Moss
(#39802680)
Level 17 Tundra
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Female Tundra
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.57 m
Wingspan
3.11 m
Weight
221.62 kg
Genetics
Moon
Basic
Basic
Sand
Paint
Paint
Peacock
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 17 Tundra
EXP: 34776 / 81619
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Biography
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May 14, 2018, TheLeakyCauldron I have arrived at an inn called The Leaky Cauldron. Things are so strange there. Strange dragons, strange but yummy food... and strange magic. The pots and pans know how to wash themselves! You could wave a stick around and say some incantation and magic will happen. It is surprising how much I don't know about the world, but I have to leave this absurd place. May 20, 2018 I have reached a lair built deep into the trunk of an enormous tree. I could see the tree from well before I approached - from the previous region, in fact - but only when I grew closer could I see that there were lairs built into it, and only when I entered did I learn how large these lairs could be. It took the fae dragons who greeted me some time to understand that I couldn't speak, but when I indicated the note, they took me to a chamber filled with strange chemical smells, bubbling cauldrons, and shelves full of beakers filled with colorful fluids, where a bespectacled female pearlcatcher was at work. I heard them discuss other dragons by name - Kotone, and Rosemary - and I was asked to wait. The change happened as soon as the wildclaw and the fae entered the room. I was aware, but distantly: my throat and mouth made sounds, the other dragons responded, but I watched from a great distance, unable to make out the content of their speech or see their expressions in much detail. When I returned, the wildclaw immediately left. The fae's frills were drooping in a way that suggested sorrow, but perhaps I only guessed at that because the pearlcatcher was comforting her. I turned and left the chamber, retracing my steps towards the entrance of the lair. I'd nearly exited when the pearlcatcher caught up to me. "You're leaving already?" she said, perhaps forgetting I couldn't speak. I nodded. "We'd be happy to have you stay," she said. "We owe you. It was good to speak to Safar again." I nodded again, and left the lair. I had finished my task here. I must go somewhere else now. June 10th 2018, Clan Daberath Julianos and Delta huddled together as the tundra entered their small abode. The offer of speaking to Cecil - their son who had gone off to see the world, only to never return again - had not fallen on deaf ears. "We want to know what happened to him - where he is, if he's dead or alive, if he suffered -" Delta interrupted himself to smile, a vain attempt to keep himself from crying. Moss took a deep breath and closed her eyes, gathering into her the strings of souls interconnecting all living things (and dead) in Sornieth. She could easily find the string tying the two parents to their lost offspring, and found him with a smile. "I visited all eleven flights, each of them filled with joyful dragons to welcome me. I married twice over the years of my travels - once in Earth, once in Light. Nympha and Sansa, my two dearest beloved - different like the sun and moon. "Sijna, Shinha, Kija, Calana and Thorne - those are the children I set to the world before I left. They all set out into the world, travelers with curious hearts - I was as proud of them, as I know you were of me, when I decided to leave. "The last Clan I visited was in the lands of the Flamecaller. They were friendly, and my demise is not to be blamed on them - I slipped. Fell, hit my head and everything went dark. It was quick, and I didn't suffer, and the Flamecaller opened her heart to me, so that I may serve her in the life after this. And although I hope not to see you here so soon, I hope that maybe one day, in a thousand years, we might meet again." June 10th 2018, The Fruity Clan The next clan Moss visited was in Wind territory. An ancient lair in the Cloudsong. She was greeted by BrotherSpeedboat, the clan namer. "Welcome! Thank you for making the trip through these unusual new air currents! And who do we have here!" BrotherSpeedboat noticed the scroll on Moss's neck, "May I?" he asked as she allowed him to remove it from the scroll case to open and read. "Oh... Well, we have hosted many hundreds of travelers, and many of our own reach their destination with a deity. I don't expect you to host the souls of all those travelers!" His feathers drooped a bit realizing what kind of dragon Moss was. "Travelers?" An old fae named LadyLavender approached. "Yes, this scroll miss Moss has carried with her says she can host the souls of departed travelers. We have seen so many come and go..." BrotherSpeedboat explained. "One of my first daughters. Espresso. Her