Shambler
(#52489282)
Level 5 Gaoler
Familiar
Dwarf Truffle
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
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
12.73 m
Wingspan
7.46 m
Weight
9218.39 kg
Genetics
Jungle
Mosaic (Gaoler)
Mosaic (Gaoler)
Strawberry
Daub (Gaoler)
Daub (Gaoler)
Maize
Ghost (Gaoler)
Ghost (Gaoler)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 5 Gaoler
EXP: 1293 / 5545
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
Biography
 The One Who Remembers The Journey   The One Who Tells The Tale 
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 Creaking creeps through old bones. They show just how long and weary the journey has been, from ancient's land to land made for renewal. The bones are whistling their tune through the cracks of the worn-down faith and trust, that dried-up spring of service that these gaolers once called love. See, this thick fur was never meant to harbor molding crumbs and splotches of stuck-on crumbling dust- It's meant to be thick. Made for the cold. Used. They had a duty, and carried a promise woven in their crests of horns. Keep the world stagnant. Keep your necks to the ground and your backs loaded with the labor of prison keeping the world's changes. Drag that natural-born evil through the wastes, and seal it up where it'll never be free. This isn't wrong- oh no, the mission was never the wrong thing to chase. Unless you count impossible as wrong. These kinds of missions leave their servants prone to wandering. If the mission for their lives is protecting the world, the world should be something worth protecting- something beautiful, something to be nurtured, something that's got a hope and a spring green peeking up and waiting to blossom. The Southern Icefield isn't exactly a kind host to these joys... So the gaolers, weary and creaking, they kept wandering. A small group of gaolers walked right out of the ice and into the wilds of the world, searching for their reason to slave away in the cold. Finding something to care about- it was just to find a reason to keep tearing themselves apart. If they kept looking, eventually something would come, and motivate them to turn around back to their duty. But, nothing came. Life thrived under different gods, without the constant policing that the gaolers performed and in these drip-coffee pots of corruption. The rest of the tainted world had the shade slipping in and out of its cracks like water in the street, and yet seemed... Almost entirely unaffected. What point was there to live and die by a blade for a war that didn't seem to exist? So, they never looked back. There's a whole world that's living fine without the fanatical keepers, so... It's a world they could live in, too. At least it's a world where they could rest. And a creature that's born from a wasteland, raised in a wasteland- it's going to return to a wasteland. The group of ancients entered the Scarred Wasteland in search of the same dull quiet that the snow forced the world to be and found it in the dull heartbeat of the lands made of sun-dried flesh, crumbling dust, and towering, creaking bones. Nudged in their sockets by the wind. They're not lost- they chose to leave. They never abandoned the cause- the cause had no need for them anymore. The Icewarden doesn't call them home, and the Plaguebringer has claimed them as her own, whispering with her raspy, quiet, scarred voice as she does to her own creations. The roaming gaolers of the Scarred Wasteland are...
The Released.
With this title comes... A change. Their great horns grow dangling velvet, ever shedding no matter the season. Their protective fur becomes a harbor for the slimes and molds that can't stand another day in the sun, protected by the massive shaggy beasts who spread their inhabitant's spores with every shake of their heads. And, most importantly... Their creaking, splintered, worn-out bones find relief without rest. The eaten, used up flesh on the undying, unrelenting walkers can no longer prevent the bones from breathing sweet, tainted air. These walking habitative husks could be called animated skeletons more than they could be called dragons. Divine force compels them to wander forward, collecting fur and meat like cargo from the wasteland's carrion, aiding the sickly and weak. They are the second chance that the plaguelands usually withhold. And, ever so often, they come across enough fitting bones to stop in their tracks, and assemble another of their species, sending off the new creation with a suit of fur and flesh to wander forever. Just like themselves. The Released. The Second Chances. The Stolen Servants. The Blessed Bones. These heralds of the Plaguebringer's goodwill are scattered across the landscape- no, even the world, as borders never stop them. Each with their own purpose to chase...
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See His Counterpart for the full spread of the pair's children, and availability.
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Exalting Shambler to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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