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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.55 m
Wingspan
5.45 m
Weight
379.62 kg
Genetics
Fuchsia
Leopard
Leopard
Orca
Basic
Basic
Green
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Mirror
Max Level
STR
121
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
56
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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ʜᴇ/ʜɪᴍ ▪ ᴡɪɴᴅ ▪ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ
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bio tba
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 ══════════════════════════ Ｂｉｇ Ｆｉｖｅ ｔｒａｉｔｓ Openness to Experience █████████████████████ Contentiousness █████████████████████ Extraversion █████████████████████ Agreeableness █████████████████████ Neuroticism █████████████████████ ══════════════════════════ ｄ＆ｄ ａｌｉｇｎｍｅｎｔ   ══════════════════════════
"It [flight magic] typically have... a minor
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effect on a dragon's personality." - Answer, by Aequorin, in the Weekly Q&A.
- Keywords from description of the Wind flight in
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- Encyclopedia entry on the Mirror Dragon breed.
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═════════════════════════════════════════════════════Vizkr's resourcefulness is almost Plague-like in its intensity. Any pieces of an animal which do not end up as food for dragons and other sapient creatures, or as resources for crafts as varied as tanning, fertilizing soils, gluemaking, instrument-crafting, taxidermy, fishing with bait, and jewelry-crafting, are used by Vizkr to produce pet food. The Mirror dragon is very popular among the clan's carnivorous familiars as a result, and the local hainu tend to join him whenever he walks around the village. Even the most unappealing leftovers have their uses, as Vizkr has discovered that Phyleas' Terror Toad does not appear to make its eating decisions according to any logic common to the creatures of Sornieth, and will chew on bones, hooves, and teeth with a relish equal to, if not surpassing, that which it has for finer foods, such as Golden Reefprince or Anniversary Cakes. In addition to feeding eldritch monsters, Vizkr provides his friend, Dexamene, with waste which can be processed and subsequently composted. |
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ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀ ▪ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ ▪ ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴᴇʀ
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"example quote"
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- Venerated |
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═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════A section detailing Varlan's various relationships with other dragons, be they friends, acquaintances, or enemies. |
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ʟɪᴠᴇʟʏ ▪ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ▪ ᴜɴᴛʀᴀɪɴᴀʙʟᴇ
═════════════════════════════════════════════════Maybe the owl is wise, maybe the owl just doesn't talk much. |
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═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════Social standing not only describes how this dragon is viewed in the clan, but possibly the success of their profession. ?. |
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ｈｏｍｅ
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══════════════════════════════════════════════tw: death ══════════════════════════════════════════════ Viskr's egg was hatched in the heart of the Millmeadows. The first of his clutch to scramble out into a world of joyous air currents and playful breezes, Viskr began to flap and claw at the sky long before he learned how to walk. Thanks to the protection of his clan and the love of his family, Viskr and his sisters were fearless in their early years, leaping into gales with an eagerness that made the hearts of their parents lurch in fear. Sandscale and Teutorix tried to preserve their children's happy ignorance for as long as possible- both Imperials remembered, in great detail, the day when they learned of the cruel and unresting afterlife which awaited all uncautious members of their breed. Yet, as the months flew by and the hatchlings' aerial antics grew ever bolder, Sandscale and Teutorix took an overcast day as an opportunity to have the solemn conversation. |
