Echoa
(#67815999)
treasure your memories | 437 | relic |
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.57 m
Wingspan
1.64 m
Weight
2.8 kg
Genetics
Gold
Crystal
Crystal
Gold
Facet
Facet
Gold
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 8 Fae
EXP: 5036 / 16009
STR
34
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
*not selling, memory vault
url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/3096429/1
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
It started with a small seed. Blown on the wind, not knowing where to go, where to land, or even how it was flying. It only knew what it was - a small pocket of life that had the potential to burst and fill the whole of the world with the sweet fragrance of bark and leaves and living blooms.
As happy and carefree as it felt, the small seed started to eventually drift toward ground, the pockets and currents of wind buoying it up softly letting go as the seed hit the dark soil. Mournful of what once was but hopeful for what might eventually be, the seed burrowed deep in the soil, deep, deep, deep, where nothing could disturb it in its peaceful slumber. Here it would rest, till the nudge of vibrant life burst out of the small, brown shell and rose toward the sun above.
For much time this seed lay dormant. Time passed by unbeknownst to the small object, night and day, sun and moon, calm and storm, cold and heat. Winds rushed and giants seemed to smash great drums from the sky, lightning flashing blindingly. The storms passed, the life emerged; flowers bloomed and birds sang. And the process repeated again and again; for the small seed still had not felt the small call, nudge, urge, to break free and surge toward the bright, lifegiving sunlight. And so it waited; so it slept.
And after the years and years of waiting, and sleeping, and just being, the small seed stirred. The Potential of life inside the small, dried shell, deep in the dark, earthy soil, broke free. Green stems shot up toward the sky and burst forth, tendrils curling over the ground and climbing toward the heavens. Pale roots stretched out thin arms and reaching fingers, gripping the soil and drinking up the energy of life. The small seed was no longer a small seed, but a fathomlessly beautiful tree, gold and white blossoms adorning its branches and filling the air with their scent.
And the tree was joyous, for this was who and what it was meant to be. As the years continued to pass and the tree slowly continued to grow, it became the home of millions of creatures - tiny insects, singing birds, bushy - tailed squirrels, chirping frogs, slithering tree-snakes, scavenging raccoons, and a multitude of other life; all calling this tree their home. But for all that this tree had seen and experienced, there was still one thing it had yet to know. The world was not full of just goodness, and life, and happiness. There were darker forces working, ones of which could blot out the life of this wondrous tree in an instant. For this tree had never seen a dragon. And with dragons, came darkness, war, plague, hurt, and horror. And even though this tree was happy and peaceful beyond belief, the time would come when a dark intent and evil deed would destroy what it was and shape it into something different...
The golden fae raced across the desert, her small, wounded wings beating to help propel her across the dusty ground. Her chest heaved up and down as she pushed her body to its limit. She had to run. Run, run, run away from the dragons chasing her. For they would surely kill her if they caught her.
As she tried yet again to take to the sky, the shredded flaps of her skin slapped against her main flight-muscles and bones, and she cried out in pain. They had decimated her wings. The things that made a dragon a dragon; the things that gave the gift of flight, the wondrous experience of soaring and diving through the sky, looking down on all of Sornieth. Her wonderful world... that had torn her heart, soul, and very being to pieces. Nothing could save her now.
Tears streamed down her small, golden face, her large green eyes squinted against the sun in her face as she ran, ran, ran. She was running out of breath. She wasn't going to make it. They were going to catch her. She was going to die. She had escaped, and taken back the thing that gave her happiness, the one thing she could remember her mother by, for nothing. They were going to steal it back and they were going to kill her, throw her lifeless body into some nameless pit and leave it there to rot. Memories flashed through her mind; the gentle voice of her mother, her soft paws brushing her oversized frills from her face. Her brilliant golden skin, identical to that of her daughters', shining in the dappled sunlight of the leafy grove where they made their home.
That voice, that musical, kind, gentle voice, screaming as her daughter was torn away from her. The glittering of the small, silver and white lily that her mother threw to her as she was pulled away, tears streaming down her face. Her brothers and sisters yelling in the background, pushing towards her, reaching out their hands as she was ripped away from her only family. The dark laughter of hooded dragons as they shoved her in heavy iron shackles and bound her neck with a collar like an animal. The hopelessness she felt as they dragged her along the ground, her scales and wings membranes shredded as they slid along the sharp rock fragments, and as they taunted her with her precious, precious lily, waving it above and around her head. Almost able to reach, but not quite... her tears as they told her she would never see the light of day, and the rage as they nailed her chains to the wall and slammed the stone door in her face.
