Kekepani
(#41569430)
Level 1 Spiral
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.76 m
Wingspan
2.12 m
Weight
99.4 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Vipera
Vipera
Obsidian
Current
Current
Terracotta
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Spiral
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
The fire I began,
Is burning me alive.
But I know better than
To leave and let it die.
Thanks to Dovalore!
Remember, phoenixes rise from ash. Fiery eyes flare with the strength of a thousand volcanoes-- consider yourself fortunate if you never have that terrible gaze turned upon you. Old gods, new gods, what does it matter? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; whatever the case, she'll get up, spit out the blood in her mouth, and go down in a blaze.
Wonderful aesthetics by shanncrafter!
Credit-Ichored
Remember little doodle!
-Awesome art by Nioell
Lovely art by Anukite
-Amazing art by AmeriaSparrow
-Amazing art by NameChange851
Beautiful Trauma story for Kekepani (adapt the lyrics to Kekepani's stoy)
Mild gore in story below; I do not think it will scare most people on FR unless you are very squeamish but putting the caution here just in case.
Kekepani was the seventh-hatched of her eight siblings, born in a lava tube at the base of the Blacksand Annex, a place reserved for the poorest of families. As a hatchling, Kekepani was a very odd creature indeed. While her siblings bragged about brutally slaughtering their prey, or throwing stones at the neighbours, Kekepani simply leaned against the walls, listening to the rumbling of the volcano they lived so precariously close to. When a rare kill of deer was bought in, she did not immediately satisfy her hunger; instead, she sat still, gazing deep into the flame and blackening her talons with quick swipes through the heat. Her father, Peleke ‘Aukai, observed a strange sort of contrast in her temperament. She was calm as the swirling of smoke at times of volcanic calm, but violent like the shattering of the Molten Scar when the ground began to tremble. He would never forget that night--that horrid night when he could swear that her eyes glowed orange with fury when he told her that they would be moving away from their cave in the lava fields. Nevertheless, Peleke continued to dismiss Kekepani’s occasional episodes as mere ‘teenage rebellion’. She was an unusual child, indeed. But what could he do for her? Anyone that offered to ‘fix’ her strange qualities could as well be a assassin as much as they said they were a healer. It was risky for Kekepani to confined away from the volcano, but it was even more dangerous for them to go back--where the predicted eruption could kill them in seconds. For now, living in the crime-ridden slums, with a child who constantly put her family into danger with her unpredictable bursts of anger-- would just have to do.
For twelve years, Peleke and his children suffered sleepless nights, famine, robberies, and threats of death at the expense of the last hatched. Every other night, she sprinted away, only to return with oozing gashes, ripped wings, and missing talons. The aching hunger in Peleke’s stomach was nothing compared listening to the screams of his daughter as she struggled in the claws of gangs. He never directly confronted her captors, because he knew that if he went after them, he would almost certainly be killed. It was a gut-wrenching choice, to spare his own life or to let the weakest of his children die--but to abandon her siblings would be a heinous crime. Pika, Akamu, Keaweaheulu, Nahele, Olina, and Ulani. They all had skills, they all had hope for the future--but Kekepani had none. It repulsed Peleke that he had to let his child be abused again and again to keep the rest of his family alive. However, perhaps it would be more fair if he let Kekepani die at the hands of her enemies--or of the volcano-- before she was allowed to become an adult who would be imprisoned for the rest of her life. That’s what he thought to comfort himself when Kekepani was dropped at the door one morning, barely able to walk. After all, her mother was too long gone to inflict her revenge-wasn’t she?
At Kekepani’s fourteenth year of fighting, the fateful dusk came. While the rest of her siblings were now bartering for food from the market as usual, Kekepani and Peleke were perched on a balcony, waiting for the magnificent firework display that one dragon was wealthy enough to put on every year. Kekepani had dreamed of seeing the spectacular show since she left the lava fields. Fortunately, the mountain was not in its full rage this year, and for what seemed the first time in her life, she could feel truly happy; not enduring the anguish of her abuse, or being privy to the fury of the volcano. It was just her, a being at peace, and the brilliant colours about to bloom before her, stars and frangipanis and phoenixes and all mystical and beautiful things.
