Psittacidae » Hibernal Den » Myrmidon

Myrmidon

(#67216666)

Night's Herald

Familiar

Tengu Caller

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.19 m

Wingspan

5.81 m

Weight

582.73 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Pinstripe

Charcoal
Striation

Obsidian
Capsule

Hatchday

Feb 08, 2021
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Mirror

Eye Type

Shadow
Unusual

Level 10 Mirror

EXP: 173 / 27676

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

MYRMIDON
Night's Herald

"I have to practice staying alive and preparing to die at the same time.""

Apolochen says:
“It’s easy to get lost in the space between worlds. It’s like dreaming. Sometimes you forget what is and isn’t real. Eventually, Death will come for us again, one way or another. That's what Death does. I can't live in fear of it. And I will not be dragged into the dark.”

Plenilune says:
"Blessed Shadowbinder, witness our adoration. See how we serve you, only you. We have vanquished your foes. In darkness, we see your truth. Embrace us, your loyal warriors. Cloak us in your shadow. Guide us to your victory. Your will shall be done. As sure as night will fall."

ShadowBinder's Spy

THE END IS NOT THE END IS NOT THE END IS NOT THE END IS NOT THE END

Insomnia runs in my family, afflicting both sides of it with equal intensity. Eight generations and over of tossing and turning, cursing and crying in between. A long heritage of discomfort, and, according to family gossip, one that can only be interrupted by the very shadow of death itself.

Death is an alien shape seen in my peripheral vision at night. We all have to see that shape at least once in our lives. Knowing I'll have to see it twice frightens me.

Watching other's face slacken in the grip of sleep is distressing. It bears the stamp of deep intoxication, and it is immediate, without any intervening period of jollity or talkativeness. No time to acclimate to it.

Sleep utterly disables your ability to step outside yourself. Blissfully sliding about inside a cell without mirrors nor windows, it's impossible for anyone to make the sleeper see that they are trapped, or that there is a world outside. I have come to know it as the solitary confinement of the soul.

I watched helplessly from outside like this for most of my childhood as others committed themselves to this living death.

My mind is lost in the depths of recollections from the dreams I could never shake. A boy, me, trapped in the same twisted tower with no way to escape.

Moonlight peaking through the dusty window, stars twinkling in the clear night sky beckons my gaze, pulling my eyes towards it like a private letter left open on someone’s desk, and, as I look up, the shadow passes by the window.

I remember snapping my head back towards door, thinking my mother had come in and that I am seeing her reflection, but I am alone. When I look back, the shadow is gone, but I am sure I had seen a dark, diaphanous dress, fluttering in the humid tropical air, and young skin on a solid face, free of any adolescent blemish, shining in the porch light as thick and alive as my own. I can still see the turn-of-the-century brocade of her outfit, and the unsettling way she quickly floated by the window.

"Mother?" I ask, but of course it can not be. She has been dead and buried a decade since.

Forever imprisoned by my hopeless visions.

But whether it is ghost or hallucination or echoes of an older generation, it calls to me. In the dead of night, when I am closest to death. In the in-between realm from where echoes of past lives emerge. The night whisper to me its secrets, and I in turn whisper my secrets to it. This is how the warp and weft of the universe is woven.

Three in the morning, the entire world is asleep. Except me. A vase of twelve wilting sunflowers stands out amongst the never-ending greys and blacks. No voices are left to chastise me, only the whispers inside my head.

There is a threat in the air that I have to escape. Birds come down onto branches and stay put before a thunderstorm, and cows lay down to sleep.

Spring is taking hold on the town, flowers are springing up everywhere and the trees all have full canopies. Pollen coats the sidewalk beneath me, my feet leaving empty footprints in my wake. Ashy clouds swirl together in the sky, hiding the world from the light.

Painted constellations cover the sky; Orion wearing his infamous belt, Pegasus soaring through the stars, and Casseopia ruling over the dark. Their beauty catches my eye, making it difficult to look away.

The far end of the street is where I find the people like me, the lurkers in the darkness who pray to dust and shadow. Flowing scarves trailing down their sides, the waves of fabric lined in starlight. Their crooked smiles greet me, their dreams almost as shattered as my own.

This world is no place for the fragile of mind or heart.

I make my offering to the cold stone and bitter earth, and they take it without a word. We prefer silence.

My generation likes to sneer at the ones that came before us. They were all asleep at the wheel of history and willing to take whatever they were given to preserve their sense of security.

Sensing the responsibility we carry as stewards of a rapidly crumbling world, we search for disciplines that will show us the way forward, and healthier ways of beating back the impish mental chatter that comes for us when all the lights are off and there’s no one to talk to—but, come morning, we still find ourselves upright and empty-handed, like every generation before us.

