Peiskos
(#76112662)
Tell me a story | it/its
Familiar
Writer's Aid
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
29.12 m
Wingspan
21.04 m
Weight
8688.82 kg
Genetics
Red
Metallic
Metallic
Ruby
Bee
Bee
Sunshine
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
P E I S K O S
THE STAR SCRYER
NAOMI G5 | IGNIS G5
THE STAR SCRYER
NAOMI G5 | IGNIS G5
Moodboard by mynnthia
|
"Cipher had a rather complicated relationship with stories. With all the manuscripts he collected, it was easy for many to imagine that he liked them. The demon could recall a time, however, when he’d scoffed at them. Nothing but fanciful dross spun by idle minds, far beneath his notice... But over time, he had learned that sometimes there is truth, even knowledge, in even the most fanciful stories. While he still did not like them, he had learned to value them. Stories were how he first heard of the Elvish scryers. It was said that the ancient elves had constructed these artifacts for defense. The scryers stored tremendous amounts of magic, which the elves unleashed to transport their cities to new locations, covering tremendous distances in an eye-blink—and ensuring their homes were removed from harm. Cipher had shrugged this off at first, because what need did the Cathedral have for such magic? Its own protective enchantments had served it well for centuries. However, as he learned more about the scryers, it soon became clear that teleportation wasn’t the only function they served. They could also be used to gather information and manipulate minds... In the golden room, atop his plinth, Cipher stirred. A glance from him locked the door, ensuring he wouldn’t be disturbed as he communed with his Council. He closed his eyes...and when next he opened them, the room, previously as brilliant as the sun, had gone dark with the Council’s presence. Their eyes gleamed ominously from the shadows. Cipher’s mouth stretched in a wide smile. There were no greetings required; the minds of the Councilors were linked to his own. His voice resounded directly in their heads. “There is something I seek...a star scryer, to grace our Cathedral.” “Some trinket, maybe,” Alcor rumbled in disdain. Cipher did not appreciate the interjection, and the Imperial growled as he felt his jaw welded shut. Beside him, his mate shrank back fearfully. Still, Cipher supposed, to the huge Imperial, anything would look small. As he now told the Council, star scryers were meant to be immense, even larger than an Imperial. They resembled vast orbs, awash with magical energy. Gilgamesh’s eyes glittered. Cipher felt him reaching into the vaults of his own knowledge, examining what he had learned. “And yet,” sighed the Vault Keeper, “I have not read of such objects.” The others whispered their agreement. “That is to be expected,” Cipher replied. “As the elves’ cities fell into ruin, so did their star scryers.” “We are to reassemble these objects, then?” The demon shook his head. “After so many centuries, the scryer parts would have been lost or corrupted. Reassembling them with the original components would be more trouble than they’re worth.... “No, my Council. We shall build our own.” Cipher was aware that four scryers had existed. The elvish engineers had made copies of the blueprints, and over time, these manuscripts had been torn apart and scattered throughout the land. The Council was sent to find these pages. They traveled far and long, often accompanied by sinister black crows, using their magic to conceal themselves and locate their targets. It took many years, for as Gilgamesh had noted, the star scryers were a very obscure topic. The ancient elves had guarded their secrets jealously, and even many of their descendants didn’t know of the artifacts’ import. Still, Cipher was patient, and so his servants kept searching. Through them, he caught glimpses of their searches, of the people who aided them—sometimes unwillingly...or unwittingly. Yes, stories were tricky things. Cipher considered prospectors panning for gold, how they had to sift very carefully through piles of silt. More often than not, that was all it was—dirt. But worth it, all worth it, because when the gleam of gold shone through... Thus it was for stories. The Council heard many stories about elves, how beautiful they were, how enchanting their music was, how impeccably talented they were as engineers. It got rather tiresome after a while. Cipher wryly wondered what had become of those elves who’d been marginally less talented than their brethren. But occasionally, clues to the scryers’ fates shone through. And the Councilors tracked these trails of stories to the blueprints they needed: scraps of paper or, if they were lucky, sheafs of pages. After long years of searching, Cipher determined that, while the information wasn’t