Elsewhere » Lair » Sheol

Sheol

(#6138608)

Level 1 Imperial

Messenger

Deadland Disciple

Energy: 45/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

30.72 m

Wingspan

17.72 m

Weight

6513.21 kg

Genetics

Spring
Iridescent

Spring
Shimmer

Spring
Basic

Hatchday

Sep 05, 2014
(9 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Plague
Common

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

{ The Threat }

שְׁאוֹל (sheh-ole') - Underworld, grave, hell, place of no return

The Terror Below | Uneasy Ally | Dangerous Lurker

In ages long past, dragons were not the civilized creatures they are today. Feral packs and tribes roamed, some establishing territory and others simply stalking prey wherever it led. Even the noble Imperial has dark roots tainting the bloodline. One such black mark came in the form of a group of Plague Imperials. Perhaps they were once of sound mind, but long eons in the Boneyard had devolved them into nothing short of bestial. They did not worship, but merely followed the will of the Rot Mother, spreading her sickness through no will of their own.

This pack eventually died out, as packs can often do in the sickly wastes, save for one young wyrm. He did not mourn his family, for he didn't know how. He did wander though, lost and unsure of what it meant to be solitary. Due to a condition of scale rot that he'd contracted, he became undesirable to most predators that would otherwise hunt him. His Plague nature kept the rot from taking his life, but he will most likely never heal from the condition. The thick, choking smog that hung over the Plague territory kept the largest of dragons grounded, though instinct taught the Imperial to fly at low altitudes. But as a young adult, a mutated appendage began to sprout from his right shoulder, rendering him flightless as it disrupted the wing muscles used for flight. A dragon of sound mind might call this a blessing from the Plague Mother, but the Imperial simply lived on with it, for he hadn't the self awareness to recognize that it wasn't supposed to be there.

He lived on through the ages, slinking into old lairs, abandoned or not. He grew to an immense size and became an apex predator of his known territory. But as he remained feral, other dragons became cognizant and intelligent. So intelligent in fact, that a rather large pack of Mirrors devised a plan to rid the territory of the Imperial altogether. Despite his sheer size and ferocity, the Imperial was chased out.

He wandered for a time, having no means or desire to calculate just how long, until he stumbled out of the Contagion. The ground became rocky, even fertile in some places. The sickess had not spread here, though it never occurred to him to ask why. Confusion and fear were known to him, and this new land certainly elicited those responses from him. But the prey, oh the prey. The land was ripe with strange, two-legged hooved creatures that came to know and fear him. Other beasts dominated the sky, but his sinuous length allowed him access to their roosts and devour eggs and hatchlings. It seemed a life to suit him for a time, but the harsh sunlight of the Shattered Plain quickened his affliction of scale rot and the Imperial eventually retreated under ground.

There he remained for many decades, feeding off the bountiful cave dwelling beasts as he delved down into the depths of the earth. Sometimes, at night, he would resurface and prey upon whatever unfortunate soul he caught out in the open, including dragons. This eventually garnered attention and clans began to actively chase the Imperial out of their territories. Eventually, he discovered a tunnel system that spanned a great many leagues. The earthen tubes were deep enough that dragons rarely, if ever, entered them, and the Imperial dwelt there, bathed in the light of a culture of Impure Sacridite that had taken root there. Ever decade or so, some subterrestrial explorer would wander into his lair and become a meal. Over the years though, he found that dragons were more fascinating than beasts. They would try to communicate with him, though he did not understand any of it. Besides, they would become his meal regardless. But despite being of a feral nature, he had the capacity to be a sentient creature. He began to question, to learn, though his character remained solidly within the animalistic and savage camp.

Some time later (it was impossible to distinguish night from day, month from year, below ground), his lair was invaded by not one, but two small dragons. Dragons in number had only meant one thing in the past, and that was that a clan would try to drive him out again. Ready to defend his territory with the brutality of a thousand warcats, the Imperial charged the intruders. With fire and earth, they met his attack and retreated down one of his tunnels. He gave chase, crashing and dashing through stone and shadow in pursuit of his prey. But unlike any of the other dragons that had come to his lair, these two managed to escape. They burst through an open shaft, scattering dust and rock that let in golden beams of light. The Imperial let loose a shrieking cry as the sunlight seared his retinas and slithered back to his abysmal dwelling.

Many nights later, when his eyes had mostly healed, he returned to where the dragons had evaded him and peered out. There was an etching on the rocky ground and on the boulders that surrounded the pit. He didn't recognize them as letters, though any outside would be able to read BEWARE, TERROR WITHIN and TURN BACK.This was settled land, an immense mountain range framing an even larger structure that touched the sky. A section of the mountains were carved, in the way that other clanfolk he'd seen in the past had done. This place was teeming with dragons. Prey. With this knowledge, he returned to his lair and fell into a fitful sleep.

During this time, a sickly boil began to take root in the Imperial's cave. After a time it bloomed, revealing a disciple of the Plague Mother herself. It tended to the feral dragon all the while whispering and planting seeds of the Mother's teachings. Actual thoughts began to spark in the Imperial's mind, speculation, cognition...understanding. Pleased, the Disciple continued this process while the dragon slept (it was far too unpredictable when conscious). Over time, the dragon began to listen intentionally to the sickly attendant. It had bestowed a gift of the Plague Mother upon the Imperial, a sickness that would engulf entire clans in the name of Her Festering Highness. He was granted the understanding to implement this plan, a worthy acolyte. She sent him dreams, visions, woven into his sleep by the Deadland Disciple. One night, awaking with a start, the Imperial began carving his own words into the rock of his lair. The talonscratch words he gouged into the stone would forever be his pivotal sign of awakening.

I am terror. I am death.

----

"Reports have surfaced that a highly aggressive Imperial has taken up residence deep in the ancient passages beneath Elsewhere territory. It rarely makes its way to the surface, but if seen, regard with extreme caution. The Clan Father has permitted the Imperial to stay only because the Beast Clans fear it as much as we do. Beware Sheol, venomous shadow in the dark."

Excerpt from the Ledger of Records: Residents of the Elsewhere Clan as inscribed by Nicholas the Archivist.

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Exalting Sheol to the service of the Earthshaker 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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