Schattenfeuer » Hibernal Den » Cassius

Cassius

(#64515494)

Level 9 Wildclaw

Familiar

Writer's Aid

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.87 m

Wingspan

5.71 m

Weight

572.94 kg

Genetics

Sanddollar
Falcon

Oilslick
Bee

Wine
Stained

Hatchday

Oct 16, 2020
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Light
Dark Sclera

Level 9 Wildclaw

EXP: 111 / 21526

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Cassius.
↠ Faded for the better

"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..."

Atta boy, hit ‘em where tis hurt ta most.

His father was such a symbol of strength to him. There was nothing the man could do wrong and the world was perfect. A small boy rarely sees the fault in rusted chains and bent bars. He does not see the wrongness in a makeshift arena filled with more boneshatters than actual sand. Butcher’s Gathering was nothing more than a macabre mirror reflection of Bloodsand Arena, but to him, it was a darkened wonderland filled with nicked bones and broken blades and stains of dried crimson.

Wrong and right blurred when he watched his father’s scar riddled shape beat a smaller body into little more than a stain in the dust, was a fleeting concept when he sat under the wobbly table and ate the scraps that fell from it, dripping in grease and half rotten. He never went hungry, the only noise that broke his sleep were his father’s grunts and the creak of a broken bed frame. Wasn’t that enough?

Poor boy, tis no way ta live, aint it?

He would tilt his head, confused and ask but never got a genuine answer, how could they. All of them that came were haggard and worn down. They had hard eyes and chipped teeth and protruding ribs, torn clothing and the smell of decay clinging with spidery sticky fingers to their skin.

There was no mother but that was alright, he had no need for one when his father’s arms were big enough for two. When his hugs were warm and tight and promised safety and love. This, he thought, was all he needed. Was all that was necessary. But life rarely played fair and fate is a cruel mistress.

Died in ta arena. Lil’ crawler had a shiv hidden in ta boot. Nuthin’ we coulda done.

The District of Dust was a gluttonous beast with a black hole as a stomach. It hungered and no matter how many souls it crushed, devoured and shattered, it never was enough. It despised happiness and fed off agony as everything it touched withered and died, fell apart at the seams and crumbled into little more than more dust. Dust of memories lost, of lives taken and blood spilled. It was a truly fearsome beast and the Empire’s finest merely watched as it raged on unchecked.

A kinder Watcher found him wandering the same streets he had once taken with his father. Now alone, everything became scary, frightening, for the first time he could see the eyes in the shadows and the beasts with claws for hands. He could hear the snapping of jaws and the mocking cackle of those that fed off his misfortune.

The Gladiator’s little boy, nice and fat from dining off of his father’s laurels, how the tables had turned. All alone, now he wasn’t so brave anymore and his imaginary sword turned back into the crooked twig it always had been. Now, he was alone and he finally understood. Blissful ignorance killed whoever wore its thick veil, he would have been next, just one small body among the many in shallow holes, blanketed by acidic chalk.

Look here, ‘nother one on his own. Small one too.

Father’s embrace hadn’t changed at all, after days in fever’s haze, after thirst and hunger and fear, he crawled into it willingly. Wondering, thinking little of it, father was just as warm and safe as he remembered, the change of scenery little more than an afterthought. Rusted chains and bent bars made room for heavy, wooden walls, mounted pictures and other trophies, for fireplaces out of solid stone and pelt rugs on the floor. He didn’t had to crawl under a wobbly table anymore, didn’t had to snatch for grease soaked scraps as mother provided plentiful.

Yer think he remembers?
- Nay, too small, fit in ta palm of me hand when he was brought in. Let ‘em forget. Better fer it.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Cassius 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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