Mimir
(#435605)
Council Logkeeper
Familiar
Writer's Aid
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Coatl
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.48 m
Wingspan
6.89 m
Weight
985.22 kg
Genetics
Gold
Pinstripe
Pinstripe
Honeydew
Bee
Bee
Steel
Peacock
Peacock
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Coatl
Max Level
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
Mimir the Rememberer
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__ The Valhallan Library is a true treasure, crafted from a massive cavern in the heart of the Sanctum that is rumoured to be so deep it reaches the core of the world and so high it emerges amongst the clouds. A wonder of the living world. It's not quite that grand, mind you, but Mimir has put in the work to ensure it's quite an impressive spectacle. He has poured his soul into the Bibliotheca, infused his magic into the very walls of the massive room and carved out the shelves from the bare stone, and it is his proudest achievement. Which is why he will, without a doubt, skin you if you make a mess of it. The Bibliotheca is his everything—it is where he goes to calm himself, by curling up by the hearth with a book or obsessively reorganizing the shelves, and it is where he has been able to leave his mark on the world. It is what restored some peace to his jittery soul; it is the visual representation of his mind, eternal. |
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 ╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ the Head Librarian Council Logkeeper Scholar ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ | __ |
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Why decompress when you can stress? Some speculate that's Mimir's mantra. He truly takes stress to a new level, so very neurotic and dramatic, and it's a wonder he gets that much done without melting into a puddle of raw exhaustion. Getting him worked up is easy, and he'll wind himself up just fine over the smallest inconvenience, yet somehow he puts on an impeccable front of having everything under control. And it is true that Mimir stresses, but he stresses with purpose. It is a bit contradictory and a flavour of madness not even Mimir understands. He simply does. When Mimir's mind gets the best of him, he works, and given that he works from sunrise to sunset, one can safely assume he is stressed roughly that entire time. It is an intrinsic part of him; along with his habit of lashing out, it leaves him with a bit of a high-maintenance personality. But it does not make him unkind nor cruel, as Mimir does care. He simply does not do it in the best way. He does not always leave the best first impression, nor care for it, but he more than makes up for it by being a steady presence for all to rely on. Mimir does not turn away a dragon in need, no matter that his advice might come across as brash as he hurries along. Treat him, and his books, kindly and he'll be a friend for life. You'll still have to pay late-fees. Quick to anger and just as quick to cool off, Mimir holds a grudge like the best of them, though he'll never share it. He seethes in silence. And he remembers every overdue book and who loaned it, remembers every troublemaker causing a ruckus in his Bibliotheca, and you would do well not to be remembered alongside those ones. Mimir may forgive after a good apology, but he does not forget. | __ |
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__ » Has a private collection on display behind a layer of glass at the back of the Bibliotheca. It contains some incredibly rare, very valuable tomes. » Has been known to resort to violence in lieu of late fees. The Council keeps trying to get him to stop, but it's not working. » The first thing Mimir did upon becoming a Valhallan was freak out about the weather. His two-hour rant has gone down in clan history. | __ |
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Mimir had hatched in the Shifting Expanse years and years ago, opening his eyes to a rare clear night—no thunder rumbled through the skies, no lightning racing across the skies. Some dragons of the clan proclaimed that to be a bad omen, a curse from the Stormcatcher; a hatchling borne beneath a clear sky was a sign of ill tidings to come. Other dragons said the opposite, declaring it a favourable thing, that the Stormcatcher had cleared the skies for this one youngling, and that it meant he was destined to do great things the divines wished to see. Mimir doesn't think it meant anything at all. There was no fortunes to be found in weather, this he was sure of. Regardless of superstition, Mimir started life simple, and enjoyed his first years as children ought to. He had lessons to attend, friends to play with, and dipped his toes into what it meant to bear responsibilities. He'd been a Fae, back then, small and swift like his parents, and the smallest one in his group of friends. Mimir's entire existence revolved around goofing off and being hassled for being smaller than everyone else. It was peaceful. It was mind-numbingly dull. And it successfully gave Mimir anxiety, to everyone's confusion. The lack of anything happening gave birth to an overthinker of epic proportions; Mimir became prone to aggressive outbursts and meltdowns, hurtling himself into his teenage years with a shrieking hysteria no one had predicted. And his parents, not knowing what else to do, summarily shipped Mimir off to study for an allied clan with the vague hope that something to do would calm him down. Their efforts were a success. Kind of. Mimir launched himself into studies with a frantic, borderline maniacal energy that baffled those around him. He devoured books rather than food, made