Jannet's Profile
Name: [Unnamed]
Species: Sovereign Komodo Dragon (Primordial Sovereign Variant)
Stage: Pillar Sovereign (Unique)
Level: 8
Age: Almost 10 years since hatching.
Size: Length Approximately 20 feet (from snout to tail).
Weight: Estimated 1,200 lbs.
Health Points (HP): 550/550
Mana Points (MP): 150/150
Strength (STR): 172
Dexterity (DEX): 124
Constitution (CON): 174
Wisdom (WIS): 155
Charisma (CHA): 135
Intelligence (INT): 110
The plains stretched out endlessly before them, a vast expanse of rolling grasslands broken only by the occasional copse of trees or jagged outcropping of stone. The golden light of dawn bathed the landscape in a serene glow, but the party moved with an urgency that belied the tranquil surroundings. The encounter with the beetles had left them rattled, and the weight of the corruption they had witnessed drove them forward toward Daunturia. Jannet strode at the head of the group, his massive form casting a long shadow as he scanned the horizon with sharp golden eyes.
The journey had been arduous in ways Jannet hadn’t expected. Despite his restored vitality, every encounter with the plains’ creatures served as a reminder of his diminished strength. A pride of saber-toothed hyenas had nearly overwhelmed them two days earlier, their speed and coordination forcing Jannet to fight with a desperation he hadn’t felt in some time. Though they had triumphed, the battle had left him questioning just how much the beetles had truly taken from him.
It wasn’t just the physical effort that weighed on him. For the first time since hatching in this strange world, Jannet was left grappling with the concept of weakness. The strength he had clawed his way toward, the Sovereign power that had become synonymous with his identity, now felt tenuous, as if the foundation he had built himself upon could be toppled at any moment. The system had always been a constant, a guiding force that rewarded effort and ensured growth. But now it had faltered, and Jannet’s confidence in its infallibility had faltered with it.
These thoughts churned in his mind as they marched, the rhythmic thud of his claws against the packed earth a counterpoint to the soft chatter of his companions behind him. Gerrin and Toren discussed tactics, their voices low but animated, while Fialla occasionally chimed in with her own insights. Leth walked just behind Jannet, her staff tapping softly against the ground with each step. Despite the seriousness of their journey, there was an air of camaraderie among them, a bond forged in the fires of battle and tempered by mutual respect.
The compass remained a point of curiosity throughout their travels. During the days, Jannet and Fialla took turns experimenting with it, trying to decipher its purpose and limitations. At first, it had seemed like little more than a trinket, its shifting constellations mesmerizing but inscrutable. However, as they tested its responses to different situations, a pattern began to emerge. When Jannet held it and focused on the idea of combat or challenge, the needle of light would shift, pointing unwaveringly in a single direction. The few times they had followed its guidance, it had led them directly to powerful creatures—beasts that tested Jannet’s diminished strength but provided valuable experience in return.
“It’s like it knows,” Fialla had murmured one afternoon as they inspected the artifact together. The compass sat in Jannet’s massive claw, its constellations glowing faintly in the midday sun. “It’s not just pointing at random. It’s... deliberate.”
Jannet had nodded, his gaze fixed on the swirling patterns. Fialla had tilted her head thoughtfully. “But why does it sometimes point toward Newscar? What could it mean?”
Jannet hadn’t had an answer for her. The compass’s behavior during the night was perplexing, its light dimming and its needle turning toward Newscar as if drawn by some unseen force. It filled him with a quiet unease, a reminder that there was so much about the system—and his own existence—that he still didn’t understand.
As the days passed, the group settled into a rhythm. They traveled from dawn until dusk, setting up camp each night beneath the open sky. Conversations around the fire often drifted toward lighter topics, their shared laughter a balm against the uncertainty that loomed over them. Jannet found himself speaking more often than he expected, his deep, rumbling voice joining the mix as he shared stories of Newscar and its odd, patchwork community of lizards, goblins, and gnomes.
