Leucoss » Hibernal Den » Chaac

Chaac

(#253360)

Level 25 Ridgeback

Familiar

Lightning Sprite

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

22.69 m

Wingspan

12.73 m

Weight

8528.12 kg

Genetics

Slate
Iridescent

Fire
Shimmer

Emerald
Circuit

Hatchday

Jul 26, 2013
(10 years)

Breed

Adult
Ridgeback

Eye Type

Lightning
Common

Level 25 Ridgeback

Max Level

STR

115

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Ezar
Schnei

Offspring

Biography

"Hello, my dear."

"Uncle," Chaac replied curtly. She wasn't there to make conversation. She looked at the golems taking form on a table. Disconnected wires were hanging from unfinished limbs, but they were going to be beautiful creations one day, she could already see it. "Your workshop is coming along well."

"Yes." He was smiling sweetly, looking at his creation on the table. "Shall we get to work?"

The workshop was amazing.

Chaac observed the Scrapmetal Tracker running around the room, chronometer balanced somewhat precariously in one large claw. The robot lacked consistency in the time it needed to find the hidden metal scraps. It made it eerily similar to a living tracker.

A loud clang from behind made her jump. The clock stopped - she had pressed it involuntarily.

"What is it now?" she asked, looking at her uncle. He stared at her, then at the tracker, who had apparently found the piece of metal it was seeking.

"The times are not precise enough."

Chaac laughed. "But of course. No machine can ever be that precise."

"This one will," the older dragon whispered, then returned to working on his creations.

"Are you ready, dear?" he asked. Chaac nodded, eyes unwavering.

Having bionics implanted to her arms was a chance she couldn't pass up. She would be able to better contribute to the workshop, become a superior engineer. Have the precision of a machine. Have an everlasting body, that would never fail.

The implants were just the beginning, and they both knew it.

"Very well, then." He smiled. "Let's begin!"

Sixty-six seconds - again.

The tracker, ultimately, had grown to have an established time. It would take exactly sixty-six seconds to get to the location once it had a track of the metal. The time should be enhanced, Chaac thought, and could see that her uncle was thinking the same.

"We should make that sixty," he said. She nodded, and called the robot back. Precision. Six seconds less for an even minute. It had to be done.

The Workshop was like a living thing. It breathed, even though the creations technically couldn't. But after spending so much time there, Chaac finally understood. Her uncle’s creations were as mechanical as a machine could possible be, and still they were more. They were exact, they were infallible, yet there was no denying their life.

It was evident - in the trackers, wagging their mechanical tails each time they retrieved the metal they were programmed to find; the miths that silently stood guard or carried out tasks, with the spark of sentience in their eyes; the lumens and volts that seemed to joyfully run amok. And, most irrefutably, in the golems that housed elemental spirits, each with their quirks, their variations of speech - despite sharing the same basic circuitry, the same monotonous voice.

The Workshop lived.

But the Architect of the Workshop still wasn't satisfied. He sought greater heights. Stormcatcher Himself couldn't ask for more, but he would give it. The Workshop's creations outshone anything in the Shifting Expanse, but Stormcatcher was keeping something from him. If he could not have it at the Workshop, he would leave this place to Chaac and take his place at Tempest Spire.

Stormcatcher had no place waiting for him, was angered by the Architect's presumption. When he awoke at the foot of the Spire, it was like all his remaining years had passed in the clap of a single thunderbolt.

"Are you sure you want to do this, my dear?" Her uncle’s voice was raspy and slow.

Chaac nodded.

"You remember the risks and the consequences, do you?"

She nodded again. "Hurry up."

Her uncle smiled. It gave her chills, his face so starkly aged since she had seen him last, only days earlier, but she ignored them. Nothing more than nerves from knowing what was coming, nothing that won't be taken care of soon enough.

She didn’t know what of her memories, her identity, would remain after the transfer. But she would complete the job. Become a machine.

Everlasting and infallible. She would give up her body, become part of the Workshop. Uncle's last and greatest achievement. The Workshop needed a guardian, someone to watch over it and care for the creatures. Not a dragon, who could be swayed by decadent mortal whims, who could turn their back on this essential duty. No, she wouldn’t risk it.

"Then let us begin. I assure you this won't hurt a bit."

Chaac nodded.

He started working on the wires on the back of her head first. He hadn't lied - it didn't hurt. She took a deep breath.

"Breathe as regularly as you can," the older engineer said. She did as he bade her.

Her uncle moved to the implants on her chest.

"I'm going to stop your heart now." His smiling face looked somehow sinister, with the darkness closing in around it. "When you wake, you will be perfect."

Chaac held her breath slightly longer than intended. A numbness was steeling over her, accompanied by a growing fear. She could hear it now, her heart beat slowing. She could swear she saw worry on the normally impassive faces of the mith who had become her friends. And still her uncle was smiling.

She was afraid. She opened her mouth, took a breath to speak, without knowing what to say. But before she could make a sound, the world turned black.

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Chaac to the service of the Arcanist 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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