Morbus (#26209432)
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
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Familiar

Valorous Cape
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Energy: 46/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Pearlcatcher
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Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Measurements

Length
6.46 m
Wingspan
4.77 m
Weight
649.14 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Garnet
Iridescent
Secondary Gene
Garnet
Shimmer
Tertiary Gene
Sanguine
Thylacine

Hatchday

Hatchday
Aug 15, 2016
(5 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Eye Type
Plague
Common
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
6
MND
7

Biography

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In the dawn of my hatchling days us little ones would gather in the warm sinew of the nest and the elders would tell us stories. My mother’s tail would curl around us and we would tangle together in its coils, listening to the tales of heroes and hardships, trials and tragedies, and so learn the lessons that would guide us along Plaguebringer’s path.

This is not one of those tales. There is no lesson to be learned here. Not all stories are meant to be told

You have asked me—countless times it seems—to tell you my history, and always I have denied you, with a look, or a careful turning of my head. You have been persistent: ‘Where do you come from? What are the shadows I see flickering behind your eyes?’ each question driven by a Spiral’s boundless curiosity. But I did not answer and you never pressed me, and for that I love you more than you can ever know.

Because when I think back on the shames of my past, the foul and rotting corpse that is my story, I think it is far better to let the monstrous thing rot. Let the dust of years bury it so that it might not trouble another. I couldn’t bear to see that disgust in your eyes.

But now you ask me one more time and, when I look back, I see not the corpse but the color of your scales when they are made rosy by the light of dusk. I see your claws held in mine, so sharp but so gentle as they curl around my palm. I see the smile that you try to hide behind scraps of linen, but which you never hide from me. My story is nothing but betrayal and senseless pain, or at least it was… until you.

I was born on the Rotrock Rim, first of five siblings. My parents loved us, but this is a harsh land that we call home, and so to prepare us for its hardships they loved us as the raptorik loves its chicks, pushing us from the nest so that we might better learn to fly.

They would lead us into the wastes and watch us tumble about the jagged spines of onyx and the slime of tendrils as if they were banks of snow. But I was oldest and they counted on me to keep the younger ones from harm. This I was glad to do, just as I was glad to tend to the elders and play with the hatchlings while their parents were on the hunt. My heart grew soft with caring and I grew weak.


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My weakness did not go unnoticed.

As we grew from hatchlings into young dragons it became clear that my parents expected us to choose the warrior’s path. They would talk daily about the glory to be had fighting at Plagebringer’s side in the endless epidemic and how proud they would be to know we were counted among Her ranks. As with my siblings I took to this future with enthusiasm, yet there were times that I felt my dedication waver: when a youngling came to me to heal a damaged paw, or after an old one’s look of gratitude when I eased their suffering. I couldn’t decide between making wounds, or healing them. Mine wasn’t a warrior’s soul.

Then came the day that I followed my errant siblings to the Wyrmwound. I knew it was forbidden for the young and untrained to go near, but a part of me wanted to see its glories for myself. Secretly I hoped for some sign, some message, to tell me what to do, what decision to make. It is true when they say to be careful what you wish for. Plaguebringer answered my prayers.

We had fought our way through the toxic fumes that shroud the lip of the Wyrmwound and finally found ourselves clinging to its edge, staring down into the roiling viscera of red and orange that stretched as far as the eye can see. I was mesmerized, shuffling forward as if drawn by an irresistible force, feeling the rising waves of sulfurous heat surround me like the Plaguebringer’s embrace. Then I heard the scream. My brother had lost his footing and slipped over the edge, his feet dangling above the glowing cauldron. I raced over at once. The pup was from a clutch born several years after my own and his wings had not fully formed. I grabbed hold of his neck crest and yelled for my sister to get help.

She was the quickest of us, the surest flier, but it seemed an age as I fought the acidic vapors and the pull of my brother’s weight. I wasn’t strong enough to pull him out by myself and so I could only dig in my claws and listen to his wails of pain and terror. My weak, traitor heart trembled at his cries. His suffering became my suffering. It was more than I could bear.

Finally I could endure it no longer. The Plaguebringer teaches us to survive at all cost, to struggle, overcome, and grow stronger. Self-sacrifice is an anathema to Her: ‘Let the strong spread and the weak perish.’ I knew this, yet I shifted my weight, swinging my brother back and forth, using the momentum to fling him to safety even as it tore me from my perch and down into the depths. I tumbled head over tail, trying to right myself and spread my wings, but the hot air buffeted me like a leaf in a whirlwind and I grew so dizzy from the poisonous vapors that I could barely tell up from down.

