Marsious
(#31880940)
Level 1 Spiral
Familiar
Harlequin Stagwing
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Spiral
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3 m
Wingspan
2.76 m
Weight
61.45 kg
Genetics
Nightshade
Vipera
Vipera
Eldritch
Stripes
Stripes
Garnet
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Spiral
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
༻ M A R S I O U S ༺
  
male | he | him
O C C U P A T I O N - Dollmaker's Assistant F A M I L Y - None N I C K N A M E - Mar A R T - None T H E M E - Lament M A T E - None ྿
|
"Why am I? Why did it happen?
What did I do wrong?"
⚔ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There was nothing for Marsious from the very beginning. There might’ve been a loving family, but he’d never known them; his first clear memory was of lying on a bed of moldy blankets within a cage. Shadows moved beyond, offering no comfort. It was a bleak preview of what lay ahead. Slavers had taken him from his home. They made no secret about what they were, and they preyed on Marsious—beating the free will out of the little boy, conditioning him to obey commands. They slowly stripped away any fire or spirit he might’ve had till he was docile, never talking or striking back, always ready to obey. By then, Marsious was in his teens, and the slavers examined him carefully. His skin was sprinkled with bruises and scars—“But they don’t show up much,” one of the slavers muttered. His companion tittered unpleasantly. “Doesn’t matter. Some of ‘em like it that way,” she sneered. They dressed Marsious in a clean set of clothes. His hair was brushed and his nails neatly trimmed. He cheered up a bit at this, particularly when they sold him to a rich family later on. He was away from that wretched hellhole now—not free, but he was headed somewhere different; maybe things would start looking up! He was very sadly mistaken. His new owners were nobles—not in blood, and certainly not in character, for they were cruel and vicious. They owned scores of scurrying servants whose ranks Marsious joined. He soon learned that he had been purchased to replace a servant who’d died. The official story was that the man had been trampled by a spooked qiriq, but there were whispers that he’d been killed in one of the nobles’ depraved games. “Is that right?” Marsious murmured to himself. “Surely it’s an isolated incident....” But no, it wasn’t. As the days passed, he started to see evidence of the nobles’ brutality. Cuts and bruises. Tears and weeping in the darkness. Servants disappeared for days at a time, only to return with terrible injuries. They were always close-mouthed about how they’d gotten these, their eyes evincing only fear. Worse still were those who never returned at all, whom the nobles refused to answer any questions about. “Everything is fine,” they purred, their eyes glittering coldly, “so you shouldn’t worry about them. Best not to ask any questions...” —or you’ll be next. That was the unspoken threat, one they were very capable of carrying out. The servants hunched down further and continued their toil, fearful of the day they attracted their masters’ unwelcome attention. “I have to get out of here,” Marsious thought with a chill. He had never had that thought before—the slavers had trained him to reject any ideas of escape. But they had only treated him roughly, for he had been a product, and they’d been careful not to damage him in case that repelled prospective buyers. Now that he had been bought, though, he was property—and his masters could do with him as they pleased. They could treat him as horrendously as they liked, and if he died, so what? There were more like him, ready to be bought and played with. He had only been in the villa for a few weeks, but he already started planning his escape. The servants had been tasked with beautifying everything and cooking vast quantities of food. Marsious soon he learned what they were preparing for: “Lyandra!” boomed the tyrant who owned the lair. A rare smile lit his ruddy face. “My only daughter will soon be home!” It was a marked contrast to how the servants reacted. “Lyandra,” they whispered among themselves, their faces blanching with fear. A few of them muttered defiantly, “Oleandra.” Marsious watched the fire of hatred creep into her eyes. “A poisonous flower, that one,” muttered the old drudge who managed the kitchens. “That’s why some of us gave her that name. Oh, she knows of it, right enough—maybe even approves of it.” She sneered. “It’s probably the only thing about us she approves of.” She reached up a gnarled hand, drew her headscarf away from