Schmetterling
(#68458056)
Yakeru : The Butterfly Prince
Avery
Spring Sphinx
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 32/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Female Imperial
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
27.64 m
Wingspan
21.71 m
Weight
6774.27 kg
Genetics
Bronze
Poison
Poison
Terracotta
Butterfly
Butterfly
Sand
Peacock
Peacock
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
⚦ : he/him/his
Personal guard and assistant to Lenore,
Currently stationed with the other "Stained Glass Soldiers" - Lenore's collective term for her beautiful matching militant assistants - at the edge of the Frontier, at the border of D'Haran lands.
He writes to her, personally, outside of his reports. But he never sends them.
• •• ••• ✴ ••• •• •
Current Status:
Begrudgingly learning some valuable lessons from Veghe, as he gradually comes to know the revered General. Veghe offered to punish any who challenged the young dragon's position, and was impressed when the "Butterfly Prince" declined, saying he would be glad to do it himself.
His name wasn't even Schmetterling. That came with the job. It was originally Yakeru, and it meant "burn", and he liked it. But everyone had always called him things that were not what he was, so he had learned early to be who he was regardless of what shapes and words others had given him in their own minds.
He shouldn't be here, in the midst of all this pomp and posturing. He was happy in his forests, back home where the air was always warm and carried the dew and fragrance of more flowers and fruit than he could count, at first, but as he'd grown he'd played a game - by himself, always by himself, but he didn't mind - to pinpoint and identify each one by the notes it played on the warm familiar breeze. But then he'd been called to his father, in from the shade of the large tree in the middle of the fields where he took his lessons, and he'd been made to clean the dirt from his claws, brush a shine into his overgrown, tangled mane and shed the braids he had been so proud of, and don fabrics as fine as any of those in the big house, so flimsy against skin used to the rough reality of earthen soil. He felt ridiculous, like when they had tried to make him a her and put him in the greenhouse instead of the fields, calling him a name that was not his and being angered when he did not answer to it. Was being born to riches the open door to the world his less fortunate acquaintances supposed it to be? He couldn't see one. He could see pre-cut, pre-worn roles he was expected to slip into as if they had always been his own, lest he embarrass "the kingdom", whatever that meant, the entire genetic line that culminated so disappointingly in him, and everyone Of Some Importance they knew in some vague way. As if that right there was the measure of a man's worth. Did he live a good life? Did he enjoy his time spent within the mortal coil? Was it all worth it? Well, we don't know, but we have been informed that he was embarrassing to his great-great-aunt, twice removed, when she heard him wrong at a family reunion dinner table, guess he's going to Hell then.
Can't imagine how embarrassing it must have been for the nebulous Disapproving Somebodies when this particular "Butterfly Princess" told them all to drop the "ess" and leave it at Prince.
Of course, now it was even more important that he didn't Embarrass The Family by being bad at the role he had to fill. He'd demanded that he be treated as any other Prince in his line had been, and he'd proven time and time again that he was more than up to the challenge on the battlefield, or in politics that required a level and well-equipped mind and a firm hand. He'd been more than capable of showing he could run things fairly, and turn a profit, and uphold the social position they enjoyed, but he'd also made it clear he didn't belong behind a desk, he was simply good at things that mattered. He had no intention of going beyond the station he'd found for himself. To be listened to and taken seriously at home was one thing, a difficult thing, but he was achieving that. But once again they cried "don't embarrass us"; they'd apparently gotten him a position in the Capital, and everything had been signed, there was no going back except with great loss of face and standing for the parasites who had offered him up like livestock.
Don't embarrass us. Again.
You did enough of that already.
They looked at him when he first stepped out in formal finery, and there were some poisonous laughs from a cousin who somehow went missing a few days later, likening his less than severe appearance in his new soft and fancy attire to the trauma of his youth, aimed to cut deep. And deep it did cut, indeed, but he didn't strike then. They thought they'd won, but he knew better than they, and this time was no different. He left, heart wounded, and vowed that it would be the last time. And the last time he would see any of them before he returned for their blood. He could wait. He could always wait, he could always endure.
