Aequor
(#43717139)
I know a lot of songs and stories
Fern
Aurora Pangolin
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Coatl
This dragon is hibernating.
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Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.84 m
Wingspan
10.57 m
Weight
759.46 kg
Genetics
Banana
Jaguar
Jaguar
Cornflower
Seraph
Seraph
Sky
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Coatl
Max Level
STR
7
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
60
INT
99
VIT
16
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
|
►Info |
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Name: Aequor Occupation: Bard |
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|
► Memories |
Petite, yellow paws twisted a long leaf, as the coatl they belonged to sighed in frustration.
"Watermint is for... Headaches? No that isn't right, is it?" his soft voice mumbled. He threw the leaf away from himself and ruffled his beautiful, blue feathers with his fingers.
"Argh, I will never remember all of these! What kind of medic would I be if I always rely on this stupid book to help me?" he yelled, his voice echoing in the small cave he had been studying in.
"Aequor, are you alright in there?" his friend's voice called from the entrance of his home.
"Yeah, I'm fine." he called back, tears stinging in his eyes, threatening to fall. He didn't want his friends to worry about him, especially about something as minor as him not being able to remember the herbs needed for healing.
Aequor shook his head and exited his cave through the back entrance. He had made up his mind and decided to leave his old clan behind. He'd been raised to become a medic ever since he hatched and was too scared to disappoint his clan. He knew for a few years that he'd be no good as a medic, as he lacked the concentration and skill to remember hundreds of herbs and their effects. Tears fell from his blue eyes and dampened his yellow fur as he wandered aimlessly. He sighed and began singing a tune he'd heard the elders sing many times and was surprised at how soft and clear his voice sounded as it filled the air around him. For the first time since he first started studying to become a medic, Aequor smiled in pure joy. Maybe he was never meant to become a medic in the first place. The Gods seemed to have a different path in mind for him since the beginning. He made his way to a small town he'd seen from the path he was wandering on and decided to give being a wandering bard a try. He was nervous. After gathering his courage he started to sing. Several dragons stopped walking to watch the young coatl sing, some dropped a bit of treasure in front of him.
The smiles on the faces of the dragons he sang to motivated Aequor to continue his journey to travel Sornieth and sing to as many dragons as he could. He didn't often accept treasure for his singing, only ever enough to survive. The laughs and smiles were rewarding enough for him.
Lore by MaybeHuman
On: Pre-travel work
Quote:
Log CTRT021, entry 000000.
Many quills have touched upon the earth domain: How the weather is dry, the land vast, the communities welcoming. Countless voices have painted the hustle of markets, rumbling through the Colonnades, traced the shape of gems birthed from the Terraclae, and sketched the terrible history of the Cairnstone.
Seldomly however, have I seen artists hands bring life to those who build on broken stone. The reason being the seeming mundanity of the region. All too often, we forget the many tribes who fight their battles with the inhospitable steppe and its hidden rapids.
Hence, this is a record of those who live on the shattered plains. It is a work, not written as a historian, but a traveler, for too much magic escapes those who seek with their quill. Or so they say:
Dragons of hidden knows,
Fear most a wandering hand,
sharp eye, or probing nose,
but not healers of long-lost lands,
who do not turn an ear,
and so they know secrets, dear.
Now, I will not dally further, on we-
Many quills have touched upon the earth domain: How the weather is dry, the land vast, the communities welcoming. Countless voices have painted the hustle of markets, rumbling through the Colonnades, traced the shape of gems birthed from the Terraclae, and sketched the terrible history of the Cairnstone.
Seldomly however, have I seen artists hands bring life to those who build on broken stone. The reason being the seeming mundanity of the region. All too often, we forget the many tribes who fight their battles with the inhospitable steppe and its hidden rapids.
Hence, this is a record of those who live on the shattered plains. It is a work, not written as a historian, but a traveler, for too much magic escapes those who seek with their quill. Or so they say:
Dragons of hidden knows,
Fear most a wandering hand,
sharp eye, or probing nose,
but not healers of long-lost lands,
who do not turn an ear,
and so they know secrets, dear.
Now, I will not dally further, on we-
Recovered on 21/10/12, 07:38 FRT
On: general earth domain characteristics
Quote:
Log CTRT023, entry 004645.
