Lambart
(#72966268)
A Deacon for the Lightweaver!
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 48/50
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.5 m
Wingspan
6.38 m
Weight
718.78 kg
Genetics
Cyan
Candycane (Banescale)
Candycane (Banescale)
Moon
Spinner (Banescale)
Spinner (Banescale)
Turquoise
Wraith (Banescale)
Wraith (Banescale)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Banescale
Max Level
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
(Not a hatch! Purchased for 150g for the date of switching from Arcane to Light Flight in 2021)
(Name means "Light of the Land" in Germany)
As had been foretold to the founders, thy decision to become members of the Light Flight by the elapse of Starfall Celebration 2021 had come to pass. The LIGHTWEAVER would welcome the dragons of the clan with Lambart BEING amongst one of the Deacons faithful to the Lightweaver. Lambart can sense some dissonance between the members of Hephormet to which the LIGHTWEAVER states "HELP THEM TO RETURN TO THE LIGHT!". Lambart adhered to thy command by helping start a new order amongst Elysian with an Acolyte (Talopintgafi). Lambart is drawn to the Angels who reveal to Thee "We bring to thy clan order when it is lost. We have gathered in essence, upholding deities' commands. Some of us need help with returning to thy LIGHT ESSENCE! Difficulties await thee in the upcoming days but fear us not for LIGHTWEAVER would not have lead thee to an impossible errand. Remember that thy dragons' loyalty may lie in different dieties but all are a part of the same collective. T'is time!".
Once Lambart reached adulthood he underwent some of Hephormet's (The Clan) training to help the young fend off against the BeastClans. There is something about Paulino that garners his attention. It is as if the dragon harbors some dissonance amongst some of the Clan members to which Paulino responded "I wish to have my own clan someday. One that rivals the Clan when it comes to populace."
One of the callings that Lightweaver gave to Lambart was to change the Clan's name. Lambart wondered why but a fight broke up with some of the Clan members prefering their old clan name. Thus a division of Hephormet was born. As called by the Lightweaver, Lambart named the Clan Effulgence starting from then and there. Some members of Hephormet left the clan while some other members stayed. Adorinda and Erskine had left to serve the Lightweaver which made the clan dissonant as their previous system of earning treasure to spoil a dragon would have become naught. Lambart did his best to calm down the members when Yeshua stepped in. Ve calmed down the dragons by telling them that "the upcoming changes will serve us well on our path toward holiness." It wasn't fair that some dragons left to serve different deities and the founders had left to help the Lightweaver with what she needed at the time.
"The Lightweaver is asking us to return to the light. Anyone that does not agree with this, leave the premises and help another clan or serve the Lightweaver thyself. We will be helped by the angels towards this glorious calling. Don't ask what you will eat or where you will sleep. We must spread the Lightweaver's light wherever and whenever we are called. Can you listen to the Lightweaver?"-Yeshua
Lambart found a friendship with Yeshua as he would help with the dissonance between the dragons of Hephormet now transition into Effulgence.
One of the callings was to head into the realm of light in Laternlea Port. Some dragons were afraid of leaving Gejuvaxy (The Observatory) behind after it had taken so much work to make Gejuvaxy. Lightweaver called for them to leave everything behind and travel to the port. Although most were saddened, some members accepted this new transition into Effulgence. There were some that left however and never came back.
As they had reached Laternlea Port, Tortington and Liquerito would welcome the dragons to Laternlea Port. Both having a Light Tome in hand to read the sacred scriptures that call forth The Lightweaver, they would help teach the remaining members of Effulgence their roles in Laternlea Port.
One of the first requests from the Lightweaver was to make a shrine for the dragons of Effulgence. "Build a shrine in my honor to help bring these beings closer to me!" Paul was skeptical at first as all their years in Elysian they had never heard the Arcanist request a shrine. The most that Paul could remember was his parent's offering treasures and items to help expand Hephormet. Even as Unni would speak with the Arcanist the most she would talk about was recruited members outside their festival weeks. Paul however ablidged to build a shrine for the Lightweaver once his half-sibling Alona said that "It will help us grow closer to the Lightweaver more than we had ever grown closer to the Arcanist, with Unni." Paul willingly helped Liquerito and Tortington build a shrine in Laternlea Port.
A lot of materials from their previous vault had served with the construction of the shrine. It was made of marble and there were some statues with and some that could be lit up as an offering in exchange for some treasure. Lambart started to help keep the place clean along with Tortington from dirt or dust.
Runemarker asked Lambart if they would continue to expand the lair. While Runemarker refuses to accept that the Clan goes by Effulgence now he asked Lambart "Will we still expand the clan even if it is under the direction of the Lightweaver?". Lambart paused at this but agreed to expand the Clan at once. They had accumulated the treasures to expand and placed it in a container. The Lightweaver accepted their offering although responded "You do not need this much space BEINGs. I will allow you to expand as you wish but in exchange you will have to work with your spirituality of returning to be light." Runemarker grew frustrated at this response as the Arcanist had let them expand the clan when they offered treasures without condition. Just what did the Lightweaver mean 'work on your spirituality of returning to be light'? Was the Lightweaver asking them to accept more light dragons into the clan. Runemarker questioned Lambart over this and the Banescale shrugged.
"You have to see everything as light. Regardless of what element you were born with it's important to see everything as light. I have heard that you used to give light to the Festival Weeks by having a new recruit and giving dragons apparel. That's giving light. You celebrated the festivities by giving light to them. Although it can be confused with fun and enjoyment the Lightweaver calls on us to be radiant light." Runemarker was more confused by the but felt angry.
"Do you mean to say as we give light to expanding the Clan?" Runemarker asked. Lambart nodded.
"You're giving light to having a big Clan. You have to see your actions as callings and hearken to the one Lightweaver calls on you to take action on." Lambart responded.