And Father, by her side. The only dragon that she felt affection towards--apart from Nahele, perhaps. Why did she look up to the dragon that had left her to suffer, only giving her aid when she came home? Why did she love the dragon that let her frolicsome brothers and sisters earn a living at the market, while she was confined to do household chores? Her mother would be utterly ashamed of her spouse’s actions. She could imagine how she might react; screeching in injustice before pinning her father down and sinking her claws into his neck. “How would you like it…”--her mother’s eerie voice reverberated in her mind--”...if I let you have a taste of your own medicine?” But Father didn’t deserve that. It was Kekepani who snuck out while everyone else was asleep, desperate to get back, back, back to her real home. The volcano, the sharp-edged silhouette that beckoned to her like a glittering ruby in a heap of dirt. No-one could blame her father for not heading out and tearing off the wings of her captors, for not trying to stop her from suffocating in sulphur fumes or scorching to a crisp in an eruption. Peleke had tried everything he could to stop her from going home. He had erected a barbed wire fence, attached ‘non-removable’ blindfolds for the night, even set up alarms that woke up the whole slum when she stepped outside--but yet, Kekepani almost always found a way through. Besides, she knew that she had no value to her family. It was not worth her father getting his throat slit open to save her. And that--well, it was the truth. It didn’t really bother her. Nor did the scars on her body mean anything. All that mattered to her was experiencing the beauty of this imitation of fire, her last moment with her father--and then, getting back to the place where she would finally be free. Where there was real fire.
The sky lit up in a kaleidoscope of colours. In a matter of seconds, the vast expanse once dark grey with ash had transformed into a vibrant horizon of all hues so bright and beautiful and brilliant. Sparkles of emerald, topaz, ruby, gold, and silver flickered and exploded into into mists of glitter, over and over again until the whole sky was hazy with a chromaticity that no ordinary slum-dweller could ever have hoped to see before. A few glimmers of citrine amongst the fog of coal and obsidian were all the colour most had seen here amongst the wastes; but tonight, it seemed as if the whole world was lit on technicolour fire. Thousands of children awed at the frolicking of intangible animals before them, squealing when they seemed to pounce on their tails. Elders awoke from their torpor of despair when pixies danced above their heads. And not a single dragon was left underwhelmed when a wave of rainbow mist swooped over the slum, like an eagle diving for its prey. Kekepani sat, transfixed. All this splendor, all this magnificence, was in grim contrast to the streets below them, crawling with rats. The constant stench of garbage was something Kekepani had grown accustomed to over the years, along with all the other unpleasantries of living in a slum. If there was anything she liked about this place, however, it was being able to experience the fireworks: the technicolour hues, the blasts of explosions, the scent of singed potassium nitrate. Almost as beautiful as her volcano, indeed.
Above Kekepani and her father, millions of pink hibiscuses arose from the void of the dark sky. The crowd could not resist a gasp when an array of tropical plants erupted into bloom, things so rarely seen in the Ashfall Waste they were somewhat a miracle. Phoenixes flew out from their stamens in a flurry of sparks; dragons giggling as they tried to catch handfuls of the pollen-like mist. For once, her father was smiling. His eyes, usually as dull as a dying ember, were flickering like a candle. She watched her siblings clambering up the balcony to watch. Six glowing embers gazed up; gentle flames of contentment at this dramatic, albeit temporary, shift in the monotony of their daily routine. Kekepani smiled. She put a wing around Olina, the impudent diva that had always irritated her, and another around Nahele, that brother she’d admit--well, she’d miss a little. Tonight, they felt like one family. Every member, at peace and united. They had never felt such happiness since the day Wikolia, the so-called gem in the crown of their family, vanished. Not even the last daughter was excluded from the joy of being together. Despite her tendency towards solitude, Kekepani sometimes found a simple kind of joy in doing anything as a family--selling crafts at the market, cooking food, washing the dishes. But for them to be together on such a spectacular night, Kekepani included, was an extraordinary occasion indeed. For one night, Peleke did not have to worry about his daughter, the siblings were not burdened with the stress of everyday breadwinner life, and most importantly,, Kekepani was calm. The constant crash of the fireworks did not aggravate her at all; rather, they filled her with a sense of rare peace. It was not until when a gigantic montage of the Flamecaller arose from the pit of the volcano, roaring and streaming fire, that a glimmering blade shot right into Father’s neck, triggering the whole world into pandemonium.
Kekepani froze. Her siblings huddled behind a piece of tin roofing, unable to comprehend what was going on. A cacophony of gasps, screams, and shouts erupted from the crowd. Some fled like a swarm of ants, others attempted to attack, their bodies tossed to the ground in seconds, and a few, rather absurdly, continued to watch the firework display.
