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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.21 m
Wingspan
8.65 m
Weight
871.86 kg
Genetics
Rose
Iridescent
Iridescent
White
Shimmer
Shimmer
White
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Coatl
EXP: 2165 / 27676
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Biography
Banshee
The Soulcatcher
Theme Song: -
The Soulcatcher
Theme Song: -
   
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The dragons of Sornieth have many beliefs about what happens to them when they die. Some believe their spirits go to the gods, or to some place of eternal happiness, or that they are reborn into hatchlings to live again. Some believe that death is the end of all they are, with nothing after. Banshee knows what happens after death, at least to certain dragons. Their souls are collected by her, to be kept, safe and sound and unchanging for so long as she lives. Banshee is a Soulcatcher, one who considers it her solemn duty to collect the souls of departed dragons and keep them safe. After all, when a soul is removed from its flesh, who is to say what happens to it? All that can truly be known is that they vanish, gone, never to be touched or seen by another dragon, and isn't that such a waste? When she captures, collects, as she prefers to call it, a soul, she keeps it safe and sound forever. It stays here, not alive but aware, able to experience the world and even make itself heard. Doesn't everyone want eternal life, without having to worry about the needs of the flesh? She makes a special effort to collect the souls of especially old, wise, or important dragons, one whose loss would surely diminish the world. And, well if her kind are despised and reviled, if some of the souls she collects make every effort to get away from her, they just don't understand. They soon will. She can give them all the time in the world. Banshee is a Soulcatcher not only by inclination, but by birth. Some few dragons are born with the ability to see a soul departing at the moment of death, and they are found and educated by the other Soulcatchers. Most dragons see them in the form of butterflies or birds, some see them as fish, or dragonflies. Banshee sees them as fireflies, and the brighter they glow, the stronger the soul and the more full their life. Banshee however does not discriminate, taking in the souls that glow weakly with as much gentle care, giving them, as she sees it, a second chance at experiencing life. Banshee's vessel of choice to hold the souls is a blown glass sphere, light and clear enough to let them see the world through it, thin enough to let their voices be heard. However, some are held in glass bottles or crystals, when she had to catch a soul quickly and didn't have time to prepare her usual vessel. One, the soul of a serial murderer, she chose to encase in a lead cube, blind and deaf to the world, their voice only able to be heard as a low, angry hum. Banshee's room in the lair is its own small cave, carved out in a smooth, perfect circle, with rows and rows of shelves following the curves of the walls. On each shelf, resting in its own carved stand, lies a captured soul. Most of the dragons of the clan prefer to avoid her room, and it's been quietly dubbed “the room of whispers.” The walls have been shaped just so to bounce and amplify sound, and they reflect the thousands of whispery voices of Banshee's captured souls. Banshee listens to them, taking in the wisdom of so many collected lives and their please to be freed alike, and talks back to them, calling them her darling fireflies. More than one overly bold dragon, daring to sneak in, has been found curled up in the center of her room, their paws over her ears, shaking, screaming, and begging for quiet. The fits don't go away for hours, even after they're dragged out. ~by Mirrorstone |
Short Stories
1.
The voices whispered so softly, speaking to her of their lives, of their wisdom, of everything they learned, but she couldn't stay. Not today. There was someplace she had to be. Call it a feeling, like something gently tugging on her, pulling her towards someplace that she had never been to, but a place she knew would feel familiar. She carefully picked up the glass sphere, making sure it was perfect, before she set off, making sure it was kept safe in her bag. She closed the door to her room, and took off from the Ashfall Waste, spiraling in the sky until the pulling decided her course. She turned south and flew past the land of fire, reaching the sea that soon turned bitter. Oh, the land of the Icewarden. How nice. It had been a while since she visited. The tall mountains that had their own stories to tell were in the distance, standing silently, willing to unlock their mysteries to those that wanted them--only for those brave enough to become part of the frozen tales themselves. She moved closer to the water, enjoying the cold air on her feathers, feeling for the pull that... it was gone. Too late? No, no something changed. She stopped on an iceberg, floating along the water, staring off into the distance. Why? Why the sudden shift?
