Ashmedai
(#72486974)
G3 Barghest (Morgana) | G5 Witchborne (Greteel)
Rgalias
Catty Cannon
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 48/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Imperial
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Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.25 m
Wingspan
18.31 m
Weight
8079.07 kg
Genetics
Eldritch
Metallic
Metallic
Charcoal
Noxtide
Noxtide
White
Firefly
Firefly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 15 Imperial
EXP: 44223 / 60881
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
   A S H M E D A I  Barghest of the Starwood Shoals Name meaning: King of Wrathful Spirits
BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT
GENERATION III | MORGANA'S LINE
WITCHBORNE LINEAGE
GENERATION V | (GRETEEL'S LINE) 
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The Three of Wands
“Race along the water's edge and tell me what lies beyond the horizon.”
M any drakes make their way to and from the ports along the Starwood Strand. One such port now rests in silence, abandoned along the cliff's edge of the Garden of the Eleven. Many ships pass the rotting timbers, but few ever stray to close, fearing the whispers of golden eyes that turn ships to the horizon's edge, never to return to port. This is the tale of the Barghest, Ashmedai. |
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I stalk the rotted timbers, listening to them creak beneath my cracked pads. Fog drifts about me, obscuring the old lantern posts that once lit the pier. I don't need to look up, to see through the fog, to know they aren't there anymore. The same goes for the swaying ropes once tethered to great ships, now occasionally tugged at by the tide. I pause by a pile of planks, a pair of rusted metal rings haphazardly sticking out two sides. I reach out a paw, shifting aside some of the wood. It doesn't take long to find it, mixed into the ruins of the barrel: a white pawn. "That's a check, mate." The old tundra gives a snaggle-toothed grin, crossing his paws on the opposite side of the barrel. He's clearly having a great deal of fun, toying with the drake across from him. The Witchborne can't help but let out a sigh at that, eyeing the board. Sure enough, there was my king, in check by one of his knights. We're not professionals, of course. Far from it. He weaves fishing baskets for a living, and I... well, I help make what's grown locally into food that'll last on a ship to the further ports. At least without food poisoning. I sigh as I tip over my king, not seeing a way out of the check. The tundra can't help but shake his head as I reach around to my bag, holding out a sealed bottle, the wax marking it as one of my own pieces. If he didn't know better, he'd say I was handing him a bottle of water. Everyone here knew, though. This was the ambrosia of the pier, the golden ticket for everyone on a ship with bread like bricks and drinks like swamp water. Water with the right enchantments that could make anything fresh, springy, and soft. Everyone wanted it. As he pockets the bottle, the tundra resets the board, then pauses. After a moment, he holds out his paw, revealing a simple white pawn. "You want to try this time? Maybe you'll have more luck with the side matching your eyes, Witchborne." I shake my head, looking back to the barrel. It's easier to see now, the carved pieces of the game that had once taken my evenings, right at the end of my delivery route. Some are missing, more black than white, likely lost to the sea. The board itself is nowhere to be seen, likely mixed into the barrel itself. Whatever was kept in that thing is also long gone. I wonder for a moment if it had ever had anything at all, or had just been stuck serving as a game table for decades. Didn't matter now, really. Now it couldn't even be salvaged as firewood. Just rotted timbers in the wreckage. I pocket the pawn, continuing my walk. I pass by some of the branching docks, the soft creaking occasionally turning to the call to a seagull or the chatter of seafarers as they prepared for their next journey. I stop at one, however, near the edge, eyes trailing over an old frayed rope. I don't notice my paws as they guide me down, right to the edge. The water seems darker here, deeper. The rope dangles off the side, tied loosely to the dock. The other end disappears into the water, fading out of sight. I only notice when those paws carefully pull the rope up, length by length, until I can see the end of it. I can see old black sears, showing how the end had been burnt off. No, not burnt. Rotted. Like the wharf itself. I feel my lips draw back in a snarl at the sight, stepping further from the rotted wood, so much worse than the rest of the pier. I turn to the empty patch of water, the only thing not visibly faded, and feel my hackles raise. "Another one?" I walk beside the old tundra, dubious as he shambles along. For the first time in a long while, we've abandoned our game