• •• ••• 🌹🌃🍷 ••• •• •
As it turned out, however, his stint at the Capital wasn't long. He was spotted by the right person in the right crowd, it seemed, and he skipped out on his family's arrangements and was hired to Styria - an unknown and intimidating place... but one where his roots could never find him. Well, he'd make new ones now.
Upon the official day of his inauguration, he'd been given a gift of such incredible value and immense consequences, and there was at last no looking back. He was given life eternal, and the freedom to make his own choices. It was... overwhelming, but at the same time, a rush like none he'd ever known, and the enormity of it was staggering. "Thank you" would never be enough for the blood of Lenore herself. At least, not from his point of view. She'd laugh and tell him to stop talking nonsense, even as highly she guarded it - all vampires did, really, and for obvious reasons.
There was also one other gift, given later, when they lay together on Lenore's almost-otherworldly bed; billows of silk and lace and exquisite sheer curtains edged with the finest pinstripes of satin that glimmered softly like the stars. She had looked at him with such an unexpected, unguarded and unashamed look in her eyes that he always hoped was for him alone, a private thing that was only theirs... but he knew better than to believe it too much. And she had given him a magic scroll, one that would give him the body he had always felt fit him so much better than the one he hid, the one he couldn't look at in the mirror.
She had given him his life, over and over again, and she always seemed to know exactly what he needed. This was a true Queen. He had dropped to his knees that day and pledged himself Hers. And he only regretted that he hadn't done it sooner.
• •• ••• 🗡️❄🌫️ ••• •• •
Styria was very different from his old kingdom. Both the constantly freezing conditions and the work that needed to be done could be rough, harsh, and merciless. The Ruling Council could be cruel, even sadistic, although his own personal Mistress, Lenore, was certainly the nicest of the lot. But they were just... being what they were, just like him, and it was not malicious like the insidious culture of abuse permeating throughout the very air and blood-fed dirt of... some places. They also fully accepted who he was, it was never even an issue, much to his surprise. It was never too easy, but it was right.
And eventually, the ruling vampires of Styria would back him in spirit and in force when the time was right to set out for the blood he was owed.
Personal guard and assistant to Lenore,
Currently stationed with the other "Stained Glass Soldiers" - Lenore's collective term for her beautiful matching militant assistants - at the edge of the Frontier, at the border of D'Haran lands.
He writes to her, personally, outside of his reports. But he never sends them.
• •• ••• ✴ ••• •• •
Current Status:
Begrudgingly learning some valuable lessons from Veghe, as he gradually comes to know the revered General. Veghe offered to punish any who challenged the young dragon's position, and was impressed when the "Butterfly Prince" declined, saying he would be glad to do it himself.
His name wasn't even Schmetterling. That came with the job. It was originally Yakeru, and it meant "burn", and he liked it. But everyone had always called him things that were not what he was, so he had learned early to be who he was regardless of what shapes and words others had given him in their own minds.
He shouldn't be here, in the midst of all this pomp and posturing. He was happy in his forests, back home where the air was always warm and carried the dew and fragrance of more flowers and fruit than he could count, at first, but as he'd grown he'd played a game - by himself, always by himself, but he didn't mind - to pinpoint and identify each one by the notes it played on the warm familiar breeze. But then he'd been called to his father, in from the shade of the large tree in the middle of the fields where he took his lessons, and he'd been made to clean the dirt from his claws, brush a shine into his overgrown, tangled mane and shed the braids he had been so proud of, and don fabrics as fine as any of those in the big house, so flimsy against skin used to the rough reality of earthen soil. He felt ridiculous, like when they had tried to make him a her and put him in the greenhouse instead of the fields, calling him a name that was not his and being angered when he did not answer to it. Was being born to riches the open door to the world his less fortunate acquaintances supposed it to be? He couldn't see one. He could see pre-cut, pre-worn roles he was expected to slip into as if they had always been his own, lest he embarrass "the kingdom", whatever that meant, the entire genetic line that culminated so disappointingly in him, and everyone Of Some Importance they knew in some vague way. As if that right there was the measure of a man's worth. Did he live a good life? Did he enjoy his time spent within the mortal coil? Was it all worth it? Well, we don't know, but we have been informed that he was embarrassing to his great-great-aunt, twice removed, when she heard him wrong at a family reunion dinner table, guess he's going to Hell then.