No book has ever expressed the darned truth of travel through these cursed plains.
In contrast to the domain of thunder, there are hardly storms to keep the itch of dust out of manes and feathers, no sweet relief from the unending sun but a shadowed crevasse once in a dozen of leagues. Any wise traveler dares not to enter such a shelter with a careless heart, for they are certainly taken by manticores, beastclans, and native flights.
Unlike what the stories will have you believe, not many here are keen on sharing, especially with strangers. The land is scarce and wild, with unyielding stone under a thin layer of dusty earth. The sole trees on these plateaus are hunchbacked bushes, and the only other vegetation-type seem to be a stony lichen, or parched grasses.
In contrast to the drought higher up, the narrow canyons hold almost too much water. Hazardous rapids have worn deep horizontal scores out of the walls and dug their way deep into the bedrock, blunting sharp edges and leaving broad slips of fertile, but water-repellant clay.
Many dragons are therefore canyon dwellers who have etched their lair into the steep walls. In previous jaunts, I have described the shops, shrines, and even graves that are chisled into the banks, closed to the elements by a remarkably resilient facade of stone-cob or clay brick.
Amongst the canyon inhabitants, there are a large number of potters and fishers, with a significant flock of farmers, who keep their strange succulents on narrow terraces. Most of these look like long, standing planters, and contain a mix of clay sediment with looser sand or stones from the higher grounds.
The plains itself mostly holds nomadic clans, who tend to raise goats and other hoofed livestock. Nomads and canyon folk are likely to distrust each other due to their different cultures, which originate from their distinct lifestyles.
Although both groups show a very long term thinking and community-based mindset, those on the high grounds naturally cope better with unknown risks and are even known to enjoy the existence of vague rules and outcomes.
Besides, the canyon dwellers tend to pay more attention to masculine concepts such as honor and will receive more social benefits for heroic and competitive feats. They are also known to care more for material rewards. This is in contrast to the more cooperation and welfare-oriented individuals on the steppe. This can likely be attributed to the quick wear of material possessions and the lack of permanent domain when traveling over the higher plateaus, although many clans cite common ancestors as the cause of the cultural divides.
Nomads also have a more horizontal hierarchy, meaning that, outside of the leader-follower ranks in the clan, one pays little to no attention to rank. This tends to annoy the average canyon inhabitant who have more complicated social structures that might vary widely between different regions. These dragons are ironically referred to as "stuck up" by the nomads, whose spend their life traveling the steppe above them.
No book has ever expressed the darned truth of travel through these cursed plains.
In contrast to the domain of thunder, there are hardly storms to keep the itch of dust out of manes and feathers, no sweet relief from the unending sun but a shadowed crevasse once in a dozen of leagues. Any wise traveler dares not to enter such a shelter with a careless heart, for they are certainly taken by manticores, beastclans, and native flights.
Unlike what the stories will have you believe, not many here are keen on sharing, especially with strangers. The land is scarce and wild, with unyielding stone under a thin layer of dusty earth. The sole trees on these plateaus are hunchbacked bushes, and the only other vegetation-type seem to be a stony lichen, or parched grasses.
In contrast to the drought higher up, the narrow canyons hold almost too much water. Hazardous rapids have worn deep horizontal scores out of the walls and dug their way deep into the bedrock, blunting sharp edges and leaving broad slips of fertile, but water-repellant clay.
Many dragons are therefore canyon dwellers who have etched their lair into the steep walls. In previous jaunts, I have described the shops, shrines, and even graves that are chisled into the banks, closed to the elements by a remarkably resilient facade of stone-cob or clay brick.
Amongst the canyon inhabitants, there are a large number of potters and fishers, with a significant flock of farmers, who keep their strange succulents on narrow terraces. Most of these look like long, standing planters, and contain a mix of clay sediment with looser sand or stones from the higher grounds.
The plains itself mostly holds nomadic clans, who tend to raise goats and other hoofed livestock. Nomads and canyon folk are likely to distrust each other due to their different cultures, which originate from their distinct lifestyles.
Although both groups show a very long term thinking and community-based mindset, those on the high grounds naturally cope better with unknown risks and are even known to enjoy the existence of vague rules and outcomes.
