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Zeus

(#68268592)

Level 9 Pearlcatcher

Familiar

Pinpush Mirror Doll

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

6.72 m

Wingspan

3.7 m

Weight

355.63 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Basic

Copper
Butterfly

Fire
Stained

Hatchday

Mar 26, 2021
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Light
Uncommon

Level 9 Pearlcatcher

EXP: 534 / 21526

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Zeus.
↠ Small Victories for a high price

"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..."

He was far too young to understand the implications, too wild, too hot blooded to stop and see more than just the immediate picture. All he saw was an infringement of their territory by black clad invaders. He saw the jungle die and the steppe go up in a haze of bloody red and shouted, screamed at his tribe to act. To do more than sit and gather and talk. All day talking and what did it bring?

Nothing!

Why couldn’t they see? They were good, they lived here, the invaders were new. Where the black ones had to bring fire and blades to clear a path, they became one with the fleshy leaves and the vines, from branch to branch, they moved without a sound, ghosts in the canopy. So why, why weren’t they acting? He was too young, they said. Seven summers are nothing, he was too brazen.

So he gnashed his teeth and took his father’s bow. He could barely pull back the string, the notched arrow almost fell from his fingers, yet here he was, on the branch high above, muscles straining and eyes wild. He shouted at the black ones, cursed them to die and rot, to feed the jungle with their guts. They flinched, they were confused, scared and when he released his arrow, he felt invincible as he watched them scatter.

All but one, the last one remained standing, watching him with eyes of an old beast that knew too much, seen more than his whole tribe combined. The boy with his wild eyes and dark skin watched, amazed, terrified as his arrow was caught mid flight and snapped between fingers of metal. A simple gesture, performed without breaking from the deadlock gaze, he felt so small suddenly. Wanted to run, to hide behind his mother’s legs and father’s arms.

They are in the trees. Set ‘em on fire, burn it all to ta ground.

As he ran, smoke and sparks nipped at his heels, he ran and ran, his heart threatened to break free from his ribs, to see and feel freedom forbidden. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, he thought..he thought…he thought he would help his tribe. Instead he brought fire and metal and red haze back home with him, a wounded animal fleeing to lick its wounds, leaving a trail of blood leading right into its den.

His tribe had all the right in the world to blame him, to toss him out. Seven summers were enough to fend on his own, he didn’t deserve the marks on his face that spoke of his roots, his belonging. By all that was right, he should have gone, yet they were family. If not them, who else?

And then they prepared for the battle, for war. Instead, all they got was one soldier, madness in his eyes and black ichor dripping from his grinning lips, his glowing eyes, from the feathers of four wings wide and shards of broken halo framing his head. The creature spoke of belonging and test, rambling between laughter and spitting of taint. And as fierce as it fought, it was one, they were many. By all accounts, as they had it on the ground, pinned and about to be killed swiftly, the creature’s laugh reached its pinnacle. Howling like the winter breeze that stole the bleeding, mad creature away right from underneath their blades and spears.

Yer fools! All of ya! HE set ya up, tis never meant ta be a war! Tis gunna be a mass grave.

The dying started the day after, it started with splotches of blackness and blood in one’s lungs. One by one, they were eaten alive, and day by day, the ring of black tightened. He could see them, through the trees, on their beasts and with their sneers. They didn’t even try to hide anymore, while he scrambled to find enough food for all of them. The sickness, the poison ate them up, right from underneath his hands, there was nothing he could do.

Nothing but one thing. As long as he was still breathing, the tribe would live on. And he struggled to lift the elder’s club, and the wildhorse he mounted bucked and kicked, every single thing struggled against him, but he refused. Teeth gnashing, jaws clenched, he went and rode right into the blackened heart, past creatures in black armor and their snarling beasts. Past the chittering laughter and calls of mockery.

I challenge you for leadership of your tribe! When I win, all that is yours will be mine!

He barely reached the red one’s hip, had to crane back his head to look him in the face. But he refused to cower anymore, the boy that had shot the arrow, that had trembled under an too old gaze had matured, hardened by the feeling of loss right from underneath his fingertips. He refused to be scared anymore. He refused.

There was no battle, there wasn’t even much of an attack, one hit and he brought the man down on one knee, on his eye level. There wasn’t even an attempt of defense, of evasion, the hit connected because it was allowed to. In the end, this was the sum of him, anger and hot boiling blood, brazen mind and tear glazed eyes. Somewhere between his display of threat and realizing he was merely entertained, he broke.

Who are ye bringin’ home this time, Bern?
- Just a boy.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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