Gryphon
(#9078414)
The Hidden
Feena
Spirit of Fire
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.64 m
Wingspan
5.22 m
Weight
573.04 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Basic
Basic
Shadow
Basic
Basic
Gold
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Lineage
Biography
| _____ |
He is one of the few older members of the Clan of the Green Lady actually born in the Darkwood; his mother, Bastet, is the Clan’s Healer. He does not know his father, save that he was a Skydancer who spent only a short time in the Wood. He cannot use the orb on his forehead to help him interpret anything, as an injury left it cracked when he was a few months old. This has made his skills of observation particularly keen. This plus his mottled plumage make him an excellent scout. 
Recorded Tales: “Lay down.” The Healer’s voice was a discordant hiss between the bones of the birdskull mask obscuring her face. But he thought nothing of it; he was used to it, and the rushes on the den floor crunched beneath his weight as he more thudded than laid down with a strained gasp. “Are you all right?” The other dragon’s strange tone seemed – at least in his experience – concerned. He tucked feathered wings behind his shoulder blades in an effort to avoid knocking over the hundreds of tiny bottles on nearby shelves, or hitting sprigs of dried herbs off the nearby walls. He was glad his Familiar had agreed to stay outside; with his luck, her fiery wings and long tailfeathers would have ignited some of the Healer’s wares. “I’m fine,” he said, panting a little. “It’s just... painful.” “Yes, I can believe that.” Amber eyes glittered in the mask’s eye sockets, reflecting the strange, glowing light of phosphorescent fungi growing from the den’s ceiling as the other dragon came closer. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself, my foolhardy love.” Gryphon grunted and indicated his back leg with a flick of the head; the pain radiating from the wound beneath the dressing was intense and came in waves. It had taken Cernunnos and Orka some effort to support him all the way back to the Clan lair, as he’d barely been able to put weight on the injured limb and flying had been out of the question in the outer reaches of the Darkwood, where the tree canopy was too thick and tangled to allow any but the small Faekind to spread their wings. The Healer’s long body slithered past him, her short legs almost pushing her along more than supporting in a slightly comical, jerky motion. He turned to watch her as she rounded on his injured leg, lowered her masked face to his thigh. He could almost imagine the long, snakelike tongue slithering out once, twice… beneath the skull she wore. She was silent for perhaps half a moment. After that, she lifted one gold-accented forepaw and took hold of the bandage delicately with her claws. Gryphon closed his eyes and held his breath, expecting the pain that often accompanied pulling away a bandage tough and sticky with old, blackish blood. But he felt only a firm tug, then air on the soft hide of his injured thigh, and nothing more. He opened his eyes, surprised. “A spell,” the Healer told him, but did not lift her eyes from her inspection. “To dull the pain.” “Oh. I didn’t feel you casting.” “No, I didn’t expect you to.” His brow creased and he shifted a little, surprised to find no pain along with it. “How does it look?” “Not as bad as I’d expected. You said Cernunnos placed maidenshair on it?” “Yes.” “Clever,” the Healer remarked. “Although I suppose the Wood does work through him.” And abruptly she turned away, hoisted herself up on her back feet to fetch a few vials from a shelf behind her. “What are you doing?” He could nearly hear himself asking the question ten years ago, as a mere hatchling on the floor of this strange, pale-green coloured place. Back then, his mother’s trade had been far more mysterious to him than it was now. Now, even he knew some of the plants and animals of the Darkwood that could be used to heal, or harm. But it was the Healer’s job to know all of them, and how to stitch, and bind, and mend. How to mix the tinctures in the jars dotting the shelves all around. How to dry the herbs and crush the flowers that would put her patients into deep, restful slumber while they recovered from her ministrations. “Fixing you,” was her response, accompanied by the popping sound of vials being unstopped. “At least, as best as I can.” “It won’t leave anything lasting, will it?” Gryphon’s heart fluttered a little as he said it; being out of duty for a time would be unwelcome, but being out entirely would be unthinkable. He was a soldier. A support for Cernunnos’ scouts. It was all he knew how to do. It was all he could do. “No,” the Healer told him. “Not once I’m finished.” He let go a small sigh of relief. “You should be more careful.” “Don’t you think I tried?” Gryphon asked, annoyed. “I didn’t see them coming. They were using an invisibility spell.” “Then don't use your eyes, Gryphon. Use your ears. Your nose.” She said it softly as she poured the contents of two vials over the ugly wound, then patted it gently dry with a ball of soft moss. “That’s what you’ve been doing all your life.” He thought up another ten retorts, but her gentle tone made him swallow them all. She meant well. Beneath her strange birdskull mask and the brusque way she approached her profession, she was his mother, after all. And despite the fact they lived two very different lives amidst the Clan of the Green Lady, despite their completely differing personalities, he knew she loved him, and she always had. He was silent and let her work, inhaling the earthy, spicy scents that always drifted through her den – herbs and dried fungus, moss, pine needles. It was a scent he always remembered when he came here, but always forgot when he left, something engrained deeply in his childhood memories. “There.” When he looked back, he saw the short fingers had wrapped his wound in soft, clean linen bandages with some kind of herb dusted over them, had tied the dressing not too loose, not too tight. The amber eyes met his as she lifted her masked face. “I daresay you’ll live, little soldier.” Gryphon felt a smile crease the corners of his mouth. “You think?” “I do.” “Thanks.” “Think nothing of it. I am the Clan Healer, after all.” He flexed his injured leg experimentally, surprised to find it supple and free of pain. “What did you do to it?” “Does it matter?” the Healer asked, tilting her head. “It’s fixed.” “No,” he said, “I guess not.” “It will be tender for a few days. Try to exercise it, but stay off of it as much as you’re on.” He nodded as she slid past him once more, carrying with her the comforting scent of earth, the adornments in her wings clinking, just as he’d always remembered. “Thank you,” he told her, and gathered his legs beneath him to stand. “I owe you one.” “You owe me nothing.” She eyed him over her shoulder. “I am your mother. It is my duty to keep you well.” |
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