Athalis
(#48726443)
Level 25 Coatl
Feyn
Snow Streak
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Coatl
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.78 m
Wingspan
10.8 m
Weight
833.33 kg
Genetics
Midnight
Skink
Skink
Abyss
Bee
Bee
Silver
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Coatl
Max Level
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Biography
   
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The fact that the Ashfall Waste boasts more bodies of magma than water does not seem to have deterred Athalis from his piratical nature. They have an entire stretch of coastline that abuts the open sea, after all, and it was there that Athalis spent his time sailing, plundering, and enjoying a pirate's life. He's more than happy to tell any dragon tales of it, although how much is true and how much got exaggerated in the telling is open to the listener. He probably didn't fight a thirteen-headed imperial in the middle of a whirlpool, but then again, he had to have lost that eye somehow. Athalis now seems happy to have settled down as the clan's cook. Well, he considers himself the clan's cook. He has a rather... creative approach to it. For instance, why would you use wine in a sauce, he posits, when rum is clearly the superior drink? And lemon juice goes with everything, probably, or at least it ought to since it prevents scurvy so he'd better make sure everyone gets their ration's worth. But don't make any comments about the unusual taste of his culinary creations. He still has the temper of a pirate, and you might find yourself being threatened with walking the plank, a much more terrifying affair on a sea of lava. Athalis has a hearty, boisterous personality that either instantly makes friends, or enemies. He's just as enthusiastic about both. A good enemy, to a pirate anyway, is just as much amusement as a good friend. After all, you can't have a swashbuckling, high-stakes fight with an ally, nor can you steal all their gold and sink their ship. His rivalries with other clan members involve a bit less ship sinking, out of necessity, but they still manage some gold stealing and some swashbuckling fights. (Usually with his chosen rivals enjoying themselves as much as he is. Everyone wants to be a pirate at least once in their life.) When he's not cooking questionable meals for the clan, or picking fights, Athalis is probably drinking, or boasting. The two usually go hand in hand. When he's telling tales of his adventures on the high seas, he needs a drink to keep his throat from drying out. And when he's drinking, it loosens up his tongue and encourages him to tell all sort of stories, some of which the hatchlings need to be hustled out of the room for. He loves nothing more than sitting with a group of friends, all trying to outdrink each other, and telling them the tale of how he got this scar fighting a massive, arcane-magic mutated squid, or how he stole a set of a dozen priceless golden tablets from a light flight's ship, and seduced the attractive scholar who was delivering them with his roguish wiles. While some dragons may assume that Athalis is all boast and no substance, they would be surprised. He is a member of this particular clan for a reason after all, and it's certainly not because of his cooking. Although he no longer has his own ship, he does keep contact with an extensive network of pirates, smugglers, and freebooters who sail the coast. If the clan needs something plundered, smuggled, or sunk, he's the dragon to ask. ~Story by Mirrorstone |
Short Stories
1.
Taverns were pretty much the same no matter where you went. Dark, smoke stained wood, well used and well waxed countertops, the better for sliding flagons across. There is almost always a fire roaring in the massive hearth and, without fail, some loudmouth drunkard bragging, berating, or both. Hel was the latter.
"Pirate," she spat, taking a long pull of her drink to wash the taste of that word out of her mouth. "Nothing but a propped-up pickpocket, if you ask me. Doesn't even have a proper ship!" No one seemed to be paying much attention to the roaringly drunk mercenary, but she kept talking, the alcohol loosening her tongue the more she drank. Several patrons changed tables as her voice grew to a low roar, choosing to move to safer seats with better exit options.
"Know what's worse?" she slurred to no one, swirling her tankard between her claws. "He's a lousy pirate, and a lousier cook."
The last statement was met with a deafening silence. From the shadows in the corner a single eye shone, the other covered with a soft leather eyepatch.
"Aye." said a quiet voice, dripping with menace. "So the lass cares not for me cookery." The Coatl stood from his chair in one motion, his chair clattering against the wall. Several other chairs did the same as their occupants scattered. The bartender, a tattooed Mirror, ducked behind the counter and reemerged, a long knife clutched in one claw and all four eyes spinning wildly.
