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Barthur

(#17161700)

Well, aren't you a pretty sight?

Sneak

Rosaline Strangler

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.59 m

Wingspan

3.6 m

Weight

370.67 kg

Genetics

Maroon
Cherub

Maroon
Seraph

Tangerine
Underbelly

Hatchday

Sep 26, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 25 Pearlcatcher

Max Level

STR

108

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Ruairi
Orla

Offspring

Biography

Barthur
~Spymaster~

"Who are you?" Came the rumbling growl from the Guardian pinning him to the broken ground.

The young Imperial stared blankly up at him from where it was laying, half-starved, half-broken, half-dead and completely lost. Then, in a raspy and broken voice (too much screaming, too much crying, too much silence), it said:

"...who do you need me to be?"

The Guardian, perplexed, lifted some of his weight from the Imperial's chest.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sharply, demanding an answer. The Imperial flinched at the tone, the same...

...no, not the same. Not the same tone it had heard from them. It could not say what was different, only that it was, and it made it feel... what?

What did it feel?

It didn't know, but it felt.

And so it answered.

"I do not know who I am. I... have been no-one. But... you need me to be someone. And I think I would like to be... someone. So who do you want me to be?"

The Guardian let it go fully and stepped away, sat down and glared at it.

It doesn't remember the last time someone cared enough about it to glare at it.

"That's not how it works," he growled. "Everyone is someone, and no-one else can decide who that is but themselves."

The Imperial stared. It... did not understand. It should understand. Not understanding was bad, but this Guardian... was not behaving as they behaved. Maybe it would be okay, to not understand, just this once?

"But I am not someone, and I do not know how to be...?"

The Guardian growled louder, and it flinched away. But the Guardian did not discipline it. He just... sighed?

"Do you at least have a name, fledgling?" He asked, and when it just remained silent, not knowing what to say, the Guardian continued: "Something to call you by? My name is Odin."

It had not been struck for being confused before, so the Imperial hesitantly stated:

"I do not have a name?"

The Guardian - Odin, his name is Odin, he gave it to it - growled again, but it was... less alarmed, this time. Growling simply seemed to be something Odin did. It did jump, however, when Odin roared:

"LOKE! GET OVER HERE AND MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL!"

Withdrawing into itself and drawing up its wings around it, the Imperial watched warily as a Fae came flying over, flinching further into itself when they - he? - landed.

Then... then something strange happened. The Fae snapped something back at Odin, but it could not hear what, could only read the body language and without even thinking about it, it lunged and knocked the smaller dragon away. Before the Imperial knew it, it was standing in front of Odin, wings flared and a growl rumbling in its chest. Odin was the first to care, the first to ask, the first to see and it refused to lose him.

Then something odd happened. The Fae relaxed instead of attacking, the frills reading joy and family and joke.

"I take it we're keeping them, then?" The strange creature asked, and a happy rumble answered from behind its flared wings.

"Yes. They need a name, though. And a new life."

It (they? Was it a they, now, and not an it?) kept its (their? Odin had called it "they", it had never been called "they", before, "they" was supposed to only be for real dragons) eyes on the odd Fae, but it really, really wanted to turn around. Did that mean Odin wanted it? That it would get a name? Become someone? Stop being an it?

The Fae shrugged and the frills read resigned and arrogant.

"A new life I can do. You'll have to manage the name, though, or I'm just going to call them 'Red' and be done with it."

Odin laughed.

It was a beautiful sound, deep and resonating.

"Barthur. Their name is Barthur. Now get on with it."

The Imperial - no, Barthur, it- they had a name - barely had time to wonder what Odin meant before they were surrounded by what seemed like raw magic.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, they fainted.

When it woke up, its body was different, but it was a good different. It wasn't aching, or hurting, or stiff, as it usually was when it woke up. It was thirsty, but more of a some-water-would-be-nice thirsty than a my-throat-and-nostrils-and-lips-are-dry-and-bleeding thirsty, and it was hungry, but far from the point where killing and eating other dragons felt like a good idea.

