Maeva » Hibernal Den » Verennan

Verennan

(#57180831)

Level 1 Imperial

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

30.87 m

Wingspan

23.78 m

Weight

5967.48 kg

Genetics

White
Iridescent

Obsidian
Facet

Obsidian
Glimmer

Hatchday

Dec 02, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Light
Common

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

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T H E M E
V e r e n n a n
nightmares have no happy endings

Verennan have heard stories of prosperity and kindness. Of knights and princes, heroes and adventurers, of clever kids and brave soldiers. But in the end, it's all they were. Stories.
He was thrown out from his home, when parents died: distant relatives inherited their farm, and they weren't kin of sharing. So after years of warm nights and stories by the fire, Verenn now knew only hunger and cold. Other street kids were quick to show their disdain for the spoiled tenderling with starry eyes. He was left alone, and without knowledge of safe places and cruel people, he had to figure everything out on his own.
Years passed, Trades and harbour became his knew home. A lost coin, a fruit that fell out of a crate, rags left unattended - anything will do. From a hopeful kid to a scrawny young teen, Verenn learned to put hands in other people's pockets, and got scars in the process. Being chased by the guards was nothing unusual, and angry yells from merchants and their buyers he could take. Loneliness, he couldn't.
A girl, few years older, she wasn't like him. She had a home, a family. She had nice clothes and braided hair, she smelled of lavender soap and baked bread. And she was the one to approach him: had no idea who he was, new in the city. Familiar feeling. Why would a young girl spend time with him of all people, he couldn't tell. Verennan was only glad to have a friend again. He would show her the roofs from which the whole harbour could be seen, and basements with old abandoned books, wet and forgotten, but wonderful nonetheless. Warehouses with all kinds of animals, from dogs to exotic birds: could pet them too, if guards are looking the other way. And even though Tamika knew him for a month, she would often bring him food, sometimes even clothes. Shoes and gloves were the most valuable gifts in the fall. Each night was colder from this point on, and Trades would soon became less populated - that means less pockets to pick and purses to cut. Gallows' Swallows was too dangerous of a district for him, and harbour for some reason is always well guarded when it's cold. In the stories, it's always the time for people to be kind, inviting. In reality, winter is a nightmare for a street rat.

Verenn thought he misheard her when she offered to stay with her - parents left to visit their friends, and she was alone. It's only for a week or so, but even a day would be a miracle for someone who hasn't had a bed for years. It wasn't a stranger, too - they knew each other for more than a month, and she was only three years older. He knew her as nothing but kind, even if it sometimes got them both in trouble: snatching a bunch of chickens from a local butcher and running with them all the way to the outskirts was her idea. Some farmers sure were confused next morning...
He agreed in a heartbeat. Maybe some stories are kind of true, after all.

- Iron Feather, huh? Fancy pants.
Stories about this district are always scary. He heard them all, from hags to witches to vampires and somehow mermaids. Streets' favourite was about the nobles who eat children. Of course it was, nobles are always the worst kind in the stories of street kids. But in the end, it's all they were. Stories.
When she smiled and opened the heavy doors, darkness didn't scare him. Feather is always dark. Besides, she told him she was alone. But when the doors closed with a quiet thump... They were no longer alone.
Hungry eyes and sharp fangs.

The room when they shoved him in was dark, too. Iron shackles bit into his wrists, cold and heavy. He could hear their voices, but no longer recognized which one is Tamika's.
The girl was a lie, all about her was a lie. When the door closed, her face changed - from smiling and kind to pale and cold, even her features seemed different, and her eyes burned bright like embers in the dark. When he begged to let him go, she opened her fanged mouth, and her voice was no longer the voice of a young girl, but of a woman, deeper and richer, devoid of any emotion. I hope there's some meat left on your bones, boy.
Some stories are true. But this nightmare is worse than any story.

It hurts. Iron shackles are too tight, and the edges of narrow bracelets tear the skin on his wrists when he tries to struggle. He can already feel his fingers getting colder, his hands start to go numb.

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