Schattenfeuer's dragon Danko

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

15.64 m

Wingspan

18.68 m

Weight

9039.33 kg

Genetics

Overcast
Metallic

Blackberry
Alloy

Black
Filigree

Hatchday

Jul 12, 2020
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Lightning
Rare

Level 7 Guardian

EXP: 489 / 11881

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

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D A N K O
Death's own Knight

They fear the grim reaper, the harbinger of the end the same way they fear the dark of the night. The thick of the enchanted forest. Fear, the oldest, strongest of motions to rest within a mortal’s chest, has a way of gripping too deep, clinging like ice cold disease. This force of nature, this force of destruction and selfish self-preservation can and will cause the turning of blades, loyalty forgotten when it came down to the line of their survival.

To remember this is to understand the tale of a young man long lost to history. A survivor, a leader, a sacrificed lamb forgotten, left behind in favor of continued existence of their own self. The story begins in rain and thunder, in the blackest night of a despairing season. Loss and war and inevitable escape, fleeing from the threat that was the nipping, biting shadow. He was no one and nothing, a carrier of sacred texts, forefathers knowledge that eventually would be lost anyways. If not in blood then in the ignorance of future generations.

They feared, they shivered. The branches of old oaks turning into wooden claws, choking, scratching, the promise of gruesome demise to the red eyes blinking in the depths of the unnavigable thicket. Turn around, the raging wind howled. Return to familiar death, to the ones you know.

But they could not. Would not, dared not. There was only a matter of when and how, not of if. Scared the lost sheep cowered together, drenched in icy rain and whipped by wind, thunder and the flash of lightning. A nascent promise that whispered of the dampness of the grave and the coil of maggots. Fear had taken hold, gripping, choking their throats, paralyzing their joints to a total stop. Not knowing the way forward, not daring to step back, the flock of lost, little sheep had come to a stagnant stand still, shoving, accusing. The forest once promising safety, protection from pursuit, now turned to become a most hungry grave.

Harken onto me, a cloud soft voice called from their midst. Murmuring in the calmness of a pure spring, a young man stepped forth, stepped ahead to take up the frayed mantle of leadership. Not something he wanted but it needed to be done. To be fulfilled, least the hungry grave would still be filled after all. Follow my light.

And following they did, over root gnawed paths they stumbled, past the snarling of the thicket and the gleam of red eyes. They tried, he had to grant them this in cold comfort. But in the end, fear was a foe no mortal could conquer, not for others. It was the struggle of the self, the one battle everyone had to fight on their own. So the whispers of fear reared once more, filling their ears and minds with thick, black tar. Irrationality and terror reaching far, far into the core of their very hearts.

You lied, you lead us to ruin!, they screamed, the scared herd of sheep bleaking in despair at the shepherds' attempts to guide them. Turning against the helping hand was a natural consequence, even if he had not the malice within him to lash out. So in taking up the sword, he cut free the guiding light, the bleeding, burning heart, free from his chest.

In the light of the burning heart, the hungry shadows started to wane, one by one. The unbreakable thicket and suffocating darkness melting, dripping away to show the gentle sway of fields full of promise. What could not be found with fear was laid bare, revealed with the sacrifice of a courageous mind. A pure heart to light the beacon, they found new beginnings, new hope and lost in their revelry, they left behind the lamb they forced to slaughter. Scattered with the wind, the young man was abandoned under the canopy of the wicked forest, drowning in blood and loneliness he watched the embers of his heart burn out, dance upon the wind in sparks of blue.

Was it worth it? Death asked, its face no grinning skull but a mirrored reflection of everything serene. Its eyes full of mercy and love, pale hands cupped the gentle glowing soul. Are you fulfilled?

The soul pondered, safe and calm in Death’s ageless, timeless embrace before it shook, discontent, still too full of purpose to move onto the sweetness that Afterlife promised. No rest yet, he wanted, needed more yet. But alas, Death comes onto all and it did not wait. So too this pure heart had to come to an end.

A story most tragic, its end a bittersweet conclusion of selflessness from a pure heart against the inert selfishness of one’s nature. Sweetly coming together the young man’s life was over and gone, for centuries and generations, but from each end a new beginning must come. On Death’s blank plains, a knightly figure roams, clad in night black armor and wrapped in bramble, a hollowed out chest holds a bright burning flame. A beacon to guide those that are lost, Death’s own knight held the dichotomy of fear and comfort within his armored palms, to offer what he had offered before.

Death’s Knight is a living creature, a death in itself, the contradiction of unlife in its purest, kindest shape. He was duty bound and yet, after eternity under a sky as gray as the ground beneath his feet, he fell content with the fate bestowed. Death’s mercy and his desire to continue intermingled, damning him to glimpse at paradise but never enter. Yet after lifetime after lifetime of loyally guiding, leading the lost souls onto safe haven, a ripple of star speckled beauty bled into gray sameness. Following the trail of dancing sparks of blue, he became the lost soul himself. From protector to protectee, Death released his debt to bestow once more, life.

They found him under the shade of a star speckled canopy, surrounded by the dancing sparks of blue. A novelty, a relict of a time long past, his purpose was fulfilled and the reward had become a new life.

“I am lost.”, he murmurs into soft skin. Against a strong shoulder. “I am lost and can not be found”

In a world so new, so strange, it was too easy to become overwhelmed. Drowning in the excess of this Empire, he longed back for the cold comfort that was Death’s bleak plains. Gray upon gray, the same, the familiar. He was scared, struck by fear in the same manner he was born from. Even if wrapped in sheets of silk and the comfort of the flesh itself, he was a lost mind, a body without a heart proper.

“You are a silly man”, the rumble of a voice, softer than a cloud, sweeter than spun sugar, shook against his temple, his cheek. Filled his ears with lewd honey. In the warmth shared between bodies united and souls touching it was near impossible to lose hope. To lose faith in the forces of Life and Death. To feel the touch of thick, warm fingers, tussling, curling through his hair, was an honor, a gift in itself, one he would not bear to miss anymore. “Life is all about being lost, finding the very thing or things that give us purpose.”

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"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...

SATHAI:
I am lost, can you see? Do you see past the smokescreens and the fear? Is the embrace I offer enough to fill your heart to its fullest? Please don’t leave, stay and tell me about the chaotic, colorful, wonderful thing that is life.

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NAME:
lore here

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Exalting Danko to the service of the Flamecaller 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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