The pull was leading her north now, not towards home but towards the Wind lands, and beyond. Over the lands of disease and the fight for survival... towards where it began. Yes, towards the Earthshaker. She took off, following the urge, not stopping when she neared the vicious winds the Windsinger commanded, not stopping when the air turned sour with death and decay over the red boil marking the earth. She only stopped on a boulder, closer to where she was needed. She had flown for three days straight, but the ache of her body was being ignored. Where as it? The pull? The pillar could be seen in the distance, calling to her. Oh, closer? She moved along the ground now, slower than before, so tired and worn, but she couldn't stop. The miles she walked began to slowly rise, her feet hurting from the harsh rocks, her mouth dry from the lack of water, but the pull was growing stronger and stronger and... there. She peered over the edge of the rim, looking down into the area where the pillar had been first built, sleeping there was the Earthshaker. It couldn't that he... no, the pull was not from him. Banshee lowered herself into the pit and quietly moved past the sleeping God.
There was a hole in the wall here, on the opposite side from where she entered. She stared at it, wide eyed, before moving in, following the twist and turns. This place was abandoned. Forgotten over the course of time. She stopped, looking over a nest. There were no eggs, but instead, a very old dragon, curled up, his massive bulk filling the small room. The Snapper looked up at her, his old eyes tired and almost covered in crust, his mouth broken and torn, some bits leaving gaps to show his dried out tongue, many bits of jaw and some teeth missing. One wing was gone, and his overall body health was... yes, this was the one. The pull.
"Hnng?" the Snapper growled, trying to form the words, but couldn't find the energy. Banshee placed a hand on his head, shushing him.
"Its alright, go to sleep. You will be fine." She sat there by him for... how long? The only light in here was from glowing tones and mushrooms, like they had come from other lands, the exploits of this dragon's long life. As time drew on, Banshee took out the glass sphere and closed her eyes, feeling the soul.
"Almost time," she said, the eyes of the Snapper trying to open, but the crust grew too thick. He gave a moan of pain before growing still, his breath leaving him. The soul moved and entered the sphere, getting used to its new surroundings. Banshee held the sphere up to her eye, peering deep into it, only to be peered back at. She left right after, taking off into the air, listening to the soft whispers of the dragon trapped inside the sphere.
She learned a lot about him. He had lived for a long time, ever since dragons first walked the earth under the Gods. He remembered when the Earthshaker was awake and well, he remembered the quarrels between the Windsinger and the Tidelord, the fight between the Icewarden and the Windsinger, the constant struggle between the Plaguebringer and the Gladekeeper. The stories were spectacular, and Banshee couldn't stop listening to the tales, even when she got back home. The other spirits had grown quiet, too, listening to the ancient elder who was as old as time himself.
"And then?" Banshee asked softly, staring at the sphere that was placed on the shelf. The soul had grown quiet. "What happened next?"
The whispering hesitated before beginning begin, and Banshee gasped in shock. This spirit, the soul of the departed Snapper, was one of the first Soulcatchers. He had a collection he had long since freed to go to where they thought they deserved, but as he neared death, he called upon many to come to him, but only one heard. Should she be proud? Happy? What was there to learn about herself, about her job? What about the legends and stories of old Soulcatchers? The spirit only chuckled and went silent, probably gathering his thoughts, and the others began their whispering again. Soft voices, gentle voices, telling her more stories. Banshee sat back on her bed and closed her eyes, listening. Oh, all the stories and wisdom. Four voices broke through the others and Banshee moved towards the glass spheres kept alone on their own shelf. Their names... her children. Long since departed, asked her to go to the beach one day. To explore the oceans. To see the sky.
"Yes, yes," Banshee said softly, "of course my loves. We will go tomorrow."
~by Dew
The pull was leading her north now, not towards home but towards the Wind lands, and beyond. Over the lands of disease and the fight for survival... towards where it began. Yes, towards the Earthshaker. She took off, following the urge, not stopping when she neared the vicious winds the Windsinger commanded, not stopping when the air turned sour with death and decay over the red boil marking the earth. She only stopped on a boulder, closer to where she was needed. She had flown for three days straight, but the ache of her body was being ignored. Where as it? The pull? The pillar could be seen in the distance, calling to her. Oh, closer? She moved along the ground now, slower than before, so tired and worn, but she couldn't stop. The miles she walked began to slowly rise, her feet hurting from the harsh rocks, her mouth dry from the lack of water, but the pull was growing stronger and stronger and... there. She peered over the edge of the rim, looking down into the area where the pillar had been first built, sleeping there was the Earthshaker. It couldn't that he... no, the pull was not from him. Banshee lowered herself into the pit and quietly moved past the sleeping God.
There was a hole in the wall here, on the opposite side from where she entered. She stared at it, wide eyed, before moving in, following the twist and turns. This place was abandoned. Forgotten over the course of time. She stopped, looking over a nest. There were no eggs, but instead, a very old dragon, curled up, his massive bulk filling the small room. The Snapper looked up at her, his old eyes tired and almost covered in crust, his mouth broken and torn, some bits leaving gaps to show his dried out tongue, many bits of jaw and some teeth missing. One wing was gone, and his overall body health was... yes, this was the one. The pull.
