Citren
(#55916624)
"Don't panic -- follow me. I'll show you to your new home."
Familiar
Granite Thresher
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Female Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.03 m
Wingspan
6.03 m
Weight
816.35 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Starmap
Starmap
Obsidian
Bee
Bee
White
Ghost
Ghost
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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Occupation Lieutenant of Collections [SPRING-RCO] 
Partner None 
Alignment Lawful Good 
Orientation Demisexual 
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═════════════════════════════════════════════ C I T R E N ; in the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. ═════════════════════════════════════════════ STORM’s second-in-command and SPRING’s Lieutenant of Collections is definitely not your average dragon. Tenacious, fierce, and often neurotic, Citren generally deals with introducing new arrivals to SALVAGE, whether captured or brought at their own free will. She can be intimidating at first, but her focused demeanor and unconditional support often grows on even the most stoic additions. When not giving tours or being a makeshift counsellor, Citren is often found hovering around Storm. The smaller Skydancer has a tight bond with the intelligence for multiple reasons, and would probably consider the mechanical Pearlcatcher her best friend. Citren, though she started out as almost a coach for STORM's social skills, very quickly bonded with Storm. But despite their close friendship, SPRING's Lieutenant of Collections (despite her eye for figuring out emotions and specialization in psychology) has absolutely zero clue that the Pearlcatcher has a bit of a crush on her, and probably never will. Citren is not one of SALVAGE's cyphers, but despite this slight handicap, she in fact made her mechanical augments herself. Though there was nothing wrong with her, the Lieutenant attempted to push her limits by enhancing her wings. Besides this, she also enhanced her bone structure and musculature with a light coating of metal. This left Citren with awkward white bone scars on her scales, but many in fact find them intriguingly cute (especially STORM, though Citren has no idea.) "Don't be afraid, please. You're safe now. Welcome to SALVAGE." Though she would hate to admit it, Citren realizes her job is one of the most important at SPRING. She's faced insane intelligences, violent renegades, and shell-shocked refugees, all (well, almost all) of whom are now active operatives or at least rehabilitated to life in the SALVAGE compound. Multiple dragons with less of a steely will and passion for their job have quit the position, and Citren has thought some recoveries hopeless. Despite this, she has always pushed through the challenge of every case she faces, with barely a hint of doubt. Of course, there have been a few, ah, special cases. At the elemental festivals. Citren can often be found bustling around the fringes, introducing everyone to newly rehabilitated arrivals, many of whom she will always share a friendship with. For this reason she is one of the most well-known and liked dragons at SALVAGE, and is proud to be surrounded by friends nearly every moment. | x |
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══════════════════iii════════ Citren's unconditional kindness and job make her a familiar face around the clan. She prefers to work from the sidelines, which makes her all-the-more approachable. She's especially popular among new arrivals, and though they find themselves new friends, Citren will always be a trusted acquaintance.  Though never having fought a true battle, Citren nevertheless has had to defend herself against more hostile acquisitions, as well as receiving informal training from Tyr. If formally taught to fight, she could be a formidable warrior, especially with her enhancements and bone augments.  The Lieutenant of Collections is not particularly dextrous, due to the heavy metals forming her augments, but she can definitely sidestep a raging Fae ball of fury when worst comes to worst. Despite this, at small scale she is still quite precise, due to those same augments.  Citren is much more powerful than she looks. With literal metal enhancing her bone structure and flightpower, she could, at full speed, deal quite a lot of damage to even an Imperial or Guardian despite being magnitudes smaller and lighter. |
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 With seemingly boundless reserves of energy and of a mind-over-matter perspective, Citren does have quite a large tolerance to pain and damage due to her augments. However, she, if leaving any injuries unchecked, can and will often pass out quite suddenly: the energetic Skydancer will push herself until she drops.  This jack-of-all-trades seems to know a little about everything, possibly because her illegal activities as a hatchling (see lore). However, her primary knowledge is centered around biological engineering and psychology, but she always pushes herself to learn anything she can about everything she can.  Generally has luck like the rest of Sornieth's inhabitants, as expected. Nothing especially noteworthy, but she does seem to be a little more lucky than average, considering the very, very numerous potential dangers she's avoided when dealing with more, ah, difficult rehabilitations and arrivals.  Quite unusually for an organic member of SALVAGE, Citren has no magic, whether of the cypher sort or that of mages. She would never admit it, but she is jealous of those who can conjure the elements or commune with a computer with just a thought. | x |
