Methodius
(#69578335)
Level 25 Imperial
Familiar
Hippojay
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
25.77 m
Wingspan
23.82 m
Weight
5965.08 kg
Genetics
Ruby
Pinstripe
Pinstripe
Twilight
Constellation
Constellation
Shamrock
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Imperial
Max Level
STR
97
AGI
27
DEF
6
QCK
60
INT
5
VIT
30
MND
6
Biography
| __._ |
 Hands red, seeping through the creaks in his white armor, he felt his body groan for a moment of respite, to breathe, to rest. But when he looks up, all he sees is his smile, brighter than the sun’s shine and he grips his sword tighter again. Because his deity demands it. There was an old sadness, a darkness lingering underneath the War dove’s radiant smile, hidden in the color of his eyes and the curve of his lips. Those that saw, chose to ignore. And the mass that didn’t, went to sleep every night peacefully. Because Laurent was here to bring an end between the red haze of black’s bloodlust and the endless conquest of gold. A new player had risen and crowned himself as the only option, gentler, subtle and lethal like the sweetest poison. With the blessing of the divine and an ancient angel’s help, the prince was crowned in golden laurels and white roses. Armor, white as alabaster, free from blood and free from darkness, he was the savior, the divine intervention. But that did not stop the constant warring, the tension, the conflict between the day and night of the Empire. Methodius was not the first of his family to turn towards a career with the military. His own father as well as his older brother bore the marks of war, one with shame, one with indifference, as their time of duty came to an end and no desire to serve was rekindled within them. Not so for him, he had seen the cracks in bright white marble, he had seen what laid behind plates of white armor and the darkness that threatened to devour their beloved Dove of War fully. The training was gruesome, because he needed to be the best, not from any outward pressure but that of his own volition. When one side of the Empire could not teach him anymore, he moved on to the next, he needed more and to be better than anyone else. Because to carry the sins of a saint, one needed to be unyielding, strong enough to not buckle under the weight of the world. Holding on to firm belief, he reinforced his duty in every chanted line, on his knees and hands clasped in front of him, he prayed at the last hour of the dying day, not to those liveless idols of marble and gems but the living, breathing saint in their midst. To join the side of white, the new player on this field of war, was easy enough. His reputation, his family and his own character worked all in his favor, allowing him to happily drown in the shadow at Laurent’s feet. With sword and shield, clad in alabaster white armor, he followed the Dove’s flight, brighter than any star, he led battalions into ruin and death, returning victoriously and drenched in red, the black of his eyes broken by sparks of gold. There was no hesitation, no faulting of his stride as he followed with his eyes wide open. The Empire loved Laurent for his purity but he loved for the sin hidden underneath perfect skin. When Laurent’s mistakes threatened to catch up with him, he moved thoughtlessly, offering his own flank as a vulnerable goal to take the blame. To carry the sins of a saint, one needed to be loyal, more, they needed to be absolute in their belief. Devotion reaching its pinnacle when he was uplifted to more than the rank of a mere footsoldier, the Dove needed a right hand that would rather break its own fingers instead of stabbing the turned back. Any weaker man would have fallen the moment white silk fell away, gave way to pristine skin - despite the armor weighing on it, despite the tug and tear of war. Greed of carnal origins was a natural consequence to self enforced celibacy. And he was just as mortal as the rest, breath catching, pupils blown wide, his hand shook as he wrapped the bared body in his own coat, hiding away temptation behind red velvet. Not yet, he would mutter, voice hoarse with desire weighing on his mind, not yet. He was yet to become worthy, more than a hungering mongrel dog, it was yet to be the right time. More, he had more to give, more to earn his right to Laurent’s touch. He wanted more than shared nights and fleeting pleasure, he desired to become the shield and the guiding hand, holding up Laurent’s banner when his will threatened to fail. On his shoulders, he would carry the sins of the false saint and he would drench his own hands in red to hide the shape of Laurent’s faults. The Empire loved the facade, but he loved the person. Caught in the unbroken eternity of a ring, he hoped to serve, a lifetime of duty to hold the hand of his savior, his deity, his everything. It was a noble and worthwhile duty. 
| ___ |
code & assets by archaic #19153
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