Musing by Tobin
Musing by Tirtouga678
From Nishiboys
There is something magical about this land. Lambart felt it the moment he stepped foot upon their new region. The way the light stretches itself across the territory like a leisurely cat just woken from a nap. The way the rays and refractions bounce off elegant roofs and down narrow paths, bathing the world in its everlasting warmth.
This land was theirs, and theirs it would stay. For the Lightweaver promised them peace and tranquility, and so it was delivered. For the Lightweaver promised prosperity and glory, and the Lightweaver gifted these fields to be theirs, and oh, how wonderfully the Lightweaver bestowed it upon them.
Lambart feels it with every breath in his chest, with every stitch of his being, with every exhale Lambart relishes in their new domain, in the all encompassing faith. With every breath, every droll of the minute, Lambart could feel it.
Elysium. The blessed isles. Euphoria. Paradise upon this worldly plane. The lands so aptly named, so settled by the disciples of the blessed Lightweaver, hallowed and graced. The epitome of their clan, their home, their livelihood.
Slowly, steadily, around him the sounds pick up as the clan awakens from its slumber, the sun stretching its influence. From the diligent workers to the murmured prayers, to the tolling of bells signifying the hour and—
Lambart pauses.
There. A discordant hum. The twang of an out of tune instrument. There is a heart that beats to a different rhythm. One not of this land, nor of this place.
It comes to him in the rising of voices. It comes from the clatter of thrown objects. It comes, just as Lambart feared, from the new delegates.
They do not notice when Lambart approaches, never hurried nor harried because their goddess watches from above and known are her teachings and care. Were She concerned, Lambart would notice, but there is nothing more but the beginning of unease in his chest, the typical stirrings of discontent borne from strife.
The others notice, taking their leave one by one, some muttering their greetings, some nodding, stepping away in a steadily trickling stream until Lambart stands alone before the two arguing delegates.
“Cease they squabbles," Lambart states, voice smooth and soft as a summer breeze, yet cutting as a flash of lightning in an autumn storm. "And pray, speak of what is on thy minds.”
"He is a thief!" cries the fae, pointing accusingly at the other. "A scoundrel of the night! And yet he seeks to break fast at my den, to steal the riches from my table."
“It is hardly my fault thine honor is none. How can I steal what was neither mine nor yours? You curry favor from those around you, seek dominion over that which is not yours, and yet thou accuse me of such foolhardy deeds when thou are no better? Worse, perhaps.” The nocturne scoffs, a disgusted breath of noise.
The fae puffs up like an angry cat, and Lambart steps easily between them with a shake of his head.
“We are all children of the Lightweaver,” Lambart intones seriously. “The Lightweaver has called to us from all stretches of the world. From different elements, from different flights, we have all found shelter within her lands. She watches over us, blesses our days and nights. To turn away from each other is to turn away from her.”
He fixes each of them with an even stare, with the gravity of his words.
“Who are you to choose who is worthy or not of being in her glory? Who are you to play judge and executioner when her eyes see all?
“Go now,” he says to the fae. “Pray for forgiveness, for pardon for your lack of foresight. For overstepping your bounds. She is eternal, and she holds final judgment.
“Go now,” he says to the nocturne, “and make amends for your deeds. You are free to continue your day today, but take note, if you make the same mistake again, her mercy is not everlasting.”
The dragons bow awkwardly, chastised and solemn, and Lambart dismisses them from his sight.
This land is magical and not to be trifled with. And Lambart maintains this sacred place.
Musing by Rosoidela
From PhantasiDreamin
From NightOrchiid
From kirathekat
From crazygadget
By HurricaneWinds
Quote:
Lambart knew well when to question the will of the Lightweaver; never. When she answered his prayers for guidance with an order, he would follow it. For it would always lead to the light he sought. He would do anything to remain in favor of his goddess, to remain a child of the light.
He had, of course, heard stories of those who had spurned his goddess’s guidance, turned from the way of the light. They dwelt in the dank hovels of the Tangled Wood, under the dark eye of the shadow goddess. He did not intend to be one of those.
If the Lightweaver bade Lambart sacrifice one close to him to his Mother’s light, he would do so knowing that the chosen one would rise shining in his Mother’s brilliance. That is what he told himself until the day came that the Lightweaver demanded a dragon be her priest.
It was an honor. If Lambart had been offered this position, he would be grateful beyond words. But he was not; this did not sting him in any way. He understood that he could not yet serve his goddess in the closest way a dragon might.
And so he journeyed to bring forth the one whom the Lightweaver had laid her glorious sight upon. Someday, he would be the one sought out to deliver the words of the Lightweaver. Not now; now he would find her the priest the Mother had decided was worthy.
Someday, he too would be deemed worthy by Her Brilliance.
By ShadowSky
By Me (Al3s1s)
From Scorisyn
Lambart is, by all accounts, one of the Lightweaver's most devoted deacons.
Ask anyone in the clan, and they'll tell you the same thing - that Lambart is a spiritual leader like no other, dedicated to his goddess above nearly all else, and difficult to find fault with. If he's not helping guide others back onto the path of light - whether through preaching sermons, or mediating any conflicts before they get out of hand - he's busy assisting with inventory organization, or meditating to better seek inner peace. It's admirable how dedicated he is, really, and Lambart takes much pride in his work, for it is all done in the name of the Lightweaver.
He's happy to do what he does, really. Knowing he's played a part in changing the lives of others for good leaves him with a sense of glowing satisfaction, but sometimes, on darker and gloomier days, his mortality gets the best of him. After all, his clan is already well-aware of the virtues of the Lightweaver and her benevolence. What more is there left for him to do but repeat the same motions, day in and day out? Sometimes even the words of scripture feel fake rolling off his tongue, too dry and too rehearsed to really convince anyone to renew their faith in his goddess. What's the point of trying to keep others faithful when his own loyalty is wavering?
