Dryad
(#47982506)
the Changeling; the Apothecary's Apprentice
Familiar
Blooming Hedgehide
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Female Nocturne
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.45 m
Wingspan
6.5 m
Weight
697.08 kg
Genetics
Sand
Pinstripe
Pinstripe
Peridot
Morph
Morph
Sunset
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Nocturne
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
Dryad
The Changeling
they/them
Biography
Dryad is an imitation of Evergreen and Glade’s only child, whom they hatched as an abandoned Nature egg. They rejoiced over their daughter, named for the graceful and tranquil spirits that inhabited the arboreal landscape of their Flight’s provenance. All was well in the humble family that the refugees had carved out, as Dryad served as a harbinger of new hope, a hope that may blossom into an element of harmony among their shifting and erratic world. How lovely of an ideal it was! And how fervently it was coveted, only to be so cruelly withered by the wicked hand of fate.
The archfey court had planted the first seeds of its presence into the Aetherwoods long before Evergreen and Glade had arrived, and the dragons that had grown up among the forest had harbored their accursed magic since their own hatchings, granting them reprieve from their iniquitous curses, as the Court had established some form of precarious alliance with them. But the Nature dragons were not Aetherwoods-born, and the Court had deemed it only fair to draw the newcomers into their dangerous game, the price to pay for providing sanctity in their domain.
Under cover of shadow, the underling creatures of the Court had swept in to claim the Nature hatchling as their own. The true Dryad had been stolen to become an oddity for their entertainment, a mystery hailing from some far corner of Sornieth. In her place, remained a changeling child. After having its true form glamoured, and the most perilous of its magic bound into deference by Hyperion, the new Dryad was nearly indistinguishable, save for its eyes of obsidian that marked it as dangerously ethereal.
It serves quietly in the apothecary, blending herbs into healing sachets with the touch of a true Nature dragon -- a manifestation of stolen magic, and a testament to the power of mimicry. The changeling lives among the dragons of Clan Saturn with indifference, as so many of its members are also touched by the Court as well. Among these fey-touched dragons is Arrossire, the clan's deputy centurion himself, who harbors magic from the Court.
The archfey court had planted the first seeds of its presence into the Aetherwoods long before Evergreen and Glade had arrived, and the dragons that had grown up among the forest had harbored their accursed magic since their own hatchings, granting them reprieve from their iniquitous curses, as the Court had established some form of precarious alliance with them. But the Nature dragons were not Aetherwoods-born, and the Court had deemed it only fair to draw the newcomers into their dangerous game, the price to pay for providing sanctity in their domain.
Under cover of shadow, the underling creatures of the Court had swept in to claim the Nature hatchling as their own. The true Dryad had been stolen to become an oddity for their entertainment, a mystery hailing from some far corner of Sornieth. In her place, remained a changeling child. After having its true form glamoured, and the most perilous of its magic bound into deference by Hyperion, the new Dryad was nearly indistinguishable, save for its eyes of obsidian that marked it as dangerously ethereal.
It serves quietly in the apothecary, blending herbs into healing sachets with the touch of a true Nature dragon -- a manifestation of stolen magic, and a testament to the power of mimicry. The changeling lives among the dragons of Clan Saturn with indifference, as so many of its members are also touched by the Court as well. Among these fey-touched dragons is Arrossire, the clan's deputy centurion himself, who harbors magic from the Court.
The Vanishing
Evergreen slithered between the ancient, twisting roots of the giant tree in Noctis' Hollow, where gnarled wood formed a labyrinthine network below the earth. He turned into one of the obscured open pockets along the side of an offshoot tunnel, where the nursery was established, hidden from the wraiths and their elegiac, enchanting melodies that haunted the forest's surface when the moons reigned over the Starfall sky. There was no danger, not in the haven of the Saturnian Coven, not under the grace of the Arcanist-blessed sorcerers that turned a beautifully monstrous wood into a reprieve from the fragmenting world around them.
When Evergreen found the body of his only progeny ensnared by vines of pastel blossoms, he rejoiced and failed to notice their wickedly sharp thorns. A child of Nature, being raised so far from the epicenter of her magic's domain, must be powerful in her gift to summon such flora. It was not uncommon for fledgling druids to awaken surrounded by a wild overgrowth, their magical energies rampant and exuding from their souls, as they lacked mastery over their talents. But as the spiral approached his daughter, leaning over to mark a rune of blessing upon her, his claw came away slick with a leaked substance that could only be the consistency of blood. Overcome by a dizzying nausea, he murmured a quiet incantation, and lit the lanterns of charmed flame that hung from grotto's roof. Where the thorns pierced her skin, the nocturne's scales were smeared dark and glassy with the color of a December midnight sky. With the sound of Evergreen's strangled cry at the haunting, atrocious sight of Dryad dripping black blood, the young hatchling startled from its slumber and opened her wide eyes of deadly indigo.
