Anwir
(#48091367)
Level 1 Tundra
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Tundra
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.99 m
Wingspan
2.79 m
Weight
433.79 kg
Genetics
Splash
Basic
Basic
Dust
Basic
Basic
Storm
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
Anwir
born Loki
The Gaoler
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 A Tale of Time Stolen I am bored. I have traveled a great distance since my banishment, far from the lands of our Father. I don't even know if I should consider him a father, however. He did nothing to protect us, and only freezes those that threaten us. Why create a slender Gaoler such as myself? I cannot fight the beings that threaten us. So I left our home of Ice, and I travel. I visit the other lands, the other Fathers and the Fire Mother. They are still fighting. I doubt they'll ever stop. However, I know I have them to thank for the Father that doesn't truly watch his Children of Ice. My travels have taken me far. I have shared a den with many creatures in order to survive, and to learn the ways of this world. Giant beasts akin to the Father of Earth taught me how to keep watch on those who wish me ill in a home unforgiving of innocence. The serpents of the Wind Father taught me the might of both air and sea, and how to stand against it. The wolves that wander the deserts of the newer Father of Storms taught me how to be cunning myself, and how to use my lean form to survive. Of course, my mate did not come with me, and our one egg had yet to hatch when I'd left. I do not miss her dearly, nor do I miss the son I know lies within. A certain centaur stallion already caused me to leave what could have been a decent home due to his likeness to my family. Yet even then, his aid is certainly helpful. Each of my homes have given me not only knowledge, but aid as well. From the giants, they sent a sentry to watch for my return. From the Serpents, a beast that would come to my call. The centaur himself travels by my side, his grey coat practically blending into my wings. I am not surprised he came along, as his herd had practically given him to me out of desperation. His foal had come with him, but the young one decided to go to my old home instead, and I refuse to accompany him. I know what waits there. I have traveled far, and I currently rest in the newest lands, those of Light and Shadow. Two sisters, twins at war with each other, and completely ignorant of their Children. The Children of Shadow have taken to mimicry, and the few times I see them, their giant forms dance in the shadows as they mock me and my companion. The Children of Shadow are not why I'm here, however. I am here for the Children of Light. They are giants, like myself, and they seem set in their ways. Study, read, and prepare for whatever their Mother sends their way. If the rumors of the wolves are true, however, their gift may indeed be useful to me. I only need a couple of children to follow me. I convince four to travel with me. They seem impressed by my tales, and Svadilfari, my current companion, has certainly convinced them of my skills with his own strength. They wish to see the world, and with dire furs in tow, they travel with me away from their homeland. They meet the Giant that watches for my arrival, and in turn meet the wolves of the Desert of Storms. By the time we reach the Serpents of the Winds, they are excited to see where such a creature as myself came from. It is when I oblige that Svadilfari leaves. I do not know where he has gone to, but it matters little to me. He knows my story. He knows why I left. Why I was banished. He knows my plans. He says I might be killed. I believe not. I believe my little group of four will provide me quite a show indeed. They almost look like giant dire wolves in their pelts, with glittering eyes of gold and, in one case, the amber found in the eyes of the Fire Mother. I believe I shall call them Fenrir.  I have done it! The rumors of the wolves were true! When the four Children fell, they indeed transformed into a formidable beast, one I am glad to see. Perhaps this creature will be the one that shows our Father what threats may come to us. Perhaps he will learn that great, bulking forms are not the only useful creatures. If he can really speak to us, then speak! Tell me again how a slender Gaoler cannot be of use to you! Threats reach us from all sides, and yet here I am, with a creature I created to protect us! Tell me now how my ideas are too great of a threat to us! Wait, what is Fenrir doing? Is it... eating the Æsir Gaolers? No! Odin has survived, and he has seen me. I must stop Fenrir before I am taken away! I must stop my creation! I must stop my child! I feel a gnarled paw hold me down, chains digging into my skin. I look up at Odin. I... What have I done...? I am led away, chained in a cavern of ice. I do not know how long I am there, but the pain of the acidic Serthis poison still burns my eye. I had forgotten how cruel the Elders were. My mate tries to help. She uses a bowl to keep the poison from marring my entire face, but it spills over into my eye. It burns... Sometimes, when she sleeps, the bowl tilts down my flank, leaving my fur speckled with white. It