And she remembered her chains falling to the floor, released by some unknown entity. The whisper for her to go, leave, run and never look back. The terror as she crept through the unforgiving, shadowed walls, seeking her precious lily and an exit. The immense relief and heartbreak as she saw her lily carelessly thrown on the ground, petals crushed and broken at her feet. The adrenaline that pumped through her veins as she saw the light of day gleaming through a glass window, the only source of light. And the finality of her decision as she ripped a torch holder from the wall, her small frame bending with the effort, and smashed the glass window to shreds. The pounding of heavy, iron - booted feet and the shouts of guards as she fluttered limply through the opening. And the running. Always running, it seemed, running away from the death, the hurt, the pain... but to where? To where was she running, with her lily clutched in her mouth and her torn wings hanging limply by her sides? For she had nowhere to go. She was alone.
Echoa gradually slowed down, her head hanging dejectedly as the shouts of the guards grew louder and louder. This was it. This was the end. The golden fae tilted her head toward the sky and closed her eyes, sadly praying to the Gladekeeper to welcome her with open arms. Dust filled the air as the boots of the guards stopped and their voices all but filled her ears. She did not open her eyes as they formed a circle around her, jeering and laughing manically. She did not open her eyes as they crept closer and closer, their breath hot and rancid on her face. She did not open her eyes as she felt the brush of the blade, feather-light, the prickling stab, and then searing pain of a blade slash across her chest, tearing through muscle and bone. She did not open her eyes, though more tears of pain and sorrow seeped out from under her eyelids. She would not give them the satisfaction.
A deep, slithering voice that sent shivers down Echoa's spine spoke in her ear. "You pathetic excuse for a dragon. Did you really think you could escape from us? You will meet the death to your worthless life here, on the dusty, dry ground, where none of your cursed Gladekeeper plants dare to grow." The dragon spat evilly at her feet, and, still laughing, shoved her body to the ground. "Bleed out and die, you idiot piece of trash." And as the pain ripped through her body, and as she hit the ground hard, her left wing bending under her and her right flopping across her bleeding chest, she did not open her eyes. The flapping of wings filled the air, and the guards flew away, still laughing. Their voices faded into the distance until all was silent but the ragged breathing of Echoa.
Her eyes still closed, she softly let out her breath, her body settling into the ground. Blood continued to seep from the wound in her chest, but she paid it no heed. Her body felt warm and tingly all over, and she felt as if she were flying again, lifted high on fluffy clouds, her wings fully healed and flapping strongly. She felt... acceptance. Here she would meet her end.
But it was not to be.
The tree stilled as the unfamiliar sounds filled the air. What was this strange clanking noise? This loud chattering of unfamiliar tongue? The hostile screech of a substance unknown? And what...
Its very being balked in horror as the scent of blood filled the air - life-blood, the very substance of a living thing. Tentative, the tree reached out the tendrils of its consciousness and felt towards the direction of the unfamiliar sounds and the scent of spilled life.
It suddenly touched something so complex, so advanced, so sentient, unlike the animals which its branches housed in multitudes. Thoughts and emotions seemed to swirl through its mind like a whirlpool; but the main thing that the tree sensed was... resignation. This incredible creature was ready to die. The tree shook its leaves in anguish, thousands of green leaves and golden - white flower petals drifting to the ground. It could not allow this. A being so like itself? Able to think, to feel, to pulse with life. It could not be allowed to die. It simply couldn't.
Withdrawing the fingers of its consciousness, the tree turned within itself and gathered the great energy it had accumulated over the years. Light, heat, and pure life started to pulse in its core, the warmth and the light growing larger and larger, until it seeped out of the cracks in the tree's bark and to the ground below, plants bursting forth from the dry soil. So strong was this force, this essence of the tree itself, everything it touched turned to the same substance - the animals, insects, flowers, plants, all of it joined the great throbbing orb of energy. And when the tree was ready, when all was done, when it had caressed the world as it knew it good-bye... the tree vaporized, bark and leaves and branches crumbling to dust. And the tree-spirit flew faster than light toward the dying golden dragon, and plunged down into her scales, filling, healing, and transforming...
Lore by Dragonglimmer.
First art piece by Shika.