Rivers of blood flowed from the ghastly hole in Father’s neck. The victim looked down and gasped, barely a croak, at the sudden carnage on his neck, eyes growing wide and mad like a diseased, swollen egg. He stumbled, took a step forward, and was hit, again, this time by a rock. The dragon groaned; a horrible noise of agony. Kekepani heard chuckling from the balcony below them. A laboured, heavy whine. Her eyes burned bright, bright, bright, until they burned, blazed with the power of a million suns. The dragon gargled, his mouth foaming, attempting to reach his daughter. She straightened up, standing on two legs. I’m here, Father. Come to me.
Her whole body blazed with fury; muscle, organs, bones, burned as if a flame had been ignited from the inside. Kekepani stared at the ruffians--the very same dragons who had tortured her--and sprung forward to tear them into shreds.
A loud bang on iron, a screech of hatred. Kekepani stomped on the head of the ruffian whom now only had one eye, and whipped around. She leapt towards her father, to pull out that wretched blade, to claim back who her siblings needed--but it was already too late. An emaciated ruffian, marred with horrific burns and boils, rammed into Peleke’s chest. He stumbled backwards, groaning one last time, and his body landed on the pavement with a sickening thud.
Is burning me alive.
But I know better than
To leave and let it die.
Thanks to Dovalore!
Remember, phoenixes rise from ash. Fiery eyes flare with the strength of a thousand volcanoes-- consider yourself fortunate if you never have that terrible gaze turned upon you. Old gods, new gods, what does it matter? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; whatever the case, she'll get up, spit out the blood in her mouth, and go down in a blaze.
Wonderful aesthetics by shanncrafter!
Credit-Ichored
Remember little doodle!
-Awesome art by Nioell
Lovely art by Anukite
-Amazing art by AmeriaSparrow
-Amazing art by NameChange851
Quote:
Great storms from little raindrops grow,
and tiny seeds burst forth in flowers.
An ember sparks the wildfire
rising now to forge her fate
in sulphur-smoke and ash.
A ragged waif ignited;
secret flame incited
by fury, tempered in grief,
a sleeping strength
evoked in volcano's dusk.
Lost in embers and in blood,
an anguished soul arisen.
Untapped power, abiding deep
in fractured heart, awaiting
a test to set herself apart.
Amazing poem by Pigwidgeon
and tiny seeds burst forth in flowers.
An ember sparks the wildfire
rising now to forge her fate
in sulphur-smoke and ash.
A ragged waif ignited;
secret flame incited
by fury, tempered in grief,
a sleeping strength
evoked in volcano's dusk.
Lost in embers and in blood,
an anguished soul arisen.
Untapped power, abiding deep
in fractured heart, awaiting
a test to set herself apart.
Amazing poem by Pigwidgeon
But I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
No, I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
And I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I'll find my way, find my way home.
Oh yeah, I'm haunted by the distant past
Called to the skies but she was overcast
But I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
No, I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
And I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I'll find my way home.
-Sia, Never Give Up
No, I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
And I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I'll find my way, find my way home.
Oh yeah, I'm haunted by the distant past
Called to the skies but she was overcast
But I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
No, I won't never give up, no, never give up, no, no
And I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I won't let you get me down
I'll keep gettin' up when I hit the ground
Oh, never give up, no, never give up no, no, oh
I'll find my way home.
-Sia, Never Give Up
Beautiful Trauma story for Kekepani (adapt the lyrics to Kekepani's stoy)
Mild gore in story below; I do not think it will scare most people on FR unless you are very squeamish but putting the caution here just in case.
Enveloped in Flame: Kekepani's backstory (ongoing!)
