Apophys
(#28835292)
Level 1 Bogsneak
Familiar
Assassin Bug
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Bogsneak
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
8.22 m
Wingspan
6.09 m
Weight
621.74 kg
Genetics
Lapis
Petals
Petals
Iris
Butterfly
Butterfly
Gloom
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Bogsneak
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
7
INT
6
VIT
7
MND
6
Biography
NOT FOR SALE, TRADE, OR LENDING
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Apophys
Nickname: Apep ♥ a gift from Karmatose 
The Crocodile's Long Dream
(written by Disillusionist)
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When he was a small child, he looked into a deep pool and saw only darkness. In the blink of an eye, it consumed him.
His father was a scholar, and together with the rest of the clan, they did all they could to save him. A dreaded word welled up out of their discussions: Shade. The young Bogsneak had been possessed by the Shade. It was but a fragment of the greater entity, and occasionally it released him long enough for him to see the rest of the world in brief, flickering snapshots. His two younger siblings were separated from him and then sent to other clans -- probably for their own protection. Somewhere along the way, as he grew up, his mother disappeared. He didn't know what had happened to her, but he suspected the worst.
Eventually, he forgot his name, too. He clung to it, but it quickly slipped away....What he remembers best is the hunger: day and night, gnawing at his belly, until he writhed in pain and lost consciousness. His flashes of awareness were punctuated by blood caking his claws, his hide. Dragon blood. Other dragons' blood. He remembers the taste of it like a sword in his mouth: as hot and sharp as steel.
Yet despite all that, his clan tended carefully to him. He was locked away but not maltreated, fed and watered regularly. His father sometimes spoke to him, telling him how his siblings and the rest of his clan were doing. Sometimes he could even reply.
But as he grew, so did his strength, until his clan could no longer contain him. They hadn't been idle in the interim, though. They had continued their research on the Shade fragment inside his belly. Though they'd determined there was yet no way to remove it without destroying him, there were hints that in time, a breakthrough would be made and a full cure discovered. In the meantime, his curse could be mitigated.
With the help of other dragons, his clan spun a magical binding for him. It was a deep blue linen wrap, unobtrusive against his scales, and imbued with potent magic. It was his father who placed it upon him -- the older Bogsneak had blinked nearsightedly through his glasses and held the sash aloft. "You need to keep fighting, too, son," he murmured before wrapping the cloth around his offspring's neck and snout.
The Shade within him recognized the spell. It burned with rage and the young Bogsneak battered at the bars of his cage until he finally escaped. His clan didn't give chase. They had done everything they could. All they could do was hope....
The enchanted bindings grew as he did. They held his mouth mostly shut, so that he could only filter in food through his teeth. Small pieces of food. Inconsequential items. Before he had been captured and bound, he had rampaged indiscriminately, ravaging anything unlucky enough to fall into his path. The blood had fueled him as coal fuels a fire: the more he'd eaten, the more he'd raged. But now his supply of food and fuel had been severely curtailed. And so he became sluggish, sleeping at the bottoms of rivers or murky lakes. The deeper and darker they were, the better: the Shade within him loathed light and did its best to drag him away from it.
He recognized this, somehow. Even in his half-sleeping state, he sought out the light. He swam to it until darkness overtook him. The enchantment woven into his bindings helped fight against the Shade, too. Sleeping or waking, he was always hungry, but the enchantments gave him wonderful dreams, so that even when he was asleep, we wasn't writhing and growling in pain.
He slowly forgot his clan. His siblings' and mother's faces faded away, and so did his father's, until his strongest memories of the old Bogsneak were of the gleam of his eyeglasses...and those words: "Keep fighting, son."
He forgot the touch of spring breezes and falling leaves. He forgot the gleam of sunlight and the dance of a crackling fire. The Shade fragment in his belly sought to purge all his memories of love and light -- but for all that, it was just a fragment....It couldn't swallow up the the world. It couldn't swallow up everything.
The hunger was particularly strong at night. He would rise to the surface to feed -- and then fasten his eyes upon the heavens, where the stars shone. "Keep fighting," he always said to himself. "You keep fighting." Some nights he was unsuccessful and crawled out to hunt small creatures. But sometimes he won and returned to slumber beneath the waves. When he went to sleep unsatisfied, his best dreams were always of the night sky. Something about it was very calming. He couldn't fly, but he dreamed of gliding across the heavens like a kite, unfettered and free.
He was deemed a menace, and soon many dragons banded together to drive him away. He could have slaughtered them, but his enchanted bindings saved him. They gave him clarity, and rather than giving in to his hunger and rage, he turned away. He dove into the river and followed it downstream.
