Larkspur
(#160792)
Where is your banner, knight-captain?
Familiar
War Smith
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Spiral
This dragon is under the permanent effect of a Silhouette Scroll. A toggle on the dragon's profile allows swapping between the artwork poses available for the breed.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.41 m
Wingspan
2.2 m
Weight
66.53 kg
Genetics
Steel
Iridescent
Iridescent
Silver
Striation
Striation
Storm
Peacock
Peacock
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Spiral
Max Level
STR
5
AGI
14
DEF
7
QCK
68
INT
120
VIT
10
MND
8
Biography
LARKSPUR
It couldn't last forever. Sornieth's gods were jealous despite their squabbling, and sent champions of all Flights to stand at last against the rising tide of the dead. Larkspur's king sacrificed all His loyal servants in an attempt to draw out and destroy the Lightweaver, declaring them to be no more than pawns when She shattered His hold on them.
This fresh betrayal of all the spiral's love and loyalty cut right to the heart, and Larkspur became a bitter revenant monster, cannibal and murderer, who nevertheless pledged loyalty to the cause of destroying the god of Death. Somehow in the course of the war, though, Larkspur's own irrepressible, unwavering good nature–suppressed but not destroyed–brought the spiral into the company of friends, living and dead alike. A flower of potential redemption blossomed, and Larkspur's pledge to fight took on more meaning with friends to fight for.
When the combined efforts of the dead and the living at last broke the back of the undead horde, deposing and felling their king in the seat of His power, Larkspur felt no joy in it, no thrill of vengeance satisfied. Instead there was only a wounded lonely ache in the spiral's heart, a terrifying compassion for the god who could not be saved.
The alliance between the living and the dead fell apart in that hour, and those revenants who remained were driven to the fringes of dragon society. The Eleven, shaken by the possibility of Their own defeat, worked to drive the memories of the war from the minds of dragonkind, and expunge all traces it left from off Sornieth's face.
... And only Larkspur seems to remember that any of this happened at all.
TRAITOR | KNIGHT | PATHOMANCER
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"Rise and serve your king." It's the first thing the spiral remembers of undeath: rise and serve. You have a new king now, little traitor, and He brooks no disobedience. So Larkspur arose and served with the blind fanaticism of the dead, forgetting home and birth-clan and the Plaguebringer and an ignominious end. You have a new god now, a resplendent god of Death, and He alone will unseat the dragon gods and raise a mountain of corpses to crush the Shade beneath it. Undeath spread like a black stain across a corner of Sornieth; Death's servants were undiscriminating in their tastes, gathering in dragon and beastclan alike and bringing the justice of the grave to all who opposed them. And Larkspur served and was happy, as a chosen knight, an instrument of vengeance, strong and free and valuable and beloved of the god of Death. An insane obsessive loyalty, once-betrayed, had long festered in the spiral's heart, and had found once more an object of devotion worth following. The dead knew neither fear nor the pain of betrayal, and it didn't matter to Larkspur that there had been no choice offered any of them as to whether to follow their king. This was home and cause and family, and that's all that mattered, even if something in the back of the spiral's mind screamed and gibbered and wept over the killing, and remembered being something nobler and greater once. |
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This fresh betrayal of all the spiral's love and loyalty cut right to the heart, and Larkspur became a bitter revenant monster, cannibal and murderer, who nevertheless pledged loyalty to the cause of destroying the god of Death. Somehow in the course of the war, though, Larkspur's own irrepressible, unwavering good nature–suppressed but not destroyed–brought the spiral into the company of friends, living and dead alike. A flower of potential redemption blossomed, and Larkspur's pledge to fight took on more meaning with friends to fight for.
When the combined efforts of the dead and the living at last broke the back of the undead horde, deposing and felling their king in the seat of His power, Larkspur felt no joy in it, no thrill of vengeance satisfied. Instead there was only a wounded lonely ache in the spiral's heart, a terrifying compassion for the god who could not be saved.
The alliance between the living and the dead fell apart in that hour, and those revenants who remained were driven to the fringes of dragon society. The Eleven, shaken by the possibility of Their own defeat, worked to drive the memories of the war from the minds of dragonkind, and expunge all traces it left from off Sornieth's face.
... And only Larkspur seems to remember that any of this happened at all.
__________________
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Moth-hearted and moth-winged, Larkspur is a Knight and has been since hatching. Capable of valor and chivalry and blind idiotic loyalty, the spiral is drawn to what is Right and Just like a moth to flame–and like a moth, often suffers singed wings and disappointment for the attraction. For Larkspur's innate desire for the good is at war with a nature polluted by undeath and riven by self-chosen cruelty, and the spiral's worst dismays are often self-caused. Though Plagueborn–and once-instrument of a merciless army of the risen dead, if the story's to be believed–Larkspur has a streak of mercy a mile wide, a soft and vulnerable heart that can't be entirely hidden. It's at its most obvious when the spiral is around hatchlings or animals, or really anything at all that might be smaller or weaker or in need of protection. Some suspect that Larkspur wasn't born a spiral but was a guardian instead, and the ill combination of changed breed, undeath, and madness resulted in a Search that will never resolve, with a Charge hidden in anything that needs Larkspur's help. The Plaguebringer does not accept the undead under Her wing; they are abject failures in the struggle to survive, and for this She despises them. The rest of the Eleven feel no kindlier toward the things–the best a damned creature like Larkspur could hope for is indifferent acceptance. This might be the source for the spiral's own intensely areligious nature and despite in turn toward the gods, rejecting them as the proper rulers of the universe in favor of something...else. Not something Larkspur can give a name beyond a hope of a thing that exists and is still concerned for the soul of a ruined undead dragon. Leaving aside the obsession with an insane and incongruous history of the world that no one else remembers, and half-built barriers of rude and feral manners meant to guard a wounded heart, Larkspur isn't so bad to be around. Talented at pathomancy, sometimes quick-witted, affectionate and enthusiastic–but also often melancholy, self-persecuting, and dejected–the spiral really only wants a place to belong. But no place, no matter how meet, will erase that longing in a knightly heart for the perfect liege it once knew. |
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Exalting Larkspur to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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