Feagh
(#38175199)
Level 1 Wildclaw
Familiar
Laybrush Larcenist
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Wildclaw
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.01 m
Wingspan
5.14 m
Weight
511.19 kg
Genetics
Sanguine
Piebald
Piebald
Sanguine
Eel
Eel
Sanguine
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮
| _______ |
|
FEAGH the Ghost and the Raven tranquil • shy • kind ‹━━━━━━━━« ❆ |
|
»━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━›
|
As a child he had loved birds. There was not a kind he did not like, except perhaps ostriches and particularly nasty vultures, but who could blame him for that. In the quiet mornings before school, taking a handful of seed out to the sparrows and chickadees who gathered in the bushes in the backyard had become as much a part of his routine as brushing his teeth. There had always been something about sitting on the porch steps and watching the little birds gather and peck at the seeds scattered across the ground that made him feel at peace. Maybe it was because they did not care who fed them- as long as food was brought they came in crowds. It made Feagh feel wanted -needed- even if it was only for the food. At school he was a ghost. The sickly child who was too frail to play ball or even run laps with the rest of his peers; who never joined any clubs or went to birthday parties or sleepovers because his parents were too afraid of leaving him for long. Despite being the odd one in school he was seldom bullied, which may have been a blessing to others but only served in making Feagh feel like even more of a loner. He was avoided like the plague, and he suspected new students were quickly filled in on the rumours about him because rarely did they talk to him either, and those who did stopped soon after without ever telling him why. It made him wonder, sometimes, if he really was a ghost. At home his parents fussed over everything. In front of him they laughed and smiled like everything was alright, but he heard them arguing, late at night when they thought he was asleep, over medical bills and the high cost of medication. They never brought it up in front of him but nevertheless, he knew how stressful it all was on his parents. So instead of whining about not being allowed to eat chocolate or arguing when his parents forbid him from going to play in the snow with the other kids, he did as told and acted the part of the well-behaved child. Hoping, in the least, that it took some of the worry off his parents. His teenage years were much the same as the rest of his adolescence, except that he no longer attended school. Doctors orders, his parents informed him, after a particularly unfortunate incident with the flu had left him hospitalised for weeks. Feagh hadn't argued. For a while his mother tried her hand at home-schooling, but if they were being honest she wasn't very good at it and eventually gave up. They all agreed that he was fine without a full education- no one expected him to live past 20 anyway. |
‹━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━«
 ╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮
╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ 
╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ |
Winter was his favourite time of the year. On still days, when the wind was non-existent and snow laid thick on the ground, he liked to go for walks in the park near his house. He enjoyed feeling the crisp, cool air on his face as he walked through the trees, and the absolute quiet that accompanied the midday hours when everyone else was either at work or school. It was just him and the little birds that flew among the bushes, eagerly waiting for a hand to hold out some seed. It was on one of these days that Feagh first noticed the peculiar raven watching him, although perhaps peculiar wasn't the right word. There was nothing actually odd about the bird, not physically nor in the way it acted. It was like any ordinary raven, perching on branches or benches or whatever other surface it felt like sitting on, croaking and cawing as they do. But there was one thing about the bird that stood out, something not entirely uncommon but still enough to warrant attention- it had started following Feagh. At first it was only in the park. He would go for his usual walk and find the raven waiting for him somewhere near the entrance, and as he made his round it would fly to a tree ahead of him and wait until he caught up before flying to the next tree. There was no aggression in the behaviour, and it was nowhere close to nesting season, so Feagh never felt intimidated by the bird. Ravens were, after all, curious in nature, so it wasn't unheard of for them to take interest in certain people or things. This one, he supposed, just happened to take an interest in him. Eventually the raven followed him home, it must have, he thought, because one morning he noticed it perched in the tree outside his bedroom window. When he went into the backyard a few hours later to feed the sparrows, the raven was there too, watching him from atop the fence surrounding their yard. And at night, as he buried himself under a mountain of thick blankets, he saw the raven once more, watching him through the window. This continued for weeks, with neither of his parents ever seeming to take notice of their new neighbour. Feagh had found comfort in waking up to the familiar face outside his window, and felt at ease as it watched him feed the other birds and follow him during his walks. It had become routine, and one he was happy to indulge in. Up until a certain point the raven had always kept its distance, only watching from nearby. But as the winter grew colder and Feagh became ill and unable to leave his bed, the raven found its way directly onto his windowsill. |
|
