Level 1 Auraboa
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Female Auraboa
This dragon is an ancient breed.
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style

Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.




18.88 m
15.41 m
4285.72 kg


Primary Gene
Mochlus (Auraboa)
Mochlus (Auraboa)
Secondary Gene
Flair (Auraboa)
Flair (Auraboa)
Tertiary Gene
Rockbreaker (Auraboa)
Rockbreaker (Auraboa)


Aug 17, 2023
(9 months)



Eye Type

Eye Type
Level 1 Auraboa
EXP: 0 / 245



  • none


  • none


The Historian

Mazactl, Mazzy to her friends, always knew she was just a touch different. Even for a post-Bounty Auraboa, she was always a bit out of the Loop. Something in her brain, or maybe something in the way her magic was oriented, seemed to disrupt the synergy in whatever local hivemind she tried to connect to. Her friends and family liked to think they tried to include her, but in the end, it was always easier to boot her out than try to accommodate for the way her mind worked. The honesty of Auraboa communication, at the very least, made the realization quicker for her than similar dragons in her situation: they pitied her, wished she was different, would’ve loved the fantasy version of her they made up in their heads, but she wasn’t good enough as she was.

Because she couldn’t communicate, once they lost patience with trying to adapt, they all seemed to decide that Mazzy was doing this on purpose.

This created an existential loneliness and despair in her, almost right from birth. Part of her held out hope that maybe, just maybe, if she worked hard enough and gave enough of herself to others, that her loved ones would care for her like they did her siblings. Her loneliness drove her to learn speech long before most of her species ever could, and as the first of her colony to do so, she became the mouthpiece of the elders. Pulled back into the Loop when needed, tossed away when she was not. And this satisfied Mazzy, for a time. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t acceptance, but conditional inclusion was miles better than no inclusion at all. She spoke of things inappropriate for hatchlings to know, of her colony’s precarious financial situation and wars with neighboring Clans. Every day she worked, she had to force her mind into a state the elders found at least a little palatable, which drained her horribly. She felt how little they wanted to deal with her.

But it was inclusion. And her colony praised her for “finally” being willing to change, “a little.” The first praise she’d gotten shaped Mazzy’s personality. Giving to others made her grudgingly welcomed, so she gave.It didn’t matter that others around here were allowed to have boundaries; she got kicked out of the Loop for “being difficult” if she expressed discomfort. And the worst part was, she knew they weren’t “bad” people. Just… average. Normal. Looking for an easy explanation for someone they saw as difficult not fitting in.

And then one of her siblings learned speech. He was easier to deal with, and Mazzy found herself being called on less and less. Eventually, with a pit in her stomach, she just decided to leave.

Her travels took her in a generally Southerly direction. Without the constant press of feeling unwelcome, Mazzy’s personality blossomed. She was bright and bubbly, and to all outside appearances, happy all the time. Her work ethic put entire Clans of Lightning dragons to shame. Word quickly spread in every new village she arrived in, of the young Auraboa who’d clean your entire lair and listen to all your woes just for a dry spot to sleep in the cellar. Her claws would crack and bleed, she’d go to bed hungry, and she’d still feel bad she hadn’t done enough to earn the right to a place on the floor. And Mazzy was still happy, because she thought she had friends.

When a local scholar of Icefield history wanted to offer her her own room and meals for keeping his library tidy, Mazzy thought she’d won the lottery. Of course, he added duties over time. Note-taking here, researching a topic there, chasing down leads, until eventually Mazzy took on the bulk of his writing and research for him— effectively, his entire job. Mazzy herself was ecstatic. She had a head for the work, and during her very limited free time, she could relate all the art and music and dancing she experienced to events and cultural practices carried up through the years. Gaoler culture fascinated her, and the time she spent gathering oral histories from very old Tundra herds fulfilled her down to her core. Her employer published many of her books and articles under his name.

Mazzy dared to ask for a writing credit. The scholar promptly retired and fired her on the spot. Dumped out in the cold, much smarter and more educated, but very little wiser. For the first time, Mazzy became acutely aware of a hole in her heart where love was supposed to go. It didn’t matter how long she’d helped or how much she gave, the minute she stopped, she didn’t deserve care any more.

