Valkyrie
(#5793907)
Level 25 Skydancer
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
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
4.8 m
Wingspan
5.95 m
Weight
905.82 kg
Genetics
Aqua
Pharaoh
Pharaoh
Lead
Blend
Blend
Beige
Spines
Spines
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
44
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
 ♕ V A L K Y R I E Heaven-Fallen  Nonbinary - They/Them Trait | Trait | Trait  
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 .WIP WIP WIP WIP WIP Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed semper commodo scelerisque. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Donec vestibulum dolor et mauris vulputate, id tristique lectus dignissim. Suspendisse sit amet molestie quam, id euismod risus. Quisque sed eleifend sem. Donec volutpat massa tincidunt, iaculis augue non, molestie quam. Phasellus sollicitudin nulla felis, in laoreet diam fringilla et. Nam nec lorem malesuada, blandit sapien nec, lobortis nibh. Proin condimentum id nibh nec scelerisque. Mauris nec turpis sollicitudin, volutpat felis in, efficitur velit. Donec fermentum vel ipsum id pretium. Nulla et turpis velit.
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Some sort of quote or saying that's about a sentence long can go here.
ETYMOLOGY - Old Norse; "chooser of the slain" RELATIONS - Friends, Family, Etc. BELONGINGS - Trinkets, Key Items, Other Possessions 
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- Life is hard, people tell you, and how you hate the way they say it, their casual dismissal of the struggles that batter you every day. Life isn't hard, though; for you, instead, it is stifling. You wear yours like a wretched cloak you found discarded in the street by some stranger, wear it because you have nothing else. At times it muffles your otherness, almost constricting you with its banality. The rest of the time, it gives you just enough room to stretch your wings—but go too far and you feel that boundary. It's oh, so thin, but it's there.
- Memory is a wasteland: Nothing but a vast landfill of drab gray towers and golden spires, deeply buried in the struggles that more fortunate folk call survival. Pick through the messes carefully, and you may uncover bright jewels—fleeting, joyful moments—before the landscape shifts and they're buried again. You can dig, but that would mean cutting yourself upon the pain of what happened between those, and at times it doesn't seem worth it. Nor do you attempt to look to the horizon. Even though you keep whispering, "This can't be all there is," a part of you is too scared to look, because what if it is?
- At the edge of memory, in the distant past, you find them—fragments, fleeting glimpses of your earliest days. One moment comes to you now: Grown dragons, staring down at the child you were, frowning into your eyes. A set of claws firmly grips your chin, turning you this way and that.
Snatches of conversation, whirling over your head: "Probably born in the slums...so pale, she must be from Ice...could be Light, from across the border." Even at that tender age, something deep within you stirred, rejecting all those as wrong. Even then, you bridled at attempts to fit you where you obviously didn't belong.
- That, too, was what repelled you from the city's thundering hearts: anonymous factories, storm-gray and lightning-crowned, their walls shivering from the work going on within. "It's honest work," the laborers tell you, every single one of them drab and gray and listless, as though the factories have sapped a bit of their souls out. (Perhaps, indeed, that's what happens...)
"It's honest work," they say—but you spurn the offer. There's nothing honest about lying to yourself each day, telling yourself "It will get better" even though you see nothing in the distance but bowed heads and hunched shoulders, slogging steadily to anonymous graves.
- They raised their cities in the wilderness and called this civilization, but they're wrong. The wilderness is always there. It's just learned to wear a mask. Among concrete trees and crackling vines, you find them: those who were lost, or who lost themselves, scraping out a living among junk and refuse.
"You're one of us now," they say—and whether the words are spoken with warmth or contempt, you recoil from them. "One of us!"
You can't be. You refuse to accept that you're just another piece on a junk heap, rusting away in the rain. Even though your reflection tells you that you are, something else within you rejects that. In your quietest moments, in the dead of night, you can almost hear it: a crackling, fluttering rush of wings that want to launch you past the clouds.
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- The city is a merciless beast, and those cast into her concrete embrace must be no less fierce. Hardship and hunger are her children's nursemaids—their weapons, whatever imagination constructs. There are few games for children on the streets. Games are a luxury...but there are battles aplenty.
