Sandstorm
(#33075807)
Level 1 Guardian
Familiar
Firebug
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Male Guardian
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
18.01 m
Wingspan
20.72 m
Weight
8426.71 kg
Genetics
Coral
Python
Python
Goldenrod
Trail
Trail
Spring
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Guardian
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
the magic surrounding him is so powerful that dragons can be temporarily healed just by standing next to him.
Reanimated
STORY BY MAGICMAKERROSE
The Arcanist had been working for a long time, and he felt his mind begin to wander. Absentmindedly, he glided over to his garden in the Observatory, the trees and flowers dwarfed in his presence. Scattered around the garden were crystal statues, each one of a dragon who had died bravely in a dominance battle.
As he watched groups of tiny Faes working amongst the flowering bushes, he remembered fondly another Fae who had worked with him not so long ago. She had a strange way about her, and she cared deeply for another dragon, a Guardian. The Arcanist could not yet quite grasp the concepts of attachment that most mortals had, but the Fae had clearly been distraught when he told her of her mate’s death. She was most unproductive that night, and declined his offer to observe a rare alignment of stars.
If it was that serious, that she could decline the offer of knowledge in favor of mourning, then the Arcanist was glad he could not feel it. He would not know what he would do if he started getting attached to his experiments.
The Arcanist gave a little smile, and found a particular Guardian statue surrounded by white roses. He let loose a little snap of magic, and then, with a grin, went back to his study.
If nothing else, he thought, it’ll make that little Fae happy.
At the base of a tree in the Starwood Strand, a long rotted corpse shifted awake. The moss and vines fell off of his hide as he stirred, bones cracking as they shifted back into place. He stretched his wings, their flesh thin and ragged, his skin marked with the wounds of battle, the blood long dried, leaving gashes upon his hide where the bone was exposed.
Why was he here? He remembered his death- Brutal and slow, at the hands of a vicious opponent. Who was it? A Mirror, from the Ice flight, that’s who it was. He remembered everything, the blood, the pain, the slow dying, lying against this tree.
He had been dead. So, he asked himself again-
Why was he here?
He remembered, that as he died, he thought of his mate, Dreame. Dreame… He wondered if she was still alive. Could he find her? He wanted to find her. He had missed her ever since that day when he had been exalted and she had escaped.
Having found a purpose, the newly risen zombie began to walk.
As he walked, he remembered his name.
Sandstorm.
If he were Dreame, where would he go? The little Fae had always wanted to live in the Starwood Strand, so, he figured that he was in the right place. But where to begin? His brain was already addled, the magic that brought him to life struggling to keep him alive, let alone allow him to think properly. Necromancy was a dangerous thing. Who had brought him back, and why? There wasn’t a dragon around for miles, as far as he could tell, and why any necromancer would bother with a random corpse in the woods was equally confusing.
He wandered for hours, days, weeks- He lost track of time. He needed no food, needed no rest, living entirely off of the Arcane magic that surrounded him and kept him alive. When he walked, his bones rattled, his dry flesh rustled, and he limped, for one of his legs was not fixed quite right. If he had encountered any dragon, they would have surely turned away, first in fright, scared of his monstrous appearance, then in disgust, for he smelled of what you might expect a rotting corpse to smell of after years of decaying.
Luckily, the dragon he did encounter was not like most dragons. She was a dragon not easily affected by the otherworldly, being something of a magical abomination herself, and at that moment, she had been hunting for meat to feed her clan.
Sandstorm stumbled out of the brush, his hollow eyes searching frantically before landing on the Fae that fluttered before him- A little surprised, but otherwise unfazed by the zombie before her.
“Are you alright?” She said in a deep and caring voice, genuinely concerned for the Guardian who seemed to be dying in front of her eyes. “Do you need help?”
Sandstorm gave a guttural growl and uttered a single word before collapsing below the Fae.
“Dreame…”
“Wake up. Come on.”
