Schattenfeuer's dragon Yachaziel

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

17.86 m

Wingspan

13.27 m

Weight

11463.46 kg

Genetics

Swamp
Lionfish

Oilslick
Sludge

Umber
Okapi

Hatchday

Nov 05, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Earth
Uncommon

Level 25 Guardian

Max Level

STR

105

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Yachaziel the Scarred.
↠ Not my parents child, not my family's scion

"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..."

Old grudges never really go away, they should know. They lived in the shadow of their ancestor’s deeds their whole life. As much as the tribe claimed to live and give forgiveness and acceptance, their words still rung hollow in their ears, preaching the obvious had never made people any more able to see what was veiled. It was like trying to hold on to the river’s roaring waves with one’s bare hands, a needless, pointless exercise - no, a waste - of strength and energy.

The more they grew, the clearer the lines on their face became, the louder those whispered words grew. The muttering, the rumoring behind their back. When they bound their chest and wrapped their hands in strips of cloth and leather, when they gripped their spear hard enough to turn their knuckles bone white under dark tanned skin. The fire of injustice kept roaring in the cavity of their chest, a slow burning, hot thing that threatened to melt down their spine, down to the very last string of marrow, until they were kneeling in the dust and no longer able to stand.

In the past, the Elder says oh so softly, with his eyes veiled by a longing for a home beyond the shadow of a tent’s fabric walls. His lips curling upwards and in the dancing light of the evening’s last embers, it almost looks like he is crying shadow soft tears. In the past our people had a freedom different from the one they enjoyed now. In days long gone, the call of the wind was still only called a breeze. And the teachings of mother nature were taught with tools and beasts of burden.

But what good does it do, they would ask, always. Always the headstrong one, always the impatient one. What use was pondering, meandering over a past dead and gone when the future was filled with uncertainty and fear. When the monsters that had torn away their houses of wood and fields of crops from under them, were still roaming free. Hungry for the sparks of life, the beasts never stopped their prancing hunt and they would be damned if they let this old taint fester any longer. On their name, they swore, on their tribe and their family that refused to let go.

The fool, they were called, when they set out regardless. Alone. Only the clothes on their back and all the weapons they could find as silent company, they set out. The steely eyed youth of a damned bloodline, to follow the sun over hills of rolling grass and endless forests. They walked even when stones cut their soles, because the pain could not deter them. One monster wasn’t enough, it never was for one made room for two, for three, for more in never ending circles. To find the defiled, sacred land of the beginning, they crossed the borders of possibility, they drank from the waters of oblivion and brought low the unbending, but no matter the passing of time, where was this elusive prey they had set their eyes on so many decades ago?

With scars on their skin and white in their hair, the conclusion of all came and went, disappointing, unworthy. His face, marred by marks of corruption and taint, remained stony, forceful neutral but his tongue spun a galle bitter tale of sacrifice and the greater good. The hilt of a knife still between his shoulder blades and the rusted clasp of a chain around his neck, he growled and snarled and spat on their challenge, their hissing on justice.

A foolish child knows nothing about justice., by their hair he dragged them into the cold, through snow and ice and in a heap of twitching limbs he tossed them at her feet. For her to determine what to do with them, because unlike the stories of old, he still was a loyal hound. A monster with his teeth filed down and his claws clipped, he housed in the fortress black, as dark as her hair, as tattered as a raven’s outstretched wings. She, who had chained and imprisoned the Deathless still had use for them. For their calloused hands and the muscle bulging under their scarred skin. But especially, she seemed to cherish the practicality of their mind, the capacity of wielding a weapon, any weapon with bone crushing force, a fitting line of defense and a tutor for those that would come after them.

And coming they did, ambitious youths, tame beasts, the disillusioned and the foolish brave. Cobwebs made room for life and in the countless mirrors, the light of many, many candles was reflected several times over, in the wisps of curling smoke they sensed a restless pair of eyes. What started as a ruin became something darker, grander, fearsome. In a world filled to overflow with monsters, who was left to put the fear into everything that went bump in the night?

And this, they concluded with grim satisfaction, grip tight on the handle of their axe, was where they would come in.

Kailea
A silly, foolish man, much younger
than them that seemed blind to their
lack of softness. That seemed to think
of a dirty, quick thing between two cups
as something more. It would be too easy
to break his spindly neck while he was
busy staring, starstuck, hearteyed at their
body. But he saw more, more than a warm
body, more than a fling.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Yachaziel 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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