You see your fair share of these, and though something within you exults at the chances to prove yourself, you feel little to no pride at those whom you manage to beat down, or those you manage to evade.
"This feels wrong," you tell yourself, indignantly—
But then again, what else do you have?
- Even a life as hardscrabble as yours sees many things for the taking. If it will please you, if it will sustain you, you'll find a way to make it yours. And often you do, for you are young and fast and nimble, and the cloak of anonymity all street scavengers wear conceals you better than any glamour could.
"This is wrong," something warns you. "This is not what you're meant to take." But even it falls quiet in deference to the voice saying that you must survive.
- It gets a little easier each time you do it: You grow faster, nimbler; and your eyes, sharper. You still hate how the city looms over you, but you've reached an understanding with it: You don't fight against its currents, but you ride them, glide among them, darting out only long enough to take what you want or need.
It's easier for the body, not so for the mind. Each item snatched away brings with it memories, faces, names. "Is this guilt?" you wonder—but it doesn't weigh you down. It instead gives you a stronger sense of purpose, of direction—and you cling to it fiercely lest it slip away again.
- Magic, the birthright of all dragonkind, eventually makes itself known to you. You feel it lurking deep inside of you. It whispers in your bones, crackles invisibly over your scales. It does not come when called; it's like a pet, recalcitrant, casually disregarding its master. You coax it out, eager to see its form, hoping for some clue to the riddle of Where do I belong?
Whiteness, so brilliant, brighter even than ice, than light, than stars. There's no clue there, but you wonder—
And the riddle still waits to be answered.
- The city does not really sleep, but it has its moments of quietude, when the noise diminishes to a murmur and you can actually hear your own heartbeat. A comforting sound—when it's louder than the voices and the machinery, it's because it's reminding you, "You are more than that."
Your claws are empty, but you cast your mind out, hoping it brings back memories, faces, names. Perhaps there will be answers beyond the wasteland of memory...
"This can't be all there is."
Your heart thunders in your ears again: "You won't know until you look."
~ written by @Disillusionist
all edits by @After
all edits by @After
Scene banners by @Vertigris
Color bars by @Maevepanda
Original bio template by @squidragon, adapted by me
Color Rarity: 1st of colors - only active - 1/2 total
(last checked: 2/4/2022)
Hit Lv 25 3/20/2022, 19:10 FRT
Common -> Pastel [Flash Sale] 4/7/2024, 23:17 FRT
pale eyes, nearly white, faintly pearlescent/iridescent, colors change a bit with angles
slim, androgynous; possibly fully-feathered wings (like birds) rather than half-feather-half-bat like normal SDs; Opal is as flexible as regular skin but incredibly hard and impervious to damage ("mithril")
childhood:
never knew her parents, maybe just has some hazy memories; dimly remembers the word "valkyrie", claims it as a name since she has nothing else
parents were valkyries, angelic warrior spirits; something something exaltation and souls and afterlife shenanigans, exist in a realm sort of above/slightly separate to Sornieth, different realms for each Flight?
cast out/fell/was stolen as a child [something something trauma, repressed memories] and grew up among mortals, always feeling out of place???
grew up in(/near?) Goldensparc, possible foster care at first before taking to the streets? never wanted to get involved with Lightning's factories or corporate system; knew even early on that that kind of steady drudge work wasn't for them.
does have lightning magic, but was never as strong as those around her.
bit of a brat, stubborn, scrappy; got into a lot of fights. sense of not-belonging causes friction with others, ends up lashing out since she's a kid who doesn't know how to handle complex emotional issues like that yet and isn't exactly in the best environment to learn better interpersonal skills
also pickpocket, stole here and there early on to sell/barter for food/etc
special power of finding people [something something visualizing them and their nearby vicinity, getting an ambient sense of where they are, extremely accurate], a skill inherent in valkyries. also can't be used to find other valkyries; might even be mortal-exclusive, not sure if i want them finding other non-dragons just yet.
also has valkyrie-specific mana; white+faintly prismatic, radiant, elementless, something something purifying fire ["pure" is a matter of perspective]. maybe first realizes she has this when she's off on her own practicing magic and ends up making white motes around her fingers instead of sparks. possibly casts the fire version properly by accident if she's getting harassed by other kids (or adults).
