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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.84 m
Wingspan
3.4 m
Weight
85 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Fern
Fern
Obsidian
Paisley
Paisley
Tan
Veined
Veined
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Spiral
Max Level
STR
111
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
82
INT
5
VIT
15
MND
5
Biography
FORBBIDDEN PORTAL TRAINERhttps://www1.flightrising.com/forums/gde/1344211/14#post_37194694
https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/adopt/3100708 for you perhaps get an adopt thingy
Need multigaze, and a few other citrine jewelry pieces
-germophobia
-symmetrephobia: fear of symmetry
-aichmophobia: fear of pointed objects
-ideophobia: fear of ideas
-acousticophobia: fear of noise
(he's afraid of everything in general)
lovable guide for the Seer Clan
"Why are we even here?" moaned Mantle miserably, wincing as a particularly loud bubble of Wyrmwound soup popped in the background. He drew his limbs even closer to himself, as if he could somehow manage to walk through the plaguelands and not touch anything diseased, dead, or slimy.
Astraye sighed irritably, sparing a glance over his shoulder and suppressing an eye roll at the sight of the moping spiral. "Vacation. We're taking a vacation, Mantle."
Mantle's eyes widened in outrage. "A VACATION?" He screeched. "This is NOT a vacation. This is pure SUFFERING. Every single thing in this cursed place either wants to eat you, poison you, cover you with toxic goop, dissolve you, or KILL YOU! WHAT is exactly is your defintion of VACATION, ASTRAYE?!" Another soup bubble popped (a quite large one, by the sound of it,) as if to punctuate his statement. Mantle shivered violently, his face a mask of pure disgust and germophobic terror.
Astraye groaned. "By the holy blinding Lightweaver, calm down. It was sarcasm. One hundred percent sarcasm."
Mantle scowled at Astraye's back. He was tempted to give a scathing retort, but he decided Astraye was not worthy of his attentions, so he subsided into grumpy silence, determined not to strike up any more conversation. Astraye was happy to oblige. The two spirals tramped on, trying their best not to trip and fall facefirst into any giant pustules or potholes filled with radioactive goo.
It was eerily silent by the Wyrmwound; nothing but the sound of the ghastly cauldron's contents stirred the quiet. It formed something of a muted bubble, suffocating and soupy, punctured only by the footsteps of the two dragons and the ocassional screaming calls of an unknown beast. Probably a zombie bat, or a skeleton vulture, or... well, something unfriendly. And undead. As the spirals continued to push their way through the barren landscapes, the pale teeth of the Wyrmwound looming over them, Mantle's apprehension increased. The black dragon wasn't the bravest lad out there; and he was certainly not suited to be worming through the depths of rot and disease for reasons unapparent. But Astraye had wanted him to come, and, after several hours of pained consideration, he had agreed. Very reluctantly. They left early the next morning, flying nonstop toward the land of the Plaguebringer.
Mantle started to regret his decision to come along as soon as the faint smell of the Wyrmwound reached his nostrils. He had wanted to turn tail and fly as fast as he could back to his cozy home with the Seers, but Astraye insisted he stay; and so here he was. Surrounded by potential death. On every side. Above and below.
But more than that, Mantle felt... odd. Not just because he was so close to the cauldron of the Plaguebringer, which was certainly a valid reason to feel off, but because... his head snapped up as another echoing call pierced the air, like the scream of a dying animal. Both he and Astraye shivered this time, and Mantle's companion scanned his surroundings cautiously, his talons inching closer to the hilt of his katana. The call echoed several times before the silence yet again enveloped the land.
It almost feels like... I'm being watched, thought Mantle nervously. He glanced up at the teeth of the Wyrmwound. The spikes loomed like giant, stained bones, their points towering into the dull sky. Thick mists swirled near the tops of the tallest ones, shrouding them in shadow. Flickers of giant, dark shapes moved jerkily through the sky, appearing for only seconds before vanishing again. It made him feel so small.
Small and vunerable.
Breaking his temporary vow of silence, Mantle looked back to Astraye, speaking softly. "Astraye? Do you feel a little... off? At all? Wrong, somehow?"
Astraye didn't say anything for a moment, his back stiff as he stepped over the bleached bones of some long-dead creature. As his tail trailed over the remains, they clacked together, and the sound seemed to echo in both of the dragons' ears like the screaming calls of the monsters in the distance. He stopped, stiffening even further, tipping his head to the side. Mantle didn't seem to be able to breathe as the thick silence closed over the sounds, submerging them into its shadowy depths. One second passed. Two... three...
