Amara
(#48857026)
Level 10 Imperial
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.16 m
Wingspan
19.99 m
Weight
7392.59 kg
Genetics
Ice
Tapir
Tapir
Ice
Striation
Striation
Moon
Gembond
Gembond
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Imperial
EXP: 11176 / 27676
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
Amara
born Víðarr
The Gaoler
|
|
 A Tale of Times Lost Track... Hunt... Kill... That is my task, my goal. The Elders say I am one of the best. That I am a true Gaoler, despite my age. I want to take pride in their words, but their actions speak louder, their hearts truer than their mouths. They say they send their strongest to fight, yet the fiercest remain in the Ice Caves while the Youth are sent to battle in our Father's name. Their words are of praise, but their voices weave venom into my ears. Their venom is not of me, however, but of them. The Children of Light, not of our Father, but a Mother beyond the snow. Her children are kind, regal, and as massive as we, yet Death to them is but a barrier. They melt, defying Death and forging themselves into twisted monsters. With Death at their command, they only think of meat for a stomach that never fills and life for a heart that never warms. That is what we are trained to fight. To hunt. To kill. The dreaded Emperors of the Golden Lands. Many siblings have passed to the Grey fighting them, crossing the fjord to the Great Tundra, but I resist. I must. We must. The fellow Gaolers of the Tribe of Einherjar are to fight by my side, yet I, the youngest, am their guide. We must defeat this beast, even if we are only Younglings. We are the Chosen of Odin, and we cannot fail our Father. He fell silent when the beast arrived. Four of the Children of Light had fallen to the waves, washing upon our shores. The beast had formed atop the Æsir Tribe, and our Father fell silent for the first time. His voice, once heard ringing in the empty seas of snow and whistling through the maze of icy crags and crevices, died as the Emperor rose. Even now, in the blizzard that freezes our fur and robs us of our sight, his voice is absent. The snow that once cloaked us in white now wish to bury us with the monster on the shore. We cannot fail our Father, not only for his sake, but for the sake of the Gaolers. We must defeat this great beast. We must separate the Children of Light until Death's shackles have been broken, so his voice may return. We must defeat Fenrir. I see my father in the shadow of the beast, fighting beside my fellow Chosen. Many fall at the paws of this great beast, and the world seems as if it wishes to freeze us. I see him, Odin himself, charging the beast as my Chosen join the fray. I do the one thing I must not do. I hesitate. I look down to my claws and check to see if my loose armor, passed down from generation to generation, still holds the tack I had added to it only a cycle before. I look back up, and I see the cost of my actions. I cannot tell if all the mounds of white are Chosen, but some patches of brown and black confirm the forms of Vili and Vé, my father's brothers. Before I can charge the beast, I see my father strike at the monster. I watch him vanish with the snap of hungry maws. I can feel the pain, even though my fur has yet to soak itself in the snow of the battlefield. My father, the one who had named us as his Chosen, had fallen to the Monster of Light. I know I cannot mourn. I mustn't. He cannot have fallen in vain. I stand in Odin's ground, and I charge the monster as fire rains from above. I know of only one thing I must do. Track. Hunt. Kill. The battle is soon over. I do not know how, but the beast is no more, having fallen through the ice. I turn, and I am not alone. I see Váli, my brother, collapse into the snow. I take but a step before I too fall. I have done it. I have done what I was meant to do. I freed Death. I defeated Fenrir. With no sun or moon above me, surrounded in a world of white, even though my fur feels cold, I feel a warmth in my chest. My sight leaves me, and I cannot stand, but it is done. I freed Death, and now it can guide us to the Great Tundra. I silently recite my name, it's meaning burned into my memory. I am a Gaoler, a Youngling of the Tribe of Einherjar. I am one of Odin's Chosen who fought by his side. I am Víðarr, son of Odin, and slayer of Fenrir. I am Víðarr, the Avenger of Odin... I am the Avenger of Odin... The Avenger... I am Vengeance... I'm... So cold...  