Sandstorm came awake, feeling significantly less dead than he had an hour ago. A Coatl stood over him, draped in the adornments of a mage, a veil covering his eyes. “You’re really remarkable, you know,” he said, his tone kind. “There’s no way you should be alive. But there is magic- Extremely powerful magic- Keeping you alive. Did you know that?” Sandstorm shook his head no. “I only… know… that I was dead… and then I wasn’t… anymore.” He struggled to form words still.
“I’ve repaired some of your wounds, so it should be easier for you to move now, at least, but, in all sense of the world, you are essentially dead. There’s a powerful aura of magic surrounding you. I sense that without it, you would cease to live the way you are now.”
The Coatl laughed to himself. “I saw you coming, in a vision. I prepared for your arrival. The name’s Chryss, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Sandstorm.” The Guardian replied. “I’m searching for my mate… If she’s even still alive. Her name was Dreame. She was lovely. A Fae. Had the most... peculiar ideas.”
Something he said startled Chryss. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and then he rushed away.
“Archad, there’s a bit of a situation with our newcomer.”
The clan leader stood up, knowing that his friend brought urgent news. “What is it? Is everything alright?”
“Well, yes, everything is physically fine, but, the mysterious Guardian… His name is Sandstorm. Sound familiar?”
A look of recognition passed Archad’s face. He remembered that name well, for it was a name his adoptive mother had spoken of frequently, and fondly. “That’s… Dreame’s mate. But… I thought he died? In a dominance battle, long ago?” Chryss shook his head. “Well, apparently not. There’s some sort of ancient, powerful magic keeping him alive. A skilled necromancer must have brought him back to life- For whatever reason, I don’t know. But he’s here now, and so we must address the problem- What do we tell her?”
“Well, we obviously can’t keep it a secret. Do you have any visions you can share with me?” Again, Chryss shook his head. “Every outcome seems to end with someone unhappy. But, like you said, I don’t think we can keep this from her. From… mother, I mean. She always knew when we were lying.”
Just then, they heard a commotion from the center of the clan, and they quickly rushed over to see what was the matter. Dragons all around were scattering away from something lumbering through the clearing. Or, rather, someone- Sandstorm.
He seemed to have been possessed by some strange urge, moving erratically and moaning over and over again- “Dreeeeeeeeame. Dreeeeame. Where are yooooooou?” He pushed through the other dragons, leaving pieces of himself in his wake. Until, he found what he was looking for- A tiny purple and blue Fae sharing a meal with an older Mirror.
He rushed up to her and began to nuzzle her, covering her in moss from his beard. “Dreeeeame! I missed yooooou!”
The Fae, Dreame, was nothing short of shocked and enraged. Her eyes shot to Archad and Chryss, standing awkwardly to the left of all this, nervous looks on their faces. Dreame might no longer be the clan leader, but she still had the ability to make her children nervous. “Sandstorm… You’re alive?” She asked. “How is this possible?”
“I don’t know, all I know is that I get to be with yooooou!” He tried nuzzling her again, but she fluttered away.
“Sandstorm, I… I don’t know what to say. I’m thrilled that you’re here. But… I don’t want to be with you anymore. I can’t. I’ve moved on. I… I’m sorry but I won’t love you. It’ll never be the way it was before, and I can’t do that to myself. Please, leave me alone. Please.”
Sandstorm, clearly hurt, had no choice but to retreat to a dark corner of the clan, sulking in the shadow of the trees. As he sat down, prepared to die for real this time, he felt a small weight on his shoulder. He turned- It was the Fae who had found him in the forest. She was a peculiar thing, a dark shadow that seemed to sparkle at the same time. Her eyes glowed with a faint yellow light.
“Name’s Void.” She said. “Are you doing okay? I thought maybe I could offer some help.”
“Everything is… Fine. I suppose I should have thought something like this would happen. I really… I really loved her. But she doesn’t…. Love me, anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s how it is sometimes.” She said, and they sat together in the dark forest for the rest of the night, watching the sunset.
  
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N A M E
CLAN ROLE HERE QUOTE OR SOMETHING
Origins - This can be anything. Where’d they come from? Where will they go? Have they had a boring life? Or an exciting one?
