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Agni

(#38166484)

Level 25 Wildclaw

Familiar

Witherbough Warlock

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.24 m

Wingspan

7.74 m

Weight

389.03 kg

Genetics

Wine
Metallic

Sunset
Butterfly

Azure
Basic

Hatchday

Dec 19, 2017
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Fire
Rare

Level 25 Wildclaw

Max Level

STR

104

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Agni.
↠ This bleeding heart of mine

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

Get your head out of the clouds, boy.

Gritting his teeth he pushed through it all. Through layers upon layers of dust, on his skin, his teeth, on his hair and in his eyes. Because the family needed him. He was one of many, but what the many earned barely lasted ‘til the end of the month. In a small home they lived, blankets on the floor, six, seven, eight men, women and children in two rooms, the food never lasted long.

A simple way of life that bled into poverty, yet they were too wealthy still to join the Dustcrawlers in their kingdom of filth. They were three, he, a noble by name only and the only girl around. It was only them and work and the family, no childhood only ever more. More digging, more scavenging. That was until the mines hit gold, then life seemed so much better. Easier. An influx of wealth that even reached them and for the first time, he had time for something other than digging deeper underground.

I dream of a secret place, by the river’s fork and in the shadow of snowy white mountain peaks.

Strange, how life worked. He could still taste the stonedust whirled up by his pickaxe. Every inhale of hers made her lungs rattle and in the afterecho of her cough he could still hear the bellowing of the foreman. Faster, faster, no slacking off. It never left him, embedded in the deep callouses on his palms and the dust eating her lungs alive. And he still caught himself, looking to the right, the left, behind him, expecting to see a shock of pale hair and sparkling green eyes and a charming smile aimed at him.

His skipping, galloping heart always sunk when he remembered. Iodryn was not around anymore. Because he had been forced to make a choice and he picked the alternative. In moments like this he could still feel the weight of his uncle’s hand on his shoulders. Because his father was already dead and gone, sleeping six feet or deeper underground, buried in a collapsed mining shaft.

Dreams are all fine ‘n dandy, but they fill no belly.

Because he had been dreaming too much and was in too deep. Because it was sweet and easy when he had been with Iodryn and their plans were grand. They wanted to run away, they wanted to find their secret place in the shadow of snowy mountain peaks. Just the two of them, adventure, finery, they thought of it all. But never of how they would archive it.

It was not meant to be, the gold in the mines ran out and hard times returned, when the family needed every coppery Hope and silvery Wish. And in this time, the only valid Dreams were golden and barely the size of his palm. In between hunger and despair, he ripped out his heart, silent and deaf to screams of anger, to demands of why.

Love ‘n air make for bad meals, you can not buy no medicine of ‘em and they mend no fever.

When Iodryn left, suddenly, he felt as if he was woken from a fantastical fever dream. Back in grey and cold reality, his family clapped his back and told him he did the right thing, there was no time for silly imagination born tales and daydreams. They handed him the pickaxe and the lamp, the cage with the little songbird and his bag, sending him back underground as they followed his example. The need of the many outweigh the need of the one. And surely, time would heal the bleeding wound where his heart used to be.

Gold was the first thing to run out. After that the gemstones, tears of the earth were gone. And finally, the winding, narrow, dark tunnels were filled with swirling fumes of yellow. Suffocating, creeping, reeking of death and decay. And on those foul winds, strife rode into the grand city. The mines were closed and the workers, the ones depending on them, left behind. Unfortunate victims, nothing more, no one felt responsible, no one cared. At this point, he had already married the remaining friend. At this point, her belly had already grown round and heavy, ripe with new life. And the bleeding wound was still there, keeping him away every night, stealing his breath in every hour of vulnerability.

I don’t know what to do…Gods, help me.

