Name: The Redthorn Anvil [called 'Anvil' for short]
Past Age: N/A
Past Birthday: N/A
Current Age: Just born.
Current Birthday: October 21st.
Elements (2 max): Metal and Fire.
Breath (2 max): Fire.
Abilities (5 max): Change of Self. Turns into a magical anvil which can forge things on itself.
Family: Adopted mother, Rhoo Marhoon.
Written Appearance: Anvil is a very wee Angel-Dragon, being just a fledgling, and has fur the color of cold coal, which is just a hair lighter and ashier in color than just black. She has no special marks, but her eyes are a bright, glowing green. On her head sits a small crown of four horns. All curve backward. She as two larger horns in back of two smaller horns that are placed slightly closer together, giving the illusion of a small tiara resting on her brow. Her ears are of average size, the tips of which curl downward slightly, seeming to imitate the growth pattern of her horns. Her claws are short, but very strong, as are her teeth.
Personality: She very naive, as she is only but a child. She is very trusting of others, almost to a fault, but she has a temper like a firestorm, and an aggression to match. On any normal day, Anvil is a solemn, gentle child that is curious about the ways of the world. She almost never smiles, unless she is with her dear mother. Then she will grin without ceasing. She is always quite shy at first, but she quickly becomes outgoing, and makes a point to see the best in the world around her. She is defensive towards those she cares about, and will not hesitate to bare her little fangs at anyone she doesn't initially like. She enjoys forging things for people as random gifts to show her affection for them.
Biography
Anvil wasn't always an Angel-Dragon. Many thousands of years ago, back in the days when anvils were still used to make weapons and armor, and nails for building things, a master blacksmith forged for himself an Anvil. But this was no ordinary Anvil. He forged this Anvil with the fires of the Mountain of Trials, and made from the strange metals that resided there. For the blacksmith knew of the strange and powerful magic that made the Mountain a sentient being, giving worthy souls the most challenging Trials that would determine who they were on the inside. The master blacksmith wanted this kind of truth to reside in his Anvil, so that whence upon it he forged his craft, it would mold into being the most honest, and the most true of all metalwork, so that nothing he made would be corrupted.
But there was a grave flaw in the blacksmith's plan. He took the metal and the fire from the Mountain, and from it he made his Anvil. But what he did not realize, was that because the Mountain was sentient, so also was it's child, the Anvil. And the Anvil would not listen to the blacksmith, for it was so wrought with grief from being separated from the Mountain, it's parent, that its heart was not committed to the forging of the blacksmith's craft. In vain, the blacksmith tried to comfort the Anvil, but the Anvil could not be comforted.
So the blacksmith took up the Anvil and traversed the land to find the Mountain once more. And there, he climbed to the very top, where he had taken from it the metals and the fire with which he created the Anvil, and there at the top, he set the Anvil.
The Anvil was so overjoyed at being reunited with the Mountain, that the Anvil forged for the blacksmith a new anvil, one that would make for him the finest steel and the purest silver, and whitest gold. And the blacksmith was so grateful to the Anvil which he made, that he built for the Anvil a marble shrine, so that the Anvil would never collect the dust and the grime of the earth. And he took home the anvil which the Anvil had forged for him, and the blacksmith became known as the finest smith in all the land. And the people would ask the blacksmith how it was that he could forge iron so strong, silver so pure, and gold so white, and the blacksmith would tell them that his life was forever in the debt of the Redthorn Anvil.
And the Anvil was happy.
But that is not the end of the Anvil's story. In time, many thousands of years later, the Anvil grew lonely. For all it had for company was the ever silent Mountain, its parent, who was so wise, and yet so silent. And the Anvil grew sad, for it could not speak to its parent, nor could it get up and go exploring, and no one ever visited the mountain. But one day, along came an Angel-Dragon, with beautiful, multicolored fur that was so soft, all who felt it could not resist petting her and hugging her. She had not one, but three lush tails, and the most beautiful talons as to make the eagles jealous. And she saw that the Anvil was alone, and she took pity on the Anvil. So with her celestial powers, she gave the Anvil a form of its own, as a child of the Angel-Dragons, and she declared the child to be her own, and the Mountain, which was the Anvil's parent, was her witness. And the Mountain gave up the Anvil to her. And now, the Anvil had a voice of her own, and she was happy once again.
