Piaoyun (#63165756)
The search went on for a thousand years.
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itjustworks

Crimson Emperor
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Energy: 48/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Male Spiral
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Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Measurements

Length
3.7 m
Wingspan
2.3 m
Weight
116.21 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Black
Piebald
Secondary Gene
Red
Paint
Tertiary Gene
Splash
Ringlets

Hatchday

Hatchday
Aug 08, 2020
(8 months)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Eye Type
Wind
Common
Level 23 Spiral
EXP: 76539 / 147452
STR
5
AGI
11
DEF
5
QCK
53
INT
98
VIT
5
MND
8

Lineage

Parents

  • none

Offspring

  • none

Biography

Piaoyun
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i. Origination

In birth there was the stagnation of the waters of creation, usually accompanied by a boundless horizon that neither man nor god could see. The first thing he knew was a quenchless loneliness, a deafening silence. That was the way.

It was in the pulsating ambience of the womb that a foetus learned it was alive and tested out its inventory. Housed by a crimson chamber did it remember a memory passed down from the very origins of life; accepted a lesson that life was good, life was precious, and it should be protected at all cost. Thus it was every creature both man and beast’s first indoctrination and they were born with the imperative that survival was a matter of utmost concern; life, the ultimate beauty.

No such luxury was afforded to him, those of the nameless and motherless, for when the darkness petered from his form he was left in a drafty room; the wooden floor stretched past a doorway and into a yard outside, and the amniote which had imprinted on the yet-flaking embers at his coattails had just begun drying from the floor which it dripped upon. Whichever canal he had tumbled out of, whatever gateway had allowed this mishap was gone, leaving the faintest essence of a magical ozone in the air. He motioned onto the ground, felt the energies, what connected everything in the room-- an easel, brush, ink, among others-- and they all danced in the palm of his hand, throughout the wooden paneling and the air and himself. And those were lethological memories, perhaps the remnants of a life before this one. So was the wind. And so was the creaking of the trees. The utmost beauty; but was this life? Did the stirring of this dreadfully foreign existence warrant either appreciation or awe?

He curled up upon himself and wept.


ii. Taking wing

Embers crackled in the wind. The breeze caressed his cheeks, twirled locks of hair around its fingers and laughed as if in euphoria; as if he was the end to all bad things and as if the whole world wept for his delivery. He was cradled by the sky, as if a child of the light and wind and damp grey clouds, drank his fill of all the different sounds and smells and presences of this dreadful grey place. And were they many, as numerous as the leaves, shifting and rippling in waves-- his hood fluttered and for a moment he saw a flash of grey, different shades of grey, and oh-- there was a light poking through the clouds, and there were soft little scintillating blades of green, and oh-- there was he. He had being, he observed. He was of form, and it was duly noted.

After bearing the shock of the sudden encumberment of existence, he decided that life-- if less, animation-- was well worth shouldering. It was shrouded in a whisper so frail it was akin to thought, the shuddering yards of a most somber jade sea were next to silence, and something coursed through the in-between, softly, softly. A spring rain came in peals, darkening the floor, and at once he stood up, felt his legs lock into joints, caught the raindrops between his fingertips. Two things, a reed flute wrapped in a scroll came into being under his cloak and fell to the floor with a clatter, startling the silence away. He kneeled again, picked them up; felt their grooves as they made union with his arms.

This was a wonderful room, the drafty room, but it was not his, nor could he stay. Yes, he concluded, he shall go far, far away, where no man nor god had ever gone.

When the girl entered her room, shaking the wet from her hair, she found her brush missing, floor wet, and the inkwork on her easel disappeared into infinity. She met eyes with the horizon and closed the sliding door.
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Avurdios
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acriasi
"Boxokoi" wrote on "2020-12-15:
My headcannon for Piaoyun is that his favourite thing to draw and document is plants (more specifically flowers)! He just strikes me as the type of person to know way too much about plants and can tell you almost anything about a specific flower from memory.
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