Psoron
(#69727651)
Bold for a newcomer, and quite the storyteller. Xar's mate.
Aymokriya
Coursing Skira
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 42/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Water.
Male Fae
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.41 m
Wingspan
1.44 m
Weight
1.06 kg
Genetics
Coal
Crystal
Crystal
Cyan
Morph
Morph
Forest
Peacock
Peacock
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 8 Fae
EXP: 6164 / 16009
STR
5
AGI
18
DEF
5
QCK
17
INT
38
VIT
10
MND
8
Biography
Psorson
Son of Topaz, Mage and Jester!
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“Everyone always asks. ‘Why the rainbows’? ‘Why the color’? You’d think because I'm a mage I’d rather be all bland-dressed and hide unseen behind my muscular, brave husband and stay safe. Ha! Not me, friend. I don’t mind a little danger. Nor my husband's muscles. But if I am going to present myself in the purest truth, you best believe I will do so with everything bright and beautiful in this world — your life is only yours once, as they say!”
When he was a hatching, Psorson watched Saphola and Nebulos train together with wide eyes. Not in admiration — in fear. The sight of blood made him faint. And everyone knew of Psorson’s fear — and his principles. And his passions. And his life. Psorson was, at heart, a storyteller; a performer; one who’d definitely use too many commas and semi-colons if he was literate. Once he came of age, Saphola taught him of healing spells and potions. Psorson burst anew with poems and songs, but also a new goal. Psorson joined the coliseum team as a mage. This is where he met Xar, now his mate, and became good friends with Nebulos, Rhea, Althorist, and Azoria. And, well, just about everyone else who had ever stepped foot in the coliseum. He is a poet and a healer, but no longer a fighter. He would much rather love. 
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"I'm all glimmer and no gloom, my friend!"
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MATE
 XAR |
DAUGHTER
 JAIDA |
TRAINER
 NEBULOS |
CLOSE FRIEND
 RHEA |
FRIENDLY RIVAL
 ALTHORIST |
  
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—Fall, 2021— Psorson had no love for woodlands or paths or woodland paths. Or for any of the beasts that dwelled there. His coliseum teammates, Nebulos and Xar, came out here to this Woodland Path every day during training season to slash and shred and kill. Psorson had no love for their violence, either. Despite that he was on the Coliseum team, he tried his best never to take the offense unless Nebulous commanded him to. Yet despite all the violence that during on their daily trainings, Psorson went anyway. Not just to sit around, look pretty, admire Xar’s muscles, and the like. The fools needed to have a healer as devoted as himself. He’d never missed a training season. If he did, his friend Xar might finally get cut down for good, and Psorson wouldn't be there to do so much as write a song about it, let alone save his life. Unacceptable! Psorson wanted his friend Xar home and safe in the Clan every night. So he trained with his team, all day, every day, for weeks, as commanded by the Ashen Chieftan. Xar never fell in battle without a terrifying fight; Psorson always saved his breath for healing magics; and with his notorious wisened hums, Nebulous added entry upon entry to his great tome of monsters. It was nighttime. Three despicably well-coordinated basilisks had cornered the three thoroughly exhausted dragons on the woodland path. Psorson could barely see them in the dusk’s light; he could smell the birds better. The stench of sulfur and dust kicked up whenever the foul fowl ran near them. Two of Xar’s heat-seeing eyes picked up on their exact spot quicker. “I smell them,” Xar murmurs, low and gravely. “Due east. Three. Waiting for us...they are kin to each other.” Nebulos hefted his head higher, and through the shadows cast by his horns, Psorson saw him tilt it in confusion. “Do they know where we are?” Without any sort of verbal response, Xar snarled and surged directly toward Psorson, who ducked and realized a moment later that he didn’t have to. Xar soared over him, wings spread just enough and no more, and pounced on a basilisk not far behind them. The bird must have snuck up on the group. Psorson blamed the encroaching darkness of course; not the ease with which the derg could be distracted. The bird and mirror dragon screeched and scratched at each other, and Nebulos bounded forward to intervene. Psorson took a deep breath and readied Aid in his claws. He dutifully observed the great lack of precision with which Nebulos moved — he was sluggish, probably because he woke up much earlier this morning than the nocturnal Xar. A second bird leaped from a tree and landed feet-first on Xar's back (who, Psorson angrily realized, was no longer wearing his armor). It sank its teeth into Xar’s side, in thick muscle. Both birds screeched, and Xar roared. A third basilisk came running in from the east, just as Xar predicted. Nebulos cut a fine seam down its side, but the bird made a beeline for where its kin wrestled with the Mirror. Such behavior was very strange from basilisks — usually they spread out their attacks, Psorson realized, but these three were kin. They were all after Xar. Xar cried out when the third slashed him open to the bone. The first basilisk lay dead on the ground beneath Xar’s feet. Nebulos stood by, hesitant to hurt Xar, trying to tear the birds off. Psorson held back nausea at the sight of all of Xar’s blood, flowing freely as a bubbling potion over the rim of a cauldron, dripping and pooling in the grass. He couldn’t even see the red — just the thick, oozing-ness of it, like black oil. “Psorson! Slash the second bird!" Xar thrashed beneath the two birds. Psorson could see bones protruding from the welts of flesh, but he couldn't tell which creature they belonged to. Nebulos yanked one, then the other, but both birds caught their fall with their wings and shot like magnets right back to Xar. “Psorson! Get one of them with contuse!” Psorson called back, “It’ll hit Xar! And I need to heal him!” “I’m going to throw one of them at you!” “No!” “Get ready!” Psorson could barely breathe right. Basilisks were terrifying. Having one of these chucked toward him, just to kill it without mercy, actually made Psorson feel like keeling over on the spot. “No! Nebulos, no! Just — throw Xar at me! Or something?!” Nebulos paused, made one of his thoughtful hums, and then sent Xar’s black and white stripped body skidding toward Psorson much faster than should have been possible. The mirror dragon came to a rolling stop a few feet a way, not moving, chest rising and falling slowly. Psorson dove to Xar’s side. He summoned the Aiding charm he knew so well, and watched in relief as Xar’s bones and skin sank back into place. “You’re alright,” Psorson said, trying to wipe blood off Xar’s face, “Give it a second. But you’re alright.” Xar sighed, opening his eyes, and flexing his legs again. And then there was screeching — Nebulos yelled something. Something sharp, like a necklace, tightened around Psorson’s neck. It did not hurt at first. The same moment Psorson recognized the stench of sulfur and dust was also the moment when he realized the sharp grip around his neck was a toothed beak — and then the basilisk bit down harder. He heard a hoarse voice scream for him, and then everything went dark. |
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