Neboros
(#65482938)
Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold
Familiar
Glossy Duskrat
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Water.
Female Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
This dragon is under the permanent effect of a Silhouette Scroll. A toggle on the dragon's profile allows swapping between the artwork poses available for the breed.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.6 m
Wingspan
5.83 m
Weight
379.71 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Piebald
Piebald
Grape
Bee
Bee
Thicket
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
7
AGI
18
DEF
8
QCK
70
INT
115
VIT
25
MND
9
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
| __._ |
 She loved that he was useful to her. He was. He better had to be, she wasted so much on him. Time, beauty, money. No one wanted a dust girl with her belly swollen and round, no one wanted another mouth to feed and the man which had helped create him had long taken off, even before the first signs were clear. His mother rarely ever spoke about him, just another client, only this one left a little extra to the measly sum of coins. In the back of her rundown shack she gave birth to him, with the help of some kind hearted neighbour, she managed to actually survive and not come out of this whole thing severely damaged. He was alright too, for a too early born, malnourished babe. His mother - she hated it when he called her that, but she also hated him calling her by her name - kept him small, hid him under the bed when men came over to visit. He could have ran away from the coldness and the hunger and the neglect if he really wanted to, all he needed to do was knock on the door next too. The kind lady would have opened up, he knew this because despite the Watchers and their viciousness, she took in little ones. Instead he stayed, hidden under the bed or in the back of her closet. Until her patience ran out and she pushed him out of the house, to be on his own. Out on the streets, too young, too frail, he knew by instinct to find shelter. Deep in the abandoned mines he crawled, on his belly and until dust clung to him like a second skin. He found a home but this one was filled with chains and lies and the echoes of old nightmares scared his innocent heart close to bursting from terror. Pale hair and fair skin, the owner of this home tried to lure him in, with promises that were as false as night ruled in the Empire. So he took off. Away and fast, back to the closed door of her shack. Beating against splintering wood until his tiny fists bled and he painted the door frame red, he begged and screamed for her to open up. To let him in, he would be good, he would do everything, anything, just take him back, let him back in. He was a child, yet the moment she opened the door, he left his childhood behind before reaching a two digit age. Like a hollow eyed Doll he became, maybe she tried to put a spell on him, maybe someone else attempted it, but since there were no lines on his tongue or anywhere on his body, there was still the faintest of gleam in his eyes, one could deem it a failure. Either way, none of it mattered. She decided to venture out of the District of Dust, to follow the movement of the Army like many of her more unburdened and more courageous sisters-in-suffering, she certainly was the boldest. With him in tow, she entered the camp and offered her services, unaware of the impending ambush. It happened suddenly, one moment everything was fine, the next, there were arrows blackening the sky. And fire. The army was caught by surprise and everyone claimed to see only chaos. And yet. All he saw were patterns, lines of power and behavior and they made so much sense, why could no one else see it? His risen soldiers spread pale grey light like a plague as they followed his soundless command, shaping in response to the pattern of the enemy, through their broken eyes he saw like a reflection in a murky, shattered mirror the best method to break down the attacking army. Piece by piece he disassembled them, limb from limb and in the end, nothing but a total victory remained. As a looming shadow fell over him, the cost of his deeds caught up at rapid speed, sending his frail body sprawling on the ground. She took over for him after that. The talking, the interacting, it was all done by her lips, her tongue, her mind. She saw the potential in the boy she herself had forced to grow up far too quickly, a diamond in the rough, so she didn’t even thought twice about sacrificing everything of him on the altair of fame and wealth. His future, the wholesomeness of his mind and his chances at having a normal life, she tossed it in the same fires of ambition that would come back to claim her life. For now, he was useful. The pressure, of course, was too much. A child, not even a full decade old, yet treated like a soldier, forced to take up an oath made for warriors and criminals. He never was given a weapon, but what use did he have for a sword anyways, his mind and his intelligence were his greatest, most effective weapons. The General could have stopped this, the decline of his sanity, the breaking of his mind until nothing but fractured shadows remained, but he stilled his hand. He had a need for the boy-soldier. For what new ways he could find to guarantee victory. At the cost of his childhood, at the cost of friends, lovers, family and even parts of his body, he climbed higher and higher, fulfilling her dream of a house among Gardens akin to paradise, by sacrificing everything that made out a person, he gave her the power to get things she could previously only ever dream of. Yet, it still was not enough, he was the Admiral, the only one in the whole of the Empire and she was still not satisfied. Hadn’t she given everything to him, she claimed so sickly sweet, why wasn’t he willing to do the same for her. So he obeyed with disastrous consequences, a scheme of her own doing ending in fire and smoke, the blaze threatening to consume the whole of Veiled Gardens, over the roar of the inferno, he could not hear her screams as she burnt with her pelts and jewels and gold. But was he any better? Running into a collapsing building to save at least a fraction of the many, many plans he had made, drawn up for the Empire. They all crumbled to dust and ash as the roof caved in and buried him under cinder and charcoal. Without her hand pulling his strings, it became even more obvious how hollowed out he was. A puppet without its puppeteer, empty eyed and trapped in a constant state of isolation and pain. Even when his scars healed over and the stumps of his missing limbs stopped their bleeding, he did not return to the limelight he had been pushed into before. Silently watching as he became a ghost among his own faction, a rumor, little more, he withdrew even deeper into the cocoon of cold silence, encapsulated by the bare walls of his new home. With no one to pluck his strings and make him dance to their tune, he was content to wither away in loneliness, with never knowing kindness or affection, if one had never known love, they could not miss it after all. However he tried to reason with the larger, dead part of himself, someone was determined to prove him wrong of everything. 
| ___ |
code & assets by archaic #19153
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Exalting Neboros 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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