Theine » Lair » Attica

Attica

(#30864011)

Level 1 Tundra

Familiar

Sabrespine Hunter

Energy: 48/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

2.91 m

Wingspan

3.59 m

Weight

361.08 kg

Genetics

Bronze
Skink

Teal
Butterfly

Teal
Glimmer

Hatchday

Feb 15, 2017
(7 years)

Breed

Adult
Tundra

Eye Type

Plague
Common

Level 1 Tundra

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Attica

Runecrafter

______________________________________________________

"Necessity is a cruel mistress; she does not bend to prayers or supplication, and neither must we."

Attica is an intelligent dragon born into a clan whose matriarch values physical prowess over intellectual enlightenment. She was denied an education, and would have sunk into a depression if she hadn’t caught the eye of Seath who, despite running cruel, immoral experiments on his fellow dragons, was willing to take her on as an apprentice. She didn’t approve of his work, but her desire to learn was too strong and she agreed to be taken under his wing. She has a talent for runecrafting, which Seath put to use creating restraining devices for his test subjects, as well as crafting magical foci and enchanted weapons. As his reliance on her skills grew, Attica found herself drawn into a secretive cabal headed by the clan patriarch. Their purpose is twofold – to seek knowledge best left forgotten, and to overthrow the matriarch.

Attica was sent to gather information on the matriarch’s warriors, searching for a way to undermine her control over the faction. While integrating herself with the warriors, she caught the eye of Piraeus, a young guardian, who did his best to woo her. She grew fond of him in turn, and eventually took him as her mate. The cabal disproved of her choice, afraid it would cause a conflict of interests that would lead to the matriarch discovering their conspiracy against her and moving to destroy them.

Mate

Cabal

Rivals

Not all conspiracies are born in candlelit cellars.

Attica sat at her place in the circle, one of five dragons gathered in the lofty reaches of the Duke’s Archives. The sun hung low and bloated on the horizon, painting the sky a hazy red as its light filtered through the steam rising from the Wyrmwound. A hot, heavy breeze drifted through the open windows of the tower room, bringing with it the scent festering rot; but Attica had been born here in Plaguebringer’s realm, and had long grown accustomed to the smell of decay so as to no longer notice it.

“I trust you understand the gravity of your mission,” Riptide said, his cold red eyes boring into her own. “As well as the cost of failure.”

She bowed her head in deference, nose pressing into the ground between her paws. “I will not fail you, Patriarch.”

His twin crests flared. “See to it that you do not. It is not only your life hanging in the balance. If Stormfront learns of our intentions, she will not hesitate to destroy us all.”

Attica knew he didn’t trust her. She was young, barely into her second year, and unlike the other dragons in the circle, had not joined their conspiracy by choice. She did no oppose their goals — far from it. If the matriarch’s death brought about the age of enlightenment her mentor had spent hours painting in the vibrant landscape of her imagination, it could not come soon enough. No more would hatchlings such as herself be denied an education! No more would they be forced to fight and die for the clan’s glory, snatched away by a ravenous goddess in the prime of their lives!

She was not as ruthless or cruel as her co-conspirators, but she knew what she wanted, and she would do anything to bring it about — even integrate herself with the matriarch’s warriors, the feared Clawmark, in an attempt to discover a flaw in the fearsome mirror’s armour.

They couldn’t act while the battle hardened faction remained under her control — not if they wanted to live through the aftermath. It had proved their greatest stumbling block in the past, but perhaps it could now become their strength.

“She has never disappointed us before,” Seath said, his robes fluttering around his pale, scaleless body. “I have faith she will do well.”

Her ears came up in gratitude at her mentor’s praise, even as she understood the reason behind it. He’d taken her under his wing when she was young, teaching her everything she knew, and some things she would rather forget. He was also the reason for her presence in the cabal, this den of conspirators. He’d told her of their plans late one night while they burned the midnight oil running a test on a new form of restraint, and was now under constant pressure from the patriarch to justify his breach of their solemn oath of silence.

Riptide sneered. “She has never been given a task worthy of the title.”

“Which is what makes her perfect for infiltrating the Clawmark,” Seath said reasonably. “If they know of her at all, it is as my assistant, a title of little permanent value, as you would no doubt agree.”

There was no answer to that, and they all knew it. Seath’s assistants were little more than sacrificial lambs. Dragons who transitioned from running experiments to being their subjects. Some died immediately, while others went mad from the pain of having their scales stripped away. In the end, they were all welcomed into the Plaguemother’s embrace.

Attica tried to keep apart from that aspect of her mentor’s research. He was attempting a great thing, and while that alone was enough to lure in volunteers from far and wide, their fate should the experiment fail was too horrible to dwell on if she wished to retain her own sanity.

“Then let her go,” Riptide said. “And may the Plaguemother turn a blind eye to her passing.”

“May the Plaguemother keep us from her sight,” they chanted in reply, bringing the meeting to a close.

