Ereshkigal
(#22497674)
Dust to dust. . . | they/them
Familiar
Tengu Caller
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Female Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
25.21 m
Wingspan
19.48 m
Weight
7515.71 kg
Genetics
Black
Clown
Clown
Black
Butterfly
Butterfly
Platinum
Underbelly
Underbelly
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
 ERESHKIGAL♫
FOUNDER OF THE LIBRARY
╭━━━━━━━━╮
I N F O Gender: None Pronouns: They/Them Mate: None ╰━━━━━━━━╯
╭━━━━━━━━╮
R E L A T I O N S . .. ╰━━━━━━━━╯ |
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮
"Earth to Earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ The tunnels are dark, lit only by candles that cast eerie shadows onto the stone walls. Small towers of solidified wax pile from the floor and the gentle tapping of a dragon's claws against the worn tiles echoes through the corridor. Ereshkigal appear as a shadow waltzing through the dark underground passage. They hum softly as they walk, a myriad of tattered fabric swirling around them. Their workshop is a small and dimly lit room that branches from the underground tunnels. It smells faintly of rot and strongly of formaldehyde. The graveyard was among the largest in Dragonhome, covering several acres. It was also ancient, and while the clans that owned it still existed, it was largely quiet and still. Visitors came and went, mourners and historians and thrill-seekers, but the graveyard’s only permanent residents were its groundskeepers. There had never been many of them, for graveyards are normally orderly places, and the dead don’t have many demands. Nowadays it was just the Imperial, Priam, and his daughter, Ereshkigal. Other dragons might have balked at raising a child in a graveyard, but Priam’s family had lived here for generations, his ancestors having been the first groundskeepers. He took pride in his work, and under his care, the graveyard did not deteriorate into a wasteland of crumbling tombstones. It was instead a vast, quiet meadow, each grave tended with care. And Ereshkigal, Priam’s only surviving child, inherited his gentle demeanor. She was happy in the graveyard, eager to help her father with his tasks. Someday, he told her, she would be the next groundskeeper—and from him, too, she learned the importance of honoring the dead. Their life was a peaceful one: At dawn each day, they breakfasted together before beginning their work. They first tended the memorials to their own kin: Priam’s long-dead mate, siblings who’d died young, grandparents and other ancestors. They swept away fallen leaves and trimmed the grass around the statues, and they used their Earth magic to mend the cracks in the stones. As the sun rose higher, father and daughter ranged across the graveyard, performing the same services for the graves that needed tending. It was not especially difficult: The graveyard was so well kept that most of the plots were in good condition, and they needed to give special care to only a handful each day. Ereshkigal worked as meticulously as her father did. But Priam was not unreasonable, and he always cautioned her against working too hard. “...Especially when it is close to sundown. You must finish your work before then, little one, and be home before full dark.” “Why, Father?” Ereshkigal had first asked this question as a tiny hatchling. “Are there bad things here?” Priam’s face had softened. “No more than in other parts of the world, but it’s always best to be careful.” When she was older, however, Ereshkigal learned the actual reason. By day, the graveyard was serene, but after sundown, it seemed like an entirely different place. The young Imperial grew accustomed to the feeling of being watched, to hearing faint voices on the wind. On certain nights, when the air was heavy with magic, she sometimes glimpsed wisps of light in the distance, dancing above the headstones. “It is best not to stay out after dark,” Priam reminded her, “for this is when the spirits of the dead may roam.” Ereshkigal nodded in understanding. She looked out the cottage window at those faint wisps of light. But though she thought them beautiful, she did not feel the urge to investigate further. The dead demanded respect, she knew—and they did not always look kindly upon the living. As the years passed, Ereshkigal began to take on more of the work, for Priam was slowing down with age. They always finished well before sundown, but it took them longer to return home. Priam always fretted about this. Ereshkigal, however, remained stolid and calm, seemingly unconcerned about the darkness closing in on them. “It’s not far now, Father. We’ll be home soon.” “Yes, of course.” Priam sighed and jiggled the lantern he was holding. “Ach, I can barely see with this. I’d better...” He trailed