her face. “Look at this,” she spat. She pointed to her left cheek, which sported a shiny burn scar. “Got this from her two years ago. She was but a young lass...but she already had fangs then, let me tell you! She wandered into the kitchen at night, demanding something to eat. She screamed at me as I prepared soup for her, said she didn’t want it. Then she pushed me.” The old woman bared her teeth in a snarl. “I fell onto the soup pot, and this is the result. Mark me, she’s lovely, but what a dangerous bloom....Plenty of people who’ve been ensnared by her. Best to have naught to do with that witch.” That “poisonous flower” was taking a respite from her studies, coming home for a vacation. Her relatives were throwing a party to celebrate her return. It would be an enormous event, with many guests invited. Marsious planned to slip out at the height of the festivities. He could escape into the night and go somewhere...anywhere. Away from the hell he’d been sold to. But as it turned out, he didn’t even set foot beyond the villa. In midmorning, while the sky was still softly touched with gold, she arrived from the south. She descended from her carriage, her pale dress rustling around her. Flowers crowned her wealth of shining silver hair. She looked up at the villa, and Marsious saw only her rosy lips, the blush upon her cheeks, and the deep green of her eyes. He did not see the coldness within them; he forgot the kitchen drudge’s cautionary words. That day, he slipped into a slavery even more profound and dangerous than the one he’d been sold into. He fell in love with a monster. ~ ~ ~ He refused to call her “Oleandra”. It denoted poison, insidiousness. He couldn’t believe that; surely someone so lovely and refined would have some goodness within her! From that day, Marsious’ mind was bereft of thoughts of escape. He worked hard in the villa, hoping to be recognized and favored by the tyrant’s daughter. “Another one, fallen prey to her spell,” the servants sighed to themselves. They watched pityingly as Marsious fell all over himself to please his merciless mistress. From time to time, they would comment— “I heard her mother was a siren.” “It would explain how easily she catches them....” “Still, she’s her father’s daughter through and through,” they concluded at last. “A tyrant—just as he is.” It did not take Oleandra long to see that Marsious was besotted with her. She did not reject this. Rather, she seemed flattered—and she used this to her advantage. She would charm him closer, enjoying his expression of helpless infatuation. She giggled at how he hung on to her every word, how he blushed and wrung his hands. She strung him along with her tinkling laugh and large green eyes—and then when she grew bored, the dragon within her burst loose. Her laughter would turn into torrents of abuse, and she would demean Marsious, telling him how pathetic he was, that he would never amount to anything. Poor Marsious always fled from her. He retreated to the servants’ quarters, trembling and teary-eyed. Yet he never stayed long. He always found himself crawling back to his flower, and she would once again be smiling, laughing, and purring to him—until the next explosion, when she unsheathed her claws again. He remained her helpless slave, even when she slapped him for the slightest offense, real or imagined, even when she pushed him, sending him sprawling down a flight of stairs. “Give up,” the servants told him. “You’re just a plaything, a toy she’ll soon get tired of!” They tended to Marsious’ wounds, but he had shut them out now; he was thinking how he could win Oleandra’s favor. Was she growing tired of him? Maybe she was; he wasn’t any different from other servants. He had to stand out—do something no other servant could do for her! The servants’ words seeped into his mind: “A plaything...a toy...” Yes, that was it. He would get her a toy, something to play with! It needed to be something spectacular, something truly amazing....He couldn’t afford to waste his meager funds on trifles; no, he’d save it all up, then get something as beautiful as his beloved flower. Maybe then...she would stop... ~ ~ ~ The years passed. Oleandra grew in stature and beauty until she was utterly radiant—but also more malicious, more unforgiving, until she was feared even above her vicious father. Yet Marsious remained devoted to her. He was now trusted enough so that he was occasionally allowed to leave the villa. He could have escaped....Yet he always found himself crawling back to her. He was nearly grown. He had by then amassed enough money (so he thought) to purchase a gift for his