dream of seeing many new lands was cut short. She returned home and shortly after, sought out Windsinger." LadyLavender's fins were flat against her neck in sorrow. "Please host her soul for us, tonight?" Moss nodded, and sought out the soul of the departed dragon. The fruity clan celebrated and connected with their long lost daughter for a time. June 17, 2018 Her return to the Viridian Labyrinth came as a mild surprise. Moss had considered her work here complete, yet she was once again approaching the lair's main entrance in the trunk of the Behemoth. This time, one of the tree dragons at the entrance to the lair's main structure recognized her, and took off swiftly at the sight of her. She waited patiently at the entrance until he returned, accompanied by the bespectacled pearlcatcher she remembered from her previous visit here, and a vibrantly-colored fae surrounded by floating, burning candles. She was ushered into lodgings, and visited, over the days that followed, by concerned pairs or other groupings of dragons. Relatives, she was eventually told, of travelers who'd recently left the clan and failed to make contact since. In between these visits, she spent time with a young skydancer, who taught her signs she could make, with claw and wing, to communicate in lieu of speech. At last a pair of fae with bright wings and the pink eyes of the Arcane flight came to visit her, and again, the change came over her. This time she heard more, or perhaps understood more. One of their sons had departed, hoping to visit the land of his parents' birth. They knew of his passing. They only wished to know if had ever reached his goal. He had not. He spoke reassuringly, of love, of children of his own, but he had never reached the lands he sought, and before his spirit left her, she was aware of his parents' sorrow at the news. When occupied by a spirit, she had that spirit's knowledge; she had been able to recognize the signs of a fae's sorrow, although the knowledge left her with the dragon's presence. This knowledge of herself gave her some satisfaction, an unfamiliar experience; it was similar to the feeling she had upon completing a channeling, but not identical. With this knowledge, and the rudimentary signs she had learned, she left the Nature lair again. 5th of July, 2018, Clan Valhall Moss' adventures brought her to the Southern Icefields next. She wandered long, sensing lost souls all around her. It was a land filled with sorrow and confusion and even death itself, creeping between the limbs of fallen trees and dark caves. It was both unnerving and intriguing to her, but she continued on. On and on she went, icicles gathering in her fur as the temperatures dropped further and further. Had she been like any other dragon, it would have been a trouble. A possibly fatal one, even, but Moss kept wandering. After much wandering, she reached a clan. A massive wall of ice was the first thing she saw and outside was a myriad of colors, a cheery marketplace balancing carefully on the edge of a cliff that went straight down into the frigid ocean. It was like the world suddenly ended, there, and only ocean laid ahead. Oddly enough, when a dragon approached her it didn't take more than half a minute before he understood she did not speak. But he only smiled and ushered her inside, though, halted briefly by the entrance to their main lair - a gaping maw of a door leading into the hollow insides of the mountain that held the Fortress of Ends. And by the door sat a tundra, silent and still. "He does not speak either," the wildclaw that'd found her explained softly, "I suppose the two of you are alike in that way." Moss was brought inside and to a big, homey room. A big hearth with many pelts scattered around, high shelves filled with books and trinkets and signs that spoke of subtle wealth and importance. Whoever lived in that room was important, for sure. After some moments of waiting, a rough mirror arrived. He introduced himself as Tyr, the leader of the clan she had arrived to. The two of them gently took the scroll from her, read it and conversed softly. She was asked to wait where she was, and she did. Though she did not move, she took a few moments to look around in the fine room. It was warm, comfortable. Armor, worn and well-cared for, hung was mounted on a dummy in a corner and various, small paintings adorned the walls. A nocturne entered the room, then, looking anxious and uncomfortable. He entered alone, but Moss could see the two dragons from before standing just outside. When the newcomer sat in front of her, she felt the tug of many souls. "Could- do you- Valkyrje?" he asked quietly and Moss knew instantly. A moment later, she felt the soul take over. The two of them spoke, but Moss did not understand the words. She could feel the pain vibrate inside of her, gathering that their parting had been a frightful one. One full of pain and