Diarmuid
(#35643364)
Unfortunate Spirit | He/Him
Familiar
Blooming Hedgehide
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Coatl
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.16 m
Wingspan
6.89 m
Weight
959.28 kg
Genetics
Emerald
Petals
Petals
Emerald
Butterfly
Butterfly
Chartreuse
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Coatl
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Biography
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Diarmuid
{ Deer-mid } Nicknames: Deema • Renenet | Luck Spirit
╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ Spoken Words and Sweet Songs ♫ Remo Forrer - Watergun ♫ Voice Claim - Damien Rice ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ |
“I should never have left my home,” the spirit thought to themselves as their wings fluttered madly, beating against the walls of the spell that closed inexorably around them. The sorceress casting the spell didn’t falter in her chanting, though her wide smile and the light in her eyes showed that she had already won. It took the spirit some time to accept it, and when they did, they could no longer scream. What substance they had had been flattened out completely, woven into the pages of the book they’d been bound to.
The sorceress cradled it in her hands. “Now you are mine, dear renenet,” she purred before clapping the book shut. Light was lost to the spirit’s view, as surely as if they’d been jailed in a cell.
A renenet is a spirit that brings good fortune. This made them desirable to other beings, so they typically hid in ruins or the wilderness, where few could stumble across them. Luck, however, needs beings to be exercised upon. When a renenet’s powers reach a certain level, it leaves its home, searching for a worthy soul to bestow with good fortune. These souls are typically beings who are great and good, those who are heroes.
However, this particular renenet had been ensnared by a sorceress. Trapped in a handsomely-bound book of heroes, between portraits of a king and a knight. Alas, the difficulty about engendering luck for others is that one cannot create it for oneself. Thus it was that they now had to wait for good fortune to befall them.
The renenet remained bound to the sorceress’ service for many years. They did not deem her worthy of good fortune, but there was nothing they could do against the enchantment. They could only wait...and hope....
In time, the sorceress’ life-force faded away, and the book slipped from her grasp. As is the nature of lost things, it somehow managed to wander away on its own, taken from clan to clan. It was a beautiful book, deep green leather embossed with gold, and the tales it held inside, stories of sword and sorcery, attracted many dragons. None of them, however, were aware of the trapped renenet. Until one day...
“This book...”
The renenet felt a touch upon their spine. The book was pulled from the shelf, where it had already sat for many years. The would-be reader squinted at the book, gently passed a paw over the cover.
“You are old,” she said, speaking directly to the book. “Are you a tsukumogami, perhaps?”
The renenet could not answer, but they felt a flutter of hope. Someone knew that they existed! They could tell from the touch that whoever it was wasn’t strong enough to break the spell, but...
She opened the book and then she pressed her paw to where the king and the knight stood across from each other. “How beautiful,” she sighed, tracing the illustrations with a talon. The renenet, looking into her face, could only think the same thing.
The Imperial’s name was Arcite. She was a scout, and the renenet learned her name after hearing the leaders call out to her, asking her to investigate something or other. She sighed at this, closing her book with regret: “I’ll have to finish that chapter later.”
She had always had a habit of talking to herself. But now, aware that the book in her grasp had a soul, she began talking to it as well. The renenet learned, somewhat dismayed, that her magical ability was not strong. She was aware that the book was alive, but couldn’t perceive that it was because a spirit had been bound to it. “I thought tsukumogami were supposed to be awake. Maybe you’re just...waking up? Like, you’re not yet a hundred years old. I could’ve sworn that you were. You must’ve been made by a very skilled craftsdrake. You are very handsome.”
In spite of themselves, the renenet preened. “Handsome” is a great compliment to receive when the other person can’t actually see you.
“I know tsukumogami change their shapes when they awaken. Maybe you’ll be a great knight or king...maybe both.” She patted the portraits again. “You should have a name. I don’t like Fionn; I think he’s selfish. And Cu Chulainn’s name is so hard to say. Maybe ‘Diarmuid’? It sounds nicer. And it’s easier to spell.”
The renenet decided they liked that name. It did sound nice. They—Diarmuid—looked up at Arcite with gratitude and growing affection.
It was so easy to love her. She was a gentle soul, and it was hard not to fall under the spell of her words. Diarmuid relaxed into Arcite’s tales as she spoke about her lair, her clanmates. There was Raiden, the powerful leader of the clan. She chattered about Avanindra, whose rocky scales belied a soft heart, and Tinuviel, whom she reported directly to. The renenet got to know each of them, could almost see them....
