The Tempest of Thought
Greater Elemental Dragon of Air
Defining Soul of the Elemental Dragon of Air
Attendand to the Elemental Dragon of Air
No man has seen Laksandr for an Age, but certain Gods and Dragons know of a place in the north where countless fine-carved shards of adamant and ice whirl in a circle a mile across. Each one spirals out to the edge of the storm, and then back in again to the center. Some make the trip in an hour, others months or years. Each one contains a piece of knowledge, words or a picture etched on its surface, or speech resonating in its facets. No man can learn what is inside, for they move too fast to read and hear, and hands that reach to grasp the shards are often frozen and shattered or shorn apart. There is no hostility in this act, only the unstoppable progress of Laksandr's thought processes.
At the heart of the storm, there is a pulsing heart of light. When the shards that whip furiously around this place reach the center, they pass through this light, and the words appear across the sky, spoken words thunder across the frozen storm, and images briefly come to life. Then they disappear, and the shard emerges and is taken up once more by the brutal storm.
These shards are the thoughts and memories of Laksandr, and the pulsing light is the Defining Soul of Air itself. As each thought passes through him, he thinks it, and so does he remember every memory. In the storm that surrounds him, thoughts and memories collide, and they chip away at each other, shattering upon lines of deduction, until what is left behind is the only possible truth, razor-honed. With each new thought, a shard emerges from the light and joins the storm. Laksandr does nothing but think, every second, every day, every year. Certainly, his insights are grand, for he has had thousands of years to discern secrets merely by logical deduction, though exactly what he has figured out is a mystery that Jupiter will not tell, or does not know. He listens to the winds that howl from the north, bringing news from all corners of Creation, and forgets nothing.
There is a story told, that in the days before the uprising of the Gods, that Laksandr and Florivet were close. Certainly, in those days Orabilis' Wisdom Soul was a scholar, not a scoundrel. Some suggest that the two, as Second Circle Souls and equals, were lovers, but others point out that the Whim-of-the-Wind prefers the company of women, and despite his current shape, few sources cite the Tempest of Thought as anything but male. The story goes on to say that one of the shards of Adamant was given to Florivet as a gift, and it was from this that he created the Agata. Other stories say that the thought was stolen, instead, and that the Beauteous Wasps are thus an abomination to Creation and forever render Laksandr incomplete.
Whatever the nature of the story, they agree that while Laksandr must wait in the furthest reaches of the north, that Florivet will some day seek him out. Most stories say on that day that Laksandr's storm will become greater still, and he will tear to pieces the ancient demon. Perhaps the stories of Florivet's theft are true. Perhaps the war was too much for their relationship to bear. Or perhaps Florivet has changed too much, either in his imprisonment or his degeneracy. But a few tales end differently: the storm will die, and the thoughts and dreams and wishes and memories will return to their heart, and there Laksandr will be, ready to greet an old friend.