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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.49 m
Wingspan
4.19 m
Weight
712.64 kg
Genetics
Sanguine
Petals
Petals
Sanguine
Current
Current
Cream
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Mirror
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Biography
MALICE
The Blood Cursed
“I see the glory that awaits me. Spirits old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And a tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, snarling in the midst of all.”
|
 Morrigan says: "I see her in my dreams. Dreams of a child screaming in the rain, but no one hears her grief. I remember a red star bleeding in the sky. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leather wings, feel their hot breath."  Dehisce says: "Then I came upon a feast of corpses. They lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Savaged limbs clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. On a throne above them sat a dead man with a skull for a head. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a sceptre, and his eyes followed me with mute appeal." |
 None Yet!     The Cursed  
|
He comes to her in a dream, on a plain with grass dyed red and buzzing with flies, and scattered with remnants once housed within skin. He dances amongst the fleshy remnants, with huge claws and fangs that rip and tear, colossal tails and too many limbs. He baths himself in gore, then licks it clean. He laughs, a bellowing, deadly din, as he slices through the heavens, making them bleed. Yet he does more than laugh–he revels. The tearing of limbs is a thing of beauty to him, art writ across flesh. Screams of torment are his favorite lullaby. His pride beams beholding a misshapen thing of his own design gurgling its life out onto the soil. The vision fades. She awakens and she is alone, a single soul screaming pitifully in a sea of life. These memories are not hers, but the feeling lingers, acrid and burning in her soul. Joy is an anathema to her, peace an obscenity. Light shines upon all, buffeting and blinding her. He picks at her, scrabbles within her, a tiny oozing blackness in the back of her mind, searching for the barest hint of flaw in the gem, as he knew there had to be. But even his strength could not break him free, no matter how much he reaped. She scours the world searching for surcease. In her own frustration, she hacks at her own flesh, rending it, clawing it, searching for comfort, victory in her own pain. He roars with unholy joy at the sound of her ribs spreading, her organs bursting. Finally, she lay on the ground, panting from her exertions, when her form begins to knit together in strange ways even she cannot fathom. When all limbs were joined anew, and life returned to muscles, there stood now two, where there had only been one. She saw herself reflected in him, and him in her, united in purpose and hate. The two tore at each other, reveling in their agonies. Then those four did the same, those eight the same, those sixteen the same, until a damned army hurtled towards the sky, chortling at the darkness gushing forth from between them. From which they were brought into this world, is by which they will be removed. From the darkness, void of life and breath. And that, my dear, is why we live in darkness, and why we live in fear of what lies within it. |
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Exalting Malice 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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