Poppet
(#82597108)
Level 1 Fae
Familiar
Deadwood Strangler
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Fae
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.22 m
Wingspan
0.89 m
Weight
0.68 kg
Genetics
Soil
Ripple
Ripple
Latte
Patchwork
Patchwork
Beige
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Fae
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Biography
A living doll brought to life through unknown, powerful magic.
Suffering from memory loss, he searches for his creator and a purpose, alone in a terrifying world.
Suffering from memory loss, he searches for his creator and a purpose, alone in a terrifying world.
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xx Poppet They say the forest only opens to those who belong. All others are consigned to wander forever amidst the brush and branches 'til obstinacy or life leave them. Of the former, Poppet had much. The latter was a topic of hot debate. Was the small, doll-like creature alive? He could certainly move, and speak, and by all conceivable tests was possessed of free-will akin to that of a sentient being. The trouble was that none could say from whence he'd come, including him. The magicks that had woven him were like nothing the mages had ever seen; powerful and strange. Frightening. The journey he'd been sent on was to find his maker. A pretty and convenient lie. He had heard stories of the forest's mages and the queer magicks they wielded. The border-towns were abuzz with rumors of a practitioner whose poppets breathed with undoubted life. With a careful hope alight in his chest, he delved deep into the thick of the greenery. xxxx  xxxx
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How long he had walked, he could not say. Time seemed to move strangely beneath the shifting boughs. Light both natural and etheric danced across the forest floor and illuminated distant groves. Poppet's skin tingled, the wood beneath nearly humming with the sheer force of ambient magick. Wards. Stronger and more expansive than he'd ever imagined could be erected. He stopped just short of the border he sensed before him. Had he been brave enough to test it, he could have reached out and brushed fingertips against the pulse of condensed magick there. As it was, he simply lingered there. Were they meant to kill? To maim? Was that why the stories spoke of so many horrid ends? Or were they simply meant to deter -- to block any who tried to cross them much as a wall of brick and mortar might? These questions and many dozens more chased themselves around in circles within his mind like dogs spinning to seize their tails. The answer to his puzzle came accompanied by the sound of gently clinking metal. Before him stood a dragon whose scales gleamed as though light shone from within each and every one. The deep reds and golds of his body contrasted sharply with the cool greens and muted browns of the forest. He moved through the underbrush in practiced motions, sightless eyes aglow with a disconcerting gleam. Delicate gauze and silks covered his body, and golden, ruby-laden chains hung from their lengths. Fireflies followed in the wake of his movement. Poppet stayed still and silent. Perhaps if he just didn't move-- "Hail, little doll." The dragon's words filled Poppet's chest as though they'd originated there. Poppet did not answer, thoughts ground to a sudden halt. The dragon tilted his head. "The doll cannot speak? Or does not deign to?" "I come... seeking a mage," Poppet forced the words past his lips. "The one who made me." "Step forward then, little doll, and let the forest judge you." Poppet sucked in a breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and plunged into the ward. The force of his sudden movement nearly toppled him over. He met not an ounce of resistance. When he looked back, only the slightest shimmer belied the boundary he'd crossed. "As the Mothergod suspected, the forest welcomes you," the sightless dragon spoke softly. "Many mages make their homes beneath the boughs. We will pass no small few on the way to the forest's heart. Question them if it please you, little doll." The first made her home beneath the sagging branches of a willow. She regarded him with cold eyes and turned him away. Her craft was in potions, she told him, not in poppets. Whatever mage had made him, she knew them not. The second nestled herself in the gnarled roots of an ancient maple. Though more welcoming than the mage before, she too could do little to help him in his quest. They spoke for some time within the cavern of twisting roots, of memories unclear, of pasts unknown and futures undecided. She was a healer of creatures large and small, and moreover a creator of magickal beasts -- but of poppets she did not partake. The third had shown the most promise, making his rounds near the forest's heart, until Poppet had set eyes upon him. True to the rumors that were whispered in towns, a small army of dolls and effigies toddled dutifully in his wake. Yet while they moved with a purpose, Poppet doubted they possessed true sentience. Moreover, the mage could not have fashioned him even were he to have the necessary skill -- for he was no more than a boy himself. Poppet heaved a heavy sigh. The sightless dragon -- Hadriel, he'd learned -- regarded him with an expression Poppet could only take as pity. "There are other mages, but I doubt their answers will differ," Hadriel said. "If any here know your maker, t'would be the Fathergod." Without awaiting an answer, Hadriel turned and marched further still into the green. Birch trees twisted their trunks and branches into intricate patterns and rose higher than Poppet had ever seen. The building itself was alive. All those structures they'd passed within the clan proper had been built into hills or constructed from boards and nails as many such things were. How striking, then, was this departure from the norm. It stood in what Poppet could only assume was the very center of the forest, its branches stretching out into a canopy that shaded from view all that which had been built around its nexus. Hadriel climbed the white-bark steps and Poppet followed quietly behind. Familiar sounds drifted on the air as they walked; the strike of a hammer against a nail, the snap of glass as a piece cut cracked free. The dragon they found within the workshop was an ever-moving bundle of yellow and purple hues. It hardly seemed as though the beast paused for a moment before he strode purposefully to a new place in the room. His claws were nimble and precise, as were the magicks he employed in his arts. Hadriel cleared his throat. The dragon looked up. "Fathergod," Hadriel greeted him. "I bring to you a doll lost, in need of fixing." Poppet tried not to squirm beneath the appraising gaze that was then leveled against him. "Did you make me?" he asked. The Fathergod shook his head. "No, but I greatly wish I knew who did. 'Tis no mere trifle, to imbue a once-lifeless object with a soul." "You can tell?" Poppet asked. The Fathergod nodded. "There is a spark in you that only a soul could explain." "So I am alive?" he pressed. "As alive as any of us may claim," the Fathergod said. Poppet's shoulders sank. The knowledge should have buoyed him, but the day had worn thin his patience and goodwill. He was alive. How nice to have the confirmation. Yet he still knew not from whence he had come. He was beginning to doubt that he ever would. "The forest has welcomed you; so too shall I," the Fathergod said. "Travel freely and seek your answers, but know that you've a place to return, should you want it. ... Forgive me. I never asked your name." "Poppet." "That is what you are, but what of who you are?" the Fathergod asked. Poppet faltered. Weren't they the same? The Fathergod chuckled and regarded him with an understanding smile. "A Poppet you shall remain for now, then. When you have found the answers you need -- if not the answers you seek -- then you may answer the question I have posed." |
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150KT
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