sepia Rose Thorn Collar and Banner gifted by Alixe.
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Exalting Osmanthus 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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