Herkunftshorn » Lair » Leon

Leon

(#67605826)

Level 25 Fae

Familiar

Everbloom Gem Guardian

Energy: 44/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

0.67 m

Wingspan

0.79 m

Weight

1.2 kg

Genetics

Eldritch
Starmap

Beige
Flair

Violet
Peacock

Hatchday

Feb 25, 2021
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Fae

Eye Type

Shadow
Swirl

Level 25 Fae

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

我將長久地被人民喜愛，
因為我的詩歌激起善良的感情，
我在這冷酷的時代歌頌自由，
並且為倒下的人呼籲寬容。

И долго буду тем любезен я народу,
Что чувства добрые я лирой пробуждал,
Что в мой жестокой век восславил я Свободу
И милость к падшим призывал.

(by Reiyn#291920, link to lore shop)

Leon was neither hatched nor spawned. They simply came to be. For that reason, they don’t distinctly view themselves as a dragon, rather an omen or an idea. While they have physical form and exist as a physical being, they really aren’t a being of the world. Leon understood that since they began to exist. They opened their eyes to the thick darkness of the Tangled Wood. They were unsure where they were or what their purpose was. They couldn’t quite tell what they were supposed to be either. They were definitely an idea rather than a dragon, but they were unsure what they were meant to represent.

Bogged down by doubts and questions, Leon went exploring. They thought that meeting the denizens of the world might help them understand more. They headed to the nearest gathering of dragons; a clan, it was called. It was a village, but maybe not even that. Just a small gathering of about ten dragons. They were all shapes and sizes. Most of which were far larger than Leon. The dragons were nice enough, but as Leon spent more time with them, strange things began to happen.

Leon began to have visions about the dragons around them and the things happening in the area. They weren’t visions with images, but rather words. They were prophecies of sorts. Some of them were pleasant and happy, but others brought news of destruction and hardships. Leon didn’t know much, but they knew they had to share their knowledge. The dragons around Leon were more than happy to hear happy prophecies and news, but the moment Leon began sharing the horrible ones, the dragons became enraged. They cast Leon out of their village, telling them to never return.

Leon was absolutely baffled. They were just trying to help. They had probably averted many disasters in that village and those ungrateful dragons cast them out. Leon had found something they could do and provide. They were a prophet, using words to help, and everyone hated them. They just didn’t understand why everything could have turned out so wrong.

Feeling absolutely dejected, Leon decided to throw themself into isolation and just enjoy solitude. To prevent themself from receiving any more prophecies from ungrateful dragons, Leon built themself a house deep within the Tangled Wood. They filled it with books and made a large organ to play. Over the course of many years, they learned all about the dragons who populated Sornieth. The anatomy was quite interesting, but it was rather unfortunate that they all had garbage personalities.

Leon also took up playing the organ and piano. It gave them an outlet for all the confusion and rage in their head. They still just couldn’t understand why those dragons would treat a prophet so poorly. Because that’s what they were. Leon was a prophet. They didn’t know who had sent them or why they were there, but that was their purpose. Why could no one accept that?

Leon, who was supposed to be a great prophet and a seer, was holed up in their mansion, making music. It was lonely and dreary. Without prophecies and visions, Leon felt listless. It was their one true purpose in life to bring future prophecies to Sornieth. They became enraged and jaded by dragonkind. Leon tried emerging from their mansion a few times only to receive the same treatments. Dragons did not want to know their futures, they wanted padded truths and beautiful lies. Leon hated it.

Leon decided there was only one true way to achieve their purpose while still maintaining their own personal joy. They employed a mage to enchant their mansion so they could move and travel all over Sornieth from the safety of their own home. Then, they began to travel. Everywhere they went, they received prophecies about the dragons they passed. They ignored the happy ones and simply showered dragons with the more tragic ones. They sat at their desk, writing the prophecies in the form of letters and having them delivered to the dragons they pertained to.

