Tidus
(#22646234)
He called out to the darkness and welcomed its sweet embrace
Familiar
Sweetsong Reaper
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
31.91 m
Wingspan
23.66 m
Weight
6366.07 kg
Genetics
Lemon
Crystal
Crystal
Obsidian
Stripes
Stripes
Obsidian
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
art by OkamiTen
Not once does he, swaddled in the cradle of wealth and privilege, allow himself to grow complacent and ignorant. Bloody uprisings, vicious rebellions, burning empires. He watches as his birthplace is razed to the ground, and all he does is smile. There is knowledge to be gained from this experience. Horrible, gaping maws dark as the Shade itself extend to the heavens as if they could shred the Sun with razor-sharp teeth. Be careful, child. One should not meddle with that which they do not understand.
by shanncrafter
Art by Blesseil
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The beauty of gold has claimed the hearts of many. It shimmers in the light like the sun’s golden rays, it flows smooth like the finest silk, and its rarity makes it the envy of all but the most powerful. It has but one flaw, the flaw of corruption. It is as cold as ice, and it takes over the hearts of dragons until they too are frigid and care nothing for others. How, then, does one treat a dragon blessed with scales of the purest gold? Is such a dragon truly blessed, or is it a curse upon his kind? Tidus, born with such a gift into a clan of proud imperials, was the pride and joy of his parents. As he came from a high-ranking family, his life was as easy as one could imagine. He was practically a prince, and was treated as such. Though he needed nothing, he was not satisfied with his life. The reason was simple; he was bored. It would have been difficult to find a shallower clan than his own. They cared about jewels, food, and of course, gold. Nothing else mattered, and on top of that, they were extremely prejudiced against anyone who was not an imperial. The most beautiful imperials lived like gods, and the rest groveled at their feet in hopes that scraps would come their way. Tidus knew of all this, of course. He could hear the desperate screams of dragons who dared to enter into the clan’s territory, especially those who were not imperials. Some were able to escape. Many did not. The pearlcatchers were the worst, paying the price for their long rivalry with his kind. Their mutilated bodies lay rotting in the snow, not even given the dignity of a proper burial. Within the clan itself, the imperials who were unlucky enough to be born with dull colors had to scrounge for leftovers and beg for scraps. It was wrong, of course, but Tidus could do nothing. That was the way of things, and they would remain that way – or so he thought. At the very least, watching these conflicts provided a limited distraction from his boredom. The lower imperials would not accept this way of life forever. They grew impatient and at last decided they would overthrow those who had towered over them for so long. Alas, their impatience proved to be too much. Instead of concocting a reasonable plan, they wanted to achieve their results as fast as possible. As they saw it, sheer force was the only way to do it. Drawn by their dark thoughts, an even darker presence approached the lowborn imperials. It whispered into their minds, it twisted their hearts, it played with their emotions. I can give you power, strength, cunning. I will usher in a new age where you will rise above all that oppose you. I will make them pay. It did indeed make them pay, but not in the way the lowborn expected. When the first imperial fell in battle, the darkness had all the tools it needed. The corpse rose from the ground, an undead monstrosity that soon gained additional heads as more dragons fell. An emperor had spawned, just as the darkness had planned. It tore a bloody swath through the land, destroying the clan that had lived there in ignorance for so long. Tidus saw all this from a distance and grinned with a tinge of insanity in his eyes. He had an idea. Imperials were the mightiest creatures in the world, just as his parents had told him, but not in the way they had meant. Their true power was twisted, evil...unstoppable. And if he were to harness that power, nothing could stop him. He could do whatever he desired. He would be the most powerful creature in the world, rivaling even the gods themselves. He could creature empires and tear them down in a single breath. All would fear him as death incarnate. With these thought in his mind, he called out to the darkness and welcomed its sweet embrace, never to look back at his fallen clan again. He had a greater purpose now. |
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Bio by LunarParadox
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The Shade was constantly whispering in Tidus’ ears now. But truly, it didn’t make much difference. It was only feeding on what had been there before. Boundless cruelty, contempt and scorn, for those whom he perceived as weak. He had been raised to believe that Imperials were the pinnacle of everything; and he, with his sun-touched scales, was practically a god. Practically, but not quite: He’d recently learned that there was something even greater than Imperials: Emperor dragons. The one that had devoured his clan was gone now, destroyed by the Icewarden’s accursed forces. But there would be other Emperors; Tidus himself would see to that. An army of undead monstrosities, powerful enough to rival even the gods. His clan’s territory had been expansive, and it took him many days to traverse it from end to end. He