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The Imperial hatchlings were bored. While none of them hated spending time with their family, being cooped up in the same lair, as they waited for the storm to pass, drove familiarity into annoyance fairly quickly. Finale and Bonejack launched into a quick-paced game of tag. Vizkr stared at the door, through whose window a sea of clashing clouds could be observed, and twiddled his budding whiskers in boredom and irritation. He was wrongly convinced that all of his friends must have been allowed to fly in the awesome storm, like real Wind dragons, not stuck at home like overgrown Greatshells! When Teutorix started talking, her children settled down and paid attention, moreso out of boredom- stories were more interesting than sitting around or running in circles -than obedience. "Kids, do you know the different breeds of dragons?" Teutorix's question was greeted by a volley of different breed listings from the three hatchlings, whose enthusiastic yelling almost drowned out the thunder outside. "Good," Teutorix said, her warlike appearance sweetened by a smile in her eyes, "Now, tell me, what makes breeds different from each other?" Once again, the hatchlings set out a great many answers. "Fae are small!" "Snappers don't sleep!" "Ridgebacks are afraid of water!" "Excellent." Teutorix assured her children, mostly to avoid having to hear an endless list of breed traits and stereotypes. "So, we all agree that each breed has many characteristics which make it special?" The three hatchlings nodded eagerly in reply, and Teutorix introduced them to another question. "So, what makes Imperial dragons different from other breeds?" Once again, Teutorix was confronted by a mix of the objective ("We have antlers! We're really really big!") and the subjective ("We have weird eyebrows! We're the coolest breed!"). She nodded appreciatively at the less banal responses and, once they had finally finished listing (alleged) traits of Imperials, Teutorix flicked her ear and Sandscale, answering to the gesture, began to speak with their hatchlings. "You guys certainly seem to know a lot about different breeds of dragons!" While not quite as good a teacher as his mate, Sandscale made up for his lesser oratory skills with his own brand of loving earnestness. Vizkr and his sisters nodded proudly, and Sandscale posed his first question. "Could you guys tell me some of the ways in which a dragon's breed could affect their life and habits?" Once again, the hatchlings were happy to oblige, sending out a volley of information on Veilspun swarming, Guardian charges, Fae homes, Pearlcatcher vanity, Tundra smell-recognition, Bogsneak solitude, and even the way some Imperial dragons didn't really like living with others of their breed. Sandscale acknowledged the final comment by pricking up his large cream ears, as though it was something for which he had been listening out. "Yes, Bonejack, you're right. Some Imperial dragons prefer to live in the absence of many members of their own breed. Do any of you guys know why that might be?" "They're antisocial!" Vizkr answered, but his father smilingly shook his head. "Every breed has some individuals who prefer their own company, but I was actually thinking of Imperial dragons who don't like living near many other Imperial dragons, but reside among dragons from other breeds instead." "They're smaller than everyone else! So obviously they'd hang out with others breeds so they could look less tiny!" Sandscale smiled kindly at the rather funny answer from Finale, but pointed out that every breed (especially Pearlcatchers!) contained some individuals who were a bit vain. Much like a taste for solitude, neither self-consciousness nor vanity were characteristics particular to Imperial dragons. "They're old-fashioned?" Bonejack responded, rather curious and uncertain. Sandscale gave a tilt of his head which approximated a nod, and answered. "Yes, it's certainly more traditional for Imperials to only live near small numbers of their breed." He paused, with an unusual nervousness, and asked a question. "Does anyone know why Imperial dragons have this tradition?" The hatchlings shook their heads in unison, and Teutorix began to speak. |
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"Long ago, a mighty Pillar at Dragonhome was shattered, and nine ancient gods were unleashed to join the three which already roamed the world. Among these gods was the Icewarden-" Teutorix nodded lovingly towards her mate, who had been hatched in the Cloudscrape Crags, "-and the Windsinger, and the Lightweaver. The latter was a strange and cruel goddess who, instead of carving dragons from the wind or the land, sought a more recherché selection of materials for her first creations. Instead of contenting herself with the humble and earthly materials from which other breeds of dragon were first born, the Lightweaver dared to scour first-Age ruins in order to argument her mortal creations with the ethereal and immortal, the sloughings and scars tissue of a goddess, of the Lightweaver herself." Teutorix's ears fell into a slump. The twinge of anger in her voice was giving way to a deep, fatalistic sadness. "Initially, the first Imperials, having been carved from the remains of a goddess in addition to more mundane materials, towered over other breeds of dragon in both size and majesty. Other