I'm awake. Is this the Great Tundra? I cannot see the Tundra. Where are my brothers? Where are the fallen Chosen of Odin? Where... Where am I? It is warm here. Warm, and squishy. This isn't my home. It isn't even close. Where is this? What happened? I stop to think. I cannot see, but I remember a blizzard. A battle. Brothers, sisters, family falling to the flames and jaws of the beast. I remember the crack of ice, Fenrir falling into the abyss below. The Chosen. Vengeance. That's right. I am Vengeance. The air rings around me. There are voices, unfamiliar, yet most certainly there. Some are high. Some are low. Some seem to change with whistles and clicks like our Father, while others seem to bear the dull tones of a cloud-filled sky. One reminds me of the Children of Light. Not the monster, but the innocent children. The sane ones. The live ones. The ones that didn't attempt to chain Death. I do not speak. I would not dare, and yet I must know. I move my neck, bowing my head. There is no pain, but my coat is heavy. Is it my armor, or the ice from the blizzard? Perhaps my fur is just heavy. "Whoah there, ah think he might be awake! Oh, where did that young'un run off to?" The voice is loud, but small. Smaller than a bare Youngling, yet the shake of age grates my ears. She is not like me, I think. "Darnit all, they went an' left me here. Ah well. Ya smell of ice, which makes sense I guess." Smell of Ice? Do I not look it as well? "Doncha worry, ah won't hurt ya. Yer safe." Perhaps I should speak, yet my voice fails me, and a growl is all that breaks through. It sounds like our Father and his glaciers as they clashed in the battle. "Okay there, ya didn't smell of blood, an' I don' wancha changin' that." Surely I smell of blood. I was just in battle. If I try a little harder... "I..." What do I say? Just the one word exhausts me. Fenrir must have truly been a powerful foe. Perhaps if I repeat her greeting... "You... smell of Ice..." "Ah guess that there greeting wasn't popular back then. Ya can call me Darkwind, young'un. Or old one. Ah don't really know. What's yer name?" My name. Darkwind sounds strange. It reminds me of the night winds our Father sang sometimes, when danger was sealed away and peace took roost in our snow dens. I repeat her name a few times, bringing up the image of the cold, crisp nights I'd loved. "I... I am..." Is my name really Vengeance? It seems right, but wrong at the same time. I know I am not Fenrir, nor am I Odin. Odin... My father... I avenged my father. I must be Vengeance. "I am Vengeance." "Vengeance? Wha's a young'un like you doin' with a tough name like that? Ya sure it ain't somethin' else yer rememberin' there?" No, but if I am not Vengeance, who am I? "Víðarr." "Bless ya." It seems that isn't a name, but why does it sound right? "How 'bout I give ya a name? Clear things up a bit. It'd be better'n callin' you young'un." She pauses, and I don't know what to say. The name presented by an Elder, such a title is an honor. For it to be my name... I feel like the day I became one of the Chosen. "How 'bout Amara?" "Amara...?" I don't why she wants to call me one who is without Death, but she seems proud of it. Perhaps to her a lack of Death is a blessing? Is it because I didn't die on the battlefield? I want to know why she's chosen Amara as my new name. I try to stand, to approach what must be the smiling creature, but like before, my legs fail me. She doesn't catch me, and I hit what feels like warm snow. It's soft somehow, but strange. I feel something soft touch my muzzle. Is that a paw? Is that Darkwind? She's soft... "Sorry 'bout that, but you'd crush me if ya wen't an fell on me like that. Ah'm glad they got some o' that faux moss down around the block ya were in." Block? That isn't right. I was on a battlefield, surrounded by our Father's snow and ice, not in a block. "Where... am I...?" The paw begins to move, seeming to pull at my fur. Is she cleaning it somehow? It feels nice, and a little lighter. "Yer in the Clan o' the Clockwork Eclipse, but you can call us the Wanderers fer short. We're near the