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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
21.66 m
Wingspan
24.27 m
Weight
9173.51 kg
Genetics
Ice
Vipera
Vipera
Ice
Butterfly
Butterfly
Grey
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 12 Imperial
EXP: 15262 / 38956
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
ABRAXAS
"... He designates Abraxas more distinctly as "the power above all, and First Principle," "the cause and first archetype" of all things" "Opinions abound on Abraxas, who in recent centuries has been claimed to be both an Egyptian god and a demon" "... which called Abraxas the supreme power of being transcending both God and devil and unites all opposites into one being..." Irascible | Destructive | Eldritch Youngest Bloodmage Harbinger of Calamity Obsessive  Class: Dark Knight Weapon of Choice: Blood Sword Crit: "*insane laughing*" he / him / his Affiliation: ??? Sign: SAGITTARIUS
Relationship Status
Familial Relations: none Current Mate: none
Likes:
Dislikes: Music/Theme Songs:
Stonefist - HEALTH
I Can't Decide - Scissor Sisters The Animal - Disturbed Hide and Seek - Lizz |
The child was not born a god, but neither was he draconic. Mixed accounts have surfaced on the story of his origin, and none of them are all that appealing. Some say he was the child of a wealthy clan, cast away from his brothers and sisters before he could barely walk. Others tell the tale of his betrayal, and abandonment of his home. What’s for certain, though, is the story of an old, eldritch tribe deep within the Plague badlands; so unfathomable in the rot and decay that not even the hardiest of dragons could make it through without contributing wholly to the Plaguebringer’s cause. It was more of a legend than a myth, yet nobody really believed. From the tales of old primal dragons came the first stories of the blood-mages. All oral accounts, the plague-infested beasts spoke of dragons that wandered off into the badlands and never returned, but were often seen from time to time. They ghosted across the Scarred Wasteland like phantasms, with a dead look in their eyes and limbs sharp as old bone. They were clad in black tatters, often drenched in unknown blood. This is where Abraxas’ story truly begins. He had heard of them as a child, part of fables from his parents to warn him of the dangers of leaving the nest. He remembers a pale face, not unlike bone; giving him a withering stare and making him promise not to wander off unsupervised. He did anyway. Through the rot-rock he stumbled, a speck of white amongst the decay. He captured animals for fun, wickedly interested in their inner makings. But the boy was not a scientist, no; he wanted to know how to control. When his heinous acts were finally discovered he was banished without a single word edgewise. No clan needed the makings of a serial killer within their ranks; it would only lead to ruin. He left keenly, launching his hunt for the cryptic blood-mages with a hinged smile on his face. Knowing all along that this would be his destiny, he trekked deep into the contagion. It didn’t take long for him to stumble into their clutches, as they had had hundreds of their red eyes on him ever since he could open his own. Unbeknownst to him, the tribe had held a long-coming prophecy that he would be their redeemer, their savior, the dragon to liberate them from the legends and drag them out of the shadows so that they could take their rightful place beside the Plaguebringer once and for all. Abraxas learned quickly, taking in all that he could. Still a child, he could feel the force of the blood within him and everything else, calling as if it needed someone to tame it. He could control small animals and familiars at this point, and even other dragons his age, not that there were any in that nameless tribe. By his adulthood he was a prodigy, taking down the leaders and elders in mock battles. The tribe rejoiced his supremacy. One day he staggered across a rumor of their early sovereign. An old imperial like himself who had a gift; she might have not been the original blood-wielding mage, but she rivaled the mass’ combined strength alone. Curious, Abraxas found himself at the steeple of the elders, who reluctantly divulged their past, his present, and what he was going to make of their future. Abraxas would become their new sovereign, as he had already become quite authoritative amongst the other members. This wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to know where she was now. He wanted to know why he left. It made his blood boil and his heart race and for the first time the elders saw what it looked like when he didn’t smile. They knew not of why she left, but they did know where she went. Abraxas demanded to know, but they refused to tell him. Hiding their once open knowledge made him violent. It was ludicrous that they revered him yet refused to tell him anything. He wanted to know. He wanted to learn. He wanted her. Vengeful, he struck them all down, demanding the answers and receiving them equally as fast. Laughing to himself, he left his coven wounded and bloody, and started his second obsessive crusade down to the Southern Icefield, now a fully-fledged blood-mage. *** Years away, in a prospering empire hidden amongst the squall, a coatl shoves aside his silken sheets and lifts his head up from his nightmare. Beside him, a dark wildclaw groans and rolls over still lost in sleep. If he woke every time his mate had been thrust awake from a dream he’d never get any sleep, and so he left the prophet alone with his thoughts. The coatl’s breaths came out ragged, and he felt blood rushing in his ears like the lapping waves of the southern ocean. Everything he believed to be safe came crashing down like the white walls of their city before him. He saw death. He saw decay. He saw a mage with unbridled power. The successor to the heir of her blood will arise, and will bring forth amendment, for the gem that was once pilfered; Snow, churned obscure with age long deceit. the End will have white warriors at his feet. He saw a terrible fall. |
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