Sarval
(#42374719)
Level 1 Imperial
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Female Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
22.5 m
Wingspan
13.74 m
Weight
8203.84 kg
Genetics
Coal
Iridescent
Iridescent
Buttercup
Alloy
Alloy
Metals
Runes
Runes
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
Gardener/florist/orchadist/butterflies
sylvan scarf
Estella is a kind soul, her personality as vibrant and beautiful as the butterflies that swarm her with adoration. While born a fire dragon, she seemed to take easily to the soft, dancing insects and the flowers they were drawn to. She has her own garden in her clan, tamed patiently from the wilds of Gladekeeper’s territory and fenced with fire-hardened wood of her own design. While some dragons grow practical tubers and bulbs, Estella instead grows her flowers, every bit as soft and lovely as herself. She tends them everyday, her mane often covered in a fine dusting of pollen and nectar that the butterflies love.
She seems to hold a distinct fascination with bee orchids, flowers adapted to attract a species of bee that has become long since extinct. The only image left of the insects is held by the flower’s mimicking perception of them. She likes the idea, saying that nothing can be truly lost as long as there is one left to remember it. Most dragons will listen fondly, thinking to themselves what a pure, innocent creature she is. They smile at her odd, fluttering way of flying. They don’t think that maybe there is more to her than meets the eye.
But Estella knows much more than they think. She is the last survivor of a royal line that was broken by a usurping councillor. She knows what it is to feel the bite of a knife against her throat. She knows what it is to run until her paw pads cracked and bled. She knows what it is to lose everything. But instead of letting it break her, she let it shape her, just as the land shapes her flowers. And she, like the bee orchid, will never forget those that she lost.
sylvan scarf
Estella is a kind soul, her personality as vibrant and beautiful as the butterflies that swarm her with adoration. While born a fire dragon, she seemed to take easily to the soft, dancing insects and the flowers they were drawn to. She has her own garden in her clan, tamed patiently from the wilds of Gladekeeper’s territory and fenced with fire-hardened wood of her own design. While some dragons grow practical tubers and bulbs, Estella instead grows her flowers, every bit as soft and lovely as herself. She tends them everyday, her mane often covered in a fine dusting of pollen and nectar that the butterflies love.
She seems to hold a distinct fascination with bee orchids, flowers adapted to attract a species of bee that has become long since extinct. The only image left of the insects is held by the flower’s mimicking perception of them. She likes the idea, saying that nothing can be truly lost as long as there is one left to remember it. Most dragons will listen fondly, thinking to themselves what a pure, innocent creature she is. They smile at her odd, fluttering way of flying. They don’t think that maybe there is more to her than meets the eye.
But Estella knows much more than they think. She is the last survivor of a royal line that was broken by a usurping councillor. She knows what it is to feel the bite of a knife against her throat. She knows what it is to run until her paw pads cracked and bled. She knows what it is to lose everything. But instead of letting it break her, she let it shape her, just as the land shapes her flowers. And she, like the bee orchid, will never forget those that she lost.
Quote:
A terrified scream broke into her dreamless sleep, and she jolted her head up. It was her brother. The youngest one, the one that was still just a fawn. His antlers hadn’t even grown in yet. Her heart slammed down to her stomach, fluttering with fear. Her ears strained forward to catch the noise, her eyes slowly adjusting to the blackness.
A clatter of metal on stone was followed by another scream, prompting her to leap from her bed, crossing the room in a few strides. Her stomach jumped as the cry was cut brutally short. Her paws flew for the door, wrenching it open. A dragon dressed in black stumbled back, stunned for a moment by her sudden appearance.
Before she could recover, it was upon her, bowling her over. A knife came out, the cold edge of steel pressing against her throat so firmly she could feel the slight irregularities in the metal. The dragon grinned, its teeth glinting in the watery light of the moons. As her eyes came into focus, she recognized the sharp snout and serrated teeth. The ridgeback’s earth eyes glittered harshly, like gems that had been cut too roughly. She had once been a vault guard, Estella recalled. One of the newest ones, barely out of the academy.
“Hello, Princess.” She fairly spat the word, bearing down on Estella’s throat. “That’s a pretty title you have there. I think my master should like it for his daughter.” She teased the knife between the scales of her throat, making Estella’s skin twitch in response. “Of course, that’s the only title left to claim. By now, the others are long dead.” She giggled to herself as hot tears stung the eyes of her prisoner. For a moment, Estella couldn’t even breathe. Her mother, her father, all her brothers and sisters, dead. By the hands of this traitor and the others like her.
