Schattenfeuer » Lair » Hyperion

Hyperion

(#69791985)

Level 20 Imperial

Familiar

Mistyhollow Agent

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

31.46 m

Wingspan

23.27 m

Weight

7635.75 kg

Genetics

Mulberry
Wasp

Blackberry
Constellation

Stonewash
Veined

Hatchday

Jun 04, 2021
(2 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Shadow
Pastel

Level 20 Imperial

EXP: 4950 / 111687

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Hyperion Undying.
↠ I reside within dreams, sated with makebelief

"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 saw him washing the dishes, eyes downcast and hidden by uncombed bangs. With hands whose palms were cracked open from too much work and too little care. He saw him flinch and he saw him play the part of the scared rabbit. He saw the flash of defiance in hard eyes.

Wonder children, little loves, miracles with stars in their eyes and nebulas on their skin. One father carried them under his heart, in his body until they could breathe on their own. Another father held them in his arms when they opened their eyes for the first time. And oh, how alike they looked, he and his brother and the father that had created them. The same dark skin, the same hair. He gifted them stars and immortality with the gift of his blood. And he cursed them with his flesh and blood into becoming something inhumane.

Never did it matter, who carried them in the womb, who helped create them. They all were fathers of the two little stars. One wore a wooden arm and flowers on his skin, yet his touch was the gentlest of them all. Taming stray cats and feral dogs alike, he showed them with calm gestures and few words. Things weren’t calm all the time, with the father that smelled of sake and mischief they played the best games. Wild ones, chasing each other through narrow allies and dumping sugary water and feathers onto unsuspecting nobles, screeching in childish glee at the shouts and the wet shuffle that followed.

But those four weren’t the only ones. There was a never ending supply of love and affection and the warmth they grew up with never ended. It didn’t matter to him that, when he kissed shyest father’s cheek, all he could feel was cold metal and worn out fabric of masks. It was in the flash of a bright blue eye and the darting of nimble fingers. Quick to braid his hair and quicker even to make them laugh with confusing and sharp words. Family was more, much more than mere blood relation. It was a net to hold them, catch them.

Brother hid his body behind heavy layers of clothing for nine long months and he could do nothing against this. Between heartbreak and tears, he was the only one that knew for the longest time. A foolhardy thing, no care about the future and it had happened. Before he knew how to explain, the little sun inside his brother had been taken. Not by force, albeit there were tears.

With gentle hands the neverending Father reached out, with shaky words of hollow comfort the blind one brushed aside his brother’s sweat drenched hair, as Mother took on the little one, nursing it against her chest like it was her own. Imolval was so sad, he cried even in his dreams.

His own problems seemed too little compared to his brother’s. So small and utterly unimportant, he never wasted a single breath to share them. Even then, his fathers knew. Of course they did. How could they not when he wandered through the world with a vacant smile and empty eyes? When he spent too many hours of the endless night and day asleep, slumbering, jumping from a hazy dream to vivid nightmare and back again. But never his own.

No, he didn’t dream on his own, all he saw when he closed his eyes, were colorful blurs of imagination running wild, now that the subconscious mind was allowed out of the cage. He smiled, too wide and too happy, mingling in the dreams of a whole Empire, he found the dreams of love and lust were the ones he liked the best. And with wide eyes, he watched from the edges of a makeshift reality. Mouths that kissed, lips that smiled, hands that touched reverently. There was everything, even though he avoided dreams of darker, more dangerous kinds of love, they still were valid. His favorite, however, was one marked by tragedy and almost entirely free of love.

In a factory whose air was heavy with hate he stood, tall and clean, hands hidden behind his back in a posture of authority. His fingers curled, he hid his palms, because even now they were cracked and raw, even though he no longer washed the dishes. His hair was combed and his eyes open and wide, but the name was all wrong. They called him by a name not his own, they called him by a title that was ill fitting for his frame, but no one else seemed to notice.

He was too big for the coat of Lord, his edges too sharp but no one cared about the holes he ripped, into his illusions, into his consciousness. Because they had helped. They had held down the flailing limbs of a dying man, drunk and suffocating as air between downy feathers ran out. And he kept pressing down relentlessly.

Father Undying introduced them to each other at a gathering of nobility. Not that he was particularly active, he prefered to leave the spotlight to Imolval, he needed it, he looked better now, finally. After years of hiding in shame. He was happy for his brother. But he never would call another by a name not his own. With the softest of exhales, he called out, whispered a name that only ever met upon those destined ears.

Not even an hour later, he was cornered, in the darkest part of the hall, hidden behind curtains of velvet, he was trapped and challenged. To lay bare his cards, what was it he desired, he, the latest of the Undying spawns, Royalty already too boring for him? His reply seemed to surprise, he whispered with a low voice and gentle words that he wanted nothing, that he demanded nothing.

But please, his hands seemed to whisper, cupping roughened, cracked palms between his own. Cold on warm skin and faint against a strong pulse, his touch murmured. Please stay a little longer, it said, stay a while with me.

Roughness was alien to him, he was a being of peace, gentle and soft but fear could turn even the most docile of prey animals into ferocious hunters. Tearing to shreds the illusions of make believe and comatose sleep, he tore asunder the world that was spinning, keeping away a man he would not survive without.

Wake up, he screamed, howled with a pain cracking voice. Broken words and anguish yowl of a wounded animal, that was what left his throat, nothing else seemed to pacify the hurting behind his ribs, as if his heart was consuming himself. And with violent delight, he shattered the last of those elusive chains, the ones that kept bound the one he loved more than life itself.

Pike
Restraint and hesitation
colored his every touch. He
did not care, could not believe.
It took too long, until he
understood, until he realized,
there was nothing to be feared.
That this was genuine and he
was safe.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Hyperion to the service of the Flamecaller 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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