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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.51 m
Wingspan
1.22 m
Weight
2.06 kg
Genetics
Pistachio
Arc (Veilspun)
Arc (Veilspun)
Spruce
Loop (Veilspun)
Loop (Veilspun)
Seafoam
Opal (Veilspun)
Opal (Veilspun)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Veilspun
EXP: 535 / 27676
STR
28
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
11
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
|| Verraten ||
“Does that surprise you? Don't see why.”
"All your faith in ancient ways leaves you trapped inside a maze;
Take the lives of those you need - sow the death and reap the seed..."
 Generation 5 |
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It began as the Ancients arose. A plague of nightmares spread across Sornieth, moving faster than it had any right to. Some were old memories, passed down from ancestors who had lived through the war-torn ages; some were family memories from much sooner, of those who had endured attacks from the other flights; some weren’t memories at all, but deep-seated fears that could too easily become reality. After three days, it seemed every dragon had the nightmares. After five, some could no longer tell the nightmares apart from their own memories. After seven, for some, the nightmares were more real than any memory. Weeks passed, and the situation was only getting worse - until a hatchling broke free of his egg and looked into his parents’ eyes, and in moments, they felt the dreams slip from their mind. They remembered truth, now. They remembered what was real. A second hatchling of such power was born soon after, and she helped her clan the way he helped his. In time, they moved on, each determined to heal all of Sornieth single-handedly if they had to. As they went, they discovered a second ability: they could alter and replace dreams, turning them from howling nightmares to things soft and sweet. They found one another in the Sunbeam Ruins. Both of them had come to a clan in the Beacon of the Radiant Eye; when they learned they had the same abilities, they started talking more seriously, and in the end, they asked the clan leaders for permission to join, to stay and have hatchlings of their own. Their guesses were right - their descendants inherited a share of their powers, weakened though they were. It would take time for them to help others with the nightmares, and more effort, but they could do it. The question now is… will they? |
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Verraten's early life was a blur to him. He knew - from others - that he'd been hatched here, in this clan on the cliffs. He'd been hatched like anyone else, brimming with power and life, with a family and friends in his home. The first thing he really remembered personally, though, was waking up in a cold, white hole, hide and bones cracking and mending endlessly as he shrunk, twisting and re-forming into a tiny, insectile form. Eventually, he looked up in desperation, thinking a desperate, disjointed prayer for either the torment or his life to end, and he caught his first glimpse of the President, for now just as small and insectile as he was becoming. He passed out again not long after that. Verraten had no idea how long it took for him to regain consciousness, but he woke feeling... hollow. Like something inside his heart and veins had been scraped out with a blunt knife. Sluggishly, he tried to reach out on magical memory, and he just found empty wells where power should have been. Whatever he'd had before the President abducted him, it wasn't there anymore. Not for him. Still... He clumsily crawled out of the hole, into a freezing wasteland - the Southern Icefield, his brain supplied - and looked around. Still, he knew there was something left inside him. As a desperate loneliness built and exploded in his chest, he threw himself into a snow bank and began to cry. |
   
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He didn't know how long he spent in the snow, curled around himself as his emotions seeped out into the world, but it was dark by the time he raised his head. He set it back down, thoroughly miserable, and absently licked the tears that had frozen into the snow. Within seconds, he wasn't cold anymore. Verraten raised his had again, startled, and stared down at the bank. Then he looked up and around, scrambling to his feet, as magic flooded his senses. He could feel the snow surrounding him now, and cautiously - carefully - he took a breath and blew it out. The air leaving his mouth was positively frigid, leaving his mouth feeling like he'd tried eating a pound of spearmint all at once. Dizzy with excitement, Verraten launched into the air, doing his best to fly approximately north. Home had to be that way. And he still had a spot there, he knew - if nothing else, the Claws would take him for his power. But he was sure, certain, that his grandparents would have something to say about all this. |
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