It's a damning reminder that he is, ultimately, a mortal being made out of doubts and selfish ego. During times like these, he'll end sermons early just to shut himself in his room for some much-needed solace, trying to decipher where his heart has gone astray. Is it boredom? Restlessness? Fiddling with the scrolls which he usually reads his gospel off of, Lambart blows out a hefty sigh. He's been doing the Lightweaver's work for years now. It only makes sense that he'd have moments like these now and then.
It doesn't do much to ease the guilt gnawing at his conscience, though. Getting out his little prayer mat and settling down with the scrolls in his lap - like some sort of guiding charm - Lambart closes his eyes.
When he next opens them, he's standing in a well-lit meadow of sunflowers, swaying in the gentle breeze. The sunlight is comfortingly warm on his skin, Lambart turning his face to bask in the reassuring warmth of it before a clear, smooth voice resonates through the air.
"My beloved child."
Lambart turns, modestly keeping his eyes averted from the divine being in front of him. "Lightweaver," he breathes reverently, dipping into a low, respectful bow. "I am here to heed your will, as always."
There's a low, pleasant humming sound coming from above him. The Lightweaver's presence is ordinarily too bright for any ordinary mortal to glimpse with their bare eyes, but she has afforded him the luxury of not being blinded in her presence, seeing as he is one of her devotees. "You are troubled," she murmurs, her voice low with concern. "Your mind is clouded, your heart filled with doubts. What troubles you so, child?"
Instantly, Lambart's on his knees, scrambling desperately for the words to explain himself to his goddess. It's a good thing that she's always been a merciful goddess, allows him the chance to speak before meting out judgement. "I don't know what came over me," he blurts. "I'm sorry, Lightweaver, please, forgive this servant for his lack of discipline. I've just been..."
"You are weary of your duties," muses the Lightweaver. Lambart nearly looks up in alarm, only remembering his manners at the end and forcing himself to look at the ground instead.
"I would never," he protests, but the Lightweaver cuts him off.
"Peace, Lambart. I do not mean this negatively." His relieved sigh is audible. Amusement colours her tone as she continues, mixed with a gentle kindness that feels much like the warmth of the sun after a light shower. "I only mean that perhaps you ought to take a break from your duties now and then. I don't wish for my children to be unhappy, after all, and as one of my beloved deacons, you deserve to be happy, too."
His shoulders slump, tension bleeding out of them slowly but surely. "What would you have me do, then, Lightweaver?" he queries, careful to keep his tone light. All around him, the sunflowers begin to lose their color, fading into a black void at the edges of his vision. His audience with the goddess is coming to an end, it seems. All he can make out is the low rumble of her chuckle, and her parting words.
"I will leave that decision in your capable hands, Lambart. Rest well."
Then Lambart blinks awake, and he's back in his room once more.
Rest well. Two simple words, but to him they are a mystery waiting to be unfolded. For as long as he can remember, he's always kept himself busy, for fear of what sinful thoughts might creep into his mind when he's not otherwise occupied. Now that he's effectively been forced to take a break, however, he finds he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.
After putting the scrolls back into their rightful place on the bookshelf, Lambart sets out on a stroll of the clan's living grounds. Maybe he can find something to do that isn't so taxing, and that might count? As he passes, multiple other dragons look up from their work to wave at him, or otherwise utter warm greetings - Lambart returns them as best as he can, still lost in thought. There's no more sermons to give today, so that's out of the question. There's no fights to mediate, no pressing issues that require his attention. Who would've thought being idle could make him feel so lost?
So deeply troubled by his dilemma is he that he doesn't even realize he's left the village entirely, and that his feet have taken him to the grassy outskirts.
It's a warm, sunny day outside. Not too hot, thanks to the mercy of several clouds obscuring the horizon, but it's the kind of slow, lazy afternoon that makes one want to curl up on a rock and nap. There's the faintest hints of a light breeze blowing, just enough to keep the afternoon air from getting too stale and humid. Back in the village, the young ones are probably napping at this hour. It couldn't hurt to take a page out of their books. Lambart pauses to survey the ground, before picking his way over to an empty spot in the open field that doesn't look too bumpy. Careful not to get his clothing too rumpled, Lambart smooths them out, before lying back on the grass with a little sigh and staring up at the sky above.
The clouds drift serenely across the baby blue sky, fluffy and light. Funny. He's never really taken the time to admire them much, but the longer he stares, the more he swears some of them take the funniest shapes. One of them looks like a flower, another like a squirrel holding a nut, and the one off to his right looks like a spiral dragon's gone twisting and turning right through it, with how many circular rings there are. Without him realizing it, the unease that's been eating at him the entire day has melted away without a trace, leaving behind only a sense of relaxed contentment. Maybe this is what it really means to take some time off for himself, and to rest well.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he can almost hear his goddess's hum of approval. He's going to have to do this more often. Lambart can't recall the last time his normally busy mind was so silent and at peace. He could spend hours like this, flat on the grass with nothing to disturb his solitude, just watching the clouds go by and dreaming up shapes, even sometimes little stories for clusters of differently shaped clouds. The only danger here is if he were to fall asleep outside like this, but this area is safe enough that he really doesn't have anything to worry about.
Yes, Lambart muses, stretching out on the grass and letting the sun's warmth soak into his bones.
Today will be a good day.