“A messenger came today!” Arcite gushed one day, her eyes bright with wonder. Diarmuid was puzzled at this; she’d never spoken so bashfully before.
“His name is ‘Hades’. Doesn’t that name mean ‘unseen’? I don’t know why his parents called him that; he is...He’s so lovely!”
She clasped the book close as she said it. And Diarmuid, feeling the pitter-patter of her heart, felt their own heart sink in response.
Hades took front and center stage in Arcite’s stories now. He was so beautiful, so gracious.... “I don’t know why I never noticed him before, even when we were hatchlings.” Arcite giggled softly. “Sometimes you don’t notice those who are right in front of you....”
Diarmuid felt a prickle of surprise. Hades had come to the clan only two weeks ago, hadn’t he?
“Tinuviel doesn’t like him, though,” Arcite sighed. “She says Hades keeps sneaking out....I never noticed that. Maybe I’ll check on him. I hope he’s OK.”
Arcite didn’t return that night, nor the next few nights. Diarmuid waited the entire time, their fear steadily growing. It had been a long time since they’d struggled against the sorceress’ bonds, but they did their damnedest now, concentrating and straining. At one point they actually thought they detected a crack in the spellwork—
That was when Arcite returned. The door slammed shut behind her, and she slumped onto her bed. “He’s not...” Her words were choked, halting. She pulled Diarmuid’s book close. Her heart was racing again, but this time, it was the thunder of fear Diarmuid heard.
“He’s not a dragon. He’s a...” Arcite gagged then, as if someone had suddenly gripped her throat. Dark droplets trickled from her jaw, and Diarmuid realized they were blood.
There was a lily between Arcite’s jaws. Even when she spoke, it stayed stuck, as if welded in place. “He gave it to me. He said it was a gift. But it wasn’t. He is...a...” She cried out again, shuddering in pain as thorns suddenly sprouted from the lily, stabbing into her tongue and throat.
Diarmuid would have run then, if they could. They would have raced outside, shouted for Nyx the mage or Jarna the healer. But all they could do was wait and hope....It seemed that all they’d done for the past centuries was wait and hope. “They will notice Arcite’s injuries. They’ll tend to her, and Hades will be brought to justice!”
But to Diarmuid’s horror, nobody noticed the lily in Arcite’s mouth, nor the blood trickling from between her teeth...not even her pleas for aid. “Help me,” she gasped as Jarna the healer entered her den. Arcite had been secluding herself for the past two days, futilely trying to remove the lily from her jaws.
“Hades gave this lily to me; it won’t come out. Please help—”
“Why have you shut yourself in here, Arcite? You don’t seem unwell.” Jarna reached up, placed a paw on Arcite’s brow. The Imperial stared at her in consternation.
“This lily...in my mouth...You don’t see...?”
“See?” Jarna asked. Diarmuid and Arcite saw it then—a look of brief horror chased across the Pearlcatcher’s face. Her mouth twisted as if she were trying to speak...her eyes flickered...and then they clouded over once more.
“I see that you’re well enough to work, Arcite. Come, now, get up....”
The same thing happened with the other lairmates. Arcite approached them, begging them for help. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” they said. “Arcite, you’re all right. Come now, let’s get to work”—but here and there a muscle would twitch, a smile would crack; Arcite and Diarmuid saw how they briefly managed to break through some sort of enchantment and notice the bloody lily before the illusion closed up again.
Diarmuid knew what it was now: “A glamour.” That realization, the very same one that had doomed Arcite, filled them with dread: Hades, fair and beautiful dragon, was not a dragon at all.
A creature of beauty, but one also of power, of danger. One of spellwork and cold, remorseless cruelty. A fairy.
Arcite was no longer the lively, cheerful dragon Diarmuid had fallen in love with. For a time she had loved Hades, had hoped to become his friend and something more....Instead, she had discovered the truth about him, and he was torturing her for it. Racked now by unending pain, faced with disbelief on every side, Arcite lost her warmth. Her love for Hades soured, turned into bitter wrath.
“How cruel he is,” she whispered. “He said that he loved me....What a liar he turned out to be. And so did the others. It’s terrible, right?” She let out a horrid little laugh. “‘Clanmates should protect each other’, blah blah...but nobody here will help me. They won’t even see...”