in favor of checking out the new ship. Well, not really the ship, but the drake that had come with it. Many drakes traveled with merchant ships, paying their way to other ports if it meant they got there faster, and they didn't care for how they were treated. Sometimes, when they came here, they chose to stay, setting up a little shop in the makeshift shanty town along the pier. It never took too much to go and just add another wooden box to a structure, a little set of stairs. Maybe more if they set up shop, of course, but just someone living to work on the ships, or enjoy the sound of the sea? All they needed was a little box added to the pile. It wasn't Flotsam Town, but it was still their home. "Aye, mate. Another one o' your lot, by the look of it. Big guy, candles, sharp eyes. Whole lot. Seems more hunter than you, though." I frown as the tundra goes on, prattling away as he often does when he's riled up. "Funny fellow, really. Has a slouch to 'im, a bit of a lazy eye. Can't see much under that hood o' his, honestly, but still a distinct look. Hard t' miss with you Witchborne." I pause at that, looking up towards where the boat was tied. That... wasn't a normal look for a Witchborne. Maybe one without a charge, without someone helping them. Maybe one without the ingredients to make potions of healing, even the bare bones ones. Maybe if they hadn't planned to sail in advance, or at least taken a moment to try and get a read on the weather beforehand. No Witchborne would ever leave for a sail like this, especially on such a rickety ship as the one in port. I don't notice what the tundra says as I look the ship over, hesitating on the dock. The timbers creak, the varnish chipped and peeling. The paint's faded, the gilded bits flaked away so only a little fleck could be seen in the grooves of the wood, the only sign there had been gold there at all. And yet, most would only see that and claim it was an old ship. I see something more, though. I can see the holes bored into the wood, not from old nails, but from parasites to every ship brought out of retirement. Normally someone checked the ship for such things, worms and maggots that'd eat the wood away. Either someone hadn't checked, or someone had brought them onto the ship. No Witchborne would sail on such a ship, not willingly. We avoid rot like that, and for good reason. I flinch back when I see it, causing my walking companion to stop. I could hear his confused tone, but it was faint, distant in the back of my mind. The chatter from the ship's crew was just as distant, just as faint, as I stared at the ship, the rope tying it to the dock. The rope was fraying, the paint curling at the gangway... with sunken rotten tracks leading down the gangway. I quietly reach out to the rope beside it, and find my fears simply confirmed as it falls away from itself at my touch. Rotten rope, rotten wood, rotten paint and tarp. Rotten tracks leading off the ship, and down the dock. The tracks of a Child-Eater. And they led right into the little port town I called home. I drop the rope, letting the rotten end sink into the ocean once more. I can remember my initial panic at the sight, my disgust. Now, it rings hollow, an echo in an empty canyon. I wish I can see the prints now, still slowly rotting the dock, but all of it looks that way now. It's all rotten, all dead. All lost. I turn away, quiet as I walk back down the pier, away from where that infernal ship had made gangway. I ignore the flickers of memories as I walk, the worried whispers of those who'd lived on the wharf for decades as they murmured over the old ship that never set off again, sinking in the harbor. The edge of the wharf that had broken off from the rest, sinking into the bay. The memories of multiple drakes reaching out, pulling those they could from the wreckage... mourning those who never resurfaced. I only stop when I see one last hollow wreck, a place that was achingly familiar to me. A shell of something that once was, something I'd known down to the lash scrap of cloth. I step up to what I know was once a doorway, pausing as my paw rests on something familiar. I look down to spot an old broken bottle, the wax seal broken. I carefully pick through the pieces, scooping up what appears to be little crystalline fragments plucked from the Crystalspine Reaches, sans the streaks of grey. I can't help but growl softly as one crumbles in my paw, still slowly falling apart after all these years. "What happened to 'im?!" I use a wing to move the old Tundra aside, setting the younger tundra down in the old hammock near my shop's window. It isn't often I need to use it, but this is clearly an exception. The poor thing looks so thin, so frail... the vibrancy that once shone in those pale green eyes has faded, along with his health. Such a young drake, without a name... I'd heard of some of the residents disappearing before. I'd followed the rotten prints, crossing over each other so many times