Lucio
(#42445308)
Level 1 Mirror
Familiar
Tar-Trooper Slarg
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Mirror
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.81 m
Wingspan
5.37 m
Weight
465.89 kg
Genetics
Blood
Iridescent
Iridescent
Sanguine
Saturn
Saturn
Sanguine
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Mirror
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
Biography
Lucio
Virulent Ghoul | "The Undying" | He/him
Virulent Ghoul | "The Undying" | He/him
Birth Flight
Hoard
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From a very early age, it was made clear that Lucio was a survivor.
He had outlived his mother, who had passed after giving birth to a nest of four. He had outlived his three sisters-- the first, an unnamed stillborn in an unmarked grave beside the Wyrmwound. Develish and Serket had succumbed to the unmerciful cold on their first winter.
He had outlived his father, who was slaughtered by a pack of Infestation Hounds.
Alone, afraid, and badly wounded from the attack of the Infestation Hounds, a young Lucio had dragged himself off into the cold, uncaring wilderness. For the first several months, every day had been a struggle to survive. Infection came and it ravaged his body, tainting his flesh with the sickly-sweet odor of death. Oftentimes he would go weeks without a proper meal, forcing himself to eat the bugs and small animals that were drawn close by his scent-- a dying dragon was a scavenger’s delight, after all, out in the barren wastelands. Lucio had been lucky enough to find shelter near a pond-- the water’s taste left something to be desired, but he hadn’t been raised to be a picky dragon.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months… and, slowly but surely, the infection began to seep out of Lucio’s body, his grievous wounds turning into scars. Ugly things they were, but he was finally beginning to heal, to wake up from the neverending nightmare.
After nine months, Lucio had fully recovered and grown stronger than he had ever been-- he had matured into a tough, lanky, adolescent dragon, and over the next few years he had quickly become infamous with the local Beastclans as a fearsome shadow of the night, a raging beast with an appetite to rival a Hydra.
Eventually, Lucio had succumbed to the sense of dissatisfaction with his surroundings, an itch to explore the land, that befalls many a young dragon. He had begun to roam, cautiously at first, but with an increasing boldness. His explorations covered miles and miles of the wasteland that was his home, marveling at the scarce, new flora and fauna he had encountered.
And then he had met another dragon. A Mirror, much like himself, but she had most certainly been different-- she was an elder dragon, a rarity out in the savage wilderness. She had driven him away, for the law of the land was often that of ‘kill or be killed’-- and Lucio had stayed away from her territory, for a time. But his curiosity had brought him back, and he had soon begun to watch her from a distance. He’d watched her hunt, and from her, he learned how to hunt game even larger than himself. How to engage other dragons in combat. How to avoid the naturally-occurring deathtraps of the wastelands.
How to survive.
Months passed, but inevitably, the elder female had slipped up. Lucio had kept his distance on that night, when she had returned from an unsuccessful hunt, but he knew that stench anywhere: the reek of tainted blood, the odor of death.
Her scent markings had become fainter with every passing day, and, emboldened by the elder’s apparent state of weakness and an entirely new sensation altogether-- pity? Sympathy, perhaps?-- Lucio began to leave offerings of carcasses and herbs nearby her nest-- herbs that he had seen her gather and apply to wounds in the past.
The elder had been suspicious at first-- she’d even managed to get a nasty bite in on Lucio’s left rear leg one day, when he hadn’t been as cautious as usual-- but in a matter of weeks, she had grown used to his presence in her territory. In a matter of months, she had begrudgingly taken him under her wing, so to speak. She taught him the ways of their patron, the Plaguebringer, and instructed him on how to leave proper offerings for and pay obeisance to the savage goddess. For the first time in his life, over the next decade, Lucio had something of a mother figure. She was rough around the edges and stern, and not much of a conversationalist besides, but she undoubtedly loved Lucio in a way she hadn’t thought her rough, withered heart was capable of.
But, as with all things in life, their time of relative peace had to end.
The Wildclaw had come in the midst of the day, when Lucio and the elder had been resting after a successful hunt. The beast had been drawn by the scent of fresh kill and completely ignored the two Mirrors’ territorial markings-- she was ravenous and reckless with hunger.
Lucio had awoken to the scent first-- the stench he had become so intimately familiar with, the reek of Death’s shadow, but this… this was different. Something about the odor had given him chills down to his very core-- it was stronger, more noxious, than anything he had taken a whiff of before-- it was unnatural. Unholy.
Before she’d even made it halfway through the Mirrors’ territory, they struck. Their claws and honed teamwork made quick work of the Wildclaw’s dark-red, rotting flesh, the meat practically eager to rip free of the miserable creature’s bones. Though opportunistic, Lucio and the elder had dragged the Wildclaw’s corpse to the edge of their territory, and even then some. The other dragon, although deceased, still brought great unease to the pair.
It didn’t take long.
Within mere hours, Lucio and the elder had begun to show signs of illness. A deep, dull ache in their bones, an unnatural fever, nausea.
