Ilesvia » Lair » Yaren

Yaren

(#20836891)

Level 25 Imperial

Familiar

Ghostly Rat Lord

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

24.96 m

Wingspan

18.65 m

Weight

8801.71 kg

Genetics

Beige
Iridescent

Blood
Shimmer

Blood
Underbelly

Hatchday

Feb 06, 2016
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Plague
Common

Level 25 Imperial

Max Level

STR

129

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Yaren ______________

If you're strong, you survive. If you're weak, you die. If you win, you gain something. If you lose, you lose everything.

Bloody. Ruthless. Savage.

These are some words that many would use to describe Yaren. Ironically, those are some of the last words that her clanmates would use to define her. Despite her title as the Blood Queen, Yaren is fiercely loyal to those whom she cares for, especially Ett. Brave and daring, she will do anything she can to achieve something, including protecting her clanmates. Her relentless determination is admiring, and she is able to focus completely on an objective until it has been achieved, not letting anything distract her.

This doesn't mean she's blindly loyal to one thing or dragon, though. Yaren is very slow to trust, carefully watching and observing a dragon until she reaches the decision to either protect them with her life, or to let them die. Tricksters and spies will find themselves seemingly winning her favour one second, only to be slain without mercy the next. Yaren doesn't tolerate any encroachment on her authority, no matter who the dragon might be. Her title. Her throne. She built her clan up with her own claws, and she's not interested on passing her mantle on any time soon.

Yaren is brutally honest. She doesn't like being lied to, so she refuses to lie as well. She doesn't see the point in deception, anyway. It just made things more complicated, and Yaren dislikes things that she can't understand. Her mindset is simple: survive. It's what every Plagueling is taught the moment they fight their way out of their shell. The Scared Wasteland has no space for weaklings, so survive, or die.

This lesson is ingrained deeply into Yaren's being. Abused both emotionally and physically as a young child, it was the Plaguebringer's call that saved her from herself. Thus, to Yaren, being devout to the Plaguebringer ideology isn't so much as a task but a way of life, or religion. She is abrasive to those she finds weak, not bothering to hide her cruelty when she is around them, because she knows they can't fight back anyway. Just like she once couldn't. Her cold, unfriendly demeanor is like a barbed creature, pushing everyone away. It's hard to warm up to her. Yaren is an endless winter, her heart filled with ice and snow. There is no fire that can warm her but that of your own.

But despite all her good points, it's not necessarily untrue, what other dragons call her. Yaren is called the Blood Queen for a reason. She's merciless, ruthless, aggressive and quick to attack. On the battlefield, she's a menace, her fiendish and brutal fighting skills taking out everything around her with violent efficiency. Once her bloodlust rises, it's impossible for her to stop killing. She goes on a rampage, slaughtering all that is in her way and gaining perverse joy from it. To her, it's almost as if she is fighting for all the times she couldn't fight back when she was younger. So she kills, because it makes her feel alive, because it makes her feel like she has a worth again.

Her delusions only make it worse, flashes and fragments of memories that drive her insane. She never claims to remember what happens during her mad fits, but perhaps it's less that she doesn't, and more that she wishes not to. Her childhood remains a shadow at the back of her mind, eclipsing her every action and sending shivers up her spine. They can't hurt me anymore, she reminds herself, day after day. But that's not true. They can still hurt her, with the shattered emotions embedded in her heart.

Yaren isn't the sharpest tool in the shack. Or the sharpest knife on the rack. The only things that are sharp about her are her attitude and claws, and to be fair, that's enough. There hasn't yet been a situation that Yaren couldn't muscle through by force or by hitting someone over the head. She might be illiterate, but who needs to learn how to read, really? Books are useful as kindling, and nothing more. You can burn one before her and she wouldn't even blink. Unless those books belong to Ett. Then you'll be getting an abrupt trip to the deity of your choice.

Her childhood memory is foggy, like the air at first snow
She doesn't want to remember, and she wished she didn't know
But the nightmares come every so often, first searing, then cold.
Telling her the tales of her past, of the stories of the old.

She was born to two parents powerful
But with no care for their own
She and her siblings were nothing but fodder
To be exalted or sold
Some of them managed to find their way
To the embrace of the Plaguemother
The others, like Yaren, ran away
To fend for themselves in the Scarred Wasteland.

She cared for no one but herself
Refused to ask or look for help.
Praying to the deities was a pointless thing
She believed in only her claws and wings.
As a young adult, she learned to survive
For in the Scarred Wasteland it's to do or die.
If something came, she was to fight not flight
To defend herself with herself, to protect life with life.

But still, it was not enough
Her determination was nothing but a bluff
She was weak, that was true,
And with that there was naught she could do
She stole, she defended, she hid in the gloom.
Until all across her scales wounds and diseases bloom.

Fate is cruel, poor child, and that was yet to be the end
Because soon came a Ridgeback to her defense
He took her in, fed her well, kept her safe from harm.
Gently washed out her wounds and healed the scales marred.

