Hel
(#60361547)
Mors Vincit Omnia... |G4 Naomi, G4 Ignis|
Familiar
Snowdrop of Crystalline
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
23.42 m
Wingspan
24.14 m
Weight
6301.43 kg
Genetics
Crimson
Savannah
Savannah
Ice
Peregrine
Peregrine
Maroon
Glimmer
Glimmer
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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Hel, Daughter of the Unholy Matriarch
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Strength
♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ Magic ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ Defense ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ Intelligence ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ Compassion ♔ ♔
Traits:
i. ONE ii. TWO iii. THREE iv. FOUR v. FIVE vi. SIX |
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 __HISTORY__
Like so many other clans Hel had fought against, the Redstone Drakes had been valiant. Their courage could still be seen in the banners they’d raised, the weapons they’d wielded, the tomes they’d used for spellcasting....
All smashed into the ground by defeat now, just like the dragons themselves. The few prisoners who remained standing were being chivvied into groups. Most of their guards were also dragons—but a substantial amount, more loathsome to the Plague wyrms, were undead: specters or skeletons called up by mysterious magic. A command whispered in their minds: “Bring the Redstone matriarch to me.” In one ghastly, glowing tide, the undead surged through the ranks of captives to find the defeated clan leader. They soon found her and began carrying her back to their mistress. Hel crouched near the edge of the battlefield, idly tapping the necromantic runes she’d carved into the ground. As the captive was deposited before her, the Imperial spared her a glance: a tiny Fae, heavily draped with the robes of her station. Those were torn and bloodied now, and she drooped with defeat, frills sagging, scarlet eyes glazed over. The living guards spoke sharply to her, but she didn’t respond or struggle. Hel waved them off with a forepaw. She’d seen this attitude of abject surrender before; many leaders were simply unable to accept that they’d been beaten. “No need to damage her any further than necessary. She is to be presented to Narcissa.” Hel spread her wings, and the guards similarly readied for takeoff as she ordered, “Take her! We fly now to Hellwell Undercroft.” In her head, though, rang a simpler pronouncement: “Mother, I’m coming home.” ~ ~ ~ Home was, for now, the base camp from which Narcissa commanded her operations. This was currently within the Undercroft, a sprawling complex of tents and caverns that teemed with dragons ready to do the Unholy Matriarch’s bidding. Her current objective: conquest—and none among her forces were more adept at it than her own daughter, Hel. Hel was feared by many clans, eclipsed only by her mother, Narcissa the Unholy Matriarch, and her father, Lothaire the Bonesplitter. Despite the doom-laden title, Narcissa had been a good mother to her. They enjoyed a close relationship, which Hel lacked with her father. Narcissa was waiting for her daughter and guards to return. The two Imperials greeted each other briefly—it was, after all, unbecoming to display affection in front of servants and captives. “Another sweeping victory, Hel. You have brought the Redstone matriarch, of course...and I heard that you employed your necromancy against her clan. How fared your usage of it?” “It is still draining. I had to exert more effort to control it as the battle wore on.” “More practice,” Narcissa purred. “With time, you’ll master it completely: no more bothersome fatigue to contend with. And as a matter of fact, you’ll have another opportunity to test your mettle soon.” Weariness still weighed heavily down upon Hel, and she couldn’t help letting out a small sigh. Narcissa’s keen ears picked it up. “Is something wrong, daughter?” “We took some losses in the earlier campaign. I had thought we would be granted more time to recover.” There was a titter from the Fae matriarch. The guards immediately whirled, talons at the ready, and Hel and Narcissa frowned. The Fae remained downcast, her eyes glazed over, but something wasn’t right.... “Was there something you wished to say? Speak freely, small one.” Narcissa’s voice was calm, but the air around her was suddenly tense. “We would all be delighted to hear your words.” Hel thought the Fae was struggling to smile at first. Faes normally didn’t, but the way the corners of her mouth were turning up...and then her jaws parted ever so slightly, and they saw a glimmer of green. “Back!” Hel roared to the guards...too late. Suddenly the cavern was awash in lurid green, as the Fae exploded apart into a writhing mass of tendrils. Hel immediately called up her ice magic, creating barriers to protect herself and her mother. The guards were lost; they’d fallen in the explosion, pierced