In a few days, the scent of infection, of rot… it came back once more to torment them both. For only the second time in his life, Lucio became unable to hunt, but this time, no creatures aside from the dullest of insects would come near the two. Anything else was driven away by the red, the seething red, the horrifying rot overtaking the two Mirrors.
Time blurred. It lost all meaning. Words were exchanged between the two of them, but to this day, Lucio still cannot recall much of what was said, and the line between reality and fever dreams he’d had during that time was paper-thin.
They’d prayed to their goddess, the Plaguebringer. They’d begged for a cure, for food, and even for death at times, but they were met with no response each time.
After a long while, the elder had gone silent and still. The reek still accompanied her body, but her soul most certainly had passed on, leaving an empty husk behind.
Lucio had no capability of mourning at the time, his mind stripped of all coherent thought besides the most base instinct-- the instinct to survive.
The instinct to feed.
He feasted until he fell into a deep slumber. He ate and ate and ate as the days went by, his hunger knowing no bounds or barriers. His teeth sliced through flesh and crunched bone alike, his mental state an utter nightmare. With his jaws full of bloody meat, he would shriek and wail to the heavens, vague utterances of the Plaguebringer and the elder’s name at his tongue.
And one day, she came.
Her body was so riddled with scars that he could hardly discern her true skin tone. Sickly-green pustules flourished upon her flesh, her wings so horribly torn and dissolved that he doubted she could have flown to him. She was massive and fierce and everything the elder had told him-- everything he’d expected and more. A wildness blazed in her eyes as she towered over his frail form and the remnants of shattered bones strewn about, but something about her expression changed as she gazed down upon him.
“You’ve faced nigh insurmountable odds,” the Plaguebringer had spoken, her voice like the clattering of bones, the hiss of death on her tongue. “You adapted and overcame all throughout the years of your meager lifespan-- and now, I gift you with the ability to surmount your greatest challenge yet. What you do with this gift is up to you… but do not disappoint me, child.”
And with that, tendrils of her searing power flowed into his veins, magic spreading where it had never done so before. Half-disintegrated muscle tissue began to reconstruct, bloodied flesh mending ever so slowly. Strength reentered his wearied limbs, allowing him the energy to stand for the first time in many days. Before he could respond, the Plaguebringer had gone-- vanished just as swiftly as she had come.
With this newfound power and the renewed strength in his limbs, Lucio was able to hunt once more-- although the Rot still writhed in his body, the magical regeneration of flesh, bone, and blood alike kept the ailment at bay.
When he’d finally regained some semblance of sanity… that is when he began to mourn. He was alone once more in the uncaring wilderness of the Scarred Wasteland-- and for the first time in his life, he had cried. The tears burned against his tainted flesh, but he cared not; he cried until he could cry no longer. The elder had been a friend, a source of companionship-- a reason to keep on living.
Lucio roamed for months, unwilling to go anywhere near their old territory ever again. He reached the edge of the wastelands, spying tufts of grass, and he kept going. He traversed daunting plateaus, often catching sight of Skydancers and Spirals twirling through the sky… but they always kept their distance from his ghastly figure.
He continued on, awed by the clean breezes and new sights, such as the bordering sea and-- Plaguebringer forbid-- abundant flora and fauna. He wound through the Ashfall Wastes-- far more similar to the wastelands he had grown up in than the plateaus had been, but if the wastelands had been warm, this place was almost unbearably hot. The dragons here were also far more aggressive than the ones of the plateaus, driving him away with searing bursts of flame and sharp, metallic claws. He hurried on through this scorched place, unwilling to stay a moment longer than necessary.
After what felt like ages, the air of his surroundings had begun to cool as he gained distance from the rumbling volcanoes, but clouds cloaked the sky, strung together with vibrant threads of lightning. These canyons and valleys and savannahs he’d explored with great interest-- this place was a wasteland, much like his first home, but wildlife was almost as abundant here as upon the plateaus.
And then he’d met… her. A tiny little thing in comparison to his bulk, not much older than himself-- but she radiated confidence like the sun’s rays. When the Skydancer had first approached, he had hissed and puffed up his frills to scare her away. It had even worked, for a time, but the little feathered dragon kept coming back. She prattled on about trivial things like the weather, what colors she liked, favorite scents… anything she could think of. She even began to bring Lucio gifts of fresh meat and fish-- and after weeks of her pestering, he finally relented.
He’d told her his name, and she’d done the same in return-- “Chromata,” she had said, her feathery frills puffed up with a tinge of pride. Baffled by her stubbornness and her apparent lack of fear towards his appearance, he’d allowed her to guide him to her clan. Dragons of all shapes and sizes greeted him-- he was soon overwhelmed by the sheer number of other dragons, and by their strangely chipper attitude towards him.
To this very day, he still lives on the outskirts of Chromata’s clan, alone, but his presence is welcomed by many a dragon. He’s still adjusting to the oddities of having an abundance of food and a comfortable living space-- much less friends and, dare he say it, family. Lucio still lives with chronic pain brought about by the Rot, but the healers of the clan are determined to do their best to ease his suffering every day.
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Exalting Lucio to the service of the Stormcatcher 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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