Martyrr's dragon Bakura

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.41 m

Wingspan

2.88 m

Weight

65 kg

Genetics

Gloom
Leopard

Blood
Alloy

Blood
Glimmer

Hatchday

Nov 06, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Plague
Rare

Level 1 Spiral

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

150g 11/14/2019

400

GENERATION 1

A L I S T A I R

ETRIX'S LINE
The Flesh Eater

Quote Here

Of Thorns & Roses
Lineage and Lore Book

He woke up tasting blood.

But it wasn't like any other. There were scents and sounds scattered all around him, almost making it hard to breathe in at first, it being so overwhelming. The hatchling almost didn't want to break out of his shell, but it was either drown in his mother's fluids, or be engulfed with the sensations...

He snapped out of his shell, breaking out, weakly struggling. Who would have thought him the eldest? He was so weak, so small for his breed. He won't be accepted in any other clan this way, he was already sure of it. However, he felt his siblings' heart race, those imprisoned still in their shells. He felt the mist, felt it shimmer around him like a blanket threatening to take him away. It wasn't until his own mother scooped him up into her arms and began cleaning him without another word.

She smelled wrong. Like the blood in her was decaying, cloying, rotten even... He wanted to gag, to get away from her as much as possible. It was the same for the smaller dragon who neared them, worry etching his features.

It was then there, where his other half-sibling flew into view. The bigger imperial held a mass of limp fur hanging from his jaws, a dark liquid trickling down from bite marks from where its life had been extinguished.

He knew nothing else, not the way he had cried out and scrambled from his mother's arms just to sink in newly found fangs into the dead creature's stiffening flesh.

Euphoria, he thought drunkenly as his teeth ravaged through dead flesh. He saw the hunt, he saw his brother descend from the sky like a dreaded menace, felt the creature's fears, adrenaline coursing through its veins, its final animal memories before being snuffed out by death.

He was not the same as his siblings, that was for sure.

After all, a vampire born of a Witch on a Wolf Moon has always had his fate changed forever.

ACE OF SWORDS

Tainted Vampire

Deep within the catacombs beneath the Cathedral of Eyes, a room rests at the end of the librarians' hall. It is marked by a heavy iron door engraved with numerous sigils, a heavy metal lock sealing it closed at all times. Some wonder what is caged behind the door, for occasionally a piece of parchment scrawled with cursive in dark ink is pushed out into the hallway from a small crack beneath it.

Those who have seen behind the door know that it hides a monster. His eyes gleam and his form is nearly smoke-like in the darkness as he steps towards the door. He is hungry. Ravenous as he awaits the Librarians' return. They bring him corpses - most of the organs and blood already removed to leave only meager scraps of decaying muscle. The black chains that hold him snap to their full length as he lunges towards his meal. The timid Imperial who brings it leaves quickly, setting a stack of parchment neatly to the side before the door slides closed once more.

This was the deal. He would strip the last of the tissue from the corpses and write of how each of them died when the visions came to his mind. Then, he would leave the bones and completed writing for the Librarians to collect. The scraps are barely enough to keep him alive. Still, he thinks himself lucky. Perhaps his after-death consumption of flesh instead of living blood is what saved him. . . but his sister still deemed him too dangerous to remain at large in the world. Vampires, she argued, had no place in it.

Bio template by LaSilva007. Assets by Poisonedpaper and Kayosa (Orbs).

35kt 3/11/2020

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O R I G I N S

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R O W A N

Alistair shifted over the nest, pulling three luminous eggs farther into the shadows. He knew that the full moon loomed on the horizon, but it had been a long time since his own eyes beheld its light. Instead, he simply felt its presence seeping through the cracks in the stone catacombs where he was held prisoner. Perhaps, his children could feel it too.

In the darkness, two of the eggs hatched in response to the pull of the full moon that wavered somewhere far overhead. Alistair gently helped chip away at the shell until his firstborn toppled to the ground, eye-like markings shining from his wings. It was then that Alistair heard the hurried footsteps, the wrought iron door before him unlocking tentatively as his mate, Briar, joined him.

They greeted one another with an affectionate touching of foreheads. Their time together was always limited; their love a forbidden affair between captor and prisoner. With shaky hands, Briar pulled a deck of cards from her robes, allowing Alistair to choose for their firstborn. Ruby claws carded across the deck before he pulled one free, “two of wands”.

The second egg hatched shortly after - another child bewitched by the moon. Briar’s dark claws wavered over the cards this time, pulling one free. “The ace of swords” she read, baptizing their second born with the drawing.

The third egg took a long time to hatch and when it finally did, the child was small. He lacked the eye-like markings of the Witchborne that his brothers sported and Alistair knew this child had not inherited the witch’s magic. Still, he worried for his last born. . . worried that perhaps he had inherited something darker than witch’s blood. Nonetheless, they drew him a card as well, “the five of swords”.

Blessed by the light of the full moon, the children were then swept into Briar’s arms and taken from the small room. Perhaps one day, Alistair would be more present with his family, but the risks for now were too great. For the first of his children, they would not set eyes upon their father again.

The five of swords. That had been the card that Rowan's father pulled from a deck at the time of his birth. It was customary for all Witchborne hatched under the light of the full moon to have a tarot card drawn in their honor - a baptizing ritual that often foretold of their path in life. Yet Rowan was not a Witchborne.

His mother thought him mortal; raising him in an expansive underground library alongside his two siblings. Indeed, Briar was an assistant, often running errands for the librarians who worked there and the librarians themselves were a group of several drakes, all Imperials, who took little notice of Briar's children. Still, the trio of siblings enjoyed watching as their elders worked.

