Sleipnir
(#76626013)
3rd Gen Barghest - Ire/Alabaster
Familiar
Silverstring Harp
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
26.66 m
Wingspan
17.2 m
Weight
5746.02 kg
Genetics
Dust
Savannah
Savannah
Grey
Peregrine
Peregrine
Moon
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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 S L E I P N I R 
BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT
GENERATION III IRE | ALABASTER'S LINE 
"The wolves are not what you should fear when you've angered the deer,"
T he forest holds many secrets, and many more monsters within. A beast lurks in waiting, curious about the world beyond the woods. |
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The last remnants of winter were beginning to fade. Snow melt from high in the mountains now coalesced into icy rivers and the first blades of spring grass began to emerge. It was in this time of change that the light of the full moon glossed over the land and with it, a new generation of beasts came forth. This had been an unusual nest, for both Hafwen and Acheron hadn’t the time to tend it as they would have liked. Instead, they hid the three eggs somewhere deep beneath the snow entwined amidst the roots of a great, dormant tree. The Barghests still came when they were able, but in the absence of their voices whispering down to the unhatched eggs, the children listened instead to whatever wandered near the tree. It was these beings, strange creatures with many limbs or tails that the children heard. . . and their shape within the eggs twisted and changed as they listened. When they finally hatched, they took the names of ancient creatures and their twisted forms mimicked the things that had surrounded them before their birth. They seemed able to communicate in an ancient language with plants and animals alike and they wandered from their nest to find new purposes in the world. The third child called itself Sleipnir. She had listened most closely to the pounding hooves of the creatures who ran through the woods and her own form had a great many limbs that carried her as quickly as a gale sweeping across the land. Much like her sister, she became a guide to restless spirits, carrying them across realms to find whatever peace or closure they sought before moving on. Her voice was barely a whisper, the faintest echo of breath upon the wind. She is hungry, and she is alone. This is not atypical for the beast called Sleipnir, there is little beyond the hunger and the cold and the loneliness. If she had words with which to articulate, she would perhaps wonder what happened to her siblings, her parents, her pack. But Sleipnir has no words like that, so she sits on a snowbank and watches elk graze in the cold early spring. If Sleipnir had the words, perhaps she would question if she'd been left, or if she'd wandered too far from the nest. Her legs, numerous and long, were prone to wandering. Something broke from the tree-line, charging through the melting snow towards the herd. The elk try to run, but the predator is faster, stronger, and it grabs onto the hindquarters of the slowest elk and holds on. Sleipnir is too far to see the glint of teeth, or the intricacies of battle, but she watches with faint interest anyways. The predator looks like her, but wrong; with no pelt of thick fur to protect against the snow, and not enough legs to propel them forward. Perhaps it's something Different, like moose are different from elk. The predator, the Different, succeeds in its hunt. The elk goes down, and the predator makes short work of finishing off the elk. It stands above the kill, not eating or moving, its mouth moving in silent chatter like a wildhorse's foal. Perhaps the Different is young, like her. Sleipnir knows little of herself, but she knows she does not possess the desire to find a mate, to have children, to protect territory, like the adult wolves do. The Different must be young too then, if it is chattering like a foal; young and alone, like her. She picks her way over the landscape in silent approach. The Different is smaller than her, but already a proficient hunter. It still lacks a warm pelt. These things make Sleipnir feel something different; something unknown. She does not want the Different to be cold, or hungry, or alone. The Different notices her then, startling and nearly tripping over itself as it backs away from the fallen elk. Sleipnir glances at the elk, and then back at the Different; she knows how this goes, how the bear steals from the coyote, but she lacks a desire to steal. Her hunger is quelled, not by food but by something else. The Different speaks now, in a tongue Sleipnir recognizes from her parents. "You can have it, you can have it, oh Arcanist what is that!" Sleipnir chuffs at the Different's chatter. It is truly like a foal, isn't it? She dips into a play pose, and darts forward to nip at the Different, trying to goad them into a game. Her teeth catch the Different's ear, and tear easily through the thin, leathery skin. Sleipnir didn't mean to hurt, but the Different yelps like a bird's alarm call and runs from her. Sleipnir follows, but only for a few seconds, and then turns around and goes back to the fallen elk. She didn't mean to hurt, and scare the Different away. Perhaps that's why she's alone out here; like the cougar and the bear, she shouldn't have a pack. At least she's not hungry, anymore. Sleipnir grows up alone. There is no-one to notice when she grows into her big paws, or when her baby teeth sharpen and become long as knives. She hunts, she sleeps, she patrols her portion of forest. The days lengthen and shorten with the season, an endless expanse of time, and Sleipnir changes with the forest. She is hungry, but she is not alone. The restless dead greet her, in quiet whispers and the whistle of wind passing through the canopy. They died out here, succumbing to the elements, or hunted. Many things in the forest will hunt, and Sleipnir learns that the Different Ones hunt here, too. They hunt not just for sustenance, but for sport. Pelts and teeth and claws, trophies and spite, fat and bone and all that can be taken from their prey. In the days when the Different Ones