One such evening, the fire crackled softly as the group relaxed after a long day’s march. Gerrin was cleaning his greatsword with methodical precision, while Toren tinkered with one of his enchanted daggers. Leth sat cross-legged near the fire, her hands absently tracing patterns in the dirt as she watched the flames dance.
“Sovereign?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. The group’s attention shifted to her, and she hesitated for a moment before continuing. “May I ask you something?”
Jannet tilted his head, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight. “Go on.”
Leth straightened slightly, her expression thoughtful. “Are we to keep calling you Sovereign forever? Forgive me if it offends—it’s just struck me as rather formal. We’re all on a first-name basis, but we refer to you by title.”
The others murmured in agreement, their expressions curious as they looked to Jannet. He blinked, surprised by the question. It wasn’t something he had ever given much thought. In Newscar, the title of Sovereign had felt natural, a reflection of his role as leader and protector. But here, among these humans, it did feel strangely distant.
He considered his response carefully, his gaze drifting to the fire as he thought. His mind wandered to the system profile he had spent so much time studying over the past few days, exploring the updates and changes that had come with his new stage. One detail stood out—a line that had been there since his hatching but had never seemed significant until now:
Name: [unnamed]
The realization struck him like a thunderclap. He had no name. Jannet wasn’t truly a name—it was a relic of his past life, a precious holdover from a time when he had been something entirely different. He raised his head, his golden eyes meeting Leth’s.
“I have no name,” he said simply.
The group stared at him, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief. “No name?” Leth echoed, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
Jannet rumbled softly, the sound low and contemplative. “Since my hatching, I have been known only as Sovereign. It is the title the system gave me, and I have worn it as my identity. But a name? I have never had one.”
The fire crackled in the silence that followed, the weight of his words sinking in. Gerrin was the first to break it, his tone gruff but thoughtful. “Well, that’s... something, isn’t it? Never thought about it before.”
Toren smirked faintly, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “Guess we’ll just keep calling you Sovereign then. At least until you come up with something better.”
Leth smiled softly, her earlier tension fading. “It suits you, in a way. But if you ever want a name, Sovereign, we’ll be here to help you find it.”
Jannet looked up at the stars, their distant light shimmering like tiny, unattainable treasures scattered across the dark expanse. The fire crackled softly beside him, its warmth a comforting contrast to the cool night air. He hummed, a deep, resonant rumble that carried the weight of his thoughts. The name "Jannet" was precious to him—a tether to his past, to the human life he had once lived and left behind. It was his identity, his core, even if it wasn’t spoken aloud in this world.
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Still, the idea of a name, something gifted to him by these humans who had fought beside him, sparked an unfamiliar warmth. A name carried weight. It could define, mark, and bind. But it could also evolve. He finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate, cutting through the night like a blade. “If you wish to give me a name, I would allow it. I may gain many names and titles in my journeys, but a name from you would mark us as companions. I would treasure that.”
The group exchanged startled glances, the gravity of Jannet’s words settling over them. Then, slowly, their expressions shifted from shock to excitement. It was as though he had offered them a gift, a chance to leave a lasting impression on someone they revered. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Gerrin broke the silence with a gruff chuckle.
“Well, that’s not something you hear every day,” he said, leaning back and stretching. “The Sovereign asking us to name him? Guess we better make it count.”
Leth’s face lit up, and she leaned forward eagerly. “It’s an honor, Sovereign. We’ll find something worthy of you.”
“I’d settle for something simple,” Toren chimed in, twirling one of his daggers between nimble fingers. “No need to get too fancy.”
“Or something grand,” Fialla countered, her tone thoughtful. “He’s a Sovereign, after all. His name should reflect that.”
The group quickly descended into animated discussion, their voices overlapping as ideas began to fly. Jannet watched them with quiet amusement, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight. He listened, his massive frame relaxed but alert, as they debated and bantered late into the night.
