Drogo
(#83357326)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Banshee Brooch
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Energy: 45/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
23.4 m
Wingspan
16.21 m
Weight
8740.21 kg
Genetics
Moon
Savannah
Savannah
Sand
Facet
Facet
Slate
Capsule
Capsule
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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 D R O G O 
BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT
GENERATION III ANKH'S LINE NAOMI G5 | TALOS G5 
"Obsession oft leads to an early grave with little to show for the lives they lived."
Deep within tomes in script long lost to time, scholars of many walks may find the words they just read changing, shifting into something new. Some may write these flights of fancy as boredom, or perhaps the illusion of a mind deprived of sleep for one night too many. Those who ignore the shifting ink pour themselves into their work, searching for answers they will never find as dreams and reality are lost in an endless sea of parchment. This is the tale of the Barghest, Drogo. |
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The first moon of the year came on a cold night, the wind howling outside the partially renovated library Writ had begun to call home. Of course it was only a pale imitation of what he once knew, with students bustling about as they dove into their respective studies. The place seemed almost too quiet, the silence only broken by the turning of old parchment as he read. Well, that and the sound of the tarps held taut over the few gaps left in the roof. His reading is interrupted by a rather excited voice, one that was all too familiar to him. "There any cracks yet?" The imperial turns his shaggy head to peer at the somewhat dark spiral, quirking a brow at how she'd gone and wrapped herself around the nest of tarps and books well beyond repair. She may look like she didn't care, lightly tapping a talon against the scrying orb she'd gotten from one of her old lessons like she was trying to get a clear signal from a lightning flight device, but Writ knew better. She seemed to see a lot of little things in that orb, and while the others couldn't see what she did, she had made it clear she wasn't going to leave him alone with Ermine for their first nest. He still remembered how they'd bickered over whether the hatchlings would bear the curse he now bore or not, how certain she seemed in her assertion that they would indeed be "giant lanky cursed slinkies" when he hoped they wouldn't. He simply shook his head at her then, just as he was doing now to her inquiries. "I know you're excited to meet them, Samhain, but patience will pay off. Ermine said the full moon helps them." He was ready for her to try and argue that point. What sort of biological timer told a hatchling who didn't even know how to cry that they had to come out when a very specific light was on their shell? Temperature made sense, of course, but how would the light of the twin moons help? Wasn't that just reflected sunlight in the end? It was a roundabout they'd had before, one that Ermine herself had been forced to shut down the last time they really got into it. He should've known better than to assume with Samhain, though. "Why don't we help them ourselves?" He had to set his book down at that, giving the spiral his full attention. He could see how her eyes, dark as the night, practically lit up as she stared him down. He realized she must've had this idea for a while now, and had waited specifically for their hatching night to even bring it up. It was his silence that told her to continue. "You write, and things happen. I know some of these guys don't get the memo, right? They hatch late. They don't wind up how lil' miss spooky ghost stone wants them to be. Not like her. But you can write them into hatching tonight, right?" He's quiet for but a moment at that, looking over at his old note scroll. One note was all it took, right? "... Perhaps. But will it be too much? Or maybe it'll be interpreted the wrong way, and they come out off. Or maybe-" He was silenced by the spiral he loved darting up to coil around his muzzle, effectively silencing him. They sat like that for a bit, Writ's mind racing as he tried to work through it all. He knew this was Samhain's way of telling him to think, to work through his worries and see things as she did. It took some time, but finally he managed a weary sigh. He didn't even get the chance to speak his mind as his partner darted off, snatching his writing quill as he turned away from the nest. "There ya go! Just need to work it out in the end, y'know? Now, let's make sure these not-so-little noodle puppies hatch right, for both of you!" The first was written carefully, his hatching itself taking up an entire scroll of careful, tiny, looping text. Writ wanted to be sure he was safe, after all. Sure, he went through enough ink to make the gem coffers cry in dismay, but his firstborn with Ermine would be guaranteed a safe hatching under the first full moon that way. Writ didn't quite notice how the coppery inks he used ran along the page, blotting in some places. He only ever noticed when he finally saw the first, who he had lovingly dubbed as Drogo. Specifically when the pup rolled out of his shell, leaving coppery prints of ink in his wake. Writ had to abandon the page when the ink danced about, reacting to his son as if they were long-lost friends. And so the first was written into the world, darting about like a dancing candlelight as he played with the very words that wrote him into being. Those who ignore his dearest friend in light of their own wants often find themselves paying tenfold in the time spent entertaining the young pup of candlelight.
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