Idnerth
(#82405090)
Past tales still haunt me like ghouls.
Familiar
Sorrowsnow Bulemoth
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Veilspun
This dragon is an ancient breed.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.45 m
Wingspan
1.15 m
Weight
0.86 kg
Genetics
Ice
Arc (Veilspun)
Arc (Veilspun)
Ice
Hawkmoth (Veilspun)
Hawkmoth (Veilspun)
Ice
Beetle (Veilspun)
Beetle (Veilspun)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Veilspun
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
6
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
ROLE Brave Loyal Friendly DETAILS NICKNAME; Iddy GENDER; Male PRONOUNS; He/Him ORIENTATIONS; Gay ALIGNMENT; Lawful good LIKES; Honor, Light tricks, Sewing, Art, Sparring DISLIKES; Barely anything, quite neutral on alot that isnt obviously bad... but he hates onions alot for some reason RELATIONS NAME1; relation1 NAME2; relation2 NAME3; relation3 ART iddy by SuddenStream art2 by credit2 art3 by credit3  
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It's a dark and quiet night. A lone pale blue veilspun is perched on top of a skeleton of a creature long passed. He stares off into the distance of the pestilence infected land lit up by the pale moonlight, letting his mind wander. He closes his pale-yellow eyes as his mind starts racing because of a bad memory. He can vividly remember the bad memory in great detail. He could remember everything about the creature that took down the swarm of veilspuns he cared so much about. He remembers the creatures gaze, the familiar sight of imperials replaced with a cold dead stare of multiple heads. The screams of pain as the veilspuns were struck down by the massive beast. The regret that welled inside of him as he had to flee before something happened to him. Lore by @MilkshakeTrex The Voyaging Siege was not a rebellion to be trifled with. Stalwart in their beliefs of justice for clans wronged by cruel monarchs, the veilspun in their ranks were well-trained in fierce battle; swift, strong, and efficient. Those who had caught the attention of the swarm, for better or for worse, would always raise their heads at their approach, eyes wide and mouth agape, as the humming of hundreds of small wingbeats conjured a thunder like the drums of war. Idnerth took his position as leader quite seriously. He was a beacon for those suffering, a small glimmer of hope in the darkness. He would never allow a cry for help to be ignored, as he would never allow the sinister ways of their tyrants to go unpunished. But when he wasn't leading his swarm into battle, or creating battle plans for their next siege, Idnerth took great care of his warriors. The swarm was not just a rebellion, but a family, a home. A home that traveled from region to region, picking up more and more brave volunteers as they went, letting their family grow ever larger. They cared for one another like blood, even if many of them were not. When children were born, it was a time of celebration for the entire swarm. Communal care became a norm quite quickly, especially during times of battle. Some would be left in secret areas, far away from the battlefield to watch over the young; guarding, listening, and waiting for the victorious return of the rest of their family. There was never fear that the return would never come. There was never fear that the hatchlings' parents would be lost. Because the swarm was strong, and the swarm fought as one. They were undefeated so far. Surely the day would never come where that changed. ...But that day did arrive. When no one could have expected it. The swarm hadn't even been out for war; they'd been migrating, Idnerth guiding his warriors through his old home in the light-touched lands. Children were laughing, just stretching out their wings, and the warriors were recovering from a hard-fought battle. Victorious as always. Beaming with pride, basking in their glory - relaxed and content. A needed respite, and one that would be far-greater indulged once they reached their new temporary home. But they never arrived. The battle-scarred warriors, valiant strong as they were, could never take down an Emperor. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. Just the wrong time. The wrong place. But that never stopped the screams from ringing out in Idnerth's mind, plaguing him, destroying him; a sense of survivor's guilt welling up inside of him, crying out demands as to why he was spared when they weren't. When his family weren't. When children weren't. It was a devastating end to such a noble cause. And, what's worse... he knows that news can travel fast. What will become of those still suffering? Who were looking to the skies hoping, one day, to hear the thundering wingbeats? What a tragedy. What a shame. Lore by @Clam
Huge thanks to CryptidHours for allowing me to get my hands on his mercefairy accent!
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TEMPLATE "ARENA" BY XEMRISS #44020;
LIGHT BANNER AND BOTTLE BY OSIEM #30450;
LIGHT BANNER AND BOTTLE BY OSIEM #30450;
From wrote:
Somewhere warm
It was gut wrenching.
Of course the gods had to mock him. Had to curse him with the survival. Survival of what nobody else could live through.
That thing. Those dead eyes, three pairs. The reek of rot. The crunching of bones and flesh that eminate from the birth of an Emperor.
