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Lundlaeva » Lair » Daell
Level 1
Fae Male
Nov 01, 2013 (5 years)
Stats Growth
PrimaryBlood Basic
SecondaryDenim Basic
TertiaryWhite Basic
Eye TypeArcane Common
Energy: 49 / 50
Apparel & Skins
The Wordsmith
Daell was the middle hatchling of Einmyrir’s second clutch. He was not hatched to be anything special. He was hatched to become an acolyte of the Arcanist.

He was named by his mother for a virtue she hoped he would live in the world long enough to embody: gentleness. Yet, from his first breath, his father crooned to him soft words of indoctrination, teaching him along with his more harshly-named brothers (Djarfr, for boldness; Dolgr, for battle) that their path should lead them to the Arcanist’s Observatory. Daell grew up with the weight of his father’s expectation. Knowing that his life, and his brothers’ lives, did not belong to them.

Still, Daell allowed himself to dream. He listened to the tales spun by the other dragons in the clan: tales of valour, of history both personal and universal, of past lives and other dragons. He memorised the stories until he could tell every one accurately, and with each retelling he learned how to craft his own tales: how to weave the words together into threads that could ensnare any who happened to listen.

He told himself that it would be enough if, in the Observatory, he might be given the task of recording history or events for the Arcanist, for inclusion in his extensive library. He knew this was a lie.

Yet what could he do? Einmyrir still crooned to all three brothers that no matter what their talents, they still belonged with their God.

Then came the fateful day when Dolgr threw off the word-wrought shackles that Einmyrir had bound them with every day of their short lives. Dolgr: always the least willing to acquiesce, always the one to question when Einmyrir told them stories of the glory that awaited them. He left the Lundlaevungar with only the briefest of words to his mother and to Daell, to make his own destiny in another clan, under another God.

Daell realised that day that his life could be his own, if only he grasped it and twisted it from his father’s grip.

He thought perhaps that Djarfr’s sacrifice would be enough to temper his father’s wrath. When Einmyrir returned from his vigil outside the Observatory, Daell plucked up his courage and told his father that he would not go to the Arcanist. At first, Einmyrir believed that Daell simply meant that he would not go yet – but slowly he came to understand that Daell would never go willingly to the Arcanist.

Enraged, Einmyrir attacked his son. In his anger, he did not even think to use his magic: he simply tore at Daell’s flesh with his sharp little claws until the blood flowed thick and fast. Yet Daell did not lift a claw to defend himself, loath to strike at his father even when he seemed bent on taking his life. Daell’s cries eventually drew the rest of the clan, and the other dragons managed to drag Einmyrir off him and get help.

Though Loki and the other magic-wielders of the clan tried every spell and enchantment they knew to heal Daell, the damage was already done. The attack left deep cuts that eventually scarred Daell’s flanks and limbs, but this was the least of Daell’s concerns. Einmyrir’s claws had found his eyes; he is now blind.
The bindings that Daell wears around his ruined eyes slowly became enchanted. So great is his fortitude that it seeped into every thread of the fabric, so that any who wear them will gain the same unfailing courage - as long as they forego their sight.

Despite his blindness, Daell finds comfort in the fact that Einmyrir no longer asks him to join the Arcanist – what use would their God have for one so badly damaged? He is saddened, however, that Einmyrir barely acknowledges his existence at all. Even now he cannot bring himself to hate his father. It is not in his nature.

by Riserae
These days, Daell acts as the Lundlaevungar storyteller. In the evenings, when they hunker down together with their evening meal as the skies darken, he weaves tales from history and legend and from his own imagination. Even on the rowdiest of nights, his voice can silence the Lair so that they can all hear and listen to whatever tale might unfold.







.................................. by Riserae



Please note that this dragon is NOT available for sale, for trade, or to breed with your dragon.

Accent: More Scars

It's actually Dæll and pronounced Dye-ell. That's probably not accurate to Old Norse pronunciation, but it's how I say it.

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