Galliard
(#41311580)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Hainu
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
21.3 m
Wingspan
16.34 m
Weight
6051.85 kg
Genetics
Copper
Metallic
Metallic
Copper
Alloy
Alloy
Teal
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
Biography
Galliard glanced about his new lair, only recently dug. The floor was a little uneven in places and the walls lacked niches; he winced a little, remembering the reproachful stares of the construction team yesterday, but he simply couldn’t bear his old quarters any longer. A new year. A new beginning, he thought hopefully. I don’t mind doing the finishing work myself. It’ll be soothing. He began wandering through the chambers, noting approvingly the bubbling spring that ran clear and cold, the sleeping area nicely proportioned, the harmonious flow of energies: the artisans of this clan had talent. “Oh, I could be happy here,” he murmured.
Lazy boy, snapped a voice behind him, sending his whiskers out stiff in shock. Galliard turned.
“Grandfather Paschal,” he greeted the other tonelessly.
The larger Imperial faced him sternly. A new beginning indeed, boy. It’s high time you took up your duties.
“No ... please, Grandfather!”
Enough! His grandfather swung his head violently, setting his entire harness ashake. Far off and distant, Galliard heard the bells ringing; a sure sign of the old drake’s anger, if he could manifest this far. Of the four of you remaining on this plane, you are the only Gifted. You will obey your blood and calling!
Through Paschal’s transparent form, Galliard saw a dark, blocky shape against the wall. It hadn’t been there before.
“Grandfather,” he groaned. “They plague me. They drove me out of my old home.”
Boy-- The old drake’s tone softened, --I know. Take up the garments. When you look the part, you’ll get more respect from them. He faded from sight, so quickly that Galliard felt a pang of guilt. It would not have been easy for the old fellow to reach so far from his Sleep. Slowly, his tail dragging listlessly on the floor, he approached the age-darkened chest against the wall. It seemed to crouch, watching him, the light gleaming dully on the spiked and studded metal that bound it as if to imprison what lay within.
Even before he touched it, the lock clicked loudly, making him jump. The lid quivered and rose, with a quiet sigh that sounded almost satisfied to Galliard’s twitching ears. Light glimmered richly over burnished metal, shining silk, golden gems.
My blood. My calling, Galliard thought morosely. Hesitantly, he lifted free the complex spill of fine chain, cuffs, and dangling jewels meant for his tail. Once, when he was very young, he’d thought it the prettiest ornamentation in the world. Now, as he clasped its cuffs into place, the soft chiming of its chains reminded him of his grandfather’s bells. I’ll never be free. I never was free. Just ... given some time to run, at first.
The nightshroud came next; he’d known the proper order since he was a hatchling, chattering the litany eagerly back to his mother Merini without really understanding what it meant. As he sealed the collar around his neck, the fluttering mass of silk rose and writhed across his back, down his sides, its ends meeting behind his wings and sealing together without a seam. He’d be able to fly in it, at least.
The pendants were another thing he’d thought pretty when he was little. More chains. More reminders of the bloodline he couldn’t escape. The great jewels of amber radiated gentle warmth against his throat, as if trying to convince him of their benign intent.
He had to squirm and kick when the first of the clawrings slid into place and ignited into glimmering amber flames. Even knowing it would happen couldn’t prevent that brief moment of panic, of anticipated burning. But they’re not real flames, he told his thundering heart, and forced himself to turn and slip his claws into the other rings. Then he faced the chest again.
Faint ribbons of golden light waved gently upward from the chest. Waved, literally: a suggestion of clawed digits gestured slowly at the end of each. Ugh, Galliard thought with an all-over shudder. I hate this thing. I don’t care that it’s supposed to protect me, it’s just so creepy!
“To catch the wayward spirits in tender grasp,” sang Merini’s memory. With a glum little moan, Galliard lowered his head to the ribbons of light and whispered the spell of release. Light blazed up; a sensation of being caressed by feathery wisps of fog coursed over his face and neck and settled between his wings. Refusing to look, Galliard quickly reached for the forejewels and busied himself slipping them into place.
One piece remained in the chest, taking up the entire bottom; how its sweeping curves of metal avoided snagging everything above it could only mean a clever storage spell. Or maybe the thing knows better, Galliard mused, staring down at it. The crown stared back, its six glowing eyes growing brighter the longer he looked at it. Impatient, are you? Well, your day has come. Contrary to his half-formed hopes, the forejewels didn’t make the thing difficult to grasp; he lowered his head and settled the thing into place.
And now I can see you as well as hear you, he thought vindictively at the spirits. Only a few had followed him into his new home as yet, harmless little things born of the good intentions of the workers. Others would follow; once he had hoped to merely avoid their notice for a space, and live in peace. Now, garbed as a Medium, he could no more avoid the spirits’ notice than a podid could fly. Even as he watched, a ribbon of light flashed out from his shoulders, tickled the nearest spirit-wisp, and curled back, inspection complete. The wisp bobbed in a startled manner.