"Hnng?" the Snapper growled, trying to form the words, but couldn't find the energy. Banshee placed a hand on his head, shushing him.
"Its alright, go to sleep. You will be fine." She sat there by him for... how long? The only light in here was from glowing tones and mushrooms, like they had come from other lands, the exploits of this dragon's long life. As time drew on, Banshee took out the glass sphere and closed her eyes, feeling the soul.
"Almost time," she said, the eyes of the Snapper trying to open, but the crust grew too thick. He gave a moan of pain before growing still, his breath leaving him. The soul moved and entered the sphere, getting used to its new surroundings. Banshee held the sphere up to her eye, peering deep into it, only to be peered back at. She left right after, taking off into the air, listening to the soft whispers of the dragon trapped inside the sphere.
She learned a lot about him. He had lived for a long time, ever since dragons first walked the earth under the Gods. He remembered when the Earthshaker was awake and well, he remembered the quarrels between the Windsinger and the Tidelord, the fight between the Icewarden and the Windsinger, the constant struggle between the Plaguebringer and the Gladekeeper. The stories were spectacular, and Banshee couldn't stop listening to the tales, even when she got back home. The other spirits had grown quiet, too, listening to the ancient elder who was as old as time himself.
"And then?" Banshee asked softly, staring at the sphere that was placed on the shelf. The soul had grown quiet. "What happened next?"
The whispering hesitated before beginning begin, and Banshee gasped in shock. This spirit, the soul of the departed Snapper, was one of the first Soulcatchers. He had a collection he had long since freed to go to where they thought they deserved, but as he neared death, he called upon many to come to him, but only one heard. Should she be proud? Happy? What was there to learn about herself, about her job? What about the legends and stories of old Soulcatchers? The spirit only chuckled and went silent, probably gathering his thoughts, and the others began their whispering again. Soft voices, gentle voices, telling her more stories. Banshee sat back on her bed and closed her eyes, listening. Oh, all the stories and wisdom. Four voices broke through the others and Banshee moved towards the glass spheres kept alone on their own shelf. Their names... her children. Long since departed, asked her to go to the beach one day. To explore the oceans. To see the sky.
"Yes, yes," Banshee said softly, "of course my loves. We will go tomorrow."
~by Dew
2.
"He's a menace," Asmodeus growled, shaking from fury and from cold, his feathers leaving a trail of water. A droplet dribbled from his nose and he snapped at it. "You're a soulcatcher, can't you do something about him?"
She stood in the center of her chamber, the shelves of soul spheres catching and refracting the light, sending rainbow fragments scattering across the room. With a gentle claw she reached out and lightly caressed one of them, the glowing essence within brightening at her touch. What am I to do? she thought, her heart heavy. She had spent years collecting souls, they surrounded and filled her life. She had taken members of her clan before, it was true, but never healthy, living members. If 'living' could even describe Wabbajack. She did not take souls by force.
"Pretty balls." Banshee heard a voice, and whipped around. The luridly colored Tundra sat inside the door to her rooms, his head tilted to one side. A spark seemed to gleam within the dark eyesockets of the mask he always wore. Banshee blinked, and looked closer at him. While his form remained solid, he was surrounded by a swarm of glittering orange fireflies.
"Hello, Wabbajack." she said, her breath catching slightly at the sight. He laughed, the sound loud and imposing in the whispering silence of her chamber.
"Pretty balls," he repeated. Banshee heard the soft clink of glass, and turned to see several of the spheres lifting from their stands and drifting towards the Tundra. He laughed again, and held out his paws. The light inside the orbs dimmed and seemed to quake, pressing against the confines of the glass. They did not want to be touched by Wabbajack. He caught them, the glass scratching against his claws.
"Please - " Banshee started, holding out a warning claw, but Wabbajack interrupted.
"Watch!" he crowed, the sound of phantom bells jingling in his laughter. He began to juggle, the glass spheres tossed high into the air. As more drifted from the shelves, he added them in, juggling three, then five, then ten. Banshee began to lose count, watching in helpless horror at the whirling mass of glass and glowing smoke. The air was filled with dancing orbs, both drifting about and caught in the maelstrom of Wabbajack's 'fun'.
