Marun
(#62433527)
"Dead and bedamned and the rest gone whist..."
Familiar
Mith Spellstealer
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Energy: 47/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Fae
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.65 m
Wingspan
0.88 m
Weight
1.76 kg
Genetics
Umber
Iridescent
Iridescent
Tan
Butterfly
Butterfly
Watermelon
Glowtail
Glowtail
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 12 Fae
EXP: 13260 / 38956
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
|
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 Marun  Mortician, Gravekeeper Friend of Ghosts, Father of the Mythovore   -Invisible to the Watcher- |
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Silent Hours, Six Feet Under
or
In Which You Fail to Sneak Up on the Gravedigger
or
In Which You Fail to Sneak Up on the Gravedigger
|
Oh, hello there! Do you believe in ghosts? Don't look so startled! You are wandering around in a graveyard, after all, you know, the question must have come to mind once or twice. You've no obligation to, you know. They tend not to mind if you don't. They aren't "scary", you know? No more so than anyone else, unless one happens to be unusually so. Which you, not to put too fine a point on it, are not! No offense. ...Did you think you'd scared me, sneaking up like that? Ah. Well. Apologies if I gave that impression, I may be standing in a rather deep hole at the moment but I k̴n̴e̴w̴ you were there. Were you trying to pass by unnoticed? I do hope you aren't afraid of me. Goodness. Even disregarding the whole - well, the family - no one trusts the gravedigger. You know? What I meant, to return to my point, was that you have nothing to fear from ghosts. Now, individuals can be frightening. Maybe some people are more so as ghosts than they were in life. Honestly most of them are just... well, just a little sad. It's hard to be a part of the world when you can't interact with things easily. You know? Dead musicians can't play instruments, dead writers cannot write, dead weavers cannot weave, and it's hard, because so often those are the things that linger. They may forget their names, you know, but their passions remain. Only, they can no longer experience them. I try to help with that. I do like to help. Oh, while you're here, could you hold this shovel for a moment? Thanks. What I meant is, they are really only people who need a little help. That's not scary. Ergo, they aren't scary by virtue of being ghosts. Hm. It simply isn't an... I don't know, an inherent ghostly property. You must earn the spooky points, if you will, if you would like them. Now, many do - it's a skill ghosts do have some advantage in, and that can help if their old skills are out of reach. It's good, for them, to have something to practice. And, you know, us living folks can do it too. Being spooky is a perfectly valid hobby. Me? Oh yes! Of course! Oh, I have s̶o̴ ̴m̷a̴n̸y̵ spooky points. Tend not use them much, though. Hm. Certainly I could do that... well, that glowy-eyes, being-that-should-not-exist, bloodline-of-an-eldritch horror bit. Of course. Yes. Seems like a lot of hassle, to be honest, and I don't much like scaring people. I have my gifts, certainly. I can talk to my friends. Hm. You probably could too, you know. No, no, not the eldritch horror bit! I mean, speaking with my friends. You just have to work for it. Hm, and be a little lucky, I suppose. Nature and nurture. Strange magics, d̸i̷s̶t̶o̸r̷t̵i̸o̵n̶s̷, all of that can be passed down in the blood, you know, but you still have to practice. And by practice, of course, I mean meditate on a heap of grave dust for hours. Not a comfortable task. We should really make more chair-shaped gravestones. It took me... a very long time to hear them. Longer to see them. Nice folks, really. Definitely worth the effort. Give me that shovel back, please? Thanks. It's a little hard to hold things, you know? C̴l̶a̸w̵s̷ ̶k̷e̶e̸p̸ ̴g̵l̸i̵t̷c̵h̶i̸n̴g̸ ̸t̴h̴r̴o̵u̷g̸h̵. Suppose that's part of why I get along with ghosts. I don't often think of it, but the fact remains that dear old great-grandmother left her mark. Oh, don't look so askance, it isn't that unusual, there are so very many of us. You may even have a bit of her in your own blood! But I, hm, perhaps a bit more than most. And it... itches. You know? The un-courier, the un-keeper of the exalted, who are nothing all like the dead but equally intangible to us - she lingers somewhere under my scales and it itches. ...I apologize. I ramble, it is my nature. A stranger, hm, does not need to hear an old man speak of all the bits of him that itch. And anyway, I blame her not for it. It only means that sometimes I am less here, and more elsewhere. I am not so old? You are kind. And, here, you are correct. But one does not age, elsewhere, and even had I any skill in mathematics, I could not tell you the years spent there. It vexes poor Syzygy to no end, you know! She does not like that there are hours her grand clocktower will never mark with its lovely chimes. Silent hours. Silent years. |
