Polyonomos
(#74405937)
o tyrant of my mind!
Familiar
Swinging Chandelier
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Energy: 24/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Female Spiral
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.1 m
Wingspan
2.18 m
Weight
89.16 kg
Genetics
Periwinkle
Tide
Tide
Splash
Flair
Flair
Abyss
Smirch
Smirch
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Spiral
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
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POLYONOMOS the REVELER ⚔ mysterious being. manifests very occasionally around grand displays of passion, chaos, good music, violence. much like loxias, often masked, although he can take many forms; speaks rarely, again much like loxias, but wreaks much more havoc. when he manifests, he will often show himself only to one person. this person tends to be either acting in a particularly misguided way, or they have achieved some pinnacle of artistic success; polyonomos will appear to them in various forms and start influencing their actions through trickery, magic, and verbal persuasion. without fail this leads to ruination. polyonomos is the reason that artists rarely take up residence at the libraries -- he simply makes it too dangerous for them, and a few artists that have attempted to live in the area in the past have been rendered husks of their former selves by this malign spirit. however, he does seem to confer a certain prophetic wisdom on his victims, although few would agree that the trade off is worth it. loxias has admitted to charis that polyneices functions as a sort of counterpart to him, but he is reticent on this issue and seems incapable of explaining exactly how or why this works. nobody else in the clan -- except cassandre -- is aware of the connection. In a dusty corner of Loxias’ library sits a pile of papers that haven’t been touched in years. Among them is a slim notebook, filled with a graceful, slanting script that is only used by members of a small nation of mages who have built their stronghold on an island in the icy waters of the south. Those who can read this script would find in this diary a detailed account of the first days of the library. An intricate rune on the front page, drawn in the same bold hand that fills the little book, tells us that it belongs to one Xaris Bathirus. I am unable to parse my feelings, so I am starting a diary. Of course N remains at the forefront of my mind, but I fear she is fading. There are moments when I cannot recall her face, moments when I even feel happy, unburdened by grief for her. Is this such a betrayal? But it must be, it must be. She is still here, in the thing that haunts me, and in the thing that now haunts the grove where she died; her spirit wanders in the underworld, and I will bring her back. But this has become a mantra – it seems sometimes to mean nothing beyond the ritual of writing it. She has nothing to do with my world now. And that is the betrayal. I have not managed to hold her. I cannot continue with this torturous logic. I will describe something troubling that happened today. Loxias came to my rooms for the first time. Reading over this sentence, I do not see why it should seem so monumental, but some irrational part of me clings to it. Why should seeing him standing among my things strike me so? Again I do not know what I feel. Perhaps I am simply happy to have a friend, after wandering for so long. Anyhow, he proceeded to explain something very strange to me. He told me that he was concerned about Cassandre, and that I had been living in their settlement for a year now and that he trusted me to give him counsel. Then he told me that he had another self. ‘What’? I could not imagine what he meant. He put a gloved hand to his forehead and collapsed into one of my armchairs. ‘I know it sounds strange, but I need you to accept this. I have another self. He’s around here sometimes; I doubt you’ve seen him. He whispers strange things to people, and sometimes gives them gifts. He is… not to be trusted’. ‘I’m still trying to figure out what you mean by ‘another self’. Are you speaking metaphorically?’ For some reason unclear to me, I found it hard to relax, and I paced from the window to the door, grasping one hand in the other. Perhaps it was the strangeness of what Loxias was saying. Perhaps not. He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I am not. He has another body, but his mind is mine. I, and by 'I' i mean the bundle of desires and memories and waking consciousness that is me, Loxias, cannot control what he does, but I am aware of his thoughts and motivations, and I see what he sees, and if I focus too hard on him then suddenly I am watching myself from his mind. I assume it’s the same for him; in fact, I know it is, because I am him and he is me. It is as if there is a greater 'I', one that is not just Loxias, a larger being which transcends a singular consciousness, and it manifests in him as it manifests in me – it’s very difficult to explain’. ‘It would seem it is’. I nodded slowly. In truth, I had no idea what he meant, but I had seen Loxias work miracles, and if he said he had another self, I would believe him. ‘What does this have to do with Cassandre?’ ‘She has long been in contact with this… person. She was once a very talented poet, although she doesn’t write anything anymore, beyond her prophecies. He was the one who bestowed her prophetic gift upon her. I wish he hadn’t. His nature is that he undoes people, Charis. Contained in his love is his impulse to tear things apart, and he loves Cassandre’. Finally I forced myself to sit down in the chair facing him. ‘You’re being circumspect. Tell me what’s happening in concrete terms’. He stared at me. This was always a bit unnerving – his eyes, the only visible part of his face, were bright, and unreadable. ‘I think Cassandre is falling into a world of his creation. She speaks only in prophecy now, and sometimes seems entirely unaware of the present, and when she is aware, she is angry and paranoid. She does not trust me enough to tell me about this; in fact, some time before you came, something that I regret very much happened between us, and we do not speak to each other as we once did –’ ‘What happened?’ ‘She saw my face’. He turned his head away from me, suddenly, a violent motion. ‘Well, what’s wrong with –’ I started, but he cut me off, his voice thick. ‘Please, Charis, I should not have spoken of it, it is another story entirely. In any case, I know that this is happening to her because, again, I am him, and I know what he is doing, and I know his impulse to dissolve her personality until she is nothing but a vessel for him. And I see him at work, and I see her becoming ever more hollow’. It is remarkable how I have come to know his body language. Even faceless, he is so expressive, and I knew from the restless movements of his hands and the inward turn of his shoulders more than I could ever know from the face of someone else. ‘You feel responsible’, I said. He laughed humorlessly. ‘How well you know me. I am responsible. If she had not met me… and perhaps, in some more abstract sense, as he and I are expressions of the same force… perhaps I am bound to consume those I come into contact with, in a way that differs from his method, of course’. I am ashamed to say that my first concern was Loxias. I sensed some unspoken history behind his words, and I desperately wanted to comfort him, but I did not know even the shape of the wound that needed healing. But behind the sharp, immediate pang of my distress for Loxias was a deeper, more enduring distress for Cassandre. It was true that in the past two months she had often seemed somewhere else, and she had ceased to make conversation as she once had. I missed her. When I see her now she reminds me of those final weeks with N, and I wonder if that empty, faraway face is bound to accompany me everywhere I go, now, if it is part of the thing that follows me. But these are selfish thoughts. All of this, I know, is composed of nothing but selfish thoughts. Anyhow. Loxias. He had fiddled with his gloves until a golden sliver of skin showed at his wrist, and the sight of it made my chest feel tight. I do not think I had ever seen him so upset. ‘If someone strange ever comes to you, someone playful with a charming laugh, who seems to know many obscure things… If you ever see him, please, tell me. Although, of course, I suppose I will already know’. ‘What does he look like?’ I asked. ‘He takes many forms. It is useless to speculate’. He stood up abruptly. ‘I must go’. ‘But I haven’t given you advice’, I said, and even as I said it I realized that I had none to give. ‘I know that’. He inclined his head sharply. ‘It would appear that, in my distress, I simply wanted to talk to you, even if you had nothing of use to say’. And he turned and walked out. I sat unmoving for a long time after that. scatter project nightmare maybe? 
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