“But don’t worry,” The ridgeback sneered, clearly goading her. “We’ll be sure to dispose of your father and imperial siblings in a proper manner. Wouldn’t want to raise another tyrant for this kingdom.” The joke stung, and Estella glared through the searing tears in her eyes. “You and your family’s bodies will be torn apart and buried so deep, no one will ever find them.” Another insult. Nature dragons buried their dead. Fire dragons found solace in burning theirs, believing the soul would rest with the Flamecaller.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, a voice carrying the ridgeback’s name. “In here!” She called to them, her knife lifting for a split moment. As he turned, she jabbed one of her antlers up into the exposed part of the ridgebacks throat. She wheezed once, her breath gurgling in a throat quickly filling up with blood. She stiffened for a brief second, eyes wild, the knife going wide and slicing deep into the shoulder of Estella’s wing. The pain was immediate and fierce.
Finally, the ridgeback fell limp onto her face, blood flowing freely down. She could already hear the footsteps racing down the corridor. In moments, they would be on top of her. She tugged her head, seeking to free herself from the slumping corpse. Her antler was lodged between the skull and throat, pinned firmly into place.
With a desperate wrench, she snapped off the last few prongs of her antler, ripped her head free with a wince. In two bounds, she cleared the room, ripping the curtains of her window down. She jumped from the ledge, her wings flung wide to catch the hot updrafts ever-present in the areas around the Great Furnace. The moment her wings were unfurled, the injury screamed. Unable to keep herself aloft, she banked into a dive, hitting the volcanic earth so hard her breath was squeezed from her lungs.
But she had to get away. Barely able to fold her injured wing, she took off running across the dark ground, her footsteps nearly silent. Her matted mane was slicked against her neck with sweat and blood. Her crown of antlers broken, her wing nearly dragging, her heart shattering more with every step, the lost princess fled north.
A clatter of metal on stone was followed by another scream, prompting her to leap from her bed, crossing the room in a few strides. Her stomach jumped as the cry was cut brutally short. Her paws flew for the door, wrenching it open. A dragon dressed in black stumbled back, stunned for a moment by her sudden appearance.
Before she could recover, it was upon her, bowling her over. A knife came out, the cold edge of steel pressing against her throat so firmly she could feel the slight irregularities in the metal. The dragon grinned, its teeth glinting in the watery light of the moons. As her eyes came into focus, she recognized the sharp snout and serrated teeth. The ridgeback’s earth eyes glittered harshly, like gems that had been cut too roughly. She had once been a vault guard, Estella recalled. One of the newest ones, barely out of the academy.
“Hello, Princess.” She fairly spat the word, bearing down on Estella’s throat. “That’s a pretty title you have there. I think my master should like it for his daughter.” She teased the knife between the scales of her throat, making Estella’s skin twitch in response. “Of course, that’s the only title left to claim. By now, the others are long dead.” She giggled to herself as hot tears stung the eyes of her prisoner. For a moment, Estella couldn’t even breathe. Her mother, her father, all her brothers and sisters, dead. By the hands of this traitor and the others like her.
“But don’t worry,” The ridgeback sneered, clearly goading her. “We’ll be sure to dispose of your father and imperial siblings in a proper manner. Wouldn’t want to raise another tyrant for this kingdom.” The joke stung, and Estella glared through the searing tears in her eyes. “You and your family’s bodies will be torn apart and buried so deep, no one will ever find them.” Another insult. Nature dragons buried their dead. Fire dragons found solace in burning theirs, believing the soul would rest with the Flamecaller.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, a voice carrying the ridgeback’s name. “In here!” She called to them, her knife lifting for a split moment. As he turned, she jabbed one of her antlers up into the exposed part of the ridgebacks throat. She wheezed once, her breath gurgling in a throat quickly filling up with blood. She stiffened for a brief second, eyes wild, the knife going wide and slicing deep into the shoulder of Estella’s wing. The pain was immediate and fierce.
Finally, the ridgeback fell limp onto her face, blood flowing freely down. She could already hear the footsteps racing down the corridor. In moments, they would be on top of her. She tugged her head, seeking to free herself from the slumping corpse. Her antler was lodged between the skull and throat, pinned firmly into place.
With a desperate wrench, she snapped off the last few prongs of her antler, ripped her head free with a wince. In two bounds, she cleared the room, ripping the curtains of her window down. She jumped from the ledge, her wings flung wide to catch the hot updrafts ever-present in the areas around the Great Furnace. The moment her wings were unfurled, the injury screamed. Unable to keep herself aloft, she banked into a dive, hitting the volcanic earth so hard her breath was squeezed from her lungs.
But she had to get away. Barely able to fold her injured wing, she took off running across the dark ground, her footsteps nearly silent. Her matted mane was slicked against her neck with sweat and blood. Her crown of antlers broken, her wing nearly dragging, her heart shattering more with every step, the lost princess fled north.
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Exalting Sarval 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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