Goldenstorm » Lair » Wynelle

Wynelle

(#25939124)

"Your death will blossom just like the others."

Xya

Centaur Archer

Energy: 48 50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Effect

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

7.02 m

Wingspan

9.26 m

Weight

698.75 kg

Genetics

White
Iridescent

Blood
Facet

Blood
Smoke

Hatchday

Aug 04, 2016
(9 years)

Breed

Adult
Coatl

Eye Type

Plague
Common

Level 25 Coatl

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Diana: Come on, friends. The ruins aren't going to scavenge themselves, you know.
Aether: But- but the crimson butterfly, Diana. The crimson butterfly!
Sapphire: The crimson butterfly? What is it? Some kind of monster?
Aether: The crimson butterfly is what kills monsters. It's not just monsters! The ruins we're going to? It was a clan, alright. An ancient one, too. The reason why it's in ruins now? It was their doing.
*Aether turns to Diana, eyes widened in fear.*
Aether: Please, we must better be going. There surely must be somewhere else we can go to. Not there.
Diana: Hush, Aether. There is nothing to be afraid of. I can assure it.

Ah, Wynelle. There's not much to say about her if I'm going, to be honest. She just appeared one day, and that was that. I ran into her at Diana's tower once. We had a good chat, and she seems to be a pretty nice coatl. Graceful, soothing, and very polite too. However, I can't help but sense that something feels off. According to Stormtalon, she apparently serves as one of the clan's dancers and manages the clan's food storage. However, I've never really seen her around serving in both of those professions. She spends copious amounts of time with Diana. When I ask Diana, she says that Wynelle is learning magic as a side gig. Mastering plague arts and whatnot. It could be possible that she just doesn't do her jobs well. However, if she wasn't, Stormtalon would have approached with her by now.

The rest of the clan doesn't seem to mind. She's a nice coatl, with looks to match too. When she came, she caught the gaze of several members of the clan. One of them won her over, too. Broodwing, the clan's cannoneer. They seem to be close. Broodwing is a pretty calm fellow, though he always seems to be busy. However, I can see him being busy, sending squadrons on their way and all. The same can't really be said for Wynelle.

Ah well. Maybe it's all just a coincidence. I might just be overly suspicious, after all.

You can't really blame me though. Once you accidentally see a coatl fly out of a red, bubbly vortex in of the sky, blood streaming from her wings, you can't help but be a little bit concerned.

All pretty things die so young.

Wynelle stared at the flower. The large, vibrant daisy shuddered in the wind; it’s long bright

petals stretching out across the backdrop. An average flower can last for approximately 3 years if cared for with adequate nutrition and nourishment. However, she never had the talent to maintain them for that long. It seemed like no matter what she did, they only lasted a day or more.

She touched the stem of the flower. It was cold to the touch, shivering violently in the cold

wind. And yet, there wasn’t any resistance. The stem showed no movement of its own. Everything it had, everything it did, was already subject to the course of nature. To live, to sleep, and to die. All things take this course, no matter where they came from or who they were. No matter how holy, how guilty, or how unblemished they are, they all succumb to death someday. A tear rolled down her eye. The flower was truly beautiful, and yet she knew that tomorrow it would wilt and die in the cold.

Mother never loved flowers. Wynelle shivered as she hugged herself. It was truly cold outside.

She recalled the days when she was young, sneaking them in and hanging them on the walls in her room. The lady chuckled. It was strange, she would admit, but that’s what she loved most. A vase would be too cruel for the poor things; to confine them in such a tight space, walled away from society. She loved them as her own, but they always left her so early. In her teens, she usually changed them once a week behind her mother’s back. Her mother, a devout plague ambassador, never approved. In her crimson red eyes, survival was the greatest priority. Wynelle knew this very well. Time and time again she had listened to the droning of her parents. All hail the Plaguebringer, queen of the wasteland. She dipped her eyes, squeezing her eyelids shut. To live is to survive, and to survive is to be strong. Her fists clenched shut and shook with the beating of her heat. Nothing weak will be tolerated. Nature will rot. The plague will reign victorious.

When her mother discovered the fail, pretty things, she flew into a rage. Wynelle never forgot

the day when she was banished from the wyrmwound. Everything happened so fast. There was too much sound, too much heat, too much anger for a young girl to ever handle. The next day, she fled into the night. She would go far. Far from home. Far enough from mother. Far enough to protect her flowers.

The blizzard howled louder. She wanted to protect it, she really did. However, she could not

protect it from mother earth herself. Letting out a weathered sigh, Wynelle approached the red daisy once again and gently held its frail frame. It would never last.

Reaching into the flowerlike bloodstain, Wynelle, reaching past the exposed ribcage, jammed

her hand deep into the girl’s chest. The girl tried to scream, but all that came out was a wet, bubbly gurgle. And with a clench of her fist, the assassin crushed her heart.

All pretty things die so young.

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Wynelle to the service of the Icewarden 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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