Glacierstar » Lair » Samara

Samara

(#46074979)

Level 1 Guardian

Familiar

Velvet Floracat

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

18.69 m

Wingspan

12.58 m

Weight

9533.03 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Metallic

Obsidian
Alloy

Pistachio
Ghost

Hatchday

Oct 16, 2018
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Guardian

Eye Type

Wind
Unusual

Level 1 Guardian

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

Samara

Samara was ticked.

Actually ticked is an understatement, she was furious.

Furious at the Afterlife Council, furious at herself. But most of all, she was furious at her damned cat that managed to evade every attack she made against it. The Guardian grumbled at herself bitterly, almost knocking over a tree as she huffed and puffed while walking. It was her fault her cat was so good at evading attacks, she trained the creature to dodge any psychopomp that wanted to reap its soul, herself included. Of course the Council had doubts about her loyalty and ~~forced~~ assigned her a task to reap her own cat.

To make a long story short, that didn’t end up well.

The Council, tired of watching her fail the umpteenth time, revoked her status as a psychopomp and kicked her out of the Afterlife. Now the Guardian wandered aimlessly around Sornieth with nothing else to do. Besides taking her anger out on random trees that she passed by and disturbing the peace with her angered roars. Soon the Guardian’s feet started to ache from all the traveling, Samara finding a clearing so she can rest and possibly calm down before she hurts herself. The sounds of the birds chirping sweetly and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees managed to soothe the ex-psychopomp, the ambience almost making her fall asleep if it weren’t for a curious meow that pulled her away from her peace. Two curious green eyes stared at her across the small pond that took up most of the clearing space, the owner hidden amidst of a bush. The staredown lasted for a few seconds, another meow coming from the bush as the cat that hid itself emerged. Samara growled lowly at the furry creature, warning it to stay away. Yet that didn’t deter the cat, the creature limping its way over to the Guardian.

“Hey now! Stay away, I’m not in the mood to deal with your kind.”

“Meow!”

The cat rubbed itself against Samara’s claws, the Guardian grumbling at the disobedient animal but not pushing it away. Her nose picked up the smell of blood coming from the creature and examined it as it rubbed against her. The blood was coming from the cat’s paws, in between the toes were claws were suppose to be. But there weren’t any.

“Declawed huh? You’re basically a walking target for psychopomps to reap your soul. Why would any owner do such a thing to you.”

The cat meowed sweetly, Samara giving it a soft small smile before procuring a small potion stashed in her wing plumes.

“Here, drink this up. It’ll stop the pain and the bleeding. If I’m lucky, I should still have my powers and be able to give you a new set of claws.”

The cat licked its chops after drinking a bit of the potion, watching as the markings on Samara’s skin start to glow. The magic engulfed the cat’s paws, growing new and deadlier claws in between its toes. Samara felt a wave of triumph overcome her as she watch the cat admired its new set of claws. The happy moment was broken when a psychopomp suddenly sprang from the trees, their scythe poised and ready to strike.

“Samara? What are you doing here? It doesn’t matter! Back away outcast! This is my kill!”

The Guardian growled at the reaper, catching their swinging scythe in her jaws before it could hit the cat. The furry creature yowled and scratched the attacking psychopomp on their foot, the reaper letting out a roar and cradling their injured foot.

“What the hell?! I was told this thing didn’t have claws! Yikes, that hurt...” The reaper growled at Samara and snatched their scythe away from the Guardian. “Keep your damn cat!” And with that, the injured psychopomp disappeared in the trees.

Samara’s companion meowed loudly, rubbing its body on Samara’s foot affectionately. The ex-psychopomp chuckled and gently picked up a paw to examine the cat’s claws. Thinking that the Guardian wanted to play, the cat latched onto Samara with its other paw, the Guardian wincing at the sharp nick of pain that surfaced.

