Hearth
(#92386320)
it/its
Familiar
Burning Cerdae
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Female Guardian
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Effect
Scene
Measurements
Length
17.07 m
Wingspan
18.66 m
Weight
8847.25 kg
Genetics
Rust
Cinder
Cinder
Pumpkin
Alloy
Alloy
Sanguine
Flecks
Flecks
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Guardian
Max Level
STR
133
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
40
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
Hearth
Living Forge
  
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Did you know that time rots? No, really - the longer one thing remains the same, and still, the worse off it becomes. Towering trees catch diseases. History tumbles into obscurity and lies. The cliff's edges fall, washed away by the billowing winds. The sun bleeds its heat onto the ground, slowly dying like the rest of the lot down on Sornieth's surface. Metal rusts away, decays into flakes. There's one and only one thing that doesn't rot - divinity. And even those gods choose to slumber, leaving the hard work of existence and creation to their humble little mortals. Creatures, stuck in their patterns of defining their past and future, the time they take up, as it and their bodies decay. It's disgusting. Hearth doesn't have enough conceit to think it is a god. But touched by one, molded by one - absolutely. Granted unrotting existence among squishy little mortals and abandoned over the centuries. A short way to summarize a long, long story... For most of the time, it has quietly avoided the inferior species it once came from, but never forgot the origins it grew to resent. The youth spent "playing" with ancient tools and learning ancient techniques, groomed by the adults around it to grow up into a blacksmith. Designing its mind for the sole purpose of continuing their lives with its own. And what for? At the end of the day, it was just going to do the same thing and then die off… So once the Flamecaller chose it, in a sudden burst of fire under its feet, and everyone lost sight of their dreams and started asking what Hearth wanted from life - what would Hearth have them do? What did the goddess select Hearth to teach, to give back to the rest of their clan? It just sneered down at them, freshly ascended, mind filled with new talents and otherworldly, futuristic plans. It wasn’t going to keep being the same cog in the same machine with this! This immortality, this gracious gift! And gods, it has been so lonely ever since Hearth flew away into that sunset. Hearth has built forges ever since. Created landscapes, even, by toiling away without rest or change to unearth the metals it can sense deep under the slag. A new place away from dragonkind to forge, filling the workspace with metal craftsmanship, only to abandon it as soon as a mortal dragon came stumbling through the wilderness at the sight of drake-made smoke in the sky. A divine gift to those individuals, a setback for the reclusive immortal. But time… it grew up around Hearth while it kept plugging away at the same old routine. Methods evolved beyond the gifts the Flamecaller granted, further and further away from what Hearth knew. Hearth’s self-study in self-imposed exile wasn’t enough to keep up with reality, and the world grew smaller and smaller, its moves more and more frequently pushing it into beastclan or monstrous territory. Dangerous places - and so, after hundreds of years, it tried something… else. Out of necessity, and desperation, and certainly not boredom. It went to the forgemasters, and it asked for a job. Wait, what? Hearth isn’t stupid - it saw how the dragons of the new age were equipped with far better tools and far better minds than the olden days. It took its time to watch from afar before choosing what to do about its immortal mission being usurped by disgusting little rotting mortals. After so long, it didn’t even know what pride meant, much less allow some weird mortal emotion to get in the way of its divine mission. Hearth, despite all the logic the council of elder craftsdrakes had, just walked through the front doors of their meeting and shocked them all to their cores. See, Hearth isn’t just immortal - Hearth’s body can’t die, from natural means or otherwise. So in order to keep some amount of setup for its workshop while it hid from the world, it built its forge in the place of the flesh. If burns just leave holes, holes that won’t heal but won’t decay either, it just filled them with metal! Hearth’s claws and legs were fully removed and replaced long, loooong before mortals ever thought of doing the same. And that thought has existed for… forever, really, as far as anyone knew. But even the best and brightest would be shocked to see a “dragon” walking with a burning forge spewing heat as a leg. So after the initial confusion, the forgemasters - stressed, afraid, as the tempers of the many had finally outweighed their confidence, rebellion on the horizon - jumped at the intruder’s offer of help and unique value compared to their disloyal blacksmiths. Mostly because Hearth didn’t ask to be paid. But again, the times had usurped Hearth, and the forgemasters quickly forgot the wonder of the half-metal blacksmith when the weapons it crafted were average to any other dragon’s work. All except one… One who saw a bit more value than just the metal the meat could make. His name was Flint - and he didn’t give two flaps about the rebellion, the economy, or the other Forgemasters. His seat was superficious in comparison to the ideas that he’d spun up after seeing the sleek and usable prosthetics Hearth used. He wanted to shed his rotting, awful flesh - exchanging it for the much longer lifespan of steel. Hearth hated how close it had to work with mortalkind now, but wasn’t expecting that disgust to be shared as its ranting in its workshop was interrupted by Flint’s arrival, then Flint’s shared hatred. He spewed those words as if they came straight from the Wyrmwound, practically shaking with the mixture of excitement at Hearth’s apparent agreement and rage at his own body. A few years ago, the two creatures spent a night with burning hearts and throats as they drank, discussed, and felt passion instead of disinterest for the first time in years - or centuries. Now? Hearth is regarded as Flint’s personal pet, a contract sealing their plans to transform Flint as far as his mind can withstand keeping it busy day in and day out. And Hearth still doesn’t care for the meatbags who say those things… just for its project, Flint, and what this new technology could mean for their flight - and for their eternal, unrotting god. Perhaps ascension can be forged, not just given?
Lore by ViolentViolet77
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Exalting Hearth to the service of the Flamecaller 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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