Schattenfeuer » Hibernal Den » Mercurion

Mercurion

(#62355835)

Level 25 Wildclaw

Familiar

Hydra

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.67 m

Wingspan

5.91 m

Weight

660.03 kg

Genetics

Tan
Basic

Shadow
Safari

Fire
Capsule

Hatchday

Jun 29, 2020
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Water
Dark Sclera

Level 25 Wildclaw

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

100

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Mercurion.
↠ To be unable to let the past go

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

Every performance, every visit of the cities alongside the road, it all started with a smile and an assertive gaze. Magic and trickery, where was the line, where did it stop to intermingle, where did one stop and the other began? Best not to question, best to accept and use it. And use he did, he made them all proud, grandfather and the rest of the caravan. In their colorful shawls and with their ox drawn wagons, they were the wandering folk.

The one without a home to call their own, the one that prayed to pagan gods and had their own traditions. To spread crushed petals of blue and red around the place they momentarily called their home. To paint patterns black around their eyes, warding off the evil eyes. It was an old culture, it was old and it lasted for so long, surely that meant it had to be good?

Hearing the better times, how the world used to be, was both a blessing and a curse as it woke the desire to return to a home that no longer existed. That was taken from them and given to others, stronger, armed, willing to turn the earth bitter from spilled blood. So they chose the option that branded them as cowards. As outcasts. Not one city allowed them within their walls, but they could never truly keep them out. Just as a gardener could not stop his bloom from spreading, they always found a way in.

Of course, as nothing lasts forever, he could not stay a naive child for too long, the world demanded a price and this happened to be his innocence. The caravan moved along, leaving behind a trail of tracks and tossed petals, it made it too easy for the soldiers to follow. All they needed to do was stay on track and in the end, they found what they were looking for. The wagons burnt like cinder, within moments silk and wood turned into smoke and ash, charcoal blocking the road and screams drowning out the roar of the fire.

Under one of those wrecks he hid himself, hair singed and skin burnt, cowering and frightened, he heard his name being called yet refused to move. To budge and come out of his hiding, he could not, limbs frozen, joints blocked as the soldiers razed them from existence, one by one by one. They didn’t even plunder the corpses, they took nothing but the most important ones. Not even the oxen were spared.

Later on, when the embers were little more than cold flakes of gray and black, ash in the wind, the iron grip around his chest, his joints, his limbs, let go, allowing him to move, to crawl out from the wreckage he was hiding, touched and marked by fire but not devoured, skin tender and reddened, angry, painful. But he was alive, he survived at the cost of everyone else, at the cost of those that knew better, that were worth more. All he could offer were nimble fingers and lies.

He even was too weak to budy those that had fallen, could not move them from where they had been slain, gazing upon the indifferent world with a broken glare. How he had moved on from this crossroad, he didn’t remember. Everything became somewhat hazy, drenched in a sweet kind of smoke, someone had taken a hold of his hand, aimless as he was, guiding him.

How to play the dice and the cards, how to steal when no one was looking. He ran deliveries of sweet scented, colorful powder that fogged the mind and breathed in the smoke as it burnt down to clumps of milky glass. And everything became a little bit easier, day by day, he forgot, he cooled off, another sheet of ice over dark blue eyes. He didn’t remember the hurt of the lost boy, he didn’t feel empathy for those that came and who he robbed blind, as his lungs were filled by sweetness and smoke, his mind found a frightening state of delusional clarity.

A raid was the last thing that he wanted to happen, losing his home once more to the law, the same one cast the first stone to begin with, was raw and reopened wounds that never healed properly. He was a casualty as much as he had become the perpetrator. Lying, stealing, robbing innocence just as his own had been taken, the only thing that saved him from a tumble down the pit was his tender age. That and greeneyed kindness.

The cruelest man in the Empire was hiding a secret, he found out. It was hidden behind heavy stone and strong wood, behind skulls of beasts and painted shields. He was brought in, expected to meet now the rest of his family, dead, gone, left to rot on the crossroads and blanketed by dust and ash. Instead, he was let in on the secret, into a fold of warmth from an unexpected source.

He should be grateful, he should. The home was filled with broken souls, with tattered hearts and fragile minds. Falling for them was easy. Trusting the hellhound and his thief was harder. Too hard for him, he saw the armor and the weapons, he saw the blood and not the hand underneath. Without the sweet smoke filling his lungs, he found it impossible to trust.

Just as he could not turn his back on all of them either.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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