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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.13 m
Wingspan
6.11 m
Weight
602.43 kg
Genetics
Antique
Skink
Skink
Sanguine
Spinner
Spinner
Terracotta
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
105
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
33
INT
7
VIT
16
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
Wehrleader Morvale Harbinger Demoness  |
LANTHANUM the Blood Fyre
VICIOUSNESS AND VICTORY
The Wehr was restless. Bloodlust thrummed through the camp like a heartbeat, heavy and insistent. Weeks had passed since the last skirmish; the anticipation had reached a tipping point, and the restless edge that had settled over the encampment was brought to a head. At the base of the barren hill, crowned in teeth of jagged stone, that formed the epicentre of the battlecamp, the majority of the Wehr had congregated without reason or prompt. They now waited, uncharacteristically subdued, lacking the brawlings and vicious disputes that normally sprung up before the presence of the Wehrleader called them to attention. But she had not summoned them to this gathering. “You’re not starring in the show, then?” Her sister’s acerbic words bit at the back of Morwyn’s neck. She turned, hiding any surprise at Corinne’s sudden and silent appearance beneath a smooth smirk. “Must be so bitter to be my constant understudy, little sister.” In a rare display of self restraint, Corinne chose to ignore the taunt, her gaze instead flowing over the crowd beyond them as she threw back a barbed, but civil, reply. “How unlike you to share the spotlight, sister dearest.” Morwyn frowned, following her sister’s gaze to the empty hill. Rumoured to once have housed a sacred site in the age of the Gods, the Morvale Wehrleader had chosen it for her seat of rule for the power that infused the ruins. It ran beneath the surface of the visible world, twining in leylines that, to Morwyn, glowed behind her vision in rusted light. They pulsed and convulsed tonight, writhing in eagerness for the blood to be spilled. “Those who step to the stage this eve shall find no glory there,” she concluded, careful to keep her tone as disinterested as her sibling’s habitual lack of affect. This neutral ground between them was unfamiliar territory; Morwyn could count on one taloned hand the civil conversations they had shared in the last decade. Corinne historically did not take well to taunts, yet somehow this innocuous version of her bitter little sister seemed to Morwyn far more sinister than the temperamental child who threw fists and tantrums. Perhaps we’re growing up, she thought fondly. As though sensing the sudden surge of affection from her sister, Corinne leaned away and sighed, her nose crinkling in a display of distaste. “She’ll make a spectacle of it, no doubt.” Morwyn shrugged. “Everyone loves a good bloodsport.” A shift of gossamer silk; Corinne flicked her head in a dramatic incline. She was spared the scathing comment Morwyn had for her over it; both siblings’ attentions were drawn sharply to the commotion starting amongst their Wehrmates. “Mother’s arrived,” Corinne announced, her tone shifting low, gentled with a dangerous softness. “Oh good,” was Morwyn’s ardent reply. “ I was getting bored.” Silence fell upon the crowd, born of fear and awe as they parted before the slim figure, like minnows to the shark. She was not great of height or stature, but the power of which she possessed was unmistakeable. One by one, warrior, Berserker, and demon alike bowed to her passing. She all but glowed with the intensity, her steps sure with purpose, her noble posture unwavering and unforgiving. Behind her the mantle of her cloak rolled and spun, a star trail of dark energy. Both siblings felt, rather than observed, her focus shift onto them, but as swiftly as it had fallen across them it was gone once more. Morwyn shivered, catching Corinne's matching shudder out of the corner of her eye, and not for the first time wondered who on this mortal plane would ever be foolish enough as to Challenge their mother for leadership of the Morvales. What mere mortal could ever hope to stand before the woman who had bent to her will all of Hell?  “They called themselves the Morvales; raiders, come from the North. Out of the charred wastes, they swept down like the firestorms of that ruined place, slaughtering indiscriminately, killing and shattering the last holds of the peaceful wehrs. It’s said, in hushed whispers, that they’re lead by a Demon of the Old Age, a sorceress of powerful blood magic under a banner of black and bloody rust. Behind her fights a legion of berserkers and demons, leaving in their wake only death.” Much mystery surrounds the ruthless Morvale Wehrleader. Out of the power vacuum left by the dissolution of the Eris Wehr after the War of the Redeemer, she rose to abrupt power, seemingly out of nowhere. Followed by a small but brutal band of warriors, she carved a path of blood and gore out of an already-scarred land. Her warriors fought with such bloodlust and reckless abandon that rumours quickly spread through the few peaceful wehrs still roaming free. They called her a demon, a witch, a monster. Lanthanum is all these things and more. Aided by the Dissonance caused by the death of the Celestial Martyr, the powerful Demoness tore her way through the veil between worlds. Freed from the confines that held her bound to Hell, she now seeks to assert her birthright and ascend to the Godhood promised her. She will achieve her goals by any means necessary - even if this means she has to summon every demon in Hell to her cause. With each passing day, her army grows in strength. Already she has called to her service the fealty of several of Hell’s most powerful Lords, bringing with them the hordes of lesser demons that serve at their command. Her eldest daughter, Morwyn, is the most powerful Blood Mage to have been born to the mortal realm in well over a thousand years, while her younger daughter Corinne is likewise the most powerful Blood Singer. Aware of both her daughters’ talents, as well as their rivalry, she observes the growing schemes between them with amusement - though an intervention may be necessary to keep the silly girls from accidentally interfering with her own designs. Charismatic as she is cunning, she leads by awe and fear, commanding respect through her power and her presence.  |
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