Irithyll » Lair » Basaran

Basaran

(#52312908)

B A S A R A N mottled with light

Familiar

Snappish Planting

Energy: 49/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

23.05 m

Wingspan

20.29 m

Weight

8086.13 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Metallic

Obsidian
Bee

Latte
Opal

Hatchday

Jun 02, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Nature
Primal

Level 25 Imperial

Max Level

STR

120

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

B A S A R A N mottled with light
◦ blacksmith ◦

"But heed this. The price you pay may be heavy indeed."
"It doesn’t matter."
"Very well..."
^{^{t h e m e}}

^{Basaran had long been weathered like an hourglass with the sands of time. Patient with his craft and meticulous about every part of his life, having wordless control of whatever situation he was in, the tall imperial presented the gifts to the hatchling in his little pillow palace, some letter dice made of soft wood that was lacquered in a manner that would not chip nor be harmful when licked. The dragon knelt in front of the hatchling, curled up somewhere in the blankets per usual, likely waiting for his father to come back from meetings, for now being too overwhelmed with anyone else's presence to the point of burrowing himself deep inside the makeshift structures.

Perhaps it was fear of new individuals. Perhaps it was shame from the lack of wings and weak body parts held together by the machinery that Basaran had made, the fact that the poor child's first response was to hide himself from the world lightly tugging at the craftsman's heartstrings despite his level-headed nature. He could only hope to know, to calm the little dragon even though his father had not requested his presence or a checkup on the movement aides.

With a soft clack of the dice against one another, he waited, acting as if he did not see the head poke itself from between the play-tent and padded wall, setting down the dice next to the other toy mechanics, little birds that tweeted and sang at the turn of a key, offerings of peace. The tiny arms stretched out towards the blocks seemed to accept, amazed to reveal a new letter upon flipping one over to the opposite side, feathers no longer bristled at the taller dragon. The offering of a hand was taken, the young hatchling almost leaning into the touch of the gentle claws stroking the soft black mane sprouting from the top of his head. The mechanisms aiding his movement and shuffling were still functional, the very purpose of his visit, yet still Basaran stayed to play with the wordless, shy prince.

The hatchling didn't speak much. Neither did the craftsman, for lack of need, allowing himself a smile. Perhaps the child trusted him so due to his own looks, splotches of white around his skin, one eye half blind and sensitive to light. Nowhere near as broken as the youngling, but close enough to be considered in the same boat, to be considered a comrade, a mentor, a friend. He was never one for reading minds, believing that as long as the means were good in faith, the ends would follow. He wasn't wrong much either, but now was an exception.

---

He watched the blade he had forged sink into the young prince's flesh, eyes blank yet deeply troubled. Basaran, despite himself, refused to look away from the sight of the dying dragon, the collapsing father, withholding his own sentiment as the memories of the dragon that had once been so innocent and sweet flashed by his ill-seeing eye. The sword he forged was a final testament of love to the next heir, of care that had been pushed away by the rebellious Lothric and memories of all the toys now either broken or stashed away deep inside some storage rooms. For the better. Basaran knew he would not be able to handle looking at them even once.

Somewhere, somehow, it had all gone wrong. He'd been saying it all his life, repeating his motto, yet now he watched the life seep out of the corpse, Velka standing strong by his side, light from her banners somehow blinding. The ends justify the means. The outcome justifies the methods. It had been worth it. It was for the best.

He decided in a split second to believe his own resolve, not let his faith in his logic falter.

The ends justify the means.

Except for when they don't.

written by gay4dragonz}

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Exalting Basaran 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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