Besides, the canyon dwellers tend to pay more attention to masculine concepts such as honor and will receive more social benefits for heroic and competitive feats. They are also known to care more for material rewards. This is in contrast to the more cooperation and welfare-oriented individuals on the steppe. This can likely be attributed to the quick wear of material possessions and the lack of permanent domain when traveling over the higher plateaus, although many clans cite common ancestors as the cause of the cultural divides.
Nomads also have a more horizontal hierarchy, meaning that, outside of the leader-follower ranks in the clan, one pays little to no attention to rank. This tends to annoy the average canyon inhabitant who have more complicated social structures that might vary widely between different regions. These dragons are ironically referred to as "stuck up" by the nomads, whose spend their life traveling the steppe above them.
Recovered on 21/09/12, 20:09 FRT
On: Religion
Quote:
Log CTRT023, entry 037564.
It is funny isn't it, how everyone here seems to be wary of their western neighbors. The Saffron have a unanimous distrust for the barbarian Mika clans, while the Mika, who have only shown me exceptional ettiquette, harbor a strong dislike for the pebble thieves. As you have guessed, the Pebblers have turned out to be wary but fair folk, who rather give than take.
Despite this, it is true that the land gets poorer the further West you travel. Flights are increasingly superstitious, as a variety of beliefs gives them means to explain their worries away and save their strength and hopes for tomorrow.
There is power in this. Take the deities, whose existence is built on worship, then consider the inexplicable spirit world, to which the exalted dissapear.
The very fabric of Sorneith churns just like we have written and are taught to belief. If just enough dragons hold faith, they will be able to create miracles, but also terrible disasters.
Such are the remote corners of the shattered plains, where too few roam to hold still the frame of reality.
It is funny isn't it, how everyone here seems to be wary of their western neighbors. The Saffron have a unanimous distrust for the barbarian Mika clans, while the Mika, who have only shown me exceptional ettiquette, harbor a strong dislike for the pebble thieves. As you have guessed, the Pebblers have turned out to be wary but fair folk, who rather give than take.
Despite this, it is true that the land gets poorer the further West you travel. Flights are increasingly superstitious, as a variety of beliefs gives them means to explain their worries away and save their strength and hopes for tomorrow.
There is power in this. Take the deities, whose existence is built on worship, then consider the inexplicable spirit world, to which the exalted dissapear.
The very fabric of Sorneith churns just like we have written and are taught to belief. If just enough dragons hold faith, they will be able to create miracles, but also terrible disasters.
Such are the remote corners of the shattered plains, where too few roam to hold still the frame of reality.
Recovered on 21/12/04, 23:41 FRT
on: The Clan of Deep Slumber (Trouble of thinking of a good name)
Quote:
Log CTRT025, entry 135000.
Just a fortnight ago, I've come into contact with the clan of Deep Slumber, which is how the eastern neighbors have come to call their lair. They are a quiet bunch, if not too quiet at times. Welcoming too, for I've been guided around their tunnels, canyon porches and galleries, and have seen a sizable part of their lair.
It is on these occasions that my harsh judgment on the earth tribes proves wrong. Although many clans still keep me outside of their borders for fear of robbers, witches, and even ghosts, (Ghosts!) others have proven to be perfectly reasonable when presented with the proper courtesies.
Anyways, this lair is built in a cluster of the narrower canyons, the chasms just about wide enough to fly through. If one bellows a welcome near their grounds, it's likely that a friendly messenger will come your way. An escort, to prevent unpleasant things.
The den is entered through a wide, stone walkbridge, broad enough for two or three merchant carts to ride side by side. It is a beautiful marble thing, which I will certainly sketch once I leave.
But instead of leading the weary traveler to the other end of the plateau, it slopes down ever so slightly, into a dark, echoing tunnel. The gaping entryway is guarded by a mistwatcher's statue, breathing out a most imperceptible breeze, which will ruffle feathers ever so slightly.
The ominous path empties into many sprawling, spacious caverns, where the sun filters through colored glass in bright pillars of dusty light. It pools on the shimmering stone like liquid amber, astonishingly beautiful. It is therefore no surprise that the room has many benches, for potential merchants or spectators to rest on.
Further on, the path dips steeply, narrowing to hazardous, uneven stone stairs that lead to branching, underground caverns. If the traveler takes time to observe the fossil-dotted stone, the learned may observe that these walks have been flooded in ancient times.
