Varjo
(#41038780)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Ichor Nymph
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
26.91 m
Wingspan
16.96 m
Weight
9492.87 kg
Genetics
Eggplant
Falcon
Falcon
Royal
Peregrine
Peregrine
Phthalo
Smoke
Smoke
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
VARJO - Warlock
The light was never for him.
Varjo should have known, should have guessed at the way it made him feel. Even in the swirling shadows of the Hewn City, there was something odd about him, something off. Dragons born to the Lightweaver's domain avoided him even when they didn't mean to, and the darkness clung to him too fiercely to be natural. He was an abomination, an aberration, and no matter what he did or how hard he tried, there was never going to be a proper way to belong.
He saw no other course of action in those days. The future held nothing but a lonely misery if he stayed in the haunted city walls. Talking to shadows ghosting across the ground was not the same as the company of flesh and blood dragons, and the nights were too cold, exposed under the cold light of the moon and stars. If Varjo was to thrive, he was going to have to do it elsewhere.
The Tangled Wood seemed as good a place as any. He had roots there, based on his eyes, even if all his memories were shaped by the Hewn City. There could be someone who wanted him back, family he didn't know he had. And even if there wasn't maybe he would be more at home with the Shadowbinder to watch over him and the thick forest canopy to shut out the cruel starlight and wrap him in the warmth and safety of night.
The trouble with the Tangled Wood is that it seems endless to the unfamiliar, though, and despite his best efforts, Varjo was lost to the world, trapped in the dark. It was horrible, the sense of being caught between deep-seated fear and a safety he'd yearned for all his life. Every twig snapping, every leaf crunching was a herald of something unspeakable, and yet the feeling of eyes at his back and the faint sense of someone or something breathing down his neck was a comfort. The Tangled Wood was contradiction like Varjo had never known, and more than anything, it made him want to flee.
It was the raven that saved him. It was a massive bird, bigger than any raven he'd ever seen before, with intelligent eyes and a length of purple silk dangling from its beak. It cawed at him, somehow without losing the silk, and with every step he took toward it, it took a step away.
"I won't hurt you," he told it.
"So follow," it answered. And he did.
They became fast friends, Varjo and the raven. It never gave him its name, but it stayed at his side almost constantly, rarely bursting above the canopy for a bout of unrestrained flight. When Varjo hunted, it flew silently ahead, scouting for prey, and when he gathered herbs and berries for potions and poultices and his own hunger, it knew the best places to find exactly what he was looking for, even if he never gave voice to it. He and the raven were bonded, a warlock and his familiar, and though it wasn't quite what Varjo had been looking for when he left the Hewn City, he cherished the raven's company nonetheless. It liked him, didn't fear him, and that was all he could ask for.
It also led him to the Moon Siren Coven and changed his life.
He would never stay among the coven proper, admittedly. There is too much religious fervor for his tastes, and after so long alone, it is strange to be so close to so many other dragons. He has still, after all this time, not gotten used to being wanted, or at the very least, not ignored. Of course, the coven seems to feel much the same about him. After asking his name and origins, to which he replied with only the truth, they left him to his own devices, not deeming him a threat despite his size. He gave them no reason to change their minds, either, keeping off to the side and always speaking as levelly as possible, finding no sense in scaring or angering his hosts. At this point, little has changed except that Varjo is sometimes invited into the coven, though not for pleasure, but business. The dragons there have taken a shine to his potion-making skills, and a few even covet his ability to cast spells and even hexes.
For the first time, Varjo feels useful, and with his raven familiar, he feels unstoppable. He doesn't intend to charge into anything dangerous that might test these feelings, but it is nice for the first time to be wanted and welcome among others. No one has tried to change his quiet, taciturn nature, and he has not tried to be included in things that will never be for him. Matters are just right, and that is all he can ask for, all he ever has asked for since he left the Hewn City behind.
Bio by Tues.
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Exalting Varjo to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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