Iolite
(#56790651)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Dripcave Deputy
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
26.96 m
Wingspan
16.44 m
Weight
5928.84 kg
Genetics
Purple
Starmap
Starmap
Amethyst
Bee
Bee
Overcast
Firefly
Firefly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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Iolite
{ pronunciation guide } Nicknames: ??? • origin / role 
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ TITLE Lore written by @StingTheAnimus ♫ (artist) - (song) ♫ ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ |
“well…oh, I see…wait…how does this part connect…come on…it’s got to be…Oh!” he whispered, idly itching his ear as he studied a row of particularly thorny-looking runes. “It’s the pronunciation!”
“IOLITE!!!” Mother bellowed, the sound shaking a small plume of dust and a few alarmed dust sprites from the edge of the closet’s door and causing him to jump and his fireflies to whirl in dizzying patterns.
WHERE ARE YOU? YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING YOUR HOMEWORK!” her voice thundered again, sounding even closer. He took the flashlight out of his mouth, and put it in a small satchel he’d ‘borrowed’ from his scratched anxiously at the closet floor, wondering what to do next, searching for something, anything, that would get him out of this predicament. Invisibility? No. Mother was too good a mage for that. Intangibility? Definitely no. The last time he tried that, his claws got stuck halfway materialized in the floor, and he’d had to cut them free. Teleportation? Might just possibly work. He hadn’t tried it before. Well, no time like the present to try this out, he thought wryly, before beginning to chant the spell to teleport himself away.
The air began to vibrate and glow an eerie blue around him. He began to panic, but did not stop, for one of the few rules of magic he had learned was, Once you start a spell, don’t stop halfway through. He inhaled deeply, concentrating, and continued, stumbling through the incredibly difficult spell, tripping over words the dragon tongue was not meant to ever say, staggering through the illusionlike shades of meaning for each word, but at last he finished.
The air around him bent, curled, eddied, then imploded, taking with it the small dragonet. With him went the flashlight, leaving the dusty old grimoire abandoned in the darkness of the closet.
-
The air rippled and shimmered, like a mirage, when suddenly he tumbled out of it, panting, dust-covered, and very tired. He stumbled, disoriented, eyes dazed with the sudden light, and blinked, looking around. He was outside of the safety of his clan’s territory, in the desert. In the distance, the blade of the Tempest Spire jutted out of the mesas like a gigantic spear, glittering and glowing as lightning clapped it’s sides. It was a beautifully bleak place, but he had no time to admire it’s scenery. He had some explaining to do.
Turning his back on the howling sands, he trudged back home.
As he approached, he could make out the howls of his mother, looking for him, and his aunt, looking for the spell-book he had stolen. He was in deep trouble now. Jumping into the sky, he gained altitude, then glided down, into the cave, where his mother was about to begin yelling again.
She saw him, dirty and bedraggled as he was, and simply pointed to his homework, lying abandoned and forlorn on the table.
“Get. Back. To. Work.” She snapped, before turning back to the workbench where there were parts of a tiny golem strewn across it, catching the bright light of the lamp, and glinting like lost treasure in the sea.
Every Lightning dragon loved using those words for many reasons; it was Stormcatcher’s favorite quote, it was Tempest Spire’s official motto, and because it was relevant in nine out of ten cases when it came to homework.
Grumbling unhappily, he sat down and began to work.
-
“Mom, can I be a mage?” he begged, for the fifth time that week over dinner (roasted duneberries served with several glistening, oily turkeys). “I’ll pay for my tuition…”
“You’re not allowed to do magic.” Mother told him. “Only Aunt can. She’s a trained mage, and the difference between you two is that she has talent, and you do not.” Mother tore off a leg of turkey with a loud rip, which perfectly described what his heart felt like.
“But mother-“He began, about to protest.
“No ‘buts’. You are going to become a decent mechanic at the very least, then I’m sending you for an internship at Tempest Spire Academy. Do you hear me?” she snapped, waving the turkey leg in the air for emphasis.
“Yes, mom.” he said, eyes downcast and blurring with tears.