Nobody but the gods could kill that thing, so why was he there? Why was his swarm there? Why did they have to be the first supper, a mere meal to the monster, to the creature, to the beast.
He fought. By the eleven and those below, he fought with all his might. Everyone did. They had all defeated tyrants before. Fought armys with no casualties. Defeated monarchs of the worst cities. But this was their limit. Like a mere fly was he flung across the meadow, far away from his group. The very swarm he called his family. And such a fling knocked him out.
He only awoke to the end of the massacre. The tragedy. He flew, as much as it pained him, to what little remained of his swarm.
But that abomination did not even allow him to grieve, breathing flames that barely missed him. His instinct of self-preservation kicked in, so he used every last bit of strength to fly off, leaving it all behind physically. He cut that beast off, only to end up in a harsh forest. His escape into it was just as unkind.
It was a twisted labyrinth. No tree looking the same, each rock a different shape, the timbers tightening deeper, reminding him of the old tales of the timbers of temptation. It all was unkind. Merciless.
Was it really though? Or were Idnerths bleeding thoughts projecting it all onto the woods? What did these trees ever do to him? None of them were the behemoth of destructions. Just plants that lived together. He was just tired. Oh so tired. Oh so exhausted.
He slowly started to feel like his colours. Icy, cold. He wasn't freezing physically really. It was storming, raining, the water cooling him down more than a veilspun should be able to handle, but that barely bothered him.
It was his very being that seemed to slowly freeze. His soul, his hope.
Perching onto a tree, curling his tail tightly around the branch, he tried to calm his nerved and catch his breath. This was too much to him. How could he ever regain what was lost? How could he ever arise again from this, could it even be possible?
Then he sees a light behind the leafs. He snapped his head over, just to see a Gaoler emerging, a fellow ancient.
He stared into the lantern, seeing a glimmer of hope. The very hope he seems to be clenching onto. His breathing slowly calmed, hearing their tone perfectly still. No hostility awaits him here. No threats.
"Where are you meant to be?" They ask.
Idnerth stared, letting the question sink in. Nowhere, I have lost it all, he wanted to say, but that would bring him exactly there. Nowhere. He needed something. A place, a comfort. What was it that he is loosing? What was it that he needs. He lets out a shaky breath, his once stern, proud voice now wavering, cracking.
"Somewhere warm," he croaked, tears welling up in his eyes. "Or my soul might freeze over."
Of course the gods had to mock him. Had to curse him with the survival. Survival of what nobody else could live through.
That thing. Those dead eyes, three pairs. The reek of rot. The crunching of bones and flesh that eminate from the birth of an Emperor.
Nobody but the gods could kill that thing, so why was he there? Why was his swarm there? Why did they have to be the first supper, a mere meal to the monster, to the creature, to the beast.
He fought. By the eleven and those below, he fought with all his might. Everyone did. They had all defeated tyrants before. Fought armys with no casualties. Defeated monarchs of the worst cities. But this was their limit. Like a mere fly was he flung across the meadow, far away from his group. The very swarm he called his family. And such a fling knocked him out.
He only awoke to the end of the massacre. The tragedy. He flew, as much as it pained him, to what little remained of his swarm.
But that abomination did not even allow him to grieve, breathing flames that barely missed him. His instinct of self-preservation kicked in, so he used every last bit of strength to fly off, leaving it all behind physically. He cut that beast off, only to end up in a harsh forest. His escape into it was just as unkind.
It was a twisted labyrinth. No tree looking the same, each rock a different shape, the timbers tightening deeper, reminding him of the old tales of the timbers of temptation. It all was unkind. Merciless.
Was it really though? Or were Idnerths bleeding thoughts projecting it all onto the woods? What did these trees ever do to him? None of them were the behemoth of destructions. Just plants that lived together. He was just tired. Oh so tired. Oh so exhausted.
He slowly started to feel like his colours. Icy, cold. He wasn't freezing physically really. It was storming, raining, the water cooling him down more than a veilspun should be able to handle, but that barely bothered him.
It was his very being that seemed to slowly freeze. His soul, his hope.
Perching onto a tree, curling his tail tightly around the branch, he tried to calm his nerved and catch his breath. This was too much to him. How could he ever regain what was lost? How could he ever arise again from this, could it even be possible?
Then he sees a light behind the leafs. He snapped his head over, just to see a Gaoler emerging, a fellow ancient.
He stared into the lantern, seeing a glimmer of hope. The very hope he seems to be clenching onto. His breathing slowly calmed, hearing their tone perfectly still. No hostility awaits him here. No threats.
"Where are you meant to be?" They ask.