through by wicked thorns. But through the screen of ice, Hel saw their bodies reanimate almost instantly, their limbs grotesquely twisting as they staggered upright. “Necromancy and Nature magic! Impressive,” she thought—an instant before the ice screen shattered and the world went dark. ~ ~ ~ The plant had jabbed thorns deep into Hel’s torso, and though the injuries weren’t life-threatening, the spell cast upon them plunged her deep into unconsciousness. The world now existed in hazy impressions; she had the sense of phantom claws plucking at her, trying to rip her into freezing oblivion. “No...it’s my body. You can’t have it....You should be dead!” She fought against that hostile presence, and it must have worked, for she heard that brief, mocking titter, and then nothing more. Thereafter, time seemed to flow less frantically around her. The plant had continued growing, sending more of those virulent green tendrils throughout the caverns, and almost absently, her awareness glided along those paths. She caught snatches of conversation: “...Bone Crown Clan’s leader passed...his under-clans in disarray...Matriarch wants us to move quickly...” “Yes, of course. That was why Mother wanted me to march again,” Hel realized. She turned away, instinctively seeking out her mother.... “...that frail daughter of mine...” The words by themselves seemed innocuous—but in the Plague Flight, frailty was a cause for concern. And it was more than that: it was the way the words were spoken—with venom and contempt that Hel had never before heard from her own mother. “Arrogant fool...didn’t think the matriarch would try anything. Useless! ...set her against the Bone Crown Clan. Never mind her injuries....She will prevail or...!” She couldn’t see Narcissa, but the voice was unmistakable, even under the waves of contempt that surrounded it. It seemed to slice through the haze like swords, stabbing into Hel more sharply than any magic ever could— “I have to get back,” she thought, struggling through the haze. Beyond life, but not quite yet in death...She cast her awareness out, searching for her body. The strange plant was dying, its many tendrils being stripped away by Narcissa’s warriors, and Hel sped back along those paths. Soon she was beset by an overwhelming sense of familiarity—and though she couldn’t see it, she knew her body was nearby. Slipping into it was as easy as sinking beneath water... And finally, the Daughter of the Cold reopened her eyes. Hel did not recall what she said to the servants on duty, but she did remember Narcissa entering the chamber, her face set in a semblance of motherly relief and concern. “My daughter,” she said, and though other pronouncements followed, Hel found herself clinging to those two words. How warm they sounded...but she thought that now, she could smell the poison lurking just beneath. She had fought many battles before, been in several life-endangering situations. But here and now, the words, “I’m in danger” went through her mind, and she felt a chill that even necromancy or near-death couldn’t create. It was the coldness of a hard truth, of seeing the ugliness beneath layers of deceit. The growing realization that perhaps, everything in her life up to this point had been but a lie. ~ ~ ~ For a long time, Hel pushed back against what she’d heard. Narcissa had been taken by surprise; perhaps the irritation had actually sprung from unease? But no, Hel had never known her mother to become uneasy. There was no room in that grimly determined soul for anything like unease. Anything like weakness... “You are nearly well again, daughter.” “Yes, Mother. The healers have been most helpful,” Hel answered noncommittally. She hadn’t completely recovered from her injuries in the previous battle, to say nothing of the wounds from the dying Fae’s final spell—but Narcissa continued, still with that same serenity, “We’ve been informed that one of our oldest challengers, the Bone Crown Clan, has recently lost its leader. Securing victory over them should be easy enough now. Set your magic against them and bring them into our fold. You will leave at dusk.” “No.” The word dropped like a stone into a deep, still lake. Ripples spread ominously outwards... “‘No’, daughter?” “I am...not wholly well,” Hel reminded Narcissa quietly. “My wounds haven’t yet healed, and I am still fatigued from the necromancy I employed. It will take me some time to regain my full strength. Not more than a few days; then I will be able to serve you to the best of my ability.” It was a good argument, and many generals would have accepted it, or at least tried further to convince her. Narcissa, however, had heard only the word “no”. It burned against her ego like a hot coal, and Hel saw that same fury come alight in her eyes. “Have I not raised you well, daughter? Hasn’t everything I’ve done been to help you grow in strength?” “I will always be grateful...” Hel began, but faltered as those words echoed