Norzaren
(#29849512)
Level 1 Fae
Familiar
Marshland Poodle Mith
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Fae
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.42 m
Wingspan
1.55 m
Weight
1.52 kg
Genetics
Pearl
Basic
Basic
Mulberry
Basic
Basic
Umber
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Fae
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
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___________________Norzaren___________________
The Mith Child |
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In the young Fae’s unformed mind, there were two worlds: the Old World and the New World. He did not remember many things about the Old World, and he was relieved by that. The Old World was where he’d been born. He had left that world as an infant – managed to evade the grasping paws and crushing feet. He had darted through stone, following the tunnels that only the rats know. And then he had popped free and had fled until he’d left the echoes of the Old World behind. His tumbling flight took him into the Tangled Wood. When he raised his head again, he was surrounded by air and trees. No chaos. No noise. It was a Dryad who found him. Most Dryads, when they are young, are vain and selfish things. This was an older Dryad, one whose tree sheltered many animals. The long years had taught her to be patient and compassionate, and it was she who first nurtured the Fae. She spoke only in the rustles of leaves and the scents of flowers; this was the first language he learned. He sat patiently in her branches as she pointed out the denizens of the forest to him. Birds. Cerdae. Miths. There were many Miths in this part of the Wood. They spoke a different language, but it was compatible with the Dryad’s words. They wondered at the little Fae, at his pearly scales and delicate fins. They patted him with tiny, gentle hands. The Dryad smiled to see this. And one cold, hard winter, when frost dug its claws into the Tangled Wood, she gave the Fae away. The Miths took him, bundling him up in silk. He looked back at the Dryad one last time. She waved to him, smiling softly, and then sank into the embrace of her tree. It closed gray bark over her face, and the branches overhead stiffened into gnarled, dead claws at last. The Miths brought the Fae to their village. They brushed fallen leaves from his head. “Norzaren, Norzaren,” they buzzed to him. And the Fae realized that they’d given him a name. He looked at the trees lit by cool blue light, at the Miths bustling around him. Interlocking branches draped with moss, and the first snows of winter beginning to fall. The New World. ~ ~ ~ Norzaren hid with the Miths in their trees. In the warmer seasons, he ventured out with them cautiously – for the Miths had many predators, including Dragonkind. They fled the encroaching drakes several times. Norzaren was always carried along, wrapped in silk like their own young. A giant cocoon, growing heavier and more conspicuous each year. The Miths knew that Norzaren couldn’t stay. They cared for him, for his Dryad had once sheltered them, and they had promised her that they would shelter him, too. But it was getting difficult. Norzaren was as gentle and shy as their own little nymphs, but he was now too large, and he ate too much – too many insects. He’d never harmed any of the Miths, but what if...? So they reached out to other villages. They asked for help regarding their own poor dragon. Most messengers were turned away, disparaged: How dare they fraternize with dragons? How dare they provide a haven to one of these greedy beasts? A haven...A haven...The words drifted around. Yes...Perhaps there was a haven.... It was autumn. By then, Norzaren had been with the village for a few years, though he was not yet full-grown. They spoke to him, and he buzzed back. His frills mimicked their wing movements. He had not learned to speak Draconic, and like the Miths, he fled from them. He was more Mith than Fae – but still undeniably a dragon. On that golden autumn day, as leaves fell from the trees, the Miths bustled around Norzaren. They had knitted him a new sweater, for winter was near, and they didn’t know if it would be warm where he was going. They hung a garland of violets around his neck and fastened a violet to his wrist. The scent of the flowers told him, “Always be watchful. And always be true. Watch out for us, as we once watched over you.” And then they led him to the outskirts of the village, where the dragons waited. Norzaren chirred in surprise. He tried to flap away from the black-hooded Fae, but he was too clumsy. He smashed into something else instead. Warm golden fur. Soft, strong arms. The Tundra lady looked down at the quivering bundle she held. She cradled him gently, murmuring words of comfort. Onoind turned back to the Miths. They had reached out to the village that he’d once saved; that was how he’d learned that they had rescued a Fae and now needed to find it a new home. He bowed low to Norzaren’s village; he thanked them humbly for their time and assured them that their charge would be treated well. And thus Norzaren became a part of the Hidden Haven. ~ ~ ~ His reintegration into dragonkind was not smooth. Even now, he jumps at the smallest noise and shrinks back from mere shadows. He’s always looking around with large and anxious eyes. The violets he wears are still as fresh as they were the day he received them. Tharwalda has made them so. He clutches at his garland when he is afraid, and he remembers it means, “Always be watchful...” There is a reason he fled the Old World. He had glimpsed another sphere, events superimposed over it. The Ancient World. A world of hatred and fear. Anything could spring it to life: a dance devolved into a bloody battle, a bundle of rags became a corpse. Firelight over walls, painting them in blood. Dragons’ voices hiding anguished screams. He had seen his parents die before he was even born. He had looked upon the courtyard, and the vision had unfolded there, like a flower bursting into bloom. That was when he’d fled. “It’s all in the past,” others say. “Those visions you have can’t hurt you now.” But Norzaren thinks he knows better. If he could speak more eloquently, he would tell you that the Ancient World is real. Even now, those events tangle themselves into the present. The Old World, the New World, even the Newer World of the Hidden Haven – those are but mere veils. The horrors of the Ancient World are always waiting to break through. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
 Just a note: His mother was a princess (the only remaining one in the clan) and his father was the court jester (and was thought to be a bit stupid, or smart enough to PLAY stupid). His mother was very interested in the arts and performing...so you can see the connection there. This parents were executed the day he was born when they were "found out". Enjoy! |
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Exalting Norzaren to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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