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Description
Custom anjin naga for
PURPLE <3

Name: Andrastë Stark
Gender: Female
Rank: Wanderer
Abilities: Telepath and weirder of fire mana

Description:

A creature born of the shifting sun, she was made, forged by the whims of a sinful father. She became as she was by the passing of a great weight, the need brought to life by the festered ambition shared in the passage of blood. She could be seen as… lighter to the shadow of the infernal bastard that had tainted her, yet, pleased she was, in the end result. Better to be imperfect in arrogance and cruelty, than in the means of weakness and ignorance. She wants what she wants, and is never to afraid to reach forward and snatch it, given the will to survive brought forth by her upraising. Never was she given anything for free, never was there anyone truly there to help her. Sure, her brother shared in her torment, but in the instinct of an animal, self preservation came first and foremost. An action she both respected, and came to despise.

A powerful personality, she is one that commands attention, if not in an arrogant manner, than in the mere motions of her being. A presence to be noticed, a storm with all the strength of a coming hurricane, Andrastë long has been something to be wary of. Her father refused to have a daughter weakened by her sex, a daughter who’s only purpose was that of passing on the family line. She would be as triumphant as her brother, both creations careful cultivated and plucked from the vine whence perfectly ripened. Wise in both mind and body, over the years, she has grown into a devious woman, a creature beyond her fathers control. There is something in the serpent, that makes them the impossible pet, the exotic flower all wish to possess, yet, never should they blossom before their touch. Her intelligence, her jaded nature gives her a means to act, a flavour to her words where once she may have been gentle.

Born to possess, and born to conquer, Andrastë is a daughter of the king, one of many, but one of his favourite. Never was she proud of this fact, particularly. He was a cruel man, an abusive man, more beast than father. He beat his children until they broke, so their enemies would be unable when future claw fell upon flesh. Their survival was made only possible through their own continued progress, their own will and hand. Food was never provided, and comfort was never cheap. Prideful she is, a regal dame, Andrastë is one who would never accept handouts, and because of this, her skills flourished, some slower than others, yet, in the end, a dragon capable of leaving the nest. Her wings grew strong, and her aura grew taunter than steel. Growing resourceful, growing selfish, the mauve woman could find victory where others would fail, adapting so she would not fall. It would seem cruel to some, her opinions on others, being herself once a weakened creature. Yet, there is a darkness inside her that has seeped into the cracks, drawn forth by that which she never wished to become. Her beliefs are simple; raise them up, if talent exists, and if not, drop them. She does not waste her time on those who feel they are not worth the time. She does not aid those who do not at least attempt to save themselves. Arrogant in a way, she wants nothing to do with those who are incapable of being like her, a monster in one way, a champion in another.

A sword she would be, a spear from the hearth of fathers throne, she was born to be a fighter, a victor in all means of life. To do less was unacceptable, and with it, brought a thirst for perfection. From the precious keep of glen, to the erie halls of the dragons keep, Andrastë came upon the simplest of things, the wrong in her world that needed to be fixed. It made her a collector, a keeper of all things broken and imperfect, to better than, to soak tampered steel in blue fires, and renew life upon that which had long fled. She finds greater amusement in things that are skilled, yet, lacking in key concepts of life, a passion in her soul drawing capable hands to mould and fix. For what is a dragon without its trove? She settles upon her finds, a beast spewing ash and torches, daring those who would draw to near, ever the possessive, ever the selfish. It makes her calculating, smart, detached from things that would pull upon the heart strings of others. A predator, and no ones prey.

There is one thing she adores more than her own being, even though at times they seem to hold each other from a distance. Her darling brother, her twin, the sun to her moon, and the only creature to ever understand her, and the scars upon her heart. He had been there from the moment of conception, a shared beat upon breast when in the warmth of womb and shadow. He was there when they were taken, and he was there through each moment of their raising. It makes her… immensely protective of him, never one to share, and never one to allow harm to befall him, should it lie within her ability. She’d kill for him, and those she comes to love, she’d murder and feel no remorse in the act. There is a sickness in the mind, a disease of greed and ambition that makes her a danger to all those who set their eyes upon that which she deems is hers. Perhaps, a bond far greater than one would deem appropriate, but than, when one flies through the fires of hell and back upon the wing of another, it is hard to let go.