Kekepani Kaiwi Wikolia ‘Aukai. That is what they called their last daughter, the tiny hatchling that crawled out of her egg like a pathetic, starving rat, her scales drenched in blood and slime. From the very moment she hatched, Kekepani was downtrodden. Young children tossed scraps of raw meat at her as she scrambled for food on the streets, her captors laughing when they saw her bloodshot eyes and jutting ribs. Countless times had Kekepani brushed with death when she confronted the unfairness of it all, vicious teenagers pinning her against walls and torching flakes off her skin for grisly entertainment. At the request of her late mother, her father christened her Kekepani, an old name meaning ‘crowned in victory.’ It seemed ironic, considering the abject poverty that such a child lived in. Little did they know, however, that not only would their daughter become favoured with the Flamecaller, but destroy entire countries and become a force of unstoppable force of nature as ruthless as Fire itself.Kekepani was the seventh-hatched of her eight siblings, born in a lava tube at the base of the Blacksand Annex, a place reserved for the poorest of families. As a hatchling, Kekepani was a very odd creature indeed. While her siblings bragged about brutally slaughtering their prey, or throwing stones at the neighbours, Kekepani simply leaned against the walls, listening to the rumbling of the volcano they lived so precariously close to. When a rare kill of deer was bought in, she did not immediately satisfy her hunger; instead, she sat still, gazing deep into the flame and blackening her talons with quick swipes through the heat. Her father, Peleke ‘Aukai, observed a strange sort of contrast in her temperament. She was calm as the swirling of smoke at times of volcanic calm, but violent like the shattering of the Molten Scar when the ground began to tremble. He would never forget that night--that horrid night when he could swear that her eyes glowed orange with fury when he told her that they would be moving away from their cave in the lava fields. Nevertheless, Peleke continued to dismiss Kekepani’s occasional episodes as mere ‘teenage rebellion’. She was an unusual child, indeed. But what could he do for her? Anyone that offered to ‘fix’ her strange qualities could as well be a assassin as much as they said they were a healer. It was risky for Kekepani to confined away from the volcano, but it was even more dangerous for them to go back--where the predicted eruption could kill them in seconds. For now, living in the crime-ridden slums, with a child who constantly put her family into danger with her unpredictable bursts of anger-- would just have to do.
For twelve years, Peleke and his children suffered sleepless nights, famine, robberies, and threats of death at the expense of the last hatched. Every other night, she sprinted away, only to return with oozing gashes, ripped wings, and missing talons. The aching hunger in Peleke’s stomach was nothing compared listening to the screams of his daughter as she struggled in the claws of gangs. He never directly confronted her captors, because he knew that if he went after them, he would almost certainly be killed. It was a gut-wrenching choice, to spare his own life or to let the weakest of his children die--but to abandon her siblings would be a heinous crime. Pika, Akamu, Keaweaheulu, Nahele, Olina, and Ulani. They all had skills, they all had hope for the future--but Kekepani had none. It repulsed Peleke that he had to let his child be abused again and again to keep the rest of his family alive. However, perhaps it would be more fair if he let Kekepani die at the hands of her enemies--or of the volcano-- before she was allowed to become an adult who would be imprisoned for the rest of her life. That’s what he thought to comfort himself when Kekepani was dropped at the door one morning, barely able to walk. After all, her mother was too long gone to inflict her revenge-wasn’t she?
At Kekepani’s fourteenth year of fighting, the fateful dusk came. While the rest of her siblings were now bartering for food from the market as usual, Kekepani and Peleke were perched on a balcony, waiting for the magnificent firework display that one dragon was wealthy enough to put on every year. Kekepani had dreamed of seeing the spectacular show since she left the lava fields. Fortunately, the mountain was not in its full rage this year, and for what seemed the first time in her life, she could feel truly happy; not enduring the anguish of her abuse, or being privy to the fury of the volcano. It was just her, a being at peace, and the brilliant colours about to bloom before her, stars and frangipanis and phoenixes and all mystical and beautiful things.
And Father, by her side. The only dragon that she felt affection towards--apart from Nahele, perhaps. Why did she look up to the dragon that had left her to suffer, only giving her aid when she came home? Why did she love the dragon that let her frolicsome brothers and sisters earn a living at the market, while she was confined to do household chores? Her mother would be utterly ashamed of her spouse’s actions. She could imagine how she might react; screeching in injustice before pinning her father down and sinking her claws into his neck. “How would you like it…”--her mother’s eerie voice reverberated in her mind--”...if I let you have a taste of your own medicine?” But Father didn’t deserve that. It was Kekepani who snuck out while everyone else was asleep, desperate to get back, back, back to her real home. The volcano, the sharp-edged silhouette that beckoned to her like a glittering ruby in a heap of dirt. No-one could blame her father for not heading out and tearing off the wings of her captors, for not trying to stop her from suffocating in sulphur fumes or scorching to a crisp in an eruption. Peleke had tried everything he could to stop her from going home. He had erected a barbed wire fence, attached ‘non-removable’ blindfolds for the night, even set up alarms that woke up the whole slum when she stepped outside--but yet, Kekepani almost always found a way through. Besides, she knew that she had no value to her family. It was not worth her father getting his throat slit open to save her. And that--well, it was the truth. It didn’t really bother her. Nor did the scars on her body mean anything. All that mattered to her was experiencing the beauty of this imitation of fire, her last moment with her father--and then, getting back to the place where she would finally be free. Where there was real fire.