suffering and it saddened her to know, it pained her to see the little nocturne so distraught and full of unjust guilt. As soon as the soul left her, the nocturne fled the room with frightful speed. The mirror from before, Tyr, entered the room again and thanked her softly. He said she was free to stay as long as she wanted, she could partake in any meal or event she wanted as thanks for the great service she had provided. And should she ever want to return, she would always be welcome. But she did not intend to stay, only nodding and leaving. She did find herself some fruits on the way out and cautiously took one, feeling the urge for something sweet after such a painful encounter. On her way out of the main cave, she paused for a moment, observing a great big wall with names and dates and words carved into it. One name in particular stood out to her and Moss frowned, gazing at the almost familiar name. Valkyrje - the soul she'd recently harbored. The echo of pain still lingered and she found it curious. Was she changing, turning into something else? Feelings did not linger with her, cravings for fruits and things like it did not linger within her. What had happened? As she left the clan silently, like a ghost in the night, she was not aware of the thin thread that lingered between her and the soul she'd recently harbored - a small bond that would, for some reason, not actually break. Something had gone wrong, but what? 10/7/18, Clan Everburn Moss wandered around before settling into a clan that callexd itself Everburn. Moss was felt obliged to take the scroll out, rather than wait for it to be found. A grieving mother, Dara, asked for her dead son, Argos. Moss reached through the world, searching for the soul, but was distracted by a soul, dancing around her as she tried to find Argos. She pulled back before trying to find Argos' soul. She succeeded in reaching him, and, instead of a rushing feeling, Moss felt two souls, and each were trying to take control. It felt like they were trying to tear her apart. Not knowing what to do, Moss tried to do the opposite of whatever let her connect to a soul. Her vision fuzzed. She woke up on the floor, with a pearlcatcher pressing a cloth onto her face. A Coatl was fetching things for the pearlcatcher, who called herself Abalone. Moss looked at them quizzically, though she was scared. She was... she hesitated to call it teleportation, but she felt like she had been teleported to the hard stone floor. Moss decided that it would be best to leave. She was in her winter coat, and well... being stuck in an underground lair that sometimes used lava as lighting was not exactly safe for her oily fur. 2020 / 04 / 08 Growing Pains, tacotwix It had been dark, at first. Moss knew that much. Then she had felt something clipped to the nape of her neck, and suddenly her world flooded with colour. All around her, she felt presences, of which one seemed more… tangible than the rest. “Oh good,” a voice, on her left. “you’re awake. You’d best be out of here, then.” The next thing Moss knew, she was somewhere else, her eyes were open, she could communicate with the presences and her mind was filled with a singular purpose. The purpose spoke to her. It said, “You will do the forbidden and play host for the dead, so that others may find closure.” From the beginning, Moss understood she was living for others. She knew she should mind, but all it brought her was a slightly warm feeling in her chest. In the coldness of her shell of soil and magic, she welcomed all heat. As she travelled, Moss began to understand the way dragons, real dragons, worked. She witnessed many of them at their weakest points, communicating with their loved ones; she also filled her mind with the thoughts of the dead, those who had long passed and had things of importance to say. Through the feelings of the souls she hosted, she understood what it meant to be a dragon. She remembered the time she learned about love. She had always felt it within her, an overflow of warmth that flowed from each spirit. Yet she had never known what it was. Then she had heard the three words that brought an influx of heat and startled her into knowledge. ”I love you.” Having said it, the spirit had disappeared from her conscious, returning to the familiar blank slate of a presence with no instrument to communicate through. It had faded away, seemingly content, drifting into the afterlife. She had shaken her head. The spirit had had nothing else to say. And she remembered what they had said back. “T-t-that’s quite alright. Thank you.” At the time, she had thought it was anger that caused the tears. A firm declaration in the spirit’s silence. Now, she knew it was something else. It was peace. She remembered the time she learned about vengeance. Vengeance, she discovered, was wave upon wave burning anger, hate that consumed one’s entire being. The first time she felt it, she