Description
Custom anjin naga for
PURPLE <3

Name: Andrastë Stark
Gender: Female
Rank: Wanderer
Abilities: Telepath and weirder of fire mana

Description:

A creature born of the shifting sun, she was made, forged by the whims of a sinful father. She became as she was by the passing of a great weight, the need brought to life by the festered ambition shared in the passage of blood. She could be seen as… lighter to the shadow of the infernal bastard that had tainted her, yet, pleased she was, in the end result. Better to be imperfect in arrogance and cruelty, than in the means of weakness and ignorance. She wants what she wants, and is never to afraid to reach forward and snatch it, given the will to survive brought forth by her upraising. Never was she given anything for free, never was there anyone truly there to help her. Sure, her brother shared in her torment, but in the instinct of an animal, self preservation came first and foremost. An action she both respected, and came to despise.

A powerful personality, she is one that commands attention, if not in an arrogant manner, than in the mere motions of her being. A presence to be noticed, a storm with all the strength of a coming hurricane, Andrastë long has been something to be wary of. Her father refused to have a daughter weakened by her sex, a daughter who’s only purpose was that of passing on the family line. She would be as triumphant as her brother, both creations careful cultivated and plucked from the vine whence perfectly ripened. Wise in both mind and body, over the years, she has grown into a devious woman, a creature beyond her fathers control. There is something in the serpent, that makes them the impossible pet, the exotic flower all wish to possess, yet, never should they blossom before their touch. Her intelligence, her jaded nature gives her a means to act, a flavour to her words where once she may have been gentle.

Born to possess, and born to conquer, Andrastë is a daughter of the king, one of many, but one of his favourite. Never was she proud of this fact, particularly. He was a cruel man, an abusive man, more beast than father. He beat his children until they broke, so their enemies would be unable when future claw fell upon flesh. Their survival was made only possible through their own continued progress, their own will and hand. Food was never provided, and comfort was never cheap. Prideful she is, a regal dame, Andrastë is one who would never accept handouts, and because of this, her skills flourished, some slower than others, yet, in the end, a dragon capable of leaving the nest. Her wings grew strong, and her aura grew taunter than steel. Growing resourceful, growing selfish, the mauve woman could find victory where others would fail, adapting so she would not fall. It would seem cruel to some, her opinions on others, being herself once a weakened creature. Yet, there is a darkness inside her that has seeped into the cracks, drawn forth by that which she never wished to become. Her beliefs are simple; raise them up, if talent exists, and if not, drop them. She does not waste her time on those who feel they are not worth the time. She does not aid those who do not at least attempt to save themselves. Arrogant in a way, she wants nothing to do with those who are incapable of being like her, a monster in one way, a champion in another.

A sword she would be, a spear from the hearth of fathers throne, she was born to be a fighter, a victor in all means of life. To do less was unacceptable, and with it, brought a thirst for perfection. From the precious keep of glen, to the erie halls of the dragons keep, Andrastë came upon the simplest of things, the wrong in her world that needed to be fixed. It made her a collector, a keeper of all things broken and imperfect, to better than, to soak tampered steel in blue fires, and renew life upon that which had long fled. She finds greater amusement in things that are skilled, yet, lacking in key concepts of life, a passion in her soul drawing capable hands to mould and fix. For what is a dragon without its trove? She settles upon her finds, a beast spewing ash and torches, daring those who would draw to near, ever the possessive, ever the selfish. It makes her calculating, smart, detached from things that would pull upon the heart strings of others. A predator, and no ones prey.

There is one thing she adores more than her own being, even though at times they seem to hold each other from a distance. Her darling brother, her twin, the sun to her moon, and the only creature to ever understand her, and the scars upon her heart. He had been there from the moment of conception, a shared beat upon breast when in the warmth of womb and shadow. He was there when they were taken, and he was there through each moment of their raising. It makes her… immensely protective of him, never one to share, and never one to allow harm to befall him, should it lie within her ability. She’d kill for him, and those she comes to love, she’d murder and feel no remorse in the act. There is a sickness in the mind, a disease of greed and ambition that makes her a danger to all those who set their eyes upon that which she deems is hers. Perhaps, a bond far greater than one would deem appropriate, but than, when one flies through the fires of hell and back upon the wing of another, it is hard to let go.