“Scalebrand,” Gerrin suggested, his voice heavy with approval. “It highlights your armor, your strength. Makes you sound like the warrior you are.”
“Too harsh,” Leth countered, her brows furrowing. “What about Ashenfang? It ties into his dark scales and the strength of his bite.”
“Still sounds a bit intimidating,” Toren said, smirking. “How about Flint? Strong, rugged, and straightforward.”
“Ironhide,” Fialla interjected. “It emphasizes his durability. Nothing gets through him.”
Jannet rumbled softly, shaking his head at each suggestion. “All fine names, but I am not simply armor or strength. A name must be more.”
The group nodded, taking his words into account as their suggestions began to shift.
“Victor,” Leth offered. “It implies triumph and leadership. It’s fitting for a Sovereign.”
“Regal,” Toren quipped. “You can’t go wrong with that. It’s who he is.”
“Dominus,” Gerrin rumbled. “It means ‘lord’ or ‘master.’ Sounds powerful, doesn’t it?”
Jannet remained silent, letting the suggestions wash over him. None of them felt quite right—not yet.
“Or we could go the friendly route,” Toren said, grinning. “Something approachable. Jax, maybe. Or Lance. Short and snappy.”
“Lance?” Gerrin scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Why not Finn?” Leth added, her tone light. “It’s warm, unassuming. It could work.”
Jannet raised a clawed hand to stop the debate, his rumbling chuckle silencing the group. “I appreciate your efforts, but I am not a pet to be given a nickname for amusement. A name must carry meaning.”
The group quieted, their suggestions taking a more serious turn.
“Graves,” Fialla offered. “It reflects your grave demeanor. A nod to your past and your determination.”
“Drake,” Toren suggested. “A classic nod to your reptilian nature.”
“Halcyon,” Leth murmured. “It symbolizes peace and stability. It fits your role in stabilizing the Mandate.”
“Aegis,” Gerrin said. “Protection and strength. That’s what you are.”
Jannet tilted his head, considering each suggestion carefully. “All meaningful,” he said, “but none feel... complete.”
The group exchanged uncertain glances, their excitement dimming slightly. Then Leth spoke again, her voice hesitant but filled with determination. “What about Magnus?”
Jannet’s golden eyes focused on her, his expression unreadable. She pressed on, her words gaining strength. “In the old texts of the priestly orders, the word ‘Magnus’ is used to mean ‘great.’ Then when they tell stories of a Sovereign Magnus—the Great Sovereign. It’s not just a name. It’s a title, a mark of respect and power.”
The camp fell silent as the words hung in the air. Jannet closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the name settle over him. It resonated, not just with his current role but with the idea of what he could become. It was a name that acknowledged his strength without limiting him, a name that carried the potential for growth and greatness.
When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with quiet approval. “Magnus,” he said slowly, testing the word. “The Great Sovereign. Yes... I will take this name.”
The group erupted into cheers and laughter, their earlier tension dissolving into celebration. Fialla raised her staff in mock salute, while Gerrin clapped Jannet’s massive shoulder with a grin. Toren leaned back against a log, smirking as he twirled his dagger. “Magnus,” he said. “Yeah, that’ll do.”
Leth beamed, her earlier hesitance replaced with pride. “Magnus it is.”
Jannet rumbled a soft chuckle, the sound carrying both amusement and gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, his deep voice resonating with sincerity. “You are my first human companions, and now you have given me a name. I will carry it with pride.”
The fire crackled, casting long shadows as the group continued their lively discussion late into the night. And though the road ahead was still uncertain, the bond they shared had grown stronger, their laughter echoing under the starlit sky. For the first time in days, Jannet—Magnus—felt a sense of peace.
The fire crackled gently, its embers casting faint flickers of orange light against the shadowed faces of the group. Laughter still echoed softly among them as the excitement of naming Jannet—now Magnus—settled into a quiet camaraderie. Jannet lay still, his massive form stretched along the edge of the camp. His golden eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the stars blinked like distant memories.
