Marlowe
(#40089522)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Glamourtail Hopper
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Imperial
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
29.55 m
Wingspan
23.03 m
Weight
5889.47 kg
Genetics
Dirt
Metallic
Metallic
Thistle
Shimmer
Shimmer
Steel
Opal
Opal
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
Stones at the shrine //
Arranged with care //
While sombre hymns //
Float through the air
Secretary-Bodyguard Intelligent Curious Kindly DETAILS NICKNAME; N/A GENDER; Male PRONOUNS; he/him ORIENTATIONS; ??? ALIGNMENT; Lawful Good LIKES; Bogart, Phylliroe, his Skycrest Bicorn and Rusty Golem, his coworkers at the Drake's Herald DISLIKES; Mieville, Beastclans RELATIONS Bogart; Adopted father Nilrasha; Mate Phylliroe; Adopted daughter ART Marlowe Rampant by StardustRaptor Christmas Marlowe by Saraceaser xxx by credit  
|
The two Light eggs barely shone at the bottom of the deep pit. Occasionally, a patrolling Sprangyroo would look down, or pull their Boran away from the rim of the pit. A few Longneck chewed their cud nearby, eyeing the fierce Boran with naked longing. They were young enough to think being a Boran-rider was a good idea, better than staying with their herds. The Sprangyroo looked at them briefly, sizing the pair up before turning to lead the Boran back to its stables–a reworked hothouse in another part of the ruined grounds the Beastclan used as a base. “Cawlastrites.” the Sprangyroo huffed, yanking the Boran’s halter to get the great spined lizard to move. The Longnecks pretended not to notice. “Acuzz ehck.” one said, twitching its ears in a way that it thought was very mature. “Wxaa cii ehck...” the other replied, looking over the side of the pit, the want of a Boran all but forgotten. They were proud of the egg-capture, as all their clan was. It took hard work, luck, and bravery to lure two canny old Imperials from their nest, resisting the hypnotic urge of the two shining orbs to slip them away, and cunning to hide them long enough to hatch. The parents, the older Longnecks said, were old dragons, Shatter-old. Their hatchlings, while only two at this clutching, would be best for their purposes. In time. In time. Coldness…darkness…clutching, clinging, wet… Mother? Mother? Mother? The two Imperial pups squirmed and kicked in the egg, scraping with their hard little first-claws, their egg-claws. They could hear one another’s peeps and squeaks, and it encouraged them to push and move further, cracking their eggs together, then apart. The female was slightly smaller than the male, though she was out of the egg first. Her snout bumped into her brother’s egg, giving it a wet crack. The male–smaller, paler–tumbled out, spreading his wings wide and flipping them a little to dry. They trembled against each other, looking around for the parents they instinctively knew should be there be there be there! “Fazher?” the female called, the male echoing her as they huddled into a corner. “Muzzer?” Far above, the Longneck yelled their terrible cries of joy– Isxfi! Isxfi! Ewsf fisx fiufdek zelll! The little Imperials mewled and whimpered at the bottom of the waste pit day after day, trying to find food, trying to get free. They slept pressed together, tails and necks wrapped tight around one another, wings curved over their heads like umbrellas. Starving, hungry, and cold, they slowly began to develop all the same, determined to one day escape and find Mother and Father, because Mother and Father had to be out there, somewhere! And then the Beastfolk dropped into their pit. Swinging rods and knives, they beat them and bled them though the days and darks, snapped the tender horn-buds of the pups and injured them further when the blood ran down their crests. The male didn’t know when his sister fell, wasn’t sure in his frightened hatchling-mind if that mattered, all he knew was that when one of the strange two-foot monsters grabbed her, he dashed forwards, digging his remaining teeth into the monster’s overlong forepaw until it dropped Sister. He clambered over her, shrieking his battlecry until he fell atop her. The last thing he heard was one of the monsters speaking in their strange, ugly tongue, their quivering laughter shaking his body. “Vnor ervp…gwwq kjoya.” Chained in the dark. Chained around his sister’s hind paw, refusing to let go. “We stay togesster.” the male says, his hatchling’s lisp still evident as he murmurs something between a promise and a prayer. “Safe with Brother. Sizter? Sizter?” Silence. Nights passed, and the two grew closer. It was as if their wounds healed each other, that his sister’s flesh grew soft and pliable as they snuggled deep into the worn canvas and straw that made their bed in the small kennel aboveground. She didn’t talk so much, so he had to keep up the noise, little hatchling cries for anybody who was listening to help them. A few slices in the soft hide below his eye–their eye–down to his nose (their nose) taught them to be silent. A great pale dragon, (a dragon like them, but bigger, much bigger!), had landed, and the Prince dragged itself out to look. This dragon shone like the moon, its long golden wings sparkling beautifully. Hearing the Prince, it turned its long, elegant head, its strange black face-covering like armor or horn hiding its expression. The Prince was half-decent, if that. Young, ill-formed, over-broken and under-fed. Not a good base at all, but Mieville supposed that was the price of working with a Beastclan. He must bring Game Changer here as fast as possible and begin the process before more damage could be done. “Huik cn’pyq, hixzk. Oj…ewfis x’fi ufdcd’c’zel.” Beastclan language was like listening to a meat cleaver, and its speech had about the same finesse, but he had picked up that the obsequious stammer on the “Oj” was rather important to hear from a dragon. Victory for Longneck, victory for Longneck…did they ever get tired of hearing that ridiculous line? Ignoring the increased shrieks of the Prince, Mieville extended his long wings and took off, flying through the Hewn City with a slow, meandering path to try and lose any followers. Mieville should not have worried about his flight path. The small silver-gray Imperial, Bogart, had tailed the bigger white from their clan’s lair to the sprawling estate’s maze, where the sounds of Beastclan tongue–and more importantly, dragon pups–echoed even from far above. His small size had its advantages–he was able to circle around slowly, and the Hewn City’s twilight gave him camouflage as well. Dropping into the center of the square and hugging his body to the flagstones, Bogart swept his head from side to side, hearing the Beastclan members running for weapons, and his eye caught the Prince. The poor thing was scared, twisted and hurt, but young and fresh enough that recovery was possible for the male. The female was long dead. He picked up the Prince in his mouth and shook it, hard, feeling the flesh part in his jaws. The two little forms fell apart, and Bogart moved them far apart from one another while he plunged into the Beastclan caves. The Prince threw itself down and sobbed as the strange white dragon took off, begging it to come back, come back, help them! A smaller dragon, deep silver-gray, landed, and the Prince turned to them. Now that it was in smelling distance, it could smell the other Imperial as a male. Was this Father? Father, your children, Father… There was pity in his brown eyes, and the Prince knew enough instinct to fear that expression. Dragging itself backwards, it tried to growl from its melding throat even as Father picked it up and shook it–him!–free in a terrible shuddering rip of flesh that released him at last from his dead sister. Father moved away, placing a binding of shells and precious metal around her neck before dribbling a little mush and water into both her and her brother’s mouth. Bogart dashed inside, stocky legs pounding as he tore through the Beastclan hideout. He could have captured one for study and questioning, of course, but they had created what should not be, what must not be–Emperors were battles amongst the gods, but Princes were the business of the Imperial breed. Emerging again from the hideout, he was pleased to see that the siblings had made no move to recombine. That was the first good sign of the night, to his way of thinking. He buried the female in a good rest, a stone lair overlooking the river, and bearing the most precious of cargo, winged his way home. In the darkness of the Hewn City, Bogart moved with a roughfooted caution through the ruins, a little bundle carried gently in his mouth. Yaremka trotted to him, her long Wildclaw legs moving in the sleek lope of her species. “Where have you been in two days?” she asked, her long tail slowly dancing back and forth. “You look like you’ve fought a Maren patrol by yourself. A pod of Maren, for that matter. And what–” Bogart shuddered, his great nostrils wide and huffing as he dropped the bundle into the bend of his right forelimb. “Yaremka, this…” he pressed his snout to hers, balancing on three legs as they touched wingtip to wingtip. “Yaremka, this is…I need to speak to Mieville.” Yaremka let out a smooth, slow breath. “With what you just brought in, you’re right that it’s between Mieville and you.” “Bogart?” Mieville asked, stepping from the shadows. His body still struck Bogart as unfinished, his wings scrolled rather than wide-to-tight balanced. The pale white Imperial kept his head scrunched down between his shoulders, too. His Tundra heritage was hitting him hard tonight, and Bogart brought his tail up, ready to crack him on the snout if things got out of hand. “Bogart, you’re sweet.” Mieville crooned, his black lacquer mask sliding off light like oil. “That’s a lovely plume you have, too. What is it?” “Break your bones, Mieville.” Bogart snarled. “You know what it is. You vanished into the Darks. You come back