The dragons that'd chased him away were dismayed. They had wanted to kill him, not out of malice, but because they'd realized he was dangerous. They sent out word that he was still at large. Other clans took heed, spreading the warning up and down the river, letting it be known that there was a monster on the loose.
He was now hunted as well as hungry. He threw himself deeper into his dreams. They were his only solace -- and it seemed that they grew more and more vivid as time passed. He slithered across the sky and peered down on the clans below him. He saw the lights of their fires, and something within him burned. He wanted that, too. He'd lain underwater for so long; he wanted to feel warm again. And now, within him, a new hunger grew -- not hunger for food, but for companionship. For warmth.
He descended from the starry heavens. He entered dragons' lairs and slithered around them as they worked. He saw their possessions and food. But he could never actually touch any of it. He was a dream-spirit, invisible, unseen. More than once he tried to put food into his mouth. He stepped into the fire and pretended he could feel it. When it became too frustrating for him, he glided away. He sought out quieter places. He drifted towards the seashore, where waves crashed against the sand, and found the mouth of the river he'd been following. He now followed it back inland and studied its course as it meandered through the Hewn City. Were there any dragons here? Perhaps there were, hidden in the bogs, dreaming of other things.
This part of the Hewn City, where it merged with the sea, became another favored haunt. He hovered above it on nights when he couldn't stand to see other dragons enjoying themselves. Here, he looped endlessly through the glittering sky.
One night, he drifted back to the Hewn City to find that a great change had taken place: a building had appeared. He had in fact seen it some days prior, creaking and wobbling across the land. It had been accompanied by a clan of dragons, all breeds and sizes, in search of a new home. They hadn't wanted to leave the actual lair behind, and so they had taken it with them. And they had planted it here. Like a seed taking root in the marshy soil, it would grow, over time.
As he watched, lights glowed from deep within the building. He heard the dragons calling out to each other, their roars and their songs. Machines clanked and electricity hummed as the lair came back to life.
His first thought was to flit away and find a new place to haunt, but something tugged him back. "I have missed this," he thought again -- and deep below him, in his sleep, his body stirred. "I have hidden away for too long...."
He was beginning to wake up. Dawn stained the east. The sky began to glow blue, and as his body warmed, he felt his spirit falling out of the sky. "I will continue heading towards the sea...." he reminded himself, before his soul rejoined his body and the Shade within him woke. The crocodile's eyes opened, and he loosed a guttural roar.
He churned through the waters as he swept downstream. It was the Shade fragment that drove him on now. He swam and swam, blind and roaring, dragging himself through mud and debris.
The clan of the Disillusionists, which had made their new home between the river and the sea, had heard of this menace. They had gathered information from other clans and had consulted among themselves. When the crocodile finally raised himself from the waters as dusk fell, they were ready.
They lured him out of the water with the promise of food, and they attacked. There were over threescore of them, all converging upon him. They lassoed his limbs, tail, and neck. They threw a net over him. He rolled around in the dirt to free himself, but only succeeded in entangling himself further. When he flipped onto his back, the bindings tightened -- the one around his jaws almost choked the breath out of him. Suddenly he couldn't move. He thrashed his tail and hissed.
They had doused him in light again and again during the battle. His vision, such as it was, was still extremely blurry. Shapes moved closer: dark, pale, and bright. The Disillusionists started to speak....
"What's wrong with him? Is he rabid?"
"Dragons don't get rabies, not like this -- and anyway, you saw him. He was in the water."
"Remember what the other clans said about him being cursed. He's under some sort of spell...."
"Could it have anything to do with that sash around his mouth?"
A dragon crept closer. Pink hide, pink eyes. The pink eyes blinked, and the Shade fragment, anticipating freedom, lowered its eyelids. It did its best to make its host appear peaceable and harmless.
But the Arcane mage wasn't fooled. "It's a restraint -- very strong. A product of many elements working in tandem." He turned back to his fellows. "Whatever is being bound is quite dangerous as well."
The dark blue Guardian was stumped. "So someone tried to kill him?"
"I wouldn't put it past them or blame them, sir."
"Neither would I," muttered another Guardian, a bright white one. "Shades, even fragments, are not something one should take lightly."
He had been discovered! The Shade fragment hissed and bucked, trying to flip upright. The dragons scattered away, but the bindings held firm, and all the great crocodile could do was thrash back and forth. He waggled his stubby limbs as if he were an upended beetle. He was certainly just as clumsy. And very, very vulnerable....
The tethers tightened. Suddenly the crocodile was stretched out taut upon the mud. He couldn't move.
The stars wheeled overhead, and suddenly there was another dragon blocking his view. A Mirror. Iridescent glints sparkled along her crystal body, and her blue eyes narrowed as she peered at him.