Just as Mantle was about to let loose a sigh of relief, a horrifying scream pierced the air. It was a combination of a roar and a screech, terrifying in its closeness. The call of a hunter, it sounded almost layered, as if there were two creatures howling instead of one. But that couldn't be possible. Could it?
The sound came again, and as Mantle watched with no small amount of panic, a huge shape dived out of the mists above him, plunging from the tops of the Wyrmwound's teeth. It barreled towards the two spirals, and as it shot closer, Mantle gasped in disbelief. But before he could fully register what he was seeing, he felt the hard grip of Astraye on his arm. He turned, his heart ready to beat out of his chest, and looked into frantic eyes, which he was sure were a mirror of his own. Astraye's features were twisted with fear, which was an emotion rarely seen on his face; but his roar was the thing that jolted Mantle out of his shocked state and into panicked action.
"FLY, YOU FOOL!"
His chest constricted as he tried to let out a scream, but only a wheezing squeak escaped his mouth as Mantle whirled and launched himself into the sky, fleeing from the twisted monster. Astraye released his arm and shot up beside him, and then ahead of him, the beats of their wings whooshing through the air. Mantle's tail trailed behind him, and he wanted to snatch it up and gather it to his chest. It almost felt like a time long ago; when he had been a little hatchling, and had feared shadowy creatures in the dark. When the night arrived, and he was jumping into bed, he had always quickly whipped his tail onto the nest beside him, wary of lurking monsters snatching it and pulling him to his demise.
Except this monster was real. And if he didn't escape, he was probably as good as dead.
Yet another call screeched out from behind them. Mantle screamed in pain as it seemed to rip, vicious, through his ears. A shrill ringing sound started to echo inside his head, and he felt a trickle of warm liquid seep from his ear canal. Blood.
Fear all but clouded out his every sense, every instinct. This was something real, something dangerous, not his silly paranoia of creepy crawlies and dirty surfaces. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the dim sound of Astraye yelling ahead of him, of the beast roaring behind him. He could feel its hot, rancid breath on his tail; could vividly imagine what it would feel like when its teeth bit into his hide, when its claws raked across his scales.
This was the end, then.
If he was going to die now, so be it. But he would not die fleeing in fear, as he had done all his life.
With a rare surge of powerful, and debatably idiotic, bravery, Mantle stopped running. He took a gasping breath - perhaps his last - and turned to face his doom.
(TBC)
https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2245590/11
sapling speaker for echoa
??
https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/adopt/3100708 for you perhaps get an adopt thingy
Need multigaze, and a few other citrine jewelry pieces
-germophobia
-symmetrephobia: fear of symmetry
-aichmophobia: fear of pointed objects
-ideophobia: fear of ideas
-acousticophobia: fear of noise
(he's afraid of everything in general)
lovable guide for the Seer Clan
"Why are we even here?" moaned Mantle miserably, wincing as a particularly loud bubble of Wyrmwound soup popped in the background. He drew his limbs even closer to himself, as if he could somehow manage to walk through the plaguelands and not touch anything diseased, dead, or slimy.
Astraye sighed irritably, sparing a glance over his shoulder and suppressing an eye roll at the sight of the moping spiral. "Vacation. We're taking a vacation, Mantle."
Mantle's eyes widened in outrage. "A VACATION?" He screeched. "This is NOT a vacation. This is pure SUFFERING. Every single thing in this cursed place either wants to eat you, poison you, cover you with toxic goop, dissolve you, or KILL YOU! WHAT is exactly is your defintion of VACATION, ASTRAYE?!" Another soup bubble popped (a quite large one, by the sound of it,) as if to punctuate his statement. Mantle shivered violently, his face a mask of pure disgust and germophobic terror.
Astraye groaned. "By the holy blinding Lightweaver, calm down. It was sarcasm. One hundred percent sarcasm."
Mantle scowled at Astraye's back. He was tempted to give a scathing retort, but he decided Astraye was not worthy of his attentions, so he subsided into grumpy silence, determined not to strike up any more conversation. Astraye was happy to oblige. The two spirals tramped on, trying their best not to trip and fall facefirst into any giant pustules or potholes filled with radioactive goo.