I lost the trail before. This... this was the first time one of the missing villagers had been found. "Basket Weaver, I can't treat him if I'm answering all your questions." I turn to the side, opening one of my old chests. Did I have a potion? Vitality? Surely I had something that could help one drained by the wicked acts of a Child-Eater. I'd always worked to at least be on-par with the one who had taught me how to brew potions. I wasn't born under the Moon of Flowers, but I had to have some knowledge in the craft. Those under the Harvest Moon were just as capable. And yet, my focus had been on sustaining life, on ebbing hunger and thirst. This... I close the lid, turning to a smaller chest. I sift through the scrolls, muttering to myself as my companion paces behind me, snarling. "But who did it? Who hurt 'im? I'd follow their scent if it didn' smell like the entire pier nowadays!" I use a wing to move him aside once more, pulling one scroll out to read over. Breed scrolls helped in some cases, but looking at the damage done, I can't help but doubt his ability to survive the transformation. It takes so much energy just to wake up from it, to shift fur to scales or leather to feathers. This boy didn't have that energy. He didn't have time to build up enough for it. Even my most potent brews wouldn't get him to that point. I toss the scroll back, growling to myself as I move behind the counter, sifting through some crates. "That's what I've been wary of. Ever since that blighted ship made landfall." I glance back to the hatchling, feeling my mane stand on end when I see just how shallow those breaths are. Time. I'm fighting time. I needed more time! I dig out some bottles, looking them over as I try to think of a new solution. Maybe I can still do this. Maybe a transfer of consciousness will work. One out of body experience would be nothing to them, and with a bit of preservation, I could reintroduce them to a new body. Might as well be a scroll, just new material. They'd just need to be patient with it. Or maybe I can draw out what the Child-Eater left in them, draining their lifeblood this very second. If I could trap it in something... "What d'you mean, since the ship-?" The old tundra cuts off, staring me down as I drop the other bottles. A potion or liquid won't do. If I'm using a seal, I need something solid. Something that can hold it in place, that refuses to waver. Something local, too. The crystals from the Reaches sometimes found their way to shore here, and the nets constantly needed to be repaired from crystal salt buildup. The mana is so strong here, it manifests on the wood, the stone, the plants, like a thick spiky shell. Large ones can seal great threats, but a collection of smaller ones... I might be able to manage it if I work quickly. I step back around the counter, picking up a pale green candle as I start to head towards the hatchling. I freeze when I see my friend standing between me and the hammock, fur raised and teeth bared. "Basket, please. I'm trying to save him." I try to take a step forward, only to step back when the drake swipes at me, knocking one of my candles aside. I'm lucky I haven't lit them yet. Otherwise, more likely than not, the whole place would be ablaze within minutes. I take a deep breath, trying to find the words when the old drake speaks up. "It was you. You lot. The new one at the wharf." I pause, then slowly nod my head. He's right, or at least I'm sure he is. This is the work of a Child-Eater, to an extent. They have their own way of draining others, of stripping down their very essence to try and extend their lives. I'd seen the signs, and I'd never been the best fighter. But I could heal. I want to explain to him, to tell him more about what's going on, but I know the hatchling doesn't have time for me to go into the complexities of Witchborne and Child-Eaters. "I'm not the same as him. You know me, Weaver. I can help him-" I cut off with a cry when I feel those teeth sink into my leg, causing me to drop one of the bottles. One set of crystals, now lost. One left to help. One chance. I try to shake him off, staggering over to the hatchling. I have one chance, one more bottle to seal this curse from the Child-Eater. I lean against the hammock, opening the cork as I start to murmur one of the old binds I'd been taught. It's a struggle with the Tundra latched to me, but I know I can't afford to wait until I successfully pry him off. I'm so close, so very close... A wing strikes the bottle, knocking the crystals to the floor. I stop, scrambling for the remnants of the vial as they crumble to faded pieces before my eyes. I turn back to the hatchling, hoping I can use what little there is to help, only to feel my heart sink. The only movement I can see is from when I'd let go of the hammock, a gentle sway that only taunts me with how still the young one is. I look back to the older tundra as he lets go of my leg, golden eyes boring through me as he stares