Tourmaline
(#7701365)
Level 7 Spiral
Familiar
Rhodochrosite Crane
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Spiral
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.14 m
Wingspan
2.7 m
Weight
63.59 kg
Genetics
Coal
Ripple
Ripple
Lavender
Eye Spots
Eye Spots
Black
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 7 Spiral
EXP: 6899 / 11881
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
༻ N A M E ༺ - role - insert quote here
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Infinite is this universe, cold, dark, unrelenting. It owes one being nothing for their reality within it's suffocating grasp and, in the end, all will succumb to the mortality of existence. Answers. All sought them and he, with sharpened, pierced eyes gazed at the stars and he smiled and muttered under his breath at the complex secrecy this plane of existence held, he, of once sound mind, laughed, sounds dripping in mania and fear of this being that encompassed him entirely and yet he - he - knew nothing of the cosmos, the infinite, the verge. He had dedicated his entire life to uncovering what may lie out there beyond the black velvet night and the twinkling of dying stars and his mind merely laughed at his incompetence, the world roared and the universe blinked, and he was gone. In his efforts he had surpassed the torment pure arcane energy inflicted to his soul, his being, lightning and thunder pounding in his heart and blood a deadly contender in this game he so masterfully played, both elements sparking, dancing, picking at his brain and warping his form, determination, perseverance, all within a corrupt, weakened frame. He had appeared one day, one random, non-linear, spectacular day with a grin most grand on his lips, flitting, warping, heaving in delight as dried, raspy chuckles escaped from his curled maw. Stars. Cosmos. Universes. This strange, wonderful creature made it clear his intention on this earth was to study that which he could not see or reach, a sad, almost pitiful existence - there is that word again - to bear. Glasses atop his snout smudged, cracked, clothing creased, disheveled. An old tome strapped to his quivering, unstable body, and flowers, vibrant, almost unnaturally so, dangled from his neck. Upon wisps rosy feathers lay, flapping and moving somewhat... foreign. Twitching, snapping. They did not belong. He did not belong. Take him away, into the infinite. I beg of you, he cries, tears streaming. Let me in. Tell me what you're thinking. And the universe does not reply, for he means so little to her. Winding, flesh-like tunnels burrow, expand, give him solace, a room of wood and discarded books, of towering cases and shelves and untidy desks, of windows, staring into the expanse, blue and black, specks of light, living, breathing stars. Staring, hoping, wishing they would fall, whisper back the things he speaks into the raging night, but they refuse. They are not real. A feeling of hope, shattered by preludes to the absence of meaning. Madness. Laughter. A fit of writhing coils. spit, crooked smiles upon the floor, disgusting, doubtful, for he did not know the answer, and in the end he - he - would remain, pitifully existing in this pulsating, charnel womb, staring into eyes that blinked, stared, judged, through lenses not of his own. Rotting, diseased land that be outside, it's sky, tainted and clouded, hissed, dripped with foul liquid, blocked the sun from viewing it's vile form, blocked the moon from sights darker than the void. Quaint, that he lay between remnants of the past, pillars cracked, glass stained, staring to the future. He cannot leave. He wishes desperately so, but they do not let him. Pleading, screaming. He had already lost himself once. They could not risk it again. And in his dreams he swears he sees stars and constellations and dark matter devouring the infinite expanses of his mind, his universe, his self-proclaimed world, and he smiles for what he knows will come as tears roll down his face, faster, sharper, acid to his skin. One day he will succumb to the void, the darkness of stardust and mortality and he lowers his gaze to the floor, for they do not see his tears, the stars, and he weeps. Silently, slowly, pulsing sobs that hit the floor in tiny drops, noises breaking through deafening silence. For his reality - his existence - is not one that can be defined in answers but by experience, accumulative over time, through those that he sees, touches, hears. Through his ears the universe listens, through his eyes the universe sees. And in the end he does not realise for the universe is just as scared as he i̎̀̎̃͜s҉models being used to estimeem for instance, take threments give accuratysically measurable time. For exnd extrapolating arrive at different answers 9505066 the oldest stars in globular clusters, etc). It is posvel tͮ͏̲̫̣̫̻͓̠ḭ̂ͅm̑ͪ̾ȇ̺̮̫̣̤̈́̃ͅ to this surface c͙o͇͉̺̹̲̣s̮̤̙m͖̙̙̯̱̱̩o͖͓l̪͉̦o̯g̖͍i̯̝̹c̞̱̞̟al constant density ΩΛ |
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Exalting Tourmaline to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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