Frankenstein
(#9453732)
Thus strangely are our souls constructed | he/him
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Energy: 50
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.99 m
Wingspan
6.83 m
Weight
544.9 kg
Genetics
Maize
Ripple
Ripple
Sand
Facet
Facet
Gold
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Wildclaw
EXP: 14304 / 27676
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
Biography
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"Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin" ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ Fire dragons weren’t strangers to hard work. Not for Frankenstein, though, was the work of the forge, with its suffocating clouds of smoke and the acrid tang of metal. Instead, he showed more interest in scholarly pursuits. With keen mentoring, his scope of knowledge grew in leaps and bounds, and he honed his skills with magic and technology. Frankenstein dabbled in many different disciplines, but he eventually found himself drawn to alchemy. Perhaps it wasn’t unusual for a Fire drake: Metalworking, the Fire Flight’s traditional trade, was all about bending what had been thought to be immovable, molding it into new shapes that correlated with fantastic new functions. Wasn’t alchemy similar? The bending of nature’s laws and creatures, pushing them to pinnacles they would otherwise not have been able to achieve... Nobody fully understood Frankenstein’s motives, and it didn’t seem like he wanted them to, either. His intelligence set him far above most dragons, and so he wasn’t inclined to mix with them. His morals—or lack thereof—only deepened the divide. Like most alchemists, he was skilled in transmuting materials into more valuable ones, and he used the profits to finance his darker experiments, which he conducted in the subterranean workshops of his lair. There are certain rules that alchemists do not break, but Frankenstein had grown comfortable in his wealth and success, and like many dragons in this position, he’d begun to believe that the rules no longer applied to him. He suffered several narrow escapes, but this only strengthened his conviction. After all, the strictures hadn’t stopped him, so why should he stop now? Now, when he was so close to success... He could almost taste it—the sweetness of honey, he imagined, underneath the cloying smoke of burning chemicals. Deep in his underground workshop, he was about to enact another ritual. The walls were covered with the runes necessary for his magic, the floor similarly obscured with diagrams. These were centered on a massive, inert form: the corpse of a dragon brought back from the Sunbeam Ruins. Frankenstein was not inclined to show emotion, but now, in the privacy of his workshop, he felt almost light-headed with anticipation. He’d wanted to complete this ritual for so long: the creation of a flesh-golem, a homunculus, that would serve him without question. He’d hired mercenaries to procure corpses for him. The thugs had gone across the border to Light’s domain and found a merchant caravan. The unfortunate merchants and their guards had been slaughtered, their bodies dragged back to Frankenstein’s keep. And there, the alchemist had selected the most suitable corpse for his experiments. It had been augmented with pieces from other dragons, as well as traces of his own essence—components he’d been loath to give up, but necessary in binding the creature to his will. Once the homunculus was raised, he would be able to influence it with his thoughts, though its chief form would be derived from the corpse he’d raised it from: that of a great Guardian, one of the guards of the caravan. Another mercenary, perhaps—though she’d been no match for the ones Frankenstein had hired. Underneath the sallow scales of the corpse, its muscles were still strong, its bones unbroken. Its face was hidden beneath a hood, the jaws wired shut to prevent fluid from leaking out. Frankenstein had arranged the body in the middle of the room, where all the power of the ritual would converge. As the ritual progressed, the stink of the smoke grew thicker. The runes on the walls began glowing, pulsing in time with Frankenstein’s own heartbeat. He stood on a platform affixed to the wall, from which he could see most of the floor. He watched as the diagrams began glowing as well, faint light flowing along the lines, from the edges towards the center. Towards where the Guardian’s body lay. A shout of triumph escaped the alchemist’s jaws: the body was moving, moving! —slowly dragging itself upright, joints popping, wings rustling. As the Guardian corpse stood, it let out a groan. Smoke billowed around it as its sides