Virdyle

He/Him

Name Pronounciation Veer-Dial Mate N/A Familiar N/A Job Weaver

Virdyle

Lore

Virdyle coughed.

He'd been sick for a while now. Cirrus was almost as sick as him, so she couldn't help him. It made him.. scared. He didn't want to admit it, so he decided to stop talking altogether. It'd be easier once dragons got the point. His voice did hurt when he spoke, so he had a reason. His legs didn't hurt.

That didn't matter- for now. He could still walk, even a little.

Gently, he found his way through the pack, struggling to get around. Small flower patterns sprouted on his body. They pulsed, gently, rising and falling as if they were breathing the same as him. His horns were as soft as their petals, and would bleed if rubbed too hard.

Gentle. With him, that was what you would have to be.

As he grew, his wings began to fail him. The flowers spread through. His wings now smelling of lavender, but sadly not the same strength. When his wings finally stopped working, the only thing left for him was.. he.. didn't know.

He wasn't useful to the pack at all.

Virdyle sighed deeply. What was there left for him to do anyways? Right now, he was just sitting around and taking up food from others. Being sick wasn't an excuse he could use forever. He picked up a thread, mindlessly, and began to do what his mind wished of him.

He looked up from his daydream.

What was that? A piece of cloth? It was pretty ugly. But.. it did make him feel better,in all honesty. If he couldn't fly, couldn't walk properly, and even his horns were weak, then he'd just have to do something that only required his good arms and a little walking.

It didn't get worse.

For once, his disease stopped progressing, or slowed down by a lot. Dragons joked with him- "Maybe it was a curse, and your weaving stopped it." It was a simple thought, but it rang within him. He noticed his disease never got better. Maybe it didn't have to.

Dragons noticed him.

Snow noticed him.

He had a certain eye for beauty and practicality. So much so that dragons began to request cloth and outfit ideas from him. The simple pastime was becoming something that he could take pride in, maybe even considered useful.

He talked to Cirrus.

She smiled.

He was happier, by a lot. He could smile with Cirrus. He no longer moped in his cave, and from the outside it was covered with string and woven things. His contribution to the wall. He.. didn't like the wall very much at first, but now that he had his own cave decorated to feel like home, the whole wall felt a bit more like home for him.

Virdyle was a weaver.

Virdyle was happy.