Maeden
(#56135461)
She/Her
Familiar
Flora Cerdae
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.25 m
Wingspan
4.05 m
Weight
890.55 kg
Genetics
Antique
Petals
Petals
Cream
Shimmer
Shimmer
Cream
Lace
Lace
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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Maeden
The Fair |
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“Dragon. Do you know where that word comes from, Meldon?”
“Ser?” The crimson-red nocturne waved his tail nervously.
She continued like she didn’t hear him. Or didn’t care.
“Most people believe the term dragon originated in the Shattered Plain many eons ago. Some believe it was the gods who spoke it first. The first to bring such a phrase into utterance. Something to encapsulate the whole of their creations. Not just pearlcatcher or fae or ridgeback, but dragon. Part of a whole.”
She pulled at a lever, a hiss of steam releasing into the air. Meldon coughed as it burst in his face. He wrinkled his nose, scrunching against the heat and chemicals inside.
She kept moving and he scurried after her, wiping at his now teary eyes and scribbling notes dutifully onto his ever-present notepad.
“The word, dragon, of course comes from the old Paxicoan word ‘darkon’ which meant ‘of magic.’ We were the blessed of our gods, born of their magic and designed by their wisdom.
“But.”
She paused. Pale yellow eyes glistened in the dimly lit room. Golden-orange candle light sparkled off her scales, casting prismatic shimmers over the faded bookshelves and grimoires that decorated her private office. In the fading light of the evening sun that shone weakly through the high-set windows, she was illuminated in a holy glow, but her form itself was wrapped in shadows despite her pale complexion.
“There is… Another word. For our kind.” She ran a delicate finger over her desk. Pale white petals fell to the floor as she pulled up dust from the surface.
“Nedahmah.”
Meldon shivered, like a shadow fell down his spine, though he couldn’t explain why. “Need-aah- um.. Cou- could you spell that? Ser?” His quill hovered over the blank parchment, shaking in a tightened grip.
Again, she acted as though she could not hear him. Her eyes were a million miles away. Perhaps even a million years. The shadows on her narrow face seemed to age her in a moment, like a fragment from an older time.
“Literally, it means ‘not gods.’” Her voice was quiet, like a whisper in the breeze. The air was still around them, a moment frozen in time, captured like a photograph. Meldon could feel the breath catch in his lungs, like he was scared to release and grasp for another. “But it means more than that.”
Her head swung around delicately to look at him for the first time, capturing him under her dandelion gaze. Her movements were clean, precise, perfect, planned. Her neck craned unnaturally, but she made the shape of it seem effortless. “It means that we are not made of the gods. The act of making us, in and of itself, was an act of falsehoods, of blasphemy and defamation.
“We are an infection on this land,” she snarled, the shape of it deforming her beautiful features, darkening them into something hardened and cold, like a skull, the skin stretched too thin over the ridges and valleys.
She spun back around, pushing gentle paws through the cluttered room. A cerdae, pale like buttermilk, peered out from under a bookshelf, mane swaying in a windless breeze. It’s eyes were blank, like ice glazed over on a lake. It watched the two make their way across the room and Meldon shivered again, feeling its piercing gaze stab like icicles under his skin.
“Come melody.”
“It’s. Um. It’s Meldon? Ser.”
“Yes, yes,” she waved a paw through the air, daffodils falling around her movements. “An irrelevant distinction.” She made her way through an open doorway, long since rid of the door hat once stood in it and now ordained with a golden arch. Beyond was a darkened corridor lit dimly by flickering orange lights that blinked and struggled to stay awake.
The Librarian disappeared within, swallowed up by the warm shadows like she was welcome. Meldon let out a shaking breath and with one last glance at the dying light of the sun behind him, hurried after, claws clicking on the hardwood floor and fading into the distance.
“Ser?” The crimson-red nocturne waved his tail nervously.
She continued like she didn’t hear him. Or didn’t care.
“Most people believe the term dragon originated in the Shattered Plain many eons ago. Some believe it was the gods who spoke it first. The first to bring such a phrase into utterance. Something to encapsulate the whole of their creations. Not just pearlcatcher or fae or ridgeback, but dragon. Part of a whole.”
She pulled at a lever, a hiss of steam releasing into the air. Meldon coughed as it burst in his face. He wrinkled his nose, scrunching against the heat and chemicals inside.