From rei711
(Finished gene project from a triple Basic October 12, 2021)
(Name means "Light of the Land" in Germany)
As had been foretold to the founders, thy decision to become members of the Light Flight by the elapse of Starfall Celebration 2021 had come to pass. The LIGHTWEAVER would welcome the dragons of the clan with Lambart BEING amongst one of the Deacons faithful to the Lightweaver. Lambart can sense some dissonance between the members of Hephormet to which the LIGHTWEAVER states "HELP THEM TO RETURN TO THE LIGHT!". Lambart adhered to thy command by helping start a new order amongst Elysian with an Acolyte (Talopintgafi). Lambart is drawn to the Angels who reveal to Thee "We bring to thy clan order when it is lost. We have gathered in essence, upholding deities' commands. Some of us need help with returning to thy LIGHT ESSENCE! Difficulties await thee in the upcoming days but fear us not for LIGHTWEAVER would not have lead thee to an impossible errand. Remember that thy dragons' loyalty may lie in different dieties but all are a part of the same collective. T'is time!".
Once Lambart reached adulthood he underwent some of Hephormet's (The Clan) training to help the young fend off against the BeastClans. There is something about Paulino that garners his attention. It is as if the dragon harbors some dissonance amongst some of the Clan members to which Paulino responded "I wish to have my own clan someday. One that rivals the Clan when it comes to populace."
One of the callings that Lightweaver gave to Lambart was to change the Clan's name. Lambart wondered why but a fight broke up with some of the Clan members prefering their old clan name. Thus a division of Hephormet was born. As called by the Lightweaver, Lambart named the Clan Effulgence starting from then and there. Some members of Hephormet left the clan while some other members stayed. Adorinda and Erskine had left to serve the Lightweaver which made the clan dissonant as their previous system of earning treasure to spoil a dragon would have become naught. Lambart did his best to calm down the members when Yeshua stepped in. Ve calmed down the dragons by telling them that "the upcoming changes will serve us well on our path toward holiness." It wasn't fair that some dragons left to serve different deities and the founders had left to help the Lightweaver with what she needed at the time.
"The Lightweaver is asking us to return to the light. Anyone that does not agree with this, leave the premises and help another clan or serve the Lightweaver thyself. We will be helped by the angels towards this glorious calling. Don't ask what you will eat or where you will sleep. We must spread the Lightweaver's light wherever and whenever we are called. Can you listen to the Lightweaver?"-Yeshua
Lambart found a friendship with Yeshua as he would help with the dissonance between the dragons of Hephormet now transition into Effulgence.
One of the callings was to head into the realm of light in Laternlea Port. Some dragons were afraid of leaving Gejuvaxy (The Observatory) behind after it had taken so much work to make Gejuvaxy. Lightweaver called for them to leave everything behind and travel to the port. Although most were saddened, some members accepted this new transition into Effulgence. There were some that left however and never came back.
As they had reached Laternlea Port, Tortington and Liquerito would welcome the dragons to Laternlea Port. Both having a Light Tome in hand to read the sacred scriptures that call forth The Lightweaver, they would help teach the remaining members of Effulgence their roles in Laternlea Port.
One of the first requests from the Lightweaver was to make a shrine for the dragons of Effulgence. "Build a shrine in my honor to help bring these beings closer to me!" Paul was skeptical at first as all their years in Elysian they had never heard the Arcanist request a shrine. The most that Paul could remember was his parent's offering treasures and items to help expand Hephormet. Even as Unni would speak with the Arcanist the most she would talk about was recruited members outside their festival weeks. Paul however ablidged to build a shrine for the Lightweaver once his half-sibling Alona said that "It will help us grow closer to the Lightweaver more than we had ever grown closer to the Arcanist, with Unni." Paul willingly helped Liquerito and Tortington build a shrine in Laternlea Port.
A lot of materials from their previous vault had served with the construction of the shrine. It was made of marble and there were some statues with and some that could be lit up as an offering in exchange for some treasure. Lambart started to help keep the place clean along with Tortington from dirt or dust.
Runemarker asked Lambart if they would continue to expand the lair. While Runemarker refuses to accept that the Clan goes by Effulgence now he asked Lambart "Will we still expand the clan even if it is under the direction of the Lightweaver?". Lambart paused at this but agreed to expand the Clan at once. They had accumulated the treasures to expand and placed it in a container. The Lightweaver accepted their offering although responded "You do not need this much space BEINGs. I will allow you to expand as you wish but in exchange you will have to work with your spirituality of returning to be light." Runemarker grew frustrated at this response as the Arcanist had let them expand the clan when they offered treasures without condition. Just what did the Lightweaver mean 'work on your spirituality of returning to be light'? Was the Lightweaver asking them to accept more light dragons into the clan. Runemarker questioned Lambart over this and the Banescale shrugged.
"You have to see everything as light. Regardless of what element you were born with it's important to see everything as light. I have heard that you used to give light to the Festival Weeks by having a new recruit and giving dragons apparel. That's giving light. You celebrated the festivities by giving light to them. Although it can be confused with fun and enjoyment the Lightweaver calls on us to be radiant light." Runemarker was more confused by the but felt angry.
"Do you mean to say as we give light to expanding the Clan?" Runemarker asked. Lambart nodded.
"You're giving light to having a big Clan. You have to see your actions as callings and hearken to the one Lightweaver calls on you to take action on." Lambart responded.
Tobin wrote on 2021-10-26 09:33:16:
Thy Will Be Done - A Lambart Story
"You will bring my people back to the light!" Lightweaver's voice boomed, resounding across the cathedral's stone walls and rattling the panes of stained glass so harshly that Lambart feared they would shatter. The presence of the goddess shone through every crevice, forcing out the darkness of even the furthest corners of the room.
"I will do as you require," the deacon assented, knowing his role as one of service. He dare not oppose his goddess, let alone do so in her cathedral, in her presence.
"You will take the many elements of Elysian to my domain, for you are their shepherd. It is you who must guide those lost sheep back to my light eternal, to Lanternlea Port where you will found this church anew," she demanded. Lightweaver did not wait for an answer from the kneeling deacon, whose eyes had averted rather than blind himself in her radiance.
