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Mist Slash Ability Stone A seething slash of dark energy. Deals physical shadow damage to one target. May only be used by shadow dragons. 500 Required Level: 5

Current Status: Healthy Current Age: Adult Time of Birth: End of Frost Mate: none Relatives: none Friends: none Charge: his deity.

Gene Plans: complete Occupation: Guard, Shepherd Likes: Fighting, and his annual Harvests. Dislikes: The quiet day-to-day in the tower in his off-season. Hobbies: Practicing his swordsmanship.

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- Adult Biography

Suffer was raised in a clan composed of fighters on the plague/shadow border.
His birth was said to be in commemoration of righteous hatred, and celebration of revenge.
Receiving nothing near affection from his kin, he was schooled from a young age in the art of combat.

It is, for that reason, unsurprising that he quickly surpassed his clanmates in levels of sheer brutality. Similarly, he held no notable attachments to any of the dragons he'd grown up alongside, and in fact seemed to show no emotion at all.

Suffer always spoke calmly - pleasantly, even - but he could never be swayed in his views or behaviour: a steadfast and terrifying obstacle should one find themselves having an opposite opinion - or simply being, somehow, "in his way".

Upon reaching adulthood, he challenged his clan leader for the position. Such a challenge cannot be refused, and so they fought until the elder's death on that day.

He set out on his own immediately after, his goal to leave the clan in disarray fully achieved.

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He wandered for some time, his fury burning like an engine in his chest, driving him ever onward.
It became apparent from when he crossed paths with others that his appearance was something to fear; to flee from, or on more rare occasions, attack.

Thus were his interactions during these months, as a monster out traveling the roads.

Until, one day, the path gave way to fog.

A fog that called to him in words he couldn't quite discern, and slowly wrapped him in a cold embrace.

A part of him he'd assumed absent or long-dead awoke as the mist bled into him, and he into it. The hatchling that wanted to be valued; to be loved rather than cast aside or feared.

He would have given his life, then, for the ghost-white entity that slowly took form before him, the frail wings that embraced him and the spider-thin fingers that ran gently through his fur.

But It had much greater plans in store.


- More Info

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