Then it came—a familiar ping in his mind, the chime distinct and resonant, but softer, less imposing than it had been in Newscar. His tail twitched slightly as the notification unfurled in his thoughts.
System Notification: Achievement Unlocked!
Achievement: "A Name Etched in Stone"
Title Earned: "Magnus, the 7th Pillar"
Description:
"Against all odds, you have transcended the boundaries of ordinary existence, earning the recognition of the Divine Mandate as a Named Pillar Monster. As Magnus, the 7th of your kind, your presence is now inscribed in the annals of both reverence and fear. Few monsters achieve this honor, and fewer still find themselves welcomed into the intricate weave of humanity’s story."
Rank: #7 of Named Pillar Monsters.
Standing among the rare elite, your actions will be observed closely by the Divine Mandate and others in the realm.
Rewards:
Title Unlocked: "Magnus, the Named Pillar"
* Grants a +20 boost to Charisma when interacting with human factions and increases reputation gains by 15% with entities aligned to the Divine Mandate.
* Enemies who recognize your name suffer a 5% morale reduction in combat.
"The world trembles as Magnus, the 7th Pillar, takes their place in history. Your name carries weight, Sovereign. Bear it with wisdom, for both allies and enemies will look to you as a symbol of power and purpose."
Jannet exhaled, the sound rumbling softly like distant thunder. Names in this world, it seemed, carried far more significance than he had first realized. He hadn’t anticipated that the simple act of accepting one would ripple through the system itself. A "Named Pillar Monster"? The phrase felt alien, yet it resonated with a kind of weight he couldn’t ignore.
His claws dug lightly into the earth as he considered the implications. Named creatures were rare—that much he could infer. And now, by allowing this group to name him, he had tied himself to a concept, a role that went beyond Sovereign or even the Protector of Newscar. Magnus wasn’t just a label; it was an identity that the system, the Divine Mandate, and even the world itself recognized.
He wondered, briefly, if keeping "Jannet" to himself and the lizards was the right decision. That name was a relic of his past life, of the human he had once been—a symbol of his survival and his resolve. But would withholding it diminish its significance? Or was it something meant to remain sacred, shared only with those who had been there at the start of his transformation?
The sound of footsteps broke his reverie. Leth approached cautiously, her steps hesitant but filled with purpose. She knelt beside him, her hands resting lightly on her knees as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “You’ve gone quiet, Magnus,” she said softly, testing the name for the first time. There was a warmth in her tone, an acceptance that made the name feel less foreign.
Jannet blinked, his golden eyes shifting to focus on her. “I was thinking,” he rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of his thoughts. “Names hold power in this world. More than I realized.”
Leth smiled faintly, her eyes warm. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve chosen well. Magnus suits you. It’s strong, commanding… and a little mysterious.”
Jannet rumbled softly in amusement. “It is not a bad name,” he admitted. “And it feels right—for this place, for this role.”
The fire crackled between them, its warm glow casting dancing shadows across the camp. Leth lingered for a moment longer before rising to her feet. “Get some rest, Magnus,” she said, her tone light but sincere. “We’ve got a long road ahead.”
Jannet watched her return to the others, his thoughts still churning. The Divine Mandate had named him the 7th Pillar, a title that carried far more weight than he yet understood. But as he lay there, his massive form coiled protectively around the camp, he found himself at peace with the name Magnus. It was a gift, a bond, and a promise—a reminder that even in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, he was not alone.
The night deepened, and the stars above seemed to gleam just a little brighter, as if the heavens themselves acknowledged the 7th Pillar. Jannet closed his eyes, the faint hum of the Divine Mandate’s recognition a comforting presence in his thoughts. For now, he would rest. The road to Daunturia awaited, and with it, the next chapter of his journey.