Schattenfeuer's dragon Damianus

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

0.83 m

Wingspan

0.94 m

Weight

1.7 kg

Genetics

Mist
Wasp

Cornflower
Alloy

Gloom
Ghost

Hatchday

May 04, 2019
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Fae

Eye Type

Plague
Innocent

Level 25 Fae

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

107

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Damianus Voltari.
↠ The forgotten Child

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

Shall we dance?

Craning back his head, he had to look up, too high, too small his frame, fragile bones wrapped in cold flesh and porcelain pale skin, hiding a heart of glittering amethyst, too young, too frail. Not even the heels could help and behind the dark silver rims of his glasses - round like the bottom of wine bottles - he watched with large, sparkling red eyes. Too wet, too innocent. It took too long for him to reach out, yet the offered hand never was withdrawn.

In a House with no name, he was drowning in colorful mist, between clinging to his brother’s hand and hiding behind black bangs, he was out of place. Too much, not a speck of skin shown, velvet over satin, rimmed by dark fur and clasped by silver, never too much, as if anyone would even notice. He had always been the forgotten child. When Mother called in her brood, no one thought of fetching him too.

Open up, little doe.

Sugar melting on his tongue, he wasn’t too sure if he liked this. His favorite treat, violets coated in a thin, crystalline coat of sugar, how could the devil even know? And as he looked away, tip of his ears red from a spreading blush, he caught a glimpse of Osiris’ golden hair and smile. Of course, the only one of the family that remembered his existence as a whole would also be the one to push him out of his comfort zone. To pry him away from the worlds out of written pages and ink and aged paper.

Going out wasn’t what he liked to do. He had friends...of sorts. Surely. Somewhere? There was...yes, there was Udolamin, Tutor within the Empire’s finest. But come to think, he hadn’t seen the other for some time now, the new assignment seemed to eat up the older man’s time entirely. Wasn’t there someone else too? Anyone that remembered he existed, that was proof that he was more than the sum of thoughts floating in his brain like the curls of colorful mist within the walls of this home.

I want to kiss this sadness of yours away.

Rubies start to gather in his little jewelry box, each day he opens it to add another one, all of them gifts. On his desk there are quills, heavy, elegant paper, perfumed and of finest quality. Ink happily swirls in a bottle shaped like a frozen doe, carved out of dark, soothing red. Rubies. Like his eyes. The gifts make him sway, make him shy. Was it genuine, what was seen within him that deserved such an overabundance of everything?

He was a simple scholar, a librarian and all the extravagance within him could be summed up or traced back to him simply being related to his family. The Voltari curse stilled his heart at fourteen winters, froze his body in time, all this happened five winters ago and he hadn’t changed much. Only his hair had grown, black and silken and soft, the only sign he was alive, breathing. Not a doll out of porcelain and alabaster, with shards of gems as eyes. Wide eyed, he had followed his brother’s invitation, following Osiris down a magnificently, magical path, stumbling down a rabbit hole of dark touched wonders.

Stay a little longer, my little doe. Let me enjoy your presence another while.

The Devil’s daughter never strays too far from his side, she is around when her father is off, greeting and meeting the crowd he invited into his nameless, mist filled house. Decadence and opulence are provided with full hands, wine overflows the chalice and the pipes spew another curling set of coiling, twisting wisps of mist, add another warm body to the pillows and lazy kind of enjoyment settling into exhausted limbs.

Under all this playful, antique kind of decadence, a remembrance of olden days, faded, faint, he could feel the power. Slow and steady, molten, white hot stone that refused to rush, that carved its own path and no one, nothing could stop it. With charisma and warm smiles, gentle hands and arms that provided safety at a most profound level, the taming of a most fearful creature proceeded in gentle lull.

If mine is a crown of suns, yours shall be a crown of stars.

Bishop
Bouqets of Forget-me-nots,
laced with candied violets and
inkwells that never run dry,
he is seen and never
forgotten ever again.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Damianus 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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