Tenrai
(#46035983)
You can't choose what stays and what fades away
Familiar
Marbled Serpenta
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Water.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.41 m
Wingspan
6.35 m
Weight
427.5 kg
Genetics
Tan
Jaguar
Jaguar
Violet
Bee
Bee
Driftwood
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Wildclaw
Max Level
STR
110
AGI
24
DEF
10
QCK
50
INT
6
VIT
25
MND
10
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
| __._ |
 No lights, there were no lights in his cell, his bed was in darkness, buried under blankets in the basement of a mad man. Or maybe he was the mad one, maybe he deserved all this? If only he could remember properly, beyond the fog and the hallucinations. Past the fever. In his arms he slept, when the fever became too bad, drenched in cold sweat, so hot that even the iron of his chains became warm to the touch. Stitch, stitch, cross and the button is back on; father’s hands are so nimble, he makes it look so simple, so easy. In the home with its small rooms and simple furniture, he slept on the fabric scraps no longer needed. This was all he had, this was all they could afford, yet he still had to find a better bed to rest his tired head. The son of a seamster, he should have it easy, with his looks, with his sweetness, with the innocence clinging to his bones. But the Empire did not look for innocence within the black armored ranks of their Knights. They craved for violence, for blood to be spilled and for a mind twisted enough to enjoy it. His family pressured, pushed, because knights were well paid, he could support them all, especially when sickness ate away at his father’s nimble fingers. He was a bad son. Because he ran, not even a year in the ranks of Bared Fangs, and he turned tail, he ran and ran and ran, the hour before his oath was to be taken. Everything was abandoned, the sword, the armor, the fortune and the family he was supposed to have, left behind, to starve, to be devoured by rust and time. They were angry, so angry, he could hear the howl of the hounds, the General’s roar shook the thorn riddled walls, caused the hounds to whimper in fear. The village, it was perfect, it was quaint and small, a fisher’s village with a haven, dwarfed to ridiculousness by the dreadnought anchoring. Blue paint on blue water against a blue sky, it promised freedom, it promised forgetting the guilt and the regret and the fear. The ship was his goal, but he never even made it halfway to it. Sand under his feet, dusting his hair, he felt eyes on his back, and saw armed figures in the shadows. The doctor wanted to help, wanted to coax away the nausea and the desire to throw up what he had just eaten, to make the hurt in his stomach and throat better. Surely that was what he had wanted to do. The village was killing him, he felt like dying and the blue ship was getting further and further away, sailing towards the horizon with ivory pale sails, leaving him stranded, alone, hopeless. Lashing out when kindness was shown. ”I would rather be locked up for all eternity than being with you.” He was so mean, so angry, driven by hurt and fear and not himself in this moment, when Amyr dared to lay bare his heart in sweet words. He left deep wounds and felt guilty immediately afterwards, so much so he accepted the tea offered, even though it tasted bad, even though it made his intestines hurt, he drank it all up, to the very last drop, because Amyr seemed a little less hurt afterwards. A mistake, he knew now, waking up in the dark, in a bed too soft, weighed down by iron wrapped around his limbs. Soft words, sweet voice, Amyr was there, through it all. Needles plunged into his flesh, his veins filled with liquid fire, he screamed and screamed until his voice broke, he struggled against chains and arms that wanted to hold him. ”Let me go...let me go, please…”, broken whispers almost drowned out entirely against murmurs of love, declaration of adoration, warm and soft against his bruised skin, the nape of his neck, the sweat soaked curls of his hair. Into his ear and against his throat, Amyr didn’t listen, didn’t let go, if only. “I am sorry…” Apologizing never helped, his sin too deep, his fault, his fault. How much time had passed between the pleading and the fire consuming his body from within? Too much, he was left underground, bound and tired, drowning in affection he didn’t want and gifts he had no desire for. Starving didn’t help, as Amyr knew better, he always did, not letting him die, not letting go. ”Kill me...just kill me already…”, too much, he couldn’t...not again, not again, please. And still the candle’s light caught on the needle in Amyr’s hands, a bright flash of steel and iron and a promise of sinister roots. “I don’t want this any longer.” “But my dear, I am not a cruel man and killing is cruel…”, sweet words, the sweetness of decay, the sweetness of rot clinging to every whispered word, left the faint taste of bitter ash on the tip of his tongue as his skin was peppered with kisses, more and more, almost distracting him from the needle’s jab. “I would never be so cruel to you.” An open door, a call for help, instead a monster came downstairs, lured in by his calls for help. The monster smiled and gave false hope, watched for a moment or two, before boredom overtook it and it tired of its game halfway through. Yet, fleeting as it was, the lesson was taught well, driving home the point that there was no reason anymore. No fight, no safety, only monsters. Out, after so long in the darkness of the cell, of the basement, he was out, free. On the beach, sand under his feet, sun on his skin, he could feel the wind again, hear the murmur of the sea. Idyllic, a blanket stretched out in the spot between two dunes, wine and fruits and books, Amyr had promised everything and he provided plentifully. Yet here he stood, heart beating rapidly, adrenaline in his veins. He could run, if he was fast, he could make it. Up the beach, over the crumbling walls, over the roofs and into the forest. If he was fast, if he was nimble, he knew he was. He could make it. Muscles tensing, body twitching he -- Why run? Why take the chance of meeting a monster worse than the current one? He fell back, dulled eyes, empty expression, the silence in between Amyr’s chatting. In the colors of the setting sun he wondered if he should have run. A thought chased away, instead he reached out, for the monster that had hurt him, for the man who claimed to love him so dearly. The kiss tasted sweet, sweeter than the fruit, sharper than the wine. It tasted of salt, be it from his tears or the sea, he could not tell. Giving away the last shard of himself was too easy, far too easy. It almost felt right. 
| ___ |
code & assets by archaic #19153
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Exalting Tenrai to the service of the Flamecaller 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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