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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.39 m
Wingspan
7.21 m
Weight
705.49 kg
Genetics
Abyss
Pinstripe
Pinstripe
Sanguine
Morph
Morph
Cornflower
Firefly
Firefly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Bogsneak
Max Level
STR
104
AGI
25
DEF
10
QCK
50
INT
7
VIT
24
MND
10
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
| __._ |
 ”Trust Mother for she knows best.” Her voice was dark, honey laced with poison and fresh blood as she held his face in her hands, bruised and broken and the glint in his eyes dying. She watched, a sharp fanged smile that made the corner of her glowing eyes crinkle in something akin to gentle amusement. Yet there was no kindness to be found in her calloused hands, in the way her claws dug in just a little bit too deep in his soot covered skin. There was pinkish froth bubbling from his lips, every breath accompanied by the wet, sickening gurgle of blood, more and more of vibrant crimson filling the vastness of his lungs, flesh and skin shredded by the claws of her minions, the ivory of his bones laid bare. He held hope in his eyes, but as the heartbeats ran out, so did his hope. It flickered and danced, a candle in a strong breeze before it bowed and broke, disappeared like a lazy curl of blue smoke. There one moment, gone the next. ”There is a good boy, such an obedient son. You deserve a reward, let Mother give you a little gift.” And as the havoc she herself had brought over his village, she presented herself as a blood tinged savior. Between icy blue flames and carnage, she spread her ironclad wings and as she kissed new life into this broken, dying body between her hands, she brought forth the change. By the crimson wetness on her tongue and the bobbing of his throat, she brought out the untamed potential within her newest son. As corruption spread and healed his frail body, she held him in arms stained with the blood of his parents, of his friends and all the other innocents that had fallen on her blade and in her claws, that had tasted their own blood from her lips and her fangs. Even as the holy light in golden hues broke the swirling fog of a White night, she remained smiling, because she had won and the paladin, the hope of her little boy had come far too late. This had become personal a long time ago, when this holy man had first laid hands on her children, when his order had taken her first born daughter and her first changed son, when her little ones had screamed in agony as the light burnt their eyes, their skin, their flesh right off their bones. ”Love is painful, my sweet son, but if you trust Mother, she will give you what you need.” Her affection was an iron collar clad around his neck. It connected them with the strength of a thousand iron chains, she the creator of him, the new, freshly corrupted son. As she let him slip from her bloodied hands, she watched with darkened eyes how his poor heart was broken by the light, how it was turned against him. His love was a pure one but those were the easiest to taint and to twist. She was there to catch him when the knife was plunged in his back, holding her hand over the wound and stilling the flow of cold blood. She held him against her armored chest, his face nuzzled against her neck in an embrace far too tight and intimate. Between blood dark sheets and dried petals of dead roses, she showed him a new way, a better one and when the time came, when her body was failing and in need of another sacrifice, she held his hand. Guided the arc of the dagger. Together they stood in the spray rain of crimson, fresh from the source and the copper and salt and iron tasted sweeter than honey from the plumpness of his lips. ”There is so much you don’t see, but Mother will help you. She will guide you.” As love turned into spite and anger, she fed him poison, each day, each kiss another spoon full of corrupting sweetness, her children clinging to her skirts and her ankles and they wanted for their mother to feed them. So feed they shall. Their brother was a good one, a loyal one. Obedient and willing to please, not only Mother but his siblings as well. The bony angles of their bodies faded, replaced by healthy roundness, feasting on his wrath and content living within the restricting grip of her iron fist. Be it White or Undying, be it Burnt or the vast, wide world, there could not be found another Mother that cared more for her little ones, that loved them more. That watched over them with the same ruthless efficiency as she did. And as he fell in her embrace, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing from the adrenaline of another fresh kill, another feast for his brothers and sisters, there could not be found a better son. ”Let Mother carve out your soul, this useless, pitiful thing. You don’t need it anymore, for Mother knows best.” 
| ___ |
code & assets by archaic #19153
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