Dragon Lair Nesting Grounds Gather Items Clan Profile Hoard Messages Merch Marketplace Auction House Trading Post Crossroads Custom Skins Fairgrounds Coliseum Dominance Forums World Map Search Dressing Room Scrying Workshop Encyclopedia Media Support
markab » Lair » Inyo
Level 1
Skydancer Male
May 30, 2017 (2 years)
Stats Growth
PrimarySoil Savannah
SecondaryHunter Saturn
TertiarySoil Thylacine
Eye TypeNature Uncommon
Energy: 0 / 50
Apparel & Skins
The Cultivator

After hundreds of years, Inyo doesn't feel like a name anymore.

He still knows very little -- little about why he was created, about what breathed life into him deep in the jungles of the Shrieking Wilds. The Gladekeeper, perhaps. Or maybe something entirely different altogether. What he does remember is a word. Inyo. And a faint memory; that he was sculpted from soil and leaf, wind and clay, a being of pure nature as wild and primal as the forest itself.

And for a while, Inyo meant everything. It meant him. It meant he had a purpose, if someone cared enough to name the thing they had created.

For years, he lived all across the Viridian Labyrinth. With clans, on his own -- slowly learning, if not what he was, then what he could do. The way he left flowers and grass where the prints of his feet should be -- and, though it took longer -- could leave saplings, even coax trees to grow in soil that would take years to support them. And at first, it all took so much energy he could barely grow so much as a patch of flowers. But he had all the time in the world to practice; to call the attention of whatever had sculpted him. If he found his purpose, he found answers.

Gradually, the time he spent with the clans grew less and less. Gradually, he turned from another dragon into a legend, a whispered fable among hatchlings, those who remembered and then those who saw the briefest signs of him in the depths of the jungle. They stopped calling him Inyo. They stopped seeing him as a dragon. Instead they whispered about the Cultivator, who brought plants and animals and rich soil in his wake.

Gradually, as years passed and nobody spoke to him, as he grew no closer to why he'd been formed, Inyo stopped meaning anything. A name given to him by a ghost.

The Cultivator, they called him. And that was real.

Sierra Grove was little more than a sandy wasteland, when he found it. Canyons, cliffs, jagged mountains dotted with shaggy juniper and scrub. And slowly, steadily, it grew. The mountains and valleys bright with thick grass and aspen and pine, dragged into being under his feet and breath; mountain lakes and flowers and soil beneath the sand, prickly pear and stubby cacti, aloe and all the desert plants he could drag from his mind.

When the first dragons came, seeking shelter in the tiny world he had created, he stayed. And eventually, they began to whisper the same name.

Inyo is very much the product of his long, solitary years spent roaming the Viridian Labyrinth. He's a ghost -- taught himself to be, anyways, nothing but a myth whispered in corners, these days celebrated in the spring, dragons climbing the mountains and studying the trees to search for him like he's anything but a failed thing not worth enough to his creator for a single word or barest acknowledgement.

Because, of course, when you spend long enough with nothing but the trees and the plants for company, it's hard to feel like an actual being. He still has the form of a dragon, yes -- but he's as distant and wild as the forest -- he is the forests, and those that reside on the island are not his kind.

Dismissive he might be, but the Grove is his, and so are its inhabitants, by proxy. He's hardly a god, but what he might be -- spirit, wraith, aspect of nature -- nature isn't malevolent. Nor is it benevolent. It simply is. But this nature has a force behind it, and its force is tooth and claw and all the wild beasts and plants of the wild.

He keeps the soil richer than it should be, keeps the streams flowing, the trees and grass green and tall and watches dragons and beastclan wander through the world he created. He is not part of them, no matter the occasional, easily suppressed tug at the back of his mind that he might want to be. As long as the Grove is at peace, that is enough for him. But should anyone threaten it --

Life and death are connected. It's best you don't find out the exact particulars of how.



tumblr_inline_ojq6kqtzXZ1r2ao8y_540.png tumblr_inline_ojq6kwwlmN1r2ao8y_540.png

named for inyo national forest, which covers parts of the eastern sierra nevada in california and the white mountains of california and nevada

© 2013 - 2019 Stormlight Workshop. All Rights Reserved
Terms of Use | Rules & Policies | Privacy Policy | Employment Opportunities | Credits | Support