Verona
(#49927254)
The Reunited Librarian
Familiar
Book Swarm
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Female Tundra
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.77 m
Wingspan
3.73 m
Weight
171.99 kg
Genetics
Hunter
Piebald
Piebald
Jade
Paint
Paint
Wisteria
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Biography
Verona
Bright-Eyed Librarian
Age: A couple clawfuls or so of moons
Biography: With a body as lithe as her mind, this sprite little dragon spends her days curating Mavenclaw's artworks within Sul'Lark, the clan's library. She acts as a historian of sorts to the curious and uninformed and can spout off the various tales of the clan as easily as she can breathe. Young age means nothing to this abnormally small Tundra - she's as old as a soul as the original Gods themselves. She is thought of by some as needlessly abrasive and even offputting, her highest crime to pleasantries being her tendency to refer to Mother Bitestrith as simply Bitestrith. But the Mother doesn't seem to mind much, and it's hard to deny that Verona is a useful resource to the community - so her quirks mean little in the grand scheme of things.
Her and Nepeta have been bonded since some their youngest days, eventually becoming mates, and have made their home in an out-of-use storage cave above Sul'Ark that smells of old parchment and ink.
Her memory is above average for that of a Tundra's, but even she is still privy to forgetfulness. The library reflects her heritage, being organized by parchment smell rather than title or genre. She is far faster at retrieval in this manner than the average derg would be if the books were ordered in a more traditional manner.
Bright lights irritate this dragon's faceted eyes, but their purple glint plays beautifully off of her coat.
Duties: Organization of clan artistry, loaning art outside of the clan, upkeep of Sul'Lark
Bright-Eyed Librarian
Age: A couple clawfuls or so of moons
Biography: With a body as lithe as her mind, this sprite little dragon spends her days curating Mavenclaw's artworks within Sul'Lark, the clan's library. She acts as a historian of sorts to the curious and uninformed and can spout off the various tales of the clan as easily as she can breathe. Young age means nothing to this abnormally small Tundra - she's as old as a soul as the original Gods themselves. She is thought of by some as needlessly abrasive and even offputting, her highest crime to pleasantries being her tendency to refer to Mother Bitestrith as simply Bitestrith. But the Mother doesn't seem to mind much, and it's hard to deny that Verona is a useful resource to the community - so her quirks mean little in the grand scheme of things.
Her and Nepeta have been bonded since some their youngest days, eventually becoming mates, and have made their home in an out-of-use storage cave above Sul'Ark that smells of old parchment and ink.
Her memory is above average for that of a Tundra's, but even she is still privy to forgetfulness. The library reflects her heritage, being organized by parchment smell rather than title or genre. She is far faster at retrieval in this manner than the average derg would be if the books were ordered in a more traditional manner.
Bright lights irritate this dragon's faceted eyes, but their purple glint plays beautifully off of her coat.
Duties: Organization of clan artistry, loaning art outside of the clan, upkeep of Sul'Lark
"...her and Nepeta have been bonded since some of their youngest days...
It had been a bit like a wedding before they had come, Verona thought. Her mother used to read tales of dragons from a massive tome, detailing stories of their bravery against insurmountable odds to be surmounted and shadowy forces. There was usually a knight, and a princess of some sorts - sometimes, a particularly pretty clan denizen, instead, but she didn't like those ones as much; what was the point of a fairy tale without a princess? And by the end of it all, the knight and lady would get married. That was always her favorite part. One, because her siblings tended to fall asleep by that part - either from exhaustion or boredom with the formalities, now that the story's action scenes had been left behind in trade - so they'd stop kicking and screaming over the words, and Verona wouldn't have to raise her neck above the nonsense to hear her mother. Two, because the thought of it instilled a sense of peace in her. Her den was a place of fighting and war, and while there was a certain art to the chaos, bodies of her clanmates and siblings twisting and enveloping one another in claw and flesh in the never-ending struggle to become stronger - these still and happy moments were her favorite. A wedding too, she imagined, would make her feel the same...
In a sense, the event had. Her mother had led her to the pedestal, eyes trained steadfast on the priest. The dress that the temple-worshipers had helped wrap her in was of a thin lace, spun by the steadiest of fae claws. Verona had never felt particularly beautiful - she never had any use of the emotion - but today, she did. She was a fairy tale princess at last. Maybe they'd even add her to her mother's tome. Would they write me as a knight, or a princess?
"Verona, you have come before the clan as a daughter of the Shadowbinder. You honor us today by returning to Her in flesh, blood, and spirit. Do you accept this critical role?"
