Roots
(#52685134)
she/her
Familiar
Strangler
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 48/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Female Tundra
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.78 m
Wingspan
3.83 m
Weight
204.09 kg
Genetics
Avocado
Poison
Poison
Fire
Toxin
Toxin
Fern
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Tundra
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Biography
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Roots Hatheway
Steel-Stomached, One-Derg Clean-Up Crew  Trait1 | Trait2 | Trait3 Affiliations N/A “Quote here." ― Source here ♫ |
Roots first knew nothing but peace and comfort in her upbringing, raised by a retired tradesderg and an eccentric painter. The days in her birthclan, Mavenlark, were warm and harmonious, their neighbors kindly, the food plentiful. Then the deaths. They were unremarkable at first, though painful for those that they affected - hatchlings that never rose from their afternoon naps, mainly, or middle-age dergs too young to die, too old to properly fend off the diseases that took their lives. Mavenlark made no big show of these losses, the city too big for news of them to spread any further than those who would care to hear of it. That was the problem of living in a place as big as the city, her mother would remark as she clucked her tongue and tucked her hatchlings into bed. There simply wasn't as much connection between dragons as there would be somewhere much smaller. Then, she would dwell by the side of their room, keeping a careful eye on their breathing. Roots waited for that connection to swell in her heart like some sort of hot air balloon. She wanted it to make her cry the way that she saw her mother did, eyes growing dewy when news of another loss would break over their midday tea. There was something beautiful in her reaction, Roots thought, crying the way that she did over dragons she had just heard the name of moments prior. Roots waited. She forced her eyes together. Sometimes, she even slipped her claws into the underlid, hoping to coax them into compliance. Tears never came. Her father was a tundra, and the reason for her clumsiness among her more graceful guardian siblings. He was a jovial sort, always joking and laughing with his hatchlings when he saw them. Roots always saw him at the side of a bogsneak when he was not on one of his visits. Her mother said that she would understand why when she was older if she asked about it. Her siblings sometimes hissed and spit at the sight of the hulking dragoness, who coolly regarded their presence with a smile and little else. Roots tried to do that. It felt too unnatural. She stopped. One day, she was older, and she did understand, somewhat. In all honesty, age had only left her more confused. Mavenlark was a place of free love, where dragons mated freely regardless of where their hearts truly laid. Many of the fathers never even visited their young - if anything, they were blessed to have a father like Bafford. Had her siblings only learned to hate because of their mother? Roots would often be called cold, or emotionless. This is not the case in her mind. Roots is a practical dragon - more apt to logic and reasoning than feelings. She has nothing against anger, jealousy, pain, fear - they were the very forces that reared her. She just doesn't feel personally attached to them, not the way that her siblings and mother were. And so, she made a business of death. Most dergs retch in the presence of a dead body, whether it fell under natural causes or dark intent. She approached the dead, whether sleeping or drowned in a pool of their own blood, and cleaned them. Prepared them for the morgue and their final rest. Then her attention turned to what they left behind - the bloody scratches left by their final fight on the stone walls, or the bits and pieces flung from inside of them to the ground. When Roots is done with a room, one cannot even tell that anything has happened in it. Some dergs find this to be a comfort. To her, it's just business.
template by katasaur (heavily edited) |
lore by Hyzenthlaay |
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• works in [CITY] but Stormshroud is the place she’s made her home Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Maecenas elementum sagittis cursus. Morbi aliquam id nisl non bibendum. Nulla neque nibh, posuere et imperdiet sed, fermentum ac quam. Proin quis sollicitudin enim, quis tincidunt massa. Sed laoreet arcu lacus, tincidunt semper dui posuere et. Quisque nibh enim, mattis vel massa in, aliquet semper lectus. Quisque arcu turpis, lobortis in odio consectetur, congue eleifend eros. Pellentesque vehicula ultrices vestibulum. Curabitur ac interdum est, quis pretium mi. Phasellus vestibulum dictum ligula, sed ultricies libero ornare a. Sed mattis bibendum leo. Donec vitae porta diam. 
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 The Hunter & Gatherer text text text text text text text text text text text text • text - text 
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sales post wrote:
A tundra ambles past you, whistling some sort of mellow tune. A yellow clean-up bucket bound to her tail by rope follows. You jump slightly in shock as you notice the color of the water - a crimson red, not unlike blood...
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
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Exalting Roots to the service of the Stormcatcher 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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