Ahkilum
(#49838033)
Level 1 Spiral
Familiar
Tar-Trooper Slarg
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 47/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Spiral
This dragon is benefiting from the effects of eternal youth.
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Personal Style
Hatchling dragons cannot wear apparel.
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.86 m
Wingspan
0.21 m
Weight
1.02 kg
Genetics
Orca
Ripple
Ripple
Shadow
Basic
Basic
Blood
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Spiral
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Lineage
Biography
                  
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Ahkilum
The ancient hatchling  x Warning: Horror elements, mentions of mass murder, and near manslaughter ahead. Once upon a time, many years ago, in a forest so near and far, there was a family. A family of power, a family of wealth, a family with one little son as the sole heir to it all. They loved, and laughed, and were happy—a family, through in through. But a coin has two sides, and warmth in one instance does not promise an absence of cold the next. They had secrets, flaws and mistakes—some, not considered mistakes, but perhaps immoral—hidden in trenches and in basements and anywhere the public eye did not see. All were children once and, despite maturity, despite growth, everyone falls back on childishness every once and a while: what the eye does not see is not there at all. But some are born blind, some have blindness thrust upon them later on. Either way, the concept fades, and a new one sprouts wings, sleek and oily black with ragged feathers and a sharp laugh: nothing can be seen, yet all is there; everything is hidden from sight, but the other senses still know—still see. Someone—someones—saw the filth, the rot, the festering infection, and chose to burn it out: antibiotics, alchohol swabs, so many choices, and they chose to meet corruption with destruction. Instead of healing, they destroyed. Red on brown bark, festive color palettes appear as grass is drenched with blood; a pale blue sky, serene as fluffy wisps of clouds lazily drifted, birds sang their cacophonous, overlapping, contrary songs that sounded not unlike the screaming of the dead. A single drop of mercy mixed with the bloodshed: the child, the heir, the inheritor to the monstrous, twisted title, was cursed and not killed: cursed to be young forever, cursed to never grow into power, into wealth, into his family's name. His family... He...forgot. Years passed, one at a time until they were centuries, and he forgot. He was a child, had a child's mind, a child's body, a child's attention span, a child's capability of remembrance—but his body, his mind, also had instincts, had limits: maybe he forgot because of trauma, maybe his brain couldn't contain centuries. He was frozen in time, but not. His horns and nails still grew, injuries happened and scars appeared, but his body stayed the same: aging, but not maturing. Dwarfism, in a sense—mangled and twisted as it was. He carried years in his head, yet his memories were nothing. Just time between the trees, scaring travelers and being scared of them in turn, following long ingrained lessons to not trust, stay away. But why? He couldn't remember—not when he learned, perhaps not even what, exactly, the lesson was (the teacher, however, was obvious: for wasn't life the greatest and truest teacher of all?). Oddly enough—yet normal, when following the tracks left by his life—the dragon he did finally trust was the one who tried to murder him. Not deliberately, of course. She wasn't to blame, really. He'd just been doing one of his favorite pranks, one that was guaranteed to get the most dramatic and hilarious reaction. His eyes dripped some murky gunk (did they always? He never questioned it), and when others met his gaze, he'd been called "shade-touched" with so much fear he knew there was something about his eyes that struck terror. He'd covered himself in fake crimson when he saw her—the color familiar, of course, he'd done this more times than he could remember, but in a way that didn't connect to any of his memories, for some reason—and slunk after her, finding the darkest shadow he could before leaping out, screeching like a victim suffering from dismemberment ( He bared the evidence of the "fight" side of the fight-or-flight reaction, but rarely did it seem anymore than a knee-jerk reaction. But this time his victim reared back, hands already crackling with magic that'd amassed in a heartbeat—always ready, always just under skin, waiting for the next time It struck—and suddenly her hands were pushing against him as his lunge was abruptly halted and nothing. Perhaps there was the buzz and crack of electricity, or a gasp of surprise, or a little voice crying out in pain. Or maybe it happened too quickly, maybe he chose not to remember, maybe his ears simply gave up a millisecond before the rest of him. Later, under the comfort of darkness and in the safety of her own room, she admitted she'd had to use the same magic that killed him to restart his heart. What she didn't tell him, was that the second jolt didn't—couldn't—undo all the damage the first shock had done. He was centuries old, but still aging, his body had endured much, but this was its limit. In a few years, maybe more, maybe less, the life of this ancient hatchling would end with the inevitable failure of one of his vital organs, all worn and old from time stretched endless. He didn't know why her cuddling seemed extra possessive that night, why her magic was present in the air, sparking at the edges of his sight and filling the room with a soft buzz, but he felt safe, happy. He knew what family felt like—couldn't remember a time he had before. He was glad he followed her home after the incident ("accident?" It certainly hadn't been on his part). Faintly (subconsciously, perhaps), he recalled a time he ran away from They were gone, if they'd ever existed, and he was okay with that. "Content," his brain would of defined for him, if he'd ever matured enough to grasp the meaning of the word. And content he would be, even if he used simpler words to explain it. (Later, he'd realize just how much more there was, how content he'd been with so little, and was grateful that sometimes, even when you weren't looking, good things still came). { |
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x FamilyXX Vivían Unnamed |
x FriendsXX [url=][/url] [url=][/url] |
x Acquaintances [url=][/url] [url=][/url] |
x OtherXXXX [url=][/url] [url=][/url] |
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Made by HolliwoodKa
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Exalting Ahkilum to the service of the Arcanist 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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