Luciel
(#54864542)
Level 25 Skydancer
Familiar
Crystalspine Gem Guardian
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.49 m
Wingspan
4.32 m
Weight
719.78 kg
Genetics
Smoke
Jaguar
Jaguar
Wine
Bee
Bee
Bubblegum
Filigree
Filigree
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
________________
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» L U C I E L «
The Lucid |
"Even after years of quietude, the desire to breathe does not go away. Yet, if I'd known I'd be awoken only to be met with lesser-minded individuals such as yourself, I'd have stayed in that amber for a thousand more years."
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» Biography
Luciel is a powerful arcane mage who stands as one of Shal'anir's paragons. Upon pedestals of old stand many warriors, all who focus on brute strength to lay siege to their enemies and bring honour to their home. Luciel has a much different approach; painting the skies bloodied pink with arcane spells of catastrophic power and raining death down upon those who stand in his way. He prides himself on his arcane abilities, smug and self-assured to the point of blatant arrogance, and doesn't willingly suffer anyone he considers lesser than himself. That does, on account of his extreme intellect, mean most dragons of Shal'anir, although he does tolerate some of the paragons more readily than others should they have something within them that he values. The mercurial dragon was found some time ago by Korven, one of Shal'anir's researchers, as a jittery, twitching mess on Shal'anir's outskirts. Immediately taken back to the healers in order to try and help him, it was apparent from the very start that something wasn't quite right with Luciel - him being somewhat unhinged, for the lack of a better word, and acting out against anyone who came near him that he didn't immediately know. Korven was the only one who could get near him for several days, often just sitting nearby so the other was accustomed to his presence, before he began to question the lone skydancer. Luciel revealed that he had come from a distant clan within the Starfall Isles, a research facility of sorts that sought to try and manipulate time itself to preserve dragons for a time they'd be more useful. As one of the first to suggest the idea, Luciel was given the honour of being 'preserved' first, too, and so was encased in a strange material he would only call 'radiant amber'. However, unforeseen by anyone involved, Luciel had not fallen into the deep slumber he was supposed to and instead remained awake and completely aware the entire time. While his body remained paralysed and effectively dead, with amber running through his veins in the place of blood and the encasement taking care of even his most basic needs, his mind wasn't granted that same luxury. He felt like he was dying over and over; his body screaming for release and his lungs begging to breathe even years after. Luciel was effectively trapped and rendered unable to free himself. Instead, he had to wait for years until another researcher freed him. When he was finally freed, Luciel recognised nothing. Many of his fellow researchers had long since passed and were replaced by others he did not recognise. None recognised him, either, although all had heard of him. Yet, the Luciel they stood before was different. |
This one wasn't misguided by the folly of youth and desire to please. This one wasn't impressionable and all-too-eager. This Luciel was less.. whole than his previous self. Some whispered that Luciel had died and been replaced by the Lucid entirely. Others saw the madness in his eye, his sanity on the very brink as he proclaimed the experiment a failure, and demanded that he should be locked up. They turned on him with chains of iron and wills of steel as the skydancer, frail and weak after so many years 'asleep', cried out in blatant refusal to become a prisoner again.
Just barely, he escaped. Although Luciel refuses to go into detail about how he had escaped, those who heard the tale quickly realise that blood was undoubtedly spilt. In his desperation to get away, Luciel had taken the whole research facility down with him - destroying all but the research he carried on his person. Where he came from is no more and now Luciel's only purpose is to serve and protect Shal'anir, for she had called to him shortly after he'd initially been preserved, although Luciel struggled, and still does struggle, to hear it. In his time in the healer's den he had also grown fond of Korven - another reason for him to stay. Perhaps they were not quite friends yet, but Luciel favoured the company of the grey-scaled nocturne more than any other and wasn't inclined to leave that company, either.