burns. I can still hear Fenrir outside as the Chosen are sent to destroy them. I still struggle to break free, to stop them. My wings suffer for it, as the Serthis spits it's venom on them to keep me from wriggling free. It burns! I cannot take it any longer. My mate has left with our son for the night, and I cannot stand it any longer. I call for help. Hel, my daughter, hears my cry with the giants, but cannot help me, and so continues to wait for my arrival. Sleipnir, the son of my friend and, in turn, my own son, calls out, but will not aid me, as he has joined the fight against Fenrir. Fenrir, my child, my creation, can only roar in reply. I know they need me, yet they cannot help. I can hear them trying to approach, however. The ground shakes, then breaks. My chains snap, and I fall to the ground. I bury my face in the snow, and yet the burn remains. I cannot walk. I cannot fly. Fenrir is here, and I cannot do a thing. For a moment, I see their great form towering over me, wrapped in the white of a great blizzard. I cannot hear our Father. The ground splits, and suddenly I fall, Fenrir by my side, into an abyss. It is cold. Jormungand, my final child, has arrived. It is cold... I'm awake. Is this the Great Tundra, or the burning lands Hel watched over? It doesn't burn. Where are my children? Where is Fenrir? Where... Where am I? I open my eyes, and I see red. Red, pink, grey, but no white or blue. This is not my home. It is too warm to be. Who am I? I recall my children, my ventures, but who am I? My Children. Trickery. Traitor. That's right. I am Trick. I can hear voices, but my gaze is clouded. I only see blobs of color, moving about as my ears ring. Some are small, sandy tones fluttering about me. Others are bright, colors I have never even seen before, and nearly as large as I. Some are long, others squat. One thing is certain, however. They are not like me. I cannot speak. I can feel the aches all over my body, the scars running down my eye to my neck. I dare not try, but I know that I must move. I try to lift a paw, but I am stopped by a rattle. It feels heavy, and when I look down, I see the chains still wrapped around my legs. I don't even try my wings after that. "Seems you're finally awake." The voice is small. Smaller than a bare Youngling, which I can now see for myself as she lands on my muzzle. I have never seen a creature like her, and her piercing red eyes certainly don't ease my concerns, nor does her monotone voice. She is most certainly not like me. I am curious. "If only Voiken wasn't out gathering herbs. Maybe then I wouldn't be up on my old bones trying to keep those chains from choking you." Choke me? Is that what she thought the scars were from? What is she planning? "I can see it in your eyes. There's no need to worry. I haven't let any of my patients die in my care, and I don't plan to change that." A patient? Is she a healer of some sort? It would be in my best interest to make her a friend. I try to speak, but my wounds of old don't let anything through. All that comes out is a pathetic growl, at least by Gaoler standards. Judging by how she was knocked back, however, it seems to be most intimidating to her. "There's no need to be fussy! I'm here to help you, and if you're going to give me an attitude, I can just kick you out." Definitely not the reaction I wanted. I need to try harder. "I..." What do I say? Just the one word exhausts me. I should keep it short. "Was... Poisoned..." "Poison, then. More like acid. I'd say you were dipped in the Wyrmwound, but you all had disappeared by the time that showed up. Let's make this easy on the both of us and just cut to the chase with names. I'm Lushbane. What is your name." It doesn't sound like a question, but her silence seems to be requesting an answer in her stead. Lushbane... It reminds me of the wolves if the Storm Father's domain. Yet his children had bright blue eyes, not red. "I... I am..." Is my name really Trick? It seems right, but wrong at the same time. A part of me wants to say Traitor as well, but I know that was the name Odin gave me. I will never admit it aloud. I tricked Odin, and many others in the past. I must be Trick. "I am Trick." "Trick. No, that won't do, what with Trickmurk coming up. I'll need to use something else." No, but if I am not Trick, who am I? "Loki." "No." It seems that isn't a name, but why does it sound right? "I'll just give you a name. It'll be better than just calling you patient." She pauses, and I don't know what to say. She is obviously old, and well versed in the ways of survival. To be named by her... Well, hopefully it wouldn't be too bad. "Anwir." "Anwir...?" It makes sense. It does mean trickster, after all, much like my Loki. Anwir it is, then. I try to stand, to test my legs after this brief respite, and yet I manage to humiliate myself further by collapsing to the ground below. She doesn't catch me, and I hit what feels like warm snow. It's soft somehow, but strange. It reminds me of flesh, and I cringe at the sensation. She once again lands upon my head. She's so small, smaller than my eye. "Don't try anything until I tell you to. You're injured, and ensnared in chains and frost. You can't walk yet." The ground is pulsing