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Dischordant
Eabha has gained adequate status among the peerage, and wishes to be formally recognized as a member of the Dusk Court.
Dragon Link/Widget:
Generation Number: 1
Rank: Princess
Lore: It had been a clear night when the bundle had been delivered to the Clutch, swaddled in gentle blue linens that barely contained the little princess. Tiny little starbourne, twinkling and bright as the flickerlings in the night sky above as she wriggled free, her chirps blythe and light as she gazed upon her new family in awe, as she was scooped up into the gentle embrace of the Matriarch.
So tiny, this little light. So full of life, and vibrance, and joy.
And mischief.
Time passed, and the little sparkling flourished into a young dragon, but the mischief. The mischief remained, to the chagrin of her clutchmates. A sudden burst of stars here, a shriek popping out of one of the ichorous pools there; Eabha's reign of terror knew no bounds. No cubbyhole or pocket or nook or cranny was safe from the faeborn princess, and no dragon was spared.
Her actions are ruled by her whims, her decisions fueled by emotion and desire. She does as she please, when she pleases, however she pleases; often to the groans and dismay of her plagueforged family. She delights in the reactions she can summon, bathing in the screams and yelps and groans of exasperation her antics draw forth. Mirthful and bright, she is; always eager for a laugh and a new game to play with those around her.
Whether they like it or not.
Sadbh has gained adequate status among the peerage, and wishes to be formally recognized as a member of the Dusk Court.
Dragon Link/Widget:
Generation Number: 1
Rank: Princess
Lore:
The night sky had been a cloudless, glittering expanse of stars when the two little starlights had been delivered unto the clan, two matching bundles of soft blue linens offered as a gift upon the the Matriarch's family. And silently had she stared up and out at her new home, and silent was she as she was held close to the Matriarch.
Silence marked her from the first moment, the air around her tranquil and calm, almost frighteningly so when compared to her more exhuberant sibling.
Quiet was she as she grew, seeing without seeing and knowing without knowing. A ghost among the clan, she moved; lost in a world all her own. Every so often, her clan mates could call to her, draw her from the depths of her own though, back to them, back to reality. But only for a moment. Only for the briefest of moments before she was pulled back to sights only she could see, a world only shared in quiet whispers to her sibling.
Sadbh wore the black ichor of her youth, similar to the muckerous goop the hatchlings were all annointed and bathed in to innoculate them. To strengthen them. And as such, her own was a source of succor: to heal wounds. To mend ills. To strengthen the body and consitution. To soothe tired minds to sleep. A gift given in exchange for the gift bestowed to her that first night.
Her family is held close to her heart, even when the distance between them and herself feels so vast. Moments feeling like aeons, time passing like static scattered to the winds, names and faces fleeting.
But she tries. And she loves.
And she is loved in return.
