Neve
(#39836559)
Level 7 Skydancer
Familiar
Garden Watcher
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Female Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.44 m
Wingspan
4.61 m
Weight
778.62 kg
Genetics
Forest
Poison
Poison
Forest
Toxin
Toxin
Berry
Capsule
Capsule
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 7 Skydancer
EXP: 601 / 11881
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
- Mythology
- Baxter
- Ranger
- Cadfarch
- Groom
- War
- Leicester
- Unnamed
- Giantspine
- Rene
- Nixie
- Merriment
- Barbara
- TadCooper
- Pyro
- Darrin
- Vanguard
- Thee
- Sammy
- Iozefina
- Ciero
- Vincent
- Ciana
- Rathza
- Riptide
- Color
- Runescale
- Eutechios
- Jiro
- Beacon
- Tonsie
- Brullyg
- Mamie
- Qizon
- Latashia
- Aonani
- Lieselotte
- MegaAbsols
- MegaAbsols
- Honeymelon
- Tael
- Tael
- Hetira
- Zipper
- Galliard
- Gemard
- Ripsaw
- Telana
- Amphibia
- Irvin
- aaaaaaa
- aaaaaa
- Lisil
- Batutu
- Boil
- Morass
- Din
- Sunburst
- Poison
- Zomboo
- Sludge
- Tolgar
- Carmeli
- Zuraas
- Winterknight
- Praell
- Alexio
- Pitch
- Khusavir
- Wandaemita
- Irvin
- Unnamed
- Murgen
- Puck
- Andradite
- Delta
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Arataki
- Alanzo
- Tefur
- Pain
- Shumer
- Lorn
- Laz
- Leno
- Bliss
Biography
(PG13: Possible trigger warning: Blood/Gore/Implied violence)
Everything is wrong, nothing is right.
There's just skin and bones now. A shell. A vessel to house the never ending hunger and need to eat. To feast. To gorge. Feet shuffle, stumble, scuffle along the ground with the tail dragging behind. Eyes no longer truly see, and yet they somehow latch onto movement, to color, to life. Life. It has none, but it craves it. As if by devouring life of another will somehow infuse its empty being with feeling, with meaning, with something.
With anything.
Something moves. It darts away, but the sight was seen, and attention was snared. It's hard to roar when one's jaw is slack and drool continually slips free. It still has teeth though, rotting, blackened, but razor sharp all the same. Teeth and talons. It can still use these things, not because it remembers what they are for, but because instinct drives it. The muscles remember, the brain does not.
Life is faded, unjust. It's nothing more than an old crumpled up paper of a memory tossed about in the wind along a deserted street. The feet continue to walk, the wings continue to twitch, and it continues to feed wherever possible. The moment it can sink its teeth into something warm, fresh, alive, it can feel again. It can, for the briefest of moments, catch a tiny spark of life.
It wriggles maggot-like, eating through flesh and sinew. There's a flash behind the unseeing shutters over its eyes, a glimpse of what it used to be. A father, a mother, a son, a daughter, something alive and worthy. Even though the spark is fleeting, ebbing away before the heart stops beating and the blood stops flowing, it's enough. Enough to keep the feet moving, the wings twitching. Shuffling, stumbling, scuffling along the ground, waiting for another movement to catch its eye, a chance at another piece of life it can never truly have again.
In those brief moments, it's more than skin and bones.
Everything is right, nothing is wrong.
Everything is wrong, nothing is right.
There's just skin and bones now. A shell. A vessel to house the never ending hunger and need to eat. To feast. To gorge. Feet shuffle, stumble, scuffle along the ground with the tail dragging behind. Eyes no longer truly see, and yet they somehow latch onto movement, to color, to life. Life. It has none, but it craves it. As if by devouring life of another will somehow infuse its empty being with feeling, with meaning, with something.
With anything.
Something moves. It darts away, but the sight was seen, and attention was snared. It's hard to roar when one's jaw is slack and drool continually slips free. It still has teeth though, rotting, blackened, but razor sharp all the same. Teeth and talons. It can still use these things, not because it remembers what they are for, but because instinct drives it. The muscles remember, the brain does not.
Life is faded, unjust. It's nothing more than an old crumpled up paper of a memory tossed about in the wind along a deserted street. The feet continue to walk, the wings continue to twitch, and it continues to feed wherever possible. The moment it can sink its teeth into something warm, fresh, alive, it can feel again. It can, for the briefest of moments, catch a tiny spark of life.
It wriggles maggot-like, eating through flesh and sinew. There's a flash behind the unseeing shutters over its eyes, a glimpse of what it used to be. A father, a mother, a son, a daughter, something alive and worthy. Even though the spark is fleeting, ebbing away before the heart stops beating and the blood stops flowing, it's enough. Enough to keep the feet moving, the wings twitching. Shuffling, stumbling, scuffling along the ground, waiting for another movement to catch its eye, a chance at another piece of life it can never truly have again.
In those brief moments, it's more than skin and bones.
Everything is right, nothing is wrong.
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Feed this dragon Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
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Exalting Neve 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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