Ambrosia
(#24499908)
Level 23 Skydancer
Familiar
Phoenix
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.93 m
Wingspan
6.54 m
Weight
620.37 kg
Genetics
Tomato
Starmap
Starmap
Blood
Shimmer
Shimmer
Flaxen
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 23 Skydancer
EXP: 78742 / 147452
STR
4
AGI
23
DEF
24
QCK
44
INT
106
VIT
25
MND
22
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
Biography
ambrosia | priest of sol
The sun was a garish thing, and it frightened him as a young hatchling. From the day he first broke through the shell of his glowing egg, he cowered in the shadows, lurking in the darkness and waiting for the blinding light to melt behind the horizon and give way to the caress of night. The stars were kinder, simpler, he used to think; faraway winks of light that didn't scald his eyes or burn his flesh through his feathers. Even the moon was gentle, but she asked nothing of him, and the stars said just as much.
As he grew older, so did he grow bolder; he ventured into the morning, watching as the dawn stroked brilliant hues over the canvas of sky stretched high overhead. Someday, he envisioned himself ducking and diving among the rosen clouds, dipping through the wisps shining gold along the edges. But then the sun would peek out from behind the mountains and stream blazing light into his valley, and he would retreat back into the safety of the shadows to wait for another sunrise.
Later, as he broached adulthood, he heard the sun speak for the first time.
'my child,' the sun sang, and its voice was as blistering as its heat. It was the voice of crackling fire carried on a thousand winds, licking at his feathers like flames and radiating through his being like stoked embers flaring red-hot. He cried out, startled and afraid. 'my child, do not be frightened.'
'who are you?' he had demanded, soaked in the shadow of the tree he'd sought protection behind. Still, the sun found him, and the shadow grew thin. 'are you the lightweaver? come to chase away my shadow?'
'that is not I,' answered the sun, and the heat of its words singed against his crest.
Wincing, he said, 'then you are the flamecaller, come to turn me to ash.'
'that is not I,' the sun repeated, and for the first time, he felt not fear nor panic, but a strange perplexity. If not the deities of light or flame, then who was this being, who embodied both?
The shadows wavered around him. After a long moment, the young dragon peered around his tree to stare up at the sky with his dark, night-colored eyes. It was with startling realization that he discovered the light did not burn, but warmed, and did not blind, but illuminate. And for the first time, he saw the world bathed in full sunlight, and he was not afraid.
'if you are neither the lightweaver, bringer of light and day, nor the flamecaller, the blaze of fire and scorcher of land, then who?' he asked, blinking against the glare.
'i am light, as the lightweaver is light,' the sun said, and its ancient voice was hot in his ears, but did not hurt. 'i am flame, as the flamecaller is flame. i am life, as the gladekeeper is life, and death, as the plaguebringer is death. i dry the soil of the earthshaker, enrich the waters of the tidelord, draw up the rains for the stormcatcher. i dazzle the crystalline ice of the icewarden and warm the currents of the windsinger. i stretch the shadows of the shadowbinder across the world. i inspire the arcanist and fill every creature with desire.'
His confusion did not lessen. 'i do not understand,' he admitted, and his feathers wilted a little in his disappointment.
'my child,' the sun echoed, and now it was not fear kindling in his chest at the sound, but something brighter, something iridescent and wonderful. 'you need not understand the universe to know me.'
There was silence for a while as he considered this. But the warmth did not leave him, and he found that he quite enjoyed the sensation of it curling pleasantly just below his skin. 'do you have a name?' he inquired after a while, and the winds brushed through his feathers and jostled the embers inside his heart. The sun was laughing, and it was both a stunning sound of snapping flames and a low hum of song that he did not recognize, yet knew intimately.
'i have no name of my own,' the sun said, 'but my children call me by many over the millennia. your gods know me by Sol, and i am the sun, the spark that shapes every living thing and the world around them.'
This information did not help, either. He frowned, still confused; how could this be Sol, the Sun, the thing that gives life? There was already those who brought light and life and shaped the world and the creatures within it, so how did this being fit in what he already knew of the world and existence itself?
The sun must have sensed the cloud still lingering in his mind, for the heat of its light rippled again in another murmured chuckle of wind and warmth. 'i am them, and i am not,' the sun said. 'for i am Sol, a magic separate from the elements. i am the light within, the love, the passion, the anger, the loss. i am too bright and too terrible to live on your world, so i watch from afar, and give little pieces of myself to your gods-- my children-- so that you may shine.'
It felt as though his very being began to crack, as if he were still a shell and something inside him was pushing against the barrier of his body, ready to seek freedom. And from those cracks shot forth beams of light, like there was a star burning in his core ready to burst out from behind a prison of scale and feather.
'i will give you the sight,' said the sun, 'and then you will know me.'
Like when he was newly hatched, the light overwhelmed his vision until flickering spots danced before him, swimming and blinding in the midnight of his eyes. He recoiled back, startled, but the spots only coalesced until the world vanished beneath a searing blaze of white, unfathomable light. Pain throbbed in his head; he collapsed on the swampy marshland of his home, though he no longer felt the slick of wet grass against his feathers or the cool relief of mud squelching beneath his paws. There was only light, and it hurt.
'do not fear it, my child,' he could hear the sun sing, 'the pain will fade, and you will see.'
And as the sun said it would, the agony of his flash-blinded sight abated after a few minutes. Soon, the whiteness dimmed, and the shapes of the world slowly focused back into view. He lay on the earth, panting and fatigued.
He blinked. And saw.
