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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
25.26 m
Wingspan
17.59 m
Weight
5632.05 kg
Genetics
White
Iridescent
Iridescent
Obsidian
Morph
Morph
Oilslick
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 9 Imperial
EXP: 9696 / 21526
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
Ghosts of the Abiding Boneyard - Lunate
UNSECRET: For This You Were Born
It was a lark, a game. The young Wind dragons would dare each other to more and more extreme stunts. To fly upwards until you couldn’t breathe, to dive into the Unnamed Sea until the light was gone. She was called something else, her name a cocoon she would soon shed. She boasted she would go to the Necromantic Trials, come back a master of the PlagueMother’s gifts. Bags packed for the 23 days, she set off laughing and waving to her friends. She did not return.
The Wyrmwound was in sight of her camp, the air hazy with its fumes even from a distance. Born on the gentle breezy steppes she felt the miasma burning her lungs from the beginning. It only grew worse. Feverish and eaten up with regrets she lost herself in the Abiding Boneyard. That was where he found her, golden eyes shining with mad wisdom. He cured her with a curse, the starved whispers eating at her mind until nothing was left but the bones of who she had been. She was his left hand, his creation, and mate. Now they hunt together, bone and ash colors suited to their bleak home. It doesn’t matter where they are, for they were lost long ago.
Registered
UNSECRET: For This You Were Born
It was a lark, a game. The young Wind dragons would dare each other to more and more extreme stunts. To fly upwards until you couldn’t breathe, to dive into the Unnamed Sea until the light was gone. She was called something else, her name a cocoon she would soon shed. She boasted she would go to the Necromantic Trials, come back a master of the PlagueMother’s gifts. Bags packed for the 23 days, she set off laughing and waving to her friends. She did not return.
The Wyrmwound was in sight of her camp, the air hazy with its fumes even from a distance. Born on the gentle breezy steppes she felt the miasma burning her lungs from the beginning. It only grew worse. Feverish and eaten up with regrets she lost herself in the Abiding Boneyard. That was where he found her, golden eyes shining with mad wisdom. He cured her with a curse, the starved whispers eating at her mind until nothing was left but the bones of who she had been. She was his left hand, his creation, and mate. Now they hunt together, bone and ash colors suited to their bleak home. It doesn’t matter where they are, for they were lost long ago.
Lunate
- Her fam is crafted from Boneyard spire fragments
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Exalting Lunate to the service of the Arcanist 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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