Psilocybe
(#54208001)
Level 25 Guardian
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
14.69 m
Wingspan
18.17 m
Weight
9992.83 kg
Genetics
Shale
Slime
Slime
Cobalt
Noxtide
Noxtide
Cobalt
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Guardian
Max Level
STR
133
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
32
INT
5
VIT
20
MND
5
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
P S I L O C Y B E
The Reluctant Prophet [img]xari buy me art[/img] ~ ambivalent • apathetic • enigmatic
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"The scoured lane. A young birch grove grows here now, except for the long triple lines carved into the earth, still black."
– Normal-Horoscopes, Leo
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profile code by epher #101073, profile code edits and lore by Xarina
Pearl Item Icon || Mirror Item Recolor || Sunken Chest Icon || Mushroom Gif |
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Each degree of separation from those around her as she grew towards adulthood became a chord, and each chord was played eternally inside her mind, like tinnitus, like a layer added to the world around her that would build upon itself. It was slow, the building up of these sounds, it was the parable of the live frog placed in tepid water and left to boil. That in itself should have been a warning sign, but how would a mere hatchling or adolescent know to see such red flags? Hindsight, she would realize only later as she tossed the glittering drapery of a deep-sea oracle over her wing with apathy hardly befitting the ceremonial divination she was about to perform, is the only clarity one finds in this life. She never asked exactly why she was so different. This, like the concept of "Home," like the importance of belonging, like the obsession with "finding oneself," never carried the weight for her that it supposedly should have. She did not revere these concepts, though the way her voice would speak the words was too believable for most to find fault in it. No, her peers avoided her for other reasons, deeper reasons, ancient and shadowed reasons that were beyond anyone's understanding, at least within the Viridian Labyrinth. Not that it mattered much to her, she merely accepted it and proceeded as she always had. She was too logical, perhaps. Too apathetic, maybe. Too lost in the discordance in her own head, mostly. And then, the break. There was a shattering in her thoughts. She would say she "fainted at the water's edge, and knew it was time to follow the Gladeveins away from the Behemoth heart of the jungle." But again, words do not do justice to the writhing in the waters, the way the shadows of the smallest vines seemed to elongate and twist and cling to each other like ravenous snakes, the way the light glinting off the gentlest of waves blinded her, the way everything seemed to scream in a cacophony of discordant voices. The worst part was how nothing about this surprised her in the slightest. It was something she had simply put off time and time again, only letting its fury grow with each time it was ignored. This time, it could not be ignored. This time, there could only be a lessening of the thing. There was no "Home" for her in the Viridian Labyrinth or anywhere else, only cries like out-of-tune instruments screeching their way to a harmony that could not be found here. ¡uɐᴉpɹɐnפ 'ƃuᴉllɐɔ ɹnoʎ ʍolloℲ ¡sǝ⅄ 'sǝ⅄ xXprophecy. ˙sǝᴉlXx "It's quiet here," she said, voice matter-of-fact. The older Guardian nodded, saying nothing, but she knew he had no understanding of what she meant. The waters churned the sand into a hazy hue at the shoreline, and she could sense that the calm of the scene she looked out upon was a well-cultivated facade carefully hiding the dangers of the depths just beyond the shallows. Even with the constant whispering of small waves, though, it was so much quieter here. Later, of course, she would realize that the sounds in her thoughts had, if such things were even possible, led her to this place. Still, though, it was