The world is quiet and pleasantly asleep, but all I can see is death.

I return again embraced by the cover of night. The stars radiate high above, monochromatic midnight blues churn through the sky, spiralling out of control.

There’s no inherent honour or intelligence in being worried about death and the process of dying. It’s a cheap anxiety that everyone buys the moment they are born, and it’s most sharp for me whenever I’m falling asleep. It’s how I react to this fear, when I’m clamped inside the space between consciousness and sleep, between life and death, that seems most important to me now.

I take pride in our collective heritage of insomnia, and I see my resistance to sleep as an impulse against death and towards life, as if the history of every society’s struggle against its own demise is being recapitulated every time I close my eyes. This is what distinguishes us from the birds and the cows that land and lay down in the face of extinction.

There is a drowsiness tugging at my eyes. I feel myself sinking into it, fighting all the time while knowing I am, like everyone, destined to lose. I hope my sleep is long and restoring, and that I lift myself up in the morning like a wiser, stronger generation, knowing the enemy better and ready to face it in the light of the new day.

THE END IS NOT THE END IS NOT THE END IS NOT THE END IS NOT THE END

SHADOWBINDER'S SPIES
Cunning | Sly - Smart | Astute

Generation 6
RevealAllToThe ShadowBinder -> Silence -> Bravura -> Elench -> Whitsuntide -> Serasker -> Me

Some say the very shadows whisper rumors and happenings from afar into the Shadowbinder's ears, bringing news from lands the great deity did not walk. They're almost right. A small organisation of dragons travel far and wide and settle themselves in distant clans, welcomed because of their pretty scales and alluring demeanor. They begin learning and absorbing the knowledge and plans from the unknowing dragons around them, before sending on the knowledge directly to the Forum of the Obscured Crescent. They are the true Shadowbinder's eyes and ears.

They are the Spies of the Shadowbinder.

MEMENTO MORI
Fortune is blind

Generation 7
Moros & Acanthus -> Neander -> Cora -> Harangue -> Sclera -> Pylangium -> Serasker -> Me

Memento mori (Latin: "remember that you have to die") is the medieval Latin Christian theory and practice of reflection on mortality, especially as a means of considering the vanity of earthly life and the transient nature of all earthly goods and pursuits.

This curse would be traced down his lineage. All Moros' children were destined to die, like any dragon. But they would be given a second chance. It was up to the children if they would accept the bargain.

NIGHTCALL
Strange moon, strange land, strange man

Generation 6
Urban & Peyton -> Corus -> Harangue -> Sclera -> Pylangium -> Serasker -> Me

Those that possess the ability to harness magic are the masters of the natural world. Their bodies are powerful vessels of magical energy that act as an extension of their own self. Like Peyton, their powers are downright lethal. Many Nightcallers perform such magic without a second thought, as it is quickly replenishing and they are hardly without their magic.

However, this immense amount of power can come at a heavy price, and Nightcallers may very well destroy their body and mind beyond repair if they call upon too much magic at once, or do not pace themselves. The mind is usually the first thing to go unsound.

ALCHEMIST'S TOOLS
Reveal me your secrets

Generation 7
AurumRegis -> Pietersite -> Corallium -> Gegenschein -> Elench -> Whitsuntide -> Serasker -> Me

We welcome the carefree and the bold, the dreamers and knowledge seekers, from one day to another to be told.

Back when Sornieth was still young, after the gods had placed their various marks upon it, there was an alchemist by the name of Chofiniel. He was the studious sort since he could remember, with an unusual ability at sourcing elements in their many forms. When others were learning the skills in tradecrafts, he was busy experimenting. Combining new base form together, he would create new compounds to repeat the process over again with.

THE GLORIES
Starlight in his wings

Generation 4
Kleio & Eamon -> Fringilla -> Thither -> Anthoathecata -> Me

So, the two set out from the little dwelling that they had called home for seasons. They wandered for four seasons before coming to rest in a stretch of woods in the Starwood Strand, chosen for fertile soil and sights to behold. The two knew they'd be happy, there. To this day, they remain in that little patch of forest, though their children and grandchildren roam the world as their parents did, in search of the corner they will claim as their home.

VENICCIO SCHOLARS
The sun shines fully upon them

Generation 7
Marinus & Marisol -> Leocade -> Lani -> Mafrea -> Deckle -> Thither -> Anthoathecata -> Me

Thousands of years ago, scholars of Light and seers of Water met at the border of their realms, and between them a pact was formed, an oath sworn: Knowledge must be protected and shared between all of dragon kind, lest the terrible history of war and mistrust consumed them once more, or the dark future the seers had divined come to pass. Using their magic, the six built a grand temple on the coast where they had met and named the place Veniccio.

Shadowmanders

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Exalting Myrmidon to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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