Fluke » Hibernal Den » Fool

Fool

(#48946243)

Level 25 Spiral

Familiar

Plague Sprite

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

2.86 m

Wingspan

2.03 m

Weight

91.5 kg

Genetics

Dust
Tapir

Obsidian
Basic

Coral
Basic

Hatchday

Jan 29, 2019
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Plague
Dark Sclera

Level 25 Spiral

Max Level

STR

119

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

THE FOOL | king of the wastes
━━━━━━━━━━━
a sword is rusted
untouched, unused, without strength;
why does it linger?

Books have no place in this land of dust, under an unforgiving sun where each day is spent clawing for the next. Few reach the outpost--even fewer remain after a glimpse of the host's silver-sharp smile. There isn't much to offer in the outpost, perhaps a drink of stale, murky water. Nothing like the indulgent hospitality of lands far from the cursed wastes, but enough to keep a traveler going for another few days. No, this isn't the place for luxuries like books.

But there are stories.

The host, with a voice of sandpaper, will gladly share knowledge to those who come by. 'There isn't much to offer here,' the host knows. 'But don't you agree knowledge is a delicacy of its own?'

There are tales of wretched packs consuming themselves from within, of outsiders who try to cast their ignorant justice on a world better left alone. The story that catches the attention of most, however, is of the hero-king.

'Yes, travelers tend to like him', the host muses. 'A scarce example of true... valiance, you might say?'

The hero-king who led his clan to control vast swaths of the wastes, who ruled with iron claws but without cruelty. For decades the clan thrived, enjoying the spoils from weaker factions that offered food and service in return for quietly settling in their territory. To the onlooker, it may have been another example of tyranny, but to those under his rule? It was a time of peace in a world of disorder. The hero-king kept fights from breaking out, for no one wished to be thrown back into the wastes. Even a season under his rule would leave the most hardened survivor begging to remain in the empire; a taste of safety worth more than a lake of water. Life under the hero-king was comfortable, but he had no love for outsiders.

It was unexpected when he passed, but no one was surprised. Lives are transient, after all, and the hero-king had lived his to the fullest. Length did not matter; no, he was responsible for generations lived in peace, and even after the empire began to collapse under petty feuds and greed, all revered him.

And then he came back.

'You have to understand', the host's voice is harder now, steel against bone. 'Here, life is what matters. A warrior, a healer--it doesn't matter what role they play, but as long as they're a survivor, they're good. Someone who lives, whatever the cost. That's good. Someone who comes back, though? It isn't right.'

They couldn't touch the spirit, but it didn't stop them from trying. When the hero-king first materialized, an afterimage of wispy greys, it was madness. Accusations of malicious witchcraft ran rampant, and any dragons caught using magic were brought to the justice of the wastes. The hero-king was dead, and this desecration of his memory tore deep rifts into whatever scraps of loyalty remained between survivors. Who was responsible? Some tried to attack the spirit directly, hoping to force it back into the afterlife, but it slipped away only to reappear as the sun faded into night. Dead, staring ahead with the burning gaze that once controlled an empire.

A perpetrator was never determined, though there was no lack of punishment. The spirit appeared with the last frost of the season, and by the first breath of autumn there was nothing left of the legendary king's work. Only dust and bleached bones of those caught unaware. No one wanted to remain in a cursed land after all; pain was all that would come of the spirit's presence.

'To live here, you have to adapt,' the host says. 'And stories do that too, you know? Traditionalists will call him the hero-king, but you know what most of us call him nowadays?'

The years passed and with the turn of the seasons, the reputation of the hero-king crumbled into a mockery of history. A fable, even, of hubris and meddling with powers nobody has business dealing in. If nobody knew the reason for his return, then the only explanation was that the hero-king must have caused his fate somehow. He had cast aside his morals for a vulgar imitation of life.

The legacy of a survivor, turned into a bumbling, weak fool.

A shiver runs through your spine as the story ends, and you thank the host for sharing. You know better than to overstay your welcome here, and rest and water has taken the edge off of your aching muscles. When you glance around, you are surprised to see the fading light of the sunset on the outpost’s bleached walls. Time has flown by without your notice. 'You feel bad for him, don't you?' There's an odd look in the host's eyes now as you move to get up. 'There's no nice stories in the wastes, but you know that.'

You've told the host about your interest in lore. Hearing about other clans' histories has always been fascinating, and you've been traveling to hear as much as you can. Your heart aches for home, but there's always the prospect of the next great tale.

You feel.. off and glance up dizzily as your legs refuse to move. 'Something you ought to have learned before you got this far into the wastes is that,' the host coughs out what might be a chuckle. Behind the blurring outline of the host, you see a shifting figure of wispy greys tilt its head. Pinpricks of flame watch you serenely. 'Well, we don't like to waste.'

'Even fools know better than to let an opportunity walk away. And knowledge is such a delicacy, isn't it?'

.

.

The spirit of a long-passed ruler, renowned and feared for his skills in compulsion magic. Despite his prosperous reign, the true name of the spirit has been lost through the generations due to fear of summoning his spirit. Instead, the spirit is referred to as 'the fool' in order to remind all of its terrible mistake.

The fool protects a small colony of descendants that have remained loyal throughout the generations. Though locals steer clear from the tempting oasis in a sea of decay, they have no qualms directing weary travelers towards it. Be wary of who you trust.

If you feel that this content violates our Rules & Policies, or Terms of Use, you can send a report to our Flight Rising support team using this window.

Please keep in mind that for player privacy reasons, we will not personally respond to you for this report, but it will be sent to us for review.

0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Fool to the service of the Lightweaver 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?

Name

Names must be longer than 2 characters.
Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.

Name

Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.