Orpheus
(#83994932)
6th Gen Barghest - Caviar/Roe
Familiar
Abyssal Bard
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
29.86 m
Wingspan
19.48 m
Weight
6479.14 kg
Genetics
Soil
Tiger
Tiger
Tan
Marbled
Marbled
Pearl
Ringlets
Ringlets
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
Orpheus
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 O R P H E U S 
BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT
NAOMI G8 (VERISAI) GENERATION VI CAVIAR | ROE'S LINE 
A voice sings out through the clouds of dust like a siren-song, tempting all who hear it to wander deeper into the wasteland with promises of loved ones lost. This is the story of the Barghest Orpheus |
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Grumbles of protest emit from the eldest as his sisters crawl and scramble away from the nest, disturbing the newly-hatched imperial from the warmth he finds nestled into his father's feathery hide. The coatl shifts to bring his younger siblings back into the nest, his voice drifting like a fog and intertwining with another in a song the sleepy hatchling will one day learn himself. He curls into the warmth of his father and lets the song carry him off into slumber Avis wakes at dawn to the blaring horn of a passing train. Her protruding, semi-mobile spines stand on end as she jerks out of bed, blinking sleep and half-remembered dreams from her eyes. Her tiny room in the halfway house rattles as the train passes by, the tracks a mere forty feet from her window. The glass itself is so stained from smoke and years of built-up grime that Avis can only barely make out the shadow of the passing train when she glances outside. A look at an electronic clock, Lightning-made, reveals that it's exactly 6:40 in the morning. With a sigh, Avis begins dressing and packing her things. Sleeping in will be a luxury she'll get when she arrives at Frosthome, but she still fiercely misses the days of her youth when she could sleep til noon. The Banescale shuffles out of the halfway house, paying her fee to the dragon at the front desk, and heads to the train station. For such an early morning, it's quite packed; many dragons are eager to catch the first train down to the Cloudscape Crags, and have enough time to hop onto a train going even further south. Avis's nose curls at the stench of chewing tobacco and mildew that permeates the entire station. There's no fanfare when the train finally arrives, and a surge of passengers exit. Avis waits, tapping her claws against the ground impatiently, until it's finally time for new passengers to board. She pushes and hisses as dragons surge onto the train, and she has to jocky for her own right to enter. Avis doesn't manage to snag a seat, but she's got enough space for her wings to rest on the ground without needing to be pressed tight against her flank, which is good enough considering how packed the carriage is. She's only just settled when the train lurches, and begins to pick up speed. Avis tries to look out through one of the windows, but every window in sight is blocked by wings or fur or faces with vaguely irritated expressions. With a sigh, she resigns herself to spending the next five hours in utter boredom. Perhaps she should've brought a book. After four and a half hours, the train comes to a stop. Avis flees the awful-smelling, packed train carriage eagerly and lingers in the rickety station, taking in the clean air and space, for just long enough for the train's doors to close and for the train to leave. That's when she looks at one of the nearby signs and realizes that she got off at the wrong stop. H. Stop Station, the sign proclaims. Avis curses outdated travel maps and spontaneously built towns the entire way to the front desk, where a bored-looking tundra sits. There's nobody except for her and the tundra in view, the entire station gives the impression of a ghost town. "Excuse me?" Avis asks, setting her suitcase down to her side in order to talk to the teller. "I misjudged my stop. I need to get to Frosthome, when is the next southern train arriving?" The tundra glances up at her, huffs, and uses a long stick to poke a sign a few feet away. Avis grumbles at the rudeness, but the sign is useful. It says the next train is-- noon tomorrow?! That's an entire day's setback! If it weren't for the harsh weather of the Southern Icefield, she'd just pack up her things and fly to Frosthome. "Can I at least buy a ticket for tomorrow?" Avis asks, and the tundra shakes her head. "Tickets are sold on the day of departure. Stops thieves." Avis sighs. Who would even steal a train ticket? Still, she thanks the teller and leaves the station to find someplace to stay for the night. The tiny town is, by generous description, rustic. The buildings look to be held up by sheer stubbornness alone, and the only life in the town comes from tiny fledglings running through alleyways and shadows. Avis notes torn off fur, broken feathers, and the general dirtiness of the fledglings and hopes it's all just from playing rough in the warming weather. A regal, white-scaled Guardian lazes on the porch of the only inn in right. The wooden sign is barely legible from water damage, but Avis can recognize a place to get a hot meal and a room for the night. She makes her way around the Guardian towards the door, but the white-scaled dragon flicks his tail to block her way and raises his head to look at her. His icy eyes pierce into her. "You planning on catching the train tomorrow?" The Guardian asks, and Avis nods slowly. Something seems.. Off, about this man. He smiles with an indescribable emotions. "The teller won't sell you a ticket. The only way out is to steal one." An alarm rings in Avis's mind and she pushes past his tail, trying to put his ominous warning out of mind. He's probably out of his mind, or some native trying to scare a weary traveler -- she'll get her ticket and leave on the train first thing tomorrow. That night, Avis dreams of music and dancing. She cannot recognize her surroundings or the people accompanying her, but she laughs at their jokes and there's a lightness in her chest that hasn't existed since she was a hatchling and the world seemed fair. One of her companions, a brown-furred Imperial, plays a flute that makes Avis want to sing and dance. So, sing and dance she does. A pale-scaled Guardian takes her by the hand and leads her into a messy waltz which leaves her breathless with laughter when her feet don't move to the beat properly. A Tundra steals her away for a duet, and their voices harmonize to the music in a way that Avis's mind can't properly describe. She forgets the words a few moments after singing them, but she knows the music is beautiful and messy and genuine. The brown-furred Imperial plays his flute and stands, leading Avis away from the revelry of the group and further into the woods. She drags her