She found work with a traveling caravan of Mirrors. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t fulfilling, but it was something. It didn’t matter that she didn’t like hatchlings, or loud noises, she got put on hatchling duty, and disciplined whenever she tried to reprimand the caravan leader’s darling baby boy. Which meant bruises and kicks and bites. And Mazzy couldn’t bring herself to care any more.

Until one day, the caravan’s blacksmith fell gravid. She’d lost three of her last four clutches and her first clutch had to be surgically delivered, so they called in an expert. And Mazzy met the gentleman who’d become her first true friend.

To hear others tell it, Dr. Kera (short for Photokeratitis) was absolutely nobody’s friend. He had a chilly demeanor on the clock and a snappish and humorless demeanor in his free time, holding absolutely everyone at a distance. But nobody worked longer hours trying to solve patient problems than he did. Mazzy saw through it almost immediately. He didn’t snap at her, but he did snap at the kinds of people she would ply with gifts and services. He fascinated her. How one could get through life without friends, she didn’t understand.

But she scarcely had time to ponder it. The caravan-leader’s boy had decided he was going to throw rocks at her, and he’d whine to his mom if she protested. Nobody would believe her, or if they did, they didn’t dare cross the leader. And some of their children were joining in too. “No fair, stop moving!” The ringleader yelled at her, his upper lip quivering with the telltale sign of an impending tantrum. Dr. Kera happened to walk around the corner just as a rock hit her side.

He immediately grabbed the little boy by the scruff and pinned him to the ground. Not hard, not painful, but with a very distinct dominance snarl that every Mirror instinctively recognized. It was the first time the hatchling had ever been disciplined. The distinct smell of urine permeated the area. ”Do not do it again. And if you tell your mommy, I’ll take her pack away from her, and she’ll have no rank at all,” the doctor snapped. As soon as he let the boy up, he made a beeline for Mazzy.

“Are you hurt?” He asked pointedly. Then, a glance at where the rock hit. “May I examine you? Your ribs are extremely delicate.”

“O-oh… no, it’s okay, don’t waste your time. He’s not so bad, really. It’s okay. I promise.”

His crests tilted inward and slightly raised. He didn’t believe her. “Would you be willing to humor me?”

He told her he found broken ribs and was worried about a bruised venom gland, but his specialty was in eggs and high risk clutches. He had a GP colleague back in his home clan who could check her out more fully, and very strongly recommended she head back with him and his staff.

Knowing the caravan would be gone and she’d have no home to return to even if she found them again, for some reason, Mazzy agreed.

It took a week for Kera’s entire crew to mosey back to his home Clan, owing to a couple snappers in the party. Mazzy spent a large portion of that week crying. The tundra chef, apparently the second highest-ranking chef in their home clan, put on a little show while he was making food just because she smelled “like despair.” The warriors took turns lifting her because she wasn’t supposed to slither on her broken ribs. The alchemist traveling with them turned down her offer of venom because it’d be too metabolically expensive for her.

And Dr. Kera himself kept a close eye on her health. They talked over long hours of travel. Somehow, despite his feelings being rather quiet, Mazzy found him easy to read. He had a pitch black sense of humor she very much appreciated. Smart, well-spoken, and… caring. More than most anyone else could see. And he valued and respected her intelligence, too. She managed to turn him around on a couple pieces of art he hated just by giving it historical context. And she was, apparently, the first person he’d ever listened to quite this well. She was teaching him valuable things. Things that’d help him work with his gaoler, tundra, and other Icefield patients.

She liked the way he laughed. And how confident he made her feel. And she gave him a safe place to smile.

His Clan took her in almost immediately once it became clear she’d ghost written most of her mentor’s work. Almost all of them, to one degree or another, had similar communication difficulties. And even though there were misunderstandings, Mazzy felt welcome. She had a few flirtatious proposals from several lovely gentlemen, but… they weren’t Kera. Mazzy doesn’t think he’s interested in her, but as long as he’ll allow her to snuggle him, she’ll happily hold onto the fantasy. She doesn’t want to ruin the friendship.
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Exalting Mazactl 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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