with chain and wing-machines and now I find this?!” “What?” Bogart rattled his wings, bringing them stiff and level, ready to injure or blow. “Allying with Scholars? Mediums? Sprangyroo and Boran? What do you want to find in these ruins that shouldn’t be burned past belief? I keep you in this clan because you’re useful, and more importantly, you’re dangerous. I kept it quiet when Dreamer showed up mangy, because I could transfer him somewhere safe, but this–” Mieville cocked his long, lacquer-masked head, tongue flickering out. Bogart gently unfolded his forearm, and a small Imperial pup fell onto a hollow in the stone, letting out a piteous cry. Its side was raw and bleeding, and it drew its thin, limp wings over its head, quivering. “Creating a Prince? What did you want, Mieville? You didn’t know what you were doing, you and Game Changer. You didn’t. You can’t seem to find a stopping point, can you? But you brought a pup into this, and that–I should kill you for this. Tear you apart for daring to try to hurt…” The pup whimpered, and Bogart scooped him up again. “His name is Marlowe. And you’ll keep a grave-chain on your neck, and stay away, or I’ll tear you worse than your butterflies tore your son that first time.” Mieville slithered down into one of his tunnels as Bogart began to back towards his own lair, neither willing to turn their back on the other. “Fazher?” the little, broken creature in Bogart’s arm peeped. The stocky gray rumbled, a comforting vibrato sound. “Yes, little one. Father. Come along now, love, it’s bedtime.” ________________ Earth Father – How are you? I am a little scared. The word from the Beacon frightens me, and Bogart–for all intents my adopted father–says there is no recourse in the Lightweaver’s claws. She stands at the ivory tower on the edge of the world, Father says, and leaves the rest of us in the dark with the monsters. Father told me about Dragonhome, about the safety and warmth in your rests and caverns. I want to see it someday, soon. They say that in the depths of Cairnstone, there are skeleton wyrms. What are they like? I am not strong enough yet to dig far or pull rock. I am small, and scars still remain from where Father tore me from my dead sister. It wasn’t my fault, he says. I don’t want to be an I’m happy Father protects me when I have bad dreams and terrors. He says you do, too. So, thank you very much. – Marlowe ________________________ Hello, Fahz…Father. It’s Marlowe–that Light-born Imperial, the adopted child. I wanted to thank you for accepting our clan back into Earth. Waking up in the chambers of Cairnstone Rest is so soothing, especially when I have nightmares. It is safer in the deep caverns, sir, illuminated with glowing stone. There are such kindly creatures–we met a Rusty Golem while exploring, and I have made good friends with him. There is better food in Earth, too–I am just over a Terran “month”*, and already I am a full eight meters longer than Bogart. Bogart has been very kind to me, and I now serve as his secretary-bodyguard. I keep our papers and records in order, and when Bogart’s 25 Levels are not understood by invaders, my size seems to impress and intimidate them. They rarely recognize my scars as the attempts to create an Imperial, and think that they are from battles instead. We earned a Sunguard Chest, and I use it to cover my chest links where it’s worst. Better still, it is really very useful when we’re exploring, since it offers such steady light; and when we meet new clans or tribes it lights up when they have good intentions towards us! Thank you for gracing us with so much aid, and I assure you, if I find any of those Shade-jesters, I will drive them towards the pit with wing and fire and claw. You are a kind god, Earth Father, and our clan’s prayers are filled only with joy towards You. We thank you for stone and deep and slope, thank you for the memories and tales you pass on, and your kind words for all ages, from aged dame to new-wet hatchling. – Marlowe ___________________ Marlowe looked at himself in the great polished mirror, unsure of what to think. The skin that lay in front of him, hovered beside him, was beautiful. He had received it, seen it around, and wondered. Was it vain to cover his scars? Would he remember his injuries, look at them head-on in mirrors, look at them through the reactions of others by watching their eyes, widening in disgust or distress? He stretched out his right wing, examining the stiff, crack-edged, jewel-like scars that were still so stiff even after Protector's careful attentions. _____________________ |
TEMPLATE BY XEMRISS #44020;
EARTH BANNER AND BOTTLE BY OSIEM #30450;
EARTH BANNER AND BOTTLE BY OSIEM #30450;
Art by StardustRaptor : Shrine & Poetry by miirshroom
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.
Feed this dragon Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Marlowe to the service of the Earthshaker will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.