Personality - This is where you put the odd stuff about your dragon. Hobbies, traits, weird quirks, etc. Mate - Let’s hear about your dragons mate! Or maybe their mates? If they have no mate(s) then feel free to brag about their friends! Or perhaps complain about their enemies? Clan Role - What does your dragon do for a living? Are they a hoarder? A merchant? A magician maybe! Quote:
Use this as you see fit - Inventory/Art/Etc.
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Dream Outfit
Reanimated
STORY BY MAGICMAKERROSE
The Arcanist had been working for a long time, and he felt his mind begin to wander. Absentmindedly, he glided over to his garden in the Observatory, the trees and flowers dwarfed in his presence. Scattered around the garden were crystal statues, each one of a dragon who had died bravely in a dominance battle.
As he watched groups of tiny Faes working amongst the flowering bushes, he remembered fondly another Fae who had worked with him not so long ago. She had a strange way about her, and she cared deeply for another dragon, a Guardian. The Arcanist could not yet quite grasp the concepts of attachment that most mortals had, but the Fae had clearly been distraught when he told her of her mate’s death. She was most unproductive that night, and declined his offer to observe a rare alignment of stars.
If it was that serious, that she could decline the offer of knowledge in favor of mourning, then the Arcanist was glad he could not feel it. He would not know what he would do if he started getting attached to his experiments.
The Arcanist gave a little smile, and found a particular Guardian statue surrounded by white roses. He let loose a little snap of magic, and then, with a grin, went back to his study.
If nothing else, he thought, it’ll make that little Fae happy.
At the base of a tree in the Starwood Strand, a long rotted corpse shifted awake. The moss and vines fell off of his hide as he stirred, bones cracking as they shifted back into place. He stretched his wings, their flesh thin and ragged, his skin marked with the wounds of battle, the blood long dried, leaving gashes upon his hide where the bone was exposed.
Why was he here? He remembered his death- Brutal and slow, at the hands of a vicious opponent. Who was it? A Mirror, from the Ice flight, that’s who it was. He remembered everything, the blood, the pain, the slow dying, lying against this tree.
He had been dead. So, he asked himself again-
Why was he here?
He remembered, that as he died, he thought of his mate, Dreame. Dreame… He wondered if she was still alive. Could he find her? He wanted to find her. He had missed her ever since that day when he had been exalted and she had escaped.
Having found a purpose, the newly risen zombie began to walk.
As he walked, he remembered his name.
Sandstorm.
If he were Dreame, where would he go? The little Fae had always wanted to live in the Starwood Strand, so, he figured that he was in the right place. But where to begin? His brain was already addled, the magic that brought him to life struggling to keep him alive, let alone allow him to think properly. Necromancy was a dangerous thing. Who had brought him back, and why? There wasn’t a dragon around for miles, as far as he could tell, and why any necromancer would bother with a random corpse in the woods was equally confusing.
He wandered for hours, days, weeks- He lost track of time. He needed no food, needed no rest, living entirely off of the Arcane magic that surrounded him and kept him alive. When he walked, his bones rattled, his dry flesh rustled, and he limped, for one of his legs was not fixed quite right. If he had encountered any dragon, they would have surely turned away, first in fright, scared of his monstrous appearance, then in disgust, for he smelled of what you might expect a rotting corpse to smell of after years of decaying.
Luckily, the dragon he did encounter was not like most dragons. She was a dragon not easily affected by the otherworldly, being something of a magical abomination herself, and at that moment, she had been hunting for meat to feed her clan.
Sandstorm stumbled out of the brush, his hollow eyes searching frantically before landing on the Fae that fluttered before him- A little surprised, but otherwise unfazed by the zombie before her.
“Are you alright?” She said in a deep and caring voice, genuinely concerned for the Guardian who seemed to be dying in front of her eyes. “Do you need help?”
Sandstorm gave a guttural growl and uttered a single word before collapsing below the Fae.
“Dreame…”
“Wake up. Come on.”