off. His ears swiveled, and Ereshkigal turned in the same direction as he growled, “Is someone there?” They saw a dim, soft glow inside one of the mausoleums. Ereshkigal’s eyes narrowed. “Intruders?” “Possibly.” Suddenly Priam didn’t seem so old and tired anymore. He stood straighter, his face stern. Ereshkigal followed him, equally tense, towards the building. What would they find inside? Ghost hunters? Lost travelers? Vicious grave robbers? “A...candle?” The groundskeepers peered through the window. They could see a little wax stub upon the bier, still burning brightly. “How strange,” Erehskigal breathed. Beside her, Priam nodded thoughtfully. “Yes...and the door’s still locked, too.” His voice was very soft, and he spoke as if he were drowsy. He uncurled a talon to point at the lock. As Ereshkigal’s eyes fell upon it, it opened with a heavy click. And the door opened ever so slowly. Ereshkigal stepped through. Her form blocked the light from the candle, and Priam blinked back to full wakefulness. “Ere, wait. Something’s not—” The shadows in the room flickered as though a gust had struck the flame. But the air was utterly still. An icy chill broke out over Priam’s body as he saw the shadows shift and twist and flow... Covering Ereshkigal. Smothering her in unholy, ravenous darkness. The candlelight winked out, and so did Priam’s lantern. The door slammed shut before him. “Ere!” he cried out. He struggled with the handle, but the door remained firmly shut. “Ere, no...Answer me! Ere!” He began battering the door, trying to break it down. The entire time, he was yelling Ereshkigal’s name, begging her to answer. But it was quiet. So terribly quiet... “Ah!” He gasped as the door gave way at last. Ereshkigal staggered out, mane disheveled, eyes wide and staring. Of the infernal shadow, there was no sign. Priam cried out his daughter’s name again, in relief this time, and clasped her close. “F...Father...” Ereshkigal’s wings heaved. She fought back a sob, her claws digging into Priam’s arms. “Father, there was something in there...!” “Quickly, we must go!” Priam extended a protective wing around her and began half-dragging her away. “Before it—” He felt the deathly-cold chill again. But this time, it didn’t recede. It pierced Priam’s chest like a knife, and he gasped, doubling over, desperately trying to draw breath. His claws convulsed; his tail twisted spasmodically. He landed heavily upon the grass as his legs gave way beneath him. “Father!” Ereshkigal reached out to him. Her own legs were trembling violently, but she still tried to pull him to his feet. “Please, let’s go! We mustn’t...” But even as she spoke, Priam’s struggles lessened, his throat fluttering as he struggled to breathe. And to Ereshkigal’s horror, she saw— Priam was there...but also not there. Above his prone form, a faint luminosity was appearing. Ereshkigal’s stomach wrenched within her as she understood what she was looking at. Her father’s spirit... But it was not soaring away, as she’d always thought it would. It was instead unraveling, flowing into her. She tried to twist away, keening in anguish—but something forced her to stay in place. She felt it hold her limbs steady, its shattered thoughts roiling in her mind like a maelstrom. And worst of all, she felt it consume her father’s life-force as he lay dying before her. “Not...your...fault,” he whispered as the light left his eyes. “Ere...My...little one...” He fell silent. And Ereshkigal knew that she would never hear his voice again. A cracked wail burst from the young Imperial’s throat. She screamed for her father over and over again. Despite her tremendous grief, however, she couldn’t bring herself to lay her hands upon his body. Because she understood that that was how she had killed him. Ereshkigal didn’t know the name of the wraith that now inhabited her. She didn’t know if it had even been a dragon to begin with. Its consciousness had shattered long ago, destroyed by the hunger that drove it to siphon out others’ souls. And now it was a part of her. She stumbled back to the cottage. Now that the wraith had fed, she was largely in control of herself. She almost wished she wasn’t; the grief and guilt nearly destroyed her. Perhaps it would be best if she let them... “No!” she roared back, in the silence of her mind. Her poor father, who had given her everything, deserved better than that! She choked back tears as she looked at the shovels in the corner. “It was always meant to come to this. Years later, he would have gone, and I still would have had to do this...” “But not like this!” another part of her wailed back. “Never like this...!” What she had expected, however, was worthless against what had already happened. That had to be attended to, regardless of how deeply her grief wounded