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N O T E S ▸ Often asked by SALVAGE members to solve or mediate disputes, a task she enjoys: it's interesting hearing both sides and she likes it better when people get along. ▸ Enjoys conversing with the base AIs, even when she doesn't need anything from them. ══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ L O R E Born to an Arcane clan nesting in the cliffs of the Focal Point, as a hatchling Citren often found herself staring into the Crystalspine Reaches and beyond. While erstwhile friends dug feverishly deep into scrolls and spellbooks, she dug into scraps and blueprints discarded by the Arcanist himself. This fifth-hatched in a nest of five, due to the stigma around her magicless self, found herself breaking the unspoken rule of the Starfall Isles, presented in a convenient children’s rhyme that even hatchlings could follow:
Thousands of tomes our Arcanist writes
Each holding words of power and might Due to our frailty, we are forbidden To grasp this prose, any secrets he’s hidden A single glance at a black and white page May tie us in knots, or send us back to an age Where terrible powers scythe land from sky And that, my dear child, is our reasoning why We are not to look, nor touch, or seek All that lies at the Arcanist’s peak. It started with a fallen, tattered scrap of scroll, perhaps blown out the window by a stray gust of wind. The writing was nearly illegible, scribbled in what looked like four different handwritings. But it talked of gateways to other worlds, places even the clan storyteller could not even conjure up in his wildest dreams. And just like that, she was hooked. She devoured spells she could not use but taught to the most overlooked of the young hatchlings, diagrams of instruments that could see the stars up close as the other adolescent hatchlings now flew, and, most precious of all, a piece of a discarded blueprint that required no mage to power it. Instead, the device generated its own power, regardless of the dragon that held it. It would enable a dragon, any dragon, to enhance their flight through… machinery. That was the first time Citren had heard the word, but it only threw her deeper into her illegal activities. She would show the others that what she could not accomplish through magic, she could achieve through the designs that she purportedly though of herself. Just one page: that was what she told herself. But it was never enough. She, in some fundamental way, was an Arcane dragon at heart: dreams and plots to show the rest of the lair just how weak she wasn’t fueled her to break sacred practices. Citren, almost every day, would circle the Observatory to search for pure knowledge on paper. Until she went too far. The night was unremarkable, clouds periodically covering the clan in deep shade due to the erratic wind that brought clouds to shield the sight-bringing moon. A lone black Skydancer, especially one not yet even reached full size, would be indistinguishable from the sky around it, not that many would be awake. Citren used this fact to her advantage, sneaking out of her cliff-face cave and up into the air. She had not yet reached maturity and initially struggled to climb altitude, though she quickly learned to anticipate the predictable wind surges that could slam smaller breeds to the ground. Citren couldn’t afford to lose time; she had waited far too long for some of the older dragons to finish their card games and finally head off to sleep, damn those Tundras! She initially played it cautious, but once used to the rise and fall of air currents, forged upward and onward to the tower that stretched like a monolith into the sky, improbable in its menacing grace. Fear was not a frequent emotion for the young Skydancer -- perhaps her constant breaking of the law had desensitized her -- but she felt it beginning to rise now, seeing the arcane candlelight shine like a beacon from the top of the Focal Point. Her stomach twisted despite her steady wingbeats, and at first Citren thought she was going to be sick, so foreign was this emotion to her. She neared the tower, being careful to avoid being in the sightline of the windows, then carefully, ever so carefully, Citren alighted on the monolith’s roof, making a sound that barely could have even come from a sparrow. She had practiced for this moment many times, but suddenly a new thought gripped her, wrapping cold claws around her small body like a Emperor (she had read about them in one of the papers she found) catching a Fae. If collecting the Arcanist’s forbidden words was outlawed, imagine how the clan, no, the whole flight, would react if what I’m about to do became known. Imagine what a god would do if he finds out, if he’s displeased with me. There’s a slight irony in the fact that this phantom, a figment of emotion and imagination, caused the quite grounded Citren’s literal downfall. It started with a slip of a single claw on a single tile, but as steep structures are bound to do, that slip turned into an albeit small avalanche in the form of a near-criminal Skydancer tumbling down the most sacred roof in the Starfall Isles and far, far down. And suddenly, she was stopped. No longer did her imagination grip her; no, the claws keeping her from being dashed against the rocks were entirely real. An accompanying voice thundered both in her mind and echoing out of the tower’s window. “Who are you, to trespass upon my sacred grounds. To steal my forbidden knowledge. Have you learnt nothing?” “I-” The claw’s grip loosened. “...A child?” | x |
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