Terrorform » Hibernal Den » Torthaesus

Torthaesus

(#2878018)

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.71 m

Wingspan

4.86 m

Weight

478.34 kg

Genetics

Spring
Speckle

Spring
Freckle

Blood
Crackle

Hatchday

Apr 06, 2014
(10 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 25 Skydancer

Max Level

STR

126

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

Torthaesus, the All-Seeing

E: /tɔɹˈθiːzəs/ -- C: /torˈθaɛzus/

bones

―

Member of:
Strain:
Occupation:

Species:
Gender:
Mate:

Vilomaxus Cruentu Quodpipax
Cruento (Blood)
Blood Oracle

Skydancer
Female
Lectarion

"This isn't survival. It's conquest."

-former warrior, retired after her eyes clouded over and she could no longer fight. took up the mantle of an oracle after she grew a bunch of new eyes that could see beyond what others could.
-still knows her warrior moves though
-if you call her tortie she might be either amused or eliminate you, depending on her mood

We have survived against all odds. We thrived where others fell. But at what cost?

I remember watching the birth of this clan; born out of the undying love of the Filthy One, marching across land and air to join Her glory. I remember when they arrived here, traversing the Wandering Contagion, lives lost in the creeping tangle. I remember their crossing of the Abiding Boneyard, pilgrims and lost ones joining their cause; even I had joined them, me and Lectarion the Rotten, our own clan fallen apart beyond salvation.

We crossed the Rotrock Rim and settled in the view of Her creation, the Wyrmwound itself. We built a temple out of the bones of those that fell, and we thrived.
And then, our corruption began.

The Makron infected our clan with its awakened existence. No, not you, Kane-crunatus, dear. The vile machine claimed one of us, and drove us to desperate measures. We concealed the proudly standing bones of the fallen with a citadel of stone. We drank the blood of our brothers and sisters to make us stronger. We defended what little we had with immeasurable ferocity. But the Makron took us anyway, one by one, and turned us into Straggons, until we were a hollow husk of a clan.

Then he arrived. The Scourge.

The Makron's army fell, and its remnants went into hiding. Yet we continued to rebuild and thrive. Do you remember how we thrived, crunatux? We continued to drink blood to make us stronger. But it wasn't our blood. It was the blood of pilgrims and lost ones, seeking shelter at our cold, imposing citadel of stone. We fought them for entering our domain uninvited, just like we had fought the Makron's puppets. We stopped seeing the difference between friend and enemy; everyone except us had turned into an enemy.

As the Makron fell for good at the hands of Morphix-crunatus, Kane had surrendered its Straggon technology and minions to us. That's right. We now had the technology to make our enemies serve us, and with that, we had the means to rebuild our clan's population.

Have you seen the terror in a dragon's eyes as a machine surrenders their control to us?

This wasn't survival. It was conquest. We had turned into the Makron at heart.

The Scourge arrived again, Straggons old and new falling at his hands. I've seen him, and I thank him, for their pain had been severed at last. Yet we didn't learn. We didn't learn anything, and we continued to create more and more Straggons, until the Recreator finally arrived and opened our eyes.

They should be the real leader of the clan. The Recreator. Not Cheogh the Hideous, who had tolerated the suffering of so many. The Recreator reinvented the bliss that our clan felt at the beginning, the undying love of the Filthy One; and they administered it to the Straggons, releasing them at last. And the freed ones didn't attack us for all the vile things we had done. They forgave us where they should have hurt us like we had done to them.

So now I speak directly to you, Cheogh-Agamat. I know you are not the villain. Your intentions in leading the clan were for the good of us. But you were misguided, and you caused, and tolerated, so much suffering. So now, on behalf of all of us, I ask you. Please, surrender your position. Let someone else sit upon the throne, and let them bring to our clan a new era. An era of bliss, of celebrating the Filthy One in ways that bring us Her blessings instead of fear and hatred.

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Exalting Torthaesus to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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