Anecdoche
(#79689644)
He/Him
Familiar
Agate Shadowbinder
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Aberration
This dragon is an ancient breed.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.65 m
Wingspan
7.59 m
Weight
482.29 kg
Genetics
Mulberry
Jaguar (Aberration)
Jaguar (Aberration)
Royal
Striation (Aberration)
Striation (Aberration)
Amethyst
Kumo (Aberration)
Kumo (Aberration)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Aberration
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
6
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
5
Biography
Anecdoche
A conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening.
The glassy gloom of the goo around him reflected the shadow of tortured dragons as acidic materials dripped down in a glorious shower of rain. It felt as though those droplets of liquid, containing fumes toxic to any others who hadn't been run under the experiment, gratefully took in his gentle features. Outlining each strand of fur in glorified shimmer, they made him perfect.
Once satisfied with their thorough search, the ghosts of those who came before him dreadfully dropped from his metallic skin, grabbing bits of him along with it. But the glossy metal protested in its reaction, shooting off sparks before inevitably being muffled by the creation.
The individuality left in him refused to give up without a fight. The slimy prison he'd grown in lit up in rainbows of glitter, dancing along everything he'd ever known. The goop endlessly rained from the skies, coating his silky smooth fur in plentiful shades of purple, covering every square inch of exposed area.
Perfection was intricately embedded into the creation, the despairful feeling of impending doom becoming intoxicatingly sweet. It was absolutely mesmerizing to happily fill his lungs with tainted air that ran blazing currents through each crevice of his gods forsaken body.
For any other dragon, the experience would have been terror-inducing, pained, and traumatic. But for him, the state of being was only a small comfort. His simple adoration for the work that'd gone into the experiment was ten times greater than his pathetic moral compass. He knew his inability to find any flaws in the project would be his downfall, but he couldn't care less as the thoughts angrily clamped around his throat and squeezed. He would embrace anything and everything the twisted creation threw at him because it made him complete. He'd be nothing without this room.
Nothing.
So as he delightedly watched his claws drip into the muck that caressed what was left of his puny soul, he gratefully welcomed his fate. The shiver of the space that was once his paws tinged with a drowned feeling, the rest of his body following in pursuit as the bonds that held his skin together released and he poured into a sense of community.
The room was him, and he was the room.
Nothing more.
Once satisfied with their thorough search, the ghosts of those who came before him dreadfully dropped from his metallic skin, grabbing bits of him along with it. But the glossy metal protested in its reaction, shooting off sparks before inevitably being muffled by the creation.
The individuality left in him refused to give up without a fight. The slimy prison he'd grown in lit up in rainbows of glitter, dancing along everything he'd ever known. The goop endlessly rained from the skies, coating his silky smooth fur in plentiful shades of purple, covering every square inch of exposed area.
Perfection was intricately embedded into the creation, the despairful feeling of impending doom becoming intoxicatingly sweet. It was absolutely mesmerizing to happily fill his lungs with tainted air that ran blazing currents through each crevice of his gods forsaken body.
For any other dragon, the experience would have been terror-inducing, pained, and traumatic. But for him, the state of being was only a small comfort. His simple adoration for the work that'd gone into the experiment was ten times greater than his pathetic moral compass. He knew his inability to find any flaws in the project would be his downfall, but he couldn't care less as the thoughts angrily clamped around his throat and squeezed. He would embrace anything and everything the twisted creation threw at him because it made him complete. He'd be nothing without this room.
Nothing.
So as he delightedly watched his claws drip into the muck that caressed what was left of his puny soul, he gratefully welcomed his fate. The shiver of the space that was once his paws tinged with a drowned feeling, the rest of his body following in pursuit as the bonds that held his skin together released and he poured into a sense of community.
The room was him, and he was the room.
Nothing more.
Written by TheQueensToast
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Exalting Anecdoche to the service of the Arcanist 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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