Anodyne (#44481076)
The Healer
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Energy: 48/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Female Skydancer
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Personal Style





3.47 m
4.85 m
800.08 kg


Primary Gene
Secondary Gene
Tertiary Gene


Aug 20, 2018
(2 years)



Eye Type

Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level




  • none



/ˈanədʌɪn/ | The Healer | The Wanderer | The Mediator

"All my life I have tried to pluck a thistle and plant a flower wherever the flower would grow. "


"But gods are born of ichor and nectar, their excellences already bursting from their fingertips. So they find their fame by proving what they can mar: destroying cities, starting wars, breeding plagues and monsters. They are connoisseurs of fragile things. For what is death to the undying? What are we, but glass ornaments to the eternal? All that smoke and savor rising so delicately from our altars, it leaves only ash behind." - Fustian

"Life is a wheel, its only job is to turn, and it always comes back to where it started. One day you're a child, the next, you're a parent, and then, you're done and dust in the ground. But the good thing about being old, is you don’t have to worry about dying young. We've had a good run. There are other worlds than these. All we see now is but a dream within a dream." - Vitiligo

Careful Hands




I am older than the days I have lived and the breaths I have drawn. My memories started centuries ago, from the first day a Skydancer distanced themselves from the petty squabbles of dragon-kind and turned away from senseless violence.

No more shall our children be brought up in the shadow of war. No more shall we commit atrocities in the name of dominance. Instead, we wil live a life of self-reflection and morality. That is the ideology that was passed down through hundreds of generations, and to me. We sequestered away from the world, fostering kindness and humility. A true community, built together without the influence of war.

The Zephyr Steppes was said to be the most peaceful place in all the world. There, I was born. There, I spent as carefree a youth as could be imagined. The air was tranquil and soft, and the little breezes coaxed even the shyest of hatchings from their reedy dens, out to the dawn bright lawn.

My parents would take me to the skies, and I'd leap on the backs of those winds, dipping my wings in the orange sun rays, and floating downstream until the end of their currents. I had dared to claim the sky.

But from the whispers on the trade winds, I heard stories of what lies beyond. Tales of war, death and suffering, in jarring contrast to my idyllic life.

"Nonsense from the barbaric tribes, my dear. Not something you'd want to be mixed up in." My parents tutted when I brought it up.

But my heart ached for all those caught up in the battles. If I could relieve even some of that suffering, then isn't it my duty to do so? If I see this and do nothing, what does that make me?

Of course, I didn't decide in a night. It was years before I finally mustered up the nerve to leave the shelter of home. After I had studied the healing arts of some of the Clan's greatest sages. Lessons that I could take with me, to bestow upon those who need it. To make a difference.

My parents cried when I said goodbye.

"Visit often!" They begged, enveloping me in their embrace. I savoured it, and imagined their warmth and strength seeping into my bones, grabbing onto that comfort with everything I had.

They lamented at my leaving, and as the wind carried me away, I couldn't help but turn back and catch one last glimpse of home. The sight of my mother weeping into the arms of my father almost pulled me back down to the ground. On my sentimental days, I would look back on that choice, in that moment. And I would wish I had just went back into their loving arms, and turned my back on the cold, uncaring world.

The world is vast. Especially to someone who had lived in such isolation, such a bubble of paradise. My first experience of the Plaguelands was almost indescribably miserable. My limbs ached, my throat burned, and even the wind itself was rasping, dry and cruel.

Perhaps you'd call me naive, but all I ever wanted to do was to take care of those that are injured, and nurture the values of good living wherever I could. I thought if any place needed a little of that, it would be here.

The clashes of battle is almost constant here, and so many are left for dead along the borders that within a few days, I was numb. I recall it as a blur; not in vivid colour, not in black and white, but in a muted shade of brown. My hands clutching gaping wounds, wrapping a twisted claw, placing gauze on a gorged eye, it was a neverending reel of nightmares. I winced at every wound, feeling each dragon's pain as keenly as though it were my own.