passed tumbled towers, lodges and halls... And corpses, dotting the ground like vast boulders. Snow had been falling steadily for the past several days, but it still failed to cover the bodies completely. Tidus barely gave them the briefest glance. None of them had that spark of power he was searching for. He found it eventually, though. One cold, leaden day, the Shade’s hunger found someone else to feed upon. Its voice hissed to Tidus, urging him to turn back. “There,” the Shade whispered. Its words were the crackle of snow, crunching beneath the footsteps of the approaching dragon. “Another Imperial,” Tidus realized, the warm glow of anticipation spreading through him. The other Imperial was young—nearly grown, or perhaps barely—and as dark as Tidus was bright. Rime thickly coated his scales, though it didn’t impede his movements. Flakes of frost drifted from his pupilless eyes. They were primal: a testament to how much potential he had. The power that lurked within him was as great as any an Emperor could wield. “Ah, youngling. This is an inauspicious place to meet,” Tidus rumbled as he approached. The other Imperial didn’t even pause. He continued stomping forward, his face dark with rage. “Get out of my way, old-timer. I haven’t got time to deal with you,” he muttered. |
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“‘Old-timer’? Mind your manners, child. This lair may have been destroyed, but it is still mine.” “Quit calling me a child!” Fury erupted suddenly from the youngling. The next instant, he was moving at a dead run, snow spraying up around him. His eyes were fixed on Tidus’ throat, his forelegs tensing up for a killing blow— His movements were graceless, almost clumsy. Clearly, he’d never known conflict—nothing more than playground tussles, perhaps. Tidus regarded him with calm contempt. He was much larger than the youngling, more experienced and better trained. And also more powerful. His first blow sent the black Imperial skidding into a snowdrift. There was a dull thump as the young wyrm connected with the corpse beneath. But in the next breath, he was on his feet again, his fury unabated. He charged Tidus down once more, bellowing in mindless rage. “That’s enough.” As the golden Imperial spoke, a tremendous wave of force ripped through the ground like an earthquake. It shook the snow off the ruins and the trees and drove straight into the dark Imperial. He convulsed as though electrocuted, then collapsed in the snow. As Tidus approached, one frost-rimmed eye opened, rolling around to glare balefully at him. “What’ll you do now—kill me?” he spat. The eye stared, unblinking, at the paw Tidus extended towards him. And then it did blink as the golden Imperial let out a low, amused chuckle. “Kill you? I think not. You have much potential, child, and it will grow into pure power...if it is molded correctly.” The paw rotated, now palm-up, and the claws crooked in a beckoning gesture. The younger Imperial stood up. Confusion and anger warred on his face, but there was something else—eagerness, Tidus saw, the urge to become stronger. Perhaps, indeed, to become an Emperor... “What is your name, youngling?” “Boreas.” The dark Imperial spat a cloud of frost. “And I’m not a youngling!” “I misspoke,” Tidus responded evenly. He allowed his face to settle into a smile. “You are Ice-born, as I am. Where is your clan? Are they nearby?” “I haven’t got a clan!” Boreas tossed his head proudly. He put a lot of disdain into the words, but there was a warning glint in his eyes. Tidus simply laughed again. “Neither do I—not anymore. Once, this clan was mine...” He looked at the destruction surrounding them. Boreas followed his gaze. For a split-second, it seemed as though he were noticing all the decay and destruction for the first time... “What happened here?” “They were weak.” Tidus’ voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “They could not contain the power they’d been granted. I intend to do better, and to wield it as I please. “A word of advice, young Boreas—you should aim to do the same. You have a great deal of potential, and it would be a shame to waste it in this unpopulated wilderness.” “Where else, then?” Boreas growled. And in that instant, Tidus knew the youngling was his. “I have somewhere else in mind,” he responded, looking towards the east. |
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Like Tidus, Boreas had been hatched and raised in the Southern Icefield. He had been taught to believe in his divine greatness; his parents, however, had been content to parade him around as a worthless bauble, and so his magic was undeveloped, untried and unrefined. “But you knew you were better than that, didn’t you, Boreas?” “That was why I left them.” Boreas’ eyes glinted with rage. Cold vapor puffed between his fangs as he snarled, “I should’ve killed them for that. How they humiliated me...!” “All in due time,” Tidus counseled him, and Boreas fell silent, though the icy clouds puffing from his nostrils attested to his rage. It had been weeks since they’d left the Southern Icefield. During this time, Tidus had used his charm and eloquence to bring Boreas into closer confidence. And the Shade had continued feeding upon both of them. There was now no doubt about how deeply it had taken root in Tidus. He had once been brilliant gold all over, aglow with splendor even in the bleakness of eternal winter. By now, however, the Shade’s rot had opened fissures of intense darkness along his spine. His wings had vanished beneath the same seething nothingness. What protruded instead from his back were tattered flanges and spikes. Dark vapors streamed