Raegor was the Ridgeback's name
The leader of a strong Plague clan.
Ruthless, brutal, deceptively kind
He remained day after day on Yaren's mind.

"Is this love?" She asked herself. "He took care of me.
"He cared for me, and thus love this must be."
But love was never Raegor's priority
His true motives were much more sinister than she could've believed.

Abuse. Control. Those were Raegor's tools.
From her he asked for more and more.
Service. Life. He forced her to take him as a mate
Sealing any destroying any hopes for a brighter fate.

Three children she borne him, three ridgebacks strong
Yet she abandoned them because, no, this was all wrong.
She wanted to love them, yet they looked so much like her jailor
And every glimpse of them reminded her that she was a failure.

She wished to care for them, had no idea how
She was stronger, yes, but to Raegor she still bowed.
Mind twisted, heart fractured and in pain
She could give her children nothing but their names.

After all, she was a shadow in the clan no one cared for
And so she was trapped within the clutches of her imprisonor.
Dared not to raise a claw against him, against her mate, against Raegor,
Her mind was bent to his needs, his will, his favour.

But this control he had over Yaren would soon break
To the death of one of her children she did wake
Horrified, shocked beyond grief
She stumbled across the lair, to him she decided to meet.
He laughed at her, called her weak
Not realising her fury made her no longer meek.
She launched herself at him, a crimson reaper in the air
And he only had a moment to look up in fear.

She was brutal, and he was surprised
She ripped him apart slowly until he died.
His body, mangled, strewn across the clan
Paid tribute to the rise of the new Yaren.

For once, she felt a sense of control
Over her life, she realised she could rule
The blood dripping down her claws made it known
She was no longer a child, a weakling, a fool.

Her first taste of blood, and she loved it so
She had to kill, she must sense it more
To test her limits, to see how she could go
To shatter all the labels about herself she'd been told.

The bloody brute, they called her.
Her clanmates leaned away in fear.
To call her names and look in disgust
Were the only things that they dared.
They watched her gain power, gain control
Become strong, gain the power to rule
But still she felt unsatisfied.
What was she living for, how long until she died?

On a journey she did embark
To find her future, if anyone, anything, to her could impart
The shadow of her childhood had left its mark
She knew not that it hounded her even at her depart.

She killed all in her way, everything she saw must go
Until she came upon a Fae ringed in by a circle
A slave, bought by dragons, on the brink of death
By the time Yaren arrived, she was already on her last breath.
Yaren slew the Fae's masters - she cared not for their gold
She meant to slay the Fae, so from this pain she could go
But something stopped her - the Fae's eyes were aglow
With the same pain and shadows she saw in her own.

Her name was Ett, and with her, Yaren was no longer alone
She picked the Fae up and carried her on the journey to find home
Or, if not home, a reason to live
A reason to fight, to eat, to survive, to roam.
And for that, she travelled to the great Wyrmwound.

On the way, Ett told her stories of events unheard
Told her of the deities, the kitsunes, the firebird.
She could see the future, she told Yaren so
At the cost of making her body vulnerable.
And Yaren, just a little, enjoyed her voice
The sense that she was not alone, in that she rejoiced.
It was always better, if you had a friend
One that would accompany you to any end.

Finally, at the Wyrmwound they arrived
It was notable for nothing but its lack of life
No voice, no light, nothing to show Yaren a way
Nothing but the bloodred light of the day.

Yaren went still, and did not know
What was her purpose, and where she should now go.
Before she could decided, a cry went up from out of the blue
From the clans that want Ett back, if only to send her to death's gloom.

Yaren could not fight against so many, but still she tried
Until she was knocked down for the last time
As her life ebbed away, she looked to the side
Saw that boiling mass of disease and slime.
It survived, she realised. It evolved and survived
That was the Wyrmwound's lesson: simply to not die

To be the strong and not the meek
And as she stared, she heard a voice that might've been her deity
Faint but firm it asked:
Are you weak?
And with a roar and a scream, Yaren lunged to her feet
No longer a helpless maiden, but a Blood Queen

She fought like a monster, welcomed every single blow
Saw pain as a friend and not a foe
Every dragon she saw, she took down with a roar
Innocent, guilty, all died; were laid low.

Only Ett, she left alive; it was the Fae who had shown her the way
She picked the small dragon up, placed Ett on her back
And the two journeyed across the cemetery of those who dared to attack.
A purpose, Yaren now had in her claws
She was queen, she laid down the laws.

Every clan she saw, she brought down to the ground
Fought like a monster, hunted like a hound.
Finally, she found a place to raise a clan
To groom to the Plaguebringer's ideals, to claim the land
She now had a purpose, a reason to live
She'd learned her lessons, she'd learned from her experience.
To live was to suffer. To survive was to live.
And that was the reason for her existence.

§ Bio and Coding by MythicalViper (#167480)

§ Bio Assets by PoisonedPaper, Mibella, Hazelpoppy, Osiem, and TeenyTinyDragon

Art by: Sane

Art by: Uno

Art by: slayerk1d

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Exalting Yaren to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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