yet complete, there was enough for preliminary assessments, perhaps even a prototype. He called back one of his minions: the alchemist, Frankenstein. The Wildclaw returned to the Cathedral one golden afternoon. Wisps of dark vapor trailed behind him, sometimes briefly shaping into unnervingly solid-looking talons and fangs. This was the creature that had originally driven him here: Homunculus, a product of his own twisted studies. It had threatened to devour him, and he had sought aid from Cipher, which the demon had been only too happy to give. Frankenstein served on the Council now, his vast intellect and magic at the demon’s disposal. He took what had been gathered so far and perused it, while Cipher loomed over him and Homunculus hovered in the background. “It can be done.” The Wildclaw’s voice was a dry, quiet rasp. “It will take many years, tremendous effort...but it is possible.” “And when can you begin?” “Whenever you say so.” It was almost a snort. Cipher chuckled quietly, and he began reaching out again, with his magic as well as his mind. As with the search for the blueprints, the assembly of the scryer components was time-consuming and arduous. The materials came from all over Sornieth, and perhaps even beyond. Tempered star-steel. Spirits’ flesh. The blood and bones of creatures thought to be long gone... There were more commonplace materials as well, such as brass and gold. That didn’t make the list of supplies any less expensive, but the riches of the Cathedral were Cipher’s to dispose of as he pleased. And if he decided not to give up those riches, he could find ways to take what he wanted instead. It was Frankenstein who oversaw these operations. The alchemist partook of his master’s powers to ensnare workers—Cipher wanted the making of this star scryer to remain completely secret. This of course meant it was difficult to find suitable assistants, but Frankenstein had no compunctions about coercing or discarding them as necessary. The other Councilors continued their search, and finally there came the day when a shadowy crow soared into Frankenstein’s workshop, its substance dissolving to reveal a single, perfect page. The blueprints were complete at last. The remainder of the work, while it still took years to complete, now proceeded at a faster rate. Raw materials were refined, components put together. Spellcasters were brought in, their power—and sometimes their lives—used to ensorcell the machinery. Bit by bit, the star scryer took form. “But is it truly complete?” Cipher wondered aloud. It was some days after the scryer had been fully assembled. As Cipher had guessed, it was taller than most Imperials and appeared to be several concentric rings of gold. But for all its beauty, it remained quiescent. Speaking certain spells caused the rings to turn like those of a gyroscope, but that was all. “This scryer is indeed a strange one,” Frankenstein remarked. “It is said to draw power from...hmm. The elves, as always, were disgustingly flowery in their explanations.” He briefly grimaced. “As nearly as I can tell beneath all that blather, they designed this artifact to draw power from the minds of those around it.” A shiver of frustration raced through Cipher’s body: Was there some key component they’d overlooked, a certain enchantment, perhaps? “What sort of mind does this object need?” “The elves spoke of how their greatest bards and poets sang to it, pouring out their joys...and their pains. The Cathedral has many such folk.” Cipher considered compelling those bards and poets to speak to the scryer. He, too, had studied the blueprints carefully, and he had his own interpretation of the elves’ words. “Shall we conduct that experiment elsewhere, my alchemist?” As the Wildclaw leaned forward expectantly, Cipher continued, “Let us place the scryer above the fire of the Hearth. For now, all that should be known about it is that it is vital to the safety of the Cathedral—and was created at my word. Nobody will dare harm it.” “Understood,” Frankenstein rasped, and then he and his shadow glided away to oversee the preparation of the Hearth. To other dragons, the Hearth was perhaps the most familiar space in the Cathedral of Eyes: Visitors were always welcome here, and many of the Cathedral’s inhabitants could be found relaxing here as well. Both groups mingled around the firepit, exchanging stories and pleasantries, occasionally served refreshments by quiet, diffident servants. It was a comforting place, and many visitors left with a good impression of the Cathedral, completely unaware of the darker magics simmering beneath the warmth. The central firepit had been impressive to begin with, but it was now completely overshadowed by the star scryer hovering above the coals. The golden rings turned steadily, almost