The cabal dispersed, each going their separate ways. Attica returned to her small lair just off the archives and set her mind to her task. She would need to convince the Clawmark she sought combat training, but for what purpose? They looked down on those who devoted their lives to research rather than the art of war. Softclaws, they called her kind, and perhaps they were soft, but even the softest claw could cause harm if used correctly.

She stepped up to a mirror fragment and peered at her face. A few scratch marks would do, she decided, raising her right claw and pressing it to the fur of her muzzle. She took a deep breath and then dragged down. It took two tries to break through her fur and slice the skin below, and she whimpered when blood began to trickle down her face. She licked at it, cleaning off the blood as best she could, and then, because even that might not be enough, she lined her head up with a jagged outcropping in the stone wall, and charged.

When she arrived at the training grounds the next morning, she looked as though she’d been trampled by a herd of centaurs. Her left eyes was bruised and swollen shut, and dry blood flaked from her snout whenever she spoke.

Her appearance piqued the interest of the dragons watching a sparring match in the central arena, and several of them followed as the marshall stalked over to inspect her.

“You seem to have come off the worse in a fight,” he said dryly, and Attica could feel his disdain radiating like the heat of the distant sun.

“One of my master’s subjects got loose last night,” she replied with a small shrug, being sure to look down as though embarrassed. “It got the best of me before we managed to subdue it.”

“And you’ve come here to ensure such a thing doesn’t happen again?” he asked.

If this was all it took to begin integrating herself with the Claw, then it was astounding none of the others had succeeded before now. “I have, if you’ll teach me.”

The marshall looked her over, and then his right wing twitched, calling over one of the dragons watching them from a respectful distance. “Piraeus! This Softclaw wants to learn how to fight. Why don't we humour her, hmm?”

A guardian dragon moved forward, his head and neck covered by a blood red wolf cape while strange jointed armour encased the wrists of his wings. He towered over her, over three times her length and with a wingspan that would darken the sun should she stand beneath them.

Her heart was pounding, and she took a step back on instinct, certain that this was a cruel joke. Surely there was a more suitably sized sparing partner available. A mirror, or a pearlcatcher. Even a wildclaw would have been better than this behemoth, with his metallic wings and scales that looked as thick as steel plates. She sent a desperate look towards the marshall, hoping that he’d change his mind, but found that he’d already turned away was was moving back towards the sparring ring, whose sand was now flecked the red of fresh blood.

She took a deep breath and turned back to the guardian. “Hello,” she said, “my name is Attica. Thank you for taking the time to teach me.”

“I am called Piraeus,” he replied in a voice so soft that she was caught off guard. She’d expected gruff and gravelly, perhaps a little arrogant, not… she didn’t want to say meek, but there it was.

When she agreed to infiltrate the Clawmark, she’d anticipated the cuts and bruises, the ache of muscles not used to physical exertion, and the feelings of inadequacy as she was struck down again and again and again. She hadn’t expected the kindness, or the creeping sense of camaraderie that buoyed within her heart whenever Piraeus explained in his calm, gentle voice what she’d gotten wrong and what steps she could take to improve.

There was honour here too, though it was twisted and buried under the flare of bloodlust and a worship of the warlord that encroached on the divine. Attica witnessed the mirror’s prowess when she chose to grace the arena with her presence, tirelessly lunging and twisting in a dance that brought down even the largest of imperials. The only dragons who could stand against her were the marshall and a dark-scaled wildclaw who moved over the sun-baked earth like a shadow.

“That is Obelisk,” Piraeus said when she asked his name after witnessing him disabled his opponent, a nocturne with gleaming golden scales, in a single bite. “He is skilled at making dragons disappear.”

An assassin, she realized with a small shudder. She filed his name away alongside the Marshall’s as dragons to keep an eye on. Either one of them could take down the warlord, but would they wish to?

“No,” Piraeus assured her that evening as they strolled along the shattered battlements on the eastern edge of the fortress, his eyes soft with amusement. “One does not betray the warlord and expect to get away with it.”

“But why?” she asked, part of her screaming that she was treading on dangerous ground, but her heart telling her not to fear as she gazed up at the guardian who’d become so much more to her than just a teacher or sparring partner. “We — those outside the Clawmark, I mean — hear stories of how ruthless she is. How she dominates you with threats and violence. How she makes you fight, even if you would have chosen a different life given the chance!”

He laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. “My dearest Attica, you have it all wrong. Many of the dragons in the Clawmark are just as vicious as she. Rather than suppress their instincts, she moulds them — forces us towards excellence… and unity. Without her to ground us we would descend into a vicious cycle of death and vengeance, turning our claws on our clanmates rather than outward, where they might serve some greater purpose.”

“It still seems cruel.”

“Perhaps it is,” he agreed, dipping his head to nuzzle beneath her wing in a way that set her body aflame. “But it gives us purpose, and in the end that is all we can hope for in our lives.”

She stretched out her wings and leaned into his touch. She didn’t know if she believed him — didn’t know much of anything in that moment. Only that the feel of him against her fur awoke emotions and desires she’d long ignored. As they became one beneath the sunset sky she turned her mind from conspiracies and espionage, letting her duty drift away, if only for one night.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Riptide snarled, rising from his place in the circle in fury. “I could understand using a flirtation to gather information, but what madness prompted you to take a member of the Clawmark as your mate?”