me down. I open my mouth, trying to find the words. He finds them first. "Y'smell like death. No friend o' mine smells like that." I blink away the blurriness, dropping the fragments. I don't hear them hit the wood, nor do I care. Not really. Not anymore. The memory was painful. All of them are now. Each one stood as the echoes of the death throes of my home, my family, my very life before. My shop lays in shambles before me, my old wards faded over time. Once, I cared. Once, I'd made stews and potions, herbal remedies and incense to drive away the Child-Eater. Once, they'd trusted my work. Once, a nameless youngster had found his father, had shared their tales, had asked to earn his name there. The loss of a hatchling hurts. It festers in the minds of those who hear of it, turning suspicions on those who dared draw near them in their final hours. They'd seen me bring him into my shop. They'd heard the cries, the wails. They'd seen the candles in my window flicker out. Rumors had gone around, of course. But the one who had been my friend, once, so long ago, made my heart ache the most. As the pier fell to disrepair, the friendly drakes clamming up, the shutters slamming shut, I'd found my own heart growing colder. My efforts had fallen short. I had failed. I couldn't heal those who didn't want to be healed. I couldn't bolster spirits that had been snuffed long ago. I could only watch them fade, their very souls rotting away like they'd been touched by the fiend themselves. Perhaps some had. Could one blame me, then, for turning to the only thing I had left? The hound, my own bloodline, stalking the dreams of others. I'd known it was deadly, in the end. I'd found my mind wandering, swearing I saw an old sea dog, scraggly fur coated in salt, trotting among the drakes in the harbor. He'd hop onto ships, sniff about, eat scraps. But sometimes we'd lock eyes, and I'd swear I saw mine there. Sometimes it was the middle of the day, and I'd watch him sniff about the newcomers. Sometimes a drake with false goods, counterfeit treasure, or weighted scales would come to port. Sometimes I'd swear I saw the mutt lunge for them, nipping at heels and snapping at wings. I'd always startle from it, blinking to find a confused drake and a distinct absence of a sea dog. At night, I'd sometimes catch him walking into the inn where most stayed for the night. Maybe he'd walk to the two-treasure hanger, eyeing the drakes draped for the night. Maybe he'd clamber up the fire escape on the side, peering through windows. Sometimes, I'd see him go in, or bite at one of the drakes on the bar or rope. I knew what happened to them, in the end. I knew, by then, it was me. It was my mind, my being, my own hound. It was a part of me, one that spent the full moons driving away those that would ruin the little slice of paradise I'd found for myself. I couldn't fight as a Witchborne. I'd never been good at it, in the end. But the dog... The mutt had always made things right. So why couldn't the hound take on the monster that had turned my family against me? Why couldn't it win? I gag at the memory, brief as it was. The first time I'd truly tried to use the hound. I hadn't noticed the change when it had happened. I didn't even notice when I'd left my home, following the trail of the monster. I only really remembered the taste of pestilence in my mouth as I'd dragged the wretch away, diving off the pier with the horrid beast in tow. Decay, salt, a bitter blend that only felt right when I knew it meant they'd never find their way back to my home. It drove them away. I drove them away. Even if the thing had left it's mark on those I cared for, it couldn't hurt them anymore. I look down at my paws, still salty, still patchy and dark. I wasn't the cute little mutt that had begged for scraps anymore, nor was I the kind soul that had used talons and wings to make meals that brought out the light in all who settled into port. I never did figure out how to turn back. When they slowly left the pier, I stopped trying. It didn't matter. They didn't want anything to do with me, or the thing that had once been like me. But, just in case... The call of a gull catches my ear, causing me to tilt my head. I turn towards the noise, my eyes narrowing at the sight of a light out on the water. A ship? A lifeboat? What did it matter, in the end? The last time a ship had come here, I'd lost my family, my home, and my old life. My friends had turned on me, my coven too slow to aid me. I'd lost so much... but I still had something left. It gets harder each night, keeping up what little I can. A dog can only do so much, can only patch up so many wooden planks. I can only do what I can against the wound left by that monster. As the light draws closer, I walk towards the edge of the pier, where I'd dragged the wicked creature down to the depths below. I'd made the mistake of letting monsters from the sea corrupt my home before. I'm not about to let it happen again.