deities welcomed the first Imperials into their territories, and our breed began to rule there. Other breeds welcomed us into their hearts, but the first of the Imperials repaid them in scorn- for you see, children, the world was then so young that not a single member of the Imperial breed had ever known death. Augmented as they were with the essence of the Lightweaver, these first Imperials did not believe that they could ever truly die, for no deity in Sornieth has ever died, and no deity ever will." "So focused were the first Imperials upon that godly essence that differentiated them from other breeds, that they forget that they were composed of flesh and blood as well. Minute differences in the quantity of essence which Imperials had received from the blazing goddess translated into extreme differences in lifespan. Some Imperials would die within a few years of their creation, others would endure a hundred years before they perished, and, my children, still others were said to have evaded death for so very long that they walk among us even after the passage of thousands and thousands of years. Yet most of the first Imperials quickly learned that they were mortal. They dug the first draconic graves of them all, and they sang the first dirges of them all, and they shed the arrogant way in which they had placed themselves above the other breeds of dragon, who they now loved and acknowledged as fellow mortals. And that, my children, is how the first Imperials learned to mourn." Teutorix flattened her ears against her head as though in pain, wishing that she could have left the story at that point. Already tears had begun to glint in her hatchlings' eyes, but Teutorix knew that it would be cruel to leave them with the delusion that the first Imperials had died in the manner of any other breed. "My children, I wish that I could tell you that the first Imperials learned to live, and to die, in the manner of every other dragon. But I cannot lie to you. I told you how the first Imperial dragons once suspected that they could never truly die and, in a sense, they were horribly correct. The Imperial breed, you see, is the fusion of the mortal and immortal, the draconic and- albeit in the tiniest quantity -the divine. We age, we grow, we live, we die- in the manner of any other dragon -because of our mortal nature. But that component of our nature which would not dissolve or decay despite the many ages which it spent beneath the strata of Sornieth? That Lightweaver-derived component of our nature can never die, it merely remains dormant. The first Imperials fooled themselves into thinking that this translated into immortality in the draconic sense. Yet, when the draconic element of an Imperial dragon dies- when they body shuts down and the brain decays -that small, divine essence remains perfectly intact, as unbothered as it was by countless years of incredible heat and unknowable pressure. This divine essence is powerful even in its undeath. It lingers in the for many years and, in sufficient quantities, it can merge together and reanimate Imperial corpses, just as the Lightweaver herself animated the first of the Imperials, many centuries ago." The eyes of the hatchlings widened in shock, and their fuzzy manes stood on edge, like the hackles of a startled Ferberus. Vizkr burst out in shock. "You mean, you mean that this essence-thing makes zombies?" Teutorix nodded sadly. "Yes. And we call these 'zombies', Emperors." |
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A silence like lightning haunted the room. After a moment, the hatchlings shattered it. It was their turn to ask a deluge of questions, and their poor parents found it rather difficult to keep apace of them all. "Will you become Emperors?!" "Will I become a zomb- I mean, an Emperor?" "How didn't we know about this until now?!" Sandscale and Teutorix did their best to answer the tide, but every question answered seemed to produce a dozen more, until the hydra of a conversation was cut into three questions roughly approximating those above. "Don't worry, your father and I will not become Emperors." Teutorix said, trying to reduce the fright on Finale's face. "An Emperor requires the remains of at least three Imperials to be present. We seldom bury our dead in pairs, and we have learned to space our graves apart, as widely as the waystones which lie between clans. Some Imperials even refuse burial entirely, and make provisions for cremation, or other Flight-appropriate methods of preventing their rest from ever being disturbed by such events." "For the same reasons," Sandscale nodded, "You guys will not have to worry about becoming Emperors. All Imperials follow these methods. Emperors are dangerous to an area, so everyone has an interest in preventing them." Vizkr nodded at his father's answer, but uncertainty burned in his eyes. He could barely concentrate on his mother's reply to Bonejack's inquiry about why nobody else had