Quinn
(#87248486)
Level 1 Wildclaw
Familiar
Wooden Marionette
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.73 m
Wingspan
7.87 m
Weight
383.82 kg
Genetics
Pumpkin
Harlequin
Harlequin
Royal
Jester
Jester
Yellow
Sparkle
Sparkle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
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⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Quinn ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ An entertainer long left behind ⸻⸻⸻ ⚜ ⚜ ⚜ A Clown long left behind, dwelling with only the company of puppets in an abandoned circus carnival. Quinn doesn't remember what happened, it was all so long ago, only fleeting memories find him; originally being brought into the circus as a young hatchling, trained to perform by the ring master he doesn't remember the face of but one he still thinks of as a parent nonetheless, performing to crowds in the bright lights bringing joy to all who watched, flying high and performing slapstick, dancing puppets and arguing with them for show and then the sudden disappearance of it all, the circus falling into decay, the sudden loneliness. Something happened and it drives Quinn mad trying to remember. Something bad. Something that left him here all alone with none to perform to than the puppets, the dolls, the bones of the fallen. He wonders if he was the one to chase them all away? What did he do wrong? This loneliness has driven him more than a little mad. Quinn refuses to leave this decaying place- it's his home. It's all he knows. It's all he remembers and he cannot bring himself to leave, why would he? His friends are here! The puppets, the marionettes, the dolls, the bones- his friends, all he has left of the good days, he talks with them, gets into fights with them, breaks them in a rage and rebuilds them not long after in patchwork fashion, feeling upset with his actions and apologising. He keeps his decaying home in as good repair as he can, patching up holes with cloth, wood, stone, metal, whatever the job needs, scavenging around the grounds for what he can use, never straying too far. Old burn marks from a disaster long ago lick the ground, the caravans, the tents. Quinn tries to ignore these dark marks on his home, they make his chest feel tight. Seeing a living dragon wandering into his home brings Quinn great joy. Finally! Someone new! Someone to perform to! Curling shadows and flickering flame with the soft sound of music lead the wanderers to the crumbling big top tent where Quinn awaits perched up high. Puppets, dolls, marionettes and old bones line the seats, dim lights flickering, the sound of old speakers playing scratchy carnival music, the ground charred, the seats smoked, battered and creaking. A spotlight brings Quinn to the centre of attention as he chatters away, introducing himself, his friends, his home and promising the performance of a lifetime. However if Quinn feels threatened by a dragon, perhaps someone come to vandalise his home, he scares them away with the puppets, the marionettes, the dolls, the bones, creating terrifying shadows that creep and crawl, bursts of flame to illuminate twisted shapes that loom, shrieking, screaming, crashing sounds. However if his tricks fail Quinn can become extremely violent, using twisting shadows, blazing flame and wicked claws to attack. A new friend to be made, new bones to add to the audience, a fresh meal. Written by Jekra
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⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⸻⸻⸻ A loud shrill from the tea kettle signaled Quinn that the hot water he prepared for tea was, and the Wildclaw hopped up quickly to cease the noise. He let out a pleased sigh at the aromatic smell of herbs steeping in the hot water, preparing four cups of piping hot tea and setting them neatly on a tarnished tray. He brought out the prepared tray to a dilapidated table decorated to the nines in tattered cloth and broken dishware. Surrounding the sorry sight were puppets and dolls–some cracked, some broken, some torn–sitting properly in their chairs. As if they were waiting patiently for Quinn to bring them their midday snack, as prim and proper lads and lasses should always sit. Quinn hummed a pleasant tune as he arranged biscuits onto a chipped tray, the smell of warm sugar and sweet berries making his mouth water. But he cannot eat any of the treats just yet, his friends must have their snacks first before he will allow himself to indulge. “The tea and biscuits are almost ready ladies! Just a few more minutes!” He didn’t get a response back but that was to be expected, Quinn knew the girls were too busy gossiping amongst themselves to pay any attention to him. Once he was pleased with his handiwork, he picked up the broken tray and walked out into the seating area, one of the dolls accidentally knocked to the side from his tail, Quinn quickly setting down the tray to straighten her out. “Oh, dear sweet Sandaraara! My apologies for my carelessness! I know, I know, a lady must sit upright and proper. Here we are.” He fluffed out the dolls’ dress reverently. “Look at you, put together nicely, not a thread out of place. Now it’s time for tea! Contain your excitement ladies, I have procured a new blend from a traveling merchant! And these biscuits are supposed to pair very well with the tea, prepared for your tastebuds to be amazed!” Quinn carefully poured the tea into the chipped teacups and served the biscuits on the cracked plates. He made sure all the dolls and puppets were served before he served himself, tucking into his afternoon snack once he made sure everyone had the same amount to eat and drink. The tea was fragrant with a slight spicy note, the taste was smooth and robust. He took a bite of a biscuit and let out a soft sound at the bursting flavor of tart berries and cinnamon. The merchant was right when they said that the tea paired well with the biscuits. “Ladies, are we enjoying the snack? We have plenty of biscuits if you all want some more!” The silence was deafening in the tent, however, to Quinn, it was filled with vibrant chatter from the dolls and puppets he surrounded himself with. Only he could hear their complaints, their excitement, and their gossip. The Wildclaw poured himself another cup of tea and topped off everyone else’s cups despite the previous liquid still in their cups. They were slower drinkers than Quinn, who was he to judge them for savoring their beverage? Once he finished his second cup of tea, the Wildclaw got up from his seat, his friends’ chatter quieting at his sudden movement. “You ladies enjoy the rest of the tea for me okay? Don’t let it go to waste, ok? I will be right back, I have some mending to do.” And with that, Quinn walked away from the table in search of his tools. The tent was always in a state of disarray, constantly needing to be repaired unless he wanted it to break apart in shambles. Locating his