hunt, Sleipnir sometimes watches them. She sees the foal-like one often, with older Different Ones, who guard and teach the foal-like one. It is one such day when she watches from the woods as the Different Ones prepare a kill, that the darkening sky finally goes black. She raises her head to the sky, and sees something that she doesn't have the language to comprehend. "Sister?" Sleipnir asks, her voice rough from disuse, as something blots out the sun. She stands, to flee or fight, but the sky does not lighten. The Different Ones have frozen in place, the foal-like one grown like her. Something in her gut tells her that it is not her sister responsible for this-- it is something Else. For a moment, she glances towards the Different Ones, and catches the gaze of the foal-like one. But Sleipnir has little words at the best of times, and she does not understand the silent conversation. She turns and flees into the woods, clawing her way over fallen trees and through the snow back towards her den. The sun comes back, eventually. Sleipnir doesn't trust it, anymore. Sleipnir is hungry, but she is no longer alone. The dead watch from the shadows, following her, whispering to her. There are things in this forest that stalk lost souls, so Sleipnir allows the dead to follow her; they give her companionship, though it's never tangible. It is growing cold once again, and she must hunt before the prey dries up and the forest slumbers in eternal night. A turkey pecks through the undergrowth, digging through the fresh snow to reach tiny, dying sprouts of green and slow-moving insects. Sleipnir stalks, lazy in her movements, because hunting is something to do that will keep her mind occupied. She lunges when her mind drifts to boredom, snapping the turkey up and her stomach growls for more. The cold is biting, but her pelt is warm. Snap, a twig breaking underneath an unwary passerby. Sleipnir takes the form of a large grey wolf, shedding her additional limbs for now; the Different Ones are numerous, and she has hunted them before. They are so arrogant, thinking themselves as the strongest predators in the woods, but Sleipnir can use this arrogance to her advantage. She looks up, and sees one of the Different Ones in brush, near-hidden. It is the foal-like one. She hesitates, and then darts away, her paws pounding along the ground. She allows herself to be chased, and she leads the foal-like one towards the soaring crags and steep, mountainous terrain that exists deeper into the forest. An arrow hits her hide, and she whines, but keeps running until she's cornered herself. Mouth open, her tongue lolling as she pants, she watches as the Different approaches. He is bigger now, but so is she. She doesn't care for the crunch of bones and flesh, but she is not subtle enough to lead the unwary from their dreams; devouring the body, but not the mind, is all she's capable of. She bares her teeth, and changes. The Different stumbles back, nearly dropping his bow, and before he can run she lunges. They wrestle in the fresh snow like children, until her fangs sink into the base of his neck just between his shoulder blades. He should have stayed far, far from the forest as soon as she saw her all those years ago; there is nobody for him to blame except himself. White-hot pain blossoms from Sleipnir's flank, and she lets the Different go with a howl. An arrow sticks out from her, matching the one the Different struck into her during the chase. More of the Different Ones converge, with bows and hunting daggers and ice-white eyes. She howls again, and flees. They are fast, but not faster than her. She can still taste the foal-like one's blood in her mouth, and her stomach growls once more. The beast runs past her den, past her territory, deeper and deeper into the wilderness until the Different Ones are just a haunting memory. There is no cave nearby, no convenient den, so she curls up in the roots of a tree and pulls the arrows from her body. She is hungry, and hurt. But as she wraps her wounds and waits for sunset, she realizes that she's not quite a beast like she thought; not like the wolves the Different Ones hunt. She's something Other, or maybe something More. Though Sleipnir doesn't know this, she's not alone, anymore. He finds her one season later. When the winds bring promise of snow, and the salmon fight the current upstream to spawn, the foal-like one arrives. Sleipnir smells him before she sees him; the scent of dried wheatgrass and musky fur floats on the wind, and she pauses in her fishing -- one claw still hooked around a wriggling salmon -- and perks up, waiting. He smells like her siblings, but Not. He is Other like her. Through the woods, she sees him; he is not Transformed, he lacks a thick pelt to keep the cold away, but he is Other despite it all. Pink eyes watch her from across the river, the water full of leaping fish, and Sleipnir tosses the salmon caught on her claws to the shore and settles down on the clay bank to eat. The Other will find its way to her, she is certain of it. "Beast," The Other says, standing above her as she devours her meal. "Perhaps if I kill you, my curse will be lifted," Sleipnir lunges up, and hooks a claw under the rags the Other drapes themselves in, and drags them closer. The Other raises their wings, teeth bared in snarl, and Sleipnir bares their own teeth in response. A low growl rattles their chest, and they raise their free hand to cradle the Other's torn ear. The soft leather is still torn, from baby-sharp incisors, back when Sleipnir did not understand the world. The Other is thin, almost sickly. They will not survive the winter like this, they may not even survive the autumn. "You are hungry," Sleipnir states, and the Other takes a swipe at them with blunt claws that she easily dodges. She lets them go, and retreats to the river; salmon dart between her legs, too enthralled by the promise of spawning in the safe ponds upstream. She lunges and snaps a fish between her teeth, and tosses it to the shore where the Other is standing. "Eat," The Other does not understand the world, but she will teach him.
Layout and artwork by awaicu
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