It was great. Leon was pleased. They were handing out their prophecies and didn’t have to worry about what others thought about them. All the letters they sent were anonymous. As time passed, Leon became notorious and infamous. No one knew their name or face, but their prophecies were widely known. Their prophecies were harrowing and painful; they prevented a great deal of disasters.

Still, Leon hated dragons. They were a poison upon the face of Sornieth. They were disgusting and ungrateful. So many of them made the decision to ignore the eleven gods that were so clearly real and there. They were foolish. Leon hated them. They began to write worse and worse prophecies; their own emotions becoming embedded in their work. They wanted dragonkind to suffer and go into a panic in the hopes they would bring themselves to extinction.

Leon became a legend. Never a real dragon, but an idea and an omen. They were Sornieth’s Poison and the Isolated Prophet. Their traveling mansion became an icon of ill fortune. The haunting organ music floating through the air ahead of the mansion became just as terrifying as the prophecies themselves. It really truly was everything Leon wanted. It was what dragonkind wanted. After how dragons had treated the poet prophet, fear was everything they deserved and everything they got.

(by lizardfish#431376)

A lone dragon stirred outside their lair. It was dark, and the morning was cold. The sky was an inky back, dusted with the smallest wisps of silver clouds. Beneath their claws was a letter, left by someone unknown. The dragon was confused. No one had written to them in years. They slowly tore open the worn, weathered perforation that encapsulated the letter, and their tired eyes scanned over the dark-inked writing. Their face started to contort into horror as they read, then they dashed into the cave, never to return.

In another village, high above the clouds, fortune had favored the merchants as of recently. They mingled amongst themselves and prepared to open their booths, the gleeful tones of windchimes breaking the quiet winds in the morning. For just the briefest of moments, the chimes were drowned out by a few notes of harrowing organ music, but only for a moment. The dragons opened their booths without much trouble, but a letter floated down from the clouds for one booth. Curious, the owner picked up the letter and tore it open. Their face became hollow and they suddenly broke into shivers, scurrying away.

The other dragons gathered around where the letter had been dropped, and their faces too curled into fearful snarls. The merchants immediately closed all their booths and fled, leaving nothing behind but a ghost town. A few hours later, the prospective customers arrived on the scene, wondering why nothing was open, only to find an empty letter left behind. The dragons peered closer and stared down at the letter, but as soon as they saw what was written on it, they all buckled and fled just the same.

Meanwhile, in the wreckage port of Flotsam, dragons were waking up and getting ready to travel or open their venues when a few letters descended gracefully from the sky, written on the same old parchment and same dark ink. There was no sound in the air but a few quiet notes of organ. The dragons gathered around the letters, opened them and fled all the same when they caught sight of what was written on the letter.

The clouds rolled in, and rain poured over the hillsides. The ink on the letters began to run, and soon the letters themselves washed away into the ocean, as if they were only meant to be read by the dragons that were there in those present moments. The wind blew other letters away in the meantime, spiraling them so high into the sky that no one else could ever read them again. The dragons that had read the letters had hidden themselves away in their dens and were making preparations to prevent whatever they’d read earlier, shivering and scared.

Distantly, high above the rainclouds, the din of organ notes and the flurry of letters falling below surrounded a massive mansion, floating high above the rest of the upset world. Tucked away behind the windows of this floating house was the small culprit that had written the dark letters, murmuring to themself as they scribed away and folded up letters faster and faster. The rain below was showing no signs of stopping, but that didn’t mean their prophecies wouldn’t still reach the eyes of the unfortunate souls below.

This was the daily life of the living ill omen, but not a day didn’t go by that they weren’t sick of making the dragons below them suffer. Even from above the clouds, Leon could hear the din of the thunder, almost as if it was sounding its approval for them sending out bad omens across Sornieth. They laughed to themselves, knowing the scum they detested were all having the most rotten of days, fearful for what was to come.

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Exalting Leon to the service of the Arcanist 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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