beloved. And he thought he knew what to get for her.... A dollmaker had recently arrived in the nearby town. He hadn’t been here long, but already word was spreading: He crafted the most fantastic dolls with the loveliest clothes and accoutrements. Marsious had hovered outside the wondrous shop from time to time. Rows of beautiful dolls had peered from inside, their painted smiles welcoming, shining hair and clothes beckoning. “Any of those dolls would be a valuable prize!” He was counting his savings feverishly, wondering if he could afford one....He decided to try his luck; maybe he could get a doll for a good price or render services in exchange....On his next trip to town, he sought out the dollmaker. The man’s shop was tucked in one of the alleys on the edge of town, a large wooden cart with small stained glass windows. They glowed as Marsious crept timidly forward. Was the shop closed? “Pardon me. Are you looking for something?” He flinched sharply even as he turned. There was a man standing before him, a slim, elegant fellow in dark clothes. A gold-edged cloak swathed his narrow shoulders; it was clasped at his throat with a deep red jewel, almost the same color as his tied-back hair. He had the golden eyes of the Light Flight, and his expression was calm, patient. Almost implacable... “I’m called Marsious,” the slave introduced himself. He bowed, almost doubling over, even as he stammered, “P-Please, sir...I’m sorry, I wanted to ask...Could I possibly buy a doll from you? You make the most wondrous dolls. I wanted to look...to see if...” He trailed off as the dollmaker unlatched the door. “Very well, then, come inside and see if there’s anything you like.” “I would know Your Lordship’s name first....” “I am Fidelity,” the man answered with a smile. Once inside, Marsious found himself overwhelmed by the splendor of the dolls. Such exquisite craftsmanship! He had not encountered such beauty since... Lyandra. Yes. He needed to find something that would please his radiant flower. He oriented on a porcelain beauty with night-black hair. The sleeve of her kimono whispered against his skin as he checked the price tag fastened round her wrist.... Far too expensive. He wouldn’t be able to afford her for years! He dropped the doll’s wrist, tore his gaze from her sad blue eyes. Next: a laughing minstrel with hair as deep and green as the sea...No, still too expensive.... He stumbled around the caravan, checking the dolls’ prices while Fidelity stood by the door. Marsious grew more desperate as the minutes passed. He was making a fool of himself again. He would never be able to afford these precious creations. His flower would laugh at him, mock him, crush his devotion underfoot— “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Marsious turned. The dollmaker was waiting expectantly. “A doll,” Marsious answered softly. “A very special doll. For my beloved...so that she will have me...” His shoulders began to shake. Tears sprang to his scarlet eyes. He wrung his hands anxiously as if expecting a beating to descend. “I wondered why you kept passing by every so often.” “You saw me?” “Oh, yes.” Fidelity smiled faintly. He gestured to the back of the caravan, to a door behind the counter. “There’s no need to get upset. Why don’t you come into the back room? I have more dolls there—defective or damaged ones, not fit for display. You may yet find something suitable.” Marsious almost objected. Purchase a damaged, defective doll for his beloved? It was unthinkable! How dare he even... But he’d never get another opportunity like this. The dollmaker was very talented; perhaps even his “defective” creations wouldn’t be so bad....Marsious followed Fidelity into the back room, dashing away his tears as he did so. Fidelity noticed. He clucked to himself and then indicated a table and chairs in one corner. “I dislike seeing my customers cry. Why don’t you take a seat, Mister...?” “Marsious.” He cringed at being addressed as “Mister”; that title was for free men only. “Ahh. Marsious. Well, sit down, and I’ll make you some tea....Why don’t you look at the dolls first?” Marsious had already noticed them. They sat on shelves—benches, really—along the walls. He couldn’t see why they were “defective”; they seemed as glorious as the dolls outside. Meanwhile, Fidelity disappeared into another room. A soft, warm smell began to fill the air. Marsious caught himself yawning; the scent made him drowsy. It was so warm here, and the man was so kind.... The dollmaker returned with a plate of bread, a teacup on a saucer. “Have you chosen a doll yet?” Marsious turned to look again. As he did, Fidelity