Irithyll » Hibernal Den » Mikocronos

Mikocronos

(#19100837)

M I K O C R O N O S the gilded king, he of the ivory throne

Familiar

Summer Sphinx

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

31.15 m

Wingspan

18.31 m

Weight

7668.26 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Basic

Obsidian
Daub

Goldenrod
Basic

Hatchday

Dec 09, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Light
Uncommon

Level 25 Imperial

Max Level

STR

117

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Lothric

Biography

M I K O C R O N O S the gilded king, he of the ivory throne
◦ king of clan paravelle ◦
◦ righteous ◦ altruistic ◦ noble ◦ empathetic ◦ kind ◦

"Exhilarating, is it not? The power of the Sun.
I am blessed to have found such a brave companion..."
theme

^{p r o l o g u e

An overprotective parent, the egg would follow him everywhere either he or his mate went. He was quite sure he spent more time tending to the fragile nest than Aramala, although she was perfectly capable.

Had been perfectly capable. He had almost forgotten their tearful talk, how she had confessed she had never wanted to help govern a clan and yearned nothing but adventure and servitude to someone of a higher status than even a clan leader, how the pale grass and joyous fields drove her mad. The single cracked egg laid to the clan leader himself was what made her cave in to the pressure. A single look in her darting, pleading eyes proved that there was nothing to be done. Mikocronos could only give her his blessing to leave, to blame the strong wind luring dust in his eyes for his tears as he watched her fly off into the horizon, left on the ground, holding the small, almost broken egg. He hoped someday the responsibility and business from work could fill the hole left in his heart, that someday he may tell the hatchling the story of their mother, hoped he would not have to apologize to them for letting her go.

It was just him and the egg now.

Maybe that was what caused him to give it his utmost care, refusing to let anyone else even touch it or hand it off to a nest warming service, gently cradling it in his hands as he glided through the air, headed to the outskirts of the clan, flying high enough to be able to swoop down with grace and catch his fragile egg before it shattered on the ground below. It was a ritual to him, now, that every day with blessed weather they would watch the sun set and rise over the territories of clan Paravelle, the golden steppes and archaic ruins. He'd land on the same fallen pillar, the only one that wouldn't crack under his weight, and wrap his wings around where he sat, black and broad, warming the egg up with the sun in front and his hide, radiating heat, behind. He rather liked looking out at the distant ruins and rolling hills, illuminated in the sun, letting the egg drink in the light.

Mikocronos would smile down at his future miracle and take it in his hands again, claws gently stroking the surface. Although the hatchling was nowhere near seeing the world - the healers had said with its size and fragility, it needed way more than five days to incubate and hatch - his love for it spanned all of Sornieth, his first and only offspring. The clan leader himself was quite young, at the prime age to start a family. He couldn't really continue said family, though, quite sure his own father was somewhere furrowing his brows in disappointment. It was unusual to give that much love to a shiny egg, the clan leader softly nudging the shell with his nose, leaning against it with his cheek, refusing to open the Pandora's box as his mind, that he'd never get to feel Aramala's warmth again, and neither would the poor egg, abandoned by its mother. He would shake his head for the thoughts to buzz off like flies. It wouldn't be fair towards his child to still be hung up about their mother. Just a few more days and he'd be expected to forget her, to focus on the hatchling.

Perhaps she had believed it would not live, he considered. Not like he would ever get to prove her wrong.

It was just him and the egg now.

He didn't know when he started talking to the unborn hatchling. Perhaps it was out of his own loneliness, usually not minding silence but unable to take it after the sudden disappearance of his mate. He'd speak of tales of old and myths his own father had told him, the greatness of their clan and the eleven deities reigning their lands, how it was the only close thing he had, how he loved the egg enough to take the world in his grip and crush it, all assurances that he himself needed to hear. Maybe he'd need to get an assistant soon other than his right hand dragon, to help with the work he had to ignore in favor of taking care of the only hope he had at a lineage. With a sigh, Mikocronos set the egg back down on the warm stone, the tall imperial seemingly shrinking as his straight back and wide wings crumbled to a relaxed position, antlers seeming smaller in the light, the dark circles beneath his eyes and calloused clawtips from overworking barely visible on his dark hide. A marigold flower crown adorned his head as he sat, alone, atop the ruins.

Mikocronos let his shining eyes gaze at the setting sun, glancing down at the egg, tired features lifting up in the fondest of smiles.

Just him and the egg now, sure.

But he'd make something of it.

written by @gay4dragonz

s u m m i t

The guilt struck him harder than the blade lodged in his son's heart, unable to pull it out, eyes widening in horror at the pained scream of the dragon below him. His son was still in there, somehow shrouded in the darkness of his mind, always had been. The hovering consciousness had abandoned him when it was too late, cruelly leaving the hivemind intonation out of his voice as he cried out in pain, without the evil to support him, left the same frail dragon he always was. The blight that had once tried to consume him, that had taken his wings, now took him whole, the father falling to his knees, cradling the body in his arms, feeling the warmth fade in utter horror as his own tears tapped against the filigree armor on his arms.

written by @gay4dragonz

e p i l o g u e

He would never be the same again. He would never be whole. He would always be hollow, a vital part of his existence gone. And he had only himself to blame.

His son's dying breath had brought forth not hatred, not fear of death, but a tiny, uttered apology that shattered his heart. Mikocronos knew he was being illogical. Velka said it wasn't his fault. But he couldn't help thinking of it, spending hours sitting underneath the tree of what remained of Clan Paravelle after the battle. The perfect world would include his son, the bright sun only frying his sorrow. Or peace, at least. But he would never leave the tree. Even if the clan got sick of his tearful sentiment, packed up and moved away, he'd stay right under the tree, it's growth fed by the blood of the little dragon who had planted it. Mikocronos spent as much time as possible near the lovely piece of flora, somber during the day, at tears during the night. He'd speak apologies towards the thick trunk, whisper sacred memories of his little son he was scared of forgetting. He wouldn't ever forgive himself.

Velka said it wasn't his fault.

But it was.

written by @gay4dragonz

---

"You are going through a metamorphosis, my son.

It will not be a pleasant experience but when you come out of it.

You will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be."

"You are not the man you used to be.

You are stronger and wiser and freer than you ever used to be."

---}

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Exalting Mikocronos 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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