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Limanya » Lair » Fable
Level 1
Spiral Male
Feb 26, 2017 (1 year)
Stats Growth
PrimaryWhite Iridescent
SecondaryWhite Shimmer
TertiaryCream Thylacine
Eye TypeWind Common
Energy: 49 / 50
Apparel & Skins
fqV3U3F.png Cy9oDCu.png LL0tvYM.png
Member of the Wooden Order
Fable's name is one uttered only rarely - but it has more history behind it than most would think.

It was first spoken many years ago, where the Zephyr Steppes met the Ascent: there, many young Spirals had been born, and little Fable was among them. But when it was spoken, it was not entirely with the joy common to seeing one's newly-hatched children: no, it was a name tainted with worry from the very first time it had been said. Fable would be no exception.

The young Spiral was one of many. Cousins and siblings, older and younger; they all surrounded the child wherever he went. If they could not receive attention from their parents, they’d get it from each other. It would not be long before Fable was asked to do exactly that: to look after those of the family the adults were working to provide for. And though Fable himself was far from adulthood, it wouldn’t be long before he, too, would have to do the same.

It was difficult. Fable had to look after the other children, but who would look after him? It was when the second Spiral was asked to look after the others that Fable slipped away quietly in the night, packed with nothing but food for the flight. The rest, they could keep; they needed it just as much as he did. Hopefully, he’d be able to find more, soon.

His first stop was not far from home, but it was elsewhere. And elsewhere was where the Spiral needed to be right now: someplace he could live without burdening his family. That was the first part of his goal.

The second would be the harder one. Taking away the burden of his own being would only last them so long; they needed support, too. He would send them what he could, live for their sake: that was the plan, but it didn’t quite end up that way. It couldn’t, yet. Fable was a young, inexperienced Spiral – how was he meant to provide for an entire family, and then some?

He did stay with the first clan, if only for a few months. He could do little but simple chores; they needed someone to do simple chores. If it kept him alive for long enough to become better, that would be alright, too. It wouldn’t be long, Fable told himself. It wouldn’t be long.

This was the beginning of a cycle. True to his home domain’s traveller’s spirit, Fable went around and around, crossing increasingly large distances to find whatever clan would next accept him for as long as he intended to stay. If he got nothing out of it, it wasn’t useful. Bonds had to be easily broken. He could never stay.

Years – and many, many clans later, Fable found himself in the Sunbeam Ruins, east of where he’d started. There was a clan that had seemed promising, at least for now; when he arrived, he saw naught but a small camp, yet at the same time, it possessed more structure than many of the other places he’d been. He asked them: what can I do? They answered: what can you do?

The clan – or Clan, as they told him – had just reached a stage in its growth where the first real surge of hatchlings had made its way in. Some would choose to stay; others, to leave. But none of them would be going anywhere in their first years, and so someone had to look after him.

Back to his beginnings, then: nothing but a simple Spiral, taking care of those who were too young to care for themselves. For the time – perhaps a year would do? Maybe less, if it took more out of him than it gave him – that he stayed in the Clan, it seemed to be an alright life. They’d granted him a private tent on the Clangrounds’ outskirts, large enough to accommodate both him and whatever amount of hatchlings was present at the time, and left him be.

The only real contact he had during this time was with the hatchlings, who never quite made for the greatest conversation partners, and with the Clan’s likewise newly appointed cook, another Spiral named Sprout. She came by, several times a day, to deliver the hatchlings’ food – and while she did, it allowed Fable to use the little socializing time he had.

At the same time, however, he had to keep reminding himself not to get too attached. If he did so, it’d surely mean the end for him. He had to be able to leave at any time, no matter those he’d leave behind. He did it the first time; he had to do it many times again. It wasn’t an easy life, but it had to be this way.

Then, one day, Sprout had asked him to come with her. A curious gravestone had appeared where she was foraging, and though it looked new, it also seemed as if none had ever visited it. They had to take it upon them to do so, she said. Fable never thought it could do much harm, and so agreed.

Days later, the grave’s true nature was revealed.

Out came an Emperor, but only a child. It was at that very moment, the sight of the confused hatchling, its three heads staring at him with six wide eyes, that something changed.

Fable didn’t want anything to change, of course. But the sadness of the sight pulled at him, harder and harder, until he finally broke. The children had to have had a mother, too – wasn’t she saddened? Did she know they were alive, once more? Reluctantly, but determined, he took the child with him – and in that moment, he thanked the Gods that he lived so far from the others.

At the same time, he cursed them; for this had meant he could no longer leave, not until the child had its safety assured – something only Fable could do for him at this point. His own safety would become an issue, too. Harboring an Emperor, in the Lightweaver’s domain? Only a desperate dragon would do such a thing.

Very well, then.

Desperate he would be.


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