Ratha
(#69444176)
The healthiest plants grow in the filthiest rot...
Familiar
Longhorn Capricat
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 46/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Female Wildclaw
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.96 m
Wingspan
8.37 m
Weight
640.4 kg
Genetics
Latte
Leopard
Leopard
Latte
Saturn
Saturn
Sanguine
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 8 Wildclaw
EXP: 2244 / 16009
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
The sudden return of an attachment to Plague magic overwhelmed her. The guilt of what she had done was no less, as she gazed sorrowfully down at the bodies of the Necromancers who had only tried to save her. The corpses were dried and withered; not a drop of fluid remained.
Her horror and fear were equal to her hunger. She alternated between shuddering in a tiny ball, racked with guilt over the deaths she caused, and leaping onto massive flesh-trees and sucking them dry. She became a blight on the blightlands; death to the dying. She made a supreme effort not to approach another dragon--it was sorely tempting, especially when a Necromancer passed by--but she made do with the natural surroundings.
And yet, one day she was approached by another--and a Necromancer, no less. She was a tall Wildclaw, with neat blood-red stripes along her spine--although they were mostly covered. In fact, the clothes she wore were definitely not those associated with the Necromancers at all, except for the cowl.
"Stay back!" Ratha pleaded. She dug her claws into the ground, desperately fighting her desire to bear this Plaguebearer to the ground and drain her dry.
The Necromancer stopped, and sent a small Plague bolt into a nearby tree. That, Ratha could not resist, and she gratefully pounced on the tree. Her hunger satiated for an instant, she paused to examine her tormentor.
"I have heard of you, Ratha," the Necromancer said. "And I have need of your--particular--talents."
"Talents?" She shook her head. "I'm a Mercy, and a mockery of one at that. I'll need to feed again in just a few minutes." Her claws shook. "You're in terrible danger."
She sent another Plague bolt into another tree. Ratha dove for it, shame for her lack of control filling her every being.
"I can help you," the Necromancer said. "But, right now, what I need is this ravenous hunger of yours." She pulled out a blowgun and loaded it with a dart. "I'm going to knock you out, and transport you far away. When you awake, you'll have all the Plague magic you can feed on, I promise. No dragons will be anywhere near, and you'll be helping a good cause. And if, by some miracle, you manage to drain that completely dry and are still hungry, I will help to wean you off of your hunger." She raised the gun to her lips. "Will you accept these terms?"
Ratha collapsed into a shivering heap. "I will."
The dart pierced her neck, and she slumped sideways.
Rot wrote:
Necrotober 2021 Day 1: Rot
Ratha awakened to the green smell of her childhood. She sat bolt upright, wondering if she'd been asleep or ill for a long time, long enough to dream the terrifying nightmare of the Trials, the failure, the neutralizing, the Necros she had drained dry...
A faint scent of rot drifted by her nostrils, and the instantaneous feral reaction in her body proved that it had not been a dream. Her lips drew back in a snarl, her muscles tensed to pounce on her prey. She shifted into a killing position and waited.
Whatever was producing the scent did not come nearer, so she crept toward it, her hunger becoming unbearable as the scent grew ever stronger. One sickly tendril of a vine dangled across her path, and she snatched it with her jaws and sucked it dry. The smell still lingered, but the vine crumbled to dust in her claws.
"You're not close enough yet." The voice, from overhead, seemed amused.
This mixture of rot and healthy flesh she recognized. Its familiarity alone awakened her hunger once more. She paced in a small circle underneath the scent, whimpering.
A Plague bolt struck a dead log at a little distance. She ran to it, draining every essence of rot from its center. It was not enough, and she turned, salivating, to the Wildclaw in the tree behind her.
"That way." She was still amused, but she had her blowgun raised. "There's far more that direction than I can provide to you."
What she had thought was a massive clump of bushes shifted and growled at her. It was a massive Neutralized Gaoler, blue-green algae dying his fur. "That way," he emphasized.