endlessly from them, and while they looked frail, they were in fact strong enough to bear him aloft for days on end. The two Imperials had flown from the Southern Icefield and to the sun-baked expanse of the Scarred Wasteland. Tidus had always admired power. What better place to find it, he felt, than here? Where only the strongest were able—or dared—to survive. He and Boreas kept to the largely uninhabited wilds. Few clans could live here, and the dragons who saw the two Imperials sensed the dreadful hunger they carried, and retreated from view. But some were drawn to Tidus’ insidious strength. Brigands, murderers, torturers, and thieves. They came lumbering over the rocks or gliding out of the heat haze. Tidus welcomed them with honeyed words and warm smiles. They allowed themselves to be lulled by his voice, charmed into complacency by his splendor. “My friends,” Tidus greeted them—and he paused for a moment, allowing the lie to melt upon his tongue. He had never had friends, and in the past, he wouldn’t even have considered speaking to these disgusting, Plague-birthed lowlives. But seeing the imbecilic adoration on their faces made it all worth it. He permitted himself to smile, and then he continued— “My companion and I are newcomers here. Where might we find others of our kind?” Tidus had the vague idea of finding a clan of Imperials. He could insinuate himself among them, and eventually they would fall, consumed by the hunger he carried. They would not stay fallen, however. A few days, perhaps...and they would rise again, ready to do his bidding and conquer this putrid, pestilent land.... He had, however, overlooked the Plague dragons’ propensity for claiming the bones of the fallen as treasures. In this part of the Wasteland, clans frequently met each other in fierce battles that cost many lives. The bodies of the slain, including Imperials, were then picked apart by the victors, the skin and muscle burned away and the bones taken apart as trophies. “Emperors can’t rise from bones,” Tidus thought, a stab of irritation lancing through him. His face remained composed, however, and he beckoned the brigands closer. “Then tell me more, instead, about this land,” he commanded. The other dragons were only too glad to oblige him. Anything to win his favor. Perhaps he would be generous and share scraps of his power....Tidus sneered inwardly at this notion. They told him more about the Scarred Wasteland and the warriors who stalked its terrain. Tales about one of them caught the golden Imperial’s attention. |
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Her name was Valr, and the stories about her were invariably accompanied by warnings: Don’t try to steal from her. Always give her what she wants. Don’t challenge her to a duel. Maybe she’ll let you live. Maybe... “‘Maybe,’” Tidus mused aloud. He smiled again, but suddenly, to the other dragons, he didn’t seem as genial as before. “Shall we find out?” Tidus and his followers were frequently on the move, an ominous tide slithering over the Scarred Wasteland. When they did cease traveling, it was only temporary. Other dragons came to their camps, and when Tidus resumed his trek, they stumbled after him. They scarcely knew why—only that he had power, and that they had to crawl after it. Tidus gave some of them orders. When night fell, they flew away. And they returned at dawn, laden with gold and treasures, while behind them the smoke from their depredations stained the scarlet sky. Soon Tidus had amassed enough wealth for his purposes. And now he commanded his minions to deliver a message to Valr. They drew themselves up arrogantly and prepared to refuse— But to their horror, words that weren’t their own burbled up from their throats: “Yes, Lord Tidus. We’ll find the Skydancer for you. We will deliver your message...” “No!” they raged silently, for they knew that such a confrontation would lead to certain death. “No!” But even as their souls struggled, they felt their wings spreading, felt themselves lifting into the air....Above them, Tidus loomed, his laugh like a roll of thunder. They looked at him, and for the first and briefest instant, they saw through his noble bearing to the unrelenting cruelty beneath. Tidus’ minions scattered over the land. Many of them struggled on, driven by forces they didn’t comprehend. Even when their strength left them and they collapsed, starving and dry-mouthed, upon the desert sands, their jaws kept feverishly champing, repeating Tidus’ message over and over again. Others found Valr—or rather, she found them. The scavenger scorned companionship, and when these vacant-eyed dragons approached her, whispering her name, she slew them without a second thought. But still more messengers found Valr, and soon her patience grew thin. When the next group arrived, she dispatched all of them—save for one. The Coatl squirmed as she seized his throat in an iron grip. He was barely alive; his eyes glazed over as Valr leaned close to address him. “Who’s hunting me, worm?” “T...Tidus...” The Coatl exhaled a gurgling gasp. “Tidus, the Golden Lord, seeks you. He offers you power and treasure. His protection...the prestige of leading an army...” “He’s trying to buy me out, is he?” Valr spat. But even as she spoke, she remembered all the messengers she’d slain. She’d looted the bodies and sold their equipment herself—and many of the weapons and armor had turned out to be quite valuable. A sharp-toothed smile flashed across her face. If this Tidus could afford such well-equipped thugs, perhaps his offer of treasure was worth considering, after all. The Coatl pointed the way, and she took off, leaving him to grow cold in a pool of his own blood. |
