Carrion
(#58001515)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Armored Duskflapper
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
21.86 m
Wingspan
24.85 m
Weight
8335.05 kg
Genetics
Blood
Iridescent
Iridescent
Blood
Saturn
Saturn
Sanguine
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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GHOUL CARRION
Base Lore wrote:
Fire-Born wrote:
Fire-born are especially gifted in bestowing fever and delirium. The most powerful can cause blood to boil in the veins. Fire Necromancers are experts at burning pathogens from the body and searing away infection.
Swirl Eyes wrote:
Swirl is less an eye-type and more a disease in-and-of itself, albeit one transferred through magical rather than physical means. Swirl-eyed dragons exist in two states: a dormant stationary state and an active swirling state. When active, the spiral of the dragon's eye rotates and they are able to observe and process a preternatural level of information about the world around them. This allows them to predict inherently unpredictable systems or situations, to the point that they sometimes appear omniscient.
Swirl eyes in Ghouls are truly terrifying. Often already unstable, Ghouls with swirl eyes quickly lose control and fall into insanity. However that does not stop unscrupulous Necromancers from forcing the condition on captive Ghouls, wanting the power the ability grants without suffering its detriments. Source. |
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Don't tell me... you're a visitor? How delightful. Stay away from me, and we'll have no problems. |
 Strength ██████████ Magic ██████████ Defense ██████████ Charisma ██████████ Intelligence ██████████ |
 Carrion is incredibly asocial, and does not, under any circumstances, like to be spoken with. He is incredibly paranoid and unstable, and does everything he can to avoid contact with other dragons, especially Necromancers. To go along with his paranoid attitude, he is completely isolated by choice. Although a part of him longs for contact, he knows all too well that he would already be shunned for his ailments. His skin is constantly blistered and bleeding, and his wings are scarred over from repeatedly scratching off said blisters. The sight alone is enough to send most dragons running, but if they don't, he'll find other ways to get them to leave - by force, if necessary. |
Carrion was born with strains of diseases that evolved within his father to become hereditary. Upon birth, he was doomed to the life of a Ghoul, and had absolutely no chance of being blessed by The Plaguemother.
This did not sit well with Carrion.
Once he learnt of his half-brother's success, he withdrew. He was angry, jaded. He did not want to be seen as an outcast, but his birth in itself had ensured he would be. Making any attempt to become anything more than a Ghoul would simply end in failure - the Plaguebringer had already scorned him.
So he left. He traveled Sornieth to his heart's content. Luckily for him, it was somewhat rare to run into Necromancers outside of the Scarred Wasteland, and his appearance ensured that most others would stay well out of his way.
It only took a few weeks for his health, mental and physical, to deteriorate drastically. He was born sick, but it seemed an attempt at an active lifestyle was completely out of the question. Carrion was in the air above the Sunbeam Ruins when he suddenly lost consciousness, plummeting headfirst into the heart of the Hewn City.
. . . . . .
When he awoke, everything was so suddenly and viscerally clear.
It was horrible.
He could see everything - every single blade of grass, every movement in the shadows. He could see the intentions of dragons that weren't close enough to speak to. Carrion's destructive landing had attracted the cautious attention of a light clan nearby, and he swore he could see their thoughts. They didn't manifest as words or actions, no; these were colors and shapes, and they were absolutely terrifying. These dragons had nothing to give him but pain and fear, he knew it.
Carrion ran. He could no longer fly and could barely walk, but he ran. He had to get away from everyone, he needed someplace safe. It was mortifying, but the genuine terror he felt caused him to long for the warmth of his mother's nest. He needed to go home.
. . . . . .
He didn't remember the events that transpired during his episode, but he was left with the taste of dread in the back of his throat. Suddenly, he found himself inside Mirrorlight Promenade, his one good wing doing its best to keep the sun out of his face. Startled and confused, Carrion sat where he "awoke," trying to mend his broken bones and failing at every attempt at magic. He resigned himself, settling on the ground and preparing to simply wait until the bones healed.
The Ghoul slept, then. He slept for weeks, hibernating out in the open. At this point in his life, he didn't care if he woke up dead.
Instead, he woke up to a concerned face - one he had never seen before; a ridgeback. Her name was Aonani, and she was a Ghoul.
Naturally, despite their instabilities, they grew close. Being around somebody who understood what it was like to be a Ghoul helped Carrion learn to trust again - although, unfortunately, it did not cure his condition. He occasionally had paranoid outbursts, and would distance himself from Aonani during these periods, convinced she was working for a Necromancer that would enslave him.
They lived in the Lightlands for a while together. Nobody bothered them - after all, they were supposed to die soon anyway, right? Ghouls were supposed to die.
But they didn't; not before they moved to Emberglow Hearth. Not before they had their first clutch.
Everything was fine. Carrion felt some semblance of peace in the Ashfall Waste - this was his home. He was raised here. Aonani seemed to like the warmth, too, and their clutch was snugly laid in a small magma crater. They were happy, secure.