I expected to feel fear, but it wasn’t fear that overcame me as I dropped into the Wyrmwound’s acidic waters. Instead I felt… eagerness. ‘This is my trial’, I thought as the liquid plague engulfed me. ‘Plaguebringer will spare me and accept me as Her own.’ That is when the pain hit. I screamed, feeling the agony wash around my chest and spray into my face. The last thing I remember is sharp claws digging into my back and lifting me from the waters as all else went black.

Finally opening my eyes I found myself well back from the place where I fell. My father hovered above me, face filled with concern as he turned me over. And that’s when it happened.
Sclerosis, my love, I have never admitted this to anyone before, but the look in my father’s eye… the moment when concern turned to disgust… that moment will haunt me till the end of my days.

At the time it barely registered. The pain still engulfed me, and looking down I watched my flesh melt away before my very eyes. Plaguebringer had answered my plea by branding me with her disfavor. She had rejected me. It was clear that my family realized it as well. They drew back from me even as I cried out for them, begging them to help me, heal me. My siblings flinched away from my touch, my father yanking them back as if I were a threat; Me, his eldest son. And then they fled, as if my disfigurement was catching. They left me there. Alone. It was too much. Unconsciousness claimed me once more.








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But darkness did not bring relief. That was a voice waiting for me, hissing and full of malice. “You have barely escaped, little one,” it said. “But have no fear, for you will live. Whether it is a blessing or a curse will be up to you.” Then there was no more. Whether it was Plaguebringer handing down her sentence or my own broken subconscious I will never know.

Upon waking I saw that I had become what I am now: a monstrosity. I remembered my family fleeing from me, but in my hysteria I hoped it had been a nightmare, or a delusion brought on by pain. I made my slow way back to my parent’s lair, with every footfall praying the memory was wrong. But even as I neared the outskirts of my home I could sense the emptiness. There was no movement, no smells from the evening fire, no hunting songs from the hunters dressing their kills. Only my father was there, waiting for me. His hackles rose as soon as he caught sight of me. He told me not to come near, to leave; he told me that no dragon rejected by Plaguebringer was welcome in his family. He told me that I was a monster.

In that moment of fear, pain, and helplessness I felt something foreign come over me. Something malevolent and vicious. It wanted my father’s blood, to tear him apart for his rejection. It was ugly and evil and my father saw it in my eyes. He shrank away from me once more and the evil bled from me as if a dagger had found my heart. I turned and fled.

I don’t remember much of what followed after. I wandered the Plague lands, finding food and water where I could. I lived like an animal, without thought or purpose. I walked, and I survived.
And then, one morning, I saw You.

I am ashamed to say that I saw your plight as nothing more than entertainment at first, and not the salvation that it would ultimately prove to be. I didn’t lift a claw as those pearl catchers surrounded you; I had lost the ability to care. My weak heart had shriveled and become a stone. And then they called you a monster.
You must remember what happened next better than I. A red haze filled my mind. The vicious thing that had wanted to destroy my father slipped free at last. When I finally came back to myself again a pearl catcher lay dead at my feet and you were staring at me.

We both looked away at once, I remember that. I didn’t want to see that disgust again in another’s eyes. I was afraid it would unleash the evil within me once more. I expected you to flee, as all the rest did, but then you asked me who I was.
At first I was shocked, but then decided you must not have gotten a good look at me. I was gruff; I wanted you to leave. Finally I turned around, expecting to scare you off at last. But you weren’t even looking at me. You stood with eyes downcast, as if you were ashamed. The thought amused me; as if anyone else could be ashamed of their appearance while standing in front of me. I took a moment to look you over, your bare flesh and oozing linens, I told you that you looked interesting, not realizing yet how important you would one day become.

You looked at me with disbelief, but instead of disgust the expression changed to consideration. “And you look like a bloody mess,” you said, but you said it with a smile.

At a loss, all I could do was smile back. “How about we walk some time together?” I said.

And we did.










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One can only control so much. Rage, red as blood, red as roses, fills the vision of a dragon so tormented by himself that he's long since forgotten what it is like to feel-- there is no anger and no fear, only disgust. It is worse, somehow. The sun sets quickly in the Wasteland, and purples mix with golds and reds, a bright bruise across the quieting sky. There may be rage and resentment and bitterness, but mercifully, there will always be love.
by shanncrafter


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Exalting Morbus 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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