Tacodoodle's dragon Flurry

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

16.74 m

Wingspan

14.12 m

Weight

5428.63 kg

Genetics

Ice
Poison

Ice
Toxin

Ice
Glimmer

Hatchday

Apr 16, 2022
(2 years)

Breed

Adult
Obelisk

Eye Type

Ice
Common

Level 1 Obelisk

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

flurry

timid • gullible

ONE

____________________________

Weak sunlight filters through grey clouds above the Icefield. The sky spells snow as usual, and Frostbite reclines in her cabin, eyes closed in thought. A faint bout of laughter trickles through the thin windowpane as hatchlings romp about in the drifts outside. Smoke smelling of bread and seared meat signals the dinners of the clan tonight, but Frostbite isn't hungry. She doesn't really get hungry, anymore.

Beside her, Snowbound sits patiently. He's come a long way since his revival, and passes for a living but mute bodyguard now. Outside, Sentry lives up to her name, curled around the doorstep in a heap of bone and ice. The other Founders are patrolling tonight. Frostbite eventually opens her eyes to see thick white clumps of snow falling from the dark heavens. "Snowbound," she whispers, "Here." He rises dutifully, offering a hand to her. Frostbite feels the strain of her aging body more and more every day, though she is nowhere close to middle-aged. Still, she feels ancient and frail, and struggles even to fly on the best of days. If she was of a different mind, she'd say it was guilt, but she feels nothing but that same blazing devotion she did all those years ago.

The two walk towards the back room of the cabin, to the small dark room with the well-used trapdoor fastened into the floor. It opens like a mouth, hungry and wet, and Snowbound assists Frostbite inside. She'd had Iceberg dig this tunnel years ago in preparation for grander plans. It leads to the upper levels of the Underground. After some time, they reach the authentic portion of the Underground. Like every night, Frostbite feels its power immediately, feels the power of the Warden deep in her chest and arms and legs.

"Lord," she rasps. Her voice is ugly and ragged. "All is as You command, all is as You wish. Your people await you above these tunnels." Frostbite presses her forehead to the burning ice below her, folds her wings back in quivering deference. "As with all nights, your humble prophet asks of you: is it time?" Her own beating heart defies the cold silence around her. Frostbite's eyes gaze downward, peering into endless black ice. Deep down, through miles of ice, through perhaps the veil between mortal and divine, Frostbite sees. She sees a little red flame in the throat of a being so vast and terrible that prayers fall from her lips as her own sweat does. Its teeth are scythes, its eyes are pits of blue stars, and it stares up through the ice and speaks, and the force of it shakes the dead laid to temporary rest in a wall of hollow pits, their eyes wide in perpetual betrayal, their mouths screaming in fear.

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Exalting Flurry to the service of the Icewarden 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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