"Yes." She briefly considered that there wasn't much of an alternative answer to provide.
Her clan respected brute strength, yet the bulk of Verona's power can from her wit. She picked carefully through her mother's other tomes clean, always in the hunt of another book. The clan turned its eyes when she pursued text over training, skipping out on group exercises and practice battles. This was why. It was all an allowance for the price of this moment. She allowed her eyes to trail over the priest's knife, the hilt of which glittered a faint peridot green, and the open roof above gave form to shadow around her feet.She hoped that the Shadowbinder had a bigger library than what was offered to her here.
... ...
The claws that enveloped her were soft and supple, and the movement of her body, quick. She had first assumed that they were the claws of the Shadowbinder Herself, and Verona allowed herself to give into their coldness. At the very least, it was a lot less painful than imagined her ascension would be. Something wiggled against her skin, and she jumped a little, hitting the boned roof with the back of her neck. The movement yelped in response.
"What are you?" she inquired of the darkness.
"Wh-what are you?" it questioned back. Verona frowned. She thought her's would be a solitary journey. It was a little hard to not be upset that the Shadowbinder hadn't chosen her and her alone. Still, she kept her face still.
"Verona, ascended daughter of the Shadowbinder."
"Not quite yet," the roof answered. "Not until much later, my child."
The Shadowbider has a soft voice, she thought. Like the sound of cave water trickling before a midday nap.
The walls opened, and the light flustered Verona's eyes, which took in the rays from eight different directions directly into her skull. Her eyes closed to the assault quickly. Never before had she been exposed to so much white. What fresh hell was the Shadowbinder subjecting them to? A trial?
"My apologies, little one. That was insensitive of me." Through her squeezed eyes Verona saw shadow flit over her, lessening the pain shooting through her head. She tentatively opened an eye. Light outlined the dark form of the claws' owner.
Facing her was a fae dragon that under any circumstance could never be mistaken as the Shadowbinder. Her wings were jet black, but her body was composed of an almost noxious orange that threatened to send Verona's head spinning. She wore a red jester's mask whose long frills covered the opening of her nostrils and mouth, blowing out gently under the movement of her breath. "I'm going to look at your head now. Please don't be frightened."
She stiffened under the impending touch, but the mysterious dragon was light and gentle, dragging the mere tip of her claw of her head. It sent a shock of pleasure down Verona's spine, who shook slightly under the comforting contact. The dragon smiled at her.
"My sweet, I know that you must be scared. Please let me explain. Your clan..." She paused, trying to find the words in the open air. "Your clan was trying to hurt you, badly."
"Ascend me, you mean."
The orange dragon let shock rise over her eyes and quickly as she quelled it. "So you were aware of their plans."
"Yes. I've seen ascensions performed before. It would be a great honor."
A sad smile played across the fae's lips, and Veron grimaced, as if by instinct. She didn't like how pity hung in the air around her like a blanket. She especially didn't like being robbed of the Shadowbinder's realm. "I see. Well, I will promise you this. When you are older, you are free to give your body to the Shadowbinder. That will be your choice. But in the meantime, I would like you to come to live with me. How are your eyes adjusting, child?"
Verona shrugged, and felt a weight tumble off of her. Her eyes slid to the right. A small red form laid crumpled in a ball by her side. The voice from before had form. She had almost forgotten about it. The ball began to shake.
The orange fae took her claw and gently inched it towards the small dragon, whose movements only became more violent. "I will not hurt you either, little one. Please believe me." She turned back to Verona.
"You may both call me Mother Bitestrith."
"You are not my mother," Verona spat, her wings flared. Ths trangression would not stand. She had quite enough of this form telling her what she could and could not do - not even her own mother had done that.
"That is true. Then please call me Bitestrith. You will be staying with us in Mavenlark. Forgive the lack of arrangements, but I will be housing you two within the clan library."
As if scripted on command, Verona felt her anger still. "The library?" she and the second dragon offered. The small red form had begun to unfold itself, and Verona noticed a similar desire in her companion's eyes.
Bitestrith smiled, and Verona got the acute sense that she had been expecting this reaction. "Yes, my children. Is that something that pleases you?"
"How many books do you have?" Verona said. The older fae laughed.
"We've never actually counted."
If she had felt still before, her heart and mind had begun to race at the words "never counted". Verona could have counted on the facets of her eye how many texts her clan had owned. How could one be in possession of so many texts that they had never been tallied? The thump of wings had begun to fill the air. Her companion, once shaking in fear, was a blurred vibration of excitement.
