Blumenkranz
(#53037894)
Level 1 Spiral
Familiar
Magic Mirror
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 46
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Spiral
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.69 m
Wingspan
2.87 m
Weight
87.74 kg
Genetics
Peacock
Python
Python
Lavender
Bee
Bee
Turquoise
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Spiral
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
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Hailing from the Coven Aestralla, Writhebane is a heavily regulated and guarded plant. To even lightly brush against a sprig is to doom the victim to a lifetime of agony that no healing can fix. Mixing crushed leaves into a victim's tea often drives them mad, while cutting a foe with a coated blade will deeply scar the flesh, and leave it forever sensitive. To even have a small cutting outside of the Coven's watch is ill-advised, but the plant also serves as the sole source of protection against the Coven Viscera. So to have a sprig of Writhebane is to forever count your clan as an enemy of Viscera.
~ starter lore by Sienna
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Jack’s small clan never stayed in one place for long, instead roaming far and wide. They had to—they led rather unsavory lives, filching from more honest folks whenever the opportunity arose. Yet even the shiftiest clans have rules; for this roving band of thieves, there were some people you just didn’t steal from. But Jack was callow and impetuous, and like many such youths, he believed rules were made to be broken. One in particular remained at the forefront of his mind as he peered into the darkness. Never steal from a witch. “But there’s nothing to be scared of with this one!” Jack heard his friends titter. The other young wyrms gathered close, and they nudged his shoulders as they pointed to the overgrown gardens, the dilapidated greenhouse, where the witch was said to work. The greenhouse was barely visible, so grimy were its panels. Several of them had been smashed, and foliage poked through so that it almost seemed part of the trees. “They say her clan left her ages ago....She’s just some kooky, addled old bird. You could steal her furniture from under her nose and she wouldn’t even notice!” Witch or not, Jack wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip by. He looped silently through the mossy branches and slipped into the greenhouse. It was hushed, almost as though he were entering a cathedral. His large eyes probed the darkness. Among the tangled vines, he saw shelves, all of them crowded with potted seedlings and tools. Curious, he moved towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, darkness yawned. He turned, and he was startled to see a huge burrow dug through the floorboards of the greenhouse. A mound of earth, with a great, dark hole, almost completely shrouded in more of those clinging vines. Deep within, something stirred. He heard the rasp of scales scraping against dry leaves. He continued to stare, almost daring whatever was within to come out. At the same time, one of his hands stretched to the shelves. He brushed tendrils, some terracotta pots. And in the burrow, two eyes blinked. A long, narrow face emerged—another Spiral, looking as colorless and as dry as dust. Jack relaxed. It wasn’t some guardian beast after all, but the witch herself! “She lives in all this filth? Pathetic!” he thought. A sneer crossed his face, and he chortled, “Sorry to wake you, Madam. This place was looking a little overgrown; I thought I’d come over and help you with the weeding.” He scooped up a seedling. The old Spiral gasped, her face becoming even paler. She stretched out to Jack, her eyes filling with tears. “No!” she croaked, her voice cracked and aged. “That growth...You mustn’t...!” But Jack was already fleeing, zigzagging around the vines. At the door, he paused and looked back. The witch was still staring pleadingly at him, tears scoring dark lines through the dust upon her cheeks. Her hands remained outheld in supplication. Yet she made no move to pursue the thief; her back half remained in the burrow. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Madam!” Jack chuckled, and away he went. | _ |
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Jack returned to his clan in triumph. His elders were angry that he'd broken the rules, but not for long. “We need more of that boldness, that derring-do!” one of the old rogues declared. He slapped Jack on the back, grinning as brightly as the youngster did. “ ’Tis good to know when to ignore rules if it means seizing an opportunity. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, lad.” The clan moved on—they weren’t about to risk the wrath of a witch, no matter how decrepit she seemed. Jack was, however, allowed to keep his prize, and he stuffed it into the top of his backpack so that the vines could hang loose. They frequently brushed against his head and neck as he looped through the trees. While the clan was on the move, they roosted together. And whenever it was time for them to leave, the elders went around nudging everyone awake. They made sure everyone was ready to go before breaking camp. “Jack, hurry up! Everyone else is ready to fly!” “Give me a minute!” Jack groused. He was moving slowly, still groggily disentangling moss and leaves from his body. One of his friends snorted and moved closer to help him. “You can just pick these off as we go. Then you won’t have to—” She broke off into a strangled gasp, her hide suddenly blanching. “What? What’s going on?” Jack twisted around to follow her gaze. And then his stomach lurched, and he came fully awake as ice-cold terror washed through him. His scales. The leaf litter was adhering to them...He could see roots... Grasping roots and tendrils burrowing out through his scales. “No!” Jack croaked as his friend began backing away. She was shivering, convulsively wiping her palms off on her breeches. “Don’t let them see—” But the rest of the clan was drawing closer, and now they clearly saw his malady. Panic erupted, the others shrinking away from Jack in stark terror. Amidst all the cries, he caught foreboding moans of, “The witch, the witch’s curse...!” “Enough!” one of the elders barked. The shouting subsided, and Jack collapsed, sobbing in total panic. “Help me,” he groaned, reaching out. He felt no pain, no discomfort, but the roots were growing out of his skin... “Buck up, lad! We’ll find someone to take a look at you. There’s bound to be someone... “You two! Wrap him up in some blankets. No more moaning, all right, Jack?” “Y-yes, sir,” Jack choked out. But he did not feel secure. The old thief was grinning down at him, and yet the Spiral, with his sharp vision, could see the unsteadiness of his smile, the way his eyes flicked nervously from side to side. The clanmates who approached him were equally nervous; they tossed the blankets over him, leaving him to wrap them around himself. “No more yelling. That goes for all of you! Let’s fly!” It was difficult with the blankets wrapped around most of his body, but Jack managed to keep up. Barely—it seemed that the clan was putting some distance between him and themselves. He swallowed a lump in his throat and flapped his wings harder. By nightfall, he was sure that they were actively avoiding him. He caught up to them just as they were building a fire for the night. He moved closer to warm himself by the flames, but the sentries shot him such fierce glowers that he shrank back, to the very edge of the firelight. And he huddled there, lonely and miserable, waiting for his clanmates...his friends...his family to approach him. They tossed him some bundles of food, but that was all. He dropped into sleep like a stone plunging into deep water. When he struggled back up to wakefulness the next morning, the clan was gone. He called out into the morning mist—he fancied he could still hear their wingbeats—but there was no response. He was left alone, choking back sobs of terror, still huddled in his mess of blankets. And the roots, still growing from his scales and burrowing deep into the soil. Jack tried to shake his backpack off. Hadn’t he taken it off last night? —and another blow of terror struck him when he realized it had grown into his back, the vines going straight through the canvas. No doubt the accursed seedling was still there, bound to the top of the bag. He didn’t dare turn to look at it...or at himself. He couldn’t bear it. He shut his eyes instead. Again he saw the witch rising out of her burrow, the anguish in her face and eyes. The burrow, he realized, which her hindquarters must have been tightly anchored to—as surely as his were now tethered to the earth. He remembered her weeping as she’d looked at him, the tears drawing dark tracks down her face. Felt the same hot tears now flowing down his own cheeks. And he realized that she had been weeping not for what he’d taken from her, but for what she knew would soon become of him.
~ lore by Disillusionist
all edits by other users
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Main lore, coding, and outfit by Disillusionist | Divider graphics by PoisonedPaper
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Exalting Blumenkranz 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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