Unonn
(#62638402)
Level 8 Pearlcatcher
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Pearlcatcher
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.68 m
Wingspan
7.18 m
Weight
522.22 kg
Genetics
Eldritch
Starmap
Starmap
Midnight
Constellation
Constellation
Moon
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 8 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 1060 / 16009
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
6
MND
7
Biography
Purge the Thought
An old ritual, it’s purpose being to cleanse imperfection. Unonn performs it mechanically at this point, not even pausing to measure the blood (a perfect 8 liters), not even flinching at the animal’s gargled scream (it’s muddy claws leave shallow cuts), not even blinking when the altar bubbles and whispers and writhes, greedily gulping down the offered sacrifice (he says no prayer and offers no respect). Glaring madly through that thin and scratchy bandana, Unonn waits. He is young at this moment, just beginning to come into his own. They make him wear the eye covering— says a Shadow seer has no use for their Waking Eyes.
“You’re even better for it, my dear,” his mother bites out through a grin. “The more mangled you are, the more powerful the visions. You’re lucky I haven’t taken the thresher to you yet.”
Visions and seizures come in dandy pairs. Can’t have one without the other, it seems. The wire mother in his head reminds him that he’s authentic, one-of-a-kind. The silent father crouches mad in the corner. Unonn tries to break away when he feels them coming on. He needs no dragon in Clarity Village to catch him unawares. His rusted wheelchair screeches up rotten stairs, vomit always sticky in the back of his crooked throat. Born sickly, born holy, born a crime— Unonn is not an idiot. He can’t deny that there are gods. Their presence is soaked into his very fabric. But oh, sweet wire mother, can he direct his hate, his vitriol, his wrath towards them all the same?
Despite all their efforts to the contrary— the whispers in the grass, the lesions on the wall, the thorns wrapping and bleeding Unonn down to the slick white bone— he still rails against them. Every minor backwoods god, every aspect of the holy element, every extension of the one willing Host... he never stops his blasphemous campaign. They prophesied him as The Seer, but Unonn mantles The Haruspex.
He will cut them down, sift through those tepid entrails, and bring this world back to soft, quiet, primordial darkness.
An old ritual, it’s purpose being to cleanse imperfection. Unonn performs it mechanically at this point, not even pausing to measure the blood (a perfect 8 liters), not even flinching at the animal’s gargled scream (it’s muddy claws leave shallow cuts), not even blinking when the altar bubbles and whispers and writhes, greedily gulping down the offered sacrifice (he says no prayer and offers no respect). Glaring madly through that thin and scratchy bandana, Unonn waits. He is young at this moment, just beginning to come into his own. They make him wear the eye covering— says a Shadow seer has no use for their Waking Eyes.
“You’re even better for it, my dear,” his mother bites out through a grin. “The more mangled you are, the more powerful the visions. You’re lucky I haven’t taken the thresher to you yet.”
Visions and seizures come in dandy pairs. Can’t have one without the other, it seems. The wire mother in his head reminds him that he’s authentic, one-of-a-kind. The silent father crouches mad in the corner. Unonn tries to break away when he feels them coming on. He needs no dragon in Clarity Village to catch him unawares. His rusted wheelchair screeches up rotten stairs, vomit always sticky in the back of his crooked throat. Born sickly, born holy, born a crime— Unonn is not an idiot. He can’t deny that there are gods. Their presence is soaked into his very fabric. But oh, sweet wire mother, can he direct his hate, his vitriol, his wrath towards them all the same?
Despite all their efforts to the contrary— the whispers in the grass, the lesions on the wall, the thorns wrapping and bleeding Unonn down to the slick white bone— he still rails against them. Every minor backwoods god, every aspect of the holy element, every extension of the one willing Host... he never stops his blasphemous campaign. They prophesied him as The Seer, but Unonn mantles The Haruspex.
He will cut them down, sift through those tepid entrails, and bring this world back to soft, quiet, primordial darkness.
• a very private and terse creature, refuses to talk about his childhood
• uses either a rusted wheelchair or thick, obscuring shadow to get around
• always seems busy with something— is a bit of a mother hen towards others, even if he acts like he doesn’t care
• will beat you with his cane if you step outta line
• can’t see very well, on top of everything else. his whiskers are essential to helping him understand the environment around him
• 100% serious about murdering gods (everyone else probably thinks he’s a nut job but damn if he isn’t confident)
beautiful art by wafflepurge
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Exalting Unonn to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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