feet, wanting to return to their companions and keep celebrating-- something. They're celebrating something important, she thinks. "Don't look back." The Imperial advises with a smile. "Spring is this way." Avis wakes up in a cold sweat, not quite knowing why, but her body is sore and her throat is shot like she'd really been dancing and singing all night. The next day, the teller says the train south has been canceled for the day. She says an avalanche hit the tracks and it'll take all day to clear it. Avis goes grumbling back to the inn, where the Guardian still lounges on the porch outside. He looks thinner than before, though perhaps she hadn't been paying attention. "Tried to buy a ticket, did you?" He smiles as he speaks, but all Avis can focus on are his teeth. They look bloodstained. "The tracks are covered in snow. The train will be running tomorrow." Avis holds up her only buffer against the strange dragon's words. The teller didn't refuse to sell her a ticket, after all -- the train wasn't running at all. That's... Better, surely. A whistling foghorn sounds in the distance. Avis jumps, recognizing the sound of a train anywhere, and races for the station. She makes it to the station just in time to see the train rushing past at a hundred miles per hour, not stopping or even slowing down. The wind generated by the train nearly knocks Avis off her feet, and she stares, open-jawed, until the train is long gone. She turns to the teller. "They don't stop unless we sell a ticket." She dreams of walking through a meadow of flowers. Music trails after her, and Avis realizes after a few minutes that she's been singing the whole time. Just a simple melody that's easy enough to hum, and it makes her feel happy, so she keeps doing it. Ahead of her is a dog with mottled brown fur and floppy ears, which weaves through the long grass and flower stems with ease. Every footstep sends a note into the air, as though they're walking on a giant piano. Avis begins singing in earnest, and hopping on the ground to make notes play. A flute from somewhere far away and unseen begins to play, and she laughs, feeling happy and full in a way she's never felt before. All of her problems seem so insignificant now. The dog pauses, and Avis tilts her head. He looks back, and his icy eyes meet her own. "I always struggle to keep my eyes forward." A half-scream tears out of her throat before she can silence it as she jerks awake, her sheets soaked with sweat and tangled around her like ropes restraining her. Avis sobs and spends the next thirty minutes detangling herself from the blankets and trying to calm her racing heart. Avis is starting to, against her best judgment, believe the Guardian's ominous warning. After two nights of nightmares and three days of missing the train due to the teller's purposeful incompetence, she's starting to wonder if she's being kept here. She doesn't know the whys and has no desire to investigate -- but she will be stealing a ticket like the white-scaled Guardian advised, and she will be leaving on the train today. Somehow, she thinks this town will kill her if she fails today. She waits at the station, sitting on one of the cold benches with one eye kept on the teller, for the whole morning. The train is scheduled to pick up at noon, and she's already been waiting for an opportunity to steal a ticket for four hours now -- in thirty minutes, she'll have missed her window. The teller simply doesn't leave the front desk, not even for a bathroom break, and Avis doesn't think she can steal a ticket with the teller right there. Luck comes in the form of the white-scaled Guardian strolling in. His claws click against the ground, and he heads to the teller immediately. Avis hops up and rushes for the front desk, trying to stay behind the Guardian and out of the teller's sight. He asks the teller about many little things that Avis only half-hears as she tries to sneak around the desk to steal a ticket. "Has my sister stopped by, yet?" "Not yet, sir. You'll be the first to know when she arrives." Avis presses her stomach against the ground and creeps around the desk. The teller is fully focused on the Guardian, for now, though who knows how long she has. She grabs a ticket off the desk and the Tundra freezes mid-sentence, and looks down at her with mounting anger. Avis smiles and tries to back away slowly, and the Tundra snarls and swipes at her. She leaps away, clinging to the ticket for dear life as the Tundra lunges after her. "Thief!" The teller's howl intermingles with the whistling screech of a train's horn. Avis glances at the tracks, where today's train is now visible in the distance. She misses the next lunge of the teller and yelps when claws rake down the side of her face. She slaps the Tundra with a wing and stumbles back, blood dripping into her eyes from the cuts. "Thief!" A dog begins baying in the distance, the sound coming closer. Avis glances at the Guardian, only to find he'd disappeared sometime after the fight had started. She hisses and flaps at the Tundra, trying to communicate that she doesn't want to fight, but she will -- and she'll win, too. "I'm leaving today! I have a ticket, you can't keep me here." Avis grimaces when the teller pauses to laugh at her words. The laughter devolves to maddened cackling, and when the Tundra looks up, Avis truly sees how gaunt and sickly-looking the Tundra is. It's like there's nothing more than fur on her skeleton, and it sends a shiver of panic through Avis. She takes a step back, and the teller doesn't chase her or lunge at her again. She merely continues to cackle, and then begins to wheeze and gasp for breath as her lungs give out. "You don't know the first step to leave, girlie. He lied to you!" The baying is getting louder, and the train is getting closer. Avis moves closer to the edge of the train platform and stares the teller down. She has a ticket, so the train will -- it will stop, right? It must stop. This has to stop. A dog, mottled brown, steps into view. Brown eyes burn into hers as the dog stares her down. It looks hungry, no, starving. Avis bares her teeth and challenges the little canine to come any closer. She's got her ticket and she's getting out of here, and no deranged teller or weird dog is going to keep her here! "Do you really think you can go forward when you always look back?" Air whips at her and snatches the ticket from her. Avis lets out a yelp and tries to catch it, and she hears the train go rushing past behind her; foghorn blaring all the while. She grabs her ticket from the air and turns to see the train rocking the tracks from how fast it's going, with no chance of her hopping on without getting splattered or crushed. Tears spring to her eyes. She looks back at the dog. That's not a dog, is the last thought of Avis Scorchchild.
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