Leaves
(#56837097)
Level 1 Fae
Familiar
Maple Caterpillar
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Fae
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.8 m
Wingspan
1.43 m
Weight
1.08 kg
Genetics
Soil
Ripple
Ripple
Forest
Freckle
Freckle
Camo
Peacock
Peacock
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Fae
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
The rain was heavy. It was as if the gods themselves cried, raining tears down on the mortals below them. The ground was wet, and clung to the feet of those who walked. But they still walked. On, and on, they traveled through the forests. The coffin grew damper with every minute.
As they reached the final resting place, the wooden box was placed upon the ground. Inside it contained the last remains of a prince, who had been long gone before the storm. He rested peacefully inside his box. Undisturbed. Almost as if he rested...
The ceremony was done quietly and quickly. None would stir the wrath of the storm and risk terrible punishment. The pit was dug, and the coffin pushed in. As it thudded, dirt took it's place back in the hole. With that, a single flower was set upon the unknown location, and the beings departed into the folds of approaching twilight.
The prince had a father. The King, who sat upon his throne, unknowing the blue-blood was buried far from him. The group dashed through courtyard upon courtyard, fleeing the time. They opened the doors of the throne room to meet his Majesty on his golden chair.
He accused them of things. Things that had done. Things they would not deny, for his Majesty lacked benevolence. As the questioning drew on, the clocks ticked down. The King had enough, and waved to the air. The beings were struck down, down into the depths of the golden floors, their life force spreading across the tiles. The guards retook their positions as before, and servants began the silent fixing of the scene.
His Majesty did not care for the son. The son posed a threat, he concluded, and needed to be eliminated in a brutal fashion. That he had done. Cloaked in dark, an assassin had cut short an innocent life for a bag of coin. The deed done, his Majesty would then dispose of the body. No one should know his sins. His crimes. Yet his cold blood resisted guilt, and shriveled it into nothingness.
But the beings had done something. He did not know what they had done, but he feared. Feared that what they had done would bring an end to him. That was why they were ended, like his son had been. They had alerted beings far above them.
As the rain soaked the ground, seeping into the coffin in the unknown forest, a spirit rose. A boy, no older than fifteen, rose from the ground, and drifted into the cloudy sky. The rain did not harm him, nor did cold. It was as if he were observing without touching. As he spiraled up, he came across the brightest light. It did not blind him. For his soul was pure, and the light gave him power. Hope.
But as he entered, the gods took pity. For one so young, to be killed so harshly? The soul was kind, they knew. And so, they reached out hands of solid light, and wrapped their fingers around him. They brought him back down, and pushed him into the earth. They kissed him, and gave him life through his veins.
The King remained on his throne for years to come. No threat befell his reign of terror. Oblivious he was to the torment his people had as their bodies wasted away from hunger. He feasted in the castle, stealing the food from ranks below him.
But on the fifth year of the Prince's disappearance, the kingdom was silent. No one spoke a word of anything. They knew what was coming, and held their tongues.
The evening drew. A shadow flew across the ground, coiling around chairs and furniture. It weaved through lights. The throne room door opened with silence. As if nothing spoke of what was to come, not even the creaking of doors.
The sound of gentle leaves rustling was the only echo. The peaceful, pleasant melody of the forest in which the Prince had been buried. The gods watched from above, gazes through windows or cracks in the floor.
The shadow moved closer to the throne, where his Majesty slept upon gold. Unaware of the things above and around him. Unaware of his son.
The rustling awoke him. What was causing such noise? And he gazed upon what had become of his son.
He was one with the forest. Fueled by Mother Nature herself, and there to repay the crime his father had done so many years ago. There was no begging. No pleading to redo what was already done. The King knew his fate was sealed. For his son was a more powerful being that the gods themselves.
And so he was struck down, down into the floor of which other beings had been. Down, into the ground in which his son had laid due to his hand. Down, into the depths of the fiery abyss that would claim his unworthy soul. The light of the clouds was to much for his eyes.
The deed had been done. The shadow then swept back through the farms, and houses, blessing all those in it's path with the wealth his Majesty had stolen. Back, to the forest in which it came. And back, into the coffin, where the peaceful prince still slept. The kingdom was restored, and risen to it's former glory. Wisemen took the throne, far more ready to lead a people.