sluggishly. All who saw it could feel its power, but it didn’t seem to do anything. It was simply...there. Certain members of the Council came through the Hearth from time to time. As always, they obeyed Cipher’s instructions: In this case, they smiled and reassured visitors, saying, “You need not fear the star scryer. It is there to protect the Cathedral...” And so the dragons stopped worrying. They continued lounging around the firepit, trading news and stories as before. And Cipher watched from the shadows, and he seethed. “It’s been months. Why won’t it work?” He and his Council had reviewed the blueprints many times. He’d even sent them out again, searching for further clues to the scryer’s activation. It did appear to be storing magic—but they had no idea how to release that magic, let alone use it. Desdemona spoke: “Perhaps a different form of entertainment, my Lord? A theatrical play, a rousing performance...?” “It couldn’t hurt to try,” her mate whispered. “Stirring songs, heartfelt elegies...Perhaps it needs more than just stories.” “Perhaps,” Cipher whispered. He raised his claws, summoning his crows to him, and soon each was winging away from the Cathedral. Each bore a beautifully written, gilded invitation, beckoning outsiders to the Hearth. They drifted to the Cathedral, singly or in small groups. They reclined around the firepit, where they performed and told their tales. “In my younger days...” “Hark! A most extraordinary person...” “You will not believe your eyes...” “A scene of breathtaking wonder and terror...” With so many different folks being invited in a short space of time, the Hearth became crowded. It remained a cheerful place, ringing with laughter and voices, and many friendships were formed and strengthened on those days. The scryer drank deeply of these interactions—Cipher could feel it. It stubbornly kept its secrets sealed in its golden rings, however. “One day,” he reassured himself. “One day...” Every day that passed brought them closer to success—that was what he told himself. But for now, the scryer continued to draw on the minds around it, reveling in all the warmth and light. And perhaps that was why what eventually woke it up, like a nightmare, was a touch of utter darkness. It happened on a stormy afternoon: The shock of the machine’s awakening sent a jolt of energy sweeping through the Cathedral. Ultimately, it was harmless, but the surge of power was unmistakable, and those who’d been gathered around the Hearth were quickly ushered to another courtyard. As the last guest hurried out, the Hearth darkened, the embers shrinking dramatically. Above them, the scryer continued to turn, albeit faster, and now glowing with inner fire. “It’s awake!” the Council hissed as one, as they all gathered around it. Cipher turned and crooked one claw in a summons. Soon the door guard, Sebastian, was at his side. “A traveler,” he rumbled in response to the demon’s queries, “bearing an invitation. Cloaked and muffled against the weather, and traveling with a group—I did not think to question them.” And indeed, since the traveler in question had carried an invitation, there had been no need to do so. A few Councilors drifted away to interview the remaining guests. They caught only impressions: a swirling, dark cloak; the glint of a bottle. It had fallen from the figure’s claws, shattering upon the floor and releasing a bolt of intense darkness. In the ensuing confusion, the figure had disappeared— —and the scryer had at last awoken. “Shade magic,” Sebastian growled, sniffing deeply. The traveler’s identity remained unknown—none of the guests could agree on their appearance. They’d doubtless used powerful enchantments upon themselves—for protection against the Shade fragment they’d carried, or for concealment against Cipher himself? Did it matter? Cipher decided that it could wait. For now, he was more interested in the newly-activated star scryer. Within the glow of the rings, something took shape: almost like an Imperial, serpentine, with enormous wings. It breathed, and even the Council paused in wonder: That single great intake was actually the sound of many voices all whispering together, snatches of stories and songs... And now, words: “What has...happened?” “You’re awake.” Cipher hovered before the entity’s face. He was tiny compared to it, but the spirit’s vast eyes still narrowed in suspicion. “I was soaring through...many worlds. On words.” It hissed like a fissure opening in the earth. “Through the space that is all now and then or will be. You took me away...Ah! I cannot move!” It struggled visibly, trying to spread its wings, though its feet remained rooted to the coals. As the Council and Sebastian considered its words, its eyes flashed. “You’re tying me down! I won’t have it!” Lines of fire wreathed