Razyr
(#58813615)
Level 1 Mirror
Familiar
Chimera
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Mirror
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.89 m
Wingspan
6.64 m
Weight
441.59 kg
Genetics
Auburn
Iridescent
Iridescent
Maroon
Stripes
Stripes
Blood
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Mirror
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Biography
Rietha
|
Wraith
Humble - Fearless - Eccentric
Razyr, though hatched in the Sunbeam Ruins, always felt that he should have had red eyes rather than golden. He was a Mirror descended from Necromancers after all, and he had always been fascinated by any type of disease or toxin and how they spread. His parents encouraged him to explore this fascination, and when he was an adolescent, he left home to study Necromancy in the Scarred Wasteland. He had a few different mentors during his learning period, and learned about different aspects of diseases and their mechanisms and pathology from each of them. When Razyr felt he had learned what he needed in order to begin the Necromantic Trials, he ventured to the Necromantic Council Santuary on the Rotrock Rim. There, he was assigned an Overseer to administer his Necromantic Trials.  
Yrra. It was odd to Razyr that she was the one who kept appearing in his thoughts. Yrra was his Overseer, the Necromancer set to watch him as he undertook his Trials. He had really only met her for a short time. She had explained the Trials he needed to pass, escorted him to his chosen place near the Wyrmwound, and then left him alone. Mostly alone anyway. It was hard to forget that she was watching him from somewhere nearby. The Plague had infected him easily, it was only a few days before he began to feel the symptoms. That was the first Trial, the Trial of Infection. The second Trial was merely to survive the illness gifted to him by the Plaguemother. The Trial of Survival. This one was not so easy. For what may have been a week, Razyr felt like he had a nasty cold or maybe the beginnings of the flu. A persistent congestion developed in his chest and sinuses and he had a mild fever, things he had experienced before. But it got worse. Painful, pus-filled boils erupted all over his body. His eyes became red, swollen, and nearly crusted shut. His lungs filled with so much fluid and mucus, he could hardly breath. Everything hurt. Every breath and every small movement was agony. Even when he was still, the slightest breeze aggravated the open sores the boils left in his skin. And the fever. At times he felt that he would freeze and shivered violently. At others, he felt like he might roast. It was the fever that often left him delirious. When he was lucid, he concentrated on trying to fight the infections, and on praying to the Plaguebringer, the Lightweaver, or anyone who might listen, to get him through this. It was when he was not that scenes played in his mind and he was not sure whether they were memories or fantasies, whether they were happening now or not. He was playing hide-and-seek with the other hatchlings in his clan amongst the numerous pillars that dominated the Mirrorlight Promenade. He had just found a good hiding place, when the seeker, a little Fae whose name he could no longer remember, fluttered past. Razyr decided to take his chances and ran out into the open, aiming for another pillar nearby. But it was no longer the Mirrorlight Promenade. He was walking along the Rotrock Rim with Yrra. She was, at least in his eyes, a beautiful Guardian. Though she had the typical brown scales, wings the color of red flesh, and the red stripes along her spine that marked a Necromancer, her eyes were a brilliant green. And while at the time she seemed a little nervous herself, Yrra had the air of a dragon of confidence and poise. She gracefully navigated the short, deformed trees of the area alongside him. When she began to speak, the voice he heard was that of his previous mentor, an old Imperial by the name of Rynned. "Always carry enough food for a couple of days, you never know what you might encounter on the road." He was home with his family, preparing to leave on his journey. As he stuffed some provisions for the road into a small satchel, his mother entered the room. "Remember, no matter what happens, try to stay present. Try to keep fighting." But it was Yrra's voice. He remembered thinking that her voice sounded like a soft lullaby. Try to stay present. Razyr managed to yank himself back from his dreams. His vision was blurry, he could barely make out the shape of the landscape around him. Everything hurt. He tried to swallow, to clear his mouth and throat of the mucus that had built up there, and found that he did not even have the strength for that. He had no idea how long it had been since he was last awake or how long it had been since his Trials started. I'm going to die here, aren't I? Razyr found