Attica kept her head up, defiant. She’d expected a rough reception when she returned to the Duke’s Archives two days after the night with Piraeus on the battlements, no longer able to maintain her place in the training grounds with a clutch of eggs slowly swelling the soft skin of her belly, but it still frightened her. They could make her disappear as surely as one of the warlord’s assassins if they deemed her a threat to the cabal.

“I did exactly as you asked,” she said. “I integrated myself with the Clawmark.”

Seath blinked slowly, his paws folded neatly before him. “You could almost say she integrated herself too well,” he said, causing Riptide’s head to snap his way. “Guardians are a particularly loyal breed, and he is young. Would it truly be so bad to have one of Stormfront’s ilk besotted with Attica? If he becomes a nuisance I’m sure there are ways we could… convince him to see things our way.”

Riptide considered his argument and Attica’s blood ran cold as she realized what her mentor was implying. If Piraeus found out about the cabal, or even grew suspicious of its existence, they would use her life as a hostage to assure his cooperation. He would be unable to betray them, and she would have to live with the knowledge that she was a shackle looped round his neck. Could she stand the guilt? The slow cooling of affection as resentment took its place?

No. He couldn’t find out. Not ever. A life like that would destroy her.

“He will never know of us” she said. “On my life, I swear it!”

Riptide’s eyes narrowed. “And we are to trust you not to develop a conflict of interests?”

“I will not be swayed,” she insisted, though her heart was less certain.

“Then let us be done with it,” he said, retaking his seat. “However, be aware that if you give us reason to doubt your loyalty we will not hesitate.”

She bowed her head, hiding the pain in her eyes beneath the fabric of her hood. “I understand, Patriarch.”

Not all conspiracies are born in candlelit cellars. Some arise from a single question or belief held in the depths of the soul — a seed waiting for the chance to bloom, forcing the body into motion. Only time will tell whether it leads to enlightenment or self-destruction.

LETTERS FROM HATCHLINGS

Dear mom and dad,

This is Sucker Punk speaking. I'm making DESTROYA write for me, because I haven't learned yet. He says that I'll have to go to school with Mirasol or Hollow Point to learn writing, but I don't want to. (She'll go whether she likes it or not. --D) I'm making a lot of friends already.

Battery City and CMYK are both super cool, and they promise me that memory problems can be overcome. I will not forget you guys, I promise! Living here is filling me with DETERMINATION. That's all for now! I'm going to go hang out with Mona Lisa.

--Punk

PS: I'm keeping an eye on her for the time being. I think she will do just fine with us. --DESTROYA

Hello from the Zones, Mom and Dad.

We'll keep it short--This is Fruit Punch! I found my way through the Tangled Wood to Sucker Punk, just like you told me. Punk says she washes her paws a lot, just like you told her. I learned how to read and write, from Hollow Point. It's fun!

We're both safe, we're both healthy and happy. Sucker Punk has a daughter named Barrage, and her mate, Neon Coast, is real nice. Please stay safe! Best of fortune, and may the blessing of the Dark Lady be upon you, giving you the luck of the slipperiest shadows.

---Fruit Punch and Sucker Punk

Hello from the Zones, tumbleweeds.

Mother, Father, I wanted to let you know I made it safely to the Tangled Wood, and found my older sisters, Sucker Punk and Fruit Punch. They are both in good health, with hatchlings of their own. The Tangled Wood is a nice place. It's warmer here than I had anticipated, but Punk tells me it's the warm breeze carried from Ashfall Waste over the Sea of a Thousand Currents.

The Tangled Wood is not the promised land of peace we had all hoped--not anymore. There was a war here, against the Arcane clans, and the dragons of Clan Alejandro have yet to truly recover. However, I believe you will be proud of Sucker Punk's hard work. She led the resistance during the bulk of the fighting--never to bow or surrender. Fruit Punch ran reconnaissance with Wyld Style--I admire her bravery and spunk, keeping up with an imperial three times her size. She's now what they call a 'reporter', which is exactly what it sounds like. Fruit and Wyld Style run 'news segments' on the radio every hour. It's a lot of work--I tried to help once or twice.

The Killjoys are nomads these days, and I've been offered a place with them. However, I think my talents will be better used with the Ghostbusters. Fruit Punch is a little miffed, but Sucker Punk is glad to have me on her team. I'll sign off now, but know that the Killjoys are still free. DESTROYA sends his regards and assurances that he will take care of me as he cared for my sisters.

Stay proud--Noise Pollution

BREEDING CARD

ARTWORK

~Art by ImaDreamlord

~Art by Fellefan~

~Art by Idlewildly~

Vipsi - meaning 'absorb' - Representing the chemical compound H2SO4, sulphuric acid, Vipsi is used to draw out or soak up substances.

Alternate meanings: Consume, Imbibe, Ingest, Soak, Sponge, Swallow
~Rune by HereticalSun~

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Exalting Attica 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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