Drudranae

(#55305060)
Level 25 Guardian
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Familiar

Djamor Bat
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Male Guardian
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style

Apparel

Summer Swelter
Brown Wooly Coat
Traditional Broadsword
Heraldic Scale Tassets
Ruthless Kilt
Unlucky Vial
Primal Leather Arm Guards
Heraldic Tail Tatters
Heraldic Scale Wingplates

Skin

Scene

Scene: Armory

Measurements

Length
11.6 m
Wingspan
21.59 m
Weight
8139.85 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Cerulean
Pinstripe
Cerulean
Pinstripe
Secondary Gene
Caramel
Spinner
Caramel
Spinner
Tertiary Gene
Fire
Stained
Fire
Stained

Hatchday

Hatchday
Sep 16, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Special Eye Type
Earth
Dark Sclera
Level 25 Guardian
Max Level
Scratch
Shred
Rock Slash
STR
97
AGI
35
DEF
10
QCK
50
INT
9
VIT
35
MND
11

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

  • none

Biography

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Drudranae.
↠ The weapons of kindness
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"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."
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He grew up among shaky hands, warm blankets and fearful eyes. His fathers - two of them - were scared, not of their wife and his mother, no, she was if anything the shining light, the angel in disguise. The sun that kept this house warm and bright. He was born, side by side with a sibling older by barely a year, they slept together, they ate together. And they were spoiled.

Wanted children, lovechildren. Little wonders to fix the broken souls that were his fathers. One strong, one weak, both lost in their own past and the darkness conjured up from them. It would have been overwhelming, it should have, by all accounts, snuffed out the simple joys of being a child. Having to take care of a parent should not be a child’s duty.

His mother insisted to go out and play, to have fun, be a child, his sibling and he however refused to accept. Wouldn’t things be over more quickly if they all pitched in? And if one claims to love someone, they would do the little things for them. Do it willingly and gladly. Be it cutting the food in little bites, be it drawing a fresh bath or bringing another, warm blanket.

Think of yourself first., weak voiced, honey eyed father spoke with his gnarled fingers holding onto the seams of his blanket. Gratitude dripping from every word, affection, love, absolute trust giving color to a pallid colored face. You shouldn’t worry about me.

Nonsense, he replied and laughed. Off to fetch another batch of crushed fruit because this was one of the good days, when father’s hands weren’t too shaky and he felt actual pangs hunger. He couldn’t understand how one could go on for days without a meal. Hunger devoured him three times a day, nothing was safe.

You are a growing boy, just like your Dad., mother would snicker, up on her stool to look into her high pots, bubbling with food and good things. She always laughed, a benevolent sound, soft like windchimes and strong enough to break even the most stoic of facades. And then she would proceed to pull down his second father, green eyed, scarriddled, by his sleeve. He was twice her size and Drudranae seemed set to become just like him. Wide framed, big handed, kind eyed. His mother always said he would and he wanted this, he wanted to make her proud. You’re the best of me and your dad, you’ll show the world.

It was unusual, the way he grew up. Between downtrodden and courage, with a sibling at his side whose tongue and wit could cut iron. But in the end, it was him that followed the call of family. His mother’s brother, older, colder, a different type of strength clinging to his skin and his eyes, searched for a successor, someone to take over the empire of arms he had created. A clashing contrast, he should not, yet he did and he did it well. Between the embers of the forge and the molten iron, he took back the stigma of the Empire’s snuffed out forge and turned it into something better.

Something that would not consume and burn any hand working on it, instead he created a place to provide work without fear of scorched bones and death at every corner. Ironic or unavoidable was it now, that he met someone headed down for their own destruction. They warned him, his uncle, his mother and his fathers. Caring for someone too much could just as much be the personal downfall as it could uplift. Bring ruin or bring joy, this was the question and he found himself at a crossroads.

The rest, as they loved to say so many times, was history.

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Champion's Purse Condor's Breastplate Iron Ore
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code & assets by archaic #19153
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