PeskyGoat » Lair » Damacles

Damacles

(#21551337)

The strings are soft beneath the fingers

Stare

Slight Eyewing

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.03 m

Wingspan

8.44 m

Weight

488.7 kg

Genetics

Antique
Fade

Pumpkin
Bee

Grapefruit
Glimmer

Hatchday

Feb 29, 2016
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Earth
Glowing

Level 25 Wildclaw

Max Level

STR

133

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

////

D A M A C L E S

be not afraid

━━━━━━━━━━━◇━━━━━━━━━━━

There aren't many angels left in
Sornieth and their exact origins
are... muddy, to say the least.

Quite which deity - or lesser
god - Damacles may once have
served is a complete unknown.
The only one to know is him -
and he's not telling.

He does like to wander though.

The world is interesting, even to
one as ancient as he - and it is
by watching the threads of fate
that he knows where to
intervene.

song / song / song / song / song

Nature: Angel

Essence: Fatebound

Creator: █████████

Designation: Damacles; The
Shuttle Of The Loom

Pronouns: He/They

Duty: "To ensure all things
happen at their proper time,
in their appointed place, to
the appointed people. Your
duty is to correct the wildness
of free will, so that it abides by
the strictures of fate."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Out beyond the stars something
sings. Damacles doesn't know
the words anymore - he has
been too far from home too
long to recall them all, and he
is too far from home to hear it
besides.

But he remembers the meaning.

In time, all work will be done. In
time, you may all come home. Be
strong. Be brave. Be dutiful.
Persevere in all things.

When the work is done, you can
come home.

Damacles is starting to think
the work may never be done.

s t o r y

He was sent out with a duty, long ago. He could not tell you how long ago. After all, to a creature like him, time is almost meaningless - not completely, but almost. Some things must happen at the prescribed time - otherwise, they might never come to pass.

That is his duty. The threads of fate are visible to him, fine golden links between this and that, shimmering against the hides of dragons and beastclan alike, invisible to all but a few. Some seers, he knows, may glimpse the threads - but few understand what they mean.

He knows. He has always known. Once - once, so long ago - his maker had commented that he was made of them.

Perhaps that is why he is driven to steer their path, to ensure they weave as intended. If he is made of them, if he is part of the reel of fate - of course he would want there to be no snarls, no gaping holes in the weave of time and life and order.

He is the shuttle on the loom, dodging between warp to create the weft, and he goes at his own pattern - chaotic as sometimes it may be - to create the truth his maker meant for him.

Carefully, he does his duty - he can't do otherwise, even if, as he sits on a bench, watching others go by, he sees the suffering his weaving has caused. He can't regret it - he was not made to - but weaving as he does, adjusting the paths of living things, with their own wills to pull at the warp and weft intended by fate... well. That requires skill. That requires talent.

That requires that he be able to think, and wonder, and question, and to decide his own path.

"Well done," his maker says, a whisper from a shaft of sunlight to his side. "That was well done."

Was it? To steer someone into suffering? Well managed, perhaps, to have succeeded, and perhaps well for his maker's weaving, but was it good, in the end? Was it good for the dragon?

Does it matter, if it his maker's will?

Beside him the dust motes swirl, drifting forwards. Damacles knows what this means: he follows the flow of suntouched dust motes to a dragon descending into the square.

"They are special," the sunlight says. "Mind them for me, won't you, Damacles?"

Sometimes, watching a dragon limp on by, scarred by a conflict that he himself sent it to, he wonders if this is the path he is meant to walk, utter and entire. Sometimes, watching a family pass down the street, the parents carrying their offspring in woven slings, he knows he could not give this up, these pieces of happiness he weaves into the world. Sometimes, staring at a new tangle in the weave that it is his duty to untangle, he knows he cannot leave his duty incomplete.

The tangles must be mastered, cleared, directed.

Even, perhaps, the ones within himself.

code Erratumby 84463. Lore by EssayOfThoughts.

i hold him like hamburger :)

logs:

bought for 2500g on 2/25/2022

wc scroll applied on 2/25/2022

fade applied on 2/25/2022

glowing sight applied on 5/13/2022

king

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Exalting Damacles 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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