Sapivasisa

A ruler of her lair, a rotting queen. She crawled her way through the most toxic parts of the Wyrmwound to reach her throne. Even as her body rots and leaks vile fumes. Her lair would never dare betray her, not by loyalty alone, but by the fear of what her wrath may bring upon the land. Nothing can stay untouched forever, her grasp of decay makes sure of that. Makes it hard for her to keep dragons in her lair, but the most loyal will stay through the fear. It is those who she blesses, not those who ran at the sight of decay.

The plague scarred wastelands, where the earth is stained a dirty maroon and soaked with disease. Brought forth as an ever lasting scab, where jagged stones curved as fangs sprouted from the ground like uncanny stalks of fungal growth. Red caps patterned with glowing neon verdant eye-like growths protected the ever scarred growth from the boarding arcane and shadow. It is here where Sapivasisa lair lies in wait between ridges of darken aspect, the red smog of blood wafting through the air as an ever present contagion.

Built into the ridges, the thin creases of rolled tainted ground acting as muddied ravines. Where the boney ridges arched over their dens, patched over with rustic rotting leather skinned a gentle tan. Skulls double the size of the tallest dragons littered the earth soiled where mushrooms grew. The air however heavy was still breathable, the taint fueled their desire to grow stronger.

Their tainted yet pure metropolis stretched to the foggy skies as a cats paw stretches upward to grab a free flying bird and drag it to their maw. To end its ever wrathful but freeing existence with the true joy of the hunt, where the veins wrapped around the tall pillars made of the most heinous of decay like overgrown ivy vines. Where the wrong trail along its guidance would bring wrapping stings as strong as a jellyfish, sticking in its terrible growth. The crimson jewels acted as a praised light in the murky undergrowth of rot, that is where they live, it is there where they follow to their ancient oaths.

Sapivasisa could not help but reminisce about the war centuries ago, the Tyrant's Culling War. She had fought against her own people. Her citizens, her friends, her own hand trained warriors! Under the guise of a maddened tyrant only culled into the depths of insanity by another's claws. Whereas before she was a glamorous queen, brought from the acids below as a bringer of safety in open wings. She was torn from her perch, from her throne, and made to bow for her own execution. Her poor friend, her poor Quelle; thus tormented by her demented actions of malice that it was he to strike the final blow against her rotting corpse of a body.

She does not desire vengeance. Trapped in a coffin hidden between the swirling trap of a grove of a maze. Her spirit left to wander the endless halls, to only find solace with the ground's keeper. The elder's tumorous form of her old friend left to be the last record keeper of those old halls. The once quick winged archer that would shimmer with golden grapefruit specks to be as beautiful as golden fish swimming upstream. Now left old and humbled with only her own sorrowful form of anguish to keep him company, not even having enough life to keep him warm in those drafty tunnels. The deep-slated stone beneath her claws rumbled and groan from the years, mud and muck turning to rust into the corners of the forgotten tombs.

Forgotten by all but one, left to be wandered by two.


By Shakshun #122410


By Crylark!