Fulgur
(#54272304)
Level 1 Skydancer
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.49 m
Wingspan
5.17 m
Weight
648.46 kg
Genetics
Grey
Iridescent
Iridescent
Mint
Bee
Bee
Cream
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
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There are many stories of strange phenomena in the Shifting Expanse, and the researcher wants to gather them all. They track down a lead to a busy mining clan, finding the storyteller in question in a corner of the mess hall. "He's old," the dragons explain under their breaths, "and his mind's begun to drift. Poor guy. It's probably got something to do with...the incident..." The incident which the researcher is now here to document. They pull up a chair and look at their interviewee, taking in the details: an old Snapper, smaller than usual, his blue eyes dark with age and memory. From this side of the table, his wheelchair is invisible, though it creaks audibly as he shifts, clumsily slurping up seafood stew. "Timon," he says in response to the first question. "My name's Timon." A few more questions are asked, and eventually he is coaxed into telling his story. 
Timon had been born long, long ago. ("Just how long?" the researcher asks him, but he only keeps on rambling...) Life was difficult enough for landbound Snappers, but doubly so for him: the bones in his hind limbs were fused, unable to bend without breaking. His clan nonetheless ensured he was well cared for. The adults fashioned a wheelchair for him, and the children did their best to include him in their games. They were not cruel -- but sometimes the world could be. Despite the clan's best efforts, there was no remedy for this inborn defect. There was hope for a while, when a Wind sorcerer came to the clan, but Timon did not have the gift for Wind magic or telekinesis and could not lift himself off the ground unaided. The same defect that affected his hind legs had also crept into his forelimbs; he could not move quickly or smoothly without someone to help him. He would, it seemed, be bound to his wheelchair all his life. The clan continued to care for him, but there were some things he simply couldn't do. He couldn't go hunting, for example, or even jump and run. On bad days, Timon left the low, blocky houses behind and wandered into the brush alone. He was grateful for his clan's kindness, but sometimes it hurt to be surrounded by dragons who could do things, just simple activities, that he would never be capable of. It was out there, in the brush, that he met the creature. "Why do you cry?" it crackled, out of the cold, dry air. Timon blinked, and it shimmered into view like a mirage: gray skin striated with pale gold, glowing blue tatters draped around its body. Its dark, gleaming head was nearly lost in the inky clouds that roiled around its brow, a small and localized storm. Running was out of the question. It always had been. Timon groaned in despair, but it was the older emotions that broke out first, that overtook the terror. As the creature glided closer, he sobbed, "It's because my legs hurt. I always hurt. I can't run and I don't know if I'll still be able to walk someday. I'm not good with magic, so I can't even fly." "Run," whispered the creature. "Running is always good." Small white sparks crackled upon its head as it spoke. Eyes, perhaps? "I told you, I can't do that!" Timon protested. The creature remained silent, and, unnerved at last by its alien appearance, Timon turned and trundled away. There was a small explosion behind him, and static rolled over his scales. He looked back again, but the creature was gone. "I know what I saw," he said later, after he'd described the incident to his clanmates. They exchanged skeptical looks. Oh, sure, they'd all heard stories, but this was a practical clan. It must have been some other dragon, perhaps a traveler in a strange disguise. Their skepticism irritated Timon. "I know what I saw!" he repeated, stamping one little foot. The adults sighed, and they cautioned him from staying out in the desert heat for too long. He was small, he was weak; be careful, Timon, for the desert can be a perilous place.... Incensed, Timon resolved to try finding the creature again. His life until now had been hard, but not frightening; In his young mind, he couldn't comprehend the possibility of danger. He would see this creature again. And see it he did, many weeks later, after the adults had forgotten all about his strange story and he'd been left alone again. This time, he trundled to the bottom of a shallow ravine. A hot breeze stirred the air, and the creature shimmered into view beside him. "You. Here," it whispered. Timon gasped and stopped, stunned that he was actually seeing the thing again. "Y-yeah," he stammered. "Do you run?" the creature rasped. It came closer, delicately lifting its long legs above the scrub. Timon watched in horrified fascination as its limbs phased through the cacti, leaving brief halos of blue light. "Want to run?" The creature was standing directly before him now. Its long, narrow head inclined slightly, as if it were trying to get a better look at Timon. "Yes," the Snapper hatchling gulped. His wheelchair creaked as he shifted. "I...want to run." "Go. Run." The creature lifted one forepaw. One of its claws glittered, as blindingly bright as a diamond in sunlight. Timon had to squint and then, at last, look away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the creature tap his wheelchair. A jolt of electricity lanced through him -- nothing painful, but just enough to jerk him back to alertness. He gasped again and turned -- and this time, he realized