ever told them about their breed's horrible fate. Vizkr caught a few words- something along the lines of Emperors being so horrifying and unImperiallike that, despite the faint similarity of the names, few had reconciled the living breed of dragons and the decaying, undying disasters with one another. By now, the storm had ended, and Vizkr watched his sisters and parents move outside, a shared, heavy knowledge now uniting the family, as it did most members of their breed. However, quick though he had been to escape the egg and take to the eddies and the air, Vizkr was the last to leave the lair. The sky was as beckoning as it had been before, the birdsong as reassuring, the mills as bright. Perhaps arrogantly, Vizkr had thought himself to be capable of facing the world. The wind, and the lands below it, were wrought with their challenges and, while Vizkr could not imagine all of them, he was beginning to grow stronger, cannier, and more nimble with every day that he spent daring himself, and his sisters, to fly a little higher or more dangerously than before. For years, he had been learning that the world outside, although not strictly safe, was something that one could gradually become more capable of navigating, just as yesterday's youngest Wind adept could have grown into a dragon for whom the Swirling Crescendo was as amicable as an autumn breeze. Yet what use was a Wind adept who could not trust their wings to carry them, or their magic to support them, or their very bones to remain inanimate in the ground, where they belonged, rather than shuddering into some horrible, unwanted afterlife? Vizkr stared at his stubby fuchsia claws with a sense of dread. He had always wanted to be a good person, to leave others with a sense of joy and reassurance. In this uncontrollable world, he had expected that he would always be able to control his actions. What a pitiful assumption to make. |
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Vizkr never again roamed the skies with the same impulsivity. He acquired the distant nature common to Imperials, an attitude easily mistaken for aloofness or introversion but which, in Vizkr's case, was simply sadness, dressed up behind two prematurely bushy eyebrows and an intimidating bulk. Although he was not as carefree as before, the remainder of Vizkr's youth wasn't a mess of self-contemplative doom and gloom either. He enjoyed the affection of his clan and his family, and over the years learned to shape his love for travel, and the chase, into a career as a hunter. He even appreciated the benefits of his breed, albeit not with the same fervor as he had as a hatchling when he had describe Imperials as 'the coolest'. His massive wingspan and natural stamina permitted him to trail migratory herds of sheep, swan, and peryton with an ease unafforded to other breeds. But it is difficult to live freely when the end of life is not solely synonymous with death, but also with a fate as a warped scourge upon the elements, a creature capable of destroying everyone which, in life, one constantly protects and loves. Vizkr had many moments of genuine happiness, but also moments of genuine horror. It was the reason he frequently absented himself from the wider clan in order to join fellow hunters- a band of Ridgebacks, Mirrors, Guardians, and the odd Bogsneak whose distaste for socializing rendered them almost imperceptible as a member of the pack. Vizkr knew that the simplest options would have been to fly to the nearest kitepost or crossroads in the hopes of finding some magician who could melt and remold him into some other breed. He made plans for such a journey many times, but never found himself able to follow through on them. Perhaps it was cowardice, a fear of change, a selfish desire for an unchanging body and all the benefits (in life) which came alongside being an Imperial dragon. Perhaps it was loyalty, a trust in his clan's ability to bury him properly, a trust in himself- that he was morally strong enough to never put others at risk -and respect for his own nature and that of his family; rejecting being an Imperial dragon would feel akin to rejecting and demeaning them, after all. Vizkr himself suspects that it was both cowardice and loyalty that kept him in this stasis, living comfortably in the present, but unable to look towards the future without seeing- however statistically unlikely -the prospect of becoming an Emperor. |
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ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ ▪ ꜰᴏʀᴜᴍ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ▪ ᴏᴏᴄ
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════════════ ｃｒｅｄｉｔｓ ════════════ X▪ example X▪ example X▪ example 
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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
Feed this dragon Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Vizkr to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.