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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.18 m
Wingspan
1.2 m
Weight
1.13 kg
Genetics
Platinum
Tapir (Veilspun)
Tapir (Veilspun)
Obsidian
Hex (Veilspun)
Hex (Veilspun)
Red
Branches (Veilspun)
Branches (Veilspun)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Veilspun
Max Level
STR
5
AGI
6
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
- Rhiana
- Lyndel
- Wraith
- Noray
- Willow
- Wisp
- Willow
- Aspen
- Hymn
- Praise
- Blight
- Barett
- Squeak
- Salide
- Syvern
- Systra
- Soscrue
- Somme
- Silvica
- Plusian
- Aciece
- Oreids
- Momonvet
- Nonorver
- Oriclies
- Pastixa
- Heviople
- Ingolit
- Jaskanze
- Galingott
- Sorvrene
- Shagrel
- Istoicle
- Murmine
- Omen
- Revel
- Blesimer
- Losothu
- Bludiris
- Skydlin
- Vadim
- Raen
- Ihapere
- Spenli
- Spyrgos
- Carosh
- Haldana
- Ignacia
- Mystina
- Helina
- Lebaron
- Pippet
- Beck
- Badrach
- Sulwyn
- Aviva
- Lonius
- Debirae
- Binadas
- Biri
- Cara
- Sonne
- Nain
- Ebru
- Malzahar
- Eurfryn
- Quoorin
- Pasqual
- Talfryn
- Vega
- Odana
- Nekuia
- Mythos
- Davlannan
- Krissys
- Kirill
- Baharak
- Noy
- Lambert
- Beslan
- Aralyn
- Zuro
- Oboro
- Cyndeyrn
- Goldenlarch
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
Biography
Spike, ??? of the Platimere Den
Young and full of wanderlust, Spike set out from his home in the Wastes in search of somewhere different. Upon arriving at the Platimere Den, he met another dragon who seemed awestruck with his stories of a den out there filled with the resilience to flourish in inhospitable circumstances. As Spike settled in, the other dragon chose to leave in search of Spike's former home.
Once brash and reckless, Spike has settled down into a less rowdy, though still fight-prone, member of the Platimere Den. Perhaps the Woods have contributed to his physical change; though his thorns remained sharp enough to leave deep gashes for a time, blood-red flowers now bloom from the horns on his head.
Young and full of wanderlust, Spike set out from his home in the Wastes in search of somewhere different. Upon arriving at the Platimere Den, he met another dragon who seemed awestruck with his stories of a den out there filled with the resilience to flourish in inhospitable circumstances. As Spike settled in, the other dragon chose to leave in search of Spike's former home.
Once brash and reckless, Spike has settled down into a less rowdy, though still fight-prone, member of the Platimere Den. Perhaps the Woods have contributed to his physical change; though his thorns remained sharp enough to leave deep gashes for a time, blood-red flowers now bloom from the horns on his head.
Quote:
Contagions were meant to spread–he knew this from the moment he took his first step out of the nest, hungering for a purpose other than food in his belly and a shelter over his head. Mother Plague seeded possibility in his mind’s eye, lands beyond the far reaches of her domain; showed him scintillating shores and crystal spires and, tucked into the hollow corpse of a pine so large it rivals the Behemoth, a city of eternal night.
Go forth, she said, and conquer.
And so he did, setting out into the unknown.
Roads were never straight, he’d learn, instead lined with hostiles and pitfalls at every step. But Spike had sharp thorns, sharp claws, and an even sharper wit–knew how to sing its songs and dance its rhythm, walk the boundaries where no gods reigned and let the land bear fruit. Forgotten monuments. Hidden oases. Ghosts of battlegrounds that never saw the light of day. Meetings of strangers by the fireside, exchanging tales before setting off again, each in their opposite ways yet irrevocably changed.
One of those kindred spirits had told him of a path to a haven, mapped only by constellations. Of a clan nestled deep in the pine-corpse, at the heart of Shadowbinder’s territory.
What Spike had expected to be a pitstop turned into an extended stay. He was older now, thorns blunted from overuse and bones etched with stories. Claws that knew coarse ground now rest in soft silks and furs, wings that weathered rain and sleet now adorned with gilded vines. His brash temper smoothed to a more worldly defiance.
Mother Plague prided her children in resilience, adaptability; Mother Shadow watched and waited for those swift of mind and watchful of her wisdom. The call of the Wyrmwound ceded way to the comfort of the dark. Home was where the foxfire brambles choked the ground, flanked by evergreens so thick and tall they unrealed the sky. Home was the kind warmth of Platimere Den.
When the horns on his head twisted, unfurled, and bloomed into a crown of blood-red roses, Spike knew he’d found his purpose.
Go forth, she said, and conquer.
And so he did, setting out into the unknown.
Roads were never straight, he’d learn, instead lined with hostiles and pitfalls at every step. But Spike had sharp thorns, sharp claws, and an even sharper wit–knew how to sing its songs and dance its rhythm, walk the boundaries where no gods reigned and let the land bear fruit. Forgotten monuments. Hidden oases. Ghosts of battlegrounds that never saw the light of day. Meetings of strangers by the fireside, exchanging tales before setting off again, each in their opposite ways yet irrevocably changed.
One of those kindred spirits had told him of a path to a haven, mapped only by constellations. Of a clan nestled deep in the pine-corpse, at the heart of Shadowbinder’s territory.
What Spike had expected to be a pitstop turned into an extended stay. He was older now, thorns blunted from overuse and bones etched with stories. Claws that knew coarse ground now rest in soft silks and furs, wings that weathered rain and sleet now adorned with gilded vines. His brash temper smoothed to a more worldly defiance.
Mother Plague prided her children in resilience, adaptability; Mother Shadow watched and waited for those swift of mind and watchful of her wisdom. The call of the Wyrmwound ceded way to the comfort of the dark. Home was where the foxfire brambles choked the ground, flanked by evergreens so thick and tall they unrealed the sky. Home was the kind warmth of Platimere Den.
When the horns on his head twisted, unfurled, and bloomed into a crown of blood-red roses, Spike knew he’d found his purpose.
Art and prose by Druddigon
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Exalting Spike to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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