Second art piece by anteater.
Third art piece by Aquella.
Fourth art piece by amirisqueer.
Fifth art piece by Ryne.
url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/3096429/1
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
It started with a small seed. Blown on the wind, not knowing where to go, where to land, or even how it was flying. It only knew what it was - a small pocket of life that had the potential to burst and fill the whole of the world with the sweet fragrance of bark and leaves and living blooms.
As happy and carefree as it felt, the small seed started to eventually drift toward ground, the pockets and currents of wind buoying it up softly letting go as the seed hit the dark soil. Mournful of what once was but hopeful for what might eventually be, the seed burrowed deep in the soil, deep, deep, deep, where nothing could disturb it in its peaceful slumber. Here it would rest, till the nudge of vibrant life burst out of the small, brown shell and rose toward the sun above.
For much time this seed lay dormant. Time passed by unbeknownst to the small object, night and day, sun and moon, calm and storm, cold and heat. Winds rushed and giants seemed to smash great drums from the sky, lightning flashing blindingly. The storms passed, the life emerged; flowers bloomed and birds sang. And the process repeated again and again; for the small seed still had not felt the small call, nudge, urge, to break free and surge toward the bright, lifegiving sunlight. And so it waited; so it slept.
And after the years and years of waiting, and sleeping, and just being, the small seed stirred. The Potential of life inside the small, dried shell, deep in the dark, earthy soil, broke free. Green stems shot up toward the sky and burst forth, tendrils curling over the ground and climbing toward the heavens. Pale roots stretched out thin arms and reaching fingers, gripping the soil and drinking up the energy of life. The small seed was no longer a small seed, but a fathomlessly beautiful tree, gold and white blossoms adorning its branches and filling the air with their scent.
And the tree was joyous, for this was who and what it was meant to be. As the years continued to pass and the tree slowly continued to grow, it became the home of millions of creatures - tiny insects, singing birds, bushy - tailed squirrels, chirping frogs, slithering tree-snakes, scavenging raccoons, and a multitude of other life; all calling this tree their home. But for all that this tree had seen and experienced, there was still one thing it had yet to know. The world was not full of just goodness, and life, and happiness. There were darker forces working, ones of which could blot out the life of this wondrous tree in an instant. For this tree had never seen a dragon. And with dragons, came darkness, war, plague, hurt, and horror. And even though this tree was happy and peaceful beyond belief, the time would come when a dark intent and evil deed would destroy what it was and shape it into something different...
The golden fae raced across the desert, her small, wounded wings beating to help propel her across the dusty ground. Her chest heaved up and down as she pushed her body to its limit. She had to run. Run, run, run away from the dragons chasing her. For they would surely kill her if they caught her.
As she tried yet again to take to the sky, the shredded flaps of her skin slapped against her main flight-muscles and bones, and she cried out in pain. They had decimated her wings. The things that made a dragon a dragon; the things that gave the gift of flight, the wondrous experience of soaring and diving through the sky, looking down on all of Sornieth. Her wonderful world... that had torn her heart, soul, and very being to pieces. Nothing could save her now.
Tears streamed down her small, golden face, her large green eyes squinted against the sun in her face as she ran, ran, ran. She was running out of breath. She wasn't going to make it. They were going to catch her. She was going to die. She had escaped, and taken back the thing that gave her happiness, the one thing she could remember her mother by, for nothing. They were going to steal it back and they were going to kill her, throw her lifeless body into some nameless pit and leave it there to rot. Memories flashed through her mind; the gentle voice of her mother, her soft paws brushing her oversized frills from her face. Her brilliant golden skin, identical to that of her daughters', shining in the dappled sunlight of the leafy grove where they made their home.
That voice, that musical, kind, gentle voice, screaming as her daughter was torn away from her. The glittering of the small, silver and white lily that her mother threw to her as she was pulled away, tears streaming down her face. Her brothers and sisters yelling in the background, pushing towards her, reaching out their hands as she was ripped away from her only family. The dark laughter of hooded dragons as they shoved her in heavy iron shackles and bound her neck with a collar like an animal. The hopelessness she felt as they dragged her along the ground, her scales and wings membranes shredded as they slid along the sharp rock fragments, and as they taunted her with her precious, precious lily, waving it above and around her head. Almost able to reach, but not quite... her tears as they told her she would never see the light of day, and the rage as they nailed her chains to the wall and slammed the stone door in her face.