Layout and artwork by awaicu
Banners by PoisonedPaper
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Witchborne
Line  FATHER Asmodeus  GRANDFATHER Ivan  GREAT GRANDFATHER Elenath  GREAT GREAT GRANDFATHER Lorien |
WITCHBORNE TRAITS:September, the Moon of Harvest Witchborne under the Moon of Harvest work closely with those of the Seed Moon and the Moon of Flowers, most often taking the role of providers and breadwinners. They are as good as the Witchborne under the Moon of Flowers in potion brewing, but could always be able to whip up anything edible and sustaining to be sure that their charge won't ever starve. What they make are also sure to be rid of any poison, as they are invulnerable to the toxins, also making them valuable assistants to any potion brewer, being able to identify poisons used, knowing their taste and yet still being immune to their deadly effects.
BARGHEST TRAIT:
TAROT MEANING: The Three of Wands depicts a man who is standing on the edge of a cliff, looking over the ocean and the mountains. From the cliff edge, he sees everything that is ahead of him. The Wands are planted into the ground and surround the man as he grasps one in his hand. He seems to look forward and reflect on both the commitment that he has for his plans, as well as the method of execution in order to bring them to reality.
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 Blessed by Light Lychnus | It had been decades before the Witchborne had deemed it safe to marry once again under the blessings of the dragon deities, which resulted into Witchborne more capable of honing their abilities that they would grow into, all under the element they were born into. The Children had proved to be more adept, or at some times, surprising as some elements, despite its opposition to a Witchborne's abilities, gave up exciting results from the harmony made from conflict. The newer, harsher elements, such as Remordeo, Obscurus, Lychnus and Magus, made for stronger Children who aimed to harness more anarchic energies, one such as Chaos. |
Grey Wolf Cape
Kiddo Bios
Code:
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[center][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/2607219/1#post_37129974][img]https://orig10.deviantart.net/44ad/f/2015/095/8/6/_silver_orb__by_kayosa_stock-d8olwua.gif[/img][/url]
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[img]https://i.postimg.cc/SRYkh7CB/Grotesque-L.png[/img][size=7][font=Garamond] U N N A M E D [/font][/size][img]https://i.postimg.cc/6Tsw-52hy/Grotesque-R.png[/img]
[font=Monotype Corsiva][size=5]Barghest of the Blank Blank[/size][/font]
[font=Monotype Corsiva][size=4][i]Name meaning: Of the Abyss[/i][/size][/font]
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[center][b][size=2][font=Garamond]BARGHEST [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2818759/1]LORE[/url] AND [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/2834947]LINEAGE[/url] PROJECT[/size][/b]
[size=2][font=Garamond][/font][b]GENERATION IV [/b][/size] | [size=2][font=Garamond][/font] MORGANA'S LINE[/size]
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[center][font=Garamond][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/2607219/77#post_46253978]WITCHBORNE[/url] LINEAGE
[b]GENERATION VI[/b] | (GRETEEL'S LINE)[/center]
