Phobia
(#47287953)
i hid from the world
Familiar
Ball-Jointed Bogsneak
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.43 m
Wingspan
7.31 m
Weight
432.71 kg
Genetics
Violet
Iridescent
Iridescent
Twilight
Seraph
Seraph
Moon
Circuit
Circuit
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
| xxxxx |
" |
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxsolice. a solemn man. lost to the world, his soul intertwined with fear, he wishes for solitude.    ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxencounter. no encounter found to replay. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxsomebody else. A face in the crowd. Phobia had always been a face in the crowd. Hailing from the Wandering Contagion along with a multitude of other sickly, diseased hatchlings, Phobia was named for his unwillingness to be near the other orphans, and was cast aside by the caretakers as a "Kooky one, sulks around a lot. Don't bother with him." He was mercilessly taunted, the subject of everyone's babyish fights. He left the orphanage without waiting for anybody as soon as he knew he could feed himself. Phobia's first celebration was one he was forced to attend. The Riot of Rot, neither words sounded particularly attractive to the young drake, but he was literally swept up in the excitement while walking outside to get lunch and was stampeded to the festival grounds where an entertainer took pity on him and slapped a little child's painted mask on him, made of flimsy paper and colored with garish reds and greens, but suddenly, the world felt different. He felt like somebody else. There were no eyes on him. Well, there were, but not on him, on the mask. Other children couldn't see his sour expression, and even attempted to get him to join in their games. When he declined, disgusted by their open wounds, scrapes and scratches, loud noises, violent ways, they laughed it off and went to pester others. The entertainers called out to him, dragons from other clans and flights waved hello. He was anonymous. When he at last made it home, he shut himself in and repaired the damage done to the mask - crumpled and battered at the edges from pushing and shoving, the paper was precious to him. He wore it out after the festival ended when he went outside to buy cloth and paper, but the bright festival colors stuck out, and again he was teased, yelled at from down the street by strangers, and their stares chased him all the way back to the door, which he slammed. Phobia hated it. He wished he were somebody else. He left his city as soon as he knew he could survive such a long trip, and nobody missed him. A bag stretched over his face with only three holes, for his beak and eyes - that would have to do. He scanned the horizons and the lands below for someplace suitable. Earth was so open and dry. Arcane? Ugh, no. Everyone wanted to know about everything, including him. Water - that sounded nice. The deepest crevice of the ocean, buried and alone beneath tons of seawater... if only he had gills. Shadow. Wait. Phobia swooped low. Shadow. The trees, the darkness, the tricksy shadow dragons that didn't show themselves. He landed in the woods and started walking, searching for a small place he could call his home in the deep forest. Away from cities. Away from dragons. A candle. In the middle of the forest, a nearly-melted candle, the old wax fused to a gnarled root that jutted from the dark earth, just a faintly flickering stub. Why was it still lit? Another one, just barely in sight. It led to heavy wooden gates. Oh, no. Other dragons. He turned to flee, but a dark shape soared down from the battlements and landed in front of him. No, no, no, NO! "What's your business in Synto, traveler?" asked a Wildclaw wearing black, plated armour. "No business, no business, I don't want anything to do with you," panted Phobia, trying desperately not to break down and sob. "Leave me alone, I don't want to see another dragon as long as I live." The Wildclaw shifted her balance in surprise. "Are you hurt?" Phobia started backing away, his legs trembling. "No, no, nothing-- I-- Don't look at me. I don't want any trouble, I don't want to talk, I just want to--" The guard clicked her large claws, and Phobia restrained the urge to scream aloud at the noise. Too much. "Wait here. Please, wait here. I know someone who can help." With that, she flew off, and the presence, along with all of her little noises, were gone. Phobia was not going to wait here. He turned and bolted, but continuously tripped over roots and pebbles in the forest. The Scarred Wasteland was so different, softer, wetter, and soon the gentle flap of wings fluttering through the wind caught up with him. "Go away. Go away. Go away," Phobia chanted, but to no avail. He stumbled again and a Fae landed behind him. He turned, dreading the sight. She was small, delicate, and still, like an intricate statue, and made no noise. Instead of the scraping of air through vocal pipes, her voice came like a bath of cool water relieves a burn, quiet and lulling in his mind. Phobia, I have dreamed of your arrival. A skydancer that hides his face will come to us by accident, and flee from confrontation. If I had known you would come here today, I would have met you myself, instead of causing you stress with Borderline. I apologize. "How do you know my name." I dreamed of it. "I don't care if you dreamed of me. I don't want anything to do with other dragons, I just want to build a house somewhere in the forest and finally be LEFT ALONE. I don't want to be who I was back in Plague, always too noisy and smelly and dirty and too much of everything. I want to start over--" You want to be somebody else. A pause. A bitter silence as Phobia stared at the Fae that had seemingly read his mind. She tipped her head, and her fins fluttered slightly. There are many damaged houses in Synto. We can help you repair one. You may live on the outskirts of our-- "No. No. Stop. Get out of my head. Get out. I don't want to be near anybody." ... I see that this is something that cannot be mended. "Mended. I don't need to be mended. I don't even want to be mended. I just need to be away from it." I will provide you with wood, food, and other materials if you so need them. You will not have to talk to anyone but me. He looked away from her. Who was she to come in and disrupt his plans, talk in his thoughts, chase him through the forest, offer to help in such a condescending way. "I don't want your help." Her delicate fins lifted slightly in amusement. You're welcome. Good luck in Everdown. It can be dangerous. There are other dragons out here, as well as Beastclans. "Go away." Phobia snarled through his bag, and Unknown nodded and fluttered away. The next day, he found not only a pile of wood, but several candles, a few sticks of incense, a bag of herbs and insects, and a painted mask made out of sturdier paper, pink and purple to match his scales, with fans on the side to match a Fae's, and a trickle of quiet laughter fluttered through his head. He wasn't a Plague Skydancer anymore. He was somebody else. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxrelations.
code by archaic #19153
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Exalting Phobia to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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