Half of his oh-so-loyal family left overnight, taking with them large chunks of what little fortune they all had gathered. The little that remained, money and family wise, were quick to wither away. Not enough to live, yet too much to die, they fell in lethal apathy, stagnation of the mind and as his wife’s belly grew rounder and rounder, he grew more and more desperate. He had chosen the family over his happiness because it seemed to be the best for all. He had sacrificed his heart and now everything he touched turned to dust.

Venturing out of the protective walls was dangerous, the knights had little interest in culling the population of hostile beasts and lawlessness, too busy with their blood sport to care and yet. He had to go, further and further, search for anything and everything that could be turned into Hopes and Wishes, never daring to go after Dreams. And when this still wasn’t enough, he turned towards crime.

Tis too much...what am I supposed to do?

This cursed wound, this bleeding hole in his chest, regret ate him alive as his wife became sicker and sicker. Reached a newtime high as his son was born, blue eyed, rosy cheeked and blind. The mother’s sickness threatened to take them both, he could not, would not allow it. This was his failure to fix, his wrong to right, they should not suffer because of his inability to provide. When forced to choose once more, between his dignity and the survival of his family, he swallowed what remained of his pride. On his knees he offered and pleaded, sold what he had, the flesh on his bones, the gleam of his bright red hair and the last, fading softness of his skin.

And still, it was not enough, it brought them through the winter but no further, he was dropped, lost the little favor he had when the red of his hair began to fade into grey, when the cost of a heavy life ate away the little beauty he could offer. Marked by hardships, greyed by anguish, he stole and helped others to commit things much worse than a cut coin purse, all the while watching with absent gaze how little Dali became a man much too quickly. It stung in the open wound, that he could not provide for his son what he wanted, deserved the most, a long childhood free of hardships and filled with happiness. His little, blind boy became a runner, yet even that was not enough just yet.

You shouldn’t do this, Dali, I’m gonna work harder, you don’t need to do this.

Helpless, he was helpless to watch how his son fell in bed with a noble man twice Dali’s age, could not believe the claims that this was love and genuine, he was one of many in this belief. The rumors went and spread like a wildfire, while guilt ate him alive, every gift, every given basket filled to the brim with food and medicine drove the thorn deeper into his missing heart. Iodryn, his family and wife, now Dali, he could not save them, protect them.

He could feel his wife’s gaze on him, when Dali moved them and their meager belongings. From a simple home at the edge of the bazaars into a mansion, lavish and too large even for all of them, too many rooms and hallways, each of them heavy with wealth and luxury, he could not show gratitude, not to Matiush, the one who - in his mind - intended to use Dali up until his youthfulness had vanished entirely. Ironic then, that in this exact moment a ghost of his past returned with cheers and fanfares.

Long time no see, Agni. You look well.

Iodryn hadn’t changed at all, still the same shock of pale hair, sun kissed skin and sparkling green eyes. Still the same man and at the same time, he could barely recognize him. A famous duelist now, the hollow power of an old name used well, Iodryn had finally returned, with him he brought the heart Agni had deemed long dead and rotting. New hopes, old hurt, he could not hide it, his expression was clear as day as he brought Iodryn back home, to see the remaining friend he had wed. The one he had loved like a friend then like a sister, but never as a wife. And she understood, like the good soul she was.

He wasn’t sure how this happened, days later, drunk out of his mind he collapsed on Iodryn’s doorstep. A mess of tears and drool and too many words of regret, he found himself on his knees yet again, crying and pleading for forgiveness and for something he had thrown away in favor of something that proved to be the wrong choice.

I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, Io! ‘m so sorry...tis seemed to be the right thing, ‘m a fool, ‘m a bloody fool...please...

He didn’t expected to be forgiven.

Iodryn
A childhood friend turned love,
he tried to be fateful, they thought
they could live of love and air alone.
Until life struck hard and fatally, leaving
them estranged for far too long. When
Iodryn left, he took his heart with him.
It was a lost cause, yet he could not let
go, would rather die on the pain than to
let go. But he returned, Iodryn returned.
And he forgave.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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