that there was a blue nimbus of light around himself and his wheelchair. Through the glow, everything was painted in blue, with occasional sharp flashes of color here and there. Things moved -- but with abrupt, jittering motions. Shadows washed over the ground as clouds, the sun, and the stars wheeled overhead....Before Timon could make sense of this, the creature was bending towards him once more. "Now. Run." Something glittered upon its face that could have been a smile. And run he did! Suddenly energy was coursing through Timon's body, and he felt stronger than he'd ever had. The wheelchair was no longer a hindrance; it seemed to power him as though it were a rocket. He flew over the ground, his feet barely touching the sand. And then it turned into water, and he realized he'd overshot the coast and was now racing across the sea. Timon stared in awe. He'd only heard of the sea before. Such a vast expanse of water... ...and he was racing across it! The water bounced beneath his feet and the wheelchair. He looked up in surprise, and the creature was loping alongside him, clouds roiling around its wings. It raised its head and let out a tremendous crack of thunder, and Timon laughed aloud in reply. Over the sea, over the ground, through waves of grass and snow-covered trees. Through the sun-baked lands of Plague, the dark canyons of Dragonhome. Round the lava flows of Fire, past the shining peaks of the Starfall Isles. And at last, as all children do after a long day of games, Timon returned home to his clan. The wheelchair slowed, bouncing gently over the stones, and as it did, the young Snapper looked around. There were the mountains; he recognized their shape against the glowing blue sky. But where were the solid houses and dens of his clan? "Where did they go?" he asked. He turned back to look...and that was when he noticed something odd about the stones at his feet. Not all of it was gravel. He recognized pottery shards, bits of plaster and concrete. Lumps of iron, copper, and brass... "Hey," he rasped, his throat suddenly dry. "Hey!" he tried again, as the creature reappeared and loped up to him. It cocked its head like a curious vulture, and Timon said, "Where's my clan?" "Run?" The creature stretched forward eagerly. Timon felt a sudden chill. It didn't go away and, shaking in fear, he backed away from the creature. "N-no," he stammered. "W-where did my clan go? What h-happened to them?" "Away. Went away. So long...long ago. Run again?" "No!" Timon stamped his foot. It felt hollow this time, so dreadfully hollow. Around him, the shadows shrank and grew and diminished again....The sun and stars continued racing across the sky. "Where's my family?! What did you do...Where did they all go?!" "Away, away. All away. Long ago, all went away." The creature pranced around Timon, trailing black clouds in its wake. Its face loomed towards him again, glittering with white, alien sparks. "Run again?" "NO! No more running! I want to go to my--" "Then I will run. Alone, alone." The creature tossed its head. "Alone!" it bugled -- and then with a final crack of thunder and lightning, it disappeared. And with it went that light, that eerie blue light that had shrouded Timon throughout his adventure...or whatever it had actually been. The supernatural strength left him, and he slumped against his wheelchair, suddenly exhausted. "No..." he repeated. Weakly, he struggled forward. Pieces of debris rolled away beneath his feet, and now he saw, in the distance, other structures. Tall, slender towers, piercing the very sky. Had those been there before? How long ago had "before" been? "Wait...come back! I...I want to run back!" he wailed. But only the wind moved through the scrub, and the stormclouds that came, thick and inky, brought nothing but cold and rain.
Old Timon is tired. His head droops, and a couple of his clanmates step over to wipe away the stew that's spilled down his chin. One of them wheels him off, and he looks back at the researcher, his eyes glassy with memory. "I know what I saw," he rasps, still mired in his story. The visitor coordinator says later on, "Our gatherers found him a long time ago....It was before I was born. A Snapper hatchling, strapped to a crumbling wheelchair, all alone in the wild. No one really knows what he saw....No one here has ever seen anything like the thing he described. But there are stories..." The researcher affirms this. Yes, everyone knows stories. Who doesn't have a strange story to tell? But now they ask the coordinator, "How do we know he's telling the truth?" "The clan he would have lived in...It was so far back, there aren't any definite records of them. Many clans came and went in that area, over the years. "But honestly, friend?" And she gives the researcher a level look. "After a story like that, I would be happy to have proof that he isn't telling the truth." The researcher nods. There certainly are plenty of things that would be better confined to stories. The conversation turns to other things, as a storm sweeps in and fat raindrops spatter the windows. Outside, lightning streaks across the heavens. The researcher fancies they can hear, distantly, a crackling laugh on the wind. But in a land so desolate, beneath a sky so dark, who can tell what's out there, in the space -- or time -- between the dunes?
~ lore by Disillusionist
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Lore, coding, and outfit by Disillusionist
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Exalting Fulgur to the service of the Flamecaller 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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