Carmot
(#47074470)
Level 1 Coatl
Familiar
Ragamouse
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Male Coatl
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
8.17 m
Wingspan
8.36 m
Weight
739.47 kg
Genetics
Latte
Bar
Bar
Driftwood
Hex
Hex
Beige
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Coatl
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Biography
CARMOT
Philosopher's Stone | Cairnstone's Ghost | The Wild Child
"I visch fer good health 'n clear skies, habiness 'n pr-rrosper-rrity, 'n fer a pas-sion fer life so tat no matder wha' I shall alvays love wha' I do."
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 "The people who seek out this 'Philosopher's Stone' want wealth or meaning, but they are looking in the wrong place. Because superstition is a trap. Touching wood, crossing fingers -- they are all lies, all of them. False promises designed to give the illusion of control and meaning in a world in which the only destiny comes from yourself. You can't predict the future, and when they give themselves over to superstition, they are giving up on shaping their own destiny." - Grimalkin  "A little boy was lost in Cairnstone many years ago. He was always smiling but never looked truly happy. He was a brown and scruffy little thing, but he was a good boy. He just went off and disappeared one night, not a trace left of him in the morning. His mother thought he must have been alive, she hoped for the longest time, but he never came home. It seems so far away and long ago now. I hope wherever he is, he's found peace." - Drosera |
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Click to see the Breeding Project that made him.
Carmot was born at high noon, where his drabby colouration caused some trepidation amongst his clan-mates. Bad luck. His many siblings all had vibrant orange wings; colourful plumage they displayed proudly and groomed meticulously. Carmot was young, he didn't understand the murmurs of the adults. He emulated his siblings and tried to keep his feathers tidy as he so often saw them doing, but he would always be snubbed away when he tried to approach. The hatchlings knew little of the world, but they understood enough to know that he was different from the rest, he didn't have the bright orange feathers that mother would always admire, that the adults would praise. He beseeched them for help, but they would smile and look away awkwardly, and turn a blind eye to the vicious jibing of his siblings. One night, the indigo sky was lit up with streaks of burning white as a meteor shower fell above Dragonhome. Carmot gaped at the stars with a reverence usually found only in Arcane dragons, and on shaky legs and weak wings, the little hatchling strayed away from his clan. Young, but vital and curious, he followed those marvellous streaks as they traced a path through the heavens, and when dawn broke, he found a shower of pebbles along a cracked stone path. There was a sign on the path, but young as he was he could not read it. The scribbles meaningless and uninteresting to his wandering eyes. But the shiny pebbles that fell from the sky, they gleamed like starlight in the early morning sun. Carmot held one of those stones in his hands and felt at peace. The day came and went, and he still made no move towards home, happily occupied by the pebbles and the little mice he would find scurrying between the cracks in the dirt. And so it was, with every passing day he grew bigger and stronger, the downy feathers of youth slowly being replaced with long flight feathers, though they grew in equally dusty and dull. And still, he wandered alone. Dragonhome is a wide and lonely expanse, and away from the oppressive bullying of his siblings and the chatter of his clan, he had no use for speech. The scant words he had picked up were lost like a duck shedding water from its feathers. Instead, he learnt to mimic the sounds of the wild critters around him. A wolf's howl, crow's caw, a rat's squeak, anything that called to him, he would call back. Half-wild, he spent his days prowling around the shattered ruins and temples of Cairnstone Rest, preying on hopping mice, moles and sparrows and other little mammals he can snag in his claws. He became somewhat feral, having never received the education or socialising most hatchlings in a clan will go through. His memory of those days is practically nonexistent, having only spent the very early days of his youth amidst a clan. Occasionally, he dreams of a Coatl with rich brown eyes and bright orange feathers, like a burning sunrise. With his dusty fur and feathers, he blended in well with the mottled shadows between the rocks and crevices of Cairnstone Rest. He was an efficient hunter, the camouflage afforded by his dull natural colours was a boon to him much more than any bright plumage. On good days, he has the chance to spend time basking in the sun atop the crumbled stone hills, he rearranges the rocks and settles down comfortably, rolling around and stretching out, content. There, passersby can catch a glimpse of him lazing about under the high noon sun. From afar, they admire what appears to be a mirage, all the sharp grace of a predator, concealed amongst the rocky shapes. Out in the distance, they see a shift of feather-like stones, and they whisper. In an ironic twist that is perhaps lost to both parties, he became a good luck charm to superstitious travellers of the well-worn paths of Dragonhome. There is a legend around Cairnstone Rest. Of a dragon that fell from the skies in a hail of starlight. They say he can't speak, but merely repeats the words he hears, and that should this strange dragon echo your wishes back you, those deepest desires would be fulfilled. |
https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/3017363/1
High Noon
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This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
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This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Carmot 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.
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