TakeThisWarning
(#48682039)
Level 1 Guardian
Chip
Which Waychunk
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Guardian
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
15.43 m
Wingspan
14.89 m
Weight
7907.58 kg
Genetics
Sable
Ground
Ground
Sable
Fissure
Fissure
Spearmint
Opal
Opal
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Guardian
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
'Come, take this warning!' cried the priest
All good hurlers at the devil's feast
He will curse you where you stand...
He stands, unmoving as a statue, at the entrance to the camp. He barely seems to breathe: anyone would be forgiven for thinking he was made of stone. His hide certainly resembles stone, weathered and cracked, sections falling away to reveal an opalescent, almost glowing sheen beneath.
Then he slowly shuffles into your path, asks for your name, asks what business you have with the clan. If you answer to his satisfaction, he shifts aside and you will be allowed to pass. If not, he simply blocks your way, silent and unmoving, his hide apparently impervious to any blows. Until Bite, the Snapper, returns from her most recent circuit of the camp to deal with you herself.
He won't tell you his story if you ask. He'll just stare at you until you feel uncomfortable enough to leave.
He'll remember, though. Most of his memories are faint, just whispers in the back of his mind. But he recalls the day he found his Charge with perfect clarity.
He'd been wandering Sornieth for several years, following the pull of the Search wherever it took him. Stopping at an inn one night, he sat alone at a crooked table with a pint of ale and a greasy sausage in a bun, half-watching a long-nosed Pearlcatcher in a dark hooded cape. She sat on one of the large wooden tables, selling enchanted objects to a small crowd: a necklace guaranteed to make the recipient fall in love with the gifter, a helm that every weapon would miss, a silent penny-whistle that would make any animal obey the dragon who played it.
His attention was more on his food than on her, when, from the corner of his eye, he saw a strange blue-green glow. He turned his head, swallowing his mouthful of sausage without chewing, instantly captivated.
“...magical flame, which can reveal the true heart of any dragon. Beware of using it for too long, though...”
He barely heard her words. All he could see was the green glow, the flame in the lantern in her paws. He knew one thing, knew it more surely than he had ever known anything in his life: this little greenish flame mattered, mattered more than anything he had ever seen before. It was the most important thing in the entire world.
Her paw was reaching for the little knob on the side of the lamp, turning it in the wrong direction, pulling down the wick to cut it off from the oxygen which gave the flame life. Hot rage flooded through him, like nothing he had ever felt before. He leapt from his table, a single beat of his wings sending him over the heads of the crowd, knocking the Pearlcatcher to the floor as he snatched the lantern from her paws.
She lay sprawled, wide-eyed, but he only had eyes for the precious flame. He wrapped his own paws around the lamp and gazed into it, unable to take his eyes off the singular perfection of that green flame.
He heard snarls from his surroundings and looked up. The dragons he'd scattered with his flying leap were picking themselves up. Claws were unsheathed, crests were flared, teeth were bared. He clutched the lantern close and snarled right back, but before anyone could act the Pearlcatcher's voice rang out:
“STOP! Wait! Let me through!”
She had pulled herself upright. Stepping forward, through the crowd, she stared at him, her eyes gleaming a deep, dark red under her hood.
“The lantern... it's your Charge?”
He shook his head, still clutching the lantern, but beginning to come to his senses.
“Not the lantern. The flame.” He paused, gave the green glow another reverential glance, and then growled, “You want money? I have money.”
She shook her head, red-black eyes full of horror and pity. “Your Charge is a curse, my friend. I can't take your money.” She reached into the depths of her cloak and handed him a bottle of lamp oil.
“To keep it burning. I am sorry... I am so very sorry.” She shook her head and turned away, ears drooping. The other dragons were retreating rapidly, wearing expressions of alarm and confusion.
He took the lantern, and he kept the flame fed with the oil she had given him, and when that ran low he bought more oil and fed it with that instead. He kept that precious green flame fed, day and night, for months and then years. Kept it fed as his movements grew slow and stiff, as his hide hardened and hardened and cracked and flaked. Kept it fed as the green glow slowly took him over from the inside out.
Some day, in the distant future, the last chunk of stony hide will fall away, and he will move and breathe and remember no more. He will become a great still statue carved of blue-green, glowing, opalescent stone.