its face and limbs; behind it, the scryer whirled at dizzying speeds. It shone brighter and brighter, the metal alight with magic and fury. “I’ll burn this place down! Blast away all these awful walls! I will—” “Stop,” Cipher hissed—and though his voice was very soft, such was the power behind it that the fiery spirit actually paused. “The only thing that’s changed is that you have awakened. The worlds you saw were stories, woven by the imaginations of those in this Cathedral.” “Stories?” The creature blinked. “Yes. This is a room where stories are told. And you will never hear them again,” Cipher said sternly, “if you destroy this place.” “I would not...like that. I want to hear more. To soar...” It was calming down now. The scryer was moving more slowly, its light—its rage—slowly ebbing away. Cipher leaned forward, and he smiled an open and earnest smile, the same smile that had drawn many an unsuspecting being into his service. “You were brought to this place to protect it. This form, this shape, does not bind you. Far from it, in fact—it helps concentrate and direct your power. In this form, I assure you, you are at your most powerful.” The scryer-spirit receded, dissolving into a cloud of orange light. Only its face remained visible, its eyes still glaring suspiciously at the dragons gathered around it. “Will I know those other worlds again? Can I hear more words?” “Certainly. Only, as I said, it would not do to frighten or injure our guests. They tell the tales that give you power and freedom.” “I am...not sure. This place is...strange...” “It truly is,” Cipher murmured. And now he asked, in the gentlest voice imaginable, “Would you like more time to consider this new information?” He spoke very quietly, but the force of his mind was crushing, and the Council briefly trembled, like grass blades in a breeze. The scryer spirit felt only the softest, soporific touch upon its awareness, however. It let out a cavernous yawn. “Yes. I will think...dream...soar...” “Indeed. Sleep well...star scryer.” The Hearth remained sealed after that, but only for a few more days—as Cipher had promised, guests were allowed inside again, and the room rang with voices and laughter, just as it had before. The tale of the cloaked traveler was quickly forgotten, swept under the rug like so many of the Cathedral’s mysteries. And Cipher remained focused on the workings of the star scryer. “Only a few months since it was completed, and already it’s absorbed so much power!” Frankenstein nodded calmly. “We already have the spells for obscuring the Cathedral. These rely somewhat on altering others’ perceptions, and in time, they could be modified to compel the targets in...other ways.” “Yes, I’m already aware.” But the demon remained in high spirits. This endeavor had been a success, after all. A success he intended to repeat, not just once or twice... Another reason the reassembly of the blueprints had been difficult had been because some of the pages didn’t seem to have belonged anywhere. They spoke of star scryers, too, but the instructions hadn’t quite matched up, the details seeming completely different... And this was because, as Cipher had eventually determined, they were completely different. This wasn’t the only type of star scryer the elves had made. They had built other scryers with other properties, other powers. “You’ve done well, Frankenstein. But I shall have to impose upon you again. Soon,” and his mouth stretched in that familiar smile, “you and your friends will go on another hunt for me.” “Understood. Where shall we begin?” “Why, in the Hearth, of course. After all, isn’t that how we acquired our star scryer? By keeping our ears open for stories?” The demon chuckled quietly. Fanciful dross spun by idle minds...but indeed, with a little magic, the dross could be spun into gold. All one had to do was listen.
Lore by Disillusionist (all edits by other users)
   
An experimental creation formed by Ereshkigal from the extraction of the shade Tisiphone bears. Possibly done out of spite against Dismas.
- Peiskos - The Cathedral's Star Scryer. - Four star scryers: Oneiric (found in the Elvish city of Civetta, then lost to the dreamscape, a scryer of dreams), Hiraeth (found in the Elvish city of Hirondelle, a scryer of wishes), Peiskos (found in the Hearth of the Cathedral of Eyes, a gift from the elves and a scryer of stories), Sidereal (found in the lost castle of Moondore, a scryer of fate). - All four of the scryers were initially created as machines, but none can be activated without a 'heart', typically from a powerful energy source. - Tended by the Barghest, Tanka who gathers new guests to the fire to tell their tales. - "Children" are stories brought to life, much like Parhelion |
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