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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
16.76 m
Wingspan
14.76 m
Weight
7107.1 kg
Genetics
Taupe
Boulder
Boulder
Maroon
Shimmer
Shimmer
Navy
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 7 Obelisk
EXP: 10686 / 11881
STR
32
AGI
11
DEF
6
QCK
20
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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FAVORITES
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DETAILS
ROLE xxxxx■ Captive, invalid, wanderer ■ Alien star-demon TRAITS xxxxx■ trait, trait, trait ALIGNMENT xxxxx■ Lawful Neutral (dragon) ■ Chaotic Evil (Greater Horror) LIKES xxxxx■ The Arcanist ■ Group approval ■ Studying ■ Eating things ■ Tempting things ■ That feeling when you're halfway through a really delicious thing, and you're like "should I finish this?" and you're physically full, but then you're like, "I'm eating this anyways" |
DETAILS
DISLIKES xxxxx■ dislike, dislike STRENGTHS xxxxx■ strength, strength WEAKNESSES xxxxx■ weakness, weakness FEARS xxxxx■ fear, fear
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TIDBITS
■ Afraid of being exalted ■ Just as frightened of becoming consumed by the Shade ■ Is in love with Blood Money, the biggest Imperial in the clan. ■ Misses her first two hatchlings dearly. |
RELATIONS
Ichlo xxxxx ■ Male Bogsneak(?), Plague Flight Tiara xxxxx ■ Female Bogsneak, Earth Flight ■ Exalted to the Shadowbinder Meg xxxxx ■ Female Bogsneak, Earth Flight ■ Exalted to the Shadowbinder Game Changer xxxxx■ Imperial Male, Ice Flight Blood Money xxxxx■ Imperial Male, Light Flight NAME xxxxx■ relation |
INVENTORY
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ABOUTxxxxx❝...and the high card fell on me...❞
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There was a time, strange as it is to say, that the smallest Imperial in the Caverns was not so frightened or sick. Not-Nothing was born in the Arcane Flight, to a sharply insular clan on a cold scrap of stone close to the Observatory. Her desire was to serve the Arcanist, to observe the secrets of the stars and gain the love from Spacedad she knew her parents would not give. Not-Nothing had a name then, barely a name, simply a number, corresponding to the Lightning Flight to which both her parents hailed. Though her own hard work, through tests and trials she was allowed study under some of the Arcanist’s most loyal servants, and she wanted to prove herself so dearly. He would give her a name, wouldn’t he? For discovering something so strange and so new? He said he was made of stars. He was bright orbs spinning out of the dark, a silky wrap around her tired shoulders, a cup of warm blood to ease her nerves after a long night in the lab. Who would lie about something so important when science was on the line? His poor jaw–it was something about the pressure shifts between Sornieth and other stars, he said, that’s why he had a sort of lisp, as though every word he said was whistled out through a mouthful of toothpicks. He promised her name, and he promised the stars, and then there was something worse than scale-oil for mites seeping into her body, drowning not just her body but her mind and her soul. The Greater Horror had her, and she was Nothing, she was Nothing, she was Nothing and Nothing was Nothing. In the Tangled Wood, he said he would teach her to survive. The Bogsneak was healthier than she, and he was curious. Born of the Plague Flight, he accepted the risk of infection, prodding and poking with an almost gleeful curiosity. Ichlo’s red eyes peered out at her nightly, speaking the promise of the Dark Mothers, Plaguebringer and Shadowbinder, albeit without any of their divine consent. They produced two hatchlings, torn from her almost immediately. Sent Home to the Shadowbinder, and something thin and frightened inside Nothing cried for that. Eventually the clan tired of her and Ichlo both. While Ichlo went Home too, Nothing limped along the seaside, feeding on what carrion she could find until she reached the Shifting Expanse. Fearing others, watching, waiting, the Imperial who was Nothing fell into the darkness of the Hewn City at last, and prayed to whatever god cared to hear, prayed for some form of salvation. The two males that took her in seemed to be polar opposites, Game Changer aggressive and always talking, while Blood Money only watched her with his softly gleaming eyes. She crooned something like sorrow when her next clutch vanished too, and deep in Blood Money’s great chest, something rumbled comfort in return |
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TEMPLATE BY XEMRISS #44020;
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