tools somewhere near his sleeping quarters, Quinn picked the box up and a dusty skull from one of his former companions, cleaning said skull with a handkerchief. “You’ve always had a big head, Clarence. I don’t know why you always fought me about that.” Quinn curled his tail around the skull gently, wandering around the tent in search of work. He chatted with Clarence while he worked, not minding that his companion didn’t respond as often as he liked. Quinn wasn’t one to force anyone into talking to him, especially if they weren’t the talkative sort like he was. “This place always needs fixing Clarence, I don’t know what to do. I could use the treasure in the safe to make more purchases since I am running out of thread and fabric to fix the tent. Thankfully we are surrounded by forest, so fixing furniture wouldn’t be too hard to do. I do have to mend the cushions but I don’t have any stuffing. Oh Clarence, whatever shall I do?” The Wildclaw looked at the skull with an exasperated look, in hopes that it could solve his problem. But alas, the skull said nothing like usual, Quinn sighing at the silence. The Wildclaw sighed and returned to his mending, not wanting to bother Clarence any further with idle chatter. The tent was quiet, save for Quinn’s random outbursts from poking his fingers with the sewing needle he had in his claws every once in a while. After his mending, the Wildclaw wandered the tent in search of more work that needed to be done. He stitched new clothes for Molly and repainted Milly’s rosy cheeks. He tossed unrepairable furniture and used salvaged parts to repair ones in better shape. Treasure was getting real tight, Quinn’s funds funneled constantly into the materials to keep the big top in decent shape. He would have to break into the safe in his ringmaster’s office just to keep things in shape, much to his dismay. That safe kept him and his comrades paid and fed, breaking into it would be disrespectful to everyone else. When there wasn’t anything else he could fix, Quinn checked all the dolls, puppets, and the bones of his fallen comrades, making sure they were clean and safe before tucking them into their resting places. With a gentle kiss on top of their foreheads, he bid them adieu to retreat into his quarters. While soaking in a hot bath, he thought of ways to draw in the crowds like his circus used to do before the incident, dreaming of the sounds of children’s laughter and adults’ chatter. The smells of buttery popcorn, sweet cotton candy, and roasted nuts. Before he laid his head down, Quinn made a silent promise to himself and the remains of his comrades. He would restore the circus to its former glory, even if it killed him. Written by Pulchritudinous
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⚜ ⚜ ⚜ ⸻⸻⸻ In the shadowy outskirts of the realm, where the memories of a bygone circus lingered, there dwelled a dragon named Quinn. A male Wildclaw with purple eyes, he bore an orange body adorned with harlequin-like patterns, and his wings were a vivid canvas of purple with yellow edges that exuded an eccentric flair. Yellow sparkles, like forgotten stardust, adorned his body, and his very presence seemed to emanate a peculiar blend of eerie whimsy. Quinn's attire mirrored his enigmatic demeanor. He wore spires of flame upon his form, an homage to the forgotten spectacle he once knew. His jester-like ensemble included gloves, a cap, collar, stockings, and even a tail bell that jingled with each step. But what truly set him apart was the wooden marionette he perpetually carried, a silent companion that held secrets only Quinn could understand. Within the confines of his decaying circus, Quinn's existence had become a delicate balance between madness and melancholy. The vibrant memories of his youth, when he was brought to the circus as a hatchling, training tirelessly to entertain under the watchful eye of a ringmaster he could no longer recall, still haunted him. He remembered the grand performances, the laughter, and the applause that once filled his world. Yet, there was an abrupt darkness, a curtain drawn over his recollections, concealing a tragedy he could not fully grasp. Loneliness had become Quinn's constant companion. He refused to abandon his desolate home, a sanctuary of faded memories, shattered props, and cracked mirrors. The circus, once a beacon of joy, had crumbled into a haunting specter of its former self, a place where laughter had been silenced, and joy extinguished. He often engaged in surreal conversations with his inanimate companions—the puppets, marionettes, dolls, and the brittle bones of forgotten performers. They were the remnants of a happier time, and Quinn talked, argued, and sometimes, in fits of despair, even destroyed them. Yet, as if guided by an unseen hand of remorse, he painstakingly reassembled them, stitching together their broken forms into a patchwork of memories. The ruined circus, adorned with old burn marks from a calamity buried in time, held a strange grip on Quinn's fragile psyche. It tethered him to this forsaken place, a constant reminder of a past he couldn't fully remember but couldn't let go of either. For the rare few who stumbled upon this eerie spectacle, Quinn's presence was a mixture of delight and dread. His eerie yet alluring performance within the crumbling big top tent was both captivating and unsettling. With flickering lights and scratchy carnival music, he introduced himself and his peculiar companions, promising the audience "the performance of a lifetime." Yet, beneath this veneer of whimsy lurked a darker side. If Quinn perceived a threat—a dragon who might disrupt his fragile world—he summoned shadows, flames, and twisted shapes to terrify intruders, all fashioned from the puppets and remnants of his circus. The darkness that crept from the corners of his mind, manifested into these horrifying apparitions, a macabre testament to his desperate need for solitude. Sometimes, however, his eerie tricks failed, and the violence within him emerged. With twisted shadows, blazing flames, and wicked claws, he attacked with a ferocity that betrayed the fragility of his fractured soul. To Quinn, new friends could become new additions to his peculiar audience, and intruders were potential meals to sustain his eerie existence. From the perspective of those who ventured into Quinn's decaying realm, the experience was surreal and unsettling. The memories of their encounters would haunt them, much like the memories that haunted Quinn himself—a vivid yet faded tapestry of madness and melancholy, illuminated by the ghostly glow of a long-lost circus. Written by Healoe
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| ______ |
code by archaic #19153
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Exalting Quinn to the service of the Icewarden will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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