in her mind: “My strength. She only wants my strength...” “Still, your performance in the last campaign was less than spectacular,” Narcissa said. Her voice was soft, but the fury still smoldered in her eyes. “Perhaps you do need more time to recuperate.” At a sharp command from her, guards entered the room. Hel caught the brief looks of disbelief on their faces when they were ordered to take her into custody, but they didn’t dare speak out to defend her. They didn’t dare defy Narcissa. Hel was brought into the deepest levels of the Undercroft—placed in protective custody, but she wasn’t fooled; she had been imprisoned by her own mother. She waited there, in the darkness... But Narcissa did not deign to speak with her. That hurt Hel more than she might have wanted to admit. She’d been clutching the faint hope that it had all been a misunderstanding, that her mother might have spoken too harshly and was in fact genuinely interested in listening to what she had to say.... But she was not, apparently. All it had taken was that single, quite reasonable “no” for her to completely turn her back on the daughter who had served her so loyally. As this realization sank in, Hel reflected upon her life, the bloody battles she’d waged on her mother’s orders. She had been pushed from an early age to keep fighting, to keep getting stronger...all for what? To be cast aside the moment she said “no”? “No more,” Hel thought fiercely. She would not be imprisoned here forever.... Meanwhile, Narcissa fumed at having to keep her daughter confined. But as far as she was concerned, that single act of defiance was tantamount to open rebellion. She refused to confront Hel directly, instead receiving reports from the guards. They informed her that Hel was quiet, even docile, spending her days pacing her confines or sitting still in meditation. Narcissa would have preferred her to be desperate for freedom by now, but she had trained the child herself; Hel would not break so quickly. The Unholy Matriarch gnashed her teeth. Without Hel to take the battlefield, their rivals were surging anew, and there were even rumors that they would soon forge an alliance and rise against her. She would not pit the faithless Hel against them right now—but she could move to a more advantageous position: closer to Lothaire’s current territory, where, together with the Bonesplitter and his forces, she and her army would be nigh-unassailable. ~ ~ ~ Under Narcissa’s deft direction, her army pulled up stakes and began their exit from Hellwell Undercroft. Hel was not left behind, for her mother wanted to preserve as much control over her as possible. She was taken along, placed under heavy guard as the column wound its way over the blistering landscape. They were a few days out from the Undercroft when she heard that they would be marching through familiar territory: the battlefield where the Redstone Drakes had been defeated. “So soon after the battle,” Hel murmured to herself. They had been vicious enemies, but she had grown to respect them in their last days, marveling at how they’d fought to defend what little they’d had left. Even their matriarch had been redoubtable: tiny but powerful, overflowing with cunning... And her spell, though it’d failed to ensnare Hel, had set her on this path. Only, where was the path leading now? Away, Hel knew—but how to get there...? She knew what lay ahead: more battles, more clans to crush. No glory now, she realized, only carnage and gloating for Narcissa and Lothaire. They would pressure her into fighting for them again, set her against other clans. Not as a respected warrior, but as a weapon... “The dead had more freedom than I did,” she thought furiously. As the army trudged on, she saw traces of the battle. The scavengers of the Wasteland had done their work well, and here and there lay skeletons, already picked clean. “Once their work was done, they could return to the graves and to peace. They could...have peace...” The faintest tremor, barely discernible beneath the warriors’ marching feet...then rising in strength, like a crescendoing song— “I have already done so much...not all of it right...but I want peace. I need it...” The guards didn’t initially detect the magic radiating from Hel. They were focused instead on the spindly shapes looming against the horizon, the dead rising up—from the very edges of the battlefield until the epicenter in a ghastly, vengeful wave. “Defend yourselves!” Narcissa ordered, just before the wights struck. Her dragons were all hardened warriors, and they reacted without hesitation, bludgeoning and breaking the undead to smithereens. Still, more skeletons surged up, and more: The Redstone Drakes had been numerous, and the traces of the battle were still fresh in their remains. From where she crouched, Hel smiled grimly. She didn’t dare move—for this was the same spot where she’d crouched weeks earlier, directing the undead during the battle. The runes she’d