Although Luciel now works for Shal'anir to protect her, he remains an enigma. He's feared due to the lack of a cognitive 'filter', as it were, to contain his frustration and other unpleasant emotions. He'll write all his research notes in a language he seems to have made up, as to prevent other dragons from claiming ideas as their own. He also speaks in a monotone, indifferent voice that unnerves all who meet him for the first time - although antagonising him enough can cause Luciel to start shrieking, which is even more unpleasant to hear than his usual deadpan voice. He'll speak only to present his findings to the matriarch in a secluded bough of Shal'anir and won't allow others close enough to begin to understand what turmoil brews beneath the troubled surface. He prefers it that way. Those who have no business knowing suspect nothing, while those who Luciel trusts enough to know need not ask.
- Sometimes wanders through Shal'anir as if in a daze, muttering to himself and not responding to his name
- Hates Vizier. Vizier thinks he's great and knows how to push every button Luciel has
- Hangs around only with Zachariah and Korven
- In case of emergencytotally not Vizier's death Luciel will act as advisor. Apparently.
- Eyeballs Sekk a lot and doesn't trust him. Kinda likes the wyvern though
- Sometimes he'll sit out on the cliffs near Shal'anir and read over his notes and Ka'avak will come and listen. Others say he's imagining things, but he swears she understands some of it
- He imagines a lot of things, but Ka'avak watching patiently and seemingly waiting for him to continue is not one of them
- Has number synesthesia
- Speaks with an accent that's a mix of German and British. Haughty aggression
Just barely, he escaped. Although Luciel refuses to go into detail about how he had escaped, those who heard the tale quickly realise that blood was undoubtedly spilt. In his desperation to get away, Luciel had taken the whole research facility down with him - destroying all but the research he carried on his person. Where he came from is no more and now Luciel's only purpose is to serve and protect Shal'anir, for she had called to him shortly after he'd initially been preserved, although Luciel struggled, and still does struggle, to hear it. In his time in the healer's den he had also grown fond of Korven - another reason for him to stay. Perhaps they were not quite friends yet, but Luciel favoured the company of the grey-scaled nocturne more than any other and wasn't inclined to leave that company, either.
Although Luciel now works for Shal'anir to protect her, he remains an enigma. He's feared due to the lack of a cognitive 'filter', as it were, to contain his frustration and other unpleasant emotions. He'll write all his research notes in a language he seems to have made up, as to prevent other dragons from claiming ideas as their own. He also speaks in a monotone, indifferent voice that unnerves all who meet him for the first time - although antagonising him enough can cause Luciel to start shrieking, which is even more unpleasant to hear than his usual deadpan voice. He'll speak only to present his findings to the matriarch in a secluded bough of Shal'anir and won't allow others close enough to begin to understand what turmoil brews beneath the troubled surface. He prefers it that way. Those who have no business knowing suspect nothing, while those who Luciel trusts enough to know need not ask.
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"It felt like dying. It still feels like dying.
All gave way to the flood of amber. It bound, constricted, suffocated. It provided life, but it slaughtered in return. Nothing could withstand such a force. Corrupt stars aligned in a shattered sky. Links were forged improbable and connections made anew. Yet, voices began to whisper in the impenetrable abyss of the furthest corners of the mind now awakened. They were.. maddening. You think me to be mad, do you? Yes.. yes, perhaps a little." |
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Shattered Tolerance «
Luciel worked within the secluded glimmer of candlelight, a level of idle indifference to the passage of time having setting in long past the third set of candles burning themselves out. His quill scratched furiously into old parchment - his fourth quill, to be exact, as the previous three had snapped under the pressure of his incessant writing. Yet, Luciel didn't cease with his work. The further he fell into it, the more he invested himself, and the deeper he sank into his own consciousness. At the back of his mind, Luciel could hear the subtle stirring of the voices as he worked. He'd hoped to sink far enough into his current state that such things wouldn't concern him, but they were more deeply-rooted than even he could reach.
Failure. Broken. Worthless.
The quill snapped under a sudden increase in pressure, the tip breaking off completely and ruining the complex rune Luciel had just finished writing out. Ink tainted the perfect sigil; a harsh black line overriding the delicate intricacy with such ease it was insulting. For a moment, Luciel could do nothing other than stare in horror at the mistake, his mind lost so deep within itself that it took a few moments to comprehend what he'd done - let alone what it meant for his work.
Look what you've done. You've ruined it. You've ruined everything.
