Shalimar
(#29847564)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Velvet Floracat
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Female Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
26.37 m
Wingspan
22.72 m
Weight
8341.95 kg
Genetics
Shadow
Iridescent
Iridescent
Shadow
Shimmer
Shimmer
Gloom
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
NOT FOR SALE, TRADE, OR LENDING
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Shalimar
{ SHA - li - MAR } Nickname: Shali, Sasha ♥ a gift from MasterMidnight 
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮
Abode of Love
(written by Disillusionist)
♫ Jillian Aversa, zircon - Deliverance of the Heart ♫ ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ |
"It's a statue," said Veritas dubiously, as it was placed into her claws. The clan leader of the Gambler's Den smiled, his violet eyes twinkling.
"Yes, it is," he said, "but a very special statue."
Veritas cradled the statue gently as she took it home. Her mate, Nachtstreiter, walked alongside her, and he frequently raised his head to peer at their precious cargo. The statue was made of polished stone so black it shone with an indigo hue. It was the size and shape of a newly-hatched Imperial, its paws tucked daintily underneath it. Its eyes had been fashioned from polished kunzite. They sparkled brightly, but there was no life in them.
The clan leaders arrived home. Their clanmates clustered around them, eager to see what they had brought. When the statue was unveiled, reactions were...mixed.
"Why, it's a statue," said Makeda, the Snapper lady. Her flock of birds swirled around her and aimed many beady eyes at the sculpture. She shooed them away, scolding quietly, saying they should not nick it with their beaks or claws.
"It is quite adorable." Vanessa was the next notable to speak. She patted the statue's head gently, for she was the clan's matron, or head childcarer, and was frequently surrounded by a creche of hatchlings. Three little dragons all clustered by her: Cimarron, Ozymandias, and Briar. They had all come from different clans and looked at the world with large, curious eyes.
Tantris the headmaster declared, "It is a work of consummate artistry!" This prompted an excited stir from Jubilant and Crystaline. The Wildclaw engineer reached out a claw and promptly got smacked on the wrist, while Jubilant focused his bright pink eyes on the statue. "There is a strange magic in it," he burbled, "but I cannot quite figure it out...."
"Bah, it's just a statue," blustered Metalicana. Immediately, the clan's reactions stopped being mixed.
"It's a gift."
"It's a treasure!"
"It's flippin' gorgeous!" bellowed Veritas, and her word was law. Metalicana ground his teeth and lumbered away. The hatchlings cheered.
Veritas looked around for Jubilant. She'd heard the Arcane mage's mutterings, but in the way of Spirals, he had quickly grown bored and fluttered away. The hatchlings crowded around her feet now, chattering to her. Now that the intimidating Metalicana was gone, they wanted a better look at the statue.
"It will look nice next to your rooms," Veritas decided. There was a common area near the hatchlings' rooms where they frequently gathered to play. The Guardian lady extracted a solemn promise from the children that they would take good care of the statue, "For after all, she is a hatchling just as you are, and you must be kind to other dragons, too."
And so the hatchlings carried the glossy statue away. A plinth was installed in the common room, and they set the statue atop it -- not so high, for they liked to take it down and look at it. They played with it, dressing it up in scraps and finery, and had tea parties with it and told it lots of stories. They put it in a wagon and drew it carefully along behind them as they wandered up and down the clan lair's halls.
At night when all was dark, the hatchlings were nervous. But then they saw the statue sitting atop its plinth. Its kunzite eyes had captured the daylight, and they glowed with a gentle violet radiance. The hatchlings were reassured; they became braver and more confident. The statue was always returned to its plinth at the end of the day ("She has her bed, too, just as you do."), but sometimes, when the weather was particularly bad or if there was too much to think about, a hatchling would walk over to it. They would wrap it in blankets and light candles nearby and talk to it, or just sit beside it, until they fell asleep. In these cases, Vanessa or Tantris always came by to put the hatchling in question to bed. They later had to ask Frostlyn to do it, as the hatchlings began to grow larger and larger.