"Are the healers ready?"
"They'd better be," murmured the lady Mirror. She held up a paw tipped with fearsome talons. "This is going to be messy."
And with that, she struck, her talons driving deep into the crocodile's hide. Into the soft scales of his belly.
He roared. He tried to haul himself free, but couldn't -- the Disillusionists knew their business, and the ropes held him tight. The sash around his snout contracted so that his roar choked off into a whimper.
And for the first time in many years, the world started to clear. It was no longer fuzzy and overcast, no....
It was red. As deep and red as blood....
It was a familiar color. He had seen it on his own claws before.
He had one final thought -- "This is just." -- before a deep, unbroken blackness wrapped around his mind.
A few dragons were cleaning up the gory mess from last night, and couriers were sent to the clans that had warned them about the crocodile. Their message: The crocodile was no more.
He lay where he had fallen, still bound, a huge slit open in his belly. Four dragons had stayed with him: the glittering Arcane mage, a Wildclaw engineer with crackling skin, and a deep red Skydancer and a Spiral. The Skydancer and Spiral soon took their leave. The engineer had set up a peculiar contraption that started with a huge, umbrella-like projection over the crocodile. Ice-blue light beamed down from it, bathing him in cold energy. The rest of the machine snaked back across the ground and deep into the lair. It looked as though it'd been clapped together in a hurry.
"He wake up yet?"
"I think so." The Arcane Spiral blinked sleepily. "That is, there doesn't seem to be any trace of the Shade left in him, or so the ladies said."
The Wildclaw looked back at the Skydancer and other Spiral. Their deep red skin blended with the blood that caked their forepaws, made it less obvious. He shivered violently.
The sun rose higher. Soon it was blazing down upon the land. The gore had been cleaned away, and shortly before noon, the healers came back. They washed the frozen crocodile and expertly sewed up his belly. Then they ordered a basin of water. The red Spiral fluttered away, droplets of water falling from her forepaws, while the Skydancer sedately stood back. "All right, then," she began, "let us wake him up again."
His recovery was slow and painful, but not as agonizing as it would've been for others -- for while the first thing he noticed was the pain in his belly, it was different from the gnawing hunger that had possessed him before. This pain was like fire, and it throbbed along with with his heart. It was a clean, good pain. An honest pain. Not some illusion that drove him to kill. By this, he knew he was free.
He could barely move -- his possession and the final fight had taken a lot out of him. His hosts soon moved him to the lower part of the lair, where there were cool, dark catacombs and there was next to no noise. Here, he slept and healed peacefully. It was not long before he was well enough to eat and drink. He was kept in a secure cell, and food and water were left for him. Occasionally, when he woke up, he noticed that his wounds had been tended. His hosts were putting him to sleep so they could tend him in safety. He didn't mind.
He had his first conversation several weeks after he'd arrived. He woke up and saw a plate of food set beside him: meat and vegetables. He ate delicately, almost gently, and it was some time before he noticed the dark blue Guardian standing just beside the door.
"Are you well?" the Guardian asked. His voice was soft and husky, and he looked like an immense blue shadow. The Bogsneak's own voice, when he answered, was raspy and creaky from lack of use. It grated like an unoiled hinge as he replied, "Tolerably, sir."
The Guardian relaxed. "That's good. I mean, it really is. We very nearly killed you when you first came here."
The Bogsneak grunted, not trusting himself to reply.
"Do you know what we did to you?"
His brow furrowed. "Did I...fight you?"
"I would hardly call it a fight." The Guardian shifted uneasily. "We knew you were coming. We ambushed you. We soon realized you were acting the way you were because there was a Shade fragment in your belly....It's not really that uncommon. We've heard stories from other clans before....
"So we opened you up and we took the Shade fragment out of your belly. We dispelled it by the light of the rising sun."
"What happened to me?" the Bogsneak asked. Something felt...weird....
"We kept you alive with some technomancy. Our engineer has a device that can temporarily halt time, and he and our Arcane ambassador turned it upon you right before you would've expired. We sort of baked you in the sun to make sure any remaining Shade residue would be burned away, and then we sewed you up again. Oh..." And the Guardian cocked his head. "There was something wrapped around your mouth when you first appeared, but after the Shade was extracted from you, it loosened and dropped off. It, erm, seemed to realize it wasn't needed anymore. That's how we knew it was safe to approach you again."
The linen wrap. That was it. He'd grown up with it around his mouth, and it felt weird now that it was gone. The Bogsneak looked around....And it was there on his other side, as fresh and clean-looking as it'd been the day his father had placed it upon him.
His father. His gentle, intelligent father. Where was he now?
