BlueCitrine » Lair » Desdemona

Desdemona

(#51106812)

"Don't ask about the sword, it's a long story."

Familiar

Regal Bladebearer

Energy: 46/50

Personal Style

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

12.5 m

Wingspan

7.08 m

Weight

5882.86 kg

Genetics

Cantaloupe
Jaguar (Gaoler)

Blood
Trail (Gaoler)

Sunset
Veined (Gaoler)

Hatchday

Apr 18, 2019
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Gaoler

Eye Type

Plague
Common

Level 25 Gaoler

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

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Mate

Sister

D E S D E M O N A
//
Mate(s): Kismet
Naomi -> Willow -> Thorn -> Phantom -> Zavada -> Desdemona
_______________________________

___

______________________________________________
Desdemona is a descendant of Naomi, the youngest of five siblings hatched from her mother's first nest and one of three sisters who found their way to Clan Citrine—though her journey took her much longer than her dear sisters' did. All born as Guardians, their Searches were cut short not by the discovery of their Charge, but by the re-shaping of themselves—or, in Desdemona's case, by a mix of the two.

As Desdemona wandered the lands of Sornieth, searching for her Charge, she stumbled upon the ruins of an old gladiator's arena. Weathered by time and neglect, the arena was overgrown and crumbling. Yet set into the rear wall of the pit, untouched, was a sealed door that, as she approached, Desdemona could sense was holding back a being of immeasurable darkness. With every step she took towards it, the darkness in the air became heavier and heavier until she was forced to retreat—only to feel the distinct crunch of bone cracking beneath her feet.

A large, antlered skull and sun-bleached bones lay entangled in the vines that stretched across the arena like a tangled web.

Alongside it lay a sword.

Desdemona found no sign of a struggle, no sign of injury beyond the fresh break caused by her clumsy footsteps. The guardian of this makeshift cell had not died by another's hand. Illness, starvation, age—it was impossible to tell. What she could tell was that they had been dead for a long time. Unless...

She eyed the vines, but set the thought aside.

Cutting the sword free, Desdemona stared down the door that held back whatever monstrosity emitted the immense darkness that she sensed and made a choice.

Over the course of the next few years, without her realising, Desdemona slowly began to change. Focused on her duty, she was all but oblivious to the way in which her form morphed from that of a Guardian to that of a Gaoler—from one with a Charge, to one with a Prisoner. Perhaps there was magic lingering in the foundations of the arena, perhaps it was something else entirely. To this day, she doesn't know for certain. All she knows is that one day, she looked in her reflection and found her face had changed.

Her guard spanned years. How many, she isn't sure. Time was muddled by the weight of solitude and perpetual silence.

Until, one day, something crashed against the door. Over and over and over again—until, even with her best efforts to reinforce the prison that held the darkness back, something broke free.

She doesn't remember what happened, after that.

She awoke days, weeks, perhaps months later to the constriction of vines and the painless, but foreign, sensation of something pierced through her torso.

The sword.

Desdemona had not been made weak by her confinement. The vines that bound her tore against teeth and claws and the muscle of her body pushing her way free. Inspecting her wound, she found it did not bleed, it did not fester, it did not cause agony—just as it had not killed.

Desdemona was alive.

And so was her prisoner, the makeshift prison behind her laying empty.

Inside, she found no hints to who, or what, her prisoner had been. Yet she knew that, unleashed, it would only cause harm, wherever it may go. So, packing up what few belongings she still held and with the sword still embedded in her body, she left the arena she had spent years within and searched for her sisters.

She found them, and many others of her lineage, in Clan Citrine.

_____
From Plague's Confectionery, by Minstri._____

- 6th Generation Descendant of Naomi -

Naomi --> Willow --> Thorn --> Phantom --> Zavada --> Me

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Exalting Desdemona to the service of the Lightweaver 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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