And so the hatchlings grew. They played together and laughed together, and they became a part of the clan. As they took on adult responsibilities, they moved to different parts of the lair, and the statue stayed where it was. There were no other hatchlings during that time. But the statue was not forgotten. When one of the dragons was feeling contemplative, they came to the room. They made sure the statue was polished and clean, and at times they spoke to it about their days. The statue never replied.
Visitors sometimes came to the lair. They meandered down the rough-hewn halls; they looked over the clan records, read the tales, and heard the songs. They marveled at the works of art, and many of them commented on the statue.
"It is a lovely piece," said a merchant one day. "It was fashioned with such tender care. A work like this would fetch a high price if it were auctioned off."
His words had a faintly questioning tone. The Disillusionists quickly closed ranks.
"It's not for sale," said Neira. Melqart chimed in, "It was given to us by another clan when they forged an alliance with us. Such things are not given up lightly."
"I understand. Hmm. Indeed, such things are priceless." The merchant smiled in understanding, and then he left.
He did not trouble them again, but his words had a strange effect on the clan. When Neira and Melqart later recounted this conversation, the three once-hatchlings huddled together. "Gotta admit that he's right -- she's a pretty piece of work. But d'you recall what old Metalicana said, back when we were new?" Ozymandias mumbled. (Veritas seemed to have decided from the beginning that the statue was a "she", and the hatchlings had cottoned on.)
"She's 'just a statue'." Cimarron flicked her tail dismissively. Briar flattened her ears in a rare show of bashfulness. "But we have grown quite attached to her. That is...Here we are, all educated and grown. And yet we cling to this statue more than we've clung to any other toy."
"Well...She's not a toy." Cimarron pressed a paw against her orb. She suddenly seemed confused. The others could relate.
"She's a symbol," Ozymandias said suddenly. As the young ladies turned to look at him, he continued, "She came to us as a token of friendship...and at first she was our toy. But we did not play with her. Not exactly..."
"No," the others agreed. They frowned at each other, but couldn't quite put their fingers on it. The others would have have said much the same thing, if they'd had the same discussion.
More years passed.
One afternoon, the lair was rocked by an earthquake. The earth groaned, its tremors ripping up through the stone building. Glass shattered; artifacts tumbled from the shelves. Jubilant, the Arcane mage, did his best to quickly raise the lair into the air. But by the time he got it off the ground, it had already been damaged.
Some parts of the lair had broken. A huge crack had ripped open the walls of the common room where the statue stood. Amaryllis had hurried to save it, for it had been given by the clan that had sheltered him and his parents, and so he, too, held a special place in his heart for it. He had carried it to safety, and he and the other dragons had huddled together, cringing as the lair had lifted off from the ground.
They didn't know what had caused the earthquake: nature or other clans fighting. It was no concern of theirs. While the earth continued to tremble, they bustled around the lair, assessing the structure and making repairs where they could. Most of the breakages were quickly patched up, but the electric systems had been badly damaged, the larger conduits ripped in Jubilant's haste to lift the lair to safety. Crystaline and the other engineers quickly got to work; the others did what they could. The newer clan members weren't really sure what to do.
"We can keep her safe," Amaryllis said to his younger clanmates. He carried the statue to the meeting room near the roof, where the windows had already been fixed. It soon became clear that the engineers wouldn't be able to mend the damage so quickly. Perhaps things would be better in the morning. The dragons lit lanterns and called up spells to light their way. They set up candles in the statue's new room, and they smiled to see that she was still unmarked, her eyes still sparkling brightly.
They soon determined that the earthquake had stopped. With many apologies to the engineers, Jubilant lowered the lair again. It sank softly towards the ground and bonded itself to the soil. The dragons waited for the rumbling to cease. They looked at one another's faces, lit by shivering candlelight, as a cloud glided past the moon.
Silver radiance poured from the sky. It passed through the windows like a fairy's breath and struck the statue like a sword. For the first time in many long years, a crack appeared in the deep purple hide.