Idnerth stared, letting the question sink in. Nowhere, I have lost it all, he wanted to say, but that would bring him exactly there. Nowhere. He needed something. A place, a comfort. What was it that he is loosing? What was it that he needs. He lets out a shaky breath, his once stern, proud voice now wavering, cracking.
"Somewhere warm," he croaked, tears welling up in his eyes. "Or my soul might freeze over."
solarswitchback wrote:
@NikTheBug (no worries about the tragic lore! im certainly no stranger to it myself. if you'd like you're perfectly free to use this in his bio too if it suits your needs)
The dragon's once perfectly neutral expression seems to fill with something. Understanding maybe? Their next words are filled with the barest hint of emotion.
"...You are hurting, dear friend."
"Come, follow, I cannot lift the burden your heart carries, but I can bring you somewhere where that weight may become easier to bear."
Slowly, almost gently, they shield Idnerth from the rain with their wing as they lead him through the thick underbrush of the forest.
The walk does not take too long, almost oddly short, as cutting through the underbrush seems much easier than it might have been without them.
When the treeline eventually breaks into a small field, the glow from the lights of a nearby inn become obvious, and though the dragon clearly hesitates when they reach the threshold of the building, they cross through as they guide Idnerth inside and to a quiet corner nearby a fireplace.
The common area of the inn is quiet, though other dragons are nearby, absorbed in various tasks. The dragon disappears only for a moment, quiet enough they might have done so unnoticed, before returning with a blanket and warm cup of tea.
"I've made arrangements for you to be able to stay here for as long as you need. Rest, let your body recover. Speak with others if or when you feel ready to help your heart."
After a moment of deliberation, they seem to decide on something.
"If you once again find yourself lost or cold, use this."
They set their lantern down onto the table and push it towards Idnerth's hand.
"It will help you find your way."
The dragon's once perfectly neutral expression seems to fill with something. Understanding maybe? Their next words are filled with the barest hint of emotion.
"...You are hurting, dear friend."
"Come, follow, I cannot lift the burden your heart carries, but I can bring you somewhere where that weight may become easier to bear."
Slowly, almost gently, they shield Idnerth from the rain with their wing as they lead him through the thick underbrush of the forest.
The walk does not take too long, almost oddly short, as cutting through the underbrush seems much easier than it might have been without them.
When the treeline eventually breaks into a small field, the glow from the lights of a nearby inn become obvious, and though the dragon clearly hesitates when they reach the threshold of the building, they cross through as they guide Idnerth inside and to a quiet corner nearby a fireplace.
The common area of the inn is quiet, though other dragons are nearby, absorbed in various tasks. The dragon disappears only for a moment, quiet enough they might have done so unnoticed, before returning with a blanket and warm cup of tea.
"I've made arrangements for you to be able to stay here for as long as you need. Rest, let your body recover. Speak with others if or when you feel ready to help your heart."
After a moment of deliberation, they seem to decide on something.
"If you once again find yourself lost or cold, use this."
They set their lantern down onto the table and push it towards Idnerth's hand.
"It will help you find your way."
Harpiaa wrote on 2023-05-13 12:21:35:
A short headcanon for this pretty and traumatized boy!
When he was just a hatchling, Idnerth's clanmates nicknamed him mirror. It was not inspired by the dragon breed of same name, however. His pale beetle wings were the reason: they reflect the image of whoever looks into them, shiny! Just like a mirror.
A nostalgic name, that's for sure.
Fiendishly wrote on 2023-07-20 18:00:54:
You were able to fit so much trauma in a single dragon, congrats! (His lore is awesome)
- Still has his sleeping area small and meticulously clean, a remnant from his life in the battalion-like life of the Swarm
- Idnerth has the lantern near him as he sleeps, so he can easily grab it for reassurance after a nightmare
- Has a mild dislike of aberrations, due to them having multiple heads.
-Laces and unlaces his boots when stressed/anxious
- Has sewn a token for every one of his former swarm members, as a way to remember them
(and maybe a few quirks that aren't depressing)
-Uses his talents with light manipulation and illusions to tell grand stories, especially to young hatchlings
-Sleeps with an unnecessary amount of blankets
- Still has his sleeping area small and meticulously clean, a remnant from his life in the battalion-like life of the Swarm
- Idnerth has the lantern near him as he sleeps, so he can easily grab it for reassurance after a nightmare
- Has a mild dislike of aberrations, due to them having multiple heads.
-Laces and unlaces his boots when stressed/anxious
- Has sewn a token for every one of his former swarm members, as a way to remember them
(and maybe a few quirks that aren't depressing)
-Uses his talents with light manipulation and illusions to tell grand stories, especially to young hatchlings
-Sleeps with an unnecessary amount of blankets
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