I did the best I could, but even so, I could not save them all. So many lives had slipped away in my hands, surrounded by nothing but barren wastelands, and with nothing but a stranger to hear their last gasping breathes. I would stay with them, and pray to the Windsinger to grant them safe journey to endless plains and boundless skies. Some of them passed quietly. Most did not.

On one evening, the sun glowed orange, and the endless sea of glittering crystals of the Arcane mountains in the distance reflected back a peach light. A towering pillar of black, churning smoke was rising high into the sky.

The bloody leavings of a skirmish covered the ground. I saw the hacked and broken bodies of the fallen lying amids welters of blood, body parts, and broken equipment. Scavenger birds and an emaciated hippogriff scattered when I approached. Nothing, it seemed, is spared from the violence.

The two bodies were a pair of Skydancers. I had to back away from the revolting scene to catch my breath. It's always so much harder, to see the twisted bodies of corpses that look just like me. Just like all the friends I used to play with. The dragons were young, very young. They couldn't have been older than the first season, and even in death they clutched each other in their arms.

Between their bodies, was a small satchel. As I pulled the covering back, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a clutch of two eggs, left behind by a first time mother who would never see them hatch. She died young, and now, her children will die even younger.

This is it, I thought. I cannot bear this world a moment longer. How could the gods do this? Let this happen and do nothing? The Windsinger, the Plaguebringer and all the rest, allowing, encouraging even, the battles of domiance wrought in their name. Battles that claim so many vibrant lives.

I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.

But I was holding an egg in my palms. Something that could be life, if given half a chance. I could see the soft membrane pulsing with strength and a desire to live.

I built a nest then, somewhere that was happy to shelter a Skydancer who had my knowledge of healing. I offered my services freely, and they in return provided me with all I needed to nurse the eggs. These hatchlings, mine in all but blood, would be born so far away from what I consider home.

Perhaps it's the dilemma of all parents, but the thought of the world I'm bringing these children into, keeps me up long into the night. These hatchlings will be brought into murk and depths. A world of dark water, and they would be creatures within it.

The day they hatched, I remember it so clearly. It was a windy afternoon, the Southern chill had been creeping into the land. The eggs had been twitching for a few days, and I had thought nothing of the little kicks, and pondered what I should get for dinner. But then, I witnessed the most beautiful, the most miraculous thing. I watched entranced, as the two hatchlings broke free, one after another, their little claws and wings flailing, their throats letting out angry little squeaks as they shed the shells.

I have many regrets in the world, but these hatchlings would never be one of them. I didn't think my heart could ever feel so full of love. So much pride and passionate affection, that I felt drunk on it all. Like I would burst from the seams.

Those first few months passed so quickly, teaching them first to walk, then to fly, showing them the tricks that my own parents had taught me, in my childhood. It was the first time in years that I could recall feeling so happy and carefree.

But then the bursts of fire and lightning, the threats of disease and raids across the border would bring a sobering reminder. This isn't the old home I knew, and these hatchlings aren't Wind flight youngsters, innocent of the world’s cruelty. They are Plague, born and raised. And though you can teach a viper to eat from your hands, you cannot take away how much it likes to bite.

As baby birds take their virgin flights from their nests, so too do all children outgrow their parents. As I had flown in pursuit of my own destiny, these little fletchlings, all too soon, stretch their wings and lift into the sky.

I call out a lonely goodbye, but they do not look back. As they disappear into the distance, my heart breaks all over again.

Someone once told me I had it all. But I never could and never shall.

I didn't study healing to be a hero, and I didn't come out here to save the world. I'm not like my clan-mates. No Plague magic, no vicious pragmatism, no berserker rage. In fact, on any other day, I'd struggle to find anything in common at all. But all of us, we made a choice. To answer when the world calls. And no matter that calling is, or what sacrifices we make to follow it, at the end of the day there is a great consolation in simply doing something you love.

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