Fenrir
(#88742135)
6th Gen Barghest - Ire/Alabaster
Familiar
Sugar and Spice
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
19.68 m
Wingspan
18.54 m
Weight
6173.94 kg
Genetics
Rose
Piebald
Piebald
Oilslick
Eel
Eel
Ice
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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 F E N R I R
BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT
3RD GEN IMP GENERATION VI IRE | ALABASTER LINE 
T he youngest of Sion and Leontina's first nest. The only one of his brothers to embrace what he was, much to the detriment of anyone unlucky enough to cross paths with him... |
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Quite the traumatic hatching was what met the trio as they broke through their eggshells. Two massive wolves tumbled through the dust and dirt around him, snarling and snapping at each other in a rage under the full moon's light. Ice coated the ground and the wind howled as the two continued their battle, seemingly unaware of their young audience of three. The youngest let out a yelp of pain as he was struck with a stray stone sent flying by the adults, the other two hatchlings exchanging a glance before helping him back up and fleeing into the night, unnoticed by the Wolves. Somehow, The Eleven willing, they would find a way to survive on their own. Fenrir was the first of his siblings to discover his heritage. Not long after going separate ways from his siblings, he was found out by a traveling seer who confronted him, urging the others traveling with them to do something, drive him out at least. That confrontation stuck with him, and he learned as much as he could about what he was, honing his own craft and becoming quite the skilled dream weaver, enjoying the fear in his victims' eyes during the hunt. He eventually tracked down the seer who'd revealed his nature to him, trapping them in a dream of his own making, custom-tailored just for them. He thanked them for helping him find himself, taunting and tormenting them with the ghosts of those he'd killed since their first meeting before finishing things for good and moving on to the next town. There is nothing that can stop them, except perhaps... A sacrifice. Skald jolted awake, the wisps of a dream already slipping through her grasp like sand through her fingers. With a huff she sits up and blindly reaches for her dream journal, but by the time she's got a pen pressed to the page her master's words have all but left her. Only a single sentence remains, and Skald makes sure to write it exactly as she heard it. "The sound of a cat's footfalls." What that means, only the Eleven knows. Skald sends a quick prayer, and drags herself out of bed to begin her day. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Did you know? Did you know? Did you know? There are always travelers at the Whistling Bird Inn, and travelers are where Skald finds her best stories. She spends her mornings cleaning the rooms for the owner, hauling pallets of food for the cooks, and doing her best to keep her mind off her dreams. Today it's easy; she cannot recall the sharp blue eyes, or Icewarden forbids, the teeth. Her body and mind feels light for the first time in months. "Ah! Don't sneak up on me like that, Skald." One of the cooks reprimands her, wings fluttering in leftover adrenaline. Skald apologizes profusely, but quietly she's quite proud of her sneaking; growing up, her siblings always teased her for being heavy-footed, but it seems like she's grown out of it. She skips out of the kitchen, whistling under her breath, and pauses when she notices the small dining area isn't abandoned anymore. There's another dragon here; an imperial, with shining golden scales and the deep brown eyes of Earth. Skald knows everyone in town, and she's never seen him before. Skald greets him enthusiastically, and the dragon bemusedly introduces himself as Fenrir. A traveler -- like most strangers who pass through these parts -- from the Earth territories. Skald settles in a seat by him, enchanted by his low voice and many tales from his years on the road. She asks him, offhandedly, if he's traveling by himself. With a gleam in his eyes, Fenrir responds that he's traveling with a seer, who has unfortunately fallen ill. "I hope they feel better soon!" Fenrir smiles toothily at Skald's words, as though he knows something she doesn't. "The beard of a woman." Skald writes down her master's words in her journal, a frown on her face. Moonlight shines through her window, giving her just enough light to see the words written in an ugly scrawl; she turns them over in her mind, again and again, and yet she cannot make heads or tails of it. Before now, her master would communicate in lengthy dreams; sometimes he was lucid enough to speak to her, whispering tales of dangerous beasts and magic, and sometimes he would gnaw on her limbs and neck like a savage animal if she wasn't quick to run or wake. Now... Now he murmurs brief sentences into her ears, and does not visit her at all. She doesn't know how to feel about that. She falls back into an uneasy slumber, and dreams of nothing at all. Skald lets out a long groan as she peers into the mirror, downy feathers trailing down the front of her throat reminiscent of a Guardian's beard. She runs her talons through them and laments the fact that she looks like a fluffy hatchling once again. Alas, there's not much to be done about it, she'll just have to wait and hope they fall