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Sartra

(#33585041)

Level 25 Pearlcatcher

Familiar

Stormcloud Harpy

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.48 m

Wingspan

6.2 m

Weight

536.84 kg

Genetics

Fog
Cherub

Grey
Spinner

Navy
Runes

Hatchday

Jun 08, 2017
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Lightning
Dark Sclera

Level 25 Pearlcatcher

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

100

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

» Sartra Treacherous Witch

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Anxious · Weakminded · Sad
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code by epher #101073

» ═══════════════════ ※ ═══════════════════ «

It had started so innocently. In the beginning, all that drove her, was curiosity, the desire to know more, to learn about her family. As a child, Sartra was perfectly content to listen to her father’s tales, to cuddle up with her mother, while she hummed her lullabies, to play and imagine grand battles and kingdoms with nothing but a bit of imagination. Sartra would never have much responsibility, she was free, she would not be under the burden of a prophecy like her oldest Sister Aiea, she was not hidden away for some reason like her younger Sister Serket.

Those days were the best, were the purest memories she had, when she could still love unconditionally, when her mind was not ravaged by jealousy and the dark fog of hunger. For more. More power, more energy, despite it tearing her body even faster apart. As a child, she had been blissfully unaware how evil the world could be, how fast people could turn from white to black, from good to evil. She had thought that the world and the gods were fair and equal to everyone. That naivety had been driven out of her, while growing up, while slowly maturing from a starry eyed young girl waiting for the next story, into a pretty woman, that groomed and prided herself of her magic abilities. How blind, how naive she had been, the praise she had been given with well meaning intentions had went to her head, had made her to think better of her than she really was.

The reality came back hard, it came crashing down at her with the force of the sky falling. Her magic was strong but not out of the ordinary, her spells were mostly pretty to look at, not nearly as destructive as the raw power her oldest Sister Aiea could create with a simple move of her strong wings. Her control over the arcane powers of magic was moderate, but nothing compared to the mastery her older Brother Samuel showed with seemingly ease. Sartra felt mocked and even when others comforted her, the seed of jealousy had already been planted in the young woman’s heart. Studying all kind of books, all of them from forbidden arts, Sartra thought of a way to get stronger, better, she wanted to be good at something. Blind to her natural talents, which were not her magic or her powers, but her charm, her ability to understand others and to be easily able to comfort them, Sartra dove head first into the world of darkness and insanity that would swallow her much later in her life.

The letters on those moldy pages promised her power without anything to compare to, no one could stop her, they all would be in awe. The voices in her mind, that grew louder and louder the longer she read those tomes that her mother had hidden away for a reason, whispered how easily she could take over. She could lead them. At first she thought about her own clan, faceless dragons looking up to her for guidance and protection and she smiled at that. But then she started to wonder, why should she leave, why not take over the Rune itself?

Her oldest Sister and most potential heir was gone at that time, living at an allied Plague Clan, her brother often away, enjoying his life and travelling. The others...they were not worthy, not of leader potential, Harlow was hidden away in her library, Serket was merely a myth, Skricin a defective danger to everyone including himself. As for the rest...Sartra couldn’t have cared less for them, they were warriors, hunters, the only one of interest was Welun, broken and defeated by her father in a war that happened when she was still a babe. Sartra was hesitant to search for him, she wanted to know how he had managed to defeat her father, the all powerful Sanipkur, but the little bit of love she had for her parents, her family at that time, hold her back, instead, Sartra allowed the voice and letters to tempt her, to draw her even deeper into this swamp of darkness.

Experimental magic, dangerous and vile, came easily over her tongue, much to Sartra's surprise, she found herself able to twist even the purest stream of magic into something horrendous, terrifying and it was still not enough, her powers grew with every day, just as her ambitions, but it was not enough, never enough. She sacrificed small animals, then familiars and finally, she stole and sacrificed eggs, unhatched and strong with life, to feed her powers, to groom them into growing, until her inner powers started to leak out of her body, to slowly eat it away, but it was never enough. When a stranger came and offered her help, under the condition that she would do a few things for him, Sartra had been so far gone from the person she had been before this madness, she agreed without thinking.

And Dartak helped. With every puppet of her father that she killed, with every bit of horror she spread with her pure appearance, covered in beautiful scars of pure magicka, he helped her more, gave her what she yearned for even if it destroyed her. At some point, Sartra's mind woke from its slumber, reared under the blanket of greed and insanity she herself had spread over it. She opened her eyes, she saw through the lies and finally, after years thinking she had played Dartak like a puppet, she realized that it had been her all the time, she was the puppet, dancing to the music Dartak played, twitching to every pull of her strings, much to his amusement. The Rune, the home she wanted to save, to keep safe and protected, the place she wanted to rule as a merciful Queen, had turned against her, the monster, the witch, the twisted one and they were right to do so. Nothing Sartra had done could be justified, she had unleashed hell upon them, brought a war in the shadows and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
With no way out, no possibility to turn back, to redeem herself, Sartra could only held her head high, while her body slowly faded into pure magical energy. While blood tainted her claws and while others screamed their hatred for her into her face. She was too weak to fight against Dartak, so instead of struggling, she finally gave up, succumbed entire to him and in return, was allowed to keep the last bit of sanity, to which she clung desperately. She wanted to see her end.

After all the Rune was protected by Sanipkur and he was indestructible, undefeatable. Surely she would fail?

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