heaved, as though the ghastly thing were still breathing. “Reveal yourself, Homunculus!” Frankenstein commanded. The vast, hooded head turned towards him, and he felt a shiver of unease... “No. I must stand firm. I am its master,” he told himself. Besides, wasn’t he well protected? He was far above the floor, and he’d even drawn more protective circles upon the platform. He watched as Homunculus jerkily lifted its talons, twitched away the shroud covering its face. In the hazy dimness, he could not clearly make out its features. It seemed as dull and unremarkable as a clod of mud. “Master?” it rasped. Even its voice sounded like mud: thick and slow, almost glutinous. “Yes,” Frankenstein growled, “I am your master.” The air was growing clearer, all the smoke getting drawn into the creature. But the light was dwindling, too. Frankenstein wondered if it was trying to intimidate him. He clenched his jaw and gestured to the floor. “Kneel,” he commanded. “Show subservience before your master.” The Guardian’s head was above him now, nearly brushing the ceiling hatch. Its throat vibrated as it uttered the words, “I kneel. I obey.” Its forelegs folded...and suddenly, Frankenstein glimpsed the glint in its eye. Alarm shot through him like a lightning bolt, and he held out a hand, trying to stop the creature— Too late. With the force of a sledgehammer, its lower jaw smashed against the platform he was standing on. The structure burst apart—and so did the protective sigils. Frankenstein thudded onto the lower floor, close to the creature’s feet. A great gust of wind snuffed out all the lamps. Laughter like a gale, harsh and savage, buffeted him against the workshop walls. The walls! The alchemist barked a command, and the edges of the stairs lit up: a faintly glowing spiral leading up to the ceiling hatch. He could subdue this accursed creature, but he had to get out of its reach first... Too late! He went sprawling as the beast’s talons hooked his legs. He looked down, and his heart hammered with terror when he saw that the bottom of the room was completely awash in darkness now. There! —was that the glint of a lamp or— —an eye. The dark mass surged up, covering his legs. He felt the thing creeping steadily upwards, intent on swallowing—no, erasing him completely. “I have to bind it.” Even before he thought the words, he was shrieking, spitting out spells of binding and containment. He thought he felt the creature slow. Were the spells working? “I must contain it!” It was rearing above him now, exuding clumps of its substance to form a bulbous head. He remembered its jaw smashing against the stones, breaking apart the protective sigils. And frantically, he gabbled the words. Frantically, he roared them, each alchemical syllable bouncing off the walls. The creature jerked and convulsed as if struck, and hope flared briefly, like a candle in a storm— And then it swamped him like a breaking wave. Snuffing out his light. He had failed to subdue it! He had failed... Days later—though it felt like years—the hatch to the workroom popped open. Frankenstein dragged himself out, slumping in the sunlight that poured in through the windows. Outwardly, he looked normal, if tired and bedraggled. But inside... The crackling, the hissing, like thousands of snakes burrowed into his skull, tunneling into his brains. It was always there; he felt its presence vibrating in his bones. His insides itched. But the worst thing was that voice. Just fragments, snatches of incoherent words and gibberish. But they were a constant reminder that even his innermost thoughts weren’t solely his anymore. And indeed, while Frankenstein lay, inert and exhausted, his shadow twisted and writhed. A pool of darkness, tethered to him. He had contained the foul Homunculus within himself. He struggled to stand. He was weak from his ordeal down in the darkness. He needed to eat, to drink... But rest would not come for him, not while the beast was bound to his flesh and shadow. Even as he shoveled food into his mouth, he felt its hunger burn even brighter. The food would be enough, but only for now. In time, the beast would be clamoring for more. In time, he would have to feed it again... And in time, he would grow too feeble, and Homunculus would devour him entirely. That was the way of creatures like these: They had to be bound with the most powerful strictures, lest they turn upon their creators. “But I bound this fiend, didn’t I?” Frankenstein rasped. He actually had to shout it; Homunculus’ morass of thoughts threatened to drown his voice. “It has been bound, so surely it can be destroyed!” The only answer he received was a wordless surge of rage. But Frankenstein