Puff
(#42121695)
Level 9 Guardian
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Female Guardian
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
11.78 m
Wingspan
18.25 m
Weight
9204.67 kg
Genetics
Flaxen
Cherub
Cherub
Cottoncandy
Striation
Striation
Purple
Capsule
Capsule
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 9 Guardian
EXP: 5926 / 21526
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
the gal that people are scared of because whATISSHE
Puff the abomination
The last thing she could remember was screaming. Eyes flown wide and teeth slick with clinging spit as a gurgle retched itself from her clenching throat. She heard the ringing echoes of cackling that did not belong to any familiar call in her. Her flesh suddenly slick with something oozing, something bleeding, writhing about her body. A scalding, rippling heat smothering her. Blinded.
She emerged a mutant. A sinister, eldritch abomination. Dull stumps where stretched claws once dug into fertile soil, her spine squelched and her ribs ached. She felt as if she were carrying a weight far heavier than she could recall. As if her body was no longer her own. She felt the remnant of a mouth, perhaps a memory, but realised she had no mouth from which to scream out, to cry.
She slithered along the ground, body slick and weighted, unsteady on her pointed stubs. She dripped with pus, with infection from the Wyrmwound’s poison, but upon seeing herself in the first clear water she came across, she wished she had drowned inside of the crater.
She no longer remembers her first thoughts. Just the screaming. Strangers with their gaping maws and their shrieks of horror, her swaying eyes blinking slow and out of sync, pupils throbbing and stumps dragging against dry land. Something in the corners of her fragmented memories recalled a time they would have greeted her. But now they screamed. They always screamed. Always screaming. Always.
And she could only watch them. With her many eyes, her malformed vertebrae squirming and staring at their pale terror.
She always wanted to scream back.
But she could only
Watch.
- by the miraculous PunchingSolas
by @Hawkster
by @BlackLilac
heccin freak
Puff the abomination
The last thing she could remember was screaming. Eyes flown wide and teeth slick with clinging spit as a gurgle retched itself from her clenching throat. She heard the ringing echoes of cackling that did not belong to any familiar call in her. Her flesh suddenly slick with something oozing, something bleeding, writhing about her body. A scalding, rippling heat smothering her. Blinded.
She emerged a mutant. A sinister, eldritch abomination. Dull stumps where stretched claws once dug into fertile soil, her spine squelched and her ribs ached. She felt as if she were carrying a weight far heavier than she could recall. As if her body was no longer her own. She felt the remnant of a mouth, perhaps a memory, but realised she had no mouth from which to scream out, to cry.
She slithered along the ground, body slick and weighted, unsteady on her pointed stubs. She dripped with pus, with infection from the Wyrmwound’s poison, but upon seeing herself in the first clear water she came across, she wished she had drowned inside of the crater.
She no longer remembers her first thoughts. Just the screaming. Strangers with their gaping maws and their shrieks of horror, her swaying eyes blinking slow and out of sync, pupils throbbing and stumps dragging against dry land. Something in the corners of her fragmented memories recalled a time they would have greeted her. But now they screamed. They always screamed. Always screaming. Always.
And she could only watch them. With her many eyes, her malformed vertebrae squirming and staring at their pale terror.
She always wanted to scream back.
But she could only
Watch.
- by the miraculous PunchingSolas
Everyone knew that the study, filled with ancient scrolls and dusty tomes of the long past, was out of bounds, but not everyone knew the true reason as to why. Some speculated that it was because regular citizens weren't trusted to not damage the irreplaceable artifacts, whereas others believed that it was to deny thieves from selling the knowledge of old for a fortune on the black market. There were also whispers that someone lived within the study to maintain pristine conditions for the scrolls and tomes, but also to ward off any dragon that dared to have entered.
The few that knew the truth know that it was for all of the above reasons, but there was one other reason: the warden of the scrolls was not safe under the public eye.
~
Ancient history was written all over the walls. Bookshelves stuffed with worn tomes written in a forgotten language lined the room. Drawers stacked with dry scrolls that contained historical but powerful spells occupied the centre, with glass displays of runed rocks that, if one listened closely enough, recollected impressive events of war and battles and nature on top. On the ceiling were golden chandeliers that were unlit, for the candles that filled them were created with a magic that gave them unknown properties. The floor was covered in an ornate rug that depicted a scene of the Deities themselves fighting off the Shade: but that was just a gift for the warden to make their living quarters more homey.
She sat at her desk with one of the protected books, deciphering its meanings using a piece of papyrus, with the translation of the runic letters. She wrote in an organised journal, bullet pointing the contents of each chapter and underlining what she deemed important for her to know. Each book took between a month to three to only understand the basics of it, depending on how interested the warden was, to the length of it, to whether it required a new language translated.
Knock, knock. One of her eyes swung around to face a spot on the floor while her head remained stubbornly on the book. Knock, knock. Two more eyes turned. She placed the quill that she was holding with Arcane magic down, her makeshift fingers slipping back into her body after she closed the tome.
The sound of a wooden plank being pulled away truly caught her attention. A clock on her desk chimed 2AM as a pair of claws began sawing out a space for a dragon to enter, most likely a Spiral or Fae. The warden quietly slid out of her chair and onto her four stubs, extinguishing a glowing orb above her head, turning the room to darkness.
A quarter of an hour passed by before a figure slipped into the room from below, along with another. The duo rapidly whispered to each other, much too fast for her to catch, before they set off to work.
Or, at least, they would have if it wasn't for the warden there, always keeping a watchful eye or ten on the artifacts.
The few that knew the truth know that it was for all of the above reasons, but there was one other reason: the warden of the scrolls was not safe under the public eye.
~
Ancient history was written all over the walls. Bookshelves stuffed with worn tomes written in a forgotten language lined the room. Drawers stacked with dry scrolls that contained historical but powerful spells occupied the centre, with glass displays of runed rocks that, if one listened closely enough, recollected impressive events of war and battles and nature on top. On the ceiling were golden chandeliers that were unlit, for the candles that filled them were created with a magic that gave them unknown properties. The floor was covered in an ornate rug that depicted a scene of the Deities themselves fighting off the Shade: but that was just a gift for the warden to make their living quarters more homey.
She sat at her desk with one of the protected books, deciphering its meanings using a piece of papyrus, with the translation of the runic letters. She wrote in an organised journal, bullet pointing the contents of each chapter and underlining what she deemed important for her to know. Each book took between a month to three to only understand the basics of it, depending on how interested the warden was, to the length of it, to whether it required a new language translated.
Knock, knock. One of her eyes swung around to face a spot on the floor while her head remained stubbornly on the book. Knock, knock. Two more eyes turned. She placed the quill that she was holding with Arcane magic down, her makeshift fingers slipping back into her body after she closed the tome.
The sound of a wooden plank being pulled away truly caught her attention. A clock on her desk chimed 2AM as a pair of claws began sawing out a space for a dragon to enter, most likely a Spiral or Fae. The warden quietly slid out of her chair and onto her four stubs, extinguishing a glowing orb above her head, turning the room to darkness.
A quarter of an hour passed by before a figure slipped into the room from below, along with another. The duo rapidly whispered to each other, much too fast for her to catch, before they set off to work.
Or, at least, they would have if it wasn't for the warden there, always keeping a watchful eye or ten on the artifacts.
by @Hawkster
by @BlackLilac
heccin freak
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Exalting Puff to the service of the Stormcatcher 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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