Class: Seer
Height: 15 ft. (nose to tail tip)
Wingspan: 36–40 ft.
Habitat: Ancient ruins, cliffside fortresses, and sunlit highlands
Disposition: Cautious; intelligent; unpredictable when provoked
Threat Level: Moderate when docile, severe when threatened or engaged
Name: Auranthia
Age: 219
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Pansexual
Class: Seer
Appearance:
[rough sketch, credit belongs to myself]
Auranthia is not a dragon merely seen, he is beheld. His body is long, serpentine, and built for fluid speed. The scales along his neck and flanks shimmer like hammered metal, each one etched with faint, natural striations that catch and scatter light in rippling waves. Between the plated scales, filaments of gold dust glimmer faintly. This is merely due to the residue of centuries spent adorning himself with treasures scavenged from temples, caravans, and kings’ hoards.
Auranthia wears his wealth. Bands of molten gold encircle his forearms and tail, seamlessly fused to his scales. From his horns hang delicate chains of fine gold that sway with his movements, chiming softly. His head bears a complex crown of horns and quills, each curved and layered like the petals of a bronze chrysanthemum. Between them grow dark plumes that fade from near-black at the roots to glowing ochre at the tips. His eyes are a pale, smoldering gold, rimmed with a faint luminescent ring that pulses in dim light, as if reflecting an inner fire.
But his wings, six in total, are where his divinity is most visible. The upper pair, vast and webbed, shimmer with the strength of storms; beneath them lies a smaller pair, sleeker and tuned for swift, darting turns. Along his mid-back are two feathered wings, smaller still, which flare and twist for balance, trailing golden plumage that dances like sparks in his wake. Together, they make him a creature of unmatched agility, fast enough to vanish in a blur of light and shimmer, his movement cutting through air.
When fully spread, they are immense. Scattered across them are vast, sapphire-blue “eyes,” radiant and gemlike, framed in layers of deep cobalt and white. They are not painted nor ornamental; they seem alive, each one dilating faintly as if aware of being watched. Witnesses describe the unsettling sensation of being observed from every direction at once. Even when Auranthia sleeps, the eyes are said to remain half-open, watching. Some ancient orders claim these ocular markings allow the Seer to glimpse the echoes of past events imprinted upon the stones of its chosen domain.
His tail is long and expressive, ringed with golden scales that fade into white, each segment ending in fine, feathery tendrils. When he moves, these plumes drift in the air like molten silk. When hunting or surveying territory, the tail flickers and curls with a precision that rivals the movement of a serpent’s tongue.
Personality:
Despite his sacred lineage as a Seer-class dragon, Auranthia is perhaps best described as a gilded storm in a narrow space. Those who have encountered him consistently describe an air of arrogant regality, as though he were not merely guardian of his domain but sovereign of all light that touches it.
Auranthia carries himself with the poise of a prince and the curiosity of a child. He delights in admiration but does not demand it; he is aware of his beauty and intellect, but his pride is playful rather than cruel. His fascination with treasure runs deeper than greed, he collects gold and gems not for their worth, but for the joy of seeing light dance across them (well, maybe a bit of greed). His lair, an ivy-wrapped castle ruin, is a museum of gleaming relics: shattered crowns, gilded blades, and polished stones arranged and rearranged until each glimmer pleases his eye.
He is dramatic, and expressive, prone to grand gestures and exaggerated sighs, yet his flair stems more from enthusiasm than arrogance. Auranthia’s moods shift like sunlight through clouds, quick to flare, quick to fade. Attempts to reason with him often turn into lively debates rather than defiance; he relishes a clever exchange as much as he does praise.
Beneath the glitter lies a keen, disciplined mind. When challenged, Auranthia’s playful charm hardens into focus, his intelligence emerging sharp and deliberate. In battle or strategy, he is analytical to the point of unnerving calm, able to read his opponent’s intent before they act. Those who mistake his theatrical nature for foolishness rarely do so twice.
Despite his vanity, Auranthia’s loyalty runs deep. He is drawn to courage, wit, and creativity, respecting those who can match his brilliance or humor. Once his trust is earned, it is steadfast; he becomes protective, even affectionate, toward those he deems worthy. There is a surprising warmth in him, a fondness for company, for laughter, for the sparkle of both gems and good spirits.
Ever curious, Auranthia roams far beyond his sunlit ruins. He explores mountain peaks and forgotten temples not out of conquest, but out of wonder. To him, the world is an endless trove of stories and treasures waiting to be discovered. He is, in essence, a paradox: radiant yet restless, proud yet kind, brilliant yet disarmingly childlike.
Rider: N/A
Powers:
His seer abilities are used sparingly. Auranthia despises invoking them, finding the process physically draining and, perhaps worse, aestheticly unbecoming. He likens the sensation to “having one’s own brilliance dimmed,” and will avoid using this gift unless the situation demands it. After using such powers, he retreats into his hoard, surrounded by gold to “restore his luster,” as he puts it.
1. Threads of Possibility
He can transport his mind into the Threadscape, a silent void woven with strands. There, he can see the “threads” connecting events, fragile lines of gold and ash drifting through the air. They tug toward danger or safety, letting him know when choices can avert catastrophe or when it’s already sealed. The threads flicker and vanish quickly, requiring immense focus to interpret. Through this trance, he senses the “weight” of fate and whether an outcome will bring fortune or ruin. The land is vague, some strands not revealing what will happen, but only if his path leans toward light or shadow. Using it too long causes headaches and drains his energy, leaving him drained and disoriented, their whispers echoing long after he returns.