A frustrated scream shattered the silence as the air was suddenly filled with papers and tomes. There was silence no more as the air was then punctuated by the sounds of tearing paper, shattering wood and an odd mix of angry yelling and fragmented sobbing. Candles were extinguished in the flurry of motion and hours of work were undone in a few painfully short, but undeniably destructive, seconds. By the end of it, Luciel was left in a small heap of tattered pages and broken images, his research all but lost in the mercurial fit of rage. He made no attempt to move from the mess of his own design, instead choosing to simply lay amongst the torn fragments and wallow in a sea of misery and condescending voices.
We knew you'd do this. You always do this. Why do you always do this?
There was the sound of movement from the entrance of the bough; a previously unnoticed shape moving from the swatch of darkness that surrounded him. As he stepped forward, the formless shape was revealed to be that of Zachariah; fellow paragon and an image of stoic indifference. He made no comment at the mess Luciel had surrounded himself in, nor did he jest at the sorry state of the pale skydancer. There wasn't an ounce of cruelty in his eye as the guardian slowly manoeuvred himself into the bough and to where Luciel was laid in a broken stupor of sullen aggression. Zach lent down to the other and, in a kind, but not belittling, tone, spoke to him.
"Shal'anir looks particularly beautiful tonight, Luciel. Come see her with me."
Luciel didn't respond for a few seconds, to the point he seemed to not have even realise he'd been addressed to. Yet, Zachariah didn't repeat himself. Simply waiting did the work for him and, as the skydancer let out a low sigh and glanced up at the larger dragon, he was met with the same indifferent kindness he'd grown to take comfort in. Zachariah was one of minimal words, which was very much appreciated in moments like this when silence was desired over idle talk. It was more than enough for Luciel and, as he moved to pick himself up, the gaoler took a few respectful steps back.
"Just a few moments. I need to continue my research," the Lucid murmured, shaking off delicate wings. "I've ruined it all." The words were spoken as bitter accusation. Such destruction would take hours to correct - hours that he could have spent on a different piece of research entirely. Yet, despite his words, he made no move to fix the torn research, except for dusting off a couple pieces of paper that had settled onto his shoulder with a small huff of discontent.
"You'd have an excuse to leave my presence even if you'd finished every piece of work you could ever do, Luciel, I'm starting to take it personally," Zachariah chided, although there was no malicious intent behind his words. He slowly turned his large frame away, beginning to head out of the bough and trusting that it was Luciel's light footfalls he could hear beside him.
"As you should," Luciel scoffed, folding his wings close to his body and walking as upright as he could on all fours. For those who didn't know him, such a display would have been normal for the paragon. Yet, for those who did, they could easily see the taut muscles, how on edge he was with each step, and the underlying pain in his eyes. Luciel rarely allowed dragons close enough to recognise such changes, however. Even Zachariah's presence was not one he'd ever intended to keep, but lots of things seemed to go unpredicted by the Lucid, considering what he was most keenly prized for.
Zachariah let out a small chuckle, his eyes flickering with an emotion unknown. "You're lucky I like you," he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The skydancer cast his gaze upwards to the large guardian, considering him for a moment. Luciel then let out a small snort of amusement, a rare act by itself, as he looked ahead of them to the dark passageways of Shal'anir. "I suppose I am."
Luciel worked within the secluded glimmer of candlelight, a level of idle indifference to the passage of time having setting in long past the third set of candles burning themselves out. His quill scratched furiously into old parchment - his fourth quill, to be exact, as the previous three had snapped under the pressure of his incessant writing. Yet, Luciel didn't cease with his work. The further he fell into it, the more he invested himself, and the deeper he sank into his own consciousness. At the back of his mind, Luciel could hear the subtle stirring of the voices as he worked. He'd hoped to sink far enough into his current state that such things wouldn't concern him, but they were more deeply-rooted than even he could reach.
Failure. Broken. Worthless.
The quill snapped under a sudden increase in pressure, the tip breaking off completely and ruining the complex rune Luciel had just finished writing out. Ink tainted the perfect sigil; a harsh black line overriding the delicate intricacy with such ease it was insulting. For a moment, Luciel could do nothing other than stare in horror at the mistake, his mind lost so deep within itself that it took a few moments to comprehend what he'd done - let alone what it meant for his work.
