Mamba
(#35299983)
desperately needs art
Familiar
Deeprealm Hunter
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 45/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Female Skydancer
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.86 m
Wingspan
6.61 m
Weight
535.73 kg
Genetics
Turquoise
Poison
Poison
Blood
Alloy
Alloy
Garnet
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 5 Skydancer
EXP: 406 / 5545
STR
4
AGI
5
DEF
4
QCK
9
INT
9
VIT
4
MND
9
Biography
Two Lightning dragons walk into a wasteland. She shouldn't be able to feel-- like the unyielding, hard metal that is her body, her wings, her face-- and yet. We are not the monsters others make of us. Lightning tears the sky apart in bright forked as thunder roars and winds howl. She does not flinch at the sight, not till a claw (so very warm and so very small) slips into hers and a high voice calls her name. She can't help it, then. One seeks redemption. The other seeks....
by shanncrafter
by shanncrafter
headshot by bioluminosity
found by Ebony3
MAMBA - Cyborg
He is dead. It seems strange, life and death in the Shifting Expanse. As if nothing is permanent. Nothing is eternal. Life should fade, as should death, but there is so much blood, pooling out over so much time. The sands run red, and the setting sun throws long shadows over the body as if to hide it. He is dead, but she is not. Curious.
She looks into what little blood has not soaked into the sand, and it shines back at her. The metal plates of her face twist and click, and she wonders if this is what emotion looks like. If this is what it should look like. There are faces in her mind's eye, blurred and yet familiar, and a sweet, soft voice rings in her eyes. There is a sense that she should remember these things clearly, that they should matter, but it is easier to let them slide away than to try to recover what feeling might be most appropriate. It is easier to feel nothing.
Almost too easy, actually. There is blood on her claws, dripping slowly as if it is heavy, and yet it is not. The gash in his chest matches her claws, too, but she feels nothing except perhaps a sense of lightness. Do all dragons feel this way when their father is dead? Do all dragons see their father's end at their own claws?
She remembers his voice, remembers the way he looked at her when she first opened her eyes, first settled into this body. He told her there was a massacre, that he saved her as the rest of her clan fell, that it was all he could do to rescue her from the carnage.
"I will raise you like a daughter," he promised, "and I will help you get revenge. After that, you cannot survive without me."
She laughs, a rasping mechanical sound more like a cough, and drags a claw through the sand, leaving a bloody red line behind. How bold, to lie with the very first words he spoke to her. How clever, to shield himself so soon.
He was too clever, really, and he taught her too much. Every experiment, every metal plate or circuit board fused into her existence was explained in detail. Every vital point in every dragon was laid out on ragged charts, and every small creature caught in her sharpened metal claws was dissected with his supervision. He never let her leave the lair, swore that no one else would understand her metallic body, that other dragons would try to kill her in their ignorance. She was trapped, but he taught her everything. It was enough.
And with time, there were bodies. Tens of bodies, maybe hundreds. At first, she remembered faces, cataloging them without a hint of hesitation. Now, there is only a blur of metal and wires and blood splashed across the earth, of freshly turned grave dirt and mangled bones. Failed experiments, her father called them. Not as perfect as her. Not as wonderful. And what did it matter that they failed? They were from evil clans and deserved the suffering they endured.
Not that she cares either way. She can't. Won't? No, can't; it was burned out of her, electrical impulses cut short and done away with in the name of efficiency, of perfection.
But if she cannot care, why did he tell her not to listen to the children? Why did he tell her that when they begged for mercy and release as their surgeries began that it was nothing more than the ravings of madness? If she could not feel, he should not have feared that she could be moved. Right?
They made her remember. That was why. They spoke of blood and fire, of an Imperial who stole them away, who ravaged their clans and left nothing behind. She remembered him, before he made her. Remembered the blood on his fangs and the shadow over his eyes, his heart.
She steels herself, crouched in the sands. For someone who cannot feel, the memories buffet her with the force of a sandstorm, threatening to unseat her. She cannot feel. Shouldn't.
Does.
It's why she followed him into the desert, watched as he slaughtered a Guardian. He ripped out her heart and cast it aside, scoffed, turned on the child hiding in its mother's shadow. And that was when she struck.
He taught her all the best ways to kill a dragon. It was over before he could raise a claw against her, his throat exposed, a challenge in his eyes, and then his body fell into the sands. She feels nothing still, or some approximation of nothing. Revenge has done nothing but sully her claws. And yet this is freedom, perhaps. Her father cannot dictate her future even though he has ruled over her past; there is yet a chance she might make something of herself.
The child. She almost forgot, lost in the blood, the past. It sobs over its mother's body, wails loud enough to deter the crows already circling overhead. She could kill it, be free of it, but something stops her. Better, perhaps, for it to live without emotion than to die here. And when it clings to her leg, shivering, sobbing, there is no turning back.
She looks into its eyes, and something like the dragon she might have once been stares back.
Bio by Tues.
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Exalting Mamba 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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