not "Home." "Psilo. Prepare the reagents. It is time." The male voice of her companion cut through her self-reflection with annoying ease, and though his words did not say it directly, she knew he was chastising her for letting her mind wander. She simply tossed her head to the side in acknowledgement of his words, gathered up several pouches, and walked to the water's edge. Psilo's actions were flawless, but were executed to the minimum of what was necessary to achieve results. Sharpened claws drawing symbols in sands and powders, whispered words in the Tidelord's honor, cloth pulled over verdant eyes - such pageantry and ostentation seemed unnecessary, even deceitful at its worst. All the same, this place, and seemingly these dragons, kept the threats of mental clangor at bay. "Good. Bring forth the words of the depths, Shallowseer." She took slight offense to this term. She was no seer nor oracle, and in her mind, hardly a prophet, either. But these were the words of the Wave-Born, and in their home, she must adhere to their titles and their ways. Still, she rolled her eyes behind the cloth that blocked them from her mentor's view, and plunged herself into the water before her. Sightlessly, she felt herself being pulled down by... by what? not another dragon, and not her own powerful downward strokes, but by what seemed to be the water itself. In her mind, all she had to do was stay down here a reasonable amount of time, enough time to come up with some cryptic nonsense, and return to the surface as if she had been delivered another great prophecy. It had been her method since she had arrived, and seemed to appease the children of the Tides. ¡ʍouʞ noʎ ǝlʇʇᴉl ʍoɥ 'ɥO ˙ɹǝʌǝlɔ os 'ɹǝʌǝlɔ os ǝɹɐ noʎ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ oS She floated, motionless, the deep waters swirling around her, the pressure giving her body a sense of stability, a relaxation she had never truly understood before she had first let herself dive into the ocean. "Home" was a fallacy. Stability was all one could ask for. She took a breath, pulling water in through her mouth and expelling it from gills hidden behind her head-fins. That would do for now. "Stability is the Home of the Seekers." Cryptic, meaningful to the right person, a worthy contribution to her mentor... and he'd never know she had come up with it herself instead of receiving it from some spiritual connection to the god of the Spiral Keep. Psilo smirked to herself, satisfied, before pushing herself upwards to the shore with the grace only a Guardian could exhibit beneath the waves. "You return. Successfully, I imagine." "As always... S--" T̩̠̤̰h͔̫͎̺͔͉̀e͢ ̯͚͎̥͍̭͢s͖̺̱͓̲̥͖a̗͙c̼͈͇͓r͏̺̘͙͚̖̮ed ̫̣̠f̧i̘̭͔̤̦g̴u͔̝̭ͅr̯̱͡i̯̮n̷͔̞͍̗͎é̺̗̳͉̣ ͖̜͍s̲̠͙̀t̯͉̫̱̪͉͇án̤̯͉̪̜ͅd̨̬̬͎s̵͈ ͇͚͟u̧͉̫͉͓͕̬p͢o͈̻̰̪͚͈͘n͍̘̤̗͖̞ s͢t͖̰̬͕͖̤o̯̞l͙̯̰͉ͅe̴̱̫̟̦̺ṋ̭̩̩̩̰́ ͕̗͎l̺͙̮̫e̢͔̘g͎͘s͓͠.̤͞ ̲̬ ͈͇̟͙͈̼͘ ̭̺͈̮̜W̭̣̫̙h͙͎̜̭o̵̳̦ ̵̫̼͖͇̳̖w̥̳̻͇̜̯̺͡i͙̤͝ͅļ̘̦̯̙̥ͅl̥̣ ̘̠͓ͅp̥̟͖̜͜ͅr̮̖̼̠o͇̣̞̦͢ͅṱ̝̣̭͓ę͚͍̠͚c͏̖̝̪̮̺̭t͘ ̲ͅH̳̭̥̻ì̯̲s̷̜͍̫̝̯̯ ̫̺̯̣c̻͍̺̲̮͜h̵̹̭̫̰ͅi̵͇̯͇l̨̦̳̳d͙r̤̳͕̯̳̪̥en no͏̹͖̞̩̘ͅw?͎̫̹̮̪͍ "I... I will divine on this, Psilocybe. You should... you... ah, you should get rest." His normally confident voice wavered as he gestured towards her quarters. She merely stood, eyes still covered by the ceremonial cloth, unsure of her footing in the sand, unsure of herself, unsure where the last few moments of her life had gone, and painfully aware that the discordant sounds in her mind were fading, though this time, she hadn't heard them return. She opened her mouth to ask if she had fainted from rising too swiftly from the highly pressurized underwater divining spot, but he had already turned and begun walking away. Leaving, without her revealing her false prophecy, without explaining what it is he was divining on, without a single word's worth of acknowledgement of her blackout. ˙ʇɥƃᴉɹ ɐ ʇou 'uɐᴉpɹɐnפ 'ǝƃǝlᴉʌᴉɹd ɐ sᴉ ƃuᴉpuɐʇsɹǝpu∩
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Exalting Psilocybe 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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