"We're only a wing's span away from Mavenlark. Would you like me to take you there?"
"Yes!" the two shouted in almost perfect unison. Bitestrith smiled. Uncertain of this stranger as she was, Verona had no qualms about climbing onto her back. Sensing the urgency the younglings emitted, Bitestrith took off almost immediately. The light threatened Verona's eyes less now, though it still bled a small, dull pain in the corners of her eyes.
She turned to get a better view of her companion, who had now completely unwithdrawn from themselves. A small berry-red fae with orange accents stared back at her with wide, gray eyes.
"Do you really think that the books there are uncountable?" they whispered, careful to blend their voice into the scream of the wind. Verona shrugged.
"I suppose we'll just have to find out. Where did you come from?"
The fae shivered. "I rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
Verona frowned. "Sorry." The silence in the air grew heavy. She sweated to think of something else to say.
"What's your name?", she finally settled on.
"Nepeta," the dragon offered, warmth returning to their face and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry for holding onto you before."
"No apologies needed. My name is Verona." She smiled at the sudden rejuvenation in conversation. It was surprising how comfortable she felt right now. How long had it been had it been since she held a conversation with someone that didn't end in a challenge to a duel or a claw to the face? Her siblings would have never simply sat talked and...talked.
She liked it.
"Verona," Nepeta flicked off her tongue, savoring it as if it were a particularly sweet taste.
Even with the guidance of her clan's small collection of tomes, there were many things Verona did not know. She did not know that she was looking at her future mate, nor just have above her expectations the library would prove to be. She did not know that Mavenclaw would one day look to her to record its history, catalog its comings and goings, and recover what they had long forgotten. She could not have possibly expected to be forever stained with the smell of parchment and dust, or that she would find a higher calling than that of the Shadowbringer's.
But what she did know was that it would be a very interesting journey for her, indeed. And that Mavenclaw's library better have a book of fairy tales.
In a sense, the event had. Her mother had led her to the pedestal, eyes trained steadfast on the priest. The dress that the temple-worshipers had helped wrap her in was of a thin lace, spun by the steadiest of fae claws. Verona had never felt particularly beautiful - she never had any use of the emotion - but today, she did. She was a fairy tale princess at last. Maybe they'd even add her to her mother's tome. Would they write me as a knight, or a princess?
"Verona, you have come before the clan as a daughter of the Shadowbinder. You honor us today by returning to Her in flesh, blood, and spirit. Do you accept this critical role?"
"Yes." She briefly considered that there wasn't much of an alternative answer to provide.
Her clan respected brute strength, yet the bulk of Verona's power can from her wit. She picked carefully through her mother's other tomes clean, always in the hunt of another book. The clan turned its eyes when she pursued text over training, skipping out on group exercises and practice battles. This was why. It was all an allowance for the price of this moment. She allowed her eyes to trail over the priest's knife, the hilt of which glittered a faint peridot green, and the open roof above gave form to shadow around her feet.She hoped that the Shadowbinder had a bigger library than what was offered to her here.
... ...
The claws that enveloped her were soft and supple, and the movement of her body, quick. She had first assumed that they were the claws of the Shadowbinder Herself, and Verona allowed herself to give into their coldness. At the very least, it was a lot less painful than imagined her ascension would be. Something wiggled against her skin, and she jumped a little, hitting the boned roof with the back of her neck. The movement yelped in response.
"What are you?" she inquired of the darkness.
"Wh-what are you?" it questioned back. Verona frowned. She thought her's would be a solitary journey. It was a little hard to not be upset that the Shadowbinder hadn't chosen her and her alone. Still, she kept her face still.
"Verona, ascended daughter of the Shadowbinder."
"Not quite yet," the roof answered. "Not until much later, my child."
The Shadowbider has a soft voice, she thought. Like the sound of cave water trickling before a midday nap.
The walls opened, and the light flustered Verona's eyes, which took in the rays from eight different directions directly into her skull. Her eyes closed to the assault quickly. Never before had she been exposed to so much white. What fresh hell was the Shadowbinder subjecting them to? A trial?
"My apologies, little one. That was insensitive of me." Through her squeezed eyes Verona saw shadow flit over her, lessening the pain shooting through her head. She tentatively opened an eye. Light outlined the dark form of the claws' owner.