lifted a hand and dropped something into his cup. “I’m sorry...They’re all so beautiful...” “Why don’t you eat first? It’ll help you think things over.” So Marsious sat down. He took large bites, for he was very hungry, and the tea soothed his stomach and throat. “Your dolls are very beautiful, sir,” he said again, “and I’ve noticed no two are alike.” Fidelity smiled enigmatically. “Yes. That’s true.” “From where do you get your inspiration?” He struggled a bit with the last word. It was a long word, and it tangled around his tongue.... “Many of my dolls are...shall we say, inspired by real people.” “Such beautiful people,” Marsious mumbled. And then he straightened up, wide-eyed. Beautiful people...Lyandra. He had tarried too long. The clan would send someone to look for him.... “I have to get back.” He lurched to his feet and had to grab the table for support; the room was heaving. He blinked at the dolls with eyes as glassy as theirs. They seemed to sway with him, their clothes swishing, arms reaching for him. Fidelity stepped behind him. “You seem quite tired....It must be all that work you do at home. Let me help you.” Marsious struggled to thank him, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. He shut his eyes, trying to remember—and then he knew no more. ~ ~ ~ When Marsious next awoke, Fidelity was before him again. “Fidelity!” Marsious tried to say. “I’m so sorry! I fell asleep; I don’t know what came over me....” Again, no words left his mouth. His voice had gone. As he tried to figure out how to alert Fidelity, he realized the dollmaker was grooming him, carefully brushing and cutting his hair. Marsious’ clothes had been changed, too—he now wore garments even more splendid than the dollmaker’s. He blinked in astonishment. Fidelity noticed. “Ah, good morning, Marsious. How are we today?” “Good morning?!” Marsious thought. How long had he been here? He needed to get home! He tried to stand, and was gratified as Fidelity helped him. The dollmaker flipped back his sleeve, snipping the string that’d been tied around it. “There. All done.” Marsious goggled. His wrist...It had changed. A ball joint. It was...He was...! He stared at Fidelity in horror. It was the dollmaker’s smile that did it: that placid, enigmatic smile. He knew! He had done this! Marsious turned to run. But he could barely control his new body, and he toppled to the floor. He lay stunned, gaping at his left hand. It had popped loose from his wrist and landed several inches from him. And then Fidelity was standing over him again, tut-tutting. He propped Marsious upright. “You should be more careful, my boy. You weren’t in good shape to begin with....but I did the best I could. It’ll only get better from here.” He picked up the hand, slotted it neatly into place. Marsious stared up at him. “Let me go,” he thought. His lips clicked mutely together. Fidelity frowned back. “You woke up before I could put in the voice box....But there’ll be time for that tomorrow, and I won’t need to put you under again.” Before Marsious could even think of screaming, something else stopped him cold. He could hear voices. From the adjoining room. The room with the “defective” dolls. Fidelity opened the door. Stiff, pale forms moved beyond: jewel-like eyes, glimmering clothes. Joints clicking, fingers beckoning. Their mouths click-clacked. Tinny voices burbled up from their throats— “Ohh! A new friend!” “How lovely he is!” “He’s not as lovely as I am, certainly...?” Fidelity laughed softly as he pushed Marsious into the room. “Indeed, everyone, a new friend! Meet Marsious. He joined us today and is understandably a bit wary about us.” The dolls crowded around him. Marsious stared at them in horror now. He could not believe he’d ever been entranced by their beauty, by their clothes and faces.... He turned to Fidelity, but the dollmaker was already leaving. “You should get to know each other better. Remember to play nice. And Marsious...Enjoy your new life. It’s not every day one gets such an opportunity.” And with that, he shut the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The caravan was larger inside than out, or at least that was how it seemed to the inhabitants. A casual passerby would think they were children, for they were not much bigger—but they weren’t children. They weren’t people, either. They were dolls. Porcelain skin, shiny and pale...Carved from wood, put together from sackcloth and straw. Many of them hung from pegs on the walls or sat on shelves, awaiting their fates. But a few stood in a back room, clustered curiously around a cot. The newest addition to the group lay