Look what you've done. You've ruined it. You've ruined everything.
A frustrated scream shattered the silence as the air was suddenly filled with papers and tomes. There was silence no more as the air was then punctuated by the sounds of tearing paper, shattering wood and an odd mix of angry yelling and fragmented sobbing. Candles were extinguished in the flurry of motion and hours of work were undone in a few painfully short, but undeniably destructive, seconds. By the end of it, Luciel was left in a small heap of tattered pages and broken images, his research all but lost in the mercurial fit of rage. He made no attempt to move from the mess of his own design, instead choosing to simply lay amongst the torn fragments and wallow in a sea of misery and condescending voices.
We knew you'd do this. You always do this. Why do you always do this?
There was the sound of movement from the entrance of the bough; a previously unnoticed shape moving from the swatch of darkness that surrounded him. As he stepped forward, the formless shape was revealed to be that of Zachariah; fellow paragon and an image of stoic indifference. He made no comment at the mess Luciel had surrounded himself in, nor did he jest at the sorry state of the pale skydancer. There wasn't an ounce of cruelty in his eye as the guardian slowly manoeuvred himself into the bough and to where Luciel was laid in a broken stupor of sullen aggression. Zach lent down to the other and, in a kind, but not belittling, tone, spoke to him.
"Shal'anir looks particularly beautiful tonight, Luciel. Come see her with me."
Luciel didn't respond for a few seconds, to the point he seemed to not have even realise he'd been addressed to. Yet, Zachariah didn't repeat himself. Simply waiting did the work for him and, as the skydancer let out a low sigh and glanced up at the larger dragon, he was met with the same indifferent kindness he'd grown to take comfort in. Zachariah was one of minimal words, which was very much appreciated in moments like this when silence was desired over idle talk. It was more than enough for Luciel and, as he moved to pick himself up, the gaoler took a few respectful steps back.
"Just a few moments. I need to continue my research," the Lucid murmured, shaking off delicate wings. "I've ruined it all." The words were spoken as bitter accusation. Such destruction would take hours to correct - hours that he could have spent on a different piece of research entirely. Yet, despite his words, he made no move to fix the torn research, except for dusting off a couple pieces of paper that had settled onto his shoulder with a small huff of discontent.
"You'd have an excuse to leave my presence even if you'd finished every piece of work you could ever do, Luciel, I'm starting to take it personally," Zachariah chided, although there was no malicious intent behind his words. He slowly turned his large frame away, beginning to head out of the bough and trusting that it was Luciel's light footfalls he could hear beside him.
"As you should," Luciel scoffed, folding his wings close to his body and walking as upright as he could on all fours. For those who didn't know him, such a display would have been normal for the paragon. Yet, for those who did, they could easily see the taut muscles, how on edge he was with each step, and the underlying pain in his eyes. Luciel rarely allowed dragons close enough to recognise such changes, however. Even Zachariah's presence was not one he'd ever intended to keep, but lots of things seemed to go unpredicted by the Lucid, considering what he was most keenly prized for.
Zachariah let out a small chuckle, his eyes flickering with an emotion unknown. "You're lucky I like you," he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The skydancer cast his gaze upwards to the large guardian, considering him for a moment. Luciel then let out a small snort of amusement, a rare act by itself, as he looked ahead of them to the dark passageways of Shal'anir. "I suppose I am."
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» Art «
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» Notes «
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- Sometimes wanders through Shal'anir as if in a daze, muttering to himself and not responding to his name
- Hates Vizier. Vizier thinks he's great and knows how to push every button Luciel has
- Hangs around only with Zachariah and Korven
- In case of emergency
- Eyeballs Sekk a lot and doesn't trust him. Kinda likes the wyvern though
- Sometimes he'll sit out on the cliffs near Shal'anir and read over his notes and Ka'avak will come and listen. Others say he's imagining things, but he swears she understands some of it
- He imagines a lot of things, but Ka'avak watching patiently and seemingly waiting for him to continue is not one of them
- Has number synesthesia
- Speaks with an accent that's a mix of German and British. Haughty aggression
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