Wyrmwound, still churnin' by the Plaguebringer herself." The Wanderers, the Wyrmwound, the Plaguebringer... None of it is helping me understand. Not really. Plaguebringer sounds like our Father's name, though... Is she like the other Mother, the Lightweaver? But of what? What, or who, are her Children? Is Darkwind one of the Children of this Plaguebringer? It's so confusing. I just want to go home, yet I don't know where home is. "Where is... my... home...?" The paw, or paws now, stop. I can hear her sigh, the creak of age forcing it's way through. Does she not like my question? "Yer home ain't much o' a home, Amara. When we found ya, we thought ya were jus' a small Ice Hill my the Fortress o' Ends. Ah was surprised ta find a face by me when I woke up the next mornin'." She laughs at that, but it sounds wrong. It sounds like she doesn't like this part. "Ya were frozen, young'un. Th' others thought ya looked kinda like me, an' they were askin' me lots o' things. Why'd ya look more like me? Why'd I look more like you rather than one o' them regular ol' Tundras? Ah didn't know, an' I went lookin' around. You... were the only one we found, Amara." My brothers, the other Chosen... they weren't there? It was just me? "Ah never thought ah'd look more like a Gaoler than an ol' fuzzbutt Tundra." A Tundra? She says it like it's a race, a child of a Father or Mother, not a place. What does she mean? "Ya know, lot's o' drakes don't think y'all exist anymore, but here ya are. One o' the First Children of the Icewarden himself! Feels a little weird, but I ain't complainin'. I don' think bein' frozen for ages would make me feel special, jus' cold and more bristly than ah am." No, wait. First Children? We're the only Children of our Father. Why is there a First? "First... Children...?" "Oh yeah. Y'all disappeared, an' then the Tundras showed up. We're the Second Attempt, ah guess. Not sayin' we're better or anythin', but we certainly ain't as big as you Gaolers. 'Sides, ya might not count me. Ah was born in the Plaguebringer's Domain, not in the Icefields. But mah kind were made by the Icewarden." She said we. Is... Is she a Child of our Father, too? She's small, but her fur, her scars, her voice... it's not the same, but I can hear our Father in her, even if her fur is short and her nest in this domain of Plague. She is one of his Children. "Ah can't really take ya back there, Amara. A sheet o' Ice ain't a home, even to a Tundra. Ya need a clan, other drakes ta help ya, a family o' sorts. Ya won't find that there." What do I say? I understand her. My Tribe is not there, and my searching would likely kill me now. Besides, my sight is still gone. Perhaps our Father speaks once more out there, but one who cannot see cannot truly feel his embrace. But I still miss my home. I think she understands that. "Ya can stay with me, if ya want to." I turn my head towards her voice. Her paws have moved back to my muzzle, and I don't know what to say. Most Gaolers are strange, but I've never met one with a heart as warm as hers. I think I know my answer. "I'd like that..." I feel something small against my face, larger than the paw, but still small. A head, chest, legs... She really is small. I want to laugh, but my throat hurts. "Y'know, when yer ready, why don't we go an' find ya a place to sleep? Maybe get ya somethin' ta eat?" I smile. It seems Death blessed me with a second chance, and took my sight as payment. I am Amara, the one blessed by Death, and while I'll miss my brothers and sisters, I won't let my second chance go to waste. I stand, taking the Tundra with me, and this time I don't fall. "So... Where do we start?" I can hear her laughing, and I laugh to. I'm Amara, and I'll be alright. |
|
Was scattering for rare eyes and I got faceted. How does this happen? Like, two vials and boom.
Started Common, got Uncommon then Faceted.
Need to wait for Lionfish for Gaolers, but my gosh he'd look so cute as one~! Oh no he looks cute with other genes.
Started Common, got Uncommon then Faceted.
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Feed this dragon Insects.
Feed this dragon Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Amara 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.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.