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Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Scene: Frigidfin Expedition

Measurements

Length
4.16 m
Wingspan
3.09 m
Weight
156.11 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Silver
Jaguar
Silver
Jaguar
Secondary Gene
Silver
Rosette
Silver
Rosette
Tertiary Gene
Orca
Lace
Orca
Lace

Hatchday

Hatchday
Feb 06, 2019
(5 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Tundra

Eye Type

Eye Type
Ice
Rare
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
Meditate
Contuse
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

  • none

Biography

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Axelia
born Freyja
The Gaoler

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A Tale of Times Returned

A small silver bundle stumbled through the snow, her fluffy fur bushed out against the powerful winds that froze the world around her. Her wings, thin and weak, remained pressed tightly against her fluffy sides, and her eyes squinted against the storm swirling around her. She had heard the rumors. Her tribe had gone out to fight a great monster, and the Chosen had been called to the fray. She knew that her mother was out there as well, alongside her father. They had told her to stay in the caves, to wait with the others who had hatched that day. She didn’t listen to them. She wasn’t willing to. She was a tough one, a Young One like Víðarr, though she was admittedly younger than he was. He was allowed to fight the beast, so she should be able to as well!

She stumbled past the cave where she knew the Traitor rested. That’s where the Elders said he was, at least. She was glad she’d been able to sneak away when she had. They treated her like a child, and she knew they were only partly right. It wasn’t her fault her egg had been frozen for so long! If it hadn’t, she’d be older than her honorary brother Víðarr, and she was determined to show all of them that she too could fight. She stumbled on, ignoring the cracking of the ice beneath her.

Eventually, she reached one of many small drifts in the snow. The blizzard swarmed around her, and she puffed out her chest, extending her claws as she glared up at the faintest shadow of the beast. It was huge, and she was determined to defeat it somehow. She had to prove herself! She imagined herself defeating the great beast with four heads, a champion among her tribe. It was the image of her standing atop the fearsome monster that sent her towards the beast, a bundle of fury lunging at one of the massive jaws.

Víðarr, however, did not see a great warrior rushing to his aid. He did not see a silver goddess attempting to defeat Fenrir by his side, adorned in silver armor and sharpened battle claws.

He watched an unarmed hatchling, her fur still fluffy with youth, not yet thick enough to battle the harsh cold, lunge at the Emperor he was meant to fight.

The last thing Freya heard was her friend Víðarr calling her name as she, along with the massive beast with four heads, sank beneath the ice into the dark abyss below.


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She awoke with a start, her silver eyes flying open. Where was she? Who was she? What was happening? All good questions, but she had no answers. Instead, she could only gawk at the massive dragon looming over her, a wing draped over her body as she shivered. This drake looked sort of like her, but older and smaller. Perhaps even calmer. She had the fur, but not the gnarled horns nor the sharpened claws of battle.

She had so many questions to ask this old creature, but another figure stopped her. There, curled up in a nearby nest, was a very familiar figure to her. As her voice finally came back to her, she managed to let out a sharp squeak.

“Víðarr!”

The old dragon seemed surprised by the name, perhaps even more so when she saw the little bundle of silver scramble over to the sleeping drake. She didn’t speak. She didn’t argue. She didn’t get the chance, honestly. She couldn’t interrupt this moment.

Darkwind could only watch as this little hatchling huddled up against the dragon the old one knew as Amara, talking in a squeaky voice as she tried to wake him. She sounded scared.

“Young’un, he’s only asleep. He’ll be fine.”

She pulled the little one close to her, smoothing her downy fluff with gentle pats of her paw.

“Can ya tell me what yer name is before we go an’ find ya somethin’ ta eat?”

There was a moment’s pause as the little one looked at Amara, her adoptive brother from so long ago called Víðarr, before speaking with wisdom seldom heard in hatchlings.

“I am Freya, and I’d like to stay with my brother.”

For once, her voice didn’t squeak, nor did it shake.

The young Gaoler had survived, and she wanted to be sure her brother would as well.
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Amazing Art by Vsauce (#429224)


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Oh no.

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dragon?age=0&body=5&bodygene=33&breed=17&element=6&eyetype=3&gender=1&tert=131&tertgene=34&winggene=33&wings=5&auth=4c8fa76f5ce3c209f2a6f1290615f744b9d82dab&dummyext=prev.png
dragon?age=0&body=5&bodygene=33&breed=17&element=6&eyetype=3&gender=1&tert=131&tertgene=101&winggene=33&wings=5&auth=db3d253340cb3a4bb221ee281354419bb650b750&dummyext=prev.png
OH NO.

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Adopted from the Writer's Hatchery

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Exalting Axelia 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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