Press or click to Save this image.
(NOTE: Some browsers or ad blockers may require you to do this manually with a right click or long press on the image above.)
(NOTE: Some browsers or ad blockers may require you to do this manually with a right click or long press on the image above.)
Exit Scenic Mode.
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.89 m
Wingspan
6.04 m
Weight
659.49 kg
Genetics
Saffron
Python
Python
Saffron
Myrid
Myrid
Terracotta
Opal
Opal
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Wildclaw
Max Level
STR
118
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
29
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
ABOUT
She/he, non-binary and kinda bigender, kinda genderfluid. Each day is just: Wouldn't you like to know *smirk*
Just wants to lose to an opponent too strong for her to dominate. Prove it. Prove you're better than me.
THE BELLS ARE RUNG
Gild was born into a servant family and was raised to care for their wealthy patrons, but she would fight back when the heir bullied her and the other littles, and so was banished. Took to ring fighting instead, but never got high in the rankings because she kept losing . . . kind of on purpose. He just couldn't ignore a fight he knew he'd lose. He was always getting complaints about challenging higher above his ranking, or jumping ringers in the lockers trying to provoke an illegal brawl. Received continual warnings, and harsher punishments, but she didn't stop—there was not a feeling in all the world, he'd found, like that of getting beat until unconscious and having to drag himself back into his nest with every bone in his bone shrieking, YOU GOT TROUNCED. No greater satisfaction, than failure. Eventually she got kicked out of the ring for not bringing in enough revenue or crowds.
An older ringer had watched her fights though and recognized what others had failed to see, that she often threw her fights, almost never fought nearly as well as she could have—should have. They ambushed him one night in an alley and thrashed him physically and verbally until he lashed out, really, actually fought back, and almost! Almost put the old ringer on their tail. But they wriggled out of her grasp, tripped her, and had her pinned with throat in jaws before another half heartbeat.
"Oh, come on," the old ringer sneered. "You can do better than that."
Gild had found his match.
. . . but only for a short while, until he did beat the old ringer in a spar, and when the intense, resonant triumph burned away, felt him feeling. Utterly empty. A worser feeling than any bout in the ring, even those he won. Starved.
"[expletive] this! I'm leaving," she snarled, stomping out of the dusty old alley the two had trained in. But behind her, the old ringer was laughing.
"YOU KEEP FIGHTING, GIRL," they roared after him. "YOU FIGHT CLAW AND FANG UNTIL YOU BLEED! YOU ONLY GET YOUR TAIL WHOOPED UNTIL AFTER YOU'VE EARNED IT."
GOLD TROPHY
The next while after she went wherever she could find a fight to join in, or cause one. And she tried to just let herself get beat to a pulp, she really really did, but every time she (and participants and audience alike) thought she went down for good, she remembered those words of that old coot, and despite herself, fire burned through her blood and shot her back to her feet to throw herself at her opponent anew.
Maybe he'd win. Maybe she wouldn't. But that second wind hardly ever failed to come, if only to encourage her to get bruised to the bone rather than mere skin.
She could only get into so many bar fights before being banned from every pub in this town . . . and the next . . . and the next, which was frustrating. Until he learned he could get hired and paid by some stranger to join up with a bunch of other strangers to beat up some other stranger or beast and that—well that was just great. Money and a show, and the chance to find the next adversary she could not beat.
Which led to one day, in the Scarred Wasteland, on a job like any other, Gild found himself hired along with a peculiar mirror with a chip on one shoulder, a watchful nocturne by the other, and a large, toothy grin leering up at him asking, "Wanna scrap?"
Gild and Independent thrashed each other good. There was no clear winner—though Independent will insist there was one indeed, and guess who—but it was fun nonetheless. They got to talking afterwards, and Gild learned that Independent was thinking of, well, doing as her name suggested. No more getting hired onto a job, but contracting jobs herself. With a group of her own to do the same.
"I'm confused," Gild said. "Do they each make their own contract? To do the . . . same job, that you're doing—"
"I make the contract, for all of us, you are still independent though. Like me!"
"She's the leader, just follow along," the nocturne, Decipher, said. Independent scowled at them, they remained unfazed, and she turned back to Gild.
"So?"
"So?" he echoed, not knowing what she was asking. So what?
"You joining or what! Surely—" teeth showed— "you're hungry?"
For some reason that bright, challenging sneer warmed her blood the same way the bell did, ringing to mark the start of the bout in the ring. This mercenary band, these Contractors . . . agreeing to anything Independent said felt like swearing a piece of one's soul away. Steady pay, open opportunities, indeed, invitations to get his tail beat . . . She could hardly argue with that.
WHISPERS
- "He'll do anything to win," they sneered back at the rings. "Any dirty tricks and cheats."
"Idiot," she snarled as she cracked their skulls open against the brick, "I want to lose. PROVE IT TO ME THAT I CAN."
- Can't you do better than that? I haven't even broken out in sweat over here, c'mon! COME ON
- Sun hits right, the light angles off her in molten gold.
- If you ask, he'll pull his lip down on the left side of his lower jaw, and show you a tooth cracked to the gums, yet jammed fixed in place. "Got that one from the young lord's fist, my first ever hit, my first ever loss," she'll tell you with a grin. "Refuses to fall out." That was her first taste, and from where she developed her addiction. It hurts to bite, with that tooth a constant ache in his jaw, but he's still gotta eat.
- Do not let her at an Emperor. She'd fight the Shade if she could.
