Wellington
(#48933608)
Level 1 Imperial
Carver
Enduring Goblin
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.75 m
Wingspan
18.83 m
Weight
6761.85 kg
Genetics
Gloom
Lionfish
Lionfish
Maroon
Noxtide
Noxtide
Black
Underbelly
Underbelly
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
WELLINGTON
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Wellington has always been alone. She hatched in an empty nest. The bones surrounding her had been picked clean years ago, no one having been there to defend or replace them. She had no family, and no clan. She just had herself. She was alone her whole life. And she died as she lived. Alone. -=-=-=- Wellington forces her eyes open. Pain lights up her body in thick lines, lacerations covering her. A memory flashes before her eyes, a violent scaleback attack, dozens against her alone. She groans, both in pain and at the memory. She’s hurt. Badly hurt, she realizes. Like, if I don’t get help soon I might die, badly. Which… is a significant problem. There's no one to help her, not really. Except… there's a clan, isn’t there? One she heard some travellers whispering about. A clan of healers, deep in Nature’s territory. Where she is right now. If she can make it to the clan then maybe… maybe they can help. She forces her legs under her, ignoring the pain. It wasn't too far… she just had to keep going. It was going to be okay. -=-=-=- After a while of walking, reality becomes hazy. Wellington blacks in and out of reality, confused and dizzyed by blood loss. She collapses in front of what seems to be some sort of gate. She’s not sure how long she lays there before a dragon appears in her swimming vision. He looks down at her, though she can’t make out their expression. The dragon turns to another behind him. “A rotjaw. What should we do with it?” “Contain it, probably. We don’t want it to infect anyone else.” Wellington doesn't understand what they’re saying, but she’s not sure if that’s the bloodloss, or if the others just don’t make sense. The dragon above her moves away, presumably to whisper to the other. She tilts her head to see them again, backs to her. “I… I need help.” She rasps. The two turn to her for a moment, before returning to their conversation. She hears just snips of their conversation, something about containment and infection. “What are you talking about?!” She asks, though her question is ignored. Without realizing it, she blinks out again. When she comes to, Wellington is in a sort of cellar, surrounded by freshly carved out stone, wood bars separating her from what seemed to be four other dragons. “This rotjaw must have been bitten recently, if it’s still so lucid. We can’t let it escape, or infect us.” One of the dragons says. “I’m not what you think I am.” She calls out, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what a rotjaw is, but I’m not one. I swear, I wasn't bitten by anything, I was attacked by some scalebacks.” The dragons look at her, but none say anything. One, she recognizes as the one who found her, sends her a look of pity. “Please. I need help.” She says in the face of their silence. “I’m sorry.” The one who found her says. “But we can’t take the chance.” -=-=-=- She spends the rest of the night in a haze of pain, blinking in and out of reality. She can feel her life force dripping away, like a ticking clock, ignored by those she hoped would help. But what was she expecting? Noone’s ever helped her before. -=-=-=- They ignore her most of the time. She’s left alone in her cell, though she assumes someone guards the other end of the door. Finally, someone comes in. It’s the dragon who discovered her. Somehow the kindest to her, as they were the only one to even speak to her, and yet also the most cruel. Because even if they seemed to have some sort of respect for her, they didn’t care enough to not kill her. "I am still. NOT. Bitten. I never was. And you left me out here to die." She hisses at them, fury burning in her veins. The dragon looks sad. “I’m sorry.” She doesn't believe them, but she refuses to say anything else. She closes her eyes to block him out. As far as she’s concerned, they’re not there. There is no one here but herself. And so she travels alone into the unending darkness. -=-=-=- Somehow, she wakes. Her eyes blink open, a task she never thought would be difficult if not for the past two days. Her vision blurs for a moment, then clears. This is… not where she fell asleep. Well it is, but it’s changed. She’s surrounded by an effigy of sorts, a bed of wilted flowers surrounding her. A handful of small bones were scattered within the pile, whoever made it probably having seen her plague red eyes and made assumptions from there. The rest of the cellar seems different too. When she’d been there last night the stone had been rough, like it had been cut out recently. Now it’s smooth, as if it had been eroded down. But how? She stands, and shakes the dried flowers from her back. For some reason… she’s in no pain. Did they heal me? Then why am I still down here? She moves closer to the bars. What were once thick oak branches weaved together have rotted to weak twigs. It barely takes her a moment to break them down. Wellington turns to the wood door to the staits, seeing it’s in a similar state. She can’t tell if it was ever locked or not, it breaks apart when she barely touches it. As she ascends the staircase, confusion blooms in her chest. What happened? She was asleep for barely a few hours, right? Asleep. Just asleep. Nothing more. She exits the staircase into a large den. She doesn't bother looking around, instead taking straight for the door. She doesn't trust these strange dragons, healers though they claim to be. When she leaves, she is of course in the forest. It’s night, thankfully, so it seems like there is little movement within the clan. She takes off, silent in the night. -=-=-=- After the whole… fiasco, Wellignton doesn't really know where to go. She has no real home, just aimlessly wanders the area. As soon as she’s no longer within the clan’s territory, she lands. She finds a pool of water and makes a quick meal of some Everglade Shortfins, before resting on the pool’s shore. She feels exhausted, but also awake in a strange way. Like she rested for weeks and not mere hours, but her soul itself had no rest. Though… was it mere hours? How long had she slept? “Hello?” A voice calls out behind her. Wellington jumps to attention, ready to fight. Before her stands a Tundra, blue and orange in color. He doesn't back down at her aggression, looking more tired than scared. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The Tundra says. Welligton relaxes, slightly. She doesn't trust this Tundra, but he has yet to give her reason to assume he’d hurt her. He stares at her, his presence calming, though she doesn't understand why. Still, she hesitates. “Do… do you know what's going on?” She asks him. “I was hurt, badly, but then I awoke. And the world suddenly feels strange to me, like… like a great time has past.” The Tundra tilts his head at her, unsurprised. “You feel the same?” She asks. The Tundra nods. Wellington averts her gaze. “I think… I think I might have died. I think I may have been reborn, which is why the world seems so different, why I feel so different.” She looks back at him, “Do you think I'm crazy?” The Tundra gives a humorless chuckle. “If you are, then I suppose I am too.” Wellington cracks a slight smile. The Tundra returns it. “I’m Macon.” He says. She blinks at him. “I… I’m Wellington.” lore written by BluePluto03 |
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