"Thy will be done," Lambart said though there were none to hear it, quaking. He remained upon the ground, knelt in prayer for several minutes. When the deacon rose, he knew who first to commune with. To the angels, he flew with haste unseen, knowing that they who were closest to the gods would know best how to accomplish his goddess's task. On his way, the acolyte Talopintgafi of the temple was stirred from his transcription of holy texts, sent with a message of warning to the clan's leadership.
He would warn Erskine and Adorinda of Lightweaver's command and bid them follow it lest the goddess's wrath follows the clan instead. Lambart's feckless heart doubted for a moment his worthiness to consult with beings of divine essence such as the angels, wondering if he would not be cast away. Yet, the deacon remained resolute in his faith and so followed through, sure of his goddess's eminence if not in himself.
"You will bring my people back to the light!" Lightweaver's voice boomed, resounding across the cathedral's stone walls and rattling the panes of stained glass so harshly that Lambart feared they would shatter. The presence of the goddess shone through every crevice, forcing out the darkness of even the furthest corners of the room.
"I will do as you require," the deacon assented, knowing his role as one of service. He dare not oppose his goddess, let alone do so in her cathedral, in her presence.
"You will take the many elements of Elysian to my domain, for you are their shepherd. It is you who must guide those lost sheep back to my light eternal, to Lanternlea Port where you will found this church anew," she demanded. Lightweaver did not wait for an answer from the kneeling deacon, whose eyes had averted rather than blind himself in her radiance.
"Thy will be done," Lambart said though there were none to hear it, quaking. He remained upon the ground, knelt in prayer for several minutes. When the deacon rose, he knew who first to commune with. To the angels, he flew with haste unseen, knowing that they who were closest to the gods would know best how to accomplish his goddess's task. On his way, the acolyte Talopintgafi of the temple was stirred from his transcription of holy texts, sent with a message of warning to the clan's leadership.
He would warn Erskine and Adorinda of Lightweaver's command and bid them follow it lest the goddess's wrath follows the clan instead. Lambart's feckless heart doubted for a moment his worthiness to consult with beings of divine essence such as the angels, wondering if he would not be cast away. Yet, the deacon remained resolute in his faith and so followed through, sure of his goddess's eminence if not in himself.
Musing by Tobin
Lambart wrote:
dissent brews like roiling stormclouds. do not let your worry overcome you, faithful acolyte - turn to the Mother who sits high in her gilded throne. step into the temple. let the light cleanse you, burn rosettes of recognition deep into your scales. cast aside the taint of your troubles and bask in the effervescence that the Mother gives so willingly, for you have been granted an audience by the brilliant, blinding sparks that rain down from every flare of the Mother’s wings. they now embroider your wings, your scales with the mark of a willing disciple.
rise, child of the light. you shall be at peace, for she has given you all that you need.
rise, child of the light. you shall be at peace, for she has given you all that you need.
From Nishiboys
There is something magical about this land. Lambart felt it the moment he stepped foot upon their new region. The way the light stretches itself across the territory like a leisurely cat just woken from a nap. The way the rays and refractions bounce off elegant roofs and down narrow paths, bathing the world in its everlasting warmth.
This land was theirs, and theirs it would stay. For the Lightweaver promised them peace and tranquility, and so it was delivered. For the Lightweaver promised prosperity and glory, and the Lightweaver gifted these fields to be theirs, and oh, how wonderfully the Lightweaver bestowed it upon them.
Lambart feels it with every breath in his chest, with every stitch of his being, with every exhale Lambart relishes in their new domain, in the all encompassing faith. With every breath, every droll of the minute, Lambart could feel it.
Elysium. The blessed isles. Euphoria. Paradise upon this worldly plane. The lands so aptly named, so settled by the disciples of the blessed Lightweaver, hallowed and graced. The epitome of their clan, their home, their livelihood.
Slowly, steadily, around him the sounds pick up as the clan awakens from its slumber, the sun stretching its influence. From the diligent workers to the murmured prayers, to the tolling of bells signifying the hour and—
Lambart pauses.
There. A discordant hum. The twang of an out of tune instrument. There is a heart that beats to a different rhythm. One not of this land, nor of this place.
It comes to him in the rising of voices. It comes from the clatter of thrown objects. It comes, just as Lambart feared, from the new delegates.
They do not notice when Lambart approaches, never hurried nor harried because their goddess watches from above and known are her teachings and care. Were She concerned, Lambart would notice, but there is nothing more but the beginning of unease in his chest, the typical stirrings of discontent borne from strife.
The others notice, taking their leave one by one, some muttering their greetings, some nodding, stepping away in a steadily trickling stream until Lambart stands alone before the two arguing delegates.
“Cease they squabbles," Lambart states, voice smooth and soft as a summer breeze, yet cutting as a flash of lightning in an autumn storm. "And pray, speak of what is on thy minds.”
"He is a thief!" cries the fae, pointing accusingly at the other. "A scoundrel of the night! And yet he seeks to break fast at my den, to steal the riches from my table."
“It is hardly my fault thine honor is none. How can I steal what was neither mine nor yours? You curry favor from those around you, seek dominion over that which is not yours, and yet thou accuse me of such foolhardy deeds when thou are no better? Worse, perhaps.” The nocturne scoffs, a disgusted breath of noise.
The fae puffs up like an angry cat, and Lambart steps easily between them with a shake of his head.
“We are all children of the Lightweaver,” Lambart intones seriously. “The Lightweaver has called to us from all stretches of the world. From different elements, from different flights, we have all found shelter within her lands. She watches over us, blesses our days and nights. To turn away from each other is to turn away from her.”
He fixes each of them with an even stare, with the gravity of his words.
“Who are you to choose who is worthy or not of being in her glory? Who are you to play judge and executioner when her eyes see all?
“Go now,” he says to the fae. “Pray for forgiveness, for pardon for your lack of foresight. For overstepping your bounds. She is eternal, and she holds final judgment.
