Tortellini
(#21273384)
He/him
Familiar
Loga
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Spiral
This dragon is on a Coliseum team.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.68 m
Wingspan
2.83 m
Weight
129.76 kg
Genetics
Crimson
Basic
Basic
White
Basic
Basic
Slate
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 22 Spiral
EXP: 199 / 136210
STR
114
AGI
12
DEF
5
QCK
50
INT
6
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
Tortellini
"The Last Wanderer"
♫
Dusk settles over the ever-bustling City of Passage, and one dragon sits in a tower high above the rest of the world, alone in his study. As he draws breath, a wind of dust swirls around the worn-down furniture clothing the building, the snowglobes on the shelf above him, and the books that are disorderly strewn around in old shelves lining the walls of the architecture. Some of them are on seemingly random subjects - everything from Beastclan alphabets to a hundred-and-fifty different ways to use wheat. But they've all been thoroughly read - he'd tell you that.
The breeze flies into his nostrils, and they twitch a little in reaction. The air here is stale, and kind of gross. It's still a little warm on a late summer evening, but the Spiral seems not to notice the heat, caught up in his stories as he is.
Every day, he tries to remember, here in the tower that time has forgotten. He scribbles his clanmates' faces and names and lives in notepads, in their old research, sometimes in the books when he gets scared that they'll finally slip if he doesn't immediately take to pen and paper. But as the years wane on, his recollections have started to warp. His memories, his mind, they're not what they used to be. He knows that. It's why he stopped going outside - he's long since forgotten how to make himself telligible to others.
Someone used to tell him, "A battle against time is not one a mortal can win". Needless to say, he's ignoring that advice. And who was that again? Fenrir, no, Mei..? Their colors, their eyes, their laughs, they all grow more distant by the day. He still worries for the future, but knows that eventually, he won't even remember fear anymore.
Maybe it will be a merciful death.
The pitter-patter of rain on the small window beside him finally awakens him from his dreaming. He jitters, looks up and out at the dark study and the cloudy night. There is something comforting about it, it reminds him of the last moments he spent with them, when they all laughed around the bonfire, not a thought in their heads about tomorrow. Before he woke up the next morning, and they were gone. Taken by the Collapse.
He prefers thinking of the former part.
"The Last Wanderer"
♫
Dusk settles over the ever-bustling City of Passage, and one dragon sits in a tower high above the rest of the world, alone in his study. As he draws breath, a wind of dust swirls around the worn-down furniture clothing the building, the snowglobes on the shelf above him, and the books that are disorderly strewn around in old shelves lining the walls of the architecture. Some of them are on seemingly random subjects - everything from Beastclan alphabets to a hundred-and-fifty different ways to use wheat. But they've all been thoroughly read - he'd tell you that.
The breeze flies into his nostrils, and they twitch a little in reaction. The air here is stale, and kind of gross. It's still a little warm on a late summer evening, but the Spiral seems not to notice the heat, caught up in his stories as he is.
Every day, he tries to remember, here in the tower that time has forgotten. He scribbles his clanmates' faces and names and lives in notepads, in their old research, sometimes in the books when he gets scared that they'll finally slip if he doesn't immediately take to pen and paper. But as the years wane on, his recollections have started to warp. His memories, his mind, they're not what they used to be. He knows that. It's why he stopped going outside - he's long since forgotten how to make himself telligible to others.
Someone used to tell him, "A battle against time is not one a mortal can win". Needless to say, he's ignoring that advice. And who was that again? Fenrir, no, Mei..? Their colors, their eyes, their laughs, they all grow more distant by the day. He still worries for the future, but knows that eventually, he won't even remember fear anymore.
Maybe it will be a merciful death.
The pitter-patter of rain on the small window beside him finally awakens him from his dreaming. He jitters, looks up and out at the dark study and the cloudy night. There is something comforting about it, it reminds him of the last moments he spent with them, when they all laughed around the bonfire, not a thought in their heads about tomorrow. Before he woke up the next morning, and they were gone. Taken by the Collapse.
He prefers thinking of the former part.
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This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Tortellini 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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