there. A blanket had been drawn over him, but it was just for show. He no longer needed it, for his skin was as cool and bloodless as the other dolls’. He’d had another breakdown while talking with them earlier. He’d called them monsters, abominations, and had tackled them in his attempt to reach the door. The dollmaker had subdued him. He’d blown a powder into the air, something that interfered with the inner workings of the dolls, and poor Marsious had fallen over, limp as a boned fish. The other dolls didn’t blame him; many of them had also been frightened by their transformations at first. Still—“He should be grateful,” one of them said. He waved emphatically and then was mesmerized by the gems blazing on the back of his hand. As he polished them with his sleeve, a straw doll retorted, “Don’t be so hoity-toity, Hakja. He doesn’t yet understand what’s going on.” Hakja snapped out of it. His blue eyes glimmered. “Even so, it was uncouth of him to insult us. Abominations. Monsters. I never! An abomination could never be this beautiful....” He trailed off, turned to a nearby mirror to admire himself. Gemstones flashed on his hands, his cheeks. The straw doll, Primeria, rolled her eyes. She approached a delicate doll carved of wood. He was sitting by Marsious’ cot, darning a tailcoat—Marsious had ripped it in his escape attempt. The tailor looked up warily as Primeria sat down beside him. “Flame’s sakes, Al, I’m not stealing from you again.” Alabaster’s face was incapable of movement. But his electric-blue eyes warmed in a smile. “Sorry, Prim. Old habits die hard.” “I honestly can’t tell if you’re insulting yourself or me.” Primeria hunched forward, looked down at Marsious. “Poor thing was terrified of us....I wonder what kind of life he had. Hey, could we ask him?” “Best for the Master to decide,” Alabaster mumbled. He and Fidelity were on good terms—but he knew other dolls didn’t feel the same way. ~ ~ ~ When Marsious awoke and saw where he was, a whimper inched from his throat. That briefly stopped him—last time he’d been awake, he’d been utterly mute. It looked like the dollmaker had given him a voice box while he’d been unconscious. And there he was: the dollmaker, Fidelity, as unflappable as ever. “Greetings, Marsious. I thought you might still be confused. I have some business to take care of....” “I can escape while he’s gone!” Marsious thought. But his hopes were dashed as another doll moved out of the shadows. His gembond blazed in the lamplight. “This is Hakja. He’s one of my most loyal servants and will show you around while I’m gone. Hakja...” Fidelity looked down at him. “Play nice with Marsious. He’s still skittish, and we don’t want to damage him further.” Hakja bowed. He kept his head down until Fidelity left the room. The instant the door clicked shut, he grasped Marsious’ wrist in a grip that felt more like steel. “Don’t try to run away again, Mars,” he warned. Despite the smile painted onto his face, his blue eyes were hard. “You nearly broke some of us last time.” “How can you stand this?” Marsious’ stomach—if he still had one—was churning. He cringed away from the living doll. “What he’s done to you...It’s horrible!” “This?” Hakja lifted his free hand, touched a gem upon his cheek. “No, dear boy, it’s an improvement.” Marsious was so shocked that when Hakja released him, he didn’t try to run. The porcelain doll looked at him. “Marsious, you know what a ‘gembond slave’ is, right?” He’d never heard the term. He shook his head. “It’s when people like me, who are afflicted with Gembond, are taken as assets. The gems grow, and then they’re ripped out of our skin.” He curved his fingers like claws, slashed at the air. Marsious actually felt a chill run up his spine. “We become living mines. Our flesh is ripped again and again, until we’re used up and we die. The gems stop growing when we die—but then, why should it matter, when there are so many of us? And it’s so easy for them to make more....” Marsious stared at Hakja’s gems with newfound horror. Such a terrible tale...and yet... Gems - wealth - Lyandra. “I must get back,” Marsious panted. “My beloved...She’ll be wondering where I am!” “Oh, come on!” Hakja exploded, stamping one foot in frustration. Marsious scampered out the door. He paused in bewilderment. He was now looking down a long, door-lined hallway. It was too big to fit inside the caravan.... “Have we moved?” he asked aloud. Hakja’s voice came through the closed door: “Not at all, Marsious. You see—” He broke off as Marsious ran away again. Marsious slipped and slid clumsily in his new shape. He tried the doors he came to. They