“Go now,” he says to the nocturne, “and make amends for your deeds. You are free to continue your day today, but take note, if you make the same mistake again, her mercy is not everlasting.”
The dragons bow awkwardly, chastised and solemn, and Lambart dismisses them from his sight.
This land is magical and not to be trifled with. And Lambart maintains this sacred place.
Musing by Rosoidela
PhantasiDreamin wrote on 2022-11-14 20:45:15:
“Hello, Lambart.” A gentle voice called out to him. He was asleep inside a simple cave he built to contact a powerful being. Lambart did not need to turn his head to face the speaker, for the voice was all around him. “Hello, Lightweaver. I am delighted to tell you that fall is coming.” He says, trying to imagine the quintessential fall day. His mind soon turned to a place of oranges and greens, with a warm sun on their backs and a breeze that nipped their snouts. A huge shape was standing beside him. She almost looked like a dragon, but it was simply too alien in appearance to be identified as such. She smiles. “You have quite the imagination, this feels wonderful. It has been eons since I have felt Sornieth’s grass. Tell me more about fall.” She asked, sitting down as her blinding light softened. Lambart sat with her, trying to think of more things to say. “Food is now more plentiful. Poultrygiest is everywhere, tasty birds. We love to feast on them for Thanksgiving.” Lightweaver tilts her head. “Ah, I remember that somewhat. Where you eat all that food and just be with family. My family is rather splintered, but I certainly would love to try some of your clan’s cooking. Mind leaving a basket in here, full of whatever you can fit?” Lambert smiles. “Of course!”
At the Thanksgiving dinner, Lambert found time to sneak out and put a basket full of food in the cave section where he contacted Lightweaver. After a few hours of being with loved ones, he snuck out to check on the meal, only to see the basket completely empty.
At the Thanksgiving dinner, Lambert found time to sneak out and put a basket full of food in the cave section where he contacted Lightweaver. After a few hours of being with loved ones, he snuck out to check on the meal, only to see the basket completely empty.
From NightOrchiid
From kirathekat
From crazygadget
By HurricaneWinds
Quote:
Lambart knew well when to question the will of the Lightweaver; never. When she answered his prayers for guidance with an order, he would follow it. For it would always lead to the light he sought. He would do anything to remain in favor of his goddess, to remain a child of the light.
He had, of course, heard stories of those who had spurned his goddess’s guidance, turned from the way of the light. They dwelt in the dank hovels of the Tangled Wood, under the dark eye of the shadow goddess. He did not intend to be one of those.
If the Lightweaver bade Lambart sacrifice one close to him to his Mother’s light, he would do so knowing that the chosen one would rise shining in his Mother’s brilliance. That is what he told himself until the day came that the Lightweaver demanded a dragon be her priest.
It was an honor. If Lambart had been offered this position, he would be grateful beyond words. But he was not; this did not sting him in any way. He understood that he could not yet serve his goddess in the closest way a dragon might.
And so he journeyed to bring forth the one whom the Lightweaver had laid her glorious sight upon. Someday, he would be the one sought out to deliver the words of the Lightweaver. Not now; now he would find her the priest the Mother had decided was worthy.
Someday, he too would be deemed worthy by Her Brilliance.
By ShadowSky
By Me (Al3s1s)
Quote:
Lambart supposes that it is a blessing, that he feels Her presence everywhere with him. It means that the Lightweaver’s guidance is always with him, that he can trust Her light to shine on a new path for him. After all, he has devoted his life to Her. He might even say that he is Her greatest worshipper.
However … sometimes it feels like a burden. As Lambart surveys the temple he is tempted to call home now — that he has spent most of his life in — he knows the weight of his duty as the Lightweaver’s acolyte. He must not disappoint his deity. He must continue to serve Her until his dying day, may Her light continue to shine upon him. She will continue to guide him unless he forsakes Her, which he shall never do.
He knows that he shouldn’t be thinking his responsibilities are a weight. He should look at this glorious, bright temple, the poised marble statue of the Lightweaver radiating brilliance throughout the sacred grounds — and he should think how lucky he is to bask in Her radiance.
Slowly, he strides through the temple and gazes at the abandoned grounds. They aren’t fully abandoned — a Pearlcatcher is seated near one of the statues of Her Radiance, eyes closed in concentration. It is a pity that the Lightweaver does not have more acolytes … not enough dragons seek the light, it seems.
But this is all fine, he decides as he glances at the Pearlcatcher. Opening her eyes, the young Pearlcatcher catches his gaze and immediately averts her eyes again to the statue. He is well-known here, his presence always hovering around the temple. And so he decides; this responsibility is his. It is an honor to serve Her as devotedly as he does. It is the only correct path for him to follow, for Her light shines upon this path.
However … sometimes it feels like a burden. As Lambart surveys the temple he is tempted to call home now — that he has spent most of his life in — he knows the weight of his duty as the Lightweaver’s acolyte. He must not disappoint his deity. He must continue to serve Her until his dying day, may Her light continue to shine upon him. She will continue to guide him unless he forsakes Her, which he shall never do.
He knows that he shouldn’t be thinking his responsibilities are a weight. He should look at this glorious, bright temple, the poised marble statue of the Lightweaver radiating brilliance throughout the sacred grounds — and he should think how lucky he is to bask in Her radiance.
Slowly, he strides through the temple and gazes at the abandoned grounds. They aren’t fully abandoned — a Pearlcatcher is seated near one of the statues of Her Radiance, eyes closed in concentration. It is a pity that the Lightweaver does not have more acolytes … not enough dragons seek the light, it seems.
But this is all fine, he decides as he glances at the Pearlcatcher. Opening her eyes, the young Pearlcatcher catches his gaze and immediately averts her eyes again to the statue. He is well-known here, his presence always hovering around the temple. And so he decides; this responsibility is his. It is an honor to serve Her as devotedly as he does. It is the only correct path for him to follow, for Her light shines upon this path.