The galleries there are dim and lit by arcane gems, or strange luminous moss. It is quite dark before the claustrophobic walls make place for almost blindingly bright, balcony-like hallways.
These narrow paths have low but sturdy rails and are flanked by thin, glass sliding doors that lead to many spacious grotto. The caves serve as commune living space and connect the pillar-like houses that span the wall of the canyon.
Each house has a small shrine sitting at the front door, from which I gathered that these are religious dragons. They even have a temple, one that has forbidden grounds that I'm determined to explore some day.
Nearby chasms with similar caves are accessible through more winding hallways or stairs, which are often bolted to walls.
The solid rock between the grotto's is ridden with steaming pipes that carry running water and hot air. It's an astonishingly thorough plumbing system, which seems to need no maintenance, powered by the ferocious water that runs through the rock below.
As contemplated earlier, these dragons are one of the rare welcoming clans. Like all other flights residing on these plains, these folk have strange traditions. On arrival, they'd laid out a feast, where they insisted on me eat. There is a curious local myth involved in that, as dragons who do not take food usually disappear from their realm within a moon, and dragons who have eaten will have vowed to stay forever, Something I've regarded with the proper skepticism.
Just a fortnight ago, I've come into contact with the clan of Deep Slumber, which is how the eastern neighbors have come to call their lair. They are a quiet bunch, if not too quiet at times. Welcoming too, for I've been guided around their tunnels, canyon porches and galleries, and have seen a sizable part of their lair.
It is on these occasions that my harsh judgment on the earth tribes proves wrong. Although many clans still keep me outside of their borders for fear of robbers, witches, and even ghosts, (Ghosts!) others have proven to be perfectly reasonable when presented with the proper courtesies.
Anyways, this lair is built in a cluster of the narrower canyons, the chasms just about wide enough to fly through. If one bellows a welcome near their grounds, it's likely that a friendly messenger will come your way. An escort, to prevent unpleasant things.
The den is entered through a wide, stone walkbridge, broad enough for two or three merchant carts to ride side by side. It is a beautiful marble thing, which I will certainly sketch once I leave.
But instead of leading the weary traveler to the other end of the plateau, it slopes down ever so slightly, into a dark, echoing tunnel. The gaping entryway is guarded by a mistwatcher's statue, breathing out a most imperceptible breeze, which will ruffle feathers ever so slightly.
The ominous path empties into many sprawling, spacious caverns, where the sun filters through colored glass in bright pillars of dusty light. It pools on the shimmering stone like liquid amber, astonishingly beautiful. It is therefore no surprise that the room has many benches, for potential merchants or spectators to rest on.
Further on, the path dips steeply, narrowing to hazardous, uneven stone stairs that lead to branching, underground caverns. If the traveler takes time to observe the fossil-dotted stone, the learned may observe that these walks have been flooded in ancient times.
The galleries there are dim and lit by arcane gems, or strange luminous moss. It is quite dark before the claustrophobic walls make place for almost blindingly bright, balcony-like hallways.
These narrow paths have low but sturdy rails and are flanked by thin, glass sliding doors that lead to many spacious grotto. The caves serve as commune living space and connect the pillar-like houses that span the wall of the canyon.
Each house has a small shrine sitting at the front door, from which I gathered that these are religious dragons. They even have a temple, one that has forbidden grounds that I'm determined to explore some day.
Nearby chasms with similar caves are accessible through more winding hallways or stairs, which are often bolted to walls.
The solid rock between the grotto's is ridden with steaming pipes that carry running water and hot air. It's an astonishingly thorough plumbing system, which seems to need no maintenance, powered by the ferocious water that runs through the rock below.
As contemplated earlier, these dragons are one of the rare welcoming clans. Like all other flights residing on these plains, these folk have strange traditions. On arrival, they'd laid out a feast, where they insisted on me eat. There is a curious local myth involved in that, as dragons who do not take food usually disappear from their realm within a moon, and dragons who have eaten will have vowed to stay forever, Something I've regarded with the proper skepticism.
Recovered on 21/12/23, 13:12 FRT
Clan lore by Islet
|
► Visions |
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Aequor to the service of the Earthshaker 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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