Haunt
(#31383485)
Level 1 Tundra
Familiar
Time Devourer
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Tundra
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.21 m
Wingspan
3.26 m
Weight
220.18 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Giraffe
Giraffe
Obsidian
Daub
Daub
Orca
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
| xxx |
Most dragons were under the assumption that breed change scrolls, for their long price tag, were complex to apply. Haunt had always envisioned them to be objects of mystical force, crammed with diagrams and spells so convoluted they could’ve been written by the Arcanist himself. They were an item of luxury, to be handled with care, to be opened only by a dragon with the determination deep in his bones, willingness in his mind, magic in his heart, to change. Sprawled in a bewildered heap on the floor, clouds of some ethereal force still swirling around him, the skydancer-turned-tundra lifted his head and saw the scroll open on the floor. Magic twinkled on the parchment like glitter, fading like dying embers, dissolving the starry outline of a tundra’s visage. As it turned out, breed change scrolls were more like jack-in-the-boxes; glad to punch you in the face with their howling, windy, sparkly transformation magic, whether you meant to open them or not. Haunt certainly had not. He rose sluggishly to his feet, and instantly fell over his big, clumsy paws. He kissed the floor of the archive room and decided he’d rather get to know it better. It was cool on his burning body. He flopped on his side, head spinning with fog, eyes flashing with smudgy, trailing afterimages of that blinding light. It took a lot of light to daze a Light dragon. Haunt glanced over himself. He saw a thick, stripy mane. Strange furry wings. His fur was heavy. His body wasn’t the sleek, streamlined form of a skydancer. He was changed. He was rearranged. Graves was going to kill him. Graves was the keeper of the clan’s records, and Haunt, until about five minutes ago, had been his skydancer assistant. His breed – well, previous breed - was not well-suited for combat. He was better at reading books than emotions, eager to rabbit down to the seclusion of the hidden archive room after borrowing from the clan’s library. Graves didn’t mind. Most times. the solemn tundra simply asked Haunt to douse himself in Light magic until he glowed like a luminous mushroom and come sit beside him, perhaps quietly reading a book, passively illuminating his writing desk with a clear sunny glow, even on the darkest, dreariest of days. Haunt groaned as he sat up, swayed drunkenly on his new feet. He was still in possession of his skydancer senses, and, blunt as they were, he felt the murderous intent of a male dragon, fixing an intruder with a predatory stare as he snuck up behind them. Oh, Haunt thought wearily. Maybe this isn’t so bad. I could be that intruder, instead. That’s when the dragon tackled him from behind. They crashed to the ground, one on top of the other. Haunt didn’t remember much of what happened next, really. The floor span. He looked into a pair of bright purple eyes, behind darksteel halfmoon spectacles, and the bright purple eyes widened. “Haunt?” The dragon sounded like Graves, albeit in a state of disbelief. Haunt blinked a few times, feeling woozy. A black cat trotted past them with its tail in the air. It looked like Graves’s cat. Haunt put two and two together, which wasn’t easy. He felt stupefied. The dragon sitting on his chest spoke words he didn’t catch. He got distracted by smells. The odor of ink, the sweet musk of parchment paper and dry roses, and the dusty smell of bantam fangar fur, saturated into the dragon’s black aviator coat. Oh. Didn’t Graves have a black aviator coat? By this point, Haunt was fairly confident that the dragon was, in fact, Graves. “Hi, boss,” he smiled dazedly. “What in Heaven’s name happened in here?” the recordkeeper inquired, speaking slowly, as if he were trying to regain his usual composure. “Who did this to y-” He stopped mid-sentence. Haunt had a most peculiar feeling he had just noticed the open scroll. “Oh, Haunt.” Now he sounded exasperated. “It was an accident, sir.” Perched on him like an owl, Graves narrowed his eyes. “An accident.” “I didn’t know it was a breed change scroll.” “I wrote a warning for you on the case.” “I was holding it upside down. I thought it was Latin.” “I do not write in Latin.” “I assumed you were starting today, sir. Your brother always said you needed to try new things,” said Haunt. “So, when I held the scroll upside-down, I thought you’d decided to become bilingual.” Graves stared hard. Haunt felt a bit nervous. At last, Graves sighed. “What possessed you to open the scroll?” “It was inside a case covered in exciting-looking red Latin, sir.” Graves went silent and did the long gaze thing again, tail swishing in slow, contemplative circles. The cat’s face hovered in Haunt’s peripheral vision, staring at him with googly yellow orbs. It lifted a dusty-smelling paw. It seemed to change its mind, lowered the paw. Then, it lifted its paw again and smacked him on the nose. | xxx |
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Exalting Haunt 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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