Eulogy » Lair » Hercoz

Hercoz

(#61206656)
Level 1 Banescale
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Familiar

Glorious Dayjar
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Male Banescale
This dragon is an ancient breed.
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Personal Style

Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.

Skin

Accent: Imprisoned Banescale

Scene

Scene: Plaguebringer's Domain

Measurements

Length
7.99 m
Wingspan
4.82 m
Weight
535.58 kg

Genetics

Primary Gene
Maroon
Ragged (Banescale)
Maroon
Ragged (Banescale)
Secondary Gene
Maroon
Stripes (Banescale)
Maroon
Stripes (Banescale)
Tertiary Gene
Antique
Ghost (Banescale)
Antique
Ghost (Banescale)

Hatchday

Hatchday
May 08, 2020
(3 years)

Breed

Breed
Adult
Banescale

Eye Type

Eye Type
Nature
Rare
Level 1 Banescale
EXP: 0 / 245
Scratch
Shred
STR
8
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

  • none

Biography

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Hercoz
"If I could speak, the things I would say would shock you."
  • You're a prisoner still; the chains strung around you will not let anybody forget that. The walls previously offered some refuge, but they are gone now, and the ones who were outside now gather closer, probing with curious eyes.
    “What’s she in for?” you hear them hissing. “This lady, what’s her name?” You would probably tell them the truth, but it is not yours to give. The muzzle over your jaws ensures it stays locked away, unable to overtake the rumors that hang around you like a miasma. Once you were just “prisoner”, but now you have other names: demon...traitor...butcher...spy...
    And your chains ratte with every tiny motion you make, reminding you: You will never be free.
  • Criminal, others surmise, peering balefully into your emerald-green gaze. In their minds they concoct the perfect crime, with you as the falling star. You have many faces, and twice as many names. A spy for Nature, gaining favor with Plague, whilst passing their secrets over the border. Or a traitor, spurning your own Flight to throw your lot in with the Plaguelings. First you’re on one side, and then another...and then no sides at all. Or perhaps you were on both sides, or every side there ever was.
    —Which is foolish, you remind yourself: How can you be on all sides at once?
    Why would you be allowed to stay chained and restrained, if you were on all sides at once?
  • Butcher, some of them whisper. They are the ones who avoid your glare, who watch out of the corners of their eyes as you stride past. They keep their weapons close, and they watch your chains as closely as they watch you—it would be terrible if either were to snap....
    They still feed you—and oh, the indignity of it, struggling against your bonds as you fight to get sustenance; you shouldn’t have to fight against a slab of meat long dead. They do not see the hardship, reading it instead as blind fury. The hunger, the will to survive that drives every heartbeat, is always overtaken by the blood running down your chin.
  • Demon, the rest of them curse you. To them, for many years you were nothing but a pair of eyes, glaring from the dark. Nothing but silent rancor, nothing but smoldering hate.
    When the walls fell and you shrugged the crumbling stones off, it was no wonder, then, that some of them fled, even though it meant being consumed in flames. You watched them go, and understanding flickered briefly in your heart.
    Had you been given the choice back then, you might have flung yourself into the flames too, rather than be forced to endure the weight of the dark. It might have made you stronger. A part of you asks, “At what price?”
  • “But why?” the stranger asks. Beneath her coating of fine ash, her gray face grows slightly paler.
    They crowd around her, waving rumors like banners, thrusting suppositions and hypotheses and “perhaps” and “maybe” in her face. She dodges them all. The glint in her eyes—she will have the truth of it, or at least she’ll keep on trying.
    “But really, does anybody know? Does anybody know the reason—”
    —for the silence, the chains, the imprisonment, the indignity? You’d tell her if you could. Nobody else will. Nobody else can.
    The rumors will persist, sure as fanned flames roar only higher. To allow them to die would be to expose an even more horrifying possibility—
    —that your being here is a mistake.
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~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users
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