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Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Measurements

Length
7.22 m
Wingspan
7.71 m
Weight
724.07 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Crimson
Pinstripe
Crimson
Pinstripe
Secondary Gene
White
Shimmer
White
Shimmer
Tertiary Gene
White
Underbelly
White
Underbelly

Hatchday

Hatchday
Sep 18, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Mirror

Eye Type

Eye Type
Water
Uncommon
Level 1 Mirror
EXP: 0 / 245
Scratch
Shred
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

  • none

Biography

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Art by Frillshark #61419. Please do not remove credit.
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_______________________________________________________________________________

The yearning was an itch in her brain, a memory of something known that slipped away as soon as she tried to bring it to focus. It had started one evening just as Crimson was preparing to travel the Summer Festival circuit through The Shifting Expanse, her home.

Crim was a photographer and she made her living photographing the beautiful yet stark landscape that was as much a part of her as her two sets of eyes. She had a knack for taking the dry canyons, the scrubby highlands and the snaking, interminable electrical cords that criss-crossed the land and turning them soft, dreamy and almost cozy. She had won a number of “Best of Festival” awards and she quietly hoped that after the festival season was over, she would be able to find a gallery or two that would take her photographs on commission and she could have a steady income.

As the summer moved along, the itch of the yearning grew. From an itch to a tickle to pressure to vague pain, it was her constant companion, never ceasing, never easing. By the time early fall arrived, the yearning was a knife in her head.

What did her brain yearn for, tormented her for, kept her awake for?

One thing.

Water.

But not the choppy waves that battered the sharp cliffs along the coast. Water that was bound by shallow shores with tidal pools. Water that was surprisingly temperate. Water that was deep and dark with mystery in every bubble.

As soon as the last festival was done, she flew as fast as her wings would allow to her small home tucked in a cave carved into a solitary mesa. She packed all her remaining photographs in air tight boxes to protect them from the sand that got into every nook and crack. She cleared out all the food except for a small snack and tossed it out for the wild animals to enjoy. She cleaned and swept and tidied. When she was done, she took her trusty satchel, packed her food, some clothing and her camera and tossed it over her wings. Almost indifferently, she locked her door and put the key in her satchel too.

Finally, she gave herself over to the yearning and took to the air. Like following a compass, she went where the yearning had her fly: over the canyon that split the land in two, over the scrubland and away from her home. The yearning was taking her into the region that bordered the Shifting Expanse: the home of the Tidelord, the Sea of a Thousand Currents.

The first breath of humid air into her lungs pushed the yearning into a driving joy. The end was close and she knew it to the depth of her bones.

She spied a large, smooth boulder right close to the lapping edge of the largest body of inland freshwater in Sornieth. She landed delicately on the boulder and the yearning turned into a thumping beat tuned to both her heart and, somehow, the land and water around her. She dropped to her knees, letting her satchel slide from her wings, and she rested her head on the boulder. She heard things sifting up from low underground, things that had no words or structure or shape. The sounds comforted her and tamed the pain of the yearning.

She sat up and watched as the moon rose over the lip of the horizon, painting a wide stripe on the sea and lighting up small heads as they poked through the surface. Hundreds of fish, all striped white, were looking at her.

“What is your name?” one called out, a fish with shimmering gold between the white stripes.

“I’m Crimson”, she replied softly. She understood via the yearning that she was safe and these fish knowing her name was somehow of great importance.

The fish nodded and murmured amongst themselves and a joyous song filled the soft evening air.

The fish who had spoken to her lifted from the water, changed into a small Mirror dragon, flew over to Crim and landed lightly beside her. “I’m GoldFish. Welcome home, CrimsonFish.”

The yearning within Crim sang in tune and rhythm with the fish in the sea and she smiled at GoldFish. GoldFish took her clawed hand and they lifted into the air together.

As they dove into the water, both Mirrors’ claws turned to fins and Crim’s yearning became the comforting beat of her heart.
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