out. Work is long, and tedious. The cooks scoff at her jokes instead of laughing, and the owner barks harshly at her whenever she so much as pauses to breathe. At least at the end of her shift Fenrir is back, lounging outside in the last dregs of sunlight before the twilight. She sits with the imperial, and they talk for hours. He tells her about his father, a harsh man who Fenrir speaks about with equal amounts of reverie and fear. In exchange, Skald regales him with the tales she's collected over the years from various travelers who came to stay at the Whistling Bird Inn. Fenrir's roars of laughter echo over the icy landscape, deep into the night, as the sun disappears and the moon rises ever higher into the sky. By the time Skald crawls into bed, she's gorged herself on the warmth of sharing stories with a friend, and she falls into sleep with a smile on her face. Skald startles awake, chasing her master's words, but her memory fails her. She reaches for her journal and opens it, and jolts when she sees her claws curl around the leather binding. Gray and sharp, peppered with dots almost like-- rocks, really; her claws have growth to cover the first joint of her hands, and are much too sharp. She always keeps her claws short and blunted. "The roots of mountains." The voice growls, and Skald jerks and tumbles out of bed. She leaps to her feet, but there's nobody around; no sign of her master anywhere, not that he could be here. Who...? Skald looks down at her claws, and swallows back nausea. She writes down the ominous sentence, just in case, and hurries to start her morning routine. There's no way she's getting back to sleep after that. Fenrir's eyes linger on her claws that evening, when they lounge on the rooftop of the Whistling Bird Inn and watch the sunset. He doesn't ask, but that doesn't make his gaze any less intense for it; Skald squirms uncomfortably, and guides the conversation towards lighter topics. She asks about his traveling companion, and Fenrir seems content enough to oblige her avoidance. His companion is a seer, by the name of Tyr; a noble and virtuous dragon, who has unfortunately fallen ill and bedridden. After some time of prodding, Fenrir admits that Tyr lost his hand recently, and the shock has taken a heavy toll on him. Skald does her best to comfort Fenrir, who is surely laden with guilt over his friend's injury, but Fenrir is calm, almost disconnected. "How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?" "He provoked a monster, and it bit him." Fenrir's eyes burn into hers as he speaks, trying to communicate something, but it's lost to her. All she knows is that she has a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, like standing on the precipice of a cliff, and she has to swallow back fear. For a brief moment, Skald is tempted to ask if the beast had teeth like her master, would howl like her master, would invade dreams and whisper secrets like her master. Caution wins out, and she stays quiet; but for the rest of the night, she can only think about her master's teeth on her throat. "The sinews of the bear." Skald's body aches, a constant pain that she cannot dissipate with any amount of stretching, resting, or painkillers. She hobbles through the kitchen, carrying a tray of glasses, when a sudden cramp makes her arm seize up and the tray goes toppling to the ground. The glass shatters in an explosion, flinging shards and dust in every direction, and Skald lets out a yelp and backpedals away, clutching her still-cramping arm. The cooks are on her an instant, yelling at her for breaking glasses and being distracted and a million other assumptions. Skald dips her head, anxiety making her nauseous, and rubs the muscles in her arm in a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop just for a moment. If she just had one moment, she could figure this all out, if she had just one moment of peace... Skald stumbles out of the kitchen, tears spilling down her face, and she knows she looks ugly and ashamed. Fenrir leaps up to intercept her, but she shoves past him and runs to the door. She bursts through, to sunlight, and she's never felt more ill-suited to her own skin. "The breath of the fish." Something's wrong. She can pick up on the signs; the strange changes in her body and behavior, ones she cannot fully explain, and the ways in which her master's words have correlated to it. Is he warning her? Or... Is he the source of these changes? Skald does not know, and it terrifies her; if she doesn't know, how can she stop them? She wakes up with thin slits on the sides of her neck, that flutter when she breathes, and hurt an awful lot when she tries to touch them with rocky claws. Peering into the mirror, Skald can see them as they truly are; gills. She's grown gills overnight. Skald calls off work. The owner shouts at her, but she doesn't care; she needs to get to the bottom of this, and she won't figure it out if she spends all her time cleaning and doing menial work for the cooks. It pains her that she won't be around to talk with Fenrir, but something between them has changed since that night on the rooftop. He eyes her like... Like a hunter, sizing up prey. She's not sure if she wants to find out what he plans to do with her. Though, it's not like the concept of monsters is new to her. Sleep does not come easily; she slept deeply throughout the night, so trying to nap in the early morning when her body is energized and awake feels like being