Lambart is, by all accounts, one of the Lightweaver's most devoted deacons.
Ask anyone in the clan, and they'll tell you the same thing - that Lambart is a spiritual leader like no other, dedicated to his goddess above nearly all else, and difficult to find fault with. If he's not helping guide others back onto the path of light - whether through preaching sermons, or mediating any conflicts before they get out of hand - he's busy assisting with inventory organization, or meditating to better seek inner peace. It's admirable how dedicated he is, really, and Lambart takes much pride in his work, for it is all done in the name of the Lightweaver.
He's happy to do what he does, really. Knowing he's played a part in changing the lives of others for good leaves him with a sense of glowing satisfaction, but sometimes, on darker and gloomier days, his mortality gets the best of him. After all, his clan is already well-aware of the virtues of the Lightweaver and her benevolence. What more is there left for him to do but repeat the same motions, day in and day out? Sometimes even the words of scripture feel fake rolling off his tongue, too dry and too rehearsed to really convince anyone to renew their faith in his goddess. What's the point of trying to keep others faithful when his own loyalty is wavering?
It's a damning reminder that he is, ultimately, a mortal being made out of doubts and selfish ego. During times like these, he'll end sermons early just to shut himself in his room for some much-needed solace, trying to decipher where his heart has gone astray. Is it boredom? Restlessness? Fiddling with the scrolls which he usually reads his gospel off of, Lambart blows out a hefty sigh. He's been doing the Lightweaver's work for years now. It only makes sense that he'd have moments like these now and then.
It doesn't do much to ease the guilt gnawing at his conscience, though. Getting out his little prayer mat and settling down with the scrolls in his lap - like some sort of guiding charm - Lambart closes his eyes.
When he next opens them, he's standing in a well-lit meadow of sunflowers, swaying in the gentle breeze. The sunlight is comfortingly warm on his skin, Lambart turning his face to bask in the reassuring warmth of it before a clear, smooth voice resonates through the air.
"My beloved child."
Lambart turns, modestly keeping his eyes averted from the divine being in front of him. "Lightweaver," he breathes reverently, dipping into a low, respectful bow. "I am here to heed your will, as always."
There's a low, pleasant humming sound coming from above him. The Lightweaver's presence is ordinarily too bright for any ordinary mortal to glimpse with their bare eyes, but she has afforded him the luxury of not being blinded in her presence, seeing as he is one of her devotees. "You are troubled," she murmurs, her voice low with concern. "Your mind is clouded, your heart filled with doubts. What troubles you so, child?"
Instantly, Lambart's on his knees, scrambling desperately for the words to explain himself to his goddess. It's a good thing that she's always been a merciful goddess, allows him the chance to speak before meting out judgement. "I don't know what came over me," he blurts. "I'm sorry, Lightweaver, please, forgive this servant for his lack of discipline. I've just been..."
"You are weary of your duties," muses the Lightweaver. Lambart nearly looks up in alarm, only remembering his manners at the end and forcing himself to look at the ground instead.
"I would never," he protests, but the Lightweaver cuts him off.
"Peace, Lambart. I do not mean this negatively." His relieved sigh is audible. Amusement colours her tone as she continues, mixed with a gentle kindness that feels much like the warmth of the sun after a light shower. "I only mean that perhaps you ought to take a break from your duties now and then. I don't wish for my children to be unhappy, after all, and as one of my beloved deacons, you deserve to be happy, too."
His shoulders slump, tension bleeding out of them slowly but surely. "What would you have me do, then, Lightweaver?" he queries, careful to keep his tone light. All around him, the sunflowers begin to lose their color, fading into a black void at the edges of his vision. His audience with the goddess is coming to an end, it seems. All he can make out is the low rumble of her chuckle, and her parting words.
"I will leave that decision in your capable hands, Lambart. Rest well."
Then Lambart blinks awake, and he's back in his room once more.
Rest well. Two simple words, but to him they are a mystery waiting to be unfolded. For as long as he can remember, he's always kept himself busy, for fear of what sinful thoughts might creep into his mind when he's not otherwise occupied. Now that he's effectively been forced to take a break, however, he finds he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.
After putting the scrolls back into their rightful place on the bookshelf, Lambart sets out on a stroll of the clan's living grounds. Maybe he can find something to do that isn't so taxing, and that might count? As he passes, multiple other dragons look up from their work to wave at him, or otherwise utter warm greetings - Lambart returns them as best as he can, still lost in thought. There's no more sermons to give today, so that's out of the question. There's no fights to mediate, no pressing issues that require his attention. Who would've thought being idle could make him feel so lost?
So deeply troubled by his dilemma is he that he doesn't even realize he's left the village entirely, and that his feet have taken him to the grassy outskirts.
It's a warm, sunny day outside. Not too hot, thanks to the mercy of several clouds obscuring the horizon, but it's the kind of slow, lazy afternoon that makes one want to curl up on a rock and nap. There's the faintest hints of a light breeze blowing, just enough to keep the afternoon air from getting too stale and humid. Back in the village, the young ones are probably napping at this hour. It couldn't hurt to take a page out of their books. Lambart pauses to survey the ground, before picking his way over to an empty spot in the open field that doesn't look too bumpy. Careful not to get his clothing too rumpled, Lambart smooths them out, before lying back on the grass with a little sigh and staring up at the sky above.
