planttkid » Lair » Lerdan

Lerdan

(#18515981)

Level 25 Guardian

Familiar

Runic Bat

Energy: 0 50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

11.93 m

Wingspan

17.15 m

Weight

7825.67 kg

Genetics

Fire
Basic

Crimson
Basic

Seafoam
Basic

Hatchday

Nov 18, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 25 Guardian

Max Level

STR

133

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

Lerdan
+ The Consort | The Ruthless +

It is all in the blood. The cold, festering blood of a mirror still flows through Lerdan's blood even now, as his frame much larger and his wounds to never heal.

He had been born close to it. To the big, pulsating crater whose oozing decay has been infamous for both dragons and beastclans alike. The Wyrmwound, all four eyes blinking timidly for a moment as he emerged out of his shell. It only lasted for a moment; no one can be vulnerable in the Scarred Wasteland for more than one, and hatchlings are not an exception. He ate them.

Through eggshells, tender and luscious in the dying lights of his first dawn, he fought his brothers and sisters, some already emerged, some still fighting to get out of the shells of their unborn prisons. They were all dead, because his moment of defenselessness was gone.
He ate lizards at first, kept hidden, eyes scurrying his surroundings and feet, belly and wings all close to the harsh, infertile ground, deeper and deeper until he was one with the decay and rot, a piece of the degradating landscape.

With no one to teach him the ways of flight, he imitated the birds. Bad teachers, and the moment he finally made contact with one of the gangs wandering the Rotrock Rim, his wings were his downfall. He fought one of them, their quarrel no more of an unfortunate corpse Lerdan had been hiding, unrotted meat scarce enough to make him defend it until he could feel blood into his mouth and exhaustion creeping at his eyes. But he won, barely more than a hatchling, his teeth piercing meat and tearing arteries in jerky movements. And the blood; he never killed another dragon before, and the way the other's guts bathed him in their sticky heat made him feel...something. Something different, something that he would try to awake again, to no avail, many, many times.

But they caught him. Five, and they gnawed at his wings, useless flutter and he was to die and he had no idea why, of all the times he was this close to kissing the great, dark unknown and bow to his deities' last shrine, this time he felt almost... sad. As if something about his whole life was suddenly worth living, worth protecting above the simple, pure instinct.

They didn't kill him. They didn't have the strength to, their best fighter down, their whole crew hungry and exhausted. They slept then, all of them, and it was as if the Plaguebringer herself watched over them, with no harm and no loss to the sleeping, soundless gather of scarred mirror and the youngest of their disciples.

+++++

It was bloodthirst. They were the Ruthless, a small gang of fearless idiots. Lerdan didn't know it then, and he idolised their leader, the three-eyed mirror who called himself Dust, his fur a dull beige. He killed many other dragons under their tutor, rivals and marks and nobodies, and it was maybe the happiest part of his life. But Fate, or maybe the one that watched over their sleep that night had other plans.

Back to the Wyrmwound, the place of the purely insane and purely evil, the place where nightmares came to be frightened. And they got work. The Ruthless became mere lapdogs, charmed by the glistening coldness of treasure and the good life of the mutt. And it was good too, but no better than when Lerdan was young and they were all free of orders.

He had scars now, and the experience of the fight, and the ever thirsting lust for others' blood on his claws and teeth and mouth, but he was to sit and follow orders. And he knew it, and he wasn't doubting it, and for a moment there, he forgot he couldn't, shouldn't afford to be vulnerable.

He was asked to the lab. The one they were working for - he never found out his face, called for him, and he followed, brethren taking him along corridors and sterile chambers. Marvellous he remembers, a voice soft coming out from somewhere his eyes cannot discern, marvelous, you're here, just marvelous. Evil and insane and Lerdan never, not once even thought to doubt his commands.

Only just a moment.

He was small and tender and above him, the sky a sickly, oily crimson. His mouth open to a crow-like cry, his nest cold and his brothers no more than white skulls, empty eyeholes judging him with their silent stares.

He woke up someone else. He woke up screaming, his limbs jerking erratically and it was not the dream, but rather the pain - deep like sharp fangs and filling him whole and replacing his blood with hot, molten liquid that dug deep into his insides and fought to come out. Out, out OUT but he could not move, his limbs restrained, his wings trying to flutter through rusted chains. He had been vulnerable, and he was paying for it.

+++++

+++++

Everything hurt for an eternity. It was dark, fuzzy dark, then sharp light and then the light dimmed too, to the corners of his eyes and he could vaguely hear them - him - his own body unknown in the few moments of unforgiving lucidity. Commands, and then names of things and then sharp needles and knives and cuts, cuts, cuts. Disappointment.

He never found out what they wanted. He never found out how he did it, or rather how he found the strength to do it. Because Lerdan escaped. He was far bigger than them - any of them, old butchers wearing lab coats and mixing poison for him to partake in like an occult rite. And they never expected the beaten, half dead corpse of a mirror now turned guardian to fight back, scratch and slash, rip up and eat, bask in the warm welcome of blood.

He came to as the dawn was close, his nose filled with the stingy sweat of what his still foggy mind branded as enemy. He was not far, not close and his belly dug deep into the barren earth, his claws now far too big to find any comfort in it, his eyes only two and vision still blurry. And he ran, of course. Past the steppes, the smell of bloodthirsty hounds close, close, closer, until he reached the Reedcleft Ascent. There was barely time to stop, hunger and thirst and the pain of his tortured body bidding him to find a place for his final rest.

It had been too much, and in one of the caves that oversaw a ruined city, he finally gave in. Laid his eyes to rest. His sleep was dark, the ghostly skulls of his brothers having stayed back home. He was alone. Alone, until he wasn't. He woke up a little too late, the scent of fleeting, foreign dragon kind still lingering in the air like an exotic spice. He had been brought water and plants and pink raw meat, and he ate and drank and slept.

Lerdan slept dreamlessly, until he was finally awake, his body big and clumsy, his eyes - with which he hadn't yet gotten used to - squinting in the light of a tender morning. He thanked the cowl wearing coatl, her colors like clean bones in the sunlight, and the blurry array of dragons that helped with the food.

It was weeks later that he felt well enough to descend the steep, windswept hills, close to his saviours' settlement, but not quite. The wind was blowing their way, his scent lost and the rich smells of many dragons assaulting his still new nose. Lerdan was curious. He saw the small, defenseless coatls, too kind for their own good; he saw their riches, their eyes like beads on him and something like pity in the way they would choose to pitch their weird tongue.

He could admit he had been tempted by his old ways. Steal and massacre and leave, but where? He had nowhere to go, his gang lost, his own self lost to the treachery of his new body; he felt odd, as if his bones were weighing him down.

cherub
peregrine
stained

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Exalting Lerdan 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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