were locked, and he didn’t stay long at each one, lest someone recapture him—or he heard other voices crying out, telling him there was no escape and he was trapped here forever.... He didn’t hear the other doll approaching; so soft were her steps, though she did leave bits of straw upon the floor. Marsious leaped in surprise when she touched his sleeve. She looked up at him with orange buttons for eyes. “Hi! I’m Primeria. We met earlier, Marsious; d’you remember me?” Marsious could only gape at her. The walking, talking straw doll was to him more horrifying than the porcelain one. He whimpered as she dragged him down the hall, but she didn’t seem to hear. She took him to her own room. It was a small place, but cozy rather than cramped. Lanterns of glowing crystal hung from the ceiling. “Bit chilly. Sorry there isn’t a fire—looking at me, I’m sure you understand. Marsious, why don’t you have a seat?” Marsious didn’t sit. “Y...You’re a...!” Unlike some other dolls, Primeria could and did move her face. Folds of sackcloth creased in a grotesque frown. “That’s really rude, you know! I happen to like how I look.” And again, that stopped Marsious. He gawped at her. “Don’t you want to escape?” “Do you? Marsious, there’s nothing for me out there. You know what’s great about being a doll? We don’t need to eat or drink—and we don’t get hungry or thirsty, either. It’s convenient, to say the least.” The name pulsed in Marsious’ mind, like a star appearing and disappearing behind tatters of cloud: Lyandra. Lyandra... Her silver hair, her beautiful smile. Her laugh and the glow of her eyes. But now Marsious felt something else, something not normally associated with his memories of Lyandra: a tingle of unease. “What’s...happening...?” Primera bustled around the room. From beneath some cushions, she extracted small items, which she surreptitiously slipped into her pockets. “Master Fidelity said you were scrawny when you came here. So you know what it feels like to starve.” She pulled another grotesque frown. “Do you actually miss it?” “N-no...” A dark, smoky kitchen...He remembered an old woman hissing warnings at him, showing a burn scar on her cheek. “Oleandra,” she’d whispered. “Beware of that poisonous bloom.” Primeria’s face smoothed into a smile. “This isn’t so bad, Marsious,” she reassured him. She patted his arm again, and this time, he did not flinch. ~ ~ ~ After that, he just wandered down the hall. Occasionally, he tried a door. But he wasn’t trying to escape anymore. He had so many unpleasant memories, but it seemed he was now heading somewhere better— A door opened beneath his hand. He peered through and felt a sudden chill. It was the front of the store. There was the counter, though Fidelity was still absent. Instead, a ball-jointed doll was perched beside the register. Her green glass eyes were dull as mud. Her lips clicked as she mumbled inaudibly to herself. “Um...Hello?” Marsious called. The doll met his eyes only briefly. She didn’t seem to care he was there, for she said not a word to him. Marsious eased cautiously into the room. He saw that the walls and display windows were still crowded with dolls, and he held back a shiver. “Maybe they’re not alive,” he thought as he approached them. He touched their clothes and fingers, but avoided looking into their eyes. “That’s it—he probably just makes the dolls and then transfers our souls into them or something. So these aren’t alive. They’re not really—” The back door opened. Another doll tottered in with unsteady steps, and Marsious turned to look at him. The doll sucked in a breath. “No...He’s taken another one!” He hobbled across the room to Marsious. “Are you new here? What’s your name?” “I’m Marsious. It’s all right; I’m not going to escape. The others already said—” “No, kid, you’ve got it all wrong! You have to escape!” Marsious stared at him. All the other dolls had been so friendly...and he’d heard only good stories about Fidelity from them. “But I had a hard life....Mister Fidelity saved me. And he’s treated me well—” “So far,” snapped the other doll. “He’s treated you well so far. But the moment you tick him off, it’s over. I got him mad once. He locked me in a glass box for days; I almost went mad in there. And as if that wasn’t enough...Look at me, kid.” He held out his hands. “Look at me.” And Marsious saw the cracks on his limbs. Neat, hairline breaks...This doll hadn’t been broken accidentally. He’d been broken...deliberately.... The understanding must’ve dawned in his eyes, because the other doll said, “You can’t get your body back, but maybe you can find someone to help you. Maybe a