And she remembered her chains falling to the floor, released by some unknown entity. The whisper for her to go, leave, run and never look back. The terror as she crept through the unforgiving, shadowed walls, seeking her precious lily and an exit. The immense relief and heartbreak as she saw her lily carelessly thrown on the ground, petals crushed and broken at her feet. The adrenaline that pumped through her veins as she saw the light of day gleaming through a glass window, the only source of light. And the finality of her decision as she ripped a torch holder from the wall, her small frame bending with the effort, and smashed the glass window to shreds. The pounding of heavy, iron - booted feet and the shouts of guards as she fluttered limply through the opening. And the running. Always running, it seemed, running away from the death, the hurt, the pain... but to where? To where was she running, with her lily clutched in her mouth and her torn wings hanging limply by her sides? For she had nowhere to go. She was alone.
Echoa gradually slowed down, her head hanging dejectedly as the shouts of the guards grew louder and louder. This was it. This was the end. The golden fae tilted her head toward the sky and closed her eyes, sadly praying to the Gladekeeper to welcome her with open arms. Dust filled the air as the boots of the guards stopped and their voices all but filled her ears. She did not open her eyes as they formed a circle around her, jeering and laughing manically. She did not open her eyes as they crept closer and closer, their breath hot and rancid on her face. She did not open her eyes as she felt the brush of the blade, feather-light, the prickling stab, and then searing pain of a blade slash across her chest, tearing through muscle and bone. She did not open her eyes, though more tears of pain and sorrow seeped out from under her eyelids. She would not give them the satisfaction.
A deep, slithering voice that sent shivers down Echoa's spine spoke in her ear. "You pathetic excuse for a dragon. Did you really think you could escape from us? You will meet the death to your worthless life here, on the dusty, dry ground, where none of your cursed Gladekeeper plants dare to grow." The dragon spat evilly at her feet, and, still laughing, shoved her body to the ground. "Bleed out and die, you idiot piece of trash." And as the pain ripped through her body, and as she hit the ground hard, her left wing bending under her and her right flopping across her bleeding chest, she did not open her eyes. The flapping of wings filled the air, and the guards flew away, still laughing. Their voices faded into the distance until all was silent but the ragged breathing of Echoa.
Her eyes still closed, she softly let out her breath, her body settling into the ground. Blood continued to seep from the wound in her chest, but she paid it no heed. Her body felt warm and tingly all over, and she felt as if she were flying again, lifted high on fluffy clouds, her wings fully healed and flapping strongly. She felt... acceptance. Here she would meet her end.
But it was not to be.
The tree stilled as the unfamiliar sounds filled the air. What was this strange clanking noise? This loud chattering of unfamiliar tongue? The hostile screech of a substance unknown? And what...
Its very being balked in horror as the scent of blood filled the air - life-blood, the very substance of a living thing. Tentative, the tree reached out the tendrils of its consciousness and felt towards the direction of the unfamiliar sounds and the scent of spilled life.
It suddenly touched something so complex, so advanced, so sentient, unlike the animals which its branches housed in multitudes. Thoughts and emotions seemed to swirl through its mind like a whirlpool; but the main thing that the tree sensed was... resignation. This incredible creature was ready to die. The tree shook its leaves in anguish, thousands of green leaves and golden - white flower petals drifting to the ground. It could not allow this. A being so like itself? Able to think, to feel, to pulse with life. It could not be allowed to die. It simply couldn't.
Withdrawing the fingers of its consciousness, the tree turned within itself and gathered the great energy it had accumulated over the years. Light, heat, and pure life started to pulse in its core, the warmth and the light growing larger and larger, until it seeped out of the cracks in the tree's bark and to the ground below, plants bursting forth from the dry soil. So strong was this force, this essence of the tree itself, everything it touched turned to the same substance - the animals, insects, flowers, plants, all of it joined the great throbbing orb of energy. And when the tree was ready, when all was done, when it had caressed the world as it knew it good-bye... the tree vaporized, bark and leaves and branches crumbling to dust. And the tree-spirit flew faster than light toward the dying golden dragon, and plunged down into her scales, filling, healing, and transforming...
Lore by Dragonglimmer.
First art piece by Shika.
Second art piece by anteater.
Third art piece by Aquella.
Fourth art piece by amirisqueer.
Fifth art piece by Ryne.
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Feed this dragon Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
Exalting Echoa to the service of the Stormcatcher 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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