“Stop crying. It makes you weak. Finish your dinner and go to bed.” Mother told him, then began to strip the leg of meat, ignoring him except for when she shot him venomous glances filled with contempt.
He picked at his turkey wing, watching as the grease dripped slowly down his claws and into his fur. After a moment of staring at it, he tore into it angrily, imagining that it was his mother’s face, and within seconds, there was nothing left but bones. After washing his talons in the sink, he turned and stalked into his room.
He checked to make sure that his aunt was nowhere in sight, then opened his ‘treasure box’ and pulled the dusty old grimoire out from its hiding place under his meager pile of coins and gems. Flipping through its pages, he found what he was looking for, and began to study once again.
-
The veins in her neck and face stood out, and her face was a horrifying mask of hatred and loathing as his aunt pinned him to the wall with her magic, eyes glowing with fury, livid with rage as she held her nephew in a chokehold. He gasped and struggled, but was unable to fight her power as she screamed at him, “HOW DARE YOU STEAL MY SPELLBOOK!! HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY BOTH ME AND YOUR OWN MOTHER!!!!!”
He tried to inhale, then glanced at her, before his gaze slid to the ground, unable to meet her eyes.
“WE ARE GIVING YOU AN EXPENSIVE EDUCATION AT TEMPEST SPIRE, AND ALL YOU DO IS WASTE YOUR TIME READING MY BOOKS!”
“I…can’t…breathe.” He choked out, his face beginning to turn blue.
She ignored him, and then thrust her snout near him, her rage palpable as she leaned in close and shouted, “YOU DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND THEM!”
And he snapped.
He felt something inside him give way, and then he looked directly into his aunt’s eyes, boring into them, defying her.
“You’re wrong. I do.” His voice cut like a knife, and she recoiled slightly, thrown off-balance by his sudden act of defiance.
He inhaled sharply, and then he was free. He fell to the ground, panting for a moment, and then pushed himself up onto his feet.
His aunt had recovered, and she advanced, her talons flashing as she spelled out runes to form a spell.
He backed against the cave wall, his talons raised defensively, but instead of being a just a gesture, this time they were filled with arcs of electricity. And not just any electricity. Not just little sparks. Not just little flashes.
Deadly voltage.
Voltage so powerful it would fry most spells, including his aunt’s.
Aunt and nephew faced off, at an impasse; neither wanted to back down, and neither wanted to attack. So they stood there for a while, nephew challenging his aunt to fight, trying to goad her into doing something stupid, and aunt daring her nephew to try and beat her.
So they stood when Mother came home.
“What is happening?”
The moment ended. He looked her in the eyes, and icily said, “I’m leaving. “
And with that, he turned around and headed upstairs. Ten minutes later, without even saying goodbye, he flew off, carrying only his treasure and coins.
And his aunt’s spellbook.
-
He glided down in lazy circles, throat as dry as the desert sands below, towards an oasis. The oasis was nothing but a tiny speck of muddy water and one gnarled baobab tree which hung over the pool, as though trying to keep all of it to itself. He landed heavily, sack thumping against his chest as he staggered over to the pond. At first, he gulped thirstily at the water, not caring that it was tepid and tasted horrible, then realized he would be better off drinking more slowly because he would need to ration it. He sipped at the small pool, and when his thirst had abated somewhat, he took stock of his situation. His mother had taught him a few lessons on how to survive in the desert; how to find shelter, how to bear the extreme temperatures, how to find water and food, and how to avoid bandits. He thought back to the lesson on how to find and prepare food. His mother’s voice echoed in his head:
First, you’ll want to see if there’s anything living nearby. If there isn’t, you’re in deep trouble. Get out of there immediately. Don’t be picky. If there’s a food type you don’t naturally eat and nothing else, eat it. Second, you’ll want to keep it from rotting. If you have no other choice, bury it deep in the sand in the early morning. Make sure you’ve buried it really deep, or else you’ll end up with burns if you try to touch it.