Sandstorm came awake, feeling significantly less dead than he had an hour ago. A Coatl stood over him, draped in the adornments of a mage, a veil covering his eyes. “You’re really remarkable, you know,” he said, his tone kind. “There’s no way you should be alive. But there is magic- Extremely powerful magic- Keeping you alive. Did you know that?” Sandstorm shook his head no. “I only… know… that I was dead… and then I wasn’t… anymore.” He struggled to form words still.
“I’ve repaired some of your wounds, so it should be easier for you to move now, at least, but, in all sense of the world, you are essentially dead. There’s a powerful aura of magic surrounding you. I sense that without it, you would cease to live the way you are now.”
The Coatl laughed to himself. “I saw you coming, in a vision. I prepared for your arrival. The name’s Chryss, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Sandstorm.” The Guardian replied. “I’m searching for my mate… If she’s even still alive. Her name was Dreame. She was lovely. A Fae. Had the most... peculiar ideas.”
Something he said startled Chryss. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and then he rushed away.
“Archad, there’s a bit of a situation with our newcomer.”
The clan leader stood up, knowing that his friend brought urgent news. “What is it? Is everything alright?”
“Well, yes, everything is physically fine, but, the mysterious Guardian… His name is Sandstorm. Sound familiar?”
A look of recognition passed Archad’s face. He remembered that name well, for it was a name his adoptive mother had spoken of frequently, and fondly. “That’s… Dreame’s mate. But… I thought he died? In a dominance battle, long ago?” Chryss shook his head. “Well, apparently not. There’s some sort of ancient, powerful magic keeping him alive. A skilled necromancer must have brought him back to life- For whatever reason, I don’t know. But he’s here now, and so we must address the problem- What do we tell her?”
“Well, we obviously can’t keep it a secret. Do you have any visions you can share with me?” Again, Chryss shook his head. “Every outcome seems to end with someone unhappy. But, like you said, I don’t think we can keep this from her. From… mother, I mean. She always knew when we were lying.”
Just then, they heard a commotion from the center of the clan, and they quickly rushed over to see what was the matter. Dragons all around were scattering away from something lumbering through the clearing. Or, rather, someone- Sandstorm.
He seemed to have been possessed by some strange urge, moving erratically and moaning over and over again- “Dreeeeeeeeame. Dreeeeame. Where are yooooooou?” He pushed through the other dragons, leaving pieces of himself in his wake. Until, he found what he was looking for- A tiny purple and blue Fae sharing a meal with an older Mirror.
He rushed up to her and began to nuzzle her, covering her in moss from his beard. “Dreeeeame! I missed yooooou!”
The Fae, Dreame, was nothing short of shocked and enraged. Her eyes shot to Archad and Chryss, standing awkwardly to the left of all this, nervous looks on their faces. Dreame might no longer be the clan leader, but she still had the ability to make her children nervous. “Sandstorm… You’re alive?” She asked. “How is this possible?”
“I don’t know, all I know is that I get to be with yooooou!” He tried nuzzling her again, but she fluttered away.
“Sandstorm, I… I don’t know what to say. I’m thrilled that you’re here. But… I don’t want to be with you anymore. I can’t. I’ve moved on. I… I’m sorry but I won’t love you. It’ll never be the way it was before, and I can’t do that to myself. Please, leave me alone. Please.”
Sandstorm, clearly hurt, had no choice but to retreat to a dark corner of the clan, sulking in the shadow of the trees. As he sat down, prepared to die for real this time, he felt a small weight on his shoulder. He turned- It was the Fae who had found him in the forest. She was a peculiar thing, a dark shadow that seemed to sparkle at the same time. Her eyes glowed with a faint yellow light.
“Name’s Void.” She said. “Are you doing okay? I thought maybe I could offer some help.”
“Everything is… Fine. I suppose I should have thought something like this would happen. I really… I really loved her. But she doesn’t…. Love me, anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s how it is sometimes.” She said, and they sat together in the dark forest for the rest of the night, watching the sunset.
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