Anrai
(#64674317)
Level 1 Skydancer
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.18 m
Wingspan
7.02 m
Weight
499.95 kg
Genetics
Honeydew
Petals
Petals
Honeydew
Butterfly
Butterfly
Fire
Capsule
Capsule
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
.
 A N R A I the shelterkeeper |
❝____Perhaps, home is not a place, but rather an irrevocable condition ...____❞
— James Baldwin______________________
 Survival—survival of the fittest. While Plague may boast this phrase as their unofficial motto, Nature is the flight that most exemplifies the principle. Nature is unrelenting, an unfeeling and uncaring foe. Only those who can adapt to meet its whims can hope to get anywhere within the Viridian Labyrinth. Those who don't will find themselves injured, starving, and eventually dead. It's a harsh cycle, the truest form of Nature. |
|
__— History. Anrai never struggled with this "do or die" way of life. In fact, he thrived quite well. Survival was never difficult to come by for him; his natural intuition guided him to food, water, and shelter more often than it lead him astray. What he did struggle with, however, was seeing his fellow dragon fail to do the same. Dragons he came to know and love, who would show up at his door beaten within an inch of their lives. Even his best efforts could not save the worst off of them, and each loss pained him more than the last. Though the cruel cycle never did much more than brush past him, he could see it working relentlessly all around. And it almost seemed as though there was nothing he could do; nothing, that is, but his best. |
. . . . . 
|
Anrai
|
— Mythos. —
|
Fortunately, both for him and all those lives he treasured, Anrai's best only kept on getting better. It started small: a hollow beneath a massive tree, carved into a cramped but welcoming parlor. He kept a fire inside and hung medicinal plants to dry across the roof. He stored food in shelves carved from the surrounding dirt and kept purified water in clay jars shaped by his own claws. He made it a shelter and, in the end, that's what he called the little cave. Shelterhaven, to be more precise. From his own home in a neighboring grove, he kept careful watch on Shelterhaven. His bright eyes measured the comings and goings; his clever nature kept the stock in constant supply. He sent whispers through the Labyrinth that those in need could take refuge beneath his tree. All the respite they could ever need was there for the taking. All they had to do was find it. But that was no easy task. The jungle was thick and gnarled, possessing of more trees than even the longest-lived of snappers could hope to count. One little cave could do only so much service to an entire Flight, so Anrai set his sights on expansion. Shelterhaven soon became one entrance for a warren of tunnels, which wound through the sturdy earth between the roots and opened just far enough away to provide aid to new dragons. Acolytes to this earnest cause arose in the lands to which Anrai traveled, pledging their time and effort to maintaining the new dens he carved. Some even helped him with the digging itself, spreading out into the wilderness to install shelters of their own. For a while, Anrai allowed himself pause. He never stopped his watch, but he worried less and less over what he wasn't doing. Help was there in so many places, and many more dragons benefited from it than he could have ever imagined. But then the months of inaction began to catch up to him, and he was moving again. Digging and carving and caring. Until the Labyrinth was full. Well, the Labyrinth could never truly be full. But it was well-covered and self-propelled, able to service hundreds and possessing the potential to help hundreds more. He could turn his eyes to other horizons and, really, he wanted to. Because Nature dwelled in every territory, in one way or another, and brought all the same death and struggle. He refused to let his compassion be constrained in a single border. He appeared next in Plague. A few months later, someone spotted him in Shadow. Whispers spread from place to place of a spindly dragon hovering around trees and rocks, leaving behind hand-carved nooks full of provision. Narrow tunnels traced beneath every part and plain of Sornieth, granting him access to all those little havens. When he wasn't digging new ones, he was restocking the old—or recruiting others to the cause. Anrai's journey concluded in the Southern Icefield. He never anticipated the cold, never anticipated that he'd actually feel it for himself. But if Nature raged more fiercely outside its bounds anywhere on Sornieth, the lands of the Icewarden would be the place. He refused to be defeated by the snow, the sleet, or the storm. And he wasn't. His tunnels can still be found, all across the continent, but Anrai himself seems to have faded from all but legend. The tale has changed tongues and tellings far too often for even his name to be recalled by more than an elite few, the most pious of his acolytes who still persist to stock the shelters across the globe. And yet... At the border of your clan, a strange figure lingers. Old and spindled, with shades of vibrant green and pink painting his feathers. Perhaps he finally seeks a shelter of his own; perhaps, he seeks more acolytes to his cause. Perhaps his old bones demand a home at last, a place to serve without such a wide tether. The only thing that can be determined with absoluteness is that he has emerged from anonymity at long last, still full of a compassion that rivals the cruelty of Nature. |
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Exalting Anrai to the service of the Lightweaver 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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