beneath me. What land lives like this? "Where... am I...?" Lushbane begins to move, seeming to pull at my fur. Is she cleaning it somehow? It feels nice, and a little lighter. I can hear the clatter of chains as she works. "You're in the Clan of the Clockwork Eclipse, but it'll be easier to just call us the Wanderers. We're currently in one of many living caverns found just outside the Wyrmwound, in the inner ridge of the Rotrock Rim. The Plaguebringer churns the Wyrmwound herself, but I wouldn't suggest taking a swim." The Wanderers, the Wyrmwound, the Plaguebringer... None of it is helping me understand. Not really. Plaguebringer sounds like our Father's name, or the names of the other Mothers and Fathers. But of what? What, or who, are her Children? Is Lushbane one of the Children of this Plaguebringer? It's so confusing. I want to know where I really am. Perhaps knowing where I was found would help. "Where is... my... home...?" The creature, Lushbane, stops. I realize how fast she is when she darts back onto my nose, looking me in the eyes. She's as still as a statue, and I feel unnerved. Is this a bad question? "Was it a home, or a prison." That throws me off guard. How am I supposed to respond to that? "We found you when some of our dragons went deepwater fishing in the ice. I had noticed their cave had some unique additions, such as shelves of ice that may have held something large, and a groove that implied a potential liquid that didn't freeze was used there. They came up with you in tow, your chains caught on their wings. It took our Leviathan, Winter, to carry you back with us. You were the only one in that cavern, and they could find nothing in the water around you besides a frozen bowl with traces of ancient Serthis venom inside." My children... My allies... "I believe your chains weren't the only thing that frightened them, seeing as you're a Gaoler. You could honestly swallow a Fae like me whole, and your body wouldn't even notice. Or care, for that matter." A Fae? What in our Father's Fluffy Feet is a Fae?! "We thought the Gaolers had gone extinct years ago, and yet we now have two in our clan. I wonder what Clockwork would do if she was here. The Icewarden's First Children, alive and well, if not extremely sparse." No, wait. First Children? We're the only Children of our Father. Why is there a First? "First... Children...?" "When the Gaolers disappeared, before the Plaguebringer and Gladekeeper came to exist, your deity made a second attempt at your kind. Their memories are terrible, and they tend to me much smaller and timid. They're herbivores, and often have to rely on their sense of smell to see if you're friend, foe, or just new." So he made a new set of children. Had I truly done so much harm as to erase my kind from history? It must be. It would match what he said before. My ideas were too dangerous, my memories too destructive. Without good memories, one cannot behave as I had. One could not create what I had. "I can't take you back there. You're in no condition to travel, and there isn't a tribe waiting for you there." What do I say? I understand her. My Tribe is not there, and my searching would likely kill me now. Besides, even if they were there, they would just lock me away. Perhaps our Father speaks once more out there, but he does not speak for me. If anything, he has made a warning of me. I have no home there, and I believe this Fae understands as such. "You'll be staying with our clan for now." I watch her put a long, thin hand on my nose, just below my scars. If it weren't for the monotone voice, I'd say she was trying to comfort me. I don't need comforting. I need a home, and that's exactly what she's offered. "I'd like that..." She nods to me, flying up to a shelf as she begins to rummage through the jars above. I simply watch her as she makes a paste in a large bowl, using a large bone to grind it together. It's amusing watching her, seeing such a small body practically dance with a bone to make a poultice. It startles me when she speaks again. "When I'm done here, I want you to come with me to get something to eat. After all you've been through, I'm sure some food will help you heal." I smile. It seems my children have given me a second chance in exchange for their lives. I even have a healer helping me, which is certainly saying a lot. I am Anwir, the one cursed by our Father, and while I'll miss my creations, my children, I won't let my second chance go to waste. I stand at Lushbane's beckoning, and she's quick to apply her concoction to my scars, my burns, and the abbrasions the chains left on my legs. It doesn't take long for the pain to fade. She flies off to rinse herself off, and then lands on my nose. "So... You mentioned food?" I see her smile for the first time, and I hear her muttering about how she's never had such obedient patients before in her life. It causes me to chuckle. I'm Anwir, and by our Father I survived. |
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I need to stop buying future Gaolers.
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Exalting Anwir to the service of the Arcanist 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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