Spar
(#52483866)
Level 1 Gaoler
Familiar
Autumn Millifae
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Gaoler
This dragon is an ancient breed.
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
11.44 m
Wingspan
7.57 m
Weight
10140.53 kg
Genetics
Dust
Bar (Gaoler)
Bar (Gaoler)
Moss
Peregrine (Gaoler)
Peregrine (Gaoler)
Metals
Gnarlhorns (Gaoler)
Gnarlhorns (Gaoler)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Gaoler
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- Hecate
- Bonziah
- Isabeau
- Kuromori
- Volari
- Golda
- Cricket
- Marina
- Pyritous
- Wildstorm
- Ogopogo
- Daunte
- Princess
- Rogan
- Taran
- Unnamed
- Plum
- Eira
- SportySpice
- Ninka
- Mariya
- Burrich
- Cetaganda
- Tashir
- Moongleam
- Starfang
- Uzume
- Unnamed
- Tango
- Koran
- Sands
- Sonna
- Elhokar
- Mei
- Sauron
- Ashur
- Hossein
- Purge
- Eirys
- Lethia
- Knife
- Siriol
- Magister
- Tule
- Megeleus
- Bravo
- Zoom
- Zoom
- Zoom
- Artim
- Torfri
- Rhosyn
- InternetExplorer
- Leal
Biography
The first Carver
There is an old tale scattered across middling minds in Sorienth... that of ancient Gaolers, one with the power to carve riches into the land's peaks, and another who... well, was said peak.
The dragon opens his eyes. A new dawn encroaches his being, the warm morning sun reflecting brightly off of his sizable, golden horns and toasts the air around him. He rises steady, shaking off the stiffness of last night's slumber. He knows not where he is, nor does he seem to care; he only has his drive.
He begins the day's journey. One foot in front of the other, he treks across the continent; searching, seeking out his life's purpose, his canvas. He continues this path for days, weeks, months... a hundred dawns, a hundred dusks, a hundred storms, an hundred bright, sunny days... until he finds it--a massive expanse of hills and valleys stretching miles upon miles, further than an oracle's eye could see--and then he knows: this. This is it.
He begins his masterpiece.
He rams his horns into the base of the closest available ridge, and begins to carve. He digs and digs and digs, marrow chiseling a straight line in the earth, up to its peak--his golden tools engraving their essence into the soil--and proceeds to perform similarly on the other side. Hours pass until his work is complete, and he wastes no time in continuing his magnum opus: onto the next bluff.
He will endure this task for years, imprinting the terrain with brilliant, spiraling bone, as the magic begins to take effect. Enormous golden scales will begin to grow from the crevices of the soil, molding into fine spires that could reach to the gods themselves. New life is imbued into the mountains, and the very continent begins to budge.
The first sierra peels from her source, rising from the inner earth, taking the familiar shape of the carver that gifted her her spirit. Two weary eyes peer past a thick grassy mane, gazing forward patiently as she observes beasts just like her rise from their formerly eternal slumbers, golden trails glittering in the new dawn.
There is an old tale scattered across middling minds in Sorienth... that of ancient Gaolers, one with the power to carve riches into the land's peaks, and another who... well, was said peak.
~~~
The dragon opens his eyes. A new dawn encroaches his being, the warm morning sun reflecting brightly off of his sizable, golden horns and toasts the air around him. He rises steady, shaking off the stiffness of last night's slumber. He knows not where he is, nor does he seem to care; he only has his drive.
He begins the day's journey. One foot in front of the other, he treks across the continent; searching, seeking out his life's purpose, his canvas. He continues this path for days, weeks, months... a hundred dawns, a hundred dusks, a hundred storms, an hundred bright, sunny days... until he finds it--a massive expanse of hills and valleys stretching miles upon miles, further than an oracle's eye could see--and then he knows: this. This is it.
He begins his masterpiece.
He rams his horns into the base of the closest available ridge, and begins to carve. He digs and digs and digs, marrow chiseling a straight line in the earth, up to its peak--his golden tools engraving their essence into the soil--and proceeds to perform similarly on the other side. Hours pass until his work is complete, and he wastes no time in continuing his magnum opus: onto the next bluff.
He will endure this task for years, imprinting the terrain with brilliant, spiraling bone, as the magic begins to take effect. Enormous golden scales will begin to grow from the crevices of the soil, molding into fine spires that could reach to the gods themselves. New life is imbued into the mountains, and the very continent begins to budge.
The first sierra peels from her source, rising from the inner earth, taking the familiar shape of the carver that gifted her her spirit. Two weary eyes peer past a thick grassy mane, gazing forward patiently as she observes beasts just like her rise from their formerly eternal slumbers, golden trails glittering in the new dawn.
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Exalting Spar to the service of the Tidelord 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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