The world was not as it was before; though he still saw shadows, and rocks, and the arching boughs of his marshland, there was something else now glowing among the gentle luminescence of the shadowbinder's territory; little stars, tucked into the hearts and fibers of everything, pulsing with a light that silvered and shimmered and fluctuated under layers of flesh and bone, or wood and sap. Tiny, thin tendrils of such light flowed from those centers and brushed against the next, and the more he watched, the more he realized the web of light branched indefinitely until the world itself was knitted together by every spectral thread.
'oh,' he said to the sun, and the light in his chest surged with power as his eyes, newly aglow, turned back to the sky, 'you are soul.'
As he grew older, so did he grow bolder; he ventured into the morning, watching as the dawn stroked brilliant hues over the canvas of sky stretched high overhead. Someday, he envisioned himself ducking and diving among the rosen clouds, dipping through the wisps shining gold along the edges. But then the sun would peek out from behind the mountains and stream blazing light into his valley, and he would retreat back into the safety of the shadows to wait for another sunrise.
Later, as he broached adulthood, he heard the sun speak for the first time.
'my child,' the sun sang, and its voice was as blistering as its heat. It was the voice of crackling fire carried on a thousand winds, licking at his feathers like flames and radiating through his being like stoked embers flaring red-hot. He cried out, startled and afraid. 'my child, do not be frightened.'
'who are you?' he had demanded, soaked in the shadow of the tree he'd sought protection behind. Still, the sun found him, and the shadow grew thin. 'are you the lightweaver? come to chase away my shadow?'
'that is not I,' answered the sun, and the heat of its words singed against his crest.
Wincing, he said, 'then you are the flamecaller, come to turn me to ash.'
'that is not I,' the sun repeated, and for the first time, he felt not fear nor panic, but a strange perplexity. If not the deities of light or flame, then who was this being, who embodied both?
The shadows wavered around him. After a long moment, the young dragon peered around his tree to stare up at the sky with his dark, night-colored eyes. It was with startling realization that he discovered the light did not burn, but warmed, and did not blind, but illuminate. And for the first time, he saw the world bathed in full sunlight, and he was not afraid.
'if you are neither the lightweaver, bringer of light and day, nor the flamecaller, the blaze of fire and scorcher of land, then who?' he asked, blinking against the glare.
'i am light, as the lightweaver is light,' the sun said, and its ancient voice was hot in his ears, but did not hurt. 'i am flame, as the flamecaller is flame. i am life, as the gladekeeper is life, and death, as the plaguebringer is death. i dry the soil of the earthshaker, enrich the waters of the tidelord, draw up the rains for the stormcatcher. i dazzle the crystalline ice of the icewarden and warm the currents of the windsinger. i stretch the shadows of the shadowbinder across the world. i inspire the arcanist and fill every creature with desire.'
His confusion did not lessen. 'i do not understand,' he admitted, and his feathers wilted a little in his disappointment.
'my child,' the sun echoed, and now it was not fear kindling in his chest at the sound, but something brighter, something iridescent and wonderful. 'you need not understand the universe to know me.'
There was silence for a while as he considered this. But the warmth did not leave him, and he found that he quite enjoyed the sensation of it curling pleasantly just below his skin. 'do you have a name?' he inquired after a while, and the winds brushed through his feathers and jostled the embers inside his heart. The sun was laughing, and it was both a stunning sound of snapping flames and a low hum of song that he did not recognize, yet knew intimately.
'i have no name of my own,' the sun said, 'but my children call me by many over the millennia. your gods know me by Sol, and i am the sun, the spark that shapes every living thing and the world around them.'
This information did not help, either. He frowned, still confused; how could this be Sol, the Sun, the thing that gives life? There was already those who brought light and life and shaped the world and the creatures within it, so how did this being fit in what he already knew of the world and existence itself?
The sun must have sensed the cloud still lingering in his mind, for the heat of its light rippled again in another murmured chuckle of wind and warmth. 'i am them, and i am not,' the sun said. 'for i am Sol, a magic separate from the elements. i am the light within, the love, the passion, the anger, the loss. i am too bright and too terrible to live on your world, so i watch from afar, and give little pieces of myself to your gods-- my children-- so that you may shine.'
It felt as though his very being began to crack, as if he were still a shell and something inside him was pushing against the barrier of his body, ready to seek freedom. And from those cracks shot forth beams of light, like there was a star burning in his core ready to burst out from behind a prison of scale and feather.
'i will give you the sight,' said the sun, 'and then you will know me.'
Like when he was newly hatched, the light overwhelmed his vision until flickering spots danced before him, swimming and blinding in the midnight of his eyes. He recoiled back, startled, but the spots only coalesced until the world vanished beneath a searing blaze of white, unfathomable light. Pain throbbed in his head; he collapsed on the swampy marshland of his home, though he no longer felt the slick of wet grass against his feathers or the cool relief of mud squelching beneath his paws. There was only light, and it hurt.
'do not fear it, my child,' he could hear the sun sing, 'the pain will fade, and you will see.'
And as the sun said it would, the agony of his flash-blinded sight abated after a few minutes. Soon, the whiteness dimmed, and the shapes of the world slowly focused back into view. He lay on the earth, panting and fatigued.
He blinked. And saw.
The world was not as it was before; though he still saw shadows, and rocks, and the arching boughs of his marshland, there was something else now glowing among the gentle luminescence of the shadowbinder's territory; little stars, tucked into the hearts and fibers of everything, pulsing with a light that silvered and shimmered and fluctuated under layers of flesh and bone, or wood and sap. Tiny, thin tendrils of such light flowed from those centers and brushed against the next, and the more he watched, the more he realized the web of light branched indefinitely until the world itself was knitted together by every spectral thread.
'oh,' he said to the sun, and the light in his chest surged with power as his eyes, newly aglow, turned back to the sky, 'you are soul.'
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Exalting Ambrosia to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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