He looked around, scanning his surroundings, and his eye caught on the baobab tree. It looked tough and inedible, but there might be things living in its roots, which were submerged in the pool. Taking off his sack, he laid it on the sands, then waded into the muddy pool. He combed through the muck, looking for something, anything, when he felt something move, then thrash violently against his talons. He grabbed it, but it wriggled out of his grasp. He tried again, and this time, he successfully managed to grab it. He held it up, inspecting it, and discovered that it was an exceptionally large catfish. He beat it repeatedly against a rock, killing it, then washed it off in the pool before electrocuting it with the spell he’d learned earlier and eating it. It was tough and chewy, but he made himself swallow it, then went to sleep. He woke early the next morning, and got off to a good start. He could see the territories of the Water and Shadow Flights on the horizon, and was making good time, before the heatwave hit, and he had to fly higher, into the sparse clouds. After some time, he noticed that the desert had given way to grasslands, and the air had cooled a bit, allowing him to fly lower again. His wings were very sore, probably due to the lack of proper exercise, so he landed, and began walking.
He trudged toward the Tangled Wood, watching as the brambles uncoiled to let him pass and then coiled back into position. The whole place had a dark feeling to it, he thought. Strange bluish fungi glowed in the stygian darkness, lighting up paths which twisted and turned seemingly endlessly. He found himself following one of these, which was marked with a small ring of pulsating mushrooms which were of many colors; some red, some green, and some yellow. But as he did so, a small dragon darted out from another one of the paths where she had been keeping watch. “Hey, stranger, are you sure you want to go to Kenaré’s lair?”
He looked down at her. She was a small Wildclaw, slim, and pitch-black, with dark eyes that marked her as Shadowborn. Small glowing moths flittered around her, and he noted with some interest that they seemed to be part of her. He himself had a variant of the gene, but his were glowing blue fireflies, not moths. “Woah, you’re pretty!” she continued breathlessly, then looked up at him. “So why are you going to Kenaré’s lair?”
“I’m lost.” He replied, feeling his wings droop slight, but then he couldn’t resist asking, “Who is Kenaré?” he asked.
The wildclaw took her time, thinking about what to say. “they say she’s not really Shadowborn, but Plagueborn. Some say she’s Shadetouched, but it’s all hearsay and rumors. She’s a master of…well, let’s just say anyone who goes in there never comes back.” She said, her voice low.
“Sounds…menacing.” Iolite replied, wondering just what kind of a dragon, or thing, that Kenaré was. Then he shook himself. He didn’t need to think such things. He needed to find a place to sleep.
“I know, right!” her voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he turned his attention back to her.
“So, which clan are you from?” Iolite asked, hoping to change the subject.
The wildclaw didn’t respond immediately, but then slowly said, “I suppose I could bring you to him…” She said, her moths fluttering around her face in a dazzling display of light and shadow.
“Who?” Iolite asked uncertainly.
“All right, come with me!” she turned and ran back where she had come from, the moths trailing behind. Iolite took one step after her, then two, and before he knew it, he was in a small clearing, and a large, glittering, elegant black imperial who wore a small glowing blue lantern on his tail, and a jeweled eyepiece was conferring with the wildclaw, then turned toward Iolite stretched his wings, revealing mechanical wing covers. He nodded once, then beckoned for Iolite to come closer. Iolite walked slowly towards him, awed by the great Imperial, and inclined his head to the dark dragon.
“Welcome, stranger. What is your name?” he asked.
Iolite shuffled his feet, then looked up into the dark dragon’s eyes. Surprisingly, they were not dark, as he’d expected, but a beautiful shade of emerald. “I’m Iolite. I am from the Shifting Expanse. I ran away from home.”
The dark imperial looked more interested when Iolite said his name. he studied Iolite thoughtfully. “My name is Moonstone. I am the leader of this clan.”
“So…Moonstone. Why am I here?” Iolite asked, not understanding why he’d been brought here.
“You said you were a runaway. I was told you were lost. You don’t need to run any further. This will be your new home.” Moonstone told him gently. “Welcome home, Iolite.”
A small crowd had gathered as Moonstone spoke.
Now, as he looked around at the smiling faces of the others, he felt content. At peace. And at last, at home.
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Exalting Iolite to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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