"Do you have a name?" The Guardian was asking him. "I am Nachtstreiter, or Nacht for short. What is your name?"
He was no longer a threat, and he was encouraged to exercise. With some exceptions, he had full run of the catacombs. He glided through the passages as silently as he had once glided through rivers and lakes, and more than once he startled other dragons who had come down here for errands. There were always surprised exclamations and then they skittered away, but he was never threatened or harmed.
He soon began to familiarize himself with the other inhabitants of the catacombs. There was a black Imperial who watched from a distance with fiery eyes. She never tried to approach him and one day, after following her, he almost blundered headlong into a pool of deep, icy water. He recoiled, shuddering from unpleasant memories, and then gawped as the water started to gurgle. He fled the mattamore before the dragon slumbering in the water woke up and roared at him to go away.
After a while, he became aware that there was another Bogsneak in the catacombs aside from him. He saw her a few times, watching warily with bright yellow eyes, but she always lumbered away when he tried to get closer. He later asked Nachtstreiter about it. Lord Nachtstreiter was one of the few dragons who voluntarily stopped to talk with him. The blue Guardian told him, "That would be Taueret. You're correct; at the moment, she is the only other Bogsneak in this lair."
"Is it all right if I speak to her?"
"There can be no harm in it. I will let her know. Back when we first took you in, it was she who advised us how to care for you. We housed you in one of the higher rooms, where the light could reach you, but she recommended that you be moved underground instead. It seems to have done you more good than we'd first thought."
And so they were introduced to each other. Taueret, who had seemed shy at first, bustled up to the crocodile and glared into his golden eyes. "Where do you come from?" she hissed, ignoring the awkward look he was giving Nachtstreiter (who was also trying not to look uneasy). "Where will you go?"
"I don't know where I come from," the former crocodile admitted humbly. Nachtstreiter shook his head and lumbered away.
As the blue Bogsneak looked imploringly after him, Taueret asked a new question: "Of what do you dream?" She seemed calmer now, less aggressive.
He said to her, "I dreamed of many things when I was sleeping. I used to dream of the sky."
"Oh?" Perhaps she found it amusing. Bogsneaks couldn't fly.
"I used to crawl across the heavens. I felt as free as a bird. I could see the clans and forests below me."
Something in Taueret's expression changed. At any rate, she seemed a lot less hostile than before.
Nachtstreiter must have heard the blue Bogsneak's words. His story about crawling across the sky made its way around the lair. A few dragons chuckled gently at this fantasy. He couldn't remember many specific details about his dreams, and so even though he thought they'd been true visions, he began to accept that perhaps they had just been dreams. Only dreams. He would have quickly forgotten them if not for Taueret, who questioned him about them from time to time. She seemed to enjoy his stories of soaring across the heavens and dancing among the stars, and he didn't mind speaking with her, either. After many long months of silence and torment, it was wonderful to have someone to talk to.
The Disillusionists, meanwhile, had been busy. They had sent out word that the crocodile was no more. But the blue Bogsneak remained, and now where was his home?
They gathered information, stories, and clues. And finally they told the blue Bogsneak: his home had been found. His two siblings had grown up in the clans they'd been sent to, but his father was still with the original clan. Would he like to come home, even for just a visit?
They lived in the Hewn City, just like the Disillusionists did. The clan leaders sent the blue Bogsneak upriver with two guides, Taueret and Makeda. For protection (or guards), they had Sturmwelle the trainer and Lord Nachtstreiter himself.
They soon reached the former crocodile's former clan, and he was greeted warily but civilly. He looked at the various dragons and was surprised to realize that he still remembered them. His siblings were absent, of course, but there were the clan leaders, and there was his father with the glasses....
"My boy?" the aged scholar asked. He scuttled forward, blinking nearsightedly. "My boy, you've grown. You've come back! But pray, tell, what's happened to you....Where is your sash, Apophys?"
It was like a lightning bolt shattering the clouds. The last memory that had been eaten by the Shade dropped into place.
Apophys! That was his name! He who slithered across the night sky. He had been named for his glittering belly and the stars he had loved as a child....
His poor stomach was scarred from when the Shade had been extracted from him, but he could live with that. In time, the scar would fade, and he would shine like the evening sky again. "I don't need it anymore, Father," Apophys said to the old Bogsneak. He remembered the words that had been said to him a long, long time ago.... "I've finished my fight. I've won!"
~ The End
Credits & Notes:
• Apep's father is Oren, who also belongs to Karmatose. (Thank you for letting me include him; he's lovely!) Both our clans were in the Hewn City when this story was written, too
• The Crocodile's Long Dream -- This title is from the Fairyland series by Catherynne M. Valente.
• dividers were made by me
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