Unnamed
(#85062824)
Level 1 Veilspun
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 47/50
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
0.54 m
Wingspan
0.95 m
Weight
1.4 kg
Genetics
Algae
Bright (Veilspun)
Bright (Veilspun)
Algae
Web (Veilspun)
Web (Veilspun)
Gold
Flecks (Veilspun)
Flecks (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
art and design by: iicaaruus
-
Vibes:
Vibes:
|
| |
[x] Random Gods (Theme III) |
| |
[x] Split Idol - Ghost and Pals |
| |
[x]Everything Stays - Olivia Olson |
. . .
. . .
what happens when nature and machine must combine
when humanity ceases to be
a sybiosis born of necessity
in a world too broken for nature to reclaim
in a world where generators sit silent and decayed
what happens then?
. . .
. . .
chlorophyll and solar panels
we're not so different
you and I
art by: Minstri
-
The following lore was written by the amazing moonsteeth
moonsteeth wrote:
The world was dark now.
Shadows amassed in every crevice, consuming everything in their wake. Blanketed by frozen silence, a world captured by time, suspended at the moment the cogs in the world's machinations stopped spinning.
Humanity was lost long ago. Preceded by plant life, then organic. Survival whittled down into the damned, those who lived unburdened by concepts such as empathy and kindness. Until eventually they too were claimed by plague and inevitability.
And for decades, it was still.
Calm, encapsulated by toxicity and death.
Decay claimed what remained. Bones littered the desolate wastes. They grew hard, then brittle, then returned to dust. Nothing more than particles in the wind to remember those who wandered the largest cairn.
Only upon the remnants of a dying breath did the world find peace. Greenery pushed through, struggling beneath absolution. Pockets of life springing into existence despite the heavy clouds scrambling to barricade the sunlight.
The land knew not when they came to be.
One moment, there was nothingness. Then there was sound. Methodical movements, illumination ghosting upon cracked pavement and sentient darkness hissing in recoil and wrath over the sudden disturbance.
A pause, hesitation, rusted metal creaking beneath use. The light yawning across the remnants of a massive city revealed hollow husks of transportation and unrecognizable scraps of plastic.
Two lamps, one could not tell whether eyes or heads, perhaps even both, calculating their surroundings. A tangle of moss and vines clinging to oxidized machinima, little blooms refusing to succumb to death. Neither alive nor dead; merely a product of a forgotten civilization. The aftermath of fatal error, twisted into something haunting and beautiful.
Smog blanketing the city, obscuring them for wandering eyes, were there to be any. Light sparkling through dust and smoke and ash, each step carefully tested before committed to. They were on alert, claw shaped scythes rubbing together in anticipation for a fight—or prey.
There was a rumbling within, a desire for something. Foreign, without a word, instead driven by instinct. They wander through night and day, weaving through debris with every pre-thought motion. Its methodical, a learned way of movement after nights of ceaseless travel.
They eventually happen upon another sentient lifeform. Similar, yet so vastly different. A flicker of understanding passes through the space between them and then the world becomes alive with a flurry of sound and desperate intention. Driven by instinct, by need, by a word they have no label for. Only a frenzy of moment, the swinging of their scythes, the screech of scraping metal—then silence.
The world went still once more.
The beams from their lamps, one now flickering in the aftermath of their compulsive action, illuminated the rugged stones.
Water mimicking blood, ferns torn to shreds, glass shattered on the pavement; their opponent now rendered as broken as the vast world they beat the odds to exist within.
Still no label for what they did next. No rational thought motivating their actions. Maybe it was the desire of the plants choking their mechanical frame, twisting into ridged coils and faulty wires. The desire for sun, for water, for life; hunger. An influence from the counterpart in their symbiosis. They consumed, and they were stronger for it.
And so, the temptation for more plagued every step, every action.
In a universe unkind to the living, they survived.
Against all odds, they were alive.
Shadows amassed in every crevice, consuming everything in their wake. Blanketed by frozen silence, a world captured by time, suspended at the moment the cogs in the world's machinations stopped spinning.
Humanity was lost long ago. Preceded by plant life, then organic. Survival whittled down into the damned, those who lived unburdened by concepts such as empathy and kindness. Until eventually they too were claimed by plague and inevitability.
And for decades, it was still.
Calm, encapsulated by toxicity and death.
Decay claimed what remained. Bones littered the desolate wastes. They grew hard, then brittle, then returned to dust. Nothing more than particles in the wind to remember those who wandered the largest cairn.
Only upon the remnants of a dying breath did the world find peace. Greenery pushed through, struggling beneath absolution. Pockets of life springing into existence despite the heavy clouds scrambling to barricade the sunlight.
The land knew not when they came to be.
One moment, there was nothingness. Then there was sound. Methodical movements, illumination ghosting upon cracked pavement and sentient darkness hissing in recoil and wrath over the sudden disturbance.
A pause, hesitation, rusted metal creaking beneath use. The light yawning across the remnants of a massive city revealed hollow husks of transportation and unrecognizable scraps of plastic.
Two lamps, one could not tell whether eyes or heads, perhaps even both, calculating their surroundings. A tangle of moss and vines clinging to oxidized machinima, little blooms refusing to succumb to death. Neither alive nor dead; merely a product of a forgotten civilization. The aftermath of fatal error, twisted into something haunting and beautiful.
Smog blanketing the city, obscuring them for wandering eyes, were there to be any. Light sparkling through dust and smoke and ash, each step carefully tested before committed to. They were on alert, claw shaped scythes rubbing together in anticipation for a fight—or prey.
There was a rumbling within, a desire for something. Foreign, without a word, instead driven by instinct. They wander through night and day, weaving through debris with every pre-thought motion. Its methodical, a learned way of movement after nights of ceaseless travel.
They eventually happen upon another sentient lifeform. Similar, yet so vastly different. A flicker of understanding passes through the space between them and then the world becomes alive with a flurry of sound and desperate intention. Driven by instinct, by need, by a word they have no label for. Only a frenzy of moment, the swinging of their scythes, the screech of scraping metal—then silence.
The world went still once more.
The beams from their lamps, one now flickering in the aftermath of their compulsive action, illuminated the rugged stones.
Water mimicking blood, ferns torn to shreds, glass shattered on the pavement; their opponent now rendered as broken as the vast world they beat the odds to exist within.
Still no label for what they did next. No rational thought motivating their actions. Maybe it was the desire of the plants choking their mechanical frame, twisting into ridged coils and faulty wires. The desire for sun, for water, for life; hunger. An influence from the counterpart in their symbiosis. They consumed, and they were stronger for it.
And so, the temptation for more plagued every step, every action.
In a universe unkind to the living, they survived.
Against all odds, they were alive.
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