Cain
(#94183735)
It/Its
Familiar
Toxic Tonic
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 43
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
28 m
Wingspan
19.28 m
Weight
8014.32 kg
Genetics
Sanguine
Skink
Skink
Sanguine
Spinner
Spinner
Orange
Firebreather
Firebreather
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
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xx CAIN EMPEROR • DESTRUCTIVE MONSTER | GROTESQUE | TRAGIC |
There’s something moving in the wastes. A heaping mass of flesh and bone, it writhes and undulates through the burning sand. Its snuffling grunts roll like thunder across the dead silence. Its flesh flakes from its bones, falling with a slick-plop-shuffle as it treads through its own discarded waste, barely more alive than a zombie.
Deadened yellow eyes track movement across its three heads, swaying like palm fronds in the breeze. Two collide and a bit of bone falls off an antler, stabbing into the dirt. A furred paw steps on it, carrying it through another step and another. It makes no indication of pain as the bone is driven deeper and deeper like a stake through its foot.
It is an Emperor, rising high over the landscape to the west, shuffling through the Scarred Wasteland, picking up bugs and infections that sit like skin in its body, writhing just below the surface like termites under wood-bark. There is another Emperor to the east, far more famous than this one. He is of light's creation, three heads welded together in death to breathe about new life.
This dead-eyed thing is not the creation of light.
What a horrid thing it is. Even hardened denizens of plague retreat to their burrows beneath the rotted landscape to escape from its path. It does not seek them for food. It does not seek them for entertainment. It does not seem to seek much of anything.
And yet it stops.
A clouded sky hangs low over the ground, an ill-scented fog thick and heavy over the pustulating ground. The world seems awash in shades of grey and red, like all the color has been leeched from it long ago. And yet the clouds still part and a ray of the sun shines through to the ground. Three heads turn to gaze at a patch of daffodils, rising up to meet the sun's light. Their golden twinkle stands bright and cheerful amidst the mist.
It watches the flowers even after the clouds converge and cover up the clearing once again. It watches them dance and sway in a humid breeze. The skulled head leans forward, letting out a breath that stinks like death itself. The daffodils shudder in its wind and slowly begin to wilt and fade. It watches the flowers die and rot until they are no more golden than the ground they sit on.
A sharp keen wells up from three broken throats. Is it a noise of victory or sorrow? Why does it cry so? The only head that can still close its eyes does, but no sign of its emotion is displayed for anyone to see even if they were watching. Can it feel anything, even something so base as grief and loss? Or is this a mimicry of emotion it once knew, back when one was three and flesh was exchanged for muscle, strength, and life?
Imperials are old. The oldest of the modern dragons, made in a time where the infectious magics of Novicae leeched into their bodies. It changed them. Not a lot, but just a little. Enough to infect. To contaminate.
All imperials carry this contagion. Its what makes them so dangerous. In most, it lies benevolent, just under the surface, never displaying itself save for odd magical quirks and an affinity for underground spaces. But it can be deadly. When there are too many dead imperials, untreated, uncared for, unwanted. The contagion bubbles up like flies around a carcass and rises them together in an amalgamation of flesh and magic, drawn to life by something that was never going to be compatible with their bodies.
Something watches the thing move on. Red eyes follow it with sadness as blunt claws covered in ink scratch along rough parchment. The notes taking shape while the dragon never once pulls his eyes away from the slowly writhing mass. He watches it for a while. Then he packs up his things, slinging a bag over his shoulder and trailing after it. It isn't hard. It doesn't move very fast, nor does it hide itself well, even in the fogged and festered landscape.
Maybe some day there will be a cure for this rotted illness, a way to prevent more Emperors from rising like weeds from the battlegrounds. Or to bring them sentience, to make them into more than dead-eyed wanderers, drawn towards ancient ley-lines like fish to a whale-fall. Maybe some day.
The beast lumbers on.
RELATIONSHIPS
| Researcher Mercury is a scientist of infectious diseases, drawn by the need to cure his own incurable disease. He first came across the wandering beast which, at the time, had no universal name. No one studied it, though many tried to kill it to no avail. But Mercury saw a different purpose for this thing: a walking research vessel to understand infection, how bacteria moved through a body, how viruses came in to a thing and took route. What an incredible opportunity. |
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Puppeteer Where others see a mindless zombie, Juniper sees a weapon. A destructive force, unstoppable, unkillable, unfeeling. What more could a soldier ask for at their command? But first, you'd have to get it to listen, that's the tricky part. How do you train the unsentient? It's like training a plant to anything more than grow towards the sunlight. But it could be done. If you were mad enough to try and cruel enough not to care about who or what stood in your way.
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DESCRIPTION
An Emperor is a tragedy. The bloated, bastardized corpse of someone that was loved once. Dividing the destruction an Emperor can cause from the creature itself, its hard to look at one and feel anything but pity at what were once mighty Imperials, proud soldiers who fought and died for something they believed in. One wonders if they left anyone behind once. The one in the West wanders the Wastelands. A creature of plague, its flesh bubbles and boils with the infections it catches along the way, a living breeding ground for bacteria and viruses that are as unique to its own ecosystem as they are grotesque. It has red scales, striped with maroon and yellow patterns like a King snake. One wonders if its bite is as venomous as its scales might say. Deep blue fur rises from its back, giving it a hunched and slumbering posture. Bone protrudes across its ribs and tail, a head lies bare of skin and exposed to the world to see. It doesn't seem to mind. It doesn't seem to mind much of anything, barely showing a reaction to sandstorms or plague-winds. Whether in dry air or wet, clouded sky or blistering sunlight, it wanders through the desert, over red stone and flesh grass that remind it of the death it barely escaped. It stops for nothing. It does not seek flesh to eat, nor water to drink, living off the magical energy of the land around it, leeching it from the earth itself. The Emperor lacks the sentience to title itself, but those who surround it have settled on calling it Cain. Some have a name for each head, but those mad-folk who choose to study it for whatever reason usually settle on the singular name. No head seems to carry a distinctive sense of intelligence, and the whole body moves with one slow, undulating, pulsating, painstaking purpose. |
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Cain is an Emperor, a bloated corpse of three different Imperials fused together and given new "life." It is barely sentient, though those that study can occasionally spot glimpses of more base emotions that make them wonder if perhaps there is more to this hulking shadow then rot and ruin. |
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ART
Art by DragonJade
INCREDIBLE art by Blu3F1nch
Colored and shaded version by DragonJade (Lineart still by Blu3F1nch)
Icons and banners by Serpentra + Natron
Dividers by Banyan
Dividers by Banyan
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Exalting Cain to the service of the Arcanist 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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