Abstract things are like that. You know? They slip away. It is why we - why ghosts hold so tightly to tangible things, and places, and people. Hm? Why am I here to begin with? Well. Hm. I have kin all over, but we have so little in common, you know? The Crew doesn't judge. I like it here. They don't mind at all where you come from. They don't care who you are, just who you try to be. It's nice, you know? I've even settled down a little, raised a couple of nests. The woodworker, Marsili, she asked me to sire a clutch of hers - I'm not good with hatchlings. I worry, you know? But she is very, very... mortal sounds rude, I apologize. She is extremely tangible, no spooky points at all! And she is a good mother. Our children, they are more of her blood than mine. I hope the world will be kind to them in life. The Orchard-Keeper? Ah, you have heard of that, then. Well, that is another story. Oh, my apologies, I wasn't looking where I was shoveling! Didn't mean to dump dirt on you. Hm. You know, why don't you join me down here? Less likely that I'll accidentally fling old soil on you, and easier besides to hold a conversation at eye level. The hole's quite large. Plenty of room for three. There we are. Much better. Where was I? The Orchard-Keeper. What have you heard? She lives alone, much as I do. You know, I suppose if you're looking for living dragons to be afraid of, she'd be a good one. Why? Well! Not by any intent of her own, certainly, though her blood comes from others who should-not-have-been. Yes, she is the grandchild of changelings, and an Imperial by technicality besides. But blood does not make a person, else those without it would not be people. So, no, that is not why. ...You know, the only reason we can breathe down in these caverns is because of that orchard. There's no path to the surface. And this pocket of sweet air, here in the depths, it is all under her care. She is the reason we breathe - at least, those of us who still do. Life is tenuous, you know. That is a decently frightening thought, and she is a reminder of it. So there is some existential dread for you! She really is a marvelous person. Can do amazingly artistic things with hedge trimmers. Hm. There we are! Just a few inches of dirt left now, I think. Would you terribly mind holding the shovel again? My grip fails me often, this deep in the earth, I can't seem to - ah. Thank you. Now, what was I talking about - ah, right, on the topic of spookiness. She and I, we bore fruit together - yes, quite literally, the eggs grew as flowers upon her trees. She was very philosophical about it, saw it as a legacy, hatchlings born of caretakers of life and death. I think that is too much to place on a child. You know? I think they are too much like the both of us. Yet I love them still. And they are getting quite good at being spooky. Truly! If you think you are frightened of ghosts, you have not seen my second-eldest son when a careless student spills blackberry juice on a stack of ancient, fragile books! I know several powerful poltergeists - lovely people - who wish they could summon half of his...what does he call it? The terror of endings? "N̷a̴m̴e̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̷t̷h̵e̶ ̶m̸y̸t̷h̴o̸v̵o̶r̶e̴,̷ ̴b̶i̸n̶d̵ ̸m̸e̴ ̴i̷n̷ ̷p̶a̵p̶e̴r̵,̴" and so on and so forth. All a bit beyond me, I'm afraid. I was never one for stories, you know? Prefer dirt under my claws, a bit of sweat and blood, something tangible. Hm? Why the digging? Oh, well. I have a friend. He was was buried with these silver crochet hooks he loved. Now he wants them back. Ah, there we go. Oof, a bit deeper than six feet, that was. Let me take a moment to rest. Oh, while you're here, would you mind giving me a hand with the lid? ꙮ Fond of floral arrangements, carved bone, beaded bracelets, small acts of kindness Fatherline Zenril #60946464 Motherline Naomi #25342 | Linebrother to Endless Octal Fall and Fall Again, Corrupted Planchette gliding off HELLO, "̷I̸s̶ ̷i̶t̶ ̴t̴i̵m̸e̸ ̷f̷o̴r̸ ̷y̵o̵u̶ ̶t̵o̸ ̵g̵o̴?̷"̷ G - O - O - D - B - Y - E "̷C̴o̷m̴e̴ ̵n̷e̷x̷t̸ ̷w̷e̴e̸k̵e̵n̵d̵,̴ ̸I̸'̵l̴l̶ ̶m̸a̵k̸e̸ ̶t̶e̸a̷.̴"̵ |
Bio template by Mibella, find it here.
L I N E A G E
|| 4th Generation Naomi ||
As of 1.24.22, 1/6 with this color combination (3 unexalted, all siblings)!
Possible Partners:
- Esperanza
|| 4th Generation Naomi ||
As of 1.24.22, 1/6 with this color combination (3 unexalted, all siblings)!
Possible Partners:
- Esperanza
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