that he did not even really have the strength to ponder that, or to wonder he had gone wrong. There was a vague feeling of sadness and regret, but he did not know why. There was the sound of soft footfalls on the earth. All he could see approaching was a blur of white, gold, and blue. He had a vague recollection of Healer's robes in those colors. "Yrra?" He was not sure if he actually managed to utter her name or not. He felt a large, clawed hand grasp his own. "It's okay, I'm here." Her soothing voice floated to him as if from a great distance. Slowly, he felt the sickness begin to leave his body. The general pain in his body diminished. The lesions in his skin closed and healed. His lungs cleared, and his temperature began to return to normal. He found for the first time in what was probably days that he could fully open his eyes. And when he did, there were two large green ones looking back at him. Some dragons speak of Guardian Angels watching over them. In that moment, Razyr was sure that Yrra was his. "Can you stand?" she asked. "I'm not sure," Razyr replied. His throat felt dry and scratchy. He managed it for a moment before his trembling legs collapsed beneath him. He was exhausted. Yrra caught him before he hit the ground and lifted him easily onto her back. "Just try to hold on." Razyr grabbed weakly onto her robes, but there was not much need. Her gait was smooth. Here, with her carrying him, was the first time he had truly felt safe for as long as he could remember. He felt somehow like he was home. "You saved me," he finally managed to say out loud. "Yes," she answered simply. "I thought that was forbidden." "It is. But I'm not really concerned about that right now. Right now, you need food and rest." It was a few minutes before he worked up the strength to speak again. "Why did you rescue me?" It took a moment for her to respond, as if she was trying to decide what to say. "Because you're my Charge. And even if you weren't, I don't know that I could have left you there." This sense of safety and belonging he felt, is that what it was like to become a Guardian's Charge? He closed his eyes again and played her words again in his head. Because you're my Charge.
While he passed the Trial of Infection easily, Razyr failed in the second task, the Trial of Survival. He was deemed a Wraith, having not beaten the infection granted to him by the Plaguebringer, but been saved from death by his Overseer. He would hold no status in the Necromancer community. He found that this did not bother him much. It would have been nice to carry the Necromancer title as many of his ancestors had, but he had learned a lot through his journey and his Trial. And he gained a sense of humility that he supposed he had lacked before. He had also gained a companion and a partner. Yrra was removed from her position as an Overseer by the Council as a result of interfering with Razyr's Trials, but allowed to choose her own assignment. She asked him if he might accompany her to the Viridian Labyrinth for form a connection between the Necromantic Council and the Behemoth Institution of Healing where she had begun her journey. Razyr answered that he would follow Yrra anywhere, and he meant it. Together, they conducted research on toxins and diseases, and became one of the first Necromancer and Wraith pairs to experiment in a scientific setting with the effect of a Necromancer channeling their spells through a Wraith. Though he mostly made a full recovery from his failed Trials, Razyr was left with scarring and discoloration by the diseases that had ravaged him, as well as some physical weakness that required the use of supports and braces for his limbs and occasionally left him feeling fatigued. Yrra was quite fond of carrying him when he grew tired, and he had to admit that he did not mind in the slightest. From the moment she rescued him from death, he never left Yrra's side. She was his Guardian Angel, and Razyr was her Charge. |
Lamps, represented by Steampunk Tail Bauble: A symbol of learning, openness, bravery, exploration, humility, evenhandedness, and wisdom. Necromancers bearing lamps often forgo the traditional role of noble advisor and are more often solitary. Instead of worldly power they seek personal enlightenment, and to guide others along that path. Unlike their sigil-bearing counterparts who seek to spread Plague gospel through domination, these Necromancers are content with a more peaceful missionary role, or that of a solitary sage who leaves others to come to them. In a group that defines itself through its command and nobility, the humble, lamp-bearing Necromancer is a rare creature indeed.
Qualifying Familiar
Wraith
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Exalting Razyr to the service of the Gladekeeper 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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