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It did not take Valr long to track Tidus down. Word of the sinister Imperial had spread, and most dragons knew better than to approach him. But Tidus, too, had been gathering information about Valr, and he knew that she was driven primarily by greed. The lure of treasure was what drew her in; the actual sight of it was what convinced her to stay. She immediately proved herself when she came swaggering into the camp. By then, dozens of dragons had gathered around Tidus, and despite his unearthly charisma, he couldn’t completely suppress so many minds. There were always some at the edge of his awareness, nursing their own little schemes. Some of them were even foolish enough to confront Valr when she arrived. As their angry voices rose, Boreas strode out to investigate. “Who does she think she is?” he boomed, his eyes boring into the Skydancer. Tidus, who was watching the uproar from a nearby ledge, simply smiled. He already had a name in mind for this fierce, ruthless warrior. Marrow Marshal, he dubbed Valr, and with the title came responsibility. She dispatched the dragons who’d dared to challenge her, and the rest, she swiftly brought into line. With Valr managing the bulk of his army, Tidus had more time to concentrate on Boreas. The younger Imperial learned to harness—and unleash—his magic as he willed. He reveled in his newfound strength, and the Shade’s influence began to mold his appearance as well. When Tidus had first met him, he had been obviously young, even fresh-faced. Now, however, he was gaunt, and rivulets of pure coldness streamed from his eyes, leaving silver streaks across his body. Beneath his skin, ghastly lights flickered. Those who dared to look at him sometimes thought they could glimpse faces in the darkness, briefly superimposed over his wings and hide. “The potential to become an Emperor...It grows every day,” Tidus thought. But he was not wholly satisfied. Boreas showed much promise, and Valr’s ruthlessness made her a capable administrator, but the rest of his army was...lacking. He wanted—no, needed more than just faceless brigands. The army soon moved on. As it did, Valr ranged farther afield, searching for other followers. Many of these failed to pass her standards, and she returned to camp with her feathers spattered anew with blood. Others were presented to Tidus. Most of the time, they were beneath his notice, and Valr could fold them into the camp or dispose of them as she wished. Those who particularly displeased him were given to Boreas to be dispatched. “We should encamp near the exalts’ training barracks. Plenty of new blood there, and some of them find that they’re happier chasing after gold than glory.” “I will decide where we’ll encamp next, Marshal,” Tidus rumbled. Privately, he thought Valr’s suggestion had merit—but it had plenty of pitfalls as well. Exalt camps were too close to the gods’ domains, for a start. Tidus didn’t fear the gods, but neither was he foolish, and he knew that if the Plaguebringer was alerted to his presence and designs, he would be destroyed. The thought of being crushed, without even being able to put up a fight, rankled him. “Or perhaps, Marshal, that’s exactly what you prefer? To see me slain, and all my gold for your taking...” Valr regarded him coldly for a moment, unaware of his thoughts. When next she spoke, her voice was gruff, almost abrupt. “Brought in some new blood today.” “And is there anybody you particularly favor?” “Some of them aren’t completely worthless,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “There’s a Plague-born whelp among the bunch. Name’s Cabal, and he was looking for us specifically.” |
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“Oh?” Tidus arched an eyeridge. Valr’s mane bristled. “I need an extra pair of hands, Tidus. Your army’s a mess of slobs, and I can’t be everywhere at once—if you’d come down off your cloud long enough to glance at the rest of us puny mortals, you’d notice that. Cabal’s young, and he’s got energy. I need an assistant.” “I’ll be the judge of that,” Tidus reminded her. Valr stormed off, and he mulled things over. Again, he had to admit that the Marshal was right: his growing band needed more overseers. Perhaps it would be better to let her take on this Cabal as an apprentice. “Or I can hand him over to Boreas,” he thought with a grim smile. “He’s still a child, really. He needs more people to play with...and he goes through the ones I give him so quickly.” But when the young Cabal was ushered into his presence, even he had to pause. Was there power there? In terms of magic, it was difficult to tell. What Cabal did have was hatred and rage—so much of it, deeply rooted into his soul, that without his anger, he might as well have been catatonic. The smile he flashed Tidus was rakish, almost impudent—but there was steel in his fiery eyes. “Perhaps this, more than anything, is what we need.” Boreas’ magical aptitude was certainly impressive, and so was Valr’s prowess—but there were other kinds of power, Tidus had learned. This young one could also be molded into something far greater: another living weapon, loyal to Tidus alone. “He is ours now,” he told Valr, and this time, his smile was almost genuine. Perhaps they didn’t even need dead Imperials and undead Emperors to challenge the gods. All they needed was hatred, cruelty, and fury, and the Shade would devour them all. |
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written by Disillusionist, code and assets by Owari26
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