Schattenfeuer » Hibernal Den » Joseph

Joseph

(#76713185)

Level 25 Imperial

Familiar

Phoenix

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

26 m

Wingspan

21.11 m

Weight

6587.23 kg

Genetics

Fire
Starmap

Fire
Constellation

Wine
Stained

Hatchday

Mar 21, 2022
(2 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Fire
Primal

Level 25 Imperial

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Joseph.
↠ With the wrath of a thousand suns

"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..."

There was the burden of a world on his chest. Around his shoulders and inside his veins as liquid light pulsated, warmth radiating burning red under the flesh he had burrowed into so deeply. He breathed, lived, created history with his own two hands but was it willing? No, not at all. The necessity, the very reason for his existence walking, haunting these lands was rooted in old tragedy. In the darkening of the night sky over the span of a few centuries. In less than three, the young stars brightening the night with their silver gloom had been reduced to less than half their numbers.

What was happening, the stars cried, the old, the young, powerful yet unknowing of the forces pulling their kin from the very skies. It fell onto him, not the oldest, not the most experienced but the brightest. He was a sun, burning in red vigor to give his worlds light and life, but this injustice tinted his flames an even more vicious shade of scarlet, roaring for justice, he took it upon himself.

To leave the skies meant to never return, he would become as the creatures they gifted light, he would become lost and alone, never to be one of them even if their flesh covered the stardust of his bones. And yet, he accepted, he took it upon himself so no other must fall. Plunging downwards, into his very final fate, he rode flames across the midnight sky and for a moment, night seemed to become day bright.

He had feared to be openly visible, to be found out mere moments after stepping out of the crater. But the creatures crawling, limping around were blind. Blinded by the spell put upon their eyes and the greed in their heads. They prayed feeble passion towards idols of horror and selfmade doom, empowered with the stolen strength of gods. In between clicking teeth and too many eyes, he saw the glimmer of splintered stars and slaughtered gods flashing underneath their forked tongues and at the back of their throats. In the liquified filth of their blood he heard the song of murdered youths, mingled with the eon old groan of born divinity.

And those false idols, those beings of a god’s devoured flesh and schemes of betrayal still hungered. They had the world in their grasp yet their eyes turned onto him. In a reckoning of fire and doom, he came onto them to burn them in the rage of a thousand suns. Within the blink of a mortal’s eye, he brought to knees what lasted the span of a short eternity, the legacy of woven patronage and servitude towards the idols false deemed lost underneath rubble and ash and the wreckage of a broken society, so he thought. But when this was his mission, why was there still a pull in his chest?

In his youthful naivete he thought of them being the only one. But the world was infected, festering down to its very bones and in dire need of a good lancing, a cauterizing of the wound. He thought, but he was foolish. He believed, only to be disappointed, time and time again. Mortal creation knew no end to the decay they brought over each other, their own world. With the glowing sun inside his chest, the burden of a whole world, he set forth. Step after step, city after city he fell. And once the masters were done, he turned his eyes upon their servants.

Root by root, he plucked them out of the soil of their life just as they deemed it good to clean the nightsky of its stars. Leaving gaping wounds bleeding darkness into the void all to devour the flesh and power of the closest thing they could get to godhood. After all, their precious lamb had long since run out yet the slaughter must continue. Lost in his duty, he barely lived, existed for a purpose nothing else.

How strange then, that he found a moment of respite in a night shrouded garden. In a bed of rose petals and moss, he held the fragile hand of a dying man, listening to every breath eating away just another edge of life itself. He had deemed humanity long lost, wrapped up in the lies of their Patron deity. Surprise and pleasant change flooded his mind, lightened the oppressive dark of a bleeding night for just a moment, he was proven wrong. The dying man, young of age, broken by life and cruelty and sickness, still thrived to know. There surely must be more out there, he whispered between the hacking coughs of a collapsing lung and the wheezing of a failing heart.

Tell me about the world, Joseph., he muttered with a smile that warmed his cold skin inside out. Dark flesh covered in scars head to toe except the expanse of his throat. Free of the touch of pain, it was there he pressed his lips, smelling roses, sweat and fever pitch against dark skin. But to hold, even someone so incredibly fragile, so deadly ill, was better than holding onto the metal weight of his weapon.

That is not my name., the sun in the flesh could not comprehend the need for name and title, the need to possess by giving it a collar in the sound of a name. Yet, if this was the last gift given to him, by a strangely noble, scarred heart, he thought he could take it. If only for a moment.

You need a name, how else can you make friends? Or make people connect to you?

No, what he needed to do was get this dying heart out. He remembered far too well when crazed power descended onto the garden, devouring the roses and fairy lights in its decay, rage dropping from every word and every screech. Injured pride, they would have come after him too, had he not been sent away. The dying heart he had wanted to take with him, surely there was ailment, there must be, becoming a shield.

All the rage and virtue in the world, the fire of a sun inside his chest, yet he could not even nurture one soul. All he gained in exchange was a name he started to hold dear as he restarted to wander. Time never touched him, it shied away from marking his skin and hair, feeling the burning light hidden around the bone and in every tendon, but he noted with waning interest that mortal history had a habit of repeating itself in endless loops. With the patron gods fallen and buried, mortals looked towards hollow statues and some even the shape of nature itself, in need of praying towards something, of having someone pluck their strings and play them like a marionette at a child’s play.

He wandered the world three times over, ten, a hundred and it was never enough, the traces of his duty long gone with wind and weather, time broke what he missed, but he never felt content to last an eternity anywhere. Finding a realm shrouded by night itself, he found himself unnerved, placed back in time when he wandered through a garden wild, full of roses and fairy lights underneath a nightsky bleeding void. Only now the sickness in the air was replaced by a strange-familiar power, seeping into the earth itself, lacing every breath like the phantom caress of a once familiar lover.

Breaking down golden gates, he thought to have found the nest of the last deity alive. Instead he was greeted with a familiar face, a neck wrapped tightly by divine scarring.

Joseph! Took you long enough to return to me!

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Joseph 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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