2. The Threadweaver
Auranthia can pull strands of fate into the physical world, weaving them with his talons into radiant patterns of defense and sorcery. These golden threads twist probability itself, turning strikes aside, misguiding spells, and shaping outcomes to his will. Through his craft, he can also curse others, binding them with threads of ill fortune that bend destiny against them: allies grow distant, luck decays, and every step leads toward ruin. Each curse is anchored to an object of value-a coin, gem, or shard of gold- and can only be undone by its destruction or by confronting him directly to sever the weave. Each strand is also tied to his lifeforce; if one snaps, pain follows. If the entire weave breaks, so does he. Hence, he does not use this power.
3. The Auric Voice
When truly threatened, the air around him hums with whispers, manifesting as a guiding voice. It warns him when treachery or loss draws near, but never in plain words, only riddles, impressions, and symbols. This is Auranthia’s least favorite ability, as it makes him feel controlled by something higher than himself, as he cannot use this power at his will; it happens randomly.
4. The Golden Veil
By focusing on reflective surfaces such as coins, jewels, even the glint of sunlight off his scales, Auranthia can peer through space itself. The reflections act as “windows” into distant locations, though distorted and fragmented. The clearer the reflection, the clearer the vision. This also allows him to view the memories of whatever item he holds and helps guide him. In short, he can see into the past. However, overuse leaves his scales dim and tarnished until he rests.
5. Mirrorbind
By locking eyes with his foe or focusing on a reflective surface nearby, Auranthia can trap their image within it. The victim feels their strength draining as if part of their soul is being reflected away. For a few moments, they become sluggish, confused, and ghostlike (half in this world, half mirrored). When released, they’re left weakened and trembling.
Strengths:
Master of Probability: Auranthia can subtly twist fate, turning even hopeless battles in his favor through his control of golden threads.
Strategic Intellect: Beneath his vanity lies a razor-sharp mind, able to analyze, predict, and counter with unnerving precision.
Psychic Influence: His voice can echo directly into the minds of others, allowing him to manipulate, deceive, or unsettle without lifting a claw.
Threadweaving: Capable of crafting protective wards and potent curses, shaping the battlefield itself with the threads of destiny.
Resilient Spirit: Though physically smaller than many dragons, his willpower and adaptability make him exceptionally hard to outwit.
Weaknesses:
Fragile Lifelines: Every thread he weaves is bound to his own vitality, if too many snap, he risks death or collapse.
Arrogance: His princely pride blinds him to danger; he often underestimates opponents he deems “beneath” him.
Mental Exhaustion: Overuse of Seer powers leaves him disoriented, with blurred senses and haunting echoes of what he’s seen.
Material Weakness: His attachment to his treasure can be exploited; damaging or stealing his hoard provokes reckless fury.
Emotional Vanity: Auranthia craves admiration and control—if insulted or humiliated, his composure shatters, leading to costly mistakes.
Crush: None
Mate: None
Kin: Open
Affiliations:
Rhyhor | The Tempest, The Storm That Devours the Sky
When the storm roars; the crow follows. Auranthia finds Rhyhor utterly fascinating. Where the larger dragon leaves ruin. Auranthia sees opportunity, a scavenger's paradise glittering in the ashes. He trails after Rhyhor like a gilded shadow, collecting whatever treasures the other deems worthless: shattered crowns, scorched coins, relics half-buried in soot. To him, their connection is a grand partnership, one that Rhyhor never agreed to. In truth, Rhyhor barely tolerates him, and Auranthia is blissfully unaware (or chooses to be). He chatters from a safe distance, weaving idle conversations while Rhyhor seethes in silence. And when the thunder fades and the skies clear, he always returns, undaunted, insistent, glittering in the stormlight, as if drawn back by some invisible thread. And treasure, of course.
Despite Rhyhor’s volatile temper and sharp tongue, Auranthia trusts him. Call it fate, or perhaps it's something he saw in a vision or through the threads. Who knows. Regardless, there’s something in the storm’s consistency that feels like truth, a rare thing in a world of shifting fates. Auranthia would gladly open his crumbling castle to the storm dragon, proud to show off the treasures he’s “helped” collect, such as the gold once glinting in the palaces Rhyhor toppled. He would guide him through the ruined halls, wings glittering, tail coiling possessively around piles of gold, showing how even destruction can gleam under the right light.
Kaihanu | The Keeper of Glimmering Currents | His Shimmering Companion
Where Auranthia is gold and prophecy, Kaihanu is coral and song, swirling around him in bright, effervescent chaos. The sea-dragon’s boundless affection both bewilders and delights him; few ever get close enough to touch his hoard, yet Kaihanu can swim through it like it’s home. He lets him. He even shares. That alone says everything. Sometimes, when Kaihanu is away too long, Auranthia takes to the cliffs and throws handfuls of treasure into the sea: coins, gems, and glimmering treasure. They are offerings meant to catch the sunlight and call him back. “For the currents,” he says to anybody who asks, though he knows exactly who will find them. After all, Auranthia does not "discard" of his treasure.
Kaihanu’s bubbles make his gold glint prettier, after all, and he’s enchanted by how Kaihanu turns every ruin into a festival, every silence into soft tide-song. Not to mention, when the voices from the threads grow too loud and the echoes claw at his mind, Kaihanu is always there. He hums sea-songs soft as tides, anchoring Auranthia back to the present, his presence as steady and cooling as saltwater on fevered skin.
OPEN
Other: Lowkey forgot how to rp
Fall Month: 3 
Day 
Light Rain