Hel watched blankly as Athalis stalked towards her, her senses dulled by the liquor flowing through her veins. He smiled, a gold tooth glittering in the darkness.
The table soared into the air. Hel slid from beneath it, diving between his legs. She flipped upright, then lunged at him with claws outstretched. Athalis dodged sideways, drawing his sword. Hel's claws skittered across it, drawing sparks from it's rusty surface. She caught the crossguard at the last possible moment and managed to yank the sword from his grip, tossing it haphazardly across the room where it stuck, quivering, into the bartop just inches from the trembling frills of a paralyzed Fae.
While Hel was distracted by the sword, Athalis thrust an arm behind the counter, desperate to find a secondary weapon. Drunk though she may be, Hel was a trained fighter and not someone to be taken lightly. His claw met a handle and he with drew it, brandishing a - frying pan?
Without hesitation, he swung the pan. It's heavy bottom came in contact with the mercenary's head with a meaty thud. Hel dropped like a rock.
As the dust literally and figuratively cleared, Athalis was left standing in a circle of debris. The Mirror behind the counter opened his mouth and Athalis held up a silencing claw.
"Don't worry, Cinan. I'll be cleaning up me own messes." The blue Coatl knelt and scooped his unconscious clanmate up, tossing her over his shoulder. He straightened the tables she had flipped, and strode out of the tavern into the night.
by hatterlet
"Pirate," she spat, taking a long pull of her drink to wash the taste of that word out of her mouth. "Nothing but a propped-up pickpocket, if you ask me. Doesn't even have a proper ship!" No one seemed to be paying much attention to the roaringly drunk mercenary, but she kept talking, the alcohol loosening her tongue the more she drank. Several patrons changed tables as her voice grew to a low roar, choosing to move to safer seats with better exit options.
"Know what's worse?" she slurred to no one, swirling her tankard between her claws. "He's a lousy pirate, and a lousier cook."
The last statement was met with a deafening silence. From the shadows in the corner a single eye shone, the other covered with a soft leather eyepatch.
"Aye." said a quiet voice, dripping with menace. "So the lass cares not for me cookery." The Coatl stood from his chair in one motion, his chair clattering against the wall. Several other chairs did the same as their occupants scattered. The bartender, a tattooed Mirror, ducked behind the counter and reemerged, a long knife clutched in one claw and all four eyes spinning wildly.
Hel watched blankly as Athalis stalked towards her, her senses dulled by the liquor flowing through her veins. He smiled, a gold tooth glittering in the darkness.
The table soared into the air. Hel slid from beneath it, diving between his legs. She flipped upright, then lunged at him with claws outstretched. Athalis dodged sideways, drawing his sword. Hel's claws skittered across it, drawing sparks from it's rusty surface. She caught the crossguard at the last possible moment and managed to yank the sword from his grip, tossing it haphazardly across the room where it stuck, quivering, into the bartop just inches from the trembling frills of a paralyzed Fae.
While Hel was distracted by the sword, Athalis thrust an arm behind the counter, desperate to find a secondary weapon. Drunk though she may be, Hel was a trained fighter and not someone to be taken lightly. His claw met a handle and he with drew it, brandishing a - frying pan?
Without hesitation, he swung the pan. It's heavy bottom came in contact with the mercenary's head with a meaty thud. Hel dropped like a rock.
As the dust literally and figuratively cleared, Athalis was left standing in a circle of debris. The Mirror behind the counter opened his mouth and Athalis held up a silencing claw.
"Don't worry, Cinan. I'll be cleaning up me own messes." The blue Coatl knelt and scooped his unconscious clanmate up, tossing her over his shoulder. He straightened the tables she had flipped, and strode out of the tavern into the night.
by hatterlet
by Valkael
by CosmicJello
by Archeri
by pasteldragon
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This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Athalis to the service of the Flamecaller 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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