Nobody saw -- but they did hear the noise. Those dragons that were in the room got to their feet and started calling out to the clanmates. They came in groups, still wary of danger -- yet when they saw that it was their statue, they could only watch. How could they feel threatened by it? They had known and loved it for so long.
And had it loved them in return? They were about to find out.
"Hsst...Jube!" Crystalline elbowed the Spiral. "What's happening?!"
Jubilant was fluttering in agitation. His body was whipping about, tying itself into knots, but his head remained fixed in one position. His eyes bored into the statue. "Oh...It is...a guardian spirit of some sort. The old name is genius locus. They take a long time to condition, you know. Oh. Ohh. Has it been that long already?"
"It is a what?"
Alberge hissed and shook his head. "Why do you tell us this only now?!" he exploded, an instant before the statue did.
A crack opened along its back. Darkness roiled within. They stretched into shapes like a crow's wings, and then the rest of the statue shattered, violet pieces crumbling into dust. The kunzite eyes were swallowed by the darkness.
The violet dust swirled, mixing with the shadow. It gained substance, form. Four short, strong legs. A pair of great wings.
Veritas, the clan leader, stood strong and unafraid. "Dulindara, analyze," she commanded.
The glittering Guardian's eyes flashed. Blue light flickered from them, playing over the swirling darkness. A glint of talons here, the sheen of iridescent scales there. A shimmering mane, a powerful tail. Antlers surmounted a noble head, and when the statue finally opened her kunzite eyes, she beheld the entire clan arrayed in front of her. Artisans, teachers, warriors, engineers...They were all familiar. She had heard their voices and felt the touch of their hands.
"It is a genius locus," Jubilant mumbled again. He seemed abashed. "They are created to guard a place. They must be conditioned for that task, and it takes a long time; mostly they mature in inanimate vessels while doing so....I suppose that that statue was one."
Veritas stepped forward. Her golden eyes narrowed in wariness. "I am the leader of this clan. Do you know my name?"
"You are Veritas." It was a soft, whispery voice. The shadowy dragoness spoke, barely moving her lips, but they were parted in a smile.
"The Mother of Truth," Dulindara droned. She stood back, head held high, her analysis completed. Everyone looked to her for more elucidation, and then to Jubilant again. As Veritas queried, "What is your name?" the Arcane mage hastened to tell her, "They typically have the same name as the place they guard. This place...It, um, I don't suppose it was ever given a proper name." It had always been just "the lair" or "the Disillusionists' lair". He looked at Harfang, and the chronicler shook her head.
"I know you. I know you all. And you have loved me so much!" The Imperial dragoness reared back on her hind legs. The others suddenly noticed that some of the nearby candles seemed to have bonded to her; they swirled around her like will-o-the-wisps. Their light danced over her wings, her smile. Her glittering kunzite eyes.
"I desire a name," she sighed. She spread her dark wings wide. "This place...It overflows with love. Lair of love, land of love. What is a name for an abode of love?"
Dulindara crackled, deep inside her chest. She uttered something, an alien word, a name. The Disillusionists had never heard it before. The statue picked it up with her keen and polished ears.
"Shalimar -- Abode of Love." She settled down again, her feet tucked daintily beneath her, wings folded along her back. The candles planted themselves beside her. Her kunzite eyes shone. "Yes...That will be my name."
The common room was repaired, but it was deemed too big for her. She acquired a place of honor in that great meeting hall at the top of the lair. It is always lit by moonlight or sunlight, and so she never loses the shine in her eyes.
At times there are no hatchlings in the Disillusionists' lair, but she never wants for company. There are those dragons among the clan who are troubled and just need someone to talk to, or who just want to sit in the brightly-lit room. Mostly Shalimar just listens silently, as she did over the past years. The difference now is that she sometimes smiles back or draws a wing around the other dragon's shoulders. They lean on the shadowy statue in the room filled with light. Looking at the candles, protected by a mighty force, they realize that things aren't always as bad as they seem. They only have to look at the noble sculpture standing next to them to remember: They live in an abode of love.
~ The End
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* Divider made by me.
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