They often peered into the workshops, watching as corpses were carried in by a massive vulturine drake. They watched as the bodies were collected by the undertaker and stripped to the bone before being crafted into books. Rowan always hid how the process made him oddly hungry. Indeed, the platters of food that his mother brought to them did little to sate Rowan's appetite, yet he found himself staring at blood-laden floors and growing ravenous as the metallic scent wafted upon the air.

Just a taste. A taste was all it took for something to awaken within Rowan. Perhaps he lacked the abilities of the Witchborne, but he had inherited something equally powerful. . . Something that had his nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and fighting against an irresistible urge to pull it free from the veins that confined it.

B R I A R^♫

THE LIBRARIANS'
APPRENTICE

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R E L A T I O N S

M A T E

M A S T E R

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"Summer ends, and Autumn comes
And he who would have it otherwise
would have high tide always
And a full moon every night."

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Stranded on a stretch of dark sand, an Imperial coughed, expelling seawater from her lungs as she struggled to breathe. Ironic that a water drake would find herself nearly drowned and yet, blue eyes flicked open as the Imperial strove to regain consciousness. She could feel the beach beneath her, rough grains of sand rubbing against her scales as the waves periodically pushed her further up the shore. The beach was dark, but something emitted a beacon of light from above; an eerie glow cast through panes of stained glass. Its behemoth form perched upon the cliffs, a relief carved into the limestone and even against the dark sky, the Imperial could make out the silhouettes of great spires arching up towards the heavens. A Cathedral.

The current had taken her here. Indeed, water drakes often trusted the sea to carry them where they needed to go - their destinies dictated by the Tidelord’s whispers that bubbled up from the depths. Briar had been among the latest group to leave the secluded reefs of the Fishspine that marked the edges of the inland sea. Indeed, the current she followed carried her out past the tsunami flats and into a ravine that eventually brought her to the edge of Sornieth’s land mass and beyond that to the open sea.

The ocean beyond Sornieth was nothing like the Spiral Keep. The water was colder and wind-whipped with powerful currents that darted in seemingly haphazard directions. How easy it might be to move in circles, carried endlessly by the flowing waters until a drake succumbed to starvation and sank into the depths. Even when the currents brought her here, Briar held onto the notion that she would end up where she was meant to be. She continued to believe in this destiny even as the current dipped downwards, pulling the Imperial deeper and deeper until the last bubbles of oxygen were pressed from her lungs and the consciousness slowly faded from her mind. When she finally awoke, the Cathedral loomed above her like a massive eye peering from the cliffside.

Briar pulled herself to her feet, her limbs and tail leaving grooves in the wet sand as she hauled herself onto the shore. In the dim moonlight, she could make out the beginnings of steps in the distance - a case of stairs carved into the stone that led up to towards the Cathedral. . . but she didn't make it that far. She was fading again into unconsciousness, her form slumping down into the sand as darkness silenced her thoughts once more.

She awoke in a bed to the dancing light of a small candle. She thought the room vacant until something beside her shifted, dark eyes peering down at Briar through a mantle of tattered cloth. "Child" the voice came, a gentle hiss parched from disuse, "do you know where you are?" Briar's silence was enough of an answer for the other. An arm, heavily wrapped in lines of cloth snaked from beneath the robes to settle gently against Briar's arm. "I see".

Briar soon found her surroundings to be a series of tunnels carved into the cliffs below the sparkling Cathedral. She had no where else to go, so the undertaker Azrael, and their librarians offered her refuge. . . although at times it felt that they would not let her leave even if she had tried. Indeed, she was their 'intern', scrubbing the floors of their workshops clean.

The Librarians, Briar learned, were a secretive group and even after several months toiling in the massive catacomb-like halls, she knew little about them. Something had unsettled her since the beginning for the dark stains that she cleaned from the floors and the massive silver dining platters smelled of iron and washed off black upon her cloth. Blood. Yet, it was not fresh. Another scent lingered with it of decay. Of death.

The intern found out soon enough, staring in horror one night when she came upon the Bookbinder's rooms to find the red dragon pulling entrails from a carcass and placing them upon one of the platters. Briar felt ill at the thought, yet she watched the librarian lick the rotting blood from his fingers as if it were a delicacy. The remainder of the body - the tough muscle and feathers and bone was carted away.

"Briar" the Bookbinder's voice called one night, his knowing red eyes settling upon her as she appeared in the doorway of the workshop. "Y-yes?" she quipped, averting her gaze from the hides that hung, from the Binder's claws and tools slick with blood and the golden platter piled high with mottled black and brown and red. "You already know the full extent of our work. Come now, help me take this body to the Beetle Room".

The room, as Briar discovered, was guarded by a heavy iron door. It creaked open with a click from the Bookbinder's key, its interior shrouded in darkness. The Imperial stepped in for a moment, beckoning Briar to follow from behind as he picked shining white bones up from the floor, piling them into the assistant's hands. Something growled from the side of the room, the rattle of metal chains echoing as it shifted in the darkness. The Binder inspected one of the bones, humming in satisfaction when he found it cleaned of any residual flesh. "Good work, Alistair".

Alistair. He was a monster - a vampire chained in the small room, yet Briar still felt pity. She brought him cadavers, carrying the bones away once he had stripped the carcasses bare. He remained silent when she first visited, but after a time he began to speak.

In a way, both of them were prisoners of the library and as the months carried on, Briar often snuck away in the night to join the vampire's company. . . and contemplate their escape.

Lore by awaicu

Layout by Kintsy

I N V E N T O R Y

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Bakura to the service of the Shadowbinder 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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