Can't imagine how embarrassing it must have been for the nebulous Disapproving Somebodies when this particular "Butterfly Princess" told them all to drop the "ess" and leave it at Prince.
Of course, now it was even more important that he didn't Embarrass The Family by being bad at the role he had to fill. He'd demanded that he be treated as any other Prince in his line had been, and he'd proven time and time again that he was more than up to the challenge on the battlefield, or in politics that required a level and well-equipped mind and a firm hand. He'd been more than capable of showing he could run things fairly, and turn a profit, and uphold the social position they enjoyed, but he'd also made it clear he didn't belong behind a desk, he was simply good at things that mattered. He had no intention of going beyond the station he'd found for himself. To be listened to and taken seriously at home was one thing, a difficult thing, but he was achieving that. But once again they cried "don't embarrass us"; they'd apparently gotten him a position in the Capital, and everything had been signed, there was no going back except with great loss of face and standing for the parasites who had offered him up like livestock.
Don't embarrass us. Again.
You did enough of that already.
They looked at him when he first stepped out in formal finery, and there were some poisonous laughs from a cousin who somehow went missing a few days later, likening his less than severe appearance in his new soft and fancy attire to the trauma of his youth, aimed to cut deep. And deep it did cut, indeed, but he didn't strike then. They thought they'd won, but he knew better than they, and this time was no different. He left, heart wounded, and vowed that it would be the last time. And the last time he would see any of them before he returned for their blood. He could wait. He could always wait, he could always endure.
• •• ••• 🌹🌃🍷 ••• •• •
As it turned out, however, his stint at the Capital wasn't long. He was spotted by the right person in the right crowd, it seemed, and he skipped out on his family's arrangements and was hired to Styria - an unknown and intimidating place... but one where his roots could never find him. Well, he'd make new ones now.
Upon the official day of his inauguration, he'd been given a gift of such incredible value and immense consequences, and there was at last no looking back. He was given life eternal, and the freedom to make his own choices. It was... overwhelming, but at the same time, a rush like none he'd ever known, and the enormity of it was staggering. "Thank you" would never be enough for the blood of Lenore herself. At least, not from his point of view. She'd laugh and tell him to stop talking nonsense, even as highly she guarded it - all vampires did, really, and for obvious reasons.
There was also one other gift, given later, when they lay together on Lenore's almost-otherworldly bed; billows of silk and lace and exquisite sheer curtains edged with the finest pinstripes of satin that glimmered softly like the stars. She had looked at him with such an unexpected, unguarded and unashamed look in her eyes that he always hoped was for him alone, a private thing that was only theirs... but he knew better than to believe it too much. And she had given him a magic scroll, one that would give him the body he had always felt fit him so much better than the one he hid, the one he couldn't look at in the mirror.
She had given him his life, over and over again, and she always seemed to know exactly what he needed. This was a true Queen. He had dropped to his knees that day and pledged himself Hers. And he only regretted that he hadn't done it sooner.
• •• ••• 🗡️❄🌫️ ••• •• •
Styria was very different from his old kingdom. Both the constantly freezing conditions and the work that needed to be done could be rough, harsh, and merciless. The Ruling Council could be cruel, even sadistic, although his own personal Mistress, Lenore, was certainly the nicest of the lot. But they were just... being what they were, just like him, and it was not malicious like the insidious culture of abuse permeating throughout the very air and blood-fed dirt of... some places. They also fully accepted who he was, it was never even an issue, much to his surprise. It was never too easy, but it was right.
And eventually, the ruling vampires of Styria would back him in spirit and in force when the time was right to set out for the blood he was owed.
• Given the potion to have his outer form match his self-image by Lenore. There is, unfortunately, only one thing it can't change, but Lenore has... other tricks to get around that. They will never be able to have a nest of their own together, not like everyone else, however. Neither is sure how they might feel about that eventually, but for now, it's far from being a problem.
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Exalting Schmetterling to the service of the Icewarden 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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