Loghrif » Hibernal Den » Harpsichord

Harpsichord

(#69549174)

She/Her | Delicate blades.

Energy: 38/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

23.25 m

Wingspan

18.69 m

Weight

7663.39 kg

Genetics

Fog
Jupiter

Periwinkle
Flair

Grey
Basic

Hatchday

May 24, 2021
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Ice
Primal

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

The wastelands are not without beauty, though it is often what many may consider unconventional: overcoming the struggle of survive against impossible odds, wearing scars with pride for the wound did not take a life, the knitting of flesh restoring the form after mutagenic experimentation, all ripe for waxing poetic about the grace to be found in rot.

Harpsichord is traditional beauty, though. She prides herself on it, her expendible earnings going to pretty trinkets and soft silks, and adorns herself in finery that highlight her vivid purples and dutifully cared for mane. With an ethereal voice, she easily gravitated towards the stage, an entertainer through both song and music, and flits between the myriad of venues through the Undercroft to earn her keep.

Knowing how to hold an audience means she knows extremely well how to hold attention. She makes easy small talk, gives a delicate laugh, thoroughly enchanted by the conversation, and the warmth of her company contrasts the eternal chill that seeps from her. Icewarden's gift..

As the conversation deepens, she offers more private spots, away from the bustle and noise of the nightlife. The undercroft is a vast city and the sprawling spreads offers ample seclusion to be found, after all. Come, follow her - she knows the shadows, she's lived here long enough. No, no, she doesn't look it at all, does she? Such a delicately beautiful dragon, radiating the power of the deity that blessed her blood. But the Wasteland is her home now, comfortable and familiar to her, just like the company of a transfixed companion could be.

Beneath the fading sun, overlooking the bizarre skyline of the city, she sings, her voice as soft as melting butter. When the vicious blade of the knife beneath her silks catches the fading light, hope it is intended for a different belly - it's far too late if its target is the right beside her, willfully within blades reach.

~ general socialite and assassin
~ harp's loyalty is uh very limited. she works with grast, the two are fond of each other. but watch out!
~ trans fem. by nature of being primalborn, harp's relation with gender definitely exists but her general relationship is being is more akin to being a force of nature than being a dragon who lives in a society. doesn't mind if she's called female though
~ big gay
~ primalborn: receives vague visions and words from elemental magic. this would be more apparent if she were in icewarden's territory, but she's not and also she doesn't care very much. she's here to enjoy attention and occassionally get a knife out smile

Harpsichord is always etherally pristine, as beautifully defined as the statues that line the walls of the hallway leading to the Pyreitc Contagion's grand entrance. The frost that radiates from her battles with the seeping heat of the decor, kept magically aflame and perpetually burning, and it is one of the few things that leads Harpsichord to speak earnestly, not hiding her complaints behind the kind of pretty words that hook so many.

"Do you not find this all so wretchedly - " Her soft voice sharpens, disgruntled, " - and disgustingly hot?"

"Not at all." Grast smiles beneath her hood, as Harpsichord fiddles with the lace at her neck. Her claws, as ever, are carefully maintained, devoid of dirt and sharp enough to leave scars in a pinch, "You would have loathed the Fumaroles, Harp."

"Harpsichord." She repeats, emphasising the omitted syllables, though it is without the edge that came with her unimpressed commentary on the sanctum's eternal pyres, "My full name, if you'd please. I do believe you know my preferences well, Grast."

It's not her "full name" by any stretch and Grast knows it. A code name, an alias, a simple word that gives herself the opportunity to disappear into the vast expanse of Sornieth should she require it. Grast understands, of course. They share a trade - snuffing out lives in the shadows, the very thing that drew them together - and it is always wise to have options for an exit should it be required.

Though Grast does know Harpsichord's preferences well and it is why she teases Harp so. Grast feels her chill even through her robe, frost reaching through the autumnal fabric, as she bumps her flank against Harpsichord's, "Harpsichord, Harpsichord. I do hope I'm not ruffling your pretty silks. Shall we discuss business, as intended? Or...?"

Harpsichord laughs as Grast trails off. They will, indeed, get to their never-ending business - though neither will be surprised when they first turn to matters between them that are far more personal.

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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.

Exalting Harpsichord 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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