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haawke » Lair » Iris
Level 1
Spiral Female
Nov 09, 2015 (3 years)
Stats Growth
PrimaryIce Iridescent
SecondaryViolet Shimmer
TertiaryTeal Spines
Eye TypeShadow Unusual
Energy: 18 / 50
Apparel & Skins

the witch's apprentice

"hmm... it looks like it's missing a binding ingredient--hey! are you listening to me?"

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Mysia, teacher


Though Iris will never know adulthood, there is nothing she despises more than being treated like a child. Iris, who has proven to be a prodigy of a potions apprentice (the only kind of student Mysia would ever bother to take on), is sensitive to the fact that all of her credibility is undermined by her physique. Unfortunately, she will never emotionally mature enough to express her frustration calmly, and is therefore prone to throw tantrums when she feels she isn't being taken seriously. Predictably, this does not usually help convince anyone that she is an adult. In fact, a large part of why she and Mysia are so close is that Mysia truly listens to Iris instead of dismissing her opinions as youthfully uninformed.

Mysia is also responsible for granting Iris her eternal youth, which was a complete accident at the time. Iris had fallen deathly ill, and Mysia, in her growing desperation, dosed her with a highly experimental version of an elixir of life. In theory, it had worked, but had also somehow permanently locked Iris at her current age.

bio by sailorlunatone


“You can come in, you know,” a voice intoned. “I’d prefer it if you made yourself known next time, though.”

Startled, Iris flitted bashfully inward, mortified at being caught lurking. She didn’t mean to loiter outside the den for so long, but there was something vaguely sinister about the doorway that made her hesitant to enter. She was still hesitant to enter, but, she reasoned, there was no point in waiting any longer now that she’d been discovered.

The interior of the den was much warmer and much smaller than Iris expected it to be. The walls were lined with rows upon rows of shelving, all of them overflowing with various jars of crushed powders and vials of strange liquids. There was a sparse nest in the corner that looked like it didn’t see much use, and the lair was warmly illuminated by several floating orbs of light. A large, cast-iron cauldron atop a blue flame dominated the majority of the space, and the concoction within filled the den with a strong herbal scent. An obsidian skydancer stood over the pot, her multicolored wings still vibrant despite the low light. With one clawed hand, she stirred her pot with what seemed to be a long wooden spoon. With the other, she dropped a few dried leaves into the liquid below.

When her eyes finally lifted from her cauldron to land on Iris, her calm expression changed to one of mild surprise.

“Oh,” the skydancer said. “We don’t get that many hatchlings around here. I thought you were my sister. Did you need something?”

“Your sister?” Iris asked before she could stop herself.

“Yes, my sister. Viridian. You’ve probably seen her around,” she answered.

Now that she mentioned it, she did hold a striking resemblance to the matriarch's right hand. Which could only mean--
“You’re the village witch!” Iris exclaimed, immediately regretting her outburst. Oh, Icewarden, she hoped she hadn’t offended her.

To Iris’s surprise, the witch’s face broke into a wide grin. “Is that what they’re calling me now?” she snickered. “Well, I suppose they’re not wrong. But still, you never answered my question. Did you need something, hatchling?”

“My name is Iris. And yes, Tea sent me to ask you to brew some more warming potion for her. She says her supply is running low.”

This didn’t seem to be news to the witch. “Yes, I think Juniper mentioned something like that yesterday. You can tell Tea I’ll have her supply restocked by nightfall.”

Iris nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Village Witch.”

"Mysia,” the witch said, fighting the urge to laugh at the serious-faced hatchling.

“Thank you, Mysia,” Iris corrected. Iris turned to leave, but before she could bring herself to, her curiosity got the better of her. “What are you brewing now, Mysia?”

“Lunch. Would you like some?” she offered, lifting the spoon to her mouth to take a thoughtful taste.

“Yes, please."

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