Merlot
(#80731818)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Malevolent Spirit
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Energy: 50
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.22 m
Wingspan
21.39 m
Weight
7978.58 kg
Genetics
Umber
Jaguar
Jaguar
Sable
Bee
Bee
Wine
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
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 M E R L O T 
BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT
GENERATION IV ROE'S LINE NAOMI G7 | IGNIS G7 
"in vino morte"
L et me taste the color of your soul. I have known the cloying sweetness of spent innocence, the acidic notes born of fear and anger, the sour wash of sorrows never to be laid to rest. What extravagance it is! Sit, drink your fill; this pretty poison will be both balm and bane, and in the end it is another sort of spirit I would imbibe--one flavored with iron and salt and bitter endings. Yes... slake your thirst, weary traveler, that I might slake my own. |
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The palace is a ruined, abandoned place. Perhaps once it held grandeur and majesty, but the lands around it have long been forsaken and said to have slipped away into the throes of a dark madness. The illness originated in the palace itself when the shining king called Mikhail came into possession of a strange gilded crown inlaid with shining rubies. Since then, the crops of this land have failed and a dark, ashen fog blocks out the sun. Those who linger have fallen to much more sinister means of survival, their forms tattered and rotting in the eternal shade. . . and the king himself still mutters within his fallen palace, that cursed crown still upon his head. The lands of this kingdom have been closed off for many years owing to the sickness that infects any who venture into their midst. Most who wander into the shade never emerge and the few who do escape never do so with their minds intact. They mutter of horrors seen in that shade and strange things that lurk in the darkness. Somehow, those things have remained within the boundaries of the fallen kingdom, but the surrounding villages share rumors that perhaps one day something may escape from the shade-cast lands. Perhaps, some say, something already has. The first thing they heard was the faint sound of a voice muttering in the distance. Moonlight shimmered through the cracked glass of a long broken window, illuminating the room with its cold glow. There were three of them, born amidst a hoard of lost treasures comprised of golden trinkets inlaid with precious gemstones. They were not mortal creatures, but strange beasts whose forms had grown around the lost treasures of the vault. They passed over the border of the ruined kingdom with ease and set off to collect their own treasures. The second-borne sought a collection of fine, intoxicating things. She found the finest of wines that she kept in a variety of old, tinted bottles. In her presence, such bottles never grew empty and those who came upon them could drink their contents indefinitely. . . until their minds became fogged and the beast claimed them as her own. "A gilded corkscrew?" the pearlcatcher asks skeptically, descending into the cellarage behind his longtime friend. And the skydancer turns his head, eyes still wide with what borders on mania to look over his shoulder as they pick their way down the ancient, creaking stairs. "Jeremie told you, though, didn't he? Any bottle we pop with it just--doesn't empty, n'matter how many glasses you pour! Think of the possibilities!" "I think you've had a few too many of those glasses," Thomas answers flatly, and half-means it. The odor of fermenting grapes hangs in the air like a miasma, clinging to his palette and sinuses, and he wonders with an idle sort of detachment if he wouldn't over imbibe just sitting here a spell and breathing it in. They must have spilled a bottle (or three, knowing Jeremie) and not bothered mopping beneath the racks. They reach the bottom and he shivers instinctively. He loathes being down here--the dirt on the floor is dusty and clings to his talons, and the single magic lantern set on the table in front of the casks sends enormous, ink-dark shadows dancing on the walls in the dim light. Antoine--the skydancer--trots to it and beckons him with one claw--sets about pulling glasses from the wall mount behind him, plucks a bottle from the rack beneath. He lays them out with a flourish; even in his excitement he's a practiced, if theatrical, sommelier. A wooden case rests on the table as well, dark as holly bark. Stained nearly black, shiny in the lantern's glow despite its apparent age. Thomas' ears give an inquisitive twitch as he draws near and settles on his haunches beside his friend, hands folded politely in anticipation. "Jeremie bought it for a song from some beggar in town," Antoine explains, "If the old codger had known--look at this." And the box is opened with delicate green claws, revealing the curious object. All the short hairs of Thomas' mane stand on end. The lower half is just a corkscrew, a wicked spiral of metal with a few thin scratches that catch the light. The point is immaculate, but it's seen its share of use. The upper half, though... instead of an ordinary handle, its cap is carved of gold. The head is that of a--wolf? A bear? Some horrible amalgamation of the two, with a pointed snout and its mouth twisted into a bare-toothed grimace, and rounded ears pinned back. The base of its neck is encircled by crisscrossing vines dotted with needle-like thorns, so lovingly detailed he half expects the creature to snarl in pain. "...How have you not torn your hands to ribbons on this awful thing?" he asks, lip curling with distaste. "Oh, I did the first few times. You get better at it." Antoine sounds unbothered. He delicately plucks the instrument from its velvet-lined confines and drags the bottle closer, sets to corking it. Thomas observes with curiosity as the drake twists it free and pours them both a generous portion--and his mouth drops agape as he watches the bottle's contents slosh about when it's set aside at last, not a drop missing from the interior. "You see! You see!" Antoine cackles, snatching up his glass and downing the wine in three quick swallows, "We're rich!" Thomas reaches out for his own with hesitation. Drags his tongue across his teeth. He gives the glass a swirl and watches the light play on deep purple-red ripples. And he inclines his head, half stupefied, eyes darting repeatedly back to the bottle as though certain there's some trick he's missed. But no. They truly have found something extraordinary. "Well I'll be damned," he says, and drinks. On the wall behind the casks, the shadows swell.
Layout and artwork by awaicu
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Exalting Merlot to the service of the Lightweaver 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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