Ashanimus » Lair » Athebyne

Athebyne

(#70364240)

Level 1 Aberration

Familiar

Spirit of Plague

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.98 m

Wingspan

6.87 m

Weight

566.08 kg

Genetics

Hatchday

Jun 23, 2021
(2 years)

Breed

Adult
Aberration

Eye Type

Plague
Glowing

Level 1 Aberration

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Draik
Rowan

Offspring

none

Biography

Athebyne
The Brine Witch

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PRONOUNS
she/her

ORIENTATION
bisexual

OCCUPATION
apothecarist

AGE
adult

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✤ ✤ ✤

Athebyne slithers past the freshly disabled guardian statue and plants herself in a spool of dying sunlight, directly before the scowling Imperial before her. He is ancient. A black temple of the Plaguemother's might, obsidian black traced with the color of old blood--and a monument to the Lightweaver's legendary error. Like all of his kind, he wears his age lightly, as a thin veil represented by the heaviness of his horns, and the weight of centuries in his primary eyes. The four secondary heads he's nurtured, and the proto wings and talons that push out from the boneyard tatters, are clean and gleam with an eerie light. Not quite an Emperor, for this creature has never truly tasted death. Certainly not in a way that mattered.

"They say you are immortal," Athebyne says by way of greeting, her double voice echoing in the vast, open cauldron of the older dragon's abode. It is a small crater, open to the red-smoke filled sky. Silver-barked flame trees with their vibrant vermillion leaves drip shadow down the sides of the stone bowl, where the tangles of volcanic vine and flower grow in lightly tended thickets. The growth is densest at the center, where pool of haloed colors bubbles. She flicks her wings in tacit admiration of this garden. But her secondary head falters, and seeks the darkest part of the crater. Behind a curtain of tree roots, lies the ancient Imperial's sanctum. The legendary place of recovery and power.

He is standing directly between her and its shadowed entrance. He lets out a low, gruff noise--something between a laugh and a snort, "Not immortal. Penance is a very long game. And I have much work to attend to." It is a dismissal, but he's yet to turn away.

Athebyne preens. "Are you pleased by what you see?"

He curls a lip, showing long white teeth, "I see an impertinent dragonelle with a vast ambition. There is nothing for you here, or your designs."

She smiles and stretches her wings, letting them capture the last flickers of sunset. "You presume to know my designs."

He looks at her wearily and lies down. The grass and flowers shy from his incredible bulk as he lowers himself near the water, curling his sinuous tail around the edge. A small bird lands on one of his horns and chirps. Another joins it.

"You are used to thinking yourself subtle in caverns of dragons intimidated by those who have the gift of an intimidating and graceful form. Made more so by the fact you have clearly made friends with a virulent strain of the holy contagion. Your reputation as a potioneer and crafter of tinctures preceedes you, and yet--you approach me as a seductress." He flicks his tail as a smile, not unkind, pulls at his black lips. "Not without some sincerity, I fear."

Athebyne falters for a moment. He had her dead to rights--and of course! He was a legendary healer, resurrectionist, living apostate and disciple all in one. He had cured hundreds, maybe thousands. Helped others through incredible transformations. He has been on all eleven pilgrimages, and seen much. Did she really think she could approach him so smoothly, or fool him on any level?

She had. Even with three craniums, she had.

No matter. Perhaps it was better this way.

"Then you must know we have similar purpose," she purrs, boldly moving closer. "I have a skill for creation. Creating potions that grow through malady and genetics. You are a miracle of healing knowledge. We have much to offer each other."

She is nearly touching him now. Within a few paces. For all his beauty, something like exhaustion tugs at his whiskers, at his great head. There is a strange, untethered sorrow in the green eyes, altered by the curses he's endured. She wonders what she could do to lighten them.

"I'm old," he growls, "And I cannot give you a full nest."

It is a weak protestation, and they both know it. If Athebyne had any interest in that sort of thing with him she wouldn't be here.

"You are lonely," she presses. And she knows by the way his ears twitch, that she can hear the unspoken rider of those words: I am lonely too. The silence stretches for a moment--broken only by the hiss of steam from the pool, and the chirping birdsong from his antlers, "I know a little something about ideal song bird feed mixes."

With a grumble that carries a new warmth to it, he lays his head down in the grass slowly and closes his eyes.

"Then you may stay, for a little while."

Athebyne beams.

✤ INVENTORY
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✤ RELATIONS
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RASALHAGUE ; mate

NAME ; relationship status

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Athebyne 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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