The clouds drift serenely across the baby blue sky, fluffy and light. Funny. He's never really taken the time to admire them much, but the longer he stares, the more he swears some of them take the funniest shapes. One of them looks like a flower, another like a squirrel holding a nut, and the one off to his right looks like a spiral dragon's gone twisting and turning right through it, with how many circular rings there are. Without him realizing it, the unease that's been eating at him the entire day has melted away without a trace, leaving behind only a sense of relaxed contentment. Maybe this is what it really means to take some time off for himself, and to rest well.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he can almost hear his goddess's hum of approval. He's going to have to do this more often. Lambart can't recall the last time his normally busy mind was so silent and at peace. He could spend hours like this, flat on the grass with nothing to disturb his solitude, just watching the clouds go by and dreaming up shapes, even sometimes little stories for clusters of differently shaped clouds. The only danger here is if he were to fall asleep outside like this, but this area is safe enough that he really doesn't have anything to worry about.
Yes, Lambart muses, stretching out on the grass and letting the sun's warmth soak into his bones.
Today will be a good day.
From rei711
mgcltwo wrote on 2023-09-29 22:55:40:
Lambart's journey had been difficult from the start. Many were skeptical of his connection to the Lightweaver. They doubted him when he recounted callings from the Lightweaver, mocked him when he requested for help to get through difficult times, left him when his promises were not delivered. They spoke ill of him, calling him a liar, a conman; someone who took advantage of other people's weaknesses for his own benefit. It pained him that they had forgotten how he had been the first to offer them shelter, food and a home of trust when they were in hardship. Mortals often forgot their worst moments when they were in their best. That was not something Lambart could fault them for - it was the nature of existence.
It wasn't a question about him and his ability to communicate with the Lightweaver themself. Lambart knew he could hear the Lightweaver's voice and nothing anybody said could take that away from him. He had his faith, his trust, his devotion to the Lightweaver - his connection to the deity was his own to embrace. It was, instead, a reflection of everyone else's doubt in the Lightweaver's existence and abilities - and his failure to bring his fellow dragons into the light. In their time with him, he had not managed to enlighten them, to show them the true path, to reveal to them Lightweaver's plans for them.
Life was hard, certainly. Life was meant to be hard. Only through trials and tribulations can they prove themselves to the Lightweaver. Only through dark times can the Lightweaver show them the Light. Still, Lambart, too, was a mere mortal. He needed food, shelter, companionship. He could not completely disregard the isolation he faced from others. Being forsaken by those he cared for the most took a toll on him.
"Please," Lambart whispered, his voice so small in the open space of the shrine. He folded his wings behind him, lowered his head to the ground in a prayer. Next to him, Lior did the same. "Please, Lightweaver. I have done everything you have asked of me. I have listened and conveyed your wisdom to this realm. I only ask for reassurance. A sign that I am doing the right thing. Please, give me the strength to carry on."
The Lightweaver was silent in return. Not a whisper of their voice, not a glow of their light. Of course, the one time he asked for a sign from the Lightweaver, the Lightweaver did not oblige.
"You just need to have faith," Lior spoke, offering his support. Lambart took a shaky inhale and nodded. He already knew that. He had always known that. He just needed a listening ear for his small mortal problems, and who better to tell them to than his deity?
Lambart returned Lior a small smile of gratitude. He could not be more thankful for Lior's everlasting presence, his strength through the thick and thin. He would not have been able to spread the Lightweaver's messages if Lior had not been by his side. "Let's return to our duties," Lambart said, straightening himself.
"You'd never know," Lior offered, "The Lightweaver's presence comes in unexpected signs."
"Of course," Lambart agreed. He found comfort in Lior's words. If he had touched one heart, it would be Lior's.
They stepped back out into the sunlight and took the path back to their clan.
Lambart lifted a wing to shield his eyes from the light. The sun sure was bright today.
It wasn't a question about him and his ability to communicate with the Lightweaver themself. Lambart knew he could hear the Lightweaver's voice and nothing anybody said could take that away from him. He had his faith, his trust, his devotion to the Lightweaver - his connection to the deity was his own to embrace. It was, instead, a reflection of everyone else's doubt in the Lightweaver's existence and abilities - and his failure to bring his fellow dragons into the light. In their time with him, he had not managed to enlighten them, to show them the true path, to reveal to them Lightweaver's plans for them.
Life was hard, certainly. Life was meant to be hard. Only through trials and tribulations can they prove themselves to the Lightweaver. Only through dark times can the Lightweaver show them the Light. Still, Lambart, too, was a mere mortal. He needed food, shelter, companionship. He could not completely disregard the isolation he faced from others. Being forsaken by those he cared for the most took a toll on him.
"Please," Lambart whispered, his voice so small in the open space of the shrine. He folded his wings behind him, lowered his head to the ground in a prayer. Next to him, Lior did the same. "Please, Lightweaver. I have done everything you have asked of me. I have listened and conveyed your wisdom to this realm. I only ask for reassurance. A sign that I am doing the right thing. Please, give me the strength to carry on."
The Lightweaver was silent in return. Not a whisper of their voice, not a glow of their light. Of course, the one time he asked for a sign from the Lightweaver, the Lightweaver did not oblige.
"You just need to have faith," Lior spoke, offering his support. Lambart took a shaky inhale and nodded. He already knew that. He had always known that. He just needed a listening ear for his small mortal problems, and who better to tell them to than his deity?
Lambart returned Lior a small smile of gratitude. He could not be more thankful for Lior's everlasting presence, his strength through the thick and thin. He would not have been able to spread the Lightweaver's messages if Lior had not been by his side. "Let's return to our duties," Lambart said, straightening himself.
"You'd never know," Lior offered, "The Lightweaver's presence comes in unexpected signs."
"Of course," Lambart agreed. He found comfort in Lior's words. If he had touched one heart, it would be Lior's.
They stepped back out into the sunlight and took the path back to their clan.
Lambart lifted a wing to shield his eyes from the light. The sun sure was bright today.
Written by mgcltwo
(Finished gene project from a triple Basic October 12, 2021)
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.
Feed this dragon Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
Exalting Lambart to the service of the Gladekeeper will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
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