She had no interest in this one disconnected from Plague. But his aura was threatening, and she had picked up a different rot-scent. She turned around and followed.
The other Wildclaw leaped down onto the Gaoler's back. "Follow," she said, and he did.
Ratha wove through the jungle as the rot-scent grew stronger. The undergrowth grew denser and denser; in places, she had to bend down and squirm through small gaps, her wings helplessly pinned to her sides. She heard the crashing as the Gaoler followed, unconcerned as a Greattusk.
Suddenly, in the deepest of the undergrowth, her snout plunged into a sickly ooze. Immediately she stopped moving to gorge herself on this fountain of Plague magic. Her hunger was never satisfied, and yet...she looked up for the briefest moment to see the other Wildclaw watching her.
"Eat. Eat and be satisfied. Sleep when you have need, and when you wake, you will have more again to devour. Let your emptiness be filled at last."
Her thirst slaked for the briefest of moments, Ratha gazed at her savior. "Who are you?"
"The Merciful One. Remain here, and be filled. There are more, like you, whom I must bring." The Gaoler began to move back, and soon all sounds of his passing were gone. Ratha remained, gorging herself on the well of Plague in the midst of the Labyrinth. She allowed her mind to relax for the first time since her Mercyhood. Here, she might actually be safe.
Ratha awakened to the green smell of her childhood. She sat bolt upright, wondering if she'd been asleep or ill for a long time, long enough to dream the terrifying nightmare of the Trials, the failure, the neutralizing, the Necros she had drained dry...
A faint scent of rot drifted by her nostrils, and the instantaneous feral reaction in her body proved that it had not been a dream. Her lips drew back in a snarl, her muscles tensed to pounce on her prey. She shifted into a killing position and waited.
Whatever was producing the scent did not come nearer, so she crept toward it, her hunger becoming unbearable as the scent grew ever stronger. One sickly tendril of a vine dangled across her path, and she snatched it with her jaws and sucked it dry. The smell still lingered, but the vine crumbled to dust in her claws.
"You're not close enough yet." The voice, from overhead, seemed amused.
This mixture of rot and healthy flesh she recognized. Its familiarity alone awakened her hunger once more. She paced in a small circle underneath the scent, whimpering.
A Plague bolt struck a dead log at a little distance. She ran to it, draining every essence of rot from its center. It was not enough, and she turned, salivating, to the Wildclaw in the tree behind her.
"That way." She was still amused, but she had her blowgun raised. "There's far more that direction than I can provide to you."
What she had thought was a massive clump of bushes shifted and growled at her. It was a massive Neutralized Gaoler, blue-green algae dying his fur. "That way," he emphasized.
She had no interest in this one disconnected from Plague. But his aura was threatening, and she had picked up a different rot-scent. She turned around and followed.
The other Wildclaw leaped down onto the Gaoler's back. "Follow," she said, and he did.
Ratha wove through the jungle as the rot-scent grew stronger. The undergrowth grew denser and denser; in places, she had to bend down and squirm through small gaps, her wings helplessly pinned to her sides. She heard the crashing as the Gaoler followed, unconcerned as a Greattusk.
Suddenly, in the deepest of the undergrowth, her snout plunged into a sickly ooze. Immediately she stopped moving to gorge herself on this fountain of Plague magic. Her hunger was never satisfied, and yet...she looked up for the briefest moment to see the other Wildclaw watching her.
"Eat. Eat and be satisfied. Sleep when you have need, and when you wake, you will have more again to devour. Let your emptiness be filled at last."
Her thirst slaked for the briefest of moments, Ratha gazed at her savior. "Who are you?"
"The Merciful One. Remain here, and be filled. There are more, like you, whom I must bring." The Gaoler began to move back, and soon all sounds of his passing were gone. Ratha remained, gorging herself on the well of Plague in the midst of the Labyrinth. She allowed her mind to relax for the first time since her Mercyhood. Here, she might actually be safe.
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
Feed this dragon Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Ratha to the service of the Tidelord will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.