Facing her was a fae dragon that under any circumstance could never be mistaken as the Shadowbinder. Her wings were jet black, but her body was composed of an almost noxious orange that threatened to send Verona's head spinning. She wore a red jester's mask whose long frills covered the opening of her nostrils and mouth, blowing out gently under the movement of her breath. "I'm going to look at your head now. Please don't be frightened."
She stiffened under the impending touch, but the mysterious dragon was light and gentle, dragging the mere tip of her claw of her head. It sent a shock of pleasure down Verona's spine, who shook slightly under the comforting contact. The dragon smiled at her.
"My sweet, I know that you must be scared. Please let me explain. Your clan..." She paused, trying to find the words in the open air. "Your clan was trying to hurt you, badly."
"Ascend me, you mean."
The orange dragon let shock rise over her eyes and quickly as she quelled it. "So you were aware of their plans."
"Yes. I've seen ascensions performed before. It would be a great honor."
A sad smile played across the fae's lips, and Veron grimaced, as if by instinct. She didn't like how pity hung in the air around her like a blanket. She especially didn't like being robbed of the Shadowbinder's realm. "I see. Well, I will promise you this. When you are older, you are free to give your body to the Shadowbinder. That will be your choice. But in the meantime, I would like you to come to live with me. How are your eyes adjusting, child?"
Verona shrugged, and felt a weight tumble off of her. Her eyes slid to the right. A small red form laid crumpled in a ball by her side. The voice from before had form. She had almost forgotten about it. The ball began to shake.
The orange fae took her claw and gently inched it towards the small dragon, whose movements only became more violent. "I will not hurt you either, little one. Please believe me." She turned back to Verona.
"You may both call me Mother Bitestrith."
"You are not my mother," Verona spat, her wings flared. Ths trangression would not stand. She had quite enough of this form telling her what she could and could not do - not even her own mother had done that.
"That is true. Then please call me Bitestrith. You will be staying with us in Mavenlark. Forgive the lack of arrangements, but I will be housing you two within the clan library."
As if scripted on command, Verona felt her anger still. "The library?" she and the second dragon offered. The small red form had begun to unfold itself, and Verona noticed a similar desire in her companion's eyes.
Bitestrith smiled, and Verona got the acute sense that she had been expecting this reaction. "Yes, my children. Is that something that pleases you?"
"How many books do you have?" Verona said. The older fae laughed.
"We've never actually counted."
If she had felt still before, her heart and mind had begun to race at the words "never counted". Verona could have counted on the facets of her eye how many texts her clan had owned. How could one be in possession of so many texts that they had never been tallied? The thump of wings had begun to fill the air. Her companion, once shaking in fear, was a blurred vibration of excitement.
"We're only a wing's span away from Mavenlark. Would you like me to take you there?"
"Yes!" the two shouted in almost perfect unison. Bitestrith smiled. Uncertain of this stranger as she was, Verona had no qualms about climbing onto her back. Sensing the urgency the younglings emitted, Bitestrith took off almost immediately. The light threatened Verona's eyes less now, though it still bled a small, dull pain in the corners of her eyes.
She turned to get a better view of her companion, who had now completely unwithdrawn from themselves. A small berry-red fae with orange accents stared back at her with wide, gray eyes.
"Do you really think that the books there are uncountable?" they whispered, careful to blend their voice into the scream of the wind. Verona shrugged.
"I suppose we'll just have to find out. Where did you come from?"
The fae shivered. "I rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
Verona frowned. "Sorry." The silence in the air grew heavy. She sweated to think of something else to say.
"What's your name?", she finally settled on.
"Nepeta," the dragon offered, warmth returning to their face and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry for holding onto you before."
"No apologies needed. My name is Verona." She smiled at the sudden rejuvenation in conversation. It was surprising how comfortable she felt right now. How long had it been had it been since she held a conversation with someone that didn't end in a challenge to a duel or a claw to the face? Her siblings would have never simply sat talked and...talked.
She liked it.
"Verona," Nepeta flicked off her tongue, savoring it as if it were a particularly sweet taste.
Even with the guidance of her clan's small collection of tomes, there were many things Verona did not know. She did not know that she was looking at her future mate, nor just have above her expectations the library would prove to be. She did not know that Mavenclaw would one day look to her to record its history, catalog its comings and goings, and recover what they had long forgotten. She could not have possibly expected to be forever stained with the smell of parchment and dust, or that she would find a higher calling than that of the Shadowbringer's.
But what she did know was that it would be a very interesting journey for her, indeed. And that Mavenclaw's library better have a book of fairy tales.
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Exalting Verona to the service of the Gladekeeper 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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