“They can’t see,” Diarmuid silently objected, still straining against the spell. At the same time, they were wondering, “Hades said he loved her? When did he tell her that?”
“Maybe I’m being unfair,” Arcite sighed. Diarmuid relaxed to hear that.
And then the dread came back in full force as Arcite whispered, “After all, one of them is helping me. Chernobog...I always thought he was weird. He always kept to himself...but he’s so nice. Maybe he can’t see the lily either; he doesn’t mention it. But he believes me, and he doesn’t like Hades, either....He said that Hades should die for what he did to me. He should...die....”
“This is wrong,” Diarmuid thought. They beat against the invisible walls of the spell. Arcite murmured, “Chernobog says Hades is his old enemy. It’s a feud that goes way back to their parents’ times....He says I should help him.”
“NO!” It was a silent scream. Maybe Chernobog could see the lily or he couldn’t, but he could see that something was wrong with Arcite, which meant he had some sort of second sight, which in turn meant he wasn’t entirely mortal....
What had Arcite said? His parents had battled Hades’ parents as well? “Then he, too, is of the Fae,” Diarmuid realized with a sickened groan. Arcite hadn’t found a friend—far from it. Fairies did not have friends—they had tools. And Arcite...
Diarmuid looked up at Arcite. She was gazing intently down at the book, her shoulders heaving. Her jaws champed lazily on the lily. “Hmm...I’ll join Chernobog tonight. I haven’t told him yet about you being sort of alive. I’ll ask him if I can bring you. I’m sure he’ll say yes.”
With that, Arcite turned away. As the door swung shut behind her, Diarmuid called out, “No! Come back...Arcite...”
They renewed their assault on the spell. Outside, the sun slipped down and the shadows lengthened. Still Diarmuid continued battering the walls, beating upon them with claws and wings.
The moon rose. It cast deep shadows upon the lair. The room remained dark; Arcite still hadn’t returned. Diarmuid began to call out to her: “Arcite...Arcite...!”
They would save her from Chernobog. They would take her away from this accursed place, to a refuge where she could smile and speak freely once more. “Ar...cite...!”
And finally, centuries after the spell had been wrought, Diarmuid finally broke free. Paper and leather went flying everywhere; twin portraits of a king and a knight drifted together before being trodden beneath a clawed foot. The renenet gasped, felt air rushing through their body once more.
The door opened. “Who are you?!” barked the female Spiral who hovered there, eyes glaring from beneath a hood. Diarmuid knew her, of course: Tinuviel the Spymaster.
“I am Diarmuid,” they answered. Their wings beat once, twice—Tinuviel’s claws passed harmlessly through them as the renenet burst loose, searching frantically for their beloved.
Arcite was crouched before Chernobog when Diarmuid finally found her. The Imperial was immense, but Chernobog’s wings had grown larger still, as deep and profound as the night, and they writhed around her in ribbons of darkness. Diarmuid drew closer, and they called her name.
It was Chernobog, not Arcite, who answered. The darkness withdrew, and Diarmuid saw him for the first time: a slender, graceful Skydancer, his eyes glittering like jewels. Beautiful—but hard and cold. “I welcome you to the Night Court, renenet,” he murmured. His voice was as sweet and dark as wine—and it, too, left a bitter aftertaste.
“You know who I am?”
“Arcite was just telling me about you. She found you in a...book, I believe? How strange. Arcite...” Chernobog patted her shoulder. “Tell me more about your lovely friend.”
Arcite turned towards Diarmuid, and their heart broke as they looked into her eyes. They were still golden, but now bereft of warmth and light. Around the lily, her blood-stained lips stretched into a bleak smile. “You must be Diarmuid,” she said, and even in that falsely bright voice, there was still something of the cheerfulness he’d grown to love.
“Yes,” Diarmuid said, “I am Diarmuid. A renenet, a spirit of good fortune...Arcite. You are...my hero...” Their voice trailed off, cracking in despair.
Chernobog laughed quietly. “And you are mine. My heroes...Both of you are mine.”
He extended a wing again, but this time, he drew it around them both. The feathers lengthened into ribbons of deep darkness. Arcite remained impassive, but Diarmuid swallowed a cry.
They had burst from the enchantment and fallen into a prison more profound...and this time, escape would not be forthcoming. Chernobog’s darkness swathed them completely. It was empty, impenetrable, like the Shade blotting out the sky...like a book being clapped shut against the sunlight, never to be opened again.
template by Disillusionist (254672)
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