remained resolute. He was an alchemist, after all, and they bent the rules to suit themselves. And indeed, what better reason to bend the rules than to save his own hide and soul? Cipher had not been seen outside the Cathedral of Eyes in recent memory. But it did not mean it was ignorant of what was happening beyond the walls. It was the Demon of Knowledge, after all. It sent its Council far and wide to locate and spy on anyone it might be interested in. They brought back news of a haunted alchemist and his most peculiar shadow... Even through the Councilors’ telling, Cipher could smell the reek of desperation that clung to the alchemist. It chuckled to itself and whispered further instructions to its servants. A whispered rumor here, a tantalizing tale there...breadcrumbs, leading the Wildclaw to the Cathedral’s doors. “Now, listen carefully, Sebastian.” The dark Imperial nodded stiffly. Cipher paused, allowing itself time to relish the moment. It seemed like only yesterday that it’d first heard of the unfortunate alchemist, though it had in truth been many years ago. He had, indeed, been worth watching, and Cipher didn’t doubt that his specialized skills would be of use to the Cathedral. It said as much to Sebastian, and the doorkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “You mentioned that he’s partially possessed by...some sort of creature.” “Well done, Sebastian. As sharp-eared as ever! Yes, the creature will be as useful as its host...perhaps even more.” And so when Frankenstein arrived at the Cathedral, Sebastian was ready for him. The alchemist looked more like a vagabond, gaunt and bedraggled, his face deeply lined with hardship. Normally, his haggard appearance—and the vile darkness that infused his shadow—would have been reason enough to turn him away. But the doorkeeper knew better than to slight Cipher, and after a suitably sharp once-over, he growled to the newcomer, “Your arrival was expected, alchemist. Enter, and keep your shadow close. The Demon of Knowledge awaits you.” Frankenstein was exhausted from the long journey, and from the effort of keeping Homunculus in check. He could do little but nod and stumble after Sebastian. The inside of the Cathedral normally awed those who saw it for the first time; so great was its splendor. But Frankenstein, who had been tormented for so long, could not find it in himself to appreciate the grandeur around him. Despite his best efforts to reverse the ritual, Homunculus remained inextricably linked with him: Thoughts flowed freely between the two minds, and they shared emotions and sensations. But such was Homunculus’ strength that Frankenstein often struggled to maintain control of his body. All too often, Homunculus had gotten the better of him, his mind subsumed beneath its mindless rage and hunger. Only when the hunger ebbed could he regain control, but Homunculus resented being reined in; it would take over Frankenstein’s body again and do him further injury. His pale hide, once pristine, was now marked with the scars of several such incidents. Just thinking of Homunculus was enough to rouse it. Frankenstein felt its vileness pressing against his mind. “Begone,” he thought furiously, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t afford to have an episode now, when he was so close to salvation... “Don’t dawdle, alchemist! It isn’t smart to test Cipher’s patience.” “Apologies for my slowness. The journey has been...fatiguing.” Frankenstein spoke civilly, quietly, but the way his shadow writhed against the walls didn’t escape Sebastian’s notice. The doorkeeper only nodded stiffly. He continued walking, and as he heard the click of the alchemist’s talons upon the floor behind him, he thought, “Cipher had better be sure of what he’s doing.” Cipher was indeed sure. When Frankenstein was shown into its presence, it remarked, “Ah, alchemist. You took your time getting here. Savoring the last leg of your journey, I presume?” “If that is what you wish to think,” Frankenstein answered. With satisfaction, the demon noted the terse smile, the way his jaw clenched tighter...and how the shadow he cast twisted, obviously itching to break loose. It gestured to some cushions where Frankenstein could recline, and it said to him, “Speak freely, but choose your words well. I have many matters to attend to, and my time is limited.” It wasn’t, but Frankenstein didn’t need to know that. A glint of desperation entered his eyes as he straightened up, launching into his litany of how he had botched his experiment and tethered Homunculus to himself. He had intended to bind the beast to the stones of his keep, he said, but panic had overwhelmed him. He hoped that Cipher’s