“But maybe, Grandfather,” Galliard whispered, “maybe it won’t be so one-sided any more.”
"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win."
Lazy boy, snapped a voice behind him, sending his whiskers out stiff in shock. Galliard turned.
“Grandfather Paschal,” he greeted the other tonelessly.
The larger Imperial faced him sternly. A new beginning indeed, boy. It’s high time you took up your duties.
“No ... please, Grandfather!”
Enough! His grandfather swung his head violently, setting his entire harness ashake. Far off and distant, Galliard heard the bells ringing; a sure sign of the old drake’s anger, if he could manifest this far. Of the four of you remaining on this plane, you are the only Gifted. You will obey your blood and calling!
Through Paschal’s transparent form, Galliard saw a dark, blocky shape against the wall. It hadn’t been there before.
“Grandfather,” he groaned. “They plague me. They drove me out of my old home.”
Boy-- The old drake’s tone softened, --I know. Take up the garments. When you look the part, you’ll get more respect from them. He faded from sight, so quickly that Galliard felt a pang of guilt. It would not have been easy for the old fellow to reach so far from his Sleep. Slowly, his tail dragging listlessly on the floor, he approached the age-darkened chest against the wall. It seemed to crouch, watching him, the light gleaming dully on the spiked and studded metal that bound it as if to imprison what lay within.
Even before he touched it, the lock clicked loudly, making him jump. The lid quivered and rose, with a quiet sigh that sounded almost satisfied to Galliard’s twitching ears. Light glimmered richly over burnished metal, shining silk, golden gems.
My blood. My calling, Galliard thought morosely. Hesitantly, he lifted free the complex spill of fine chain, cuffs, and dangling jewels meant for his tail. Once, when he was very young, he’d thought it the prettiest ornamentation in the world. Now, as he clasped its cuffs into place, the soft chiming of its chains reminded him of his grandfather’s bells. I’ll never be free. I never was free. Just ... given some time to run, at first.
The nightshroud came next; he’d known the proper order since he was a hatchling, chattering the litany eagerly back to his mother Merini without really understanding what it meant. As he sealed the collar around his neck, the fluttering mass of silk rose and writhed across his back, down his sides, its ends meeting behind his wings and sealing together without a seam. He’d be able to fly in it, at least.
The pendants were another thing he’d thought pretty when he was little. More chains. More reminders of the bloodline he couldn’t escape. The great jewels of amber radiated gentle warmth against his throat, as if trying to convince him of their benign intent.
He had to squirm and kick when the first of the clawrings slid into place and ignited into glimmering amber flames. Even knowing it would happen couldn’t prevent that brief moment of panic, of anticipated burning. But they’re not real flames, he told his thundering heart, and forced himself to turn and slip his claws into the other rings. Then he faced the chest again.
Faint ribbons of golden light waved gently upward from the chest. Waved, literally: a suggestion of clawed digits gestured slowly at the end of each. Ugh, Galliard thought with an all-over shudder. I hate this thing. I don’t care that it’s supposed to protect me, it’s just so creepy!
“To catch the wayward spirits in tender grasp,” sang Merini’s memory. With a glum little moan, Galliard lowered his head to the ribbons of light and whispered the spell of release. Light blazed up; a sensation of being caressed by feathery wisps of fog coursed over his face and neck and settled between his wings. Refusing to look, Galliard quickly reached for the forejewels and busied himself slipping them into place.
One piece remained in the chest, taking up the entire bottom; how its sweeping curves of metal avoided snagging everything above it could only mean a clever storage spell. Or maybe the thing knows better, Galliard mused, staring down at it. The crown stared back, its six glowing eyes growing brighter the longer he looked at it. Impatient, are you? Well, your day has come. Contrary to his half-formed hopes, the forejewels didn’t make the thing difficult to grasp; he lowered his head and settled the thing into place.
And now I can see you as well as hear you, he thought vindictively at the spirits. Only a few had followed him into his new home as yet, harmless little things born of the good intentions of the workers. Others would follow; once he had hoped to merely avoid their notice for a space, and live in peace. Now, garbed as a Medium, he could no more avoid the spirits’ notice than a podid could fly. Even as he watched, a ribbon of light flashed out from his shoulders, tickled the nearest spirit-wisp, and curled back, inspection complete. The wisp bobbed in a startled manner.
“But maybe, Grandfather,” Galliard whispered, “maybe it won’t be so one-sided any more.”
"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win."
Lore by Barrdwing
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Exalting Galliard to the service of the Windsinger 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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