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[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2818759/1][img]https://i.imgur.com/3JDsYpL.png[/img][/url][/center]
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[font=Garamond][b]The Magician[/b][/font]
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[center][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2618570#post_2618570][img]https://i.imgur.com/QoqYYU7.png[/img]
[font=Monotype Corsiva][size=4][color=Maroon]Of Thorns & Roses
Lineage and Lore Book[/color][/size][/font][/url][/center]
[i][center][size=2] [font=Garamond]“As above, so below; one must simply will it to be.”[/center]
[font=Garamond][size=6][i]F[/i][/size][size=3][font=Garamond][i]ew ever find the cursed imperials known as Barghests to be helpful. In the ruins of Arcadia, stories are told of hounds of all walks that find some way to weaken the drakes around them, erasing their very beings to keep themselves alive. Even those who seem to mean well strike fear in the hearts of others, to the point where every single one is feared by those who know of them. All but one, at least. Stories are told of one who steals the dreams of their own kind to thrive, acting as a go-between for those who fear them most. One must simply find the pale pink stars in the night to find a beast they'll never truly fear.
This is the tale of the Barghest, Unnamed.[/i]
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PRyH9lP.png[/img][/center]
[columns] [font=Garamond][size=6]S[/size]he'd seen the day coming, when the beast returned from his run along the coast. She'd seen how the port lay in ruins, no ship daring to draw close for months now. She saw how even her other companion had laid low, fearful of the night as the cold months drew on. A time for Ashmedai to rest, when ships didn't threaten his home, was the perfect time to tend to a matter she'd put off for far too long.
Three shells rested against her side, her many eyes ever watchful as she shifted under the moonlight. She knew there was conflict in this nest. She could feel it, deep within her very soul. A part of Ashmedai had always been at war with itself, a struggle rooted deep within his very bones. It had to be generational, an instinct inherited from someone in his line. She wasn't about to ask about it, however. She knew better than to risk the beast during the cold moons, one of the few times her partner seemed somewhat sane.
He wasn't there now, too busy guarding the port to ensure no one intruded on her or her nest. Perhaps it was a remnant of his time as a drake. Perhaps it was some instinct the beast itself carried over. To her, it didn't matter. Not when she knew, deep down, what this nest would be. Barghests, cursed like so many she knew, but also something more.
As soon as the first crack appeared in one of the shells, she turned to a deck of cards. She'd been told it was ideal to have someone who knew what they were doing draw for the hatchlings, but Ara was busy with her own nest tonight, and her partner wasn't by her side. She'd heard, if one cared enough, they could draw the cards themselves. Ara had even given her this deck to use, hoping the gift would bring what good fortune she wished for with her first nest. She shuffled the cards, her nerves getting the best of her as her nest finally hatched.