infinite knowledge would help him, that he would be free of this torment at last. In return, he would be glad to offer his services— And Cipher cut him off: “Alchemist, you have talent, but why would I be even remotely interested in engaging the services of one who has bungled so badly?” The demon did not normally speak so sharply. It had found soft words, soothing promises, to be more effective. But Frankenstein was a special case. “‘Bungled’?” The word seemed to crackle out of the air. A vast shiver racked Frankenstein’s body, and his shadow billowed upwards, staining the golden walls. His orange eyes glowed as he growled through clenched teeth, “Demon...it was...an isolated incident. I assure you...I will not fail...again.” Cipher didn’t say anything. It didn’t need to. It scoffed instead, infusing all its disdain into that single wordless noise— The effect on Frankenstein was electric. His eyes bulged, and another shiver surged through his body. This time, it didn’t subside. Even as his knees buckled, his form distorted, just as his shadow was doing. It was peeling off the wall, sliding over his gleaming scales...taking over him. And Homunculus stood in his place instead. Colossal, imposing, its grotesque, malformed mass seeming almost blasphemous against the Cathedral’s splendor. A twisted tongue probed through rows of sharp teeth, eyes gleaming as it focused on Cipher. The demon felt all its rage finally bursting loose, all the hunger burning inside it. Many had faced Homunculus before, and many more had fled. All, inevitably, had fallen before it. But the golden Spiral simply smiled. Homunculus bellowed, but Cipher’s laugh was more piercing still. The demon’s claws traced loops in the air, the whip-like cracking of its tail punctuating each gesture. With each loop, each snap, rings of golden light appeared, drawing tighter and tighter around the creature. Binding it...restraining it. The light bit deeply into Homunculus’ substance, and though it struggled and bellowed, it was no match for Cipher’s magic. Its darkness receded, flattening once again into a shadow—and Frankenstein reemerged, gasping like a swimmer who’d narrowly escaped drowning. “You...controlled it!” “Of course. A small and easy thing, the subjugation of a corporeal creature. The beast remains, but you will find that those golden rings will help to contain it more easily and painlessly.” “For so many years, I’ve struggled...” Frankenstein trailed off into a wordless groan of memory. He shivered, and for a moment it seemed as though he would go under again...but instead, he straightened up. His teeth were bared in a wild-eyed grimace, the closest approximation to a smile. “I cannot thank you enough!” “Oh, but I’m sure you can!” Suddenly the demon was all warmth and smiles. “Before we were interrupted, you were saying something about offering your services, yes?” Other beings might have been suspicious of Cipher’s sudden shift in personality. But Frankenstein was awash in gratitude and relief: Here, at last, was the solution he’d sought for so long! The Demon of Knowledge had indeed granted him a reprieve, and so he said— “Yes. My knowledge and skills are yours, for as long as you require them.” Cipher beamed. It didn’t doubt that the alchemist would have questions later. People always asked questions later...or more accurately, they always asked questions too late. Questions such as, “How do these magical restraints work?” or “How long will they last against Homunculus?” or “Will my body and soul be truly safe from destruction?” Yes, there would be time enough for questions—but by then, Frankenstein would be disinclined to examine the answers too closely. He would be wholly under Cipher’s influence...and so would his creature. Cipher extended a paw, a gleaming contract spooling into existence from his talons. A moment later, he had claimed control of the wayward alchemist: body, shadow, and soul. “Welcome to the Cathedral of Eyes, Frankenstein. We are delighted to have you with us.” “You are too kind.” Frankenstein’s voice was a distant murmur; already it had acquired that echo characteristic of Cipher’s Councilors. “What must I do now?” “Make yourself presentable, then return to me. There are some sorcerous devices I would have you construct. We shall discuss their retrieval and restoration.” Frankenstein nodded, and he moved away, his talons click-clicking on the floor. His shadow as always, stayed with him—smaller now, but still very much in chaotic motion, awaiting its next taste of freedom. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) all edits by other users |
I N V E N T O R Y
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