Denny
(#41284352)
Level 1 Wildclaw
boing
Ethereal Trickster
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Wildclaw
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.02 m
Wingspan
5.22 m
Weight
521.55 kg
Genetics
Latte
Poison
Poison
Honey
Shimmer
Shimmer
Dirt
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 242 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
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伝承 denshō, your GUIDE 'just call me denny. i'll fill you in' |
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So, before this bizarre race started, the original leader of this clan, Tulli, established a liberalist cooperative with her cabinet. Not many of them are still with us, just her old advisor, I think. Regardless- the cabinet sets up this group they call the brisa on a mountain in the Zephyr Steppes bordering the Ashfall Waste. Nice place, I heard. Can't say I was running with those folks back then though. Things were relatively calm & peaceful then from what I gather though; it was as easy to join the brisa as it was to leave, and that's how it was meant to function, all was well. It was an incredibly productive and prosperous little clan too- dealt mostly in crafts & foodstuffs, did a lot of trade in Wind clan territory, though Tuuli didn't pledge allegiance to any of the gods, didn't believe in that sort of thing. Anyhow. Things turned sour when one of Tuuli's warriors turned on her over how the place was being run. You see, the larger the group became, the more heavy handed her ruling had to be. It's hard keeping so many dragons in line with lax rules, you know. She went from chieftain to padishah quicker than some folks liked, I suppose. Tulli was always firm though, couldn't convince her to change her ways- up to that point, dissenters had always just left and sought out a different life elsewhere. Not Diver though; she conspired with this crafty old alchemist and they firebombed the clan camp. Horrendous fire, you would have thought the nearby volcanos had erupted or something, honestly. |
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So the clan embarks on this incredible journey- marched their way across Sornieth carrying all they could with them to the furthest reaches of the Sunbeam Ruins, looking for a new place to settle permanently and give up their nomadic ways. Should be easier to defend a camp that looks out over open ocean in most directions, easier to fight and protect yourself on home turf rather than all the different spots you're roaming around, too. They find a spot near The Beacon, and set up shop. Start calling themselves ceifa and try to carry on life as they were before. It goes alright. They turn to farming wheat to keep clan business closer to home, and start specialising in kill-claws; assassins, you know, that sort of thing. Life 'aint as profitable or prosperous but it's stationary now, and a hell of a lot safer. Tulli has her hundredth hatchling and he's pegged to take up the baton after her reign ends, the tsarevich has a swathing cabinet of all sorts of dragons, the clan expands rapidly and the crops grow quick as anything; this functional little false republic just chugs on peacefully for a long time. |
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They stave off a return attack from Diver and her lot and wipe out the lot of them, establish a legal system, take in destitute hatchlings and elders and ditch the idea that only those able to contribute may join. Again, though, you just couldn't control the growth of the thing. And there were some new ceifeiros who clearly weren't entirely on board with the system they were seeing in motion. Everyone got the feeling someone was going to challenge the padishah, but when and who was the real mystery. The poison merchant? Maybe the thieving old reprobate. The disgruntled lead hunter or her son's own, foreboding guard? My bets would have been on the disgraced oracle or that downright creepy justice with the melted face, but the point is- she was surrounded by sceptics. Sceptics armed to the teeth who dealt in murder, no less. Eventually, the tensions culminate in regicide. You didn't hear this from me, OK, but I can tell you it was that demon that orchestrated the whole thing. Manipulated her most trusted (and efficient) assassin to carry out the deed and leave no traces... what? Yes, of course I know they pegged the boy with the ice pick for her murder- but everybody knows it wasn't really him. Who told you that nonsense anyway? You need to find a better informant. Regardless, nobody witnesses the murder. Gyro and his cabal desecrate the corpse and display it in the heart of clan territory, which is how all of this nonsense brings us up to now. |
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The shah is dead, her mate is nowhere to be found and the tsarevich is exiled. Nobody's seen him since that night, I'd venture to say he's probably died by now too. They're tired of this hereditary system and the disjointed regimes cultivated under its leadership. It's time for change, they said. But how to decide who should lead and what the future of the group should look like...? A test of skill, of course. Not of farming or legal prowess or whatever the brisa came to stand for at that point though, but an assessment of pure conatus. Can you survive? The fundamental question, I suppose. Hence the race! The clan descends into anarchy and the seditious gaggle of wildclaws you see now all tear their way across sornieth’s north, all set to converge on Dragonhome. The prize is the leadership of the autocracy promised at the finish line. All the conventions have been jettisoned, the dragons here are lawless. There are a few quick footed citizens from the older days, lealisa, still running with us, but plenty of new arrivals along the wy too. There's all sorts here now; necromancers, that old judge turned perfumist, false prophets and opportunistic cannibals looming behind the peloton. Anyone who can keep pace may partake in the race to the desert, regardless of rank or seniority, it's anyone's game, so long as you watch your back and be sure to keep up. Fall behind or let your vigilance slip and you’re as good as dead. There’s no sentiment for the slow here, and foul play is fair game. |
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» the mouths about his head flutter open in turn with each syllable he speaks. the largest, most conventional looking mouth dense with teeth never opens for speech. it's only for eating, you think..... have you ever witnessed denny eating, anyway? » chatty as he is, he's relatively swift. never deep in the main pack but always keeping pace at the rear of the bulk of runners- where he can get a good look at who's likely to be dropping out next, to keep a good track of the race's progress. |
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aesthetic: it's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you // there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do // i bless the rains down in africaaaa // gonna take some time to do the things we never have |
likes: gossip, small birds (tasty), secrets dislikes: kilimanjaro rising like olympus above the serengeti _________________________________________________________ |
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This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
Meat stocks are currently depleted.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Denny 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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