it abundantly obvious that Mimir was, in fact, quite intelligent beneath all the meltdowns, and inhaled knowledge as if it was air. It all turned into a slurry of books and coffee. Years were spent this way and Mimir grew ever more distant with his birthclan, leaving them behind in favour of pursuing more and more bizarre tomes and scrolls. He started collecting, hauling along a satchel that grew heavier and heavier with each passing moon. Mimir drifted from place to place, studying whatever was on offer and reading every book he could find; sometimes aggressively bartering until they let him purchase some. His collection grew (heavier) and his bag was patched up with more and more enchantments for space and weight management. Somewhere along the way, Mimir found himself with a particular yearning for a select few books he knew he would never obtain. He listed them all on a slip of parchment, tucking it away in the bottom of his bag. A dream too big for him, he thought, but one he'd hold onto all the same. To cope with his restless mind, Mimir's way of life grew borderline obsessive and maniacal. Time passed and the bad habits dug their claws further in, stitching themselves into Mimir's very soul, until he couldn't tell where he began and his anxiety took over. He'd created quite a pickle for himself, indeed. By the time he stumbled across the Valhallans, entirely by coincidence as well, Mimir was coming undone. He was frantic, too tightly wound up, and on the edge of an edge he did not want to tumble over. It was all coming to a head and Mimir could not stop it; could not fight off the inevitable moment where he finally self-destructed. There was a weary resignation to him, back then, that was wiped away as Týr dragged him aside one evening with a look of contemplation on his face. "You are good with books," the Mirror had stated, blunt and straightforward. "We need... knowledge is important, essential even, but ours is disorganized. Lacking. Would you help us, perhaps?" And truly, how could Mimir refuse? They offered him the chance to create a library, to do it all however he wished, so long as he acted in the clan's best interests. Compile their information and knowledge, organize it, ensure it is easily accessible for all—terribly simple instructions. Mimir agreed in a heartbeat and began plotting out his future library in an instant. Mimir named their library the Bibliotheca and promptly locked himself in there for a week straight to work. In the bottom of his bag waited a slip of parchment, a list of books he'd yearned for so very long. A lifelong dream. Rare tomes, incredibly difficult to obtain. But it did not feel entirely impossible anymore. (The oldest and rarest of the lot, nigh on forgotten tomes of magics from the Old World and their divinities, remains out of reach mostly. Books Mimir only read of as faraway tales in other ancient, practically forgotten books. And the first time he tracked down one of them, got his hands on one such incredible find, Mimir had felt his heart leap, and the celebrations had become a clan-wide affair.) Soon after, Mimir joined the Council as their Logkeeper, partly because he kept barging in to yell at them for their shoddy notes being impossible to file and partly because their then 'logkeeper', Saga, refused to do it further. And so Mimir sits in on every meeting of the Council, saying little but scribbling away in his notebook, before retreating to the Bibliotheca to prepare his notes for cataloguing. Ensuring all summaries and logs of meeting are available for every Valhallan is essential for transparency, as Mimir pointed out, for surely the Council does not have anything to hide? They don't. They cannot, for they, like the Bibliotheca, exists to serve the clan. Now, Mimir has settled. He spends most of his time in the Bibliotheca, advising those that seek him out and helping them find what they need among the thousands of shelves. Whatever a visitor may be searching for—a book, a moment of silence, a listening ear—Mimir does his best to provide. For Mimir is the Valhallan Well, the one that keeps their knowledge safe and accessible, and it is a role he shoulders with pride. | __ |
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K V A S I R Urgot had been a lost, frightened child wandering into Mimir's sanctum with dreams. But Mimir made sure he left with a lighter soul, helping him find himself among the countless pages, and a friendship came with it. By the time Urgot left the library as Kvasir, Mimir knew he'd found a kindred soul in the then twitchy Wildclaw, and he was never given any reason to doubt it. | __ |
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D A G R Dagr and Mimir shouldn't work. Nor do they, for one triggers the other and on and on it goes, a spiral of unnecessary hysteria. At all other times, they're a power-duo. Sharing a passion for books and literature, they are frequently found neck-deep in some discussion about—well—books. Wicked smart, quick thinkers with low stress tolerance; whatever could go wrong? | __ |
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N J O R D Considering Mimir was a recluse, it came as a surprise when Njord joined Valhall and knew the neurotic librarian. They greeted one another like old friends and Mimir's explanation was brief; "He's got a nose for rare books, this one. What? Did you think I have the time to track down all these tomes on my own?" However, not even Njord gets a free pass on late returns. | __ |
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Exalting Mimir to the service of the Icewarden 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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