And the Prince rose, for a second time in his existence, back into the clouds. He would stay there, among other worthys.
But the shadow still stayed. Stalking through the trees and leaves of all forests. It's eyes would watch history play.
Some say the Shadow remains, hidden, waiting again for it's time to rise back.
As they reached the final resting place, the wooden box was placed upon the ground. Inside it contained the last remains of a prince, who had been long gone before the storm. He rested peacefully inside his box. Undisturbed. Almost as if he rested...
The ceremony was done quietly and quickly. None would stir the wrath of the storm and risk terrible punishment. The pit was dug, and the coffin pushed in. As it thudded, dirt took it's place back in the hole. With that, a single flower was set upon the unknown location, and the beings departed into the folds of approaching twilight.
The prince had a father. The King, who sat upon his throne, unknowing the blue-blood was buried far from him. The group dashed through courtyard upon courtyard, fleeing the time. They opened the doors of the throne room to meet his Majesty on his golden chair.
He accused them of things. Things that had done. Things they would not deny, for his Majesty lacked benevolence. As the questioning drew on, the clocks ticked down. The King had enough, and waved to the air. The beings were struck down, down into the depths of the golden floors, their life force spreading across the tiles. The guards retook their positions as before, and servants began the silent fixing of the scene.
His Majesty did not care for the son. The son posed a threat, he concluded, and needed to be eliminated in a brutal fashion. That he had done. Cloaked in dark, an assassin had cut short an innocent life for a bag of coin. The deed done, his Majesty would then dispose of the body. No one should know his sins. His crimes. Yet his cold blood resisted guilt, and shriveled it into nothingness.
But the beings had done something. He did not know what they had done, but he feared. Feared that what they had done would bring an end to him. That was why they were ended, like his son had been. They had alerted beings far above them.
As the rain soaked the ground, seeping into the coffin in the unknown forest, a spirit rose. A boy, no older than fifteen, rose from the ground, and drifted into the cloudy sky. The rain did not harm him, nor did cold. It was as if he were observing without touching. As he spiraled up, he came across the brightest light. It did not blind him. For his soul was pure, and the light gave him power. Hope.
But as he entered, the gods took pity. For one so young, to be killed so harshly? The soul was kind, they knew. And so, they reached out hands of solid light, and wrapped their fingers around him. They brought him back down, and pushed him into the earth. They kissed him, and gave him life through his veins.
The King remained on his throne for years to come. No threat befell his reign of terror. Oblivious he was to the torment his people had as their bodies wasted away from hunger. He feasted in the castle, stealing the food from ranks below him.
But on the fifth year of the Prince's disappearance, the kingdom was silent. No one spoke a word of anything. They knew what was coming, and held their tongues.
The evening drew. A shadow flew across the ground, coiling around chairs and furniture. It weaved through lights. The throne room door opened with silence. As if nothing spoke of what was to come, not even the creaking of doors.
The sound of gentle leaves rustling was the only echo. The peaceful, pleasant melody of the forest in which the Prince had been buried. The gods watched from above, gazes through windows or cracks in the floor.
The shadow moved closer to the throne, where his Majesty slept upon gold. Unaware of the things above and around him. Unaware of his son.
The rustling awoke him. What was causing such noise? And he gazed upon what had become of his son.
He was one with the forest. Fueled by Mother Nature herself, and there to repay the crime his father had done so many years ago. There was no begging. No pleading to redo what was already done. The King knew his fate was sealed. For his son was a more powerful being that the gods themselves.
And so he was struck down, down into the floor of which other beings had been. Down, into the ground in which his son had laid due to his hand. Down, into the depths of the fiery abyss that would claim his unworthy soul. The light of the clouds was to much for his eyes.
The deed had been done. The shadow then swept back through the farms, and houses, blessing all those in it's path with the wealth his Majesty had stolen. Back, to the forest in which it came. And back, into the coffin, where the peaceful prince still slept. The kingdom was restored, and risen to it's former glory. Wisemen took the throne, far more ready to lead a people.
And the Prince rose, for a second time in his existence, back into the clouds. He would stay there, among other worthys.
But the shadow still stayed. Stalking through the trees and leaves of all forests. It's eyes would watch history play.
Some say the Shadow remains, hidden, waiting again for it's time to rise back.
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Exalting Leaves 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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