Cruor
(#47801032)
Level 1 Mirror
Familiar
Corrosive Depin
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Mirror
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.17 m
Wingspan
7.35 m
Weight
443.78 kg
Genetics
Blood
Speckle
Speckle
Blood
Freckle
Freckle
Blood
Gembond
Gembond
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Mirror
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Biography
CRUOR
The Plague-Kissed Pilgrim
“The things I once imagined would be my greatest achievements were only the first steps toward a future I can only begin to fathom.”
|
 Eupatrid says: “There comes a point in everyone's life where they can rail against the unfairness of the world until they lose, or they can do their best in it. Remain a victim, or become a survivor.”  Vim says: “When you make a mistake with metal, you can melt things down and start afresh. It is irritating, and it costs in time and soot and sweat, but it can be done. There is a comfort in iron, knowing that a fresh start is always possible. I am not wise, and I do not give advice, but I have come to know a few things: sometimes breaking is making, even iron can start again, and there are many things that move through fire and find themselves much better for it afterward.” |
  Cruor   
|
She trudged on towards the crumbling city, wondering if this is where her life would end. The dismal cracked buildings around her reflected her visage: worn, hopeless, and forsaken. The looming city may well be her last sight. She was lost, starving, and about to fall to her knees from weariness. This was an appropriate place for the forgotten to die: a city of grey and neglect. Her disease had drained her of all hope. She was a lost thing, a broken toy that has been used and thrown away. Through some combination of fortune, fate, and entropy, she had stumbled across the grey, steel city in the middle of the Rainless Wastes. Here, they told her, happiness was not promised. But acceptance was guaranteed. Community was not what brought these together. It was necessity, the strength in numbers, that saw more and more dragons drawn into the city. They were looking to escape the harsh cruelty of the Boneyard that saw thousands to their deaths, and many more to some unknown fate. This was a haven, a waystation where the lost and the desperate could find shelter. But this was not so much a city as it was a ruin. Its crumbling towers long fallen into disrepair, abandoned by the original hands that built it. The dragons that lived here ghosted through its narrow streets and broken buildings. There was no sense of unity, only a group of apathetic strangers who had nowhere else to turn. In this way, the city was not so different from the wastes that surrounded it. No one ruled. All dragons lived as singular individuals, responsible only for themselves. The inhabitants reflect their habitat, and nowhere else is this more true than the ever-changing Plague Flight. Of the dragons that braved the wastes, few wanted to remain in this forlorn, grey ruin. No one arrived because they had sought this place out. Instead, by happenstance, they passed in. They rested here, and passed out of it just as quickly and quietly, departing for whatever destination they had originally intended. The first dragons who arrived here has long since departed. Those who resided now were hard-pressed to even recall the names of the progenitors. As the years passed, the dragons changed, but city remained much the same. Here in the Wastelands, stagnation was death, and this was a graveyard. Cruor might well have succumbed to the forlorn despair of the grey wastes had she not come across a small but growing cabal of mages who have not yet given in to the curse of the ruins. Their ambitions shone like a beacon, guiding their sights away from the city of grey and neglect. Soon enough, the tug of the Plaguelands became too strong to deny. They dreamed of magic, power, and community. What they wanted would not be found here. Like many before them, these dragons would pass out of the city for good. But unlike them, they do not depart alone. Word of the migration was carried in whispers to all corners of the grey city. There is a storm brewing. Its winds will carry their spores far away, to take root at some distant, new land. When it comes, some would join the journey, and some would be left behind. Something ends. Something begins. |
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Exalting Cruor to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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