What...?

Oh.

It had been sent out. It had been stopped. It had thought it would die, but it didn't. Odin found it. And called the strange Fae, who said they would be... keeping it.

It- they- Barthur, Odin gave him a name - were... not opposed to this. They thought being kept by Odin would be much nicer than being kept by them.

They were right.

And as more and more time passed, they came to realise just how right they had been. It was... hard, sometimes. Odin keeping them was not just keeping them, it was also... taking care of them and adopting them and giving them an entire family and making sure that they were happy and safe and a dragon, not an it.

Barthur is still not so sure about the happy part - emotions are difficult - but they are safe, fed, watered and healed and has a body that is new and theirs and not someone else's. They get to make their own choices. They get to give back to those who are giving to them. They get to do what they want to do.

They get to belong and be a part of.

And if others look at them weirdly after seeing under or through their mask, the one they have put on to help and blend in, if those strangers are afraid, well. Then that is not their problem. They enjoy putting on their masks and being someone else for a while. Someone cheery, streetsmart, charming, sharp of wit and quick of tongue ...and they will not stop it or become their masks just because others are shocked and disapproving when they see that they are masks, and not who they truly are.

And if they get to be useful to their Clan while playing with those masks, well. That's just a very nice bonus.

And if Odin sighs and grumbles and growls at them and tells him to "stop being ridiculous, make your own decisions and start living for yourself, you damn fool," well.

Then Barthur just laughs and keeps on doing what they're doing. Because emotions might be tricky, but they know they like making sure the Clan and their family are safe and happy and have everything they need.

Even if what they need is somebody dead.

Because was that not what they were made for, after all?

Better them than someone else, someone who might break like they were broken.

Someone who might become an it.

They're all theirs, and they won't let them.

Trivia

Barthur is: Cheerful, Witty, Charming, Energetic. (Murderous, Apathetic, Protective.)
They are one of Odin's subordinates in the External Affairs branch, holding the Headship of the Intelligence Section as the Spymaster. They work with: Diplomacy, Evasion, Combat, Information, Infiltration, Intelligence, Assassination.
Barthur's name means "battle peace". History remembers them as "The Bloody Jester".
Adopted child of Odin and Frigga. Adopted sibling to Loke, Itha and Berga as well as the whole of the Leaders' brood: Fritha, Mundur, Lyse, Lycke, Eirik, Anleifr, Birger and Hvass. Adopted aunt/uncle of Ketilmaer, depending on mask of the day. In-law of Alaina, Aissa, Ragna and Hrafn. Life Partner to Hrothr.
Yes, the most commonly known and acknowledged form of the Intelligence Section that Barthur Heads is Sornieths's Most Terrifying Gossip Circle (TM).
When not wearing any masks that say otherwise, Bathur's preferred pronouns are they/them or whatever neopronoun they have picked up lately and thought neat. They don't mind the he/she pronouns, though (or else they would never wear them, even for the sake of their masks; Barthur has learnt that they do not have to put up with things they don't like), and indeed actively encourages their usage in the recurring game of "refer to Barthur by as many pronouns as possible in a single conversation in order to confuse bigots."
Odin has an ongoing campaign to rehabilitate Barthur, aided by a number of other Clan members. The effort is... moderately successful? At least now they can appear as if they are a fully functioning dragon, and appears to be happy enough with that, having no particular desire to be "normal" not that they are happy with themselves and functional enough.
Most will never guess at Barthur's dark past; to strangers, they come across as a wandering charmer, always with a compliment or joke at hand and more than willing to get up to mischief as long as it promises to be entertaining. Until they get them alone and rip their throats out, that is.

Wonderful portrait by QueenParda!

By the sweet Ronnie1107

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Exalting Barthur to the service of the Lightweaver 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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