used her locating power to make a living, started small but was able to charge clients more and more as she became known for it and people started seeking her out. also prob used it to find people she could sell to whenever she nicked something, and also avoid any victims of theft coming after her.
eventually picks up "the Tracer" as a title/nickname, so they start referring to their locating power as Tracing
disguises the extent of their Tracing a bit, prob claims they need something that the target has been in contact with recently (and the more contact the better), but is actually soul-/memory-/emotion-based. may also feign level of accuracy to be more vague (like, suggesting a town or clan region rather than specific room in a specific building).
somewhere along the way, realized she felt more like a they; not a big revelation, probably hears about it from someone else/meets someone who uses they/them and is like "oh, that explains it, cool." uses she and they for a while, maybe just sticks with they into adulthood?
Tracing (and living how they do) maybe brings them closer to less legal circles, starts putting some of their earnings toward getting off the streets properly and learning to defend themselves beyond haphazard efforts
practices rigorously, refines natural poise and ability; limber, graceful, agile, quick on their feet
Tracer power probably also keeps her very aware of others in the nearby vicinity, so no sneak attacks unless they've got some unusual power of their own.
given proximity to the Lonely Gate, not long before a client's target eventually led them to Byzmara
intrigued by Byzmara as much as they are afraid of it
maybe in teen/early adult years, stopped with the pickpocketing/stealing and put more work into something honest?
(eventual) adult:
a bit cynical and jaded. keeps others at a distance. they've seen enough of back-alley deals and requests to Trace for the wrong reasons, they well know the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows.
tracer work is a side gig, main/"real" job is a combo of curse-breaker + scrap cleaner; uses their purifying fire to destroy spells and clean away rust and tarnish. comes across a lot of antiques and old junk that way, has come to know a thing or two about what's valuable and what's not.
vibes of "know a guy who knows a guy"; "makes it their business to know who's who"
travels between Byzmara and the Shifting Expanse, too afraid to linger but unable to stay away. has yet to spend a night within the city, always returning home before dark. fears their birthright and the secrets that run in their blood, yet can't let go of the threads of her past
doesn't really fear her own power, uses her magic and Tracer power however she sees fit, but she does fear what having it might mean
steers clear of the caplins and their gangs, doesn't want to get involved in that kind of mess. also no mafias. she prefers life, thanks.
maybe delivers parts between Goldensparc and Byzmara when not on tracer work?
"You are a valkyrie, child, but it's not your name."
possibly meets a different elemental valkyrie who explains her origins??? (attack on the Lightning valkyrie sanctum, Ri's parents cast them to the mortal realm to save them? maybe stripped them of true valkyrie form to let them keep their powers, which is what the attacker was after??? or possibly Ri was in the middle of getting kidnapped, or parents in the middle of stripping powers as a protective measure, and kidnapper escaped with Ri mid-process so parents never knew if it worked and kidnapper didn't realize it did until they were in the mortal realm? "useless" valkyrie at that point, so they were abandoned? so now a "mortal" valkyrie of sorts, prob can't return to that realm.)
(either picks a new name or starts going by Ri at this point probably, since a valkyrie named Valkyrie is kind of silly)
has worked for Stelmaria before? might certainly work with her a bit in regards to finding mystery sibling
Her eyes, at first, are a lie. A color so pale could never be mistaken for the thunder hues of those born within the Stormcatcher's lands, and yet, sparks still dance between her fingertips. On the other hand, [Valkyrie]'s power has never matched that of their neighbors, has never been able to call forth a storm. Foolish drakes would think this a weakness, but she's grown canny, adapted to using lightning in cleverer ways to make up for the lack of pure power.
What she lacks in thunder, however, they make up for in other ways - other magic. Elementless. Radiant. Strong. It is one of their most closely-held secrets
It may be the case, then, that it is their lightning magic which is the lie, and not their pale, pale eyes.
but she has yet to stay after dark. The city pushes them away just as much as it calls to them. Perhaps it knows their fear. Not yet, the city tells her. Not yet. Byzmara does not divulge its secrets to cowards; this she knows well.
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