her. Ereshkigal swathed herself in cloth, covering as much of her hide as she could. She knew it would make no difference—her father was already dead, after all. But still, knowing that a touch of her hand had killed him... She did not think too deeply about digging his grave, did not concentrate on the spells to turn his body to stone. She had memorized the words long ago, and she spoke them almost robotically. With a soft soughing noise, Priam’s scales dulled. Dust drifted from the body as he crumbled from within. Soon he would be whisked away by the wind. Ereshkigal shut her eyes. She allowed herself some comfort: Perhaps a part of his soul would fly to the gods, after all. But she could not stay here. Sooner or later, others would come to the graveyard....They would all be in danger from her. She couldn’t risk the wraith consuming anyone again. She cleaned up the cottage, packing up what supplies she needed, and left a written account for the next passerby to find. A mourner, a ghost hunter, even a grave robber... It didn’t matter who they were. She only hoped that they would be more fortunate than she’d been. In a very real sense, Ereshkigal, the gravekeeper’s daughter, died on the same night her father did. In her place was this strange, composite entity: a gaunt and somber dragon, and the dark-hearted wraith. Two different beings, their substances inextricably intertwined. They traveled far, and no matter how exhausted they became, they drove themselves to keep going. To the edge of the world—and beyond if need be—searching, endlessly searching... They thought it was a mountain at first: rough and jagged peaks piercing the turbulent gray sky. But as they stumbled closer, they saw that it was a towering cathedral. “Someone lives here,” Ereshkigal thought wearily. “We should go...” But they had been traveling, in the cold and the dark and the wilderness, for such a long time. And though the cathedral was a far cry from the humble groundskeepers’ cottage, something about it reminded Ereshkigal of home. Perhaps it was the gray stone walls, the lights flickering in the windows, or the serenity that surrounded the edifice. It seemed not merely timeless, but invincible. As though they would be safe if they were within its walls. They found themselves drawn closer. There was warmth on the other side of the doors; they could almost feel it. They yearned so badly to be warm again.... The last thing they remembered clearly was pressing their cheek against the doors. The roughness of the wood, the promise of warmth just beyond. And then... Darkness, soft against the eyelids. The sensation of movement. And then voices, many of them, all murmuring together. They sounded almost like a flowing stream—but one voice stood out from the rest. It was clear and bright, like a sunbeam, and it spoke a single word. “Welcome.” Suddenly, Ereshkigal was awake and alert again. They sat up—and found their eyes watering; so brilliant was the room that surrounded them. And its occupant! A Spiral coiled atop a plinth, its scales even brighter than the gold-leafed walls. It seemed almost like a statue until the great eyes blinked, and the corners of its mouth twitched up in a smile. But Ereshkigal cringed back. They fidgeted with their clothing, making sure they were completely covered, and stammered, “W-We’re sorry. We shouldn’t be here...Oh, gods, we’ve made a dreadful mistake—” “Calm down, stranger, no one will hurt you,” the Spiral soothed them. It reached out and pressed a paw against the Imperial’s finger. Ereshkigal froze. They stared in horror, a scream caught in their throat. Any second now, it would happen again. They saw the anguish spread across Priam’s face, his entire body trembling in agony upon the grass. And his poor, doomed soul fraying apart, destroyed to feed the foul wraith’s hunger... But there was no screaming. There was no pain. The Spiral remained calm and composed. Its head tilted quizzically. “You’re worried about the wraith that’s possessed you, I see.” Ereshkigal croaked out, “H...How...?” “Oh, I’m not actually a dragon. My name is Cipher, and I am a demon.” The Spiral grinned, showing two rows of small, neat teeth. Alarm shot through Ereshkigal again. A demon! Surely that was worse than any wraith! They had to flee... But Cipher’s smile didn’t waver, and its paw remained resting gently against Ereshkigal’s finger. They looked down at it. It was tiny, barely even visible against the dark scales. But the warmth of it, the touch of another living being! They hadn’t felt such warmth in a long time. Not since their father’s final embrace.... A vast shudder racked Ereshkigal’s body, and they broke down in tears. The words spilled out: memories of their time in the graveyard, the loving guidance of their father...and