Ruppellii
(#52758671)
Don't forget.
Familiar
Terra Tortoise
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 35/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
21.6 m
Wingspan
16.83 m
Weight
6125.78 kg
Genetics
Hickory
Bar
Bar
Grapefruit
Foam
Foam
Shamrock
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Imperial
Max Level
STR
119
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
64
INT
5
VIT
30
MND
5
Biography
The Sentinel 
Wing Repairs
Tower Growths
Useful Parts
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The Tower is, in some ways, less intimidating than you imagined. The structural integrity of the building is questionable at best. It barely looks dragonmade, perhaps created by ancient beastclans, or whatever came before them. Plant-like growths infest cracks in the stone, bearing juicy pustules that pass for berries. There are no banners to indicate ownership, no decorative bone structures or heads on pikes to ward away travelers. It is simply… old and innocuous, a blip in the bleak landscape of the Wasteland. Still, there is... something. A pulse you feel all around you, a mother's heartbeat radiating through the thin shell of her eggs. This place is bristling with untapped magic, though it is inaccessible to one with your blood. The Tower's song is static, and you are not tuned to the right frequency to hear the words. One of the "berries" pops, juice seeping deeper into the cracks, and you hurry onward with more urgency. Coiled tightly against the Tower is a long, sinewy body, mane twitching as flies try to take purchase. The meager plant life struggling to grow has accepted the dragon laying here, finding cracks in scale rather than brick. Though you have never been to the plague lands before today, you feel that this is not an unusual sight to behold. The denizens of this place are resistant to otherwise fatal conditions, and often it creates a symbiosis between host and parasite. Plaguebringer is mother to both, after all, and there would almost be something beautiful in that were it not grotesque to look at. Maybe this tower is beautiful to them, to this clan, to those who hear more than static. You wind your way around the tower, following the body as a guide. The dragon it belongs to is an Imperial. He is old, older than the clan he belongs to. His great beard hangs in clumps like moss, his eyes glazed and unblinking, staring at nothing. You do your best not to startle him, making your presence known as you step closer. Blocked by his serpentine form lay the entrance to the tower. He gives no indication he is willing to move. This gives you pause. You cannot simply ask him his name, or if he would like to let you pass, or if there is someone else that can guide you. You try showing him your scroll case, hoping that everyone in the clan knows of your arrival. His eyes shift to the movement, his head lifting slightly, but he still does not respond. Maybe you can draw something in the dirt? No, that would probably be violating the rules of the agreement… but it wasn't explicitly forbidden… The Imperial sits up, his pose regal, like a sphynx. Where before he looked forlorn, slumped on the ground, now the dragon is every bit as dignified as his heritage implies. You are compelled to come closer to him, and he leans down, giving you a thorough once-over. Satisfied with whatever he has found, he stands up, his legs straining with the effort as they drag him around the tower. His scales scrape against the stone, a grating, unnatural sound, but there is nothing to do except follow. You look around for some landmark of note, struggling to understand. There is a shriveled piece of wood that can barely be called a tree, harboring strange creatures in its hollows. An endless expanse of dust and dirt that seeds cannot penetrate. A puddle of liquid that probably isn't water, so murky you can't see the bottom despite its shallow nature. The Imperial gestures towards the pool, encouraging you to investigate. The polite thing to do is oblige, but you are concerned about the endless series of illnesses that could be festering there. You were warned of the probability of getting sick before embarking on this journey, but no one is supposed to intentionally expose you to contaminates. You stop just short of the pool, unwilling to dip a single claw. Surely this can't be his intention? Noticing your hesitation, the great dragon ventures over to you, though a significant amount of body mass is still wrapped around the tower. Effortlessly he plunges his face into the pool, and to your surprise it swallows him completely, silently. No bubbles make their way to the glossy, mirror-like surface. Is he okay? Is that even water? If not, what is it? After what feels like an eternity he surfaces. There is no liquid dripping from his whiskers or sticking to his beard. Its baffling and fascinating, and some combination of curiosity, duty, and roaring static cause you to follow his example without a second thought, plunging your face into whatever this thing is. I am Peli, first born. I am Ru Peli, second born. When the Gods were young and dragons were shaped as their first children, they could not create more of themselves. The Lightweaver formed each of us carefully, and we all knew that we had been made for a purpose. When the flights were at war, When the gods battled for When the During the Battle Battle B attle Battle Batt Battle battle B at tl e Battle bat t e l l b a t b at b -she needed to make more soldiers, to recoup her losses, its recycling, don't you get it? We needed to beat the- No. She never loved us. How do you know? Don't say that. You are second born. You were not made with a purpose. You were made as an apology. Our purpose was not was was not just to- just to die. We could live, become mothers ourselves, create m- the feeling of flesh splitting so easily beneath your claws, the salty taste of blood, acidic like fresh fruit, like the metals of the earth, its intoxicating, it makes you forget, it wasn't light's fault, we forgot, we forgot, bones snapping as easily as dried branches, plucking limbs from a spider, that's how easy it is, and the taste, we forgot, we forgot, we're sorry I'm not sorry. You are! You are, i know, i the cold embrace of water against your scales. the way light bounces off the surface, how pretty it looked on her- on his- on her- Her name was Lani, and I loved her more than anything. Her name is Mint, and she doesn't love me back. His name is Moore, like an endless field of grass whispering in the Zephyr Steppes, that's where he is, I have to find him- He's dead, and so are we. I'm not. you are. you are. When my children hatched, I cried, because I was terrified they would be like me. they're here. we're here. My children are mirrors. In their eyes I see what I truly am. children of plague, they will survive, that's what we do, they'll be okay, they won't become When the Gods were young and dragons were shaped as their first children, they could not create more of themselves. This mistake was quickly rectified, as it was unfair to keep this wonderful ability to themselves. We are so lucky to have the opportunity to raise the next generation better than ourselves. So lucky. So lucky. You recoil, coughing and sputtering despite not having any water in your lungs. You feel like you can't get enough air, like your body can't hold whatever energy is bubbling up inside of you. It wasn't like the Tidelord's oracles, listening to secrets, or the Arcanist's mages peering unknowns with their telescopes. You didn't see. You just felt, and you're not really sure what feelings are yours and which are voices in the static, clear for just a moment. |
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Credits: This guide to know basic coding This guide to find assets Here for bio template This guide to get dragon portraits working Rayomz for the biohazard symbol osiem for dividers and icons |
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Exalting Ruppellii 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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