decided it was worse than the cold. She had tried to expel the spirit from her body, but the innate purpose embedded in the scroll forbid her from doing so. The swirling vortex of flame and rage had expanded within her and hissed barely-words through her unwilling jaws. In fear and anger, the clan’s warriors struck her, and she had felt something crack. She had fallen, and the spirit was shocked out of her body. Afterwards, they had apologized profusely. “You possessed a baby dragon of ours that was murdered,” they explained, “we have condemned the murderer.” Moss had tilted her head in recognition before bidding them goodbye. That was not only the first time Moss had experienced vengeance. It was also the first time she realised what fear, pain, and death, in turn, were. She had always assumed that being an artificial dragon made her ageless, and incapable of death. But by experiencing pain, it meant- it meant she could and she would eventually die. Moss had been scared. Unbelievably so. She remembered the time she learned about darkness. She had thought the darkness was harmless. That ‘dark’ was simply a state, a descriptor of the level of light in any given area. Then, when she was in the middle of a journey to another clan, a spirit had forced its way through her mental defenses. The next thing she knew, she was staring at the dead body of a Mirror, and the stench of blood was in the air. Turning around, she saw a horrendous sight: before her lay a pile of animals, each mauled to different degrees, sorted neatly into species. Shaking, she stumbled backwards, eyes wide. She sank back onto her haunches and began rocking. Everything was numb. ‘I can’t have killed him,’ She thought. With her head hung low, Moss had run to the nearest village and condemned herself. Using a piece of parchment from her satchel, she began to write. ‘I am a spirit medium,” was spellt out on the paper in a slanted script. “I was possessed by a spirit. It was not the likes of anything I’ve seen before. It was-” she stopped for a moment, licking her lips, before the pencil moved again. “-dark. Very dark.” They had followed her back to the clearing, each brow creased in worry. As soon as the village warriors had discovered the body, they smiled in relief. “No, you see, this can’t be your fault. The forest animals maybe, but that’s forgivable.” the Head of the military force explained. “This is the body of the famous killer Thanatos. It was rumored he committed suicide not long ago. I suppose we know the truth of that, now. His body is barely two days old.” Moss huffed a sigh. Sensing her obvious ease, the warriors nodded in unison. “But try not to be possessed by a spirit lacking such light next time. Those are the most dangerous, and you might do something worse. Okay?” Moss felt a tendril snake past the mane of her winter coat. She shivered. It felt poisonous and black, before all else. Yet spirits did not have colour. Trembling, she managed a nod. That day Moss learned about darkness. She learned about how it was not simply the opposite of light, but the representation of perpetual evil. Moss vowed never to be dark. Vengeance had been burning, a red hot vortex that engulfed her and filled her with heat. Darkness was different. It was cold, far colder than she had ever been. It was a black hole, apathetic and destructive. Darkness was not caring where you were, only that it would be gone soon enough; darkness was not caring what was around you, only that you needed to destroy it; darkness was not caring who was with you, only that they needed to be dead. Moss shivered. She vowed never to feel the dark again. That day, she had taken her scroll out of her scroll case and scrawled more words on it. Her purpose now read: "You will do the forbidden and play host for the dead, so that others may find closure. The dark you may leave alone. They deserve to wander Sornieth for eternity." As she travelled between clans, Moss felt a variety of emotions. Some had been evil. The worst of the worst, things unmentionable. She had hated them, but they were her duty all the same. For if even the barest of lights shone upon the spirit, it was Moss’s responsibility to help them find closure. And finally, Moss remembered the time she had first learned happiness. She had thought she understood it. She had thought she understood all the emotions. Now, she knew she was wrong. For all the years Moss had walked through the land of Sornieth, she had never once understood. She was cold, unnaturally so. Yet a warmth flared in her chest every time she felt a spirit travel safely to the afterlife. She knew not what it was, not until she stood, triumphant, above both the living and the dead. The warmth in her chest was happiness. 
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Exalting Moss 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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