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Petpet Name: Anoreth
Pet Name: Morilane
You may have heard this story, or at least a version of it. If you have, it will have been told to you by firelight, in hushed voices, on stormy nights. That is the way stories like these are passed on.
"Once upon a time", it will have begun, "there was a lonely island, lost at sea. An island that no map could chart, for it was never in the same place twice, and where night was always upon it's shores."
That is how the tale is told. That or, "One upon a time, there was a Draik who used to be a prince."
But listen closer, for I am not telling you about him, now. This is the story of the Meowclops with her own moon.
No Meowclops can be called ordinary, but Anoreth was no ordinary Meowclops. If you were to ask her, she would tell you she came from a royal line. That is, a line who had always been familiars to a family of royal Draiks. Morilane was the youngest prince of many. Youngest, but most renowned for his skill at magic, which he wove with notes on a charmer's flute. He was as gifted a wizard as the Kingdom had ever seen, and since Anoreth considered herself to be particularly gifted as a familiar, this made it only appropriate for him to become her Draik.
Together, they should have been unstoppable. Anoreth proved to have as natural a talent for magic as her Draik did, and when they worked charms in tandem - Anoreth's soft keening mewl winding up to mingle with the spells woven by Morilane's flute - it was as though they could bend the whole of Neopia to their will. As a force for good they could have achieved anything, and what else could they be together but a force for good?
Then one day, Darigan forces invaded the land.
The battle was long, and hard won, with no small help from Anoreth and Morilane working battle magic from high on the castle battlements as the soldiers clashed weapons below. Finally the forces from the dark citadel were vanquished. The brutish troops retreated. The war leaders and strongest magic workers were captured and held in the cells below the castle.
Despite himself, Morilane became fascinated by these dark wizards. He would visit them every day, to learn more about their powers, and brought Anoreth with him, although she counselled him against it. Those dark magicians, she feared, would turn her Draik to darkness, too.
Every Meowclops could be called wise, but Anoreth was wise beyond the limits of her kind. This is exactly what came to pass. Power hungry and ever more deluded by the lies and manipulations of Darigan's wizards, Morilane began trying dangerous magic, testing his own power and his will. Anoreth worried for him, even refusing to help him in his workings. She was certain the Darigan wizards were trying to make him destroy himself. Perhaps destroy the whole kingdom. But she was a loyal familiar, from a long line of the same. She stayed at Morilane's side.
One day, the fate she had forseen seemed certain to come to pass. Morilane had devised the final test to prove his own strength was above all others in Neopia. He would call down the moon, and snuff it out in his claws.
Anoreth pleaded with her Draik to understand what could become of his actions, but he was too heady with power to listen to one small Meowclops anymore. And she was a loyal familiar. That night they stood together on the shores of his kingdom, her voice raised alongside the mournful notes of his flute, calling down the moon.
Then, Anoreth changed her song. Tiny, standing at Morilane's side, she began to think tiny thoughts, shifting the spell into something quite different. A fragment of what would have been. Too late, Morilane realised and blinked at her in confusion, almost coming back to himself for a moment.
"What have you done?"
One fragment of the spell Morilane had worked succeeded perfectly. One sliver of the moon was drawn down. One small circle of the kindom plunged into eternal darkness. And they were trapped there. Morilane, his flute, Anoreth the Meowclops and her fragment of the moon, separated from the rest of Neopia, and lost forever.
You may have glimpsed the island for yourself; a dark circle on a bright day. But you cannot reach it, and it is never seen in the same place twice. They say that Morilane has repented his dark ways now, and works to redeem himself, casting works of good magic with Anoreth, as they wander together for the rest of eternity.
Perhaps you've heard them, sitting by the fireside on a stormy night. Is that a flute, blowing shrill in the wind outside? Or perhaps the wild, keening cry of Anoreth the Meowclops, curled in the cradle of her sliver of the moon.
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