***
Moments after Evergreen's cry had split the previously placid hush among the Seelewood's roots, Glade burst into the grotto with a thunderous urgency. "Evergreen," he whispered, voice tempered with a sharp intensity, "what has happened?"
A tremor wracked its way through Evergreen's body, his tail spade lashing furiously. In the space where they stood, foxglove and oleander burst forth from the soil in a ring, wild with the erratic magic of an infuriated Nature mage. With every word he spoke, new vines unfurled into existence, nurtured by a wellspring of withering rage. "Our child has befallen a vile fate, and the creature that lies in her place is a changeling born of Night magic."
The ridgeback's glare glazed over with an anguished look of blind rage. Arcs of sickly green pulsed from his scales, flaring out in bursts of otherworldly light, and where he placed his talons in his march towards the nest, Evergreen's poisonous blossoms withered to blighted shells of lifeless flora, overcome by the force of a deeper rage. "A changeling is an abomination that no god would dare claim as their own making, and has no place among the venerated order of true magic!" He snarled. There was a detectable shift in the air, as if the universe waited with baited breath for the occurrence of a fateful event. The spiral felt a sickening slowing of time when Glade swung his barbed tail in a vengeful arc, aiming for the skull of the changeling child.
And when the spikes connected instead with the earthen wall, Glade yanked his tail free, his head whipping around to sneer at Evergreen, who had coiled himself over the body of the small, shuddering nocturne. "Changeling magic," the spiral began, voice depleted of its adrenaline-bolstered confidence, instead, now strained and wavering. "is not holy. It is a twisted abuse of Shadow magic, tainted with something more sinister. But a child, so young and innocent, does not deserve to be murdered over such a curse. For the corruption lies not in her soul, and these... unfortunate gifts may be constrained." Evergreen mustered the resolve to meet Glade's eyes, still smoldering, but now betraying a weary desperation. "Please, we are in the domain of the scholars of otherworldly magic. Surely they can give this child a chance at life without torment." He pleaded.
Glade's silence was deafening as he struggled to weigh the consequence of once more submitting his morality to the ensured backlash of interfering with corrupted magic. Evergreen, no longer able to stand the scrutiny, turned her cheek to once again focus on the thing that was and was not his daughter, murmuring a new incantation to ensure her slumber until a decision could be reached.
|
Lore Familiar: "Patches" the Pinpush Mirror Doll Patches is a plush that was sewn by Evergreen out of scrap material, but despite they toy's more... humble and unassuming appearance, it's story is anything but. The awry Fey magic that lingered like an aura around Dryad has always had a mischievous air about it, so Glade and Evergreen were not too surprised when their child's favorite toy started tottering around on little plush legs. Luckily, Patches seems to be rather friendly, and often tags along with Dryad, causing only minimal damage to Clan Saturn's lair. |
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Psalms to a Silent Forest
After her time serving the Fey court, True Dryad was evanesced back to the realm of Sornieth, but her elemental magic was so overwhelming in its return to her soul that it immediately burned through her, leaving her an empty shell, and as customary to Nature dragons, her soul was absorbed into the consciousness of the forest in which she died. Evergreen and Glade often visit the glen that she haunts, but they never got to know their daughter before she was taken, and feel that instead they are visiting the grave of a stranger.
My dear,
I have withered
and let the hyacinths
burst from my core
I nurture them freely,
for they are welcome
among my rot
The sunlight
through the dappled trees
does not warm me,
but perhaps it will give you joy
The sound of your psalm
dies on the breezes
among the boughs
but the forest remembers
in the reverberation through its roots
They collect the shattered remnants
of each whispered verse
yet will not heed the calls
for my return
It is too late,
I have already dissolved
into the collectivity
of the forest with grace
I must admit that once,
the briars twined with my rage
but I subdued them
to become a bar of birdsong
and a stanza of the deer’s lore
Please do not pray for me
beneath the willow tree
lest you wish to become
bones beneath the ground
as well
(Should you care to join me
let the crows take you instead,
it is a kinder way to go)
On the days when the river
succumbs to stillness,
you can find me
Today, the wind is gentle
amongst the cairn stones
but it is not a mercy
The ilk of the forest
have awaited your arrival
and call out in desperation
for you to linger
The rain fell so heavily
as you wept,
and now the soil is soft,
blessedly fertile
The forest knows the anguish
of having only grief
left to give
And even still,
it seeks sustenance
from your sorrow
It is patient
ready to receive seeds
but it will also accept ashes
in the time of your mourning
(Perhaps this time,
they will grow)
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Exalting Dryad to the service of the Arcanist 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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