Raconteur
(#28389676)
Level 3 Skydancer
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Energy: 0/50
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.82 m
Wingspan
3.85 m
Weight
400.78 kg
Genetics
Periwinkle
Piebald
Piebald
Garnet
Toxin
Toxin
Lemon
Circuit
Circuit
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 3 Skydancer
EXP: 955 / 1401
STR
9
AGI
10
DEF
9
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
10
MND
9
Biography
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Raconteur
Healer of the Body
Lawful Neutral
"My past is not my story: my future is"
He's kind of aloof. Other dragons wonder at his beauty and simultaneous disinterest in seemingly everything. As a hatchling of the Wyrmwound, he was given up for adoption. In his early life, he was shuffled through multiple flights and multiple clans, but none felt right. At one of them, back in the Scarred Wasteland, he suffered abuse at the paws of his "sibling" dragons, who would make him sleep on the scalding ground outside the family nest. Each morning, he would wake with burns on his wings and try not to cry in front of other dragons who saw him. He came to the labyrinth of reeds in the middle of the night. No one aside from those on watch would be awake; in case of a late night scuffle, the fewer eyewitnesses the better. No one’s exactly sure what Zanja did upon his arrival, but in the morning, every clanmate saw the newcomer with wraps tied about his wings. According to Zanja herself, that was Raconteur’s first and only request. “They had supply, and he had a demand,” was her exact wording, but it’s not that important. So. He needed bandages, many of them, presumably for some awful terrible wound. When his wings weren’t being soaked in pondwater, they were wrapped in layered linen cloth to keep them, in his own words, safe. At some point, one clanmate had the courage to ask what exactly was up with that. What did he need to keep them safe from? And, the delay wasn’t because he was intimidating or anything, Raconteur just had a tendency to… not respond. Oddly enough, he did tell that dragon, Fieschada, why – it was to keep his wings safe from infection, even though that was a Plague thing, not a Wind thing. He wasn't a fool like her though, so nobody questioned it. At least, not aloud. Nowadays, Raconteur doesn’t wear the bandages. He doesn’t need them anymore. When his wounds finally healed, he dedicated himself to serve as the clan’s healer, a physician of sorts. He wanted to ensure no one would ever be hurt as in his new clan as he had been before. Without fail, every day, he still has to hold his wings away from his body. Apparently he likes to switch it up, as he’s seen sometimes with his wings just barely above the ground. Then, there are times his wings are so outstretched that the tips touch the beginning of his hindquarters. Once again, no clanmate knows why this is. But they had all seen how Fieschada's attempt ended, unsatisfactory and all. That leaves room for hypothesizing; some say he doesn’t pull his wings to his body, even at night. Raconteur has an abundance of moss and bedding in his den, and the nights are far too hot for to wear sheets. “He must look like a cat when he sleeps like that,” says Fieschada. “Flat and spread out.” Meteor sighs. “You like that, don’t you.” She doesn’t respond, but she has a smile on her face. |
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Exalting Raconteur to the service of the Gladekeeper 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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