Schattenfeuer » Hibernal Den » Europa

Europa

(#56564467)

Level 25 Guardian

Familiar

Teardrop Owlynx

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

15.82 m

Wingspan

16.73 m

Weight

8094 kg

Genetics

Raspberry
Lionfish

Caribbean
Clouded

Flaxen
Firefly

Hatchday

Nov 05, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Wind
Unusual

Level 25 Guardian

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

103

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Europa.
↠ The sins of the Father

"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..."

You ungrateful dog! We rose you above your station and this is how you show your gratitude?

He was skin and bones and sharp edges, wild hair and wide eyes with sparks of magic falling from his fingertips far too easily. He was one of many, skin coated in the dust of the road and sweat from walking for days. The march forced onto them, the story the same as the many before them. They lost their homes, their belongings, their fields. A foolish group of farmers left with shattered lives as the red haze consumed it all like swarms of hellish locusts.

So they walked, a steadily dwindling line of lost ducklings, the old and frail were the first, some never rose from their makeshift beds of fallen leaves and dried grass. Others were less gentle in their passing, falling and drowning in dust and dirt while their limbs could not carry them one step further. Bleak and empty, the horizon held nothing but faint hope in its glow. Towards the daybreak they walked, leaving behind dust and ashes and corpses.

Run, you need to run away, they acoming!

Somewhere along the winding way, he had let go of his sister’s hand, had slipped out of his brother’s arms and lost sight of his father’s arched back. His mother, she hadn’t even made it out of the ruin of their home, consumed fully by red haze and tongue of flickering flames. Until nothing but black was left, scorched and twisted, fire cleansed and damaged, a sword with a double edge. Cut and cleanse, one can not go without the other. And finally, after too many days, the walls of a city bloomed, grey and solid, he left marks of red as he stumbled into the streets. He kissed the stones that promised protection and tasted ash and bitter dirt on the tip of his tongue.

Gratitude and relief, however, fed no one and filled no belly. He was alone in the back streets of the city, grander than anything he had seen before. He was alone and hungry and beaten down by life and fate, yet when she arrived with her hair dishevelled and the silk of her skirts darkened by dirt, he was mesmerized. She was not supposed to be here, there was nothing for her to find here, nothing but morbid curiosity and a rusty blade between the ivory of her ribs. And then he saw it, silver and pearl did it rest on her brow, the crown of a princess. So he acted.

I didn’t do anything, my lord! I swear on my life, the child is yours!

They had pounced on him severely, the traitor, the one that thought he was something better than the rest of those that crawled through dust and dirt to find forgotten coins. He remembered them cursing him, he remembered the sound his bones made as they broke, brittle from hunger, thin from exhaustion. From the corner of his eyes he saw her, picking up her skirts and running so fast, she lost one of her silken slippers. Dainty, pale, expensive enough to feed the group of beggars of weeks and he had left her run away, had protected her from bony hands reaching out, greed and hunger in bleak eyes.

This could have, should have been his end, the last chapter to a story of misery and disaster. But instead, she came back, bare footed and cheeks flushed, she returned with knights in armor and armed with swords, with spears and with courage. He wanted to be like them, a fantastical illusion he saw through blood and pain and fever. Through broken teeth and spit he murmured that he wanted this too.

Europa, look! Have you seen a scenery like this before?

The princess became his savior, his constant bedside visitor as he said resting, his head bandaged and his arms wrapped with casts. She brought him water and fed him soup, she fetched new clothing when he could leave the bed after too many months of rest, skin and bones, awkward with pallid skin and tired eyes. But he was standing, he was standing and drawing a breath and this was the only thing that was important. Only a few months more. Only a little bit longer and he could pledge his loyalty to the princess too.

An armor of his own, a new name, a new beginning, it was him upon which fell the honor of accompanying the princess. Away from her small, sheltered life, into a new one. Married to a far away prince, sold to a land across the oceans, she was so unhappy despite knowing this would happen. It was her duty, her sole comfort as she stepped of the ship, meeting the man who became her husband. With her head held high and sad eyes, she placed her small, frail hand in his, swallowed whole, dwarfed by her husband’s sheer size. She was so, so unhappy.

Smile, princess, you are so beautiful when you smile.

He became the guardian of her happiness, to shield it and protect it’s fragile bloom. It was him that tended to it with dedication that went far beyond mere obedience of a knight for his mistress. It was him that protected her as her stomach started to swell and her husband forgot about her existence fully. Caught up in blood sport and war, now that she couldn’t even warm his bed anymore, he had no use for her. The first in a line of many, he didn’t even know what changed.

Maybe they were too close, the love lingering could have irritated her husband, his lord. But he was upstanding, he was honorable and would never bed another man’s wife. He swore, on his life, his honor, everything, the youngest child in its crip was not from his loins. Yet, jealousy and rage blinding the lord of the realm, he was cast out, chased out with shame burning in open wounds.

You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you, boy.

After two decades, he had thought this was final. His new home in an empire of eternal night and day side by side. In Towers of Obsidian, he had carved out a place for himself, deemed the past forgotten and buried when suddenly a boy was standing in front of him. He looked so much like his mother, soft and warm, denying him was impossible. With large eyes in the color of the setting sun, the boy called out to him, called him uncle and carried with him a letter from his mother. She wrote with a shaking hand, by now, after so many years learning and tending to wounds, nurturing his natural gift, he knew of the sickness eating her body alive, hollowing her out more with each child her husband forced onto her.

The boy, Andruel, asked for a place to say. He spoke little but his mother’s letters did that for him. She told with words of ink a story of a boy that could not live up to his father’s unrealistic expectations. Of a boy that suffered for a sin that was never committed. In wobbly lines of smudged black she asked of him, one last favor, to help the son that wasn’t his. To help him, because no one else wanted to.

Dear god, I never thought he could look that happy.

In a cathedral that reached for the sun itself with golden spires and marble statues, he watched the boy no one else wanted walk down the aisle, eyes aglow with new vigor and on his arm a winged shard of divinity in the flesh. In the shadow of the same cathedral’s towers and spires, jagged horns and prayers of stone, he was finally able to put to rest the last sparks of his past. In between smiling lips, he tasted a salvation he didn’t even know he had yearned for.

Amou
Don't you see that there is
no need for you to burden yourself?
Those are not your sins to carry, not
yours to correct or sacrifice yourself
for. Those are the deeds of the past
and the loves of the loveless.
Fall in my arms, close your eyes and
let go of your guilt.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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