She kept moving and he scurried after her, wiping at his now teary eyes and scribbling notes dutifully onto his ever-present notepad.
“The word, dragon, of course comes from the old Paxicoan word ‘darkon’ which meant ‘of magic.’ We were the blessed of our gods, born of their magic and designed by their wisdom.
“But.”
She paused. Pale yellow eyes glistened in the dimly lit room. Golden-orange candle light sparkled off her scales, casting prismatic shimmers over the faded bookshelves and grimoires that decorated her private office. In the fading light of the evening sun that shone weakly through the high-set windows, she was illuminated in a holy glow, but her form itself was wrapped in shadows despite her pale complexion.
“There is… Another word. For our kind.” She ran a delicate finger over her desk. Pale white petals fell to the floor as she pulled up dust from the surface.
“Nedahmah.”
Meldon shivered, like a shadow fell down his spine, though he couldn’t explain why. “Need-aah- um.. Cou- could you spell that? Ser?” His quill hovered over the blank parchment, shaking in a tightened grip.
Again, she acted as though she could not hear him. Her eyes were a million miles away. Perhaps even a million years. The shadows on her narrow face seemed to age her in a moment, like a fragment from an older time.
“Literally, it means ‘not gods.’” Her voice was quiet, like a whisper in the breeze. The air was still around them, a moment frozen in time, captured like a photograph. Meldon could feel the breath catch in his lungs, like he was scared to release and grasp for another. “But it means more than that.”
Her head swung around delicately to look at him for the first time, capturing him under her dandelion gaze. Her movements were clean, precise, perfect, planned. Her neck craned unnaturally, but she made the shape of it seem effortless. “It means that we are not made of the gods. The act of making us, in and of itself, was an act of falsehoods, of blasphemy and defamation.
“We are an infection on this land,” she snarled, the shape of it deforming her beautiful features, darkening them into something hardened and cold, like a skull, the skin stretched too thin over the ridges and valleys.
She spun back around, pushing gentle paws through the cluttered room. A cerdae, pale like buttermilk, peered out from under a bookshelf, mane swaying in a windless breeze. It’s eyes were blank, like ice glazed over on a lake. It watched the two make their way across the room and Meldon shivered again, feeling its piercing gaze stab like icicles under his skin.
“Come melody.”
“It’s. Um. It’s Meldon? Ser.”
“Yes, yes,” she waved a paw through the air, daffodils falling around her movements. “An irrelevant distinction.” She made her way through an open doorway, long since rid of the door hat once stood in it and now ordained with a golden arch. Beyond was a darkened corridor lit dimly by flickering orange lights that blinked and struggled to stay awake.
The Librarian disappeared within, swallowed up by the warm shadows like she was welcome. Meldon let out a shaking breath and with one last glance at the dying light of the sun behind him, hurried after, claws clicking on the hardwood floor and fading into the distance.
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Description
She is as dragon as they come, born below the Sundial Terrace and raised by a loving clan who adored research and study. All her childhood she wanted for nothing but knowledge and she consumed that which she did not know with a voracious hunger. Her family was large. She grew up knowing the name of dozens of uncles and cousins and half-related siblings. They were all of them tome-keepers, librarians and researchers who collected scrolls and memories from all over the planet and all throughout time. She grew up ordinary, a bright young child filled with light and wisdom.
So how she became this is unclear. A shadowed haunt of her former self. Still as sharp as nails and clever enough to cut glass, but dark and cold, like the memory of sunlight on fallen snow. Now she studies the lost tomes, the knowledge of a world that was never hers to claim. Her private offices, beneath the mountains, under the library she hosts with her beloved wife, she studies wild and desperate as she searches for a way into a world she can never be a part of. She wants and needs so desperately to be a part of it, to be of Neveran's chosen, her beloved children, but she never will be. She cannot be for she is mortal and dragon. |
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Maeden is a librarian with her wife, Fayne, and a scholar of the world of Novicae. She is desperate to be a part of the magic that once flowed there, but her very nature is fundamentally incompatible. She hates herself, hates dragonkind, hates the Vandoukun who have what she never could, the love of the "true" gods. |
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Exalting Maeden to the service of the Arcanist 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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