employed were buried beneath the topsoil, but her wrath had called to them, strengthened them...and now, once again, the dead were fighting for her. Cold waves blasted from her body, and frost chased over her chains. The undead surged towards her, and by the time the guards realized they were aiding her, not attacking her, the chains had been shattered and she was spreading her wings. Necromancy had always brought her fatigue—but the need to escape was stronger now. She rocketed up towards the sky, ignoring her aching muscles, her darkening vision. “Follow!” she heard Narcissa roar, and the shout ignited further reserves of energy she’d never known she had. She drove herself farther, faster, through the darkening day, at speeds that set her muscles afire and her heart to hammering. Dimly, she wondered if she would kill herself at this pace—but quickly dismissed that. “The dead have more freedom than I do”...and if she would die on the wing, away and free, then she was prepared for that. ~ ~ ~ Hel didn’t notice when the pursuit stopped. Days later, maybe, and that was when the ground far below turned from blood-red to drab brown and the peaks of Cairnstone Rest loomed against the horizon. When the pursuers finally veered back one by one, Hel drove herself on, but only to put more distance between herself and them. Finally she sank down to the plains of Dragonhome. She found a place to rest beneath a massive overhang, and there, she could close her eyes. Her respite was brief, though. She was still wary of danger, and woke up scant hours later. As she trudged through the barren-seeming plains, she scanned the landscape with bleary eyes. Her mind was a morass of ideas: What did she need to do next? “Food. Water. Shelter.” She’d been without supplies for several days now. She needed to find dragons who could aid her....Something nudged her exhausted mind, but she couldn’t quite focus on it. Something important... And then they crested the rise ahead of her: two Imperials, antler-crowned, massive and impressively attired in scarlet. That alone would have been enough to balk any travelers, but Hel hesitated for a different reason: she recognized their faces. Her younger cousins, Eros and Calamity—here? She tried to scramble through the fatigue, to work out if they actually lived here or were perhaps just passing through on errands. “Hel?” “Yes.” Her voice was raspy from exertion. Instinct told her, “I should go,”—why trust family, when her own mother had betrayed her so completely, after all? But as her cousins approached, she saw the concern etched onto their faces, and her knees began to shake. She was tired, so tired...Not just physically but also mentally, emotionally. Their clear worry wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and she found herself leaning towards them. She had been betrayed by family before, but she could still give others the benefit of the doubt; she could still trust. She might have been hurt, but she wasn’t broken, fragile. She would be wary and wiser—and in time, she would heal. She took a step towards them—away from her war-strewn past. Towards a new life, a new purpose, that she could proudly call her own. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) Hel is the daughter of a malicious princess- Narcissa, otherwise known as the Unholy Matriarch. Her father, Lothaire, is an ancient entity known as the Bonesplitter- a force to be reckoned with, to be sure. As the result of this union, Hel carries both her mother's ambition and her father's arrogance. A menace on the battlefield, using ice magic to her advantage despite being born in the absolute center of Plague. According to those who have survived an encounter with her, it is said that she also has ties to a realm beyond Sorneith.. a realm from which she can conjure spirits of the departed to do her bidding. Let no one underestimate the power of this daughter of the Cold. She finds allies in those close to her- in this case, the children of her mother's immediate siblings. Eros, son of Dismas, and Calamity, daughter of Jinx. While they may not join her on the battlefield as often as she would like them to, with them around she can lower her shields momentarily and take a few precious moments to breathe. (Lore summary by Perseverance) Fourth Generation Naomi Descendant - Narcissa Line Naomi - Willow - Narcissa - Hel Fourth Generation Ignis #666 Descendant - Marduk Line Ignis - Marduk - Narcissa - Hel |
Bio by PunchingSolas // Graphics by HermaMora
Please do not remove credit.
Please do not remove credit.
-30kg
-Named after the frozen afterlife from Norse mythology.
-Paid off on January 14th 2021
-Original Colors: Crimson/Ice/Maroon (KEEP.)
-Original Genes: Savannah/Hex/Ghost
-Arrived in lair on January 15th 2021.
-Peregrine added on January 15th 2021.
-Glimmer added on January 17th 2021.
-Outfit created and completed on January 18th 2021.
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