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Hereleod's BioDragon Island Database
Name: Hereleod (her-ell-ee-awd)
Age: 845 years old
Dragon Species: Typhoomerang
Special abilities: He was once a young doctor when he was human, and partly due to that, has an extensive knowledge, skill, and logic in the medical arts and biology of living things, which always comes in handy very well. Although he seems to only have single claws instead of hands, unlike other typhoomerangs, he actually has a pair of much smaller, hidden draconic arms at the ends of his wings that sit under the claws on each of the ends of his wings, which stay hidden in a small groove in his wings, and come out when he's working with healing others.
Likes: healing others when sick or injured, taking care of others and helping out. Studying anatomy and biology of living things, loves to read books, and his friends.
Dislikes: Anything with evil intentions, whispering deaths, seeing others close to him die, having to put h
Cereleok's BioDragon Island Database
Name: Cereleok (Sair-elee-ock)
Age: 986 years old
Dragon Species: Gronckle
Special Abilities: None
Likes: Dragon Island, his long time and newer comrads, flying, working with and carving things out of stone (he helped mostly with making the playground at dragon island, helping out others, watching the sunset.
Dislikes: Whispering Deaths, anything with purely evil intentions (including Detheleon), seeing others get hurt, having to put up with humans, and having to put up with severe dragon acne at times (Gronckles get it a lot, acne doesn't happen often in other dragons, it almost never happens in night furies.)
Personality: Strong, firm, helpful, generous, kind, willing to be a friend, and willing to do what's right.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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