@taranovae they're both so lovely ;_; the accent really goes well with Leviathan's colours :)
anyways, i wrote 2 bios, just because :P
Leviathan:
Leviathan? Mothers would say, holding their hatchlings close.
Stay away from him.
No good would come from meddling in dark magic.
No good at all.
Leviathan knew the rumours they spread. The ones they said behind his back, when they thought that he wasn't listening.
He hated them. The way they thought that he was too foolish to meddle in necromancy.
Fools, the lot of them. This was where the real power was.
Leviathan never looked back after he turned away from the Arcanist. How could he, after what he had done?
He had neglected and broken every rule in magic and it was easier said than done to stop what he was doing.
His parents were horrified when he told them what he wanted to do.
Disappointed at the obvious lack of support from them, he became more reclusive, eventually withdrawing from the clan completely, dedicating every waking moment to his experiments, pausing only to eat or rest.
At first, the projects had been small. Bringing small animal corpses back to life, animating skulls and the like.
It was rather fun, Leviathan thought, seeing the younger dragons squeal and scream at the sight of the ghostly bones, seemingly coming to life by themselves.
Then it became more obsessive. Leviathan was never satisfied.
He wanted to bring a whole dragon back to life. Imagine!
A whole dragon!
This ended in failure, of course, and he was almost exiled to the Plaguebringer's domain, because where else could you play with bones and not be called mad?
Only the thought of leaving behind that source of magic, the one radiating from the Starfall Isles, always pulsing gently, just waiting to be tapped into, made him stay.
One day, though.
One day, he would make them listen.
Prophet:
Prophet never spoke.
Or rather, no dragon had ever heard her speak.
It was strange, that this lone female skydancer, clad from head to toe in white armour, had never spoken.
Not once.
She took to the coliseum frequently, constantly seeking to improve her own skills.
It was suspicious, her clan members decided.
Even when she was clawed or maimed, she never spoke a word.
Some thought that she was born mute.
Others assumed that a tragic accident had left her disfigured and traumatized, and that she was still in shock, and wore the helmet to hide the scars.
It was hard to tell what Prophet was thinking. Her face usually bore an impassive mask, and it did not help that a literal mask covered more than half of her head.
Her cold gaze chilled every dragon to the bone and no one dared to meet her gaze.
She did not have a mate.
She did not need one.
Prophet kept to herself, and when she wasn't spending time in the coliseum, she could be found keeping company with her familiar.
She was always ready for a battle, and although she did not show it, a cold gleam always came into her eyes when some foolish dragon decided to fight her.
Actions always speak louder than words, don't they?
anyways, i wrote 2 bios, just because :P
Leviathan:
Leviathan? Mothers would say, holding their hatchlings close.
Stay away from him.
No good would come from meddling in dark magic.
No good at all.
Leviathan knew the rumours they spread. The ones they said behind his back, when they thought that he wasn't listening.
He hated them. The way they thought that he was too foolish to meddle in necromancy.
Fools, the lot of them. This was where the real power was.
Leviathan never looked back after he turned away from the Arcanist. How could he, after what he had done?
He had neglected and broken every rule in magic and it was easier said than done to stop what he was doing.
His parents were horrified when he told them what he wanted to do.
Disappointed at the obvious lack of support from them, he became more reclusive, eventually withdrawing from the clan completely, dedicating every waking moment to his experiments, pausing only to eat or rest.
At first, the projects had been small. Bringing small animal corpses back to life, animating skulls and the like.
It was rather fun, Leviathan thought, seeing the younger dragons squeal and scream at the sight of the ghostly bones, seemingly coming to life by themselves.
Then it became more obsessive. Leviathan was never satisfied.
He wanted to bring a whole dragon back to life. Imagine!
A whole dragon!
This ended in failure, of course, and he was almost exiled to the Plaguebringer's domain, because where else could you play with bones and not be called mad?
Only the thought of leaving behind that source of magic, the one radiating from the Starfall Isles, always pulsing gently, just waiting to be tapped into, made him stay.
One day, though.
One day, he would make them listen.
Prophet:
Prophet never spoke.
Or rather, no dragon had ever heard her speak.
It was strange, that this lone female skydancer, clad from head to toe in white armour, had never spoken.
Not once.
She took to the coliseum frequently, constantly seeking to improve her own skills.
It was suspicious, her clan members decided.
Even when she was clawed or maimed, she never spoke a word.
Some thought that she was born mute.
Others assumed that a tragic accident had left her disfigured and traumatized, and that she was still in shock, and wore the helmet to hide the scars.
It was hard to tell what Prophet was thinking. Her face usually bore an impassive mask, and it did not help that a literal mask covered more than half of her head.
Her cold gaze chilled every dragon to the bone and no one dared to meet her gaze.
She did not have a mate.
She did not need one.
Prophet kept to herself, and when she wasn't spending time in the coliseum, she could be found keeping company with her familiar.
She was always ready for a battle, and although she did not show it, a cold gleam always came into her eyes when some foolish dragon decided to fight her.
Actions always speak louder than words, don't they?
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