Amadea
(#56747630)
-The One loved by the Gods-
Familiar
Crystalspine Gem Guardian
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Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Female Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.87 m
Wingspan
5.89 m
Weight
777.32 kg
Genetics
Pearl
Iridescent
Iridescent
Rose
Shimmer
Shimmer
Cream
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Skydancer
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
"Rare is the union of beauty and purity." ~Juvenal
The hatchling, like the rest of her royal family, was born remarkably beautiful: two large eyes of glistening amber; a slender, delicate snout; wings tinted a pink hue so soft they could have been mistaken for slabs of rosy gypsum; and a single stone sparkling like untouched waters embedded in the perfect center of her forehead.
She was, in all physical aspects, already a queen: the jewel of the family.
The heart of the family, though, rested within her parents' power--a power abused...for generations.
Power that they used to declare war.
Power that they used to ravage lands.
Power that they used to conquer once free kingdoms.
Power that they used...with absolutely no justification.
Power that they then insisted should be used by all of their offspring:
cruelly, coldly, and mercilessly.
Angelic appearances hid hideous, haughty hearts that feared nothing...
nothing aside from the loss of the very power that had altered them.
Their influence was their world.
A hatchling--a mere tool.
And a civilian--no more than the smallest speck of dust: worthless.
The hatchling, unlike her many other siblings, knew. She knew that if she stayed, she would be used--not loved. Used as one of her parents' many catastrophic knights...to bring forth mighty strokes of darkness onto once blessed lands. Used as an "ambassador"...to restore their influence. Used as a means...to their end.
She left.
Amongst her parents' "toolshed" to success, she was but a tiny screw.
The young imperial, Tristan, was different: born in a poorer kingdom scrambling to keep its own shred of freedom, hanging on to ever poorer health, and scourged by even poorer raiders. His tawny body boasted several scars; his antlers sprouted with broken spurs; his every blink brimmed with a pain of betrayal--and a triumph over death--she had never experienced. To him, every day was a war, and as long as his heart kept beating; as long as his lungs kept breathing; as long as his head kept thinking, he was victorious. Victorious.
She wondered--wondered why the split between life was so harsh. So stark. So...unfair. Only a short travel away, her parents flaunted victory in the form of treasure and gems, of control over thousands upon thousands of other kingdoms...while this young imperial was equally content claiming control over his own life.
Where was justice?
Tristan's heart was as golden as his honey-hued eyes:
a caring, loving, and gentle soul--and yet he was suffering.
Her parents' hearts were as rotten as a millenia-old Greatshell corpse:
reeking with the stench of greed--and yet they still prospered.
Sympathy bloomed within her heart, and with it came the beautiful blossom of friendship. Tristan eagerly guided her through his world: one of fierce fights, of fearsome quarrels, of endless hardships--but also one of the raw and wild beauty of nature: of bountiful hunts, of fruitful harvests. It was chaotic, but overflowing with the joys of freedom: tearing up with sorrow, but restored through the gratuity of living.
Only after a full two decades of this friendship, though, did she notice the necklace he wore--
one gleaming with a gem the softest shade of pink, similar to that of her wings.
Simple, but beautiful.
Tristan noticed immediately. "Morganite." His creamy voice murmured.
"The stone of healing, inner strength...and unconditional love.
Out of all dragons, I would expect you to know, Amadea: the one loved by the Gods."
"Morganite." she whispered, gazing at the jewel.
The imperial held it within his talons.
"Lovely, isn't it? This necklace does not need the help of other treasures to make it shine--just this one stone: like you, actually. Your purity--your refusal to be manipulated--needs no aid in making you so timelessly...beautiful."
For a moment, the young dragoness was stunned.
"The morganite must be making you loopy with this unconditional love!"
"I can assure you, it's not the morganite." Tristan's whisper was as clear as a springtime stream:
"Thank you for stepping into the world that I have treasured my entire life, and giving it a chance."
"A new kingdom is encroaching, one that no other has been able to stop...
and our kingdom has rightfully decided...to fight."
Amadea tensed. Her family. Her monstrous mother. Her ferocious father. Her sadistic siblings.
A curse...to be inflicted on any kingdom that opposed them.
"I need to ask of you one final favor: please promise me that if I fall defending this land...
that no one will ever take it. I've loved it far too long, and far too much."
The whispering had become more of a plea, as if he already saw his death coming.
The control over his own life--the one victory he was so proud of--had been taken from him.
A hushed breath: "You won't die."
The imperial nuzzled his love.
"I'll see you...whether in this world or the next.
For now, though, we fight together. We fight for this land. We fight...for our freedom."
The morganite necklace rested its pendant against Amadea's chest.
"Haven't you heard of the saying? Love...it's eternal.
I don't fear death anymore, because I can rest knowing my love for you will remain."
Tristan's silhouette, along with the legion of soldiers who followed him, disappeared amongst the thick mist of the forest. The war began. Hissing. Shredding. Blinding. Burning. Freezing. Poisoning. Shrouding. Enchanting. War knew no mercy. An enduring, self-sustaining world: pushed to its peak.
After six years of combat, the kingdom's resources were exhausted.
Its rivers and streams dry of water, but brimming with bodies. Its orchards void of fruit, but abundant with the charred husks of what were previously trees. Its legions still fighting...but without their leader.
Tristan had not come back.
His last remnants of an army were beginning to fall back, Amadea still fearlessly defending its ranks.
And then a beast burst through the field.
The dragoness stared. Eleven heads. Eleven necks...but one body.
Her parents, too, must have been tired of this war.
Only in times of absolute need would they enchant dead imperials to merge...into an emperor.
The emperor dragon hissed, eleven heads snarling, eleven necks arched.
She inhaled deeply. If she could kill it, the onslaught would stop, and her promise to Tristan would be fulfilled.
The skies themselves shifted: the deities were interfering. "Amadea: the one loved by the Gods."
The emperor screeched, threatening to pull them from their lofty positions, but fell just short of their wings.
Its immense strength was trivial to that of the deities, and already was beginning to be overwhelmed.
Bracing herself, she charged...and stopped dead as one of the necks turned,
as one of the heads spiritlessly pivoted to glare at her.
The tawny head. The crazed, honey-hued eyes.
The morganite necklace, snapped into three segments, dangling dangerously on its neck.
It was Tristan.
The weary emperor no longer struggled. Tristan's gaze stared back at her more poignantly than ever.
And then she remembered again. She remembered her promise.
"I need to ask of you one final favor: please promise me that if I fall defending this land...that no one will ever take it. I've loved it far too long, and far too much."
"Love...it's eternal. I don't fear death anymore, because I can rest knowing my love for you will remain."
A shrill scream of raw, heartfelt pain rang across the battlefield...
and the skydancer dragoness put her love to rest.
Gorgeous lore by my dear friend Lunisolace ♥
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