He doesn't mind. The flame in the lantern may go out, but the flame will still burn inside him, and it will burn forever. His Charge will live forever.
How many Guardians can claim that?
All good hurlers at the devil's feast
He will curse you where you stand...
He stands, unmoving as a statue, at the entrance to the camp. He barely seems to breathe: anyone would be forgiven for thinking he was made of stone. His hide certainly resembles stone, weathered and cracked, sections falling away to reveal an opalescent, almost glowing sheen beneath.
Then he slowly shuffles into your path, asks for your name, asks what business you have with the clan. If you answer to his satisfaction, he shifts aside and you will be allowed to pass. If not, he simply blocks your way, silent and unmoving, his hide apparently impervious to any blows. Until Bite, the Snapper, returns from her most recent circuit of the camp to deal with you herself.
He won't tell you his story if you ask. He'll just stare at you until you feel uncomfortable enough to leave.
He'll remember, though. Most of his memories are faint, just whispers in the back of his mind. But he recalls the day he found his Charge with perfect clarity.
He'd been wandering Sornieth for several years, following the pull of the Search wherever it took him. Stopping at an inn one night, he sat alone at a crooked table with a pint of ale and a greasy sausage in a bun, half-watching a long-nosed Pearlcatcher in a dark hooded cape. She sat on one of the large wooden tables, selling enchanted objects to a small crowd: a necklace guaranteed to make the recipient fall in love with the gifter, a helm that every weapon would miss, a silent penny-whistle that would make any animal obey the dragon who played it.
His attention was more on his food than on her, when, from the corner of his eye, he saw a strange blue-green glow. He turned his head, swallowing his mouthful of sausage without chewing, instantly captivated.
“...magical flame, which can reveal the true heart of any dragon. Beware of using it for too long, though...”
He barely heard her words. All he could see was the green glow, the flame in the lantern in her paws. He knew one thing, knew it more surely than he had ever known anything in his life: this little greenish flame mattered, mattered more than anything he had ever seen before. It was the most important thing in the entire world.
Her paw was reaching for the little knob on the side of the lamp, turning it in the wrong direction, pulling down the wick to cut it off from the oxygen which gave the flame life. Hot rage flooded through him, like nothing he had ever felt before. He leapt from his table, a single beat of his wings sending him over the heads of the crowd, knocking the Pearlcatcher to the floor as he snatched the lantern from her paws.
She lay sprawled, wide-eyed, but he only had eyes for the precious flame. He wrapped his own paws around the lamp and gazed into it, unable to take his eyes off the singular perfection of that green flame.
He heard snarls from his surroundings and looked up. The dragons he'd scattered with his flying leap were picking themselves up. Claws were unsheathed, crests were flared, teeth were bared. He clutched the lantern close and snarled right back, but before anyone could act the Pearlcatcher's voice rang out:
“STOP! Wait! Let me through!”
She had pulled herself upright. Stepping forward, through the crowd, she stared at him, her eyes gleaming a deep, dark red under her hood.
“The lantern... it's your Charge?”
He shook his head, still clutching the lantern, but beginning to come to his senses.
“Not the lantern. The flame.” He paused, gave the green glow another reverential glance, and then growled, “You want money? I have money.”
She shook her head, red-black eyes full of horror and pity. “Your Charge is a curse, my friend. I can't take your money.” She reached into the depths of her cloak and handed him a bottle of lamp oil.
“To keep it burning. I am sorry... I am so very sorry.” She shook her head and turned away, ears drooping. The other dragons were retreating rapidly, wearing expressions of alarm and confusion.
He took the lantern, and he kept the flame fed with the oil she had given him, and when that ran low he bought more oil and fed it with that instead. He kept that precious green flame fed, day and night, for months and then years. Kept it fed as his movements grew slow and stiff, as his hide hardened and hardened and cracked and flaked. Kept it fed as the green glow slowly took him over from the inside out.
Some day, in the distant future, the last chunk of stony hide will fall away, and he will move and breathe and remember no more. He will become a great still statue carved of blue-green, glowing, opalescent stone.
He doesn't mind. The flame in the lantern may go out, but the flame will still burn inside him, and it will burn forever. His Charge will live forever.
How many Guardians can claim that?
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Exalting TakeThisWarning to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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