forced to wait all day to open a present on her birthday. Sleep will come eventually, yes, but time moves so slowly before then. She blinks, and shoves the blankets off of her, and sits up. Perhaps she needs to read a book or something to calm herself down, and then she'll fall asleep. She stands and pads out of her bedroom, already considering which book to settle down with, but she doesn't walk into her living room. She walks out onto a beach, in the midst of a raging typhoon. Her master stands in front of her, a towering beast of brown fur and sharp blue eyes, and he peers down at her. His eyes gleam with intellect, and Skald lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She hasn't seen him in so long, and so frequently he is out of his mind... "Master, what's been happening to me?" Skald cries out to him, and the winds snatch her words away from her. She stumbles closer, and falls to her knees in front of him; she bows before him, fear and awe mingling in her throat. "You change, my dear." Her master reaches down and runs sharpened, rotting talons through her feathers. Skald shudders under his touch, as gentle as it may be. The beast is so close now, curling around her, matted brown fur pressing against her body in a faux lover's embrace. "Sing for me, and you will be complete. Sing, Gleipnir." The compulsion is strong, and her master's embrace so relaxing, that a soft coo escapes her before she knows what's happening. The first note breaks the dam, and suddenly a birdsong pours from her throat, a wordless lament and plea for help; one that she cannot stop. Her body rebels against her mind, compelled to listen to her master's words, and Skald shudders as the song continues to spill from her mouth. Her master wipes away her tears -- though she hadn't realized she'd begun crying -- and murmurs soothing words to her, assuring her that she's doing the right thing, that he's so proud of her. Suddenly, her master's embrace tightens, and she cannot even twitch a muscle. He pries her jaws open, as she continues to chirp and coo a birdlike song, and runs a talon over her tongue. He lifts up his talon and examines it, and nods to himself, pleased. Skald looks up at him, praying that he'll make it stop soon, make all the changes and the pain stop... "The spittle of the birds. You are perfect, my Gleipnir; he sees naught but a silken ribbon, ready to be torn asunder, but you are stronger than any iron chain. My greatest creation." Skald wakes screaming. Thump, and she's fallen off the bed, in a tangle of blankets as she screams and caws and sobs. Her heart hammers against her ribcage, and terror clings to her every movement. The blankets entangle her like a straitjacket, only adding to her panic, but after what feels like hours she settles. Resignation, or perhaps the hollow aftershock of a panic attack, makes her outwardly calm. She stares at the ceiling, and tries to think about nothing at all. Like a lamb to the slaughter. Did you know? Did you know? Did you know? ... Why did you do this? The cooks look down their noses at her, and the owner snubs her, and Skald wishes she could melt into the ground like fresh snow in spring. She cannot stop chirping, no matter what she does; it interrupts her speech, and it strangles her from the inside when she keeps her jaws locked shut. She sounds like a madwoman, and perhaps she is; perhaps the looks the visitors and guests keep giving her are deserved. Perhaps she's gone mad. She searches for Fenrir after her shift, but he is nowhere to be seen; the owner said that he and his companion left yesterday, apparently they had some important business on the full moon. Disappointment wars with relief, as she's not sure she truly wanted to see her friend, or use that predatory gleam in his eyes like a knife to cut out the parts of herself she hates. It's for the best. That's what she repeats to herself as she meanders home under the light of the full moon, exhaustion tugging on her limbs. She's afraid of what her master will do to her when she falls asleep, but she's more afraid of being left alone with her thoughts. He embraced her, yesterday, maybe he'll do it again tonight. Anything is better than this. Skald crawls into bed and falls asleep, restless yet exhausted, and dreams. Fenrir roars, and strains against the binding. Wotan watches him, bemused, as the beast thrashes and claws Gleipnir. But there is no escape, not from this. "Thin as a ribbon, stronger than an iron chain." Wotan hums, and Fenrir's eyes turn onto him. The gold beast thrashes, his growls lowering in pitch while increasing in frequency. "Someday I will devour you, Wotan." "You will, but I will enjoy my time before then. Fare well, Wolf of the Fens." Notes: -Possessing Skald/Gleipnir -Skald's dreams were molded to become a perfect trap for Fenrir, one which he cannot escape nor overcome -Wotan/"Master" is Guildernstern, who was experimenting with methods of imprisoning other barghests; Fenrir and Skald just happened to be perfect test subjects -Tyr/The Seer, was imprisoned and tormented by Fenrir until the full moon when Fenrir tries to devour Skald. Fenrir killed Tyr before going into Skald's dreams -Skald has fallen into a coma, and cannot even wake for the full moon; Fenrir continues to starve, trapped in Skald's mind |
Nest and Initial Lore by HatLordAve
Expanded Lore by Topazal
Layout and artwork by awaicu
Banners by PoisonedPaper
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