It was on one of those days that, out of curiosity, he opened his window when he had just enough strength in his body to make it there and back. Afterwards he had curled up in bed and waited, eyes on the window where the raven eventually appeared. It didn't enter the house, not really, as it never left the sill, but something about the raven's demeanour seemed.. grateful. The window stayed open after that. Soon after, he began talking to the bird. While his mother was downstairs in the kitchen he would speak in a hushed voice, telling it about the book he was currently reading, or the news he had heard on the radio. Other times he would ask it things, like what it had seen or where it was from. He never received an answer of course, he never expected too, but he enjoyed the one-sided conversations nonetheless. On one occasion he asked the raven if it was lonely, and to that he could have sworn he heard a whispered yes. When the coughing fits began and Feagh could no longer speak without a horrible pain in his throat, the raven started talking instead. It made throaty croaks and high whistles, and low noises that sounded like the hum of a human, along with ever other sound it was capable of making in order to put a smile on Feagh. In return he would nod along, as if what the bird was saying made any sense to him. It wasn't much, but it made those awful days a little less painful. When he became too weak to even eat on his own (not that food stayed down for long, anyway, mind you) the raven grew quiet. Aside, Feagh noted, from the low, sad sounding croaks it made every so often. He wished he could tell his friend not to mourn. When his final days were at hand, and the doctor had come by for a visit and told them what they all already knew, and his parents stayed beside his bed at most hours, the raven finally entered. It was during the night, in the rare time when his parents had left him alone, that it left its usual perch on his sill and flew into his room, landing carefully on his bed. He watched from barely open eyes as the bird walked awkwardly over the mess of blankets and to his uncovered hand, which it touched gingerly with the smooth top of its beak. Tears that had already gathered at the corners of his eyes began to spill down his cheeks at the birds gesture. He tried to say goodbye but the words refused to form in his mouth. |
|
 QUOTES ╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ 
━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━
╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯
|
It was on that evening that the raven spoke, not with its mouth, but Feagh knew it could be no one else whose words he heard so loud and clear. The voice was that of a young woman, soft like velvet, and so painfully sad that it made him want to reassure her, but for what he wasn't sure. I don't want you to go, she said with a tremble in her quiet voice, as if crying tears that ravens most certainly could not shed. Me neither, he thought, for he could not find the strength to reply. You're the only one who's acknowledged me, or spoken to me. You may not know it but you're my friend, the voice in his head was cracking now, the words ringing with an air of familiarity. Maybe he should have been more freaked out by a magical talking bird, but instead all he felt was a horrible sorrow tight in his chest, as if he knew he was about to die without getting to confess to the love of his life. Then again, maybe it was just the delirium taking its course. Whatever it was, he couldn't find the energy to be frightened by the raven, not when she sounded so heartbroken, and not when he was so close to the end. Had he not been so tired, and his tongue not as heavy as it felt in that moment, he would have asked all sorts of questions. Who are you? What are you? Why only now? Those were just the first few he had in his mind, but his body seemed content with keeping him silent. So instead he watched her through heavily lidded eyes, mustering all his strength just to move his fingers towards her talons and rest them on top in what he hoped she would understand as comfort. It seemed to work because she fell silent, leaning down once more to nudge at him with her beak. They stayed like that for a while, with Feagh fading between barely awake and unconscious, while the raven settled beside him and laid her head on his frail hand. When his breathing slowed to a barely existent pace, his mind all but blank, her gentle voice came loud in his head, waking him from the brink of nonexistence. It doesn't have to end here- desperate. I can help. A plea. A sane person, or a conscious one, might have thought that over more thoroughly. As it was, Feagh was neither at the time, nor did he have long to think things through. Even if he had, he suspects the outcome would have been the same. Whatever the case, he must have managed to give some sort of indication that he agreed or accepted or, whatever, because against all odds, he did not die that night. Or, he did, but he wasn't really dead. It was all a bit hard to wrap his head around, even so long after it happened, and his memory from that night was all a bit blurry, what with having been on heavens door and all. He was 19. He remembers waking up a few days later, in a place he did not recognise, feeling frightening and unsure and somehow alive but not in any pain. And then she was there, the same raven he had grown so familiar with, gawking happily at him. It had taken a lot of explaining, and even more time to adjust, and he never had gotten passed the guilt of letting his parents believe that he was dead- which she assured him was better off, and he agreed, because really, what would they think if their dead son walked back home all alive and well? Probably not as excited as movies would have led him to think. Once he had gotten used to his new life, or perhaps unlife was a better term, things went well. Thanks to her -Moirin, as she had introduced herself- he never felt ill again, nor did he age. She had explained that he was, according to every definition, dead, and only being kept 'alive' by her magic. They had, in the simplest terms, fused souls. However, despite his countless questions Moirin had never properly explained what she was. It was a topic she preferred to dance around, which he eventually accepted and settled for calling her a demon, even though he had never heard of friendly, helpful demons before. Then again, he had never even believed in the supernatural until she came around. In truth, it was all stuff that Feagh preferred to overlook rather than think too hard about. Sure, he was probably what most people would consider a zombie at this point, or possessed, or the work of some unholy magic, or whatever else they might believe. What mattered to him was that he was here, with his feet in the warm sand, on a beach in a country that he never would have even dreamed of being able to visit when he was a child. He could run and swim, and even climb mountains and not have to worry about falling over sick if he exerted himself too much. But most importantly, he wasn't alone. As long as Moirin was here, filling his head with laughter as he played with the soft sand, he would never be lonely again. And, he suspected, she felt the very same about him. |
╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯
bio code inspired by epher #101073
bio code inspired by epher #101073
by ambathy
by eluneis
by rabies
by 0SpaceTrash0
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.
Feed this dragon Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Feagh to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.