the dreadful spirit, their search for a new home. Not so that they would be safe, but so that others would be safe from them. They were not sure how long they spoke. It could only have been minutes. It felt like hours. At the end of their tale, they slumped, exhausted, their face still streaked with tears. Cipher tutted softly to itself and patted Ereshkigal’s paw again. “Such a noble soul,” he murmured. “Your father would be proud.” The memory of their father made Ereshkigal sob again. They wiped away their tears—and they did not see the grin that flashed, as sharp and bright as lightning, across the demon’s face. When they looked up, Cipher was somber and understanding once more. “If you are searching for a home, we can offer you one. This cathedral has many halls, and we can set aside some for your use.” “We couldn’t possibly...Ah, that is...” Ereshkigal swallowed. “We have nothing left. We’d have no way to repay you.” “That’s a reasonable concern. Let me ponder a moment.” Cipher tucked one paw under its chin, eyes half-closed, for a few seconds. “Can you read and write? Did your father bother to teach you?” “Of course he did,” Ereshkigal said. They felt defensive; why did the demon have to phrase it that way? Especially when the memory of their father stirred up their grief anew...made them dread heading back out into the cold and lonely world... Cipher’s fingers, cupped around its chin, hid its sly and knowing smile. “And he would not have wanted you to be homeless...hungry...and afraid...” As the demon spoke, it slowly uncoiled, its claws tracing night-dark runes in the air. A section of the golden walls flowed away like butter, revealing a tunnel beyond. Ereshkigal followed Cipher inside. The radiance of the golden room soon receded to a mere pinprick behind them, but they were not entirely in darkness: Light emanated from the tunnel walls, and Ereshkigal, looking closer, saw that it was coming from eyes carved into the stone, each one emitting a pale glow. “Welcome to the Cathedral’s library,” Cipher purred. As the tunnels brightened, Ereshkigal saw more doorways leading into nebulous gloom: galleries and corridors, workshops and scriptoriums and reading rooms, and hundreds of shelves in between. But there were not many books upon the shelves. Cipher sighed at this, saying, “I have sent out servants, time and again, to gather stories from all over the land. But they aren’t true scholars. They lack the meticulous dedication that such a task requires. “But you, Ereshkigal, have it!” And the Spiral beamed again. “And another talent besides...You are able to hear and speak with the departed now, correct?” Ereshkigal shivered. “That’s true. B-but we can’t...” “Oh, you would not be using it to hurt anyone, I assure you! It is the hearing and listening parts I’m more interested in. You see,” Cipher continued, “I wish to know the stories of the dead. So many beings have come and gone...Extraordinary lives, every single one! It would be a waste if their tales were forgotten...if there were nothing left to remember them by...” Ereshkigal recoiled at first. But as the demon droned on, they found themselves understanding—even sympathizing. They remembered tending the plots in the graveyard so that the names wouldn’t fade away...helping the dead receive the dignity that even they deserved... They remembered their father’s lessons, and for the first time since his death, Ereshkigal felt a faint surge of pride. They would not be a gravekeeper, but perhaps they could still honor the dead—and continue their family’s legacy in a different way. Perhaps, too, the dreadful powers that the wraith had granted them could somehow be put to good use.... They didn’t notice that Cipher had fallen silent. But of course—the demon didn’t need to say more. It could tell by the look in Ereshkigal’s eyes that it already had them. “Shall I give you time to think it over?” Cipher asked, its voice oozing solicitousness. “You may rest in this room for a while. Let me know when...” And it barely concealed a titter. “...you’ve made your choice.” It could keep up the charade a little longer, even enjoy the effort. In time, Ereshkigal would see the rot beneath the glittering gold, would learn where the dead really came from. But by then, it would be too late. The grip of a demon is absolute, and nothing—no dragon or wraith—can escape it. The Cathedral of Eyes had found its librarian at last. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) all edits by other users
Layout by Kintsy
|
I N V E N T O R Y
|
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Feed this dragon Insects.
Feed this dragon Meat.
Feed this dragon Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Ereshkigal to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.