The sky lit up in a kaleidoscope of colours. In a matter of seconds, the vast expanse once dark grey with ash had transformed into a vibrant horizon of all hues so bright and beautiful and brilliant. Sparkles of emerald, topaz, ruby, gold, and silver flickered and exploded into into mists of glitter, over and over again until the whole sky was hazy with a chromaticity that no ordinary slum-dweller could ever have hoped to see before. A few glimmers of citrine amongst the fog of coal and obsidian were all the colour most had seen here amongst the wastes; but tonight, it seemed as if the whole world was lit on technicolour fire. Thousands of children awed at the frolicking of intangible animals before them, squealing when they seemed to pounce on their tails. Elders awoke from their torpor of despair when pixies danced above their heads. And not a single dragon was left underwhelmed when a wave of rainbow mist swooped over the slum, like an eagle diving for its prey. Kekepani sat, transfixed. All this splendor, all this magnificence, was in grim contrast to the streets below them, crawling with rats. The constant stench of garbage was something Kekepani had grown accustomed to over the years, along with all the other unpleasantries of living in a slum. If there was anything she liked about this place, however, it was being able to experience the fireworks: the technicolour hues, the blasts of explosions, the scent of singed potassium nitrate. Almost as beautiful as her volcano, indeed.
Above Kekepani and her father, millions of pink hibiscuses arose from the void of the dark sky. The crowd could not resist a gasp when an array of tropical plants erupted into bloom, things so rarely seen in the Ashfall Waste they were somewhat a miracle. Phoenixes flew out from their stamens in a flurry of sparks; dragons giggling as they tried to catch handfuls of the pollen-like mist. For once, her father was smiling. His eyes, usually as dull as a dying ember, were flickering like a candle. She watched her siblings clambering up the balcony to watch. Six glowing embers gazed up; gentle flames of contentment at this dramatic, albeit temporary, shift in the monotony of their daily routine. Kekepani smiled. She put a wing around Olina, the impudent diva that had always irritated her, and another around Nahele, that brother she’d admit--well, she’d miss a little. Tonight, they felt like one family. Every member, at peace and united. They had never felt such happiness since the day Wikolia, the so-called gem in the crown of their family, vanished. Not even the last daughter was excluded from the joy of being together. Despite her tendency towards solitude, Kekepani sometimes found a simple kind of joy in doing anything as a family--selling crafts at the market, cooking food, washing the dishes. But for them to be together on such a spectacular night, Kekepani included, was an extraordinary occasion indeed. For one night, Peleke did not have to worry about his daughter, the siblings were not burdened with the stress of everyday breadwinner life, and most importantly,, Kekepani was calm. The constant crash of the fireworks did not aggravate her at all; rather, they filled her with a sense of rare peace. It was not until when a gigantic montage of the Flamecaller arose from the pit of the volcano, roaring and streaming fire, that a glimmering blade shot right into Father’s neck, triggering the whole world into pandemonium.
Kekepani froze. Her siblings huddled behind a piece of tin roofing, unable to comprehend what was going on. A cacophony of gasps, screams, and shouts erupted from the crowd. Some fled like a swarm of ants, others attempted to attack, their bodies tossed to the ground in seconds, and a few, rather absurdly, continued to watch the firework display.
Rivers of blood flowed from the ghastly hole in Father’s neck. The victim looked down and gasped, barely a croak, at the sudden carnage on his neck, eyes growing wide and mad like a diseased, swollen egg. He stumbled, took a step forward, and was hit, again, this time by a rock. The dragon groaned; a horrible noise of agony. Kekepani heard chuckling from the balcony below them. A laboured, heavy whine. Her eyes burned bright, bright, bright, until they burned, blazed with the power of a million suns. The dragon gargled, his mouth foaming, attempting to reach his daughter. She straightened up, standing on two legs. I’m here, Father. Come to me.
Her whole body blazed with fury; muscle, organs, bones, burned as if a flame had been ignited from the inside. Kekepani stared at the ruffians--the very same dragons who had tortured her--and sprung forward to tear them into shreds.
A loud bang on iron, a screech of hatred. Kekepani stomped on the head of the ruffian whom now only had one eye, and whipped around. She leapt towards her father, to pull out that wretched blade, to claim back who her siblings needed--but it was already too late. An emaciated ruffian, marred with horrific burns and boils, rammed into Peleke’s chest. He stumbled backwards, groaning one last time, and his body landed on the pavement with a sickening thud.
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Insect stocks are currently depleted.
Meat stocks are currently depleted.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
Exalting Kekepani to the service of the Plaguebringer will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
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- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
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