Dehisce
(#46462839)
"Pride and Purpose"
Familiar
Ashspine Widow
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Mirror
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.26 m
Wingspan
7.24 m
Weight
382.03 kg
Genetics
Coral
Speckle
Speckle
Strawberry
Freckle
Freckle
Blood
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Mirror
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
DEHISCE
The Skinless
“Unskin these impure bodies, Mother of the Contagion! For we welcome your blessings, Great Plaguebringer, and our scars dance upon our grateful flesh.”
|
 Cicatrix says: "Your endurance is impressive, Dehisce. But our work is to ultimately unite all our foes under the glory of the Plaguebringer, not merely to flay them."  Coronach says: "Every plagueborn dragon should aspire to win the Plaguebringer's favour. Broken limbs, fevers, any disease or injury thinkable or unthinkable amounts to the same simple equation; you'll either survive or you won't. Mother has no need for weaklings. Prove yourself strong, or be nothing more than mere prey. Which one are you, I wonder?" |
    Skinless 
 
|
A year before Dehisce's birth, his father had dreamed of Death. It was in the midst of a bloody battle that seemed to finally get the best of the young warrior. Gravely wounded and empty of all vigor, his eyed had just fluttered shut when suddenly, everything was adrenaline and heat. There was a nauseating moment of disorientation as Rebuke coughed on smoke that wasn't there. That was when he saw her, and the weight of her presence knocked him to his knees. He was too aware of her being. It pushed against him like a wave of force, and he knew without a doubt that he stood before a god. The Plaguebringer. He had been pious, and his efforts had drawn her eye. To him she spoke her blessing. “You shall bear a princely son, stronger than his father, who is like war in the strength of his hands, and like lightning in the swiftness of his feet. He will honour my name, and all shall witness my favour.” He felt her offer and his own acceptance swirl around his being, the words like a physical weight as they etched themselves onto his soul. It was a brand he would carry for many years. When Dehisce was born, Rebuke had known immediately that this was the boy who was destined to join his goddess in the dominion of Death. She had not appeared to him since, but his zeal had only grown—her silence had only fanned the flames. It had long become impossible for him to tell the line that separated fervour and insanity. Dehisce was not so much his son as he was his offering. Year after year, he conducted lengthy and depraved rituals in the hopes that he would again win the Plaguebringer's eye. The part of Dehisce's mind that still cared thought it wasn’t fair. Though he was told of his supposed destiny, he had never felt special. His father controlled his whole world. Where to go, what to do, how to speak, and what to think. It started slowly at first, but every time he thought Rebuke had run out of ways to make his life miserable, there was another, more creative, layer, and he was filled with a whole new kind of pain. “Be still,” his father had warned. Then he worked the blade underneath the skin, down to the bone and peeled. Dehisce held still. He did not keep silent. When Rebuke was finished, Dehisce had long fallen limp, his body heavy with exertion and slick with blood. His consciousness was barely clinging to the surface of reality as he gazed unseeingly at the mess of flayed flesh. Dimly, he was aware of Rebuke speaking. “Violence was what brought me close to her, and it will bring you to her too. It is your destiny. This path to perfection will lead you to the goddess. You will see: I will burn away your mortality, and you shall be as a god yourself. You will be worthy of standing at her side.” He anointed Dehisce with ambrosia and brought him to the fireside. Sometimes it was more smoke, sometimes more blaze. Sometimes there was a way to put it out, sometimes he could only scream. By the time Rebuke was satisfied, Dehisce thought of himself as flame; bright and beautiful and too dangerous to touch. Then, on one pale night, when his father was in the midst of teaching him yet another sort of lesson, the feeling of metal and heat abruptly disappeared. He slid to land on the floor in a tangle of limbs. The noise dissipated, the smell of singed flesh faded, and the quiet and the cold invaded him. There was a sheer presence before him. Still shaken after being scraped raw, he spoke the first words that came to his confused mind. “Who are you?” “My name is Plaguebringer,” the being said mildly, with a genial smile on her face. The Name reverberated around the sliver of a dimension like the clashing of cymbals: It made the colours brighter, the sounds louder, and the shadows longer. Dehisce looked away, swallowed, nodded his head once as if he had already known. “Am I dead? Is this meant to be my fate?” “Not dead yet. Do you want to be?” Her voice was hypnotic. Her tone and cadence, coupled with the ever-moving shadows, the cold room, the nakedness, the vulnerability as every secret was laid bare, was somehow more unsettling than a raw nerve after being flayed alive. “If I could choose,” Dehisce spoke carefully, after he arranged his limbs into something more useful, “I would choose to live. Please, grant me your blessings so that I might survive.” The Plaguebringer examined him as he tried and failed to breathe around the Plaguebringer's all consuming presence. “You already belong to me.” she said easily. “If you serve, you will survive.” It was a hope even more intangible than a dream. For as long as he could remember, he’d prayed for her favour, he’d begged, he’d offered anything. All for nothing but more silence and more suffering. It was too good to be true, Dehisce knew that, but he was already judged – what did it matter anymore? “What is it you want me to do?” “What any of my children are wont to do. Spread unity and conviction in our ranks, spread havoc and chaos upon my enemies. Assimilate all who oppose you, and kill those that will not. Command a hoard fit to butcher in my name. Paint every corner of the world in my colours.” “And if I fail?” He asked quietly. The Plaguebringer's eyes flared red. “Sure,” Dehisce whispered, cringing. “I understand, I will do as you say. I swear on my life.” “Precisely.” Plaguebringer smiled, the hellish light fading from her gaze. “You will not die on my altar tonight. This gift I shall grant you only once. If you should arrive at my door a second time, your failures will no longer be met with succor. Brace yourself, for this will hurt—but pain is temporary, and you were born to endure.” With just that warning, the Plaguebringer's power poured into him. Dehisce felt it all the way through him, a wave of burning heat that scorched every particle. He felt his breath stutter in his lungs, and foul discharge poured from his eyes and nose. Even as he screamed her expression didn't so much as flicker. She was still smiling at him, but nothing could hide the nightmare looking out of her eyes. The clash of cymbals reverberated around them. There was the sound of birdsong; he felt the confusing heady rush of adrenaline and a warmth in a cruel facsimile of a mother's hug. He was falling, falling upwards. It wasn’t flying, no it was definitely falling, just up and up and up – She finally released him. He looked around wildly; forcing himself to stand. He was where he had fallen. His thundering heart kicked up another twenty notches with something between gratitude, fascination, awe, and crippling terror. “I—I’m alive.” His father was right, the goddess was real and her power was beyond all doubt. He had seen her and spoken to her. He had accepted her Faustian bargain and was reborn. As Dehisce felt himself up and down, it was apparent he was not as he once was. Blood still seeped from open wounds but he felt no pain. His eyes dripped a thick green pus and a mess of sores and blisters boiled out of his sockets—the undeniable proof of his brush with divinity. But instead of pain, the disease and canker soothed his wounds like a balm. Some maggots had already started to worm at his flesh, but it did not bother him. For they too are proof of the resiliency of life. He felt ecstatic; drunk on the pleasure of it all. Finally, he understood. The Plaguebringer gifts life just as much as death—and he has never felt so perfectly alive. |
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Exalting Dehisce 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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