Schattenfeuer » Lair » Artemy

Artemy

(#57842078)

Since I was young, I've tasted sorrow on my tongue

Familiar

Frostbite Hummingbird

Energy: 49/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5 m

Wingspan

6.58 m

Weight

647.56 kg

Genetics

Fog
Flaunt

Ice
Constellation

Caribbean
Veined

Hatchday

Dec 23, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Light
Swirl

Level 9 Pearlcatcher

EXP: 570 / 21526

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

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Artemy Undying
The sacred noose of sadness

There is beauty in everything, even in broken things. Maybe, there is beauty especially in broken things. The glimmer of a soul shattered, the edges as sharp and splintered as the shards of a mirror broken. A creature that was not supposed to be, not like his mother but a pale reflection giving something close to life, his father too cold, too disinterested to even hate him. But Azazael did, the eternal, many winged shadow of his father and his mother trailed after him all the time, eyes sharp and glinting with rage, hate.

Born out of trickery and unloved by those that knew of the truth, he heard all the ugly truths that echoed after in the skull’s of people. A touch was enough and he heard it all, every thought, every image ever crossing their minds, laid bare like an open book, it was too much, too strong and he could simply not last against the onslaught of it.

It was only a matter of time before his psyche caved in under the pressure and the constant hurt from within, and when it finally happened, it did so in a quiet manner, tears spilled at night, soaked up by his pillow pressed tightly against his hurting chest, every breath shallow and heaving, too hard to suck in and choking on empty air. He made such a sad figure, a broken and pretty doll, draped in silver and sapphire. At the side of his father’s imposing throne, he can be found playing mindlessly with his rings, turning them, wringing his fingers in tired display of nervousness.

He was so exhausted, so broken, glittering, glimmering, he just wanted to sleep eternally, to lay down his head and rest forever. It didn’t matter that Undying blood run through his veins regardless, he had crawled from a womb that was tainted, not the even the golden glow of make belief could hide that. He was sure his father knew of this before he had bedded her and he hadn’t cared enough to think about any consequences. His father was the only one in whose mind he could not peek. Maybe that was for the best, because who really wants to know what was going on in the head of a god?

Of all the Undying children, of all the heirs, he was the one that made the least trouble, that never interacted with the creatures of brimstone and fire as they crawled out of the pit, one by one, he was the only one not tempted by their honey sweet whispering, because he could see right through them, artificial sweetness that never managed to last longer than a short breath on his tongue. He just wants to die.

But how can an Undying die?

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The body of the young male in his bed next to him was warm and pliant, the male would no doubt respond positively to the prince’s touch. One would be a fool after all to refuse anyone of the Undying blood, even if he had spawned from the womb of a poisonous shadow. All he had to do was reach out, hands covered in silver and sapphire, warm from skin not his own, stolen like he stole everything. Reach out and demand for something, watch people fall over themselves to get it for him. Instead he curled his fingers in, dug them into the meat of his palm, hard enough to cause bleeding, red and lively to drop, drop, drop onto the silken sheets.

Abandoning his nameless, faceless lover and the comfort of a bed, he roamed, chose to wander from hallway to hallway, drawn in by the gaping, dark hole in the middle of the palace, where an ominous vigil aglow in his father’s purple magic acts like a net, like a cage for titans of tales of old, the sight shook him, caused distress and old pain to run down his spine in teeth clattering shivers. Turning away, he found himself eye to eye with one of the creatures, smiling too wide, showing off all the teeth and their eyes possessed, hollowed out with the light of life missing in them, yet lacking the glassy sheen of death. Somewhere in between, he and the creature stared at each other, sizing up, waiting for someone to make the first move.

“My, my, what a lonely little doll you are.”, the creature murmured, voice guttural and hoarse, an after echo of words spoken by two beings at the same time, words forced up an unwilling throat. He shivered, shook. Now that his desired wish was so close, when all he had to do was to speak, he could not find the strength within his limbs, his tongue useless like a chip of wood as it rested behind his clattering teeth, stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Maybe you have a wish for something, little doll? You look like you need to be fixed. Or broken entirely.”

Old habits die hard and when he poked away into the creature’s mind, he saw cruelty and brutality, blood and broken bones, snapped sinew and slashed flesh, spilled blood that tainted everything, everywhere. Nausea rose and he whimpered like a child, ducked.

“Be gone.”, soft spoken words that carried the world within them, the creature cowered and scurried off as he choked on his own breath, on the smell of wine and roses and darkness as his father’s shadow drowned him, ancient eyes taking in his frail form, no judgment and no comfort to be found in them. He simply was. Watching. “One day, you have to decide.”

Neutral tone, careless words, Artemy never felt the pressure of a decision more.
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Another bath of red, another night spent spitting blood and parts of his own intestines, yet he stood the morning after. Slightly shaken and dim eyed, he wondered why he was still here. Still drawing breath when clearly, he didn’t want it anymore. Inviting in abuse from all sides, Artemy hoped, prayed, that one of those days, they would succeed. That one of them would end him, his misery, his failure of a life. But no one succeeded and as the servants grew scared of his erratic behavior, the guards numb to his screams of pain and wails of misery, his mother tried to put an end to this.

He watched the tournament with sleepy eyes, he had drunk too much, his wine sweetened with too much poison the evening before. The fighters all looked the same to him, he knew most of them too, they had been in his bed at least once before, some leaving bruises, others kisses on his skin. But he had all pushed them away, not harshly - the only thing he could do harshly was rip his own skin into shreds - but denied nonetheless. Another sip of wine, because why not, another knight went down.

Artemy knew he was the prize and that he shouldn’t look that bored, after all he was the golden ticket those men of all ages were fighting about, for, but why would they even want someone like him. And even then, he knew that they were all false behind their pretty facades. A cute face to hide a rotten core. He was no better, so he wasn’t judging. But every time they touched him, he knew of everything. So he wanted more, a sensory overdrive of too much to blend out the knowledge. The whole event blurred together, he didn’t even watch it fully. And suddenly, there was a winner and now Artemy had a shadow. He wondered if things would change now or if it was just more of the same.
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Another scorned lover that rushed into the palace like he owned the place. He caught him off guard and even then, Artemy did nothing to push the furious man aside. His glass shattered on the floor and even as the shards pressed into the soles of his feet, even as the hands around his throat became harder, cutting off his air, Artemy did nothing but look. But let things happen. The guards were watching but no one moved, too used to this. They watched as his ex lover ripped at his clothes, his hair, watched as he painted his pale skin with bruises in deep purple.

Until he wasn’t anymore. Falling to his hands and knees, Artemy gasped for air, a commotion drowning out his wheezing, suddenly there was noise and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, of a body being tossed down the flood of stairs and the gates of the palace falling shut in thundering after echoes. Squeezing his eyes shut, Artemy sat between shards of glass and his own blood, waiting. One tormentor gone, soon to be replaced by another one, he was sure of it.

Instead he was picked up, carried into his own quarters. Not a word was spoken as Vit pulled out glass embedded in his skin, he could feel the touch and just like an open book, Vit’s inner world was laid bare to him. And what a beautiful world it was, tinged in pain and misery but so honest, so stubborn. Righteous, unique. Artemy didn’t realize he was crying until it was pointed out to him. Salt on his lips, he simply did what all the others wanted from him. He offered his own body, offered himself so the other could satisfy his desires.

Ironic, all he got was being tugged into bed, was a pet to the head. Simple affection, simple things. Things he hadn’t known before.

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"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...

VITTORI:
Honorful and upright, a true knight through and through.
His savior and his anchor, protector and one true love.
The only one who can catch him, the only one
that is true to his inner thoughts.

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