“Damn, I did make those things sharp...” Her words trailed off slowly as an idea popped in her head. A wonderful idea at that. An idea that would guarantee payback for what the Council did to her and presented a new calling for her life. Samara said not a word as she gently picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder before unfurling her wings and ascending to the sky. Her feline companion let out another yowl and gripped her hood as she started to fly off. From then on, Samara searched around Sornieth for cats on death’s row, equipping them with killer claws and intent for them to fight for their lives.

And of course, the Council wasn’t too happy about that, not that she cared.

Lore by Sacrilegious

Long ago, Samara was like any of her kind. She was dutiful, and she excelled at guiding the souls of those that passed in the material realm to their eternal afterlife. It had been her only occupation, and time and time again the guardian would move across the mortal plane till it was time to usher a soul forth. She had seen many different parts of the world, had seen many lives begin and end. She’d learned from the chattier souls as she brought them away to the astral planes of their lives and their experiences before their deaths. Some she had to ignore their pleas and sobs, as it was too late and they no longer had a say in the matter. She’d been there for their births and then their deaths, had watched as their wispy remnants passed through the veil and joined those of the no longer living. Then she would start again. Samara was a good psychopomp. She had never failed her duties.

Except once.

Once turned into twice. Then three times became four. So on and so forth until the dragon had unsuccessfully reaped the soul of her pet cat nine times. Rumors of what could be the hold up of course swirled about amongst the others of her kind. Perhaps Samara had gone soft over the centuries and found herself too attached to the small animal she kept by her side. Perhaps… she had tried, but the cat’s soul would not come free. Regardless of the truth, each failed attempt was blow after blow upon her spotless career. It would only be a matter of time before the higher ups learned of this unfavorable turn of events. Samara could hope for their leniency, but she knew that in the world of death there truly was no such thing.

It’s a strange ordeal to lose the job of a psychopomp. A person whose existence has been marked with death and ferrying of souls cannot really understand how to transition into the world of the living. Preferably they would remain part of their melancholic counterparts’ world, but that was not an acceptable outcome for Samara. Sure, she was not a dragon capable of living like a normal being might, but she had failed her duties. There was no place for her within the other psychopomps’ community. She was an outsider, stripped away of all her hard work by the failing to take the soul of a cat.

It devastated the dragon, but only at first. Samara’s life had revolved around her trekking through the mortal plane in search of souls until she would then lead them to the hereafter. She had known only this job of hers and nothing else, seemingly separated from the vibrancy of the material realm by the shroud of death she signaled. One thing was for certain for the dragon. Though her pet had cost Samara her eternal task, the feline remained loyally by her side.

“Strong creatures such as yourself do not deserve a death such as what psychopomps offer.” she murmured to the creature one day, claws reaching out to scratch at the cat’s chin. “We need a task for ourselves, and I know just the one.”

It was a simple solution, Samara had decided. She was good at one thing other than taking souls, and that was travelling. She adored it as well, and without the mask of her macabre duties to shade her gaze from the world, she could finally enjoy it in a way she never would have. But she also had a duty. A self proclaimed one, but important to her nonetheless. She believed they were called ‘callings’, and she intended to answer. Cats had proven their resilience, and so she would bless them. They would not be taken by another psychopomp without a fight. Claws to defend themselves with, and fruitful lives that would carry them decades past their original.

Her travels brought her throughout Sornieth just like before, only she drank her surroundings in with a voracious thirst. Had the tapestries of these clans always been so azure? Where the leaves of the city fortress so verdant and tall? The world suddenly became more than just what it had been before. It was invigorating, inspiring, and most of all motivating. Samara had found her drive to protect all felines from the swiftness of death more and more fulfilling with every step she took. There were always cats to be seen, roaming small clans, villages and even cities. She liked them all for different reasons as well. The city cats were clever and ingenuitive, growing accustomed to the clockwork lifestyles of those that inhabited their home. They knew when the fishers would come in to sell at the markets, and when their left