sorcerer...Get us out of this mess. No, stop asking questions! Just run outside right now!” But Marsious kept asking questions. “Where should I go? What should I say to them? Is there anyone who can help—” And this time, it was the front door that opened. Fidelity stormed in. He fixed the cracked doll with a piercing gaze. His expression didn’t change, but the room seemed very chilly all of a sudden. “Good evening, Dispedas.” “Master,” the other doll said. The fire had left him, and he was now meek and humble, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t ask you to speak with our newcomer. You should return to your pen. I’ll take care of him now.” Dispedas tottered away. His eyes, as he looked at Marsious, were filled with deep regret. Fidelity glared at Marsious next. It was some seconds before he spoke, and when he did, his tone held a faint chill of steel. “I’ve been thinking, Marsious. Two escape attempts in one day? Not even Dispedas was that daring. And now you’re here, so close to the front door...” “No, no, sir, I wasn’t trying to escape....” Marsious stammered. He knew it was hopeless. He’d been in this situation before: He remembered Lyandra slapping him across the face, her green eyes flashing, perfect teeth bared in a snarl. No matter what he’d said, she’d never been mollified. The punishment had always come. Always. ~ ~ ~ Like poor Dispedas, Marsious was trapped in a soundproof display case for two weeks. He sat there, able to see, but unable to move or scream. He didn’t see the other dolls within that time, the ones who’d spoken to him. Instead, the caravan was opened to customers. Fidelity himself manned the register. The customers oohed and aahed over the dolls; a few of them even asked about Marsious. Fidelity always shook his head and answered, “He is not for sale.” Although one day... That laugh, tinkling like a silver bell. Marsious’ spirit gave a great leap. He knew what he would see next. That flowing hair, those green eyes...She was as beautiful as ever. But wait...Who was that next to her? A young man, his shoulders slumped. She pulled him after her like a balloon on a string, and when she spoke to him, he looked up at her with besotted eyes. Marsious could understand. He’d looked at her like that before. “Lyandra? That’s a pretty name.” Fidelity inclined his head to her. He looked curiously at the man. “And this is...?” Oleandra brushed aside the inquiry. The man wilted beneath her dismissal. He stared longingly after her as she glided around the shop; Marsious stared, too. She was coming closer...closer... She passed by him with nary a glance. Marsious was completely immobilized, but somehow, Fidelity knew. He gave Marsious an enigmatic look and then inquired, “Do you see anything you like, Miss?” “No. Nothing here’s my style.” “Maybe this one, then?” And Fidelity placed a hand on Marsious’ case. The next few seconds were very long for him. But for Oleandra, it took but the blink of an eye. She looked at Marsious, and then away. “No. Not my thing.” “Isn’t he familiar to you?” “You silly man, I’ve never been here before.” Oleandra laughed, but there was now a telltale snarl beneath it. Fidelity didn’t speak with her again. She soon headed to the door. Her servant rushed ahead of her, bowing as he opened it. She pushed him out into the street. “Clumsy oaf!” she snapped as he stumbled. He mumbled apologies to her, but then she slapped him in full view of everyone. Passersby stared in shock and then hunched down as they realized who she was. Marsious stared after them—not in longing now, but in horror. Was that what he’d once been? A plaything to be thrown about and then trampled underfoot? He heard her continuing to berate the man for some time, and a cry. She’d struck him. Of course she had. When Fidelity released Marsious some days later, he was docile, almost contrite. He’d learned his lesson.... That was what he wanted the dollmaker to think. Marsious was fearful, but he wasn’t stupid, and he hadn’t yet been broken. He’d escaped one danger only to fall into another trap. For now, he would bide his time as a meek, obedient plaything. He would escape again, he promised himself—and this time, it would be of his accord. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) The “gembond slave” concept is from another player (name/ID unknown). all edits by other users
"All that you see is
The tomb of all my broken dreams," Quote:
|
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.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Marsious to the service of the Shadowbinder 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.