Unfortunately, all good things shall come to an end.
Carrion had settled down well. His episodes were rare, now, but a particularly intense one led him to leave his nest and his mate. He neared the Great Furnace, hoping that the smoke and smell of metal would clear his head.
Instead, he received visions. Terrible visions; the only thing he could see was choked air and carnage. He could only see Aonani and his pups slaughtered.
He ran to his nest as quickly as he could.
They were already dead.
Smashed eggs, lava, and blood were everywhere. In a soul-dampening state of shock and horror, Carrion sat among the wreckage and stared at the ground, refusing the process what had happened. He used his shock to his advantage - in this state, he could examine the scene without emotional turmoil.
When he realized the blood was still fresh, his world came crumbling down.
. . . . . .
Again, he ran.
Carrion couldn't bear the thought of remaining in his homeland. He fled to the Windswept Plateau.
Everywhere else had only bestowed misery, paranoia, and pain upon him. Perhaps he would find a stroke of luck here.
He thought he had found a home when he was offered a place to stay. There was no malice in the dragon's voice when they told him to come, to stay, to rest. This clan did not know of the diseases Ghouls carried, and Carrion doubted they even knew of Necromancers as a whole. In an attempt to keep them safe, he quarantined himself inside a personal lair in the earth.
His episodes had increased in frequency after the deaths of Aonani and his clutch. This wind clan understood the symptoms of swirled eyes, and did not shun him for his paranoid outbursts.
So he stayed.
. . . . . .
"I just don't understand it. He looks exactly like her."
"Maybe they're just related somehow?"
"No, no; their scars are exactly the same. They look like plaguelings, but they're not."
This caught Carrion's attention. Two of the clan were speaking to one another outside his lair - just barely loud enough to hear. He craned his head, listening intently. Was there another Ghoul?
"... just weird. I can't stop thinking about her; she said her mate was crazy. Maybe he killed her."
"What?" Surprised laughter, like it was a joke. "I didn't even know ridgebacks were mortal!" Laughter from both dragons, like it was funny.
Carrion felt a surge of mixed emotions, then. Shame so deep he felt like he could fall into himself; white-hot rage, intense enough that he could feel his throat contract in an attempt to keep the roar building inside him down. His paranoia reawakened, then. It felt like the laughter would drown him if he allowed it to continue.
It was over in a matter of minutes. A clan full of spirals, skydancers, and a few fae stood absolutely no chance when faced with an enraged imperial.
He killed them all, but spared the pups, spared the eggs. He couldn't bear the thought of harming another clutch.
Enough of this. He left the clan while the embers still smoldered. Still unable to fly, he made the long trek across the Windlands, towards the Reedcleft Ascent. This hike was tedious - being unable to fly anywhere inside the Windswept Plateau was as stupid as being unable to swim but trying to visit the Sea.
It took a long while... but he made it to the Scarred Wasteland.
. . . . . .
The Plaguelands were full of Necromancers; he knew this. Carrion avoided them to the best of his ability. Most plague clans tended to know what Ghouls were, as well, and it was common for him to be chased away before he could even ask for shelter.
He stuck near the Abiding Boneyard. After all, even plague denizens tended to stay away from the near-empty stretch of desert.
Learning of Aonani's blatant scourge against him stoked the fires of his paranoia to a degree where even normal dragons were likely to become scorched. If a dragon attempted to approach, he would snarl and lash out like a cornered beast, sometimes inflicting near-fatal wounds. This just led to him gaining the reputation of 'that insane, dangerous Ghoul near the beach.'
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ConTam Half brothers by blood, they are both fire-born. Carrion holds great contempt and envy of his brother's success - however, he does not know they share the same eye condition. " ... I do not wish to talk about him. " |
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Heka
Heka refused Carrion shelter due to the need to protect the Colony. However, she did offer him a place to stay on Corvid Isle. He resents her - after all, if she cured Nicolo, she should be able to heal him, right? " Spoiled little brat. I doubt she knows left from right. " |
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Nicolo Carrion is extremely jealous of the guardian. Nicolo received treatment and a cure, while Carrion is simply left to rot and die of disease. It makes no sense to him, and he's very bitter when the topic of a cure is brought up. " Why does he deserve a chance? " |
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Phantom
Having heard of his great-nephew's cruelty, Carrion carries a deep respect for Phantom. He was scorned and lied to, and decided to take back his strength in his own way, and Carrion cannot stress enough just how impressive that is. " He will make a great leader one day. " |
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Escherichia He can definitely admire his niece's coldness - from a distance, of course. Carrion doesn't enjoy the thought of being emotionally close to his family, but he can absolutely respect Escherichia's occasional brutality. " She obviously knows what she's doing. " |
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Clara
Clara is a great-niece on his mother's side. He's rather baffled when it comes to her ship - how did she build that??? She is the only family member he would be willing to sit down and speak to, despite her Servus rank. " She's... certainly adventurous. " |
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Exalting Carrion to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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