Straka » Lair » Astatine

Astatine

(#83028859)

Level 7 Spiral

Familiar

River Muck

Energy: 37/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

2.21 m

Wingspan

1.67 m

Weight

74.56 kg

Genetics

Moon
Pinstripe

Radioactive
Foam

Hunter
Underbelly

Hatchday

Dec 25, 2022
(1 year)

Breed

Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Nature
Glowing

Level 7 Spiral

EXP: 863 / 11881

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

Astatine

Immunologist
She/her/hers

Bio CW: plague themes, autopsy (implied gore)

Another day, another corpse.

Even Astatine's steady, expert hands feel a little clumsy in the hazmat suit. With her sharp claws capped to keep from puncturing the thick rubber gloves, her fingers feel bulbous and just a little too long. The claustrophobic breathing apparatus clings to her face like a muzzle, the hiss of her own breathing accompanying the steady hum of the decontamination system. Pereiopods wave rapidly against her chest in an attempt to create some sort of airflow and beat back the unbearable heat inside what is effectively an airtight rubber cocoon.

She sets down the bone saw. Wipes the blood off her gloved hands. Picks up a glass sample container and a pen, carefully labels it, then drops in a sample of bone marrow. The lid goes on tight before she sets it on a small side table alongside two dozen other vials. Blood, bone marrow, lymphoid tissue.

Anywhere else, Astatine knows, her work would be viewed as monstrous. Infect dragons with

deadly diseases. Withhold the cure, if one even exists. Monitor them in a controlled setting. Watch their bodies wrestle with infection. But Quarantine Zone #128 has volunteers galore. The most arrogant children of the Plaguebringer are eager to prove their mettle against the worst the facility had to offer. They raise their chins as they declared this to be a test of their worthiness, a show of devotion to the Filthy One. Sometimes they jeer at her, mocking the protective gear she wears as she administers the injection. And then- usually within days, sometimes in weeks, rarely in months- they end up here, a mound of diseased flesh splayed out across her autopsy table.

There were survivors before the war started. The Plaguebringer had no desire to murder her own. There was pain, and suffering, and sometimes death- but more often than not, the quarantine zone was simply a place of transformation. It was a cocoon where a dragon could be dissolved and then reorganized, emerging from painful metamorphosis as something stronger, something new. The researchers who worked here used to be artists whose canvas was DNA and flesh. She used to be a doctor. It would be helpful, she quietly believes, if the administrators of Quarantine Zone #128 allowed her to return her focus to less deadly diseases. She would learn more about how the immune system functions if her subjects actually survived. But right now the Plague brass want bioweapons, not vaccines- and there's nowhere else in Sornieth she can find a facility quite like this.

The aberration on the metal table before her- a twisted creature nearly ten times her size- is a beautiful irony. It had survived four years infected with the most virulent artificial strain of Rotblight, with no outward signs of infection and only minimal internal tumors. Its resilience had been matched only by its arrogance. A fascinating case study; Astatine has an entire shelf in her lab dedicated to samples from Specimen 214, and nearly a dozen folders of transcribed interviews. Four research papers to which the aberration had been vital. Near the end they'd even started helping her with the editing, pointing out run-on sentences and-

She swats the thought aside like a fly. In front of her is meat. Specimen 214. After deteriorating rapidly over the past week, it had expired this morning thanks to an autoimmune disease. A lifetime spent pitting itself against the elements, only to be sabotaged from within. Another day, another corpse.

After the autopsy, the body will be burnt. All that will be left of Specimen 214 will be hermetically sealed samples. Once she's learned what she can, those too will be disposed of. And if the Quarantine Zone brass has their way, her lifesaving research will remain classified for years, if not decades. Damn this war.

She has to get a message out. It's been three months since the Seedscar; three months since the facility was put on high alert and ceased contact with the outside world. Three months since her cell of the Inner Sanctum was compromised. Three months of a sword hanging over her head. If any of the others give her away- if someone catches her trying to contact NC- she'll be executed for espionage and treason. One wrong move and it will all have been for nothing.

Her hands are steady as she picks up the bone saw.

banner credit

If you feel that this content violates our Rules & Policies, or Terms of Use, you can send a report to our Flight Rising support team using this window.

Please keep in mind that for player privacy reasons, we will not personally respond to you for this report, but it will be sent to us for review.

0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Astatine to the service of the Stormcatcher will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

Do you wish to continue?

Name

Names must be longer than 2 characters.
Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.

Name

Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.