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disconcerto » Den » Ephemeris
Level 10
Imperial Female
Jan 24, 2018 (1 year)
Stats Growth
PrimaryGloom Metallic
SecondaryGloom Alloy
TertiaryOrca Thylacine
Eye TypeIce Common
Energy: 50 / 50
Apparel & Skins
the dark side of the moon
of the outsiders • merchant



to the Icefields
Nestled among the rubble of the Forum of the Obscured Crescent, four eggs lay inside a small hollowed stump. A skydancer watches over them as one by one, the eggs begin to twitch and crack, revealing the hatchlings inside. An imperial approaches then, and the skydancer flits up to his ear and whispers. The imperial nods, then leaves. As the full moon rises to replace the perpetually obscured sun, the skydancer nudges the four hatchlings out of the nest and toward their lair. Squeaking, they tumble toward their first experience of the world.

The hatchlings eat, and become full. They play, and become content. The dark sun is returning, and the hatchlings are about to sleep, when a murmuring arises within the clan. A stranger, heavily equipped and with a confident gait, has appeared. She raises her voice, a clear alto pitch. "Greetings, fellow friends of dragonkind. I come to you with a heavy heart, one weighed down with much responsibility and sadness. Our clan is in dire trouble, encountering an enemy of a kind never witnessed before. Therefore, I must entreat of you, provide to us a warrior, or mercenary, or any hatchling that looks to be strong and worthy of battle, and we will shower you with gifts and gratitude, and the promise to assist you in similar ways should the need arise. Please, for the sake of a fellow dragon in need."

The murmuring grows louder. Glances are exchanged, heads shake in refusal, until finally the imperial steps up. "You may take this one." An imperial, the third-hatched, is nudged in front of the guardian. "She has potential, and I speak from experience, being a skilled merchant who has seen many a youth and good before."

The guardian nods. "Very well." She retrieves a large sack of gems strapped around her waist and places it at the feet of the imperial, who slides it to another dragon to store away. Lowering her neck to look at the young imperial, she smiles softly, removing her cape and goggles to reveal a friendly, toothy grin. "You are now one of the Certo Clan, dear."

finding home
As the wind and ice whips ferociously around them, the guardian, Trickmurk, with the young imperial clutching on for dear life on her back, trudges steadily toward a faint pink light in the distant snow. The journey progresses for what seems like eons among the towering ice spires, their imposing silhouettes amplified by the darkness brought on by the storm. "Unfortunately, dear, these are common conditions must deal with here," Trickmurk shouts against the wind. "A first tip to surviving the wrath of the Fortress of Ends: be careful where you step."

The young imperial is not interested in learning of the dangers of the Icefields. She is cold and miserable, already feeling lonely and isolated from the world she had been born to. Where were those delightfully glowing mushrooms? The little trinkets fished from the Forum? Through her lidded eyes, she sees what appears to be a peculiar hole leading into the ground. Bright orange light glows from within, and maybe, just maybe, she feels a wave of warmth wash over her. But when she blinks the snow from her eyes, the hole is gone. She is disappointed.

Lulled by the rocking of her guardian steed, she begins to fall asleep. One eye closes, then the other. Dreams of the cool, not cold, forests of The Tangled Wood call her into the darkness. With a great sigh, she surrenders. Suddenly, a wave of heat, one very much real and not imagined, overwhelms her. Eyes opening wide, she takes in her surroundings. Some glowing pink dome surrounds her, along with jagged ice spires that block much of the wind. It is very warm. She sighs again. This will do.

Then, Trickmurk speaks again, as if to nothing in particular. "I request second-level entry." Moments pass, until a voice speaks from nowhere, a husky but feminine and clearly grumpy voice. "Trick, access granted."


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