"Enough!" Banshee cried, throwing out her arms. The spheres stilled, frozen in midair. All but one. It was a smaller sphere, resting in Wabbajack's palm. He looked at her, and his paw twitched. The sphere plummetted to the stone floor, smashing in to shining fragments. For a moment an orb of glowing golden smoke hovered there, then it dissipated, evaporating into the air with a lonesome sigh. Banshee stared in horror as all that remained of a once-great Light Philosopher, one who had served under the Lightweaver herself, vanished into the ether.
A rage grew within the Coatl, a fury that the gentle dragon had never felt in her life. Her arm snapped out, an empty sphere jumping to her palm from a tightly woven basket under the shelves. "Let's play a game, Wabbajack." she murmured, anger edging her voice. The Tundra looked up from the pile of shattered glass.
"Game?" he asked, lifting all four feet from the ground and floating in midair. She nodded, and hurled the sphere at him. A few of the fireflies vanished, a thin wisp of orange smoke appearing in the orb. But Wabbajack dodged, shooting up to dance around the ceiling. "Ooh, fun!" he cried, laughing as he zoomed around the motionless orbs, dodging and dipping to avoid them.
He folded his wings and flew out the opening of the chamber, his voice echoing down the hall as he cackled and jingled. Banshee followed after him, scooping up the sphere as she ran. She would have a new soul to replace the old, a new addition to her collection.
"I - I can try." Banshee murmured, not meeting Asmodeus' eyes. "I'll do my best."
by hatterlet
She stood in the center of her chamber, the shelves of soul spheres catching and refracting the light, sending rainbow fragments scattering across the room. With a gentle claw she reached out and lightly caressed one of them, the glowing essence within brightening at her touch. What am I to do? she thought, her heart heavy. She had spent years collecting souls, they surrounded and filled her life. She had taken members of her clan before, it was true, but never healthy, living members. If 'living' could even describe Wabbajack. She did not take souls by force.
"Pretty balls." Banshee heard a voice, and whipped around. The luridly colored Tundra sat inside the door to her rooms, his head tilted to one side. A spark seemed to gleam within the dark eyesockets of the mask he always wore. Banshee blinked, and looked closer at him. While his form remained solid, he was surrounded by a swarm of glittering orange fireflies.
"Hello, Wabbajack." she said, her breath catching slightly at the sight. He laughed, the sound loud and imposing in the whispering silence of her chamber.
"Pretty balls," he repeated. Banshee heard the soft clink of glass, and turned to see several of the spheres lifting from their stands and drifting towards the Tundra. He laughed again, and held out his paws. The light inside the orbs dimmed and seemed to quake, pressing against the confines of the glass. They did not want to be touched by Wabbajack. He caught them, the glass scratching against his claws.
"Please - " Banshee started, holding out a warning claw, but Wabbajack interrupted.
"Watch!" he crowed, the sound of phantom bells jingling in his laughter. He began to juggle, the glass spheres tossed high into the air. As more drifted from the shelves, he added them in, juggling three, then five, then ten. Banshee began to lose count, watching in helpless horror at the whirling mass of glass and glowing smoke. The air was filled with dancing orbs, both drifting about and caught in the maelstrom of Wabbajack's 'fun'.
"Enough!" Banshee cried, throwing out her arms. The spheres stilled, frozen in midair. All but one. It was a smaller sphere, resting in Wabbajack's palm. He looked at her, and his paw twitched. The sphere plummetted to the stone floor, smashing in to shining fragments. For a moment an orb of glowing golden smoke hovered there, then it dissipated, evaporating into the air with a lonesome sigh. Banshee stared in horror as all that remained of a once-great Light Philosopher, one who had served under the Lightweaver herself, vanished into the ether.
A rage grew within the Coatl, a fury that the gentle dragon had never felt in her life. Her arm snapped out, an empty sphere jumping to her palm from a tightly woven basket under the shelves. "Let's play a game, Wabbajack." she murmured, anger edging her voice. The Tundra looked up from the pile of shattered glass.
"Game?" he asked, lifting all four feet from the ground and floating in midair. She nodded, and hurled the sphere at him. A few of the fireflies vanished, a thin wisp of orange smoke appearing in the orb. But Wabbajack dodged, shooting up to dance around the ceiling. "Ooh, fun!" he cried, laughing as he zoomed around the motionless orbs, dodging and dipping to avoid them.
He folded his wings and flew out the opening of the chamber, his voice echoing down the hall as he cackled and jingled. Banshee followed after him, scooping up the sphere as she ran. She would have a new soul to replace the old, a new addition to her collection.
"I - I can try." Banshee murmured, not meeting Asmodeus' eyes. "I'll do my best."
by hatterlet
by Tankarank
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Exalting Banshee 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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