gorf
(#73347339)
Level 1 Skydancer
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.84 m
Wingspan
4.07 m
Weight
724.06 kg
Genetics
Forest
Metallic
Metallic
Terracotta
Breakup
Breakup
Forest
Koi
Koi
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
This morning sees me shedding the scales of my skin until I'm wet and dewy with growth. There are pieces of me, strands of my hair, and other people's ideas of what I am.
Like fingerprints left at a crime scene, there's an arrest warrant out for me because I never learned how to leave in a way that was not bloody.
I'm in an airport restroom, scrubbing my face in the mirror and I tell myself I am still filled with love so I am not ruined.
When I close my eyes, my mind opens to a reel of cardboard pictures, waterlogged and saturated both.
Do you remember that summer when we watched the lake and slept in the sun? Do you remember the milkweed pods crushed between our fingers?
There is always something about summer. Something about long bus rides spent watching yourself in the reflection of the glass. There is something about nostalgia that clogs our throats until we heave up the past. Something about it makes us gasp that This is not who I am anymore.
These transient places make me want to be transient. And so I think to myself I'm still filled with restlessness and so I'm not finished.
Do you remember the night when we climbed up on a rooftop on Spadina to watch the sunrise? We watched it rise up like ivy on a trellis, bare-armed and shivering. We drank the morning air like cold milk, strengthening the bones inside us, staining our organs with paint. You asked me not to leave.
There is something about the cherry end of a cigarette singing the edge of the photograph. There is something about putting it out and then lighting it again, trying for a better angle, trying to make it stick.
There's a payphone by the bus stop. I called you on it and there was static on the phone line. Your voice still cleaved right down the middle but I still hear Stay home. Please, stay home with me.
Do you remember the flickering neon signs blurred by rain on the camera lens? All we could see were the colours smeared by a child who doesn't know that lines are meant to keep things contained.
These liminal spaces make me want to be liminal. When I fall asleep against windows and dream about a time when I was still seamless and did not know that to be tender was to be easier to cut. The world has sliced at me like deli meats, like fruits plucked out of season. They curled my fists around hatchets and I told myself I'm filled with bitterness and so I'm filled with poison. I'm filled with poison and so I must be cured.
In my dream, we're still at that lake. We pressed our ears to the earth to hear the music, echoes of strings and hollowed wood. There are voices singing but we can't make out the words.
In my dream, you tell me that All of this is temporary and so we still have time. You still have time.
Like fingerprints left at a crime scene, there's an arrest warrant out for me because I never learned how to leave in a way that was not bloody.
I'm in an airport restroom, scrubbing my face in the mirror and I tell myself I am still filled with love so I am not ruined.
When I close my eyes, my mind opens to a reel of cardboard pictures, waterlogged and saturated both.
Do you remember that summer when we watched the lake and slept in the sun? Do you remember the milkweed pods crushed between our fingers?
There is always something about summer. Something about long bus rides spent watching yourself in the reflection of the glass. There is something about nostalgia that clogs our throats until we heave up the past. Something about it makes us gasp that This is not who I am anymore.
These transient places make me want to be transient. And so I think to myself I'm still filled with restlessness and so I'm not finished.
Do you remember the night when we climbed up on a rooftop on Spadina to watch the sunrise? We watched it rise up like ivy on a trellis, bare-armed and shivering. We drank the morning air like cold milk, strengthening the bones inside us, staining our organs with paint. You asked me not to leave.
There is something about the cherry end of a cigarette singing the edge of the photograph. There is something about putting it out and then lighting it again, trying for a better angle, trying to make it stick.
There's a payphone by the bus stop. I called you on it and there was static on the phone line. Your voice still cleaved right down the middle but I still hear Stay home. Please, stay home with me.
Do you remember the flickering neon signs blurred by rain on the camera lens? All we could see were the colours smeared by a child who doesn't know that lines are meant to keep things contained.
These liminal spaces make me want to be liminal. When I fall asleep against windows and dream about a time when I was still seamless and did not know that to be tender was to be easier to cut. The world has sliced at me like deli meats, like fruits plucked out of season. They curled my fists around hatchets and I told myself I'm filled with bitterness and so I'm filled with poison. I'm filled with poison and so I must be cured.
In my dream, we're still at that lake. We pressed our ears to the earth to hear the music, echoes of strings and hollowed wood. There are voices singing but we can't make out the words.
In my dream, you tell me that All of this is temporary and so we still have time. You still have time.
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Exalting gorf to the service of the Earthshaker will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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