Level 2 Spiral
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Bogsneak Puppet
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Spiral
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Personal Style


Black Currant Plumed Cover
Black Currant Plumed Jabbot
Raven Woodguard




2.66 m
1.96 m
110.38 kg


Primary Gene
Secondary Gene
Tertiary Gene


May 21, 2019
(5 years)



Eye Type

Eye Type
Level 2 Spiral
EXP: 193 / 641




  • none


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Fear • Anxiety • Chaos

Greater Horror (pending)



Sollicitus is considerably sadistic in nature. He enjoys watching his prey squirm as they spiral into madness. He toys with them, playing on their fears, their doubts, seeding anxiety and paranoia until it eats them alive. However, it is difficult to discern when he is hunting, and when he is 'dormant', as his tone and language do not fluctuate between the two-- making it that much more dangerous to be in his company for extended periods of time. He will not always go for the direct planting of question, but might instead gradually build until the targeted individual forms the question themselves. It is there, in that uncertainty, that he has set his hooks. Beyond this sadistic behavior, he can sometimes come off as cold and cruel, or especially manipulative.

Sollicitus, formerly and perhaps ironically in life, was known as 'Sol'. Sol was a member of the Arcane Flight, his thirst to know the unknown was passionate, intimate, and dangerous. Charismatic and manipulative, to say he was cocky rather than confident is not unreasonable. He believed wholeheartedly in his own skill alone, believing his natural talent for magics spoke volumes and his research and dedication unparalleled.

He longed to understand the Shade as to be unable to combat it. He was not unaccustomed to 'borrowing' from the other Flights, particularly, he had a habit of flirting with the magics of Plague and Shadow, and learned oneiromancy, the magic of dreams. As nightmares are often the playground of Shade-touched horrors, this magic would prove the key to Sol's fascination and understanding of the Shade.

He started small, practicing and perfecting his methods and research of the magic. His summons were minuscule, beast-like and easily kept under his command or disposed of. With time, he grew more and more ambitious and overconfident that he understood the Shade-touched he summoned, and sought to bring forth something greater-- to bind it to his will and interrogate it. He reached for a Greater Horror, one capable of altering nightmares, of feeding on and fueling them. Preparations were set, and in the secrecy of the Tangled Wood, where he would be uninterrupted and without the judgement, or deterrence, of his peers, he began the ritual.

The runes gave a sickening glow, the wind danced about the circle unnaturally, the temperature about him dropped, the candles extinguished. All things he had come to know as the beacon of a Shade-touched beast's arrival. Yet within the seal, there was nothing. No shadowy, creature crowned in tendrils, no writhing mass of inky black, nothing. He look to his wrists, expecting the painted marks of the beast's name to glow, indicating it had been bound to him-- yet the marks had dried and were flaking from his scales. He wait for what seemed forever, yet saw nothing, felt nothing. Disappointed, he clear away any sign of his work and left the wood, yet in the back of his mind he could not help but wonder;

Did I do it wrong?

He returned to his study of the magic and texts that he had followed so finitely to the letter. None of his summons prior had failed, even when bringing forth lesser Named Horrors, so why had this one failed? He pour over every bit of information he had committed to memory, surely he must have missed something? Yet every tome, every scroll, every word was exactly how he recalled it. His summoning was perfect to the very last, why did it fail? Classmates and friends began to worry about him, he became more and more tangled in this slump-- this wonderment of what went wrong. He became obsessive and began muttering to himself, recalling everything as though rehearsing it all again and again. He would lose sleep over it, searching and searching, reaching out for answers to questions he had thought he'd known the answers to before, desperate to know what he'd missed. Sol confided in a dear friend of how he would hear whispers in his dreams, even though he could not recall ever having a nightmare since taking up the magic. He grew paranoid of the shifting fluid mirror of every shadow in the corner of his eye, distancing himself from others more and more.

On a particularly dark night he return to where he had practiced his final summoning, scouring the ground, the trees, looking for any physical blemish that might have been unnoticed in his ritual. His bright gaze darting about, always finding nothingness where he could swear something moved or had watched him. Like monstrous eyes were fixed to the back of his head at all times-- and then he finally heard it. Through the thunderous pounding of his heart within his own ears. He had finally realized he'd been holding his breath-- so who, or what, was behind him?

It would be weeks before his friends found him. Sitting coiled on a rock, looking out to the sea with a warm smile, his eyes pouring over a scroll-- his own notes. They say he looked pleased, as though he'd at last solved the mighty riddle that drove him near to madness. Perhaps it had simply been from how long it had been since they had last seen him, or perhaps the lingering traces of his practice within the Tangled Wood-- he did not seem quite fully himself, yet no one could place what was off about him. His eyes? He was born with dark purple eyes, unusual for their flight, but not unheard of. His scales? Cracked and near burnt looking? No... that was normal for him, he was not unknown to overexert his magic... Nothing, nothing was different about him, and yet, everything was changed. One thing was very much certain, however.

No one wanted to linger in his gaze.


Bio Format by: CityTurtle
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