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Azeroth

(#44284800)

Level 6 Pearlcatcher

Familiar

Wraith Hound

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.16 m

Wingspan

4 m

Weight

566.43 kg

Genetics

Cornflower
Clown

Smoke
Peregrine

Aqua
Underbelly

Hatchday

Aug 13, 2018
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Plague
Uncommon

Level 6 Pearlcatcher

EXP: 3553 / 8380

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

A Z E R O T H
SEER - HIGH MAGE
CUNNING | CRUDE | COLD

And the world cried, hands reaching for a death it could not see.

It all began with a thought.

Just a thought.

The thought wasn’t extraordinary, peculiar, strange. It wasn’t even spectacular. It was the type of thought that everyone thought was a boring thought.

A “what if” thought.

Granted, perhaps the thought was strange. Maybe abstract regarding the situation, time, place, and being of the thinker. No one expected a true blue dragon with a lounge about pearl in talon to think such a way. Much less in such a place.

She was here since the beginning, perhaps not of time, but long enough. Enough to have sentience and stray, to question and answer. Who was she again?

Azeroth, yes, she felt the name had semblance somewhere else far from here, but in her world, Sornieth. Azeroth was Azeroth. Her. No one else, not anyone but her. Azeroth and her little pearl.

She preferred it here with her written existence in a rag-tag, barely-kept-together clan.

In fact, she preferred the bleakness. It helped her think and gather her thoughts. Thoughts are what kept her together. If she couldn't think then she was no more. No better than a speck of grass she crushes under a foot. No better than a beast.

Azeroth soon found, melodies soothed the flow. They calmed a storm inside her skull no idea could enslave, it honed her vision. Taught her to breathe not only with her lungs, but with her mind. She could answer her own dismay this way, churn the tides of the forgotten.

“Are you mad?” asked the many who have all but just realized her thoughts. The only response from Azeroh was guffaw, a cherishing pat of the pearl.

“No. Perhaps you are the mad one,” it was this retort that often left her in solitude from strangers. Not that she cared, strangers were the weird ones. Dressed like mannequins with delicate steps on tainted soil as if acid would spit out from the dirt at one wrong step. Cringing at the sick world like its existence was a sin.

They were the sin; prideful, and gluttonous. It was they who were truly ill.

She was grateful for her twisted world, her “crazy” mind, wicked ways, diseased existence. Even since youth, the brain was hers and hers alone. No one could have it, no one could be it. No one could do it better then her.

She was made for it. And it for her.

Strength
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Reflexes
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Charisma
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Intelligence
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Magic
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RELATIONSHIPS

One of the very few dragons who managed to become and stay close to Azeroth, even long before she became who she was today. A bond that grew and festered into much more. Of course, it was not without faults. Azeroth holds Tourmaline closely and dearly. Should needed, she could willingly slaughter this clan if it meant keeping him alive at all cost. "The biological doomsday device," her mate is referred as. A laughable nickname to Azeroth, for they didn't know how correct they are.

MATE

FRIEND

A special, unique little status to have and boast about. Albeit Azeroth doesn't consider the idea of "friends," more just accomplices who are mildly useful in her cause. One of them being the peculiar spiral, Whiskey. Most notably favored for his arcane ability. Azeroth doesn't exactly like Whiskey, but sacrifices must be made to gain a higher cause.

Pure unparalleled hatred. Annoyance. Disappointment. Fury. All of this directed upon one sole dragon, Azeroth finds a quite a shame that she can't act upon this self destructive bitterness. Everything about the coatl, down to the very way she talks. Smug and "holier-than-thou" attitude paraded about for the high rank Mauve has the privilege of flaunting. If anything, that scandalous feather lover is probably trying to take over the highest rank, become the next clan leader even. Azeroth would be damned if she allowed the coatl to get anything better then where she was at now.

ENEMY

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HISTORY

Spawned at a ripe age, passed along before her mind could comprehend death. The red-eyed blue spoke no woe, a grin clearer then the shining day. So happy was she, naive and young, untainted yet by the unfathomable life. A fate whose claws yet to close; whose teeth was yet to feed. The looming dark that awaited all who stepped foot on the cursed land.

Yes, so blissful was she.

When years passed and numbers clumped at tenfold, red-eyed blue grew. Her frail form finding anew in arts of the wicked. Her practices caught many eyes, and allured many bods to sit and shout. All but one who gazed with a face locked with awe. A peer so small, finicky and wry. Yes so, the red-eyed blue turned to him. A green so green smiled back to she and she to him. A skydancer who declared himself Tourmaline was the green. Together they sought knowledge.

Yet she knew nothing still, nothing, it was a blank void. A bubbling noise. Louder --louder --louder the static grew in her mind. Mocking her and her pathetic state of intelligence. She had to know.

Years grew longer as did the days. Her studies began, experimenting and pushing the very limits of what magic is truly capable of. Testing the waters until the very skin of her hands blistered from overexposure to the magic. She attracted the wary concern of many. Yet, only Tourmaline seemed to hold a sense of stable faith in her. Stable faith in what she was doing, he was the minuscule few that urged her goals.

She bore offspring, a clutch of four. Only two were worthy to remain. She knew it was bound to happen, but it did not ease the pain of loss. However, the event sat heavy in her mind, tormented and mocked her. Preyed on her answering voice to every chance she could to deceive herself of not quietly lamenting fate.

The red-eyed blue began to ponder, more and more. She questioned the choices of the clan, of them, of herself. A gear in her mind began to whirl. She picked up pace of her studies and practice, losing many and gaining more. It all stumbled along so well. Until Mauve came.

Even when she saw the coatl at youth's prime, she held no trust. Her distrust only solidified when she unfolded the agenda the light bearer had as she grew. Azeroth couldn't let her gain that goal for it would ruin everything. It would bring unwanted change and distraught, it wasn't even fair to her. An outsider trying to overtake the clan for her own rule --why it was madness. A madness that must be put to a halt before the ends could meet.

They clashed, sparring with words for they were forbidden a brawl. Azeroth made her vows to defend the clan and keep it as it was, no matter what suffrage came. Actions come with a price, being strong meant giving up pieces of his or herself, that is what the clan was. Strong through sacrifice and determination, the coatl sought to change it all, weaken and kill them. She didn't know her plans completely, yet she knew deep down.

But many deemed her paranoid and unreasonable, even those she sought to protect from change. The whiplash of others stung, but Azeroth refused to step down. Instead she began adapting to counter the coatl. A political ring, for course if no one would side her she'd have to convince them, open their eyes and ask if unwarranted change was truly what they wanted.

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POSSESSIONS

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ART

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