-
REACHED LEVEL 25 ON 8/16/2022
Feast of Falling Embers - Lights, Camera, Arson! NotN 2022 [ DAY FOUR ]
Last Dragon Standing: Pinstripe Caverns - Everbloom Resort 2023 [ ROUND 0 ]
[ ROUND 1 ] [ ROUND 2 ] [ ROUND 4 ] [ ROUND 5 ] [ ROUND 6 ] [ ROUND 8 ]
[ ROUND 8.1 ] [ ROUND 9 ]
She/he, non-binary and kinda bigender, kinda genderfluid. Each day is just: Wouldn't you like to know *smirk*
Just wants to lose to an opponent too strong for her to dominate. Prove it. Prove you're better than me.
THE BELLS ARE RUNG
Gild was born into a servant family and was raised to care for their wealthy patrons, but she would fight back when the heir bullied her and the other littles, and so was banished. Took to ring fighting instead, but never got high in the rankings because she kept losing . . . kind of on purpose. He just couldn't ignore a fight he knew he'd lose. He was always getting complaints about challenging higher above his ranking, or jumping ringers in the lockers trying to provoke an illegal brawl. Received continual warnings, and harsher punishments, but she didn't stop—there was not a feeling in all the world, he'd found, like that of getting beat until unconscious and having to drag himself back into his nest with every bone in his bone shrieking, YOU GOT TROUNCED. No greater satisfaction, than failure. Eventually she got kicked out of the ring for not bringing in enough revenue or crowds.
An older ringer had watched her fights though and recognized what others had failed to see, that she often threw her fights, almost never fought nearly as well as she could have—should have. They ambushed him one night in an alley and thrashed him physically and verbally until he lashed out, really, actually fought back, and almost! Almost put the old ringer on their tail. But they wriggled out of her grasp, tripped her, and had her pinned with throat in jaws before another half heartbeat.
"Oh, come on," the old ringer sneered. "You can do better than that."
Gild had found his match.
. . . but only for a short while, until he did beat the old ringer in a spar, and when the intense, resonant triumph burned away, felt him feeling. Utterly empty. A worser feeling than any bout in the ring, even those he won. Starved.
"[expletive] this! I'm leaving," she snarled, stomping out of the dusty old alley the two had trained in. But behind her, the old ringer was laughing.
"YOU KEEP FIGHTING, GIRL," they roared after him. "YOU FIGHT CLAW AND FANG UNTIL YOU BLEED! YOU ONLY GET YOUR TAIL WHOOPED UNTIL AFTER YOU'VE EARNED IT."
GOLD TROPHY
The next while after she went wherever she could find a fight to join in, or cause one. And she tried to just let herself get beat to a pulp, she really really did, but every time she (and participants and audience alike) thought she went down for good, she remembered those words of that old coot, and despite herself, fire burned through her blood and shot her back to her feet to throw herself at her opponent anew.
Maybe he'd win. Maybe she wouldn't. But that second wind hardly ever failed to come, if only to encourage her to get bruised to the bone rather than mere skin.
She could only get into so many bar fights before being banned from every pub in this town . . . and the next . . . and the next, which was frustrating. Until he learned he could get hired and paid by some stranger to join up with a bunch of other strangers to beat up some other stranger or beast and that—well that was just great. Money and a show, and the chance to find the next adversary she could not beat.
Which led to one day, in the Scarred Wasteland, on a job like any other, Gild found himself hired along with a peculiar mirror with a chip on one shoulder, a watchful nocturne by the other, and a large, toothy grin leering up at him asking, "Wanna scrap?"
Gild and Independent thrashed each other good. There was no clear winner—though Independent will insist there was one indeed, and guess who—but it was fun nonetheless. They got to talking afterwards, and Gild learned that Independent was thinking of, well, doing as her name suggested. No more getting hired onto a job, but contracting jobs herself. With a group of her own to do the same.
"I'm confused," Gild said. "Do they each make their own contract? To do the . . . same job, that you're doing—"
"I make the contract, for all of us, you are still independent though. Like me!"
"She's the leader, just follow along," the nocturne, Decipher, said. Independent scowled at them, they remained unfazed, and she turned back to Gild.
"So?"
"So?" he echoed, not knowing what she was asking. So what?
"You joining or what! Surely—" teeth showed— "you're hungry?"
For some reason that bright, challenging sneer warmed her blood the same way the bell did, ringing to mark the start of the bout in the ring. This mercenary band, these Contractors . . . agreeing to anything Independent said felt like swearing a piece of one's soul away. Steady pay, open opportunities, indeed, invitations to get his tail beat . . . She could hardly argue with that.
WHISPERS
- "He'll do anything to win," they sneered back at the rings. "Any dirty tricks and cheats."
"Idiot," she snarled as she cracked their skulls open against the brick, "I want to lose. PROVE IT TO ME THAT I CAN."
- Can't you do better than that? I haven't even broken out in sweat over here, c'mon! COME ON
- Sun hits right, the light angles off her in molten gold.
- If you ask, he'll pull his lip down on the left side of his lower jaw, and show you a tooth cracked to the gums, yet jammed fixed in place. "Got that one from the young lord's fist, my first ever hit, my first ever loss," she'll tell you with a grin. "Refuses to fall out." That was her first taste, and from where she developed her addiction. It hurts to bite, with that tooth a constant ache in his jaw, but he's still gotta eat.
- Do not let her at an Emperor. She'd fight the Shade if she could.
-
REACHED LEVEL 25 ON 8/16/2022
Feast of Falling Embers - Lights, Camera, Arson! NotN 2022 [ DAY FOUR ]
Last Dragon Standing: Pinstripe Caverns - Everbloom Resort 2023 [ ROUND 0 ]
[ ROUND 1 ] [ ROUND 2 ] [ ROUND 4 ] [ ROUND 5 ] [ ROUND 6 ] [ ROUND 8 ]
[ ROUND 8.1 ] [ ROUND 9 ]
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
Feed this dragon Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Gild to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.