It was eerily silent by the Wyrmwound; nothing but the sound of the ghastly cauldron's contents stirred the quiet. It formed something of a muted bubble, suffocating and soupy, punctured only by the footsteps of the two dragons and the ocassional screaming calls of an unknown beast. Probably a zombie bat, or a skeleton vulture, or... well, something unfriendly. And undead. As the spirals continued to push their way through the barren landscapes, the pale teeth of the Wyrmwound looming over them, Mantle's apprehension increased. The black dragon wasn't the bravest lad out there; and he was certainly not suited to be worming through the depths of rot and disease for reasons unapparent. But Astraye had wanted him to come, and, after several hours of pained consideration, he had agreed. Very reluctantly. They left early the next morning, flying nonstop toward the land of the Plaguebringer.
Mantle started to regret his decision to come along as soon as the faint smell of the Wyrmwound reached his nostrils. He had wanted to turn tail and fly as fast as he could back to his cozy home with the Seers, but Astraye insisted he stay; and so here he was. Surrounded by potential death. On every side. Above and below.
But more than that, Mantle felt... odd. Not just because he was so close to the cauldron of the Plaguebringer, which was certainly a valid reason to feel off, but because... his head snapped up as another echoing call pierced the air, like the scream of a dying animal. Both he and Astraye shivered this time, and Mantle's companion scanned his surroundings cautiously, his talons inching closer to the hilt of his katana. The call echoed several times before the silence yet again enveloped the land.
It almost feels like... I'm being watched, thought Mantle nervously. He glanced up at the teeth of the Wyrmwound. The spikes loomed like giant, stained bones, their points towering into the dull sky. Thick mists swirled near the tops of the tallest ones, shrouding them in shadow. Flickers of giant, dark shapes moved jerkily through the sky, appearing for only seconds before vanishing again. It made him feel so small.
Small and vunerable.
Breaking his temporary vow of silence, Mantle looked back to Astraye, speaking softly. "Astraye? Do you feel a little... off? At all? Wrong, somehow?"
Astraye didn't say anything for a moment, his back stiff as he stepped over the bleached bones of some long-dead creature. As his tail trailed over the remains, they clacked together, and the sound seemed to echo in both of the dragons' ears like the screaming calls of the monsters in the distance. He stopped, stiffening even further, tipping his head to the side. Mantle didn't seem to be able to breathe as the thick silence closed over the sounds, submerging them into its shadowy depths. One second passed. Two... three...
Just as Mantle was about to let loose a sigh of relief, a horrifying scream pierced the air. It was a combination of a roar and a screech, terrifying in its closeness. The call of a hunter, it sounded almost layered, as if there were two creatures howling instead of one. But that couldn't be possible. Could it?
The sound came again, and as Mantle watched with no small amount of panic, a huge shape dived out of the mists above him, plunging from the tops of the Wyrmwound's teeth. It barreled towards the two spirals, and as it shot closer, Mantle gasped in disbelief. But before he could fully register what he was seeing, he felt the hard grip of Astraye on his arm. He turned, his heart ready to beat out of his chest, and looked into frantic eyes, which he was sure were a mirror of his own. Astraye's features were twisted with fear, which was an emotion rarely seen on his face; but his roar was the thing that jolted Mantle out of his shocked state and into panicked action.
"FLY, YOU FOOL!"
His chest constricted as he tried to let out a scream, but only a wheezing squeak escaped his mouth as Mantle whirled and launched himself into the sky, fleeing from the twisted monster. Astraye released his arm and shot up beside him, and then ahead of him, the beats of their wings whooshing through the air. Mantle's tail trailed behind him, and he wanted to snatch it up and gather it to his chest. It almost felt like a time long ago; when he had been a little hatchling, and had feared shadowy creatures in the dark. When the night arrived, and he was jumping into bed, he had always quickly whipped his tail onto the nest beside him, wary of lurking monsters snatching it and pulling him to his demise.
Except this monster was real. And if he didn't escape, he was probably as good as dead.
Yet another call screeched out from behind them. Mantle screamed in pain as it seemed to rip, vicious, through his ears. A shrill ringing sound started to echo inside his head, and he felt a trickle of warm liquid seep from his ear canal. Blood.
Fear all but clouded out his every sense, every instinct. This was something real, something dangerous, not his silly paranoia of creepy crawlies and dirty surfaces. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the dim sound of Astraye yelling ahead of him, of the beast roaring behind him. He could feel its hot, rancid breath on his tail; could vividly imagine what it would feel like when its teeth bit into his hide, when its claws raked across his scales.
This was the end, then.
If he was going to die now, so be it. But he would not die fleeing in fear, as he had done all his life.
With a rare surge of powerful, and debatably idiotic, bravery, Mantle stopped running. He took a gasping breath - perhaps his last - and turned to face his doom.
(TBC)
https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2245590/11
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