XxCalypsoxX » Lair » Mischief

Mischief

(#43489421)

Death is power

Familiar

Malevolent Spirit

Energy: 48/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.34 m

Wingspan

3.63 m

Weight

821.93 kg

Genetics

Midnight
Falcon

Midnight
Peregrine

Garnet
Firefly

Hatchday

Jul 16, 2018
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Shadow
Common

Level 25 Skydancer

Max Level

STR

111

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

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MISCHIEF
|| Clan || Warrior ||
lil quote or something

“That’s it, just like that.”
The rhythmic rumble of the Skydancer’s voice interrupted the whoosh of a blade through the air.
“No, don’t stop, Dexter, keep swinging.” He said, with an encouraging smile. “When you find the edge, you should take care not to lose it.”
“Yes, sir,” Dexter replied, matching his teacher’s smile. “I think that’s the third piece of wisdom that you’ve given me this evening. You should make an inspirational calendar.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Mischief replied, chuckling. “Keep your focus, kid. You’ll need it if you ever actually see the light of battle one day.” That was a small slip, that the trainer wished that he could take back. Dexter’s smile dropped a little and he rolled his eyes, hiding a scowl. It was no secret that the fresh warriors longed for battle. Especially dragons such as Dexter, who had been born and raised to fight; bloodlust pulsing through their thoughts. They would listen to their elders when there was knowledge to be learned, but none of them wanted to hear that fighting was not as glamorous as they had imagined.
Especially not from their teacher, who had a reputation of being one of the Clan’s most ferocious warriors
“You’ll be a fine fighter, Dexter, you already have all of these moves memorized. Why don’t we try something different?” Mischief suggested, and saw the younger warrior immediately perk back up.
“Different is good,” He said, puffing himself out.
“I’ve gotten bored with the same old stuff all the time anyway.” Mischief shook his head. He was patient with all of his trainees, because it was his duty and because he was a seasoned warrior. Not only did he have his grizzled past to teach him temperance, but he also understood how young dragons behaved. That had been him, once upon a time, newly discovering bloodshed and realizing that he liked it very, very much. But sometimes he wanted to spare the other dragons from becoming like him. That path was long and dark, and had only been fun during the intensity of battle. Sparing others from such a fate was his one selfish fantasy, which Mischief felt that he deserved. Everyone was entitled to their dreams, after all, even if they were selfish and impossible.
Mischief understood that it was necessary for his Clan to have warriors. They were the lifeblood of his people - without him they were weak, defenseless, and powerless. Open to thieves and murderers and being captured by opposing Clans. He trained the young warriors to be the last standing defense for their people, if the darkest of hours ever truly did come. But sometimes he wondered if the young ones didn’t want the skies to blacken, so that they could stake up their swords and claim glory for themselves.
The seasoned warrior had been there himself. He had stared death in the face and watched the light die from his enemies’ terrified gazes, and he had seen it change himself in the process.
If you do anything long enough you begin to enjoy it.
“You’ve never been in battle, Dexter, and I always tell my trainees that you will not be a true warrior until you’ve been close to death and survived. I will not bring you that close, but I can give you a taste of it,” Mischief said, supplying a wry smile.
“With an exercise that I think you will appreciate.”
Dexter was watching him with bright, hungry eyes. He was so raptly focused that he almost was not able to dodge when Mischief charged with his sword, cutting through the air just inches from his side.
A few of Dexter’s feathers fell to the ground, but he was unharmed. Just in the nick of time the younger Skydancer had moved out of harm’s way.

“In a real battle, an attack can come at any moment,” Mischief said. “And not every attacker will be as kind as I was to avoid your internal organs.”
“I dodged it, anyway,” Dexter replied, grinning. “Let’s keep going.”
“As you wish,” Mischief laughed. “Now that I have your attention once more, young warrior.”
Dexter took to the second half of the training session much better than the first, now that the new exercise had been introduced. And afterward, for the rest of their fights, the two of them would spar with real fire, to teach the ultimate lessons about battle.
That you can die if you are not careful, which the young ones always seemed to forget.
Now, looking back on the original memory, Mischief realized that he had been initially approaching Dexter’s training all wrong. It was much easier to speak to Dexter through pain and steel than advice and wisdom, evidently. But that was fine - it was the duty of every good teacher to understand how to get through to their students.
Sadly, he knew that Dexter would not be fully trained until he had his first taste of blood. It could be an enemy’s, stilled by his blade, or his own, but every new warrior was baptized by blood in the end.
Afterward, the thirst for carnage would never quite go away. Even Mischief still felt it, when there was the tang of iron in the air. He could feel his pulse quicken and his hands steady with an unsettling intensity that ended only when his prey was lying still on the cold floor.
By his blade and his fire, the Clan’s hope would live on.
Oh hush, old man, Mischief told himself, shaking the thought of battle from his mind. You’re just an overencumbered trainer, sitting in your bed and tormenting yourself with memories from the past.
Don’t let your head be a playplace for Dexter’s wartime fantasies, or you’ll have to give yourself a good scolding.
That’s all they were, after all, dreams and nightmares, locked far away for as long as there was no blood to be seen.
He had taken a big risk that day by engaging Dexter in a true fight. But perhaps the younger warrior was not the only one that he had been trying to train.
If I can be knocked out of my senses so easily then what am I, a hungry dog? Mischief snorted at himself. Surely the new warriors should expect more from their trainer?
I’ll have to work harder on myself from now on. . .
That training session with Dexter had been a long time ago, although it felt like only yesterday. Since then, both warriors had their share of battle and blood-lust, even if only one would admit the latter.
Mischief had to keep some of his secrets, after all. And if his apprentices ever discovered the true hunger that lay beneath his surface, then all of his wisdom would forever fall on deaf ears.
In some ways it was too late for him, but he still had his inane dream of sparing the rest of the Clan from that fate. And if he had to do it during training, then so be it, he was willing to dedicate an eternity to the cause.
After all, he had the patience of many wounded moons to keep him company, for as long as he had new warriors to teach.

Lore by OuchWorm

^mate

^{best friend}

^apprentice

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Exalting Mischief to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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