[right][font=calibri][size=2][color=#bcbcbc]Layout and artwork by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=149080]awaicu[/url][/font][/color][/size]
[right][font=calibri][size=2][color=#bcbcbc]Banners by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2257922]PoisonedPaper[/url][/font][/color][/size][right][/columns]
[img]https://i.postimg.cc/zf7xK8YF/Hor-divider-640.png[/img]
[columns][center][b][u]Witchborne
Line[/u][/b]
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/72486974][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/724870/72486974p.png[/img][/url]
[b]FATHER[/b]
[i]Ashmedai[/i]
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/58392122][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/583922/58392122p.png[/img][/url]
[b]GRANDFATHER[/b]
[i]Asmodeus[/i]
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/51938043][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/519381/51938043p.png[/img][/url]
[b]GREAT
GRANDFATHER[/b]
[i]Ivan[/i]
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/50328218][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/503283/50328218p.png[/img][/url]
[b]GREAT GREAT
GRANDFATHER[/b]
[i]Elenath[/i]
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/48725033][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/487251/48725033p.png[/img][/url]
[b]GREAT X3
GRANDFATHER[/b]
[i]Lorien[/i][/center][nextcol][b]WITCHBORNE TRAITS:[/b]
[img]https://orig10.deviantart.net/44ad/f/2015/095/8/6/_silver_orb__by_kayosa_stock-d8olwua.gif[/img] January, the Wolf Moon
Witchborne dragons hatched under the Wolf moon have very strong connections to their ancestors, making them very powerful seers, diviners and oracles. They have the advantage of uncommon knowing and uncanny intuition, and may even be able to shift, create or give dreams, and be part of the dream, earning the title of 'Dreamwalkers'. They are extremely loyal to their charges, and are very adept in telling the future based on the events transpiring now. They are also extremely resourceful escape artists and could always predict the next attack and are revered as strategists in any war council.
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Element:
[b]ARCANE[/b]
Rarity:
[b]UNCOMMON[/b][/center][nextcol][i]Due to the fluctuations of magic that Witchbornes bear, it seemed that dragons born under this particular element wielded energy-based magic far better than most. After all, Arcane was just as close to Chaos. Dragons born under this element are also gifted in the following:[/i]
[columns]- Omnikinesis
- Sonokinesis
- Energy Manipulation[nextcol]- Mana Manipulation
- Spatiokinesis
- Chi Manipulation[/columns][/columns]
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[b]BARGHEST TRAIT:[/b]
[columns][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/static/cms/trinket/1079.png[/img][nextcol][b]Arcane:[/b] Those with star-hewn eyes can read the heavens. These beasts are masters of the dreamscape, molding and crafting their dream realms with frightening realism.
[LIST]
[*] Telescopic: vision is enhanced to telescopic levels capable of seeing even distant stars with the naked eye.
[*] Starspeak: capable of reading the language of the stars.
[*] Inception: capable of planting ideas in dreams and making dreamers believe them to be true.
[/LIST]
[/columns]
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[b]TAROT MEANING:[/b]
The Magician is one tarot card that is filled with symbolism. The central figure depicts someone with one hand pointed to the sky, while the other hand points to the ground, as if to say "as above, so below". This is a rather complicated phrase, but its summarization is that earth reflects heaven, the outer world reflects within, the microcosm reflects the macrocosm, earth reflects God. It can also be interpreted here that the magician symbolizes the ability to act as a go-between between the world above and the contemporary, human world.
On his table, the magician also wields all the suits of the tarot. This symbolizes the four elements being connected by this magician - the four elements being earth, water, air, and fire. The infinity sign on his head indicates the infinite possibilities of creation with the will.
[columns][b]Upright[/b]
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Willpower
Desire
Creation
Manifestation[nextcol][b]Reverse[/b]
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Trickery
Illusions
Out of Touch[nextcol][b]Element[/b]
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Air[/columns][/columns]
[img]https://i.postimg.cc/zf7xK8YF/Hor-divider-640.png[/img]
[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/fym3zX9j/magus.png[/img][/center]
[columns][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/bIGV3ms.png[/img]
Blessed by
Arcane
[b]Magus[/b][/center][nextcol]It had been decades before the Witchborne had deemed it safe to marry once again under the blessings of the dragon deities, which resulted into Witchborne more capable of honing their abilities that they would grow into, all under the element they were born into. The Children had proved to be more adept, or at some times, surprising as some elements, despite its opposition to a Witchborne's abilities, gave up exciting results from the harmony made from conflict. The newer, harsher elements, such as Remordeo, Obscurus, Lychnus and Magus, made for stronger Children who aimed to harness more anarchic energies, one such as Chaos.[/columns]
[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/zf7xK8YF/Hor-divider-640.png[/img][/center]
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