Nebethet

Ping @awaicu @Perseverance @RogueLoreWind @Salazia for hatchlings with Suetekh G3 FirstBorn

G5 Naomi & Ignis

Naomi --> Willow --> Adam/Dismas --> Yalsehelepthah --> Me!
Ignis --> Marduk --> Adam/Dismas --> Yalsehelepthah --> Me!


Mated to

All exalted children were eaten by her husband, because Suetekh is a jealous little man who doesn't want her attention taken from him to focus on kids.

"Nebet-het" *
An Egyptian Goddess known to be the Goddess of Death, Embalming, Lamentation, Nighttime/Darkness and Rebirth (and Rivers?)

Ever shifting, ever twining -- thus is the truth of the universe. Nothing stays, nothing remains eternal; it is all ash and dust, returning to nothing in the end. Tomorrow is a hope, never a promise. All of this, all of these she knew very well. O' daughter of shade, keeper of stars, she drifts across desert sand, over scorched wastes and crumbled ruins. Her journey is long, no end in sight - time slips between her claws, withering to nothing;

and she feels none of it.

How the voices echo within her, thrumming through her scales. How they whisper the lies of her supposed mother, the filth of her teachings, the shadowed depths of her faith. There is no true good and evil, tis truly a construct by dragonkind, to differentiate one another, to hold them above as superior over the inferior - yet there is still examples of true cruelty, true evil in a sense; it warps the senses, warps the mind. Was there really no true side, was it a blend of grey, mottled and stained with unsure philosophy, or was there a black and white?

She has seen much in her time, by her eyes and not. Reality shifts; Time is nothing in its wake - to see the past, to see the future, she merely needed to think. So much she has seen, so much she has collected - fragmented memories, the histories of old, the thousands of paths the future could hold. All of it rings through her head, as she continues to drift over heated sand.

Blood stains her thoughts, bleeding through to the next, darkened dragon claws soaked in the essence of their enemy. Vivid memories of bloodshed, of battles between clans, grass dyed deep reds; she drinks from abandoned fields, relishes in the copper on her tongue; tis frowned on to devour one another, but they were free to taste the flesh of animal and creature, drench their teeth in their blood. She has tasted the flesh of dragonkind. Eats the corpses left, devours scale, flesh, and bone. She cares naught for the confines of dragonkind’s laws, of their values and beliefs. Her mother declares there is no such thing as good and evil, and though she doesn’t believe that, she doesn’t care much either.

So could there be such black and white, or is it truly an illusioned grey; she merely continues on, searching for the next passing fancy. ‘Evil’ are the bandits she slay, ‘good’ are the healers she dines upon. The universe does not discriminate -- all meet their end eventually.

Perhaps that is her purpose, then? O’ descendant of the Beast, child of shadow and shade -- perhaps her purpose then is not to discriminate, and to merely complete, secure, the one truth of life; death. Everything must come to an end - that is the Truth of reality, of the universe. All shall know her in time, for all life is temporary, and she comes to claim it. Premature, or on time, she knows not nor does she care; those in her path shall find their end, by her teeth and claw, by warping magicks and deathly tricks. She feels not - none of it is received. There is no sadness in her actions, no shame, no glee. Nothing. Merely the drive of a purpose, a search for the truth - good and evil, what good is it, in the face of death?

None have asked her to pick up this mantle, many weep and screech at such an act, but she lifts it all the same, settles along her shoulders, as she drifts through the lands, whispers constant in her ears. Across the sand, she smells a battle. She has tasted the flesh of dragonkind, drank their spilled blood, and so she hungers.

---

The crashing waves of the ocean are loud. They drown out the whispers in her ears, the buzzing noise continuous throughout her life, and she stares off towards the distant horizon as she listened. Was this how it was to be calm? Serene? Was this... peace? Her tongue laps over her muzzle, licking away the blood staining red scales and bone of the skull wore over her face. More stains her claws, deep ruby coating the fur and scales of her form. Tattered rags flutter in the passing breeze, as the blood drips along the stone beneath her; the waves crash up against the rock wall, mist spraying against her massive bulk. A ship sails by below, and her gaze is drawn to bleeding starlight.

---

Even Death finds solace in the company of a beloved. For her, it is her the starlight that had caught her attention that fateful day; smaller than her, but so doting and crafty. Her Starlight was so smart, so eager, so... willing. Nebet-het found herself seeking his approval constantly, even coming to reside in the clan he was so adamant in staying with.

Coiled in the shadows of their shared den, she awaits each day for her Starlight to return from sea, curled around with whatever young they may have at the time, awaiting to see if any of them would survive long enough to be of any worth.

Most do not. And the some who do are often devoured by her mate, which she does not stop. Merely watching, as their hatchlings are no more than mere snacks.

Only one child has lasted long enough to reach adulthood with mortal body, seeking safety from his father's maws or a cruel twist of fate, remaining in the kingdom she was tethered to - her eldest, her firstborn; and doting she is, surprisingly, consistently checking on him, watching him day by day. Often, Apophis wanders beside her, or remains closeby; but when her beloved Starlight returns, he is chased away.


For his protection, but so she may also relish and bathe in the attention and presence of her mate.

( It does not mean she is not aware of her other hatchlings, wrought in cursed flesh and bone; she mourns silently, on her own, not for those who had fallen to her mate's jaws, but those taken from her.

Her young son Mors, his spectral form long gone from her side where she cradled him to her bulk, doted on his seemingly fragile but invulnerable little body. A new home he found for himself, but one away from her, and cursed forever in a ghostly visage -- likely due to her Truth, the blood upon her claws, and the mantle she carries and reaps and sows.


Or her middle son Gransax, stolen away to be one of the 'Plaguebringer's Chosen'. Angry hisses leave her maw at the reminder, but even Death could not always defy the word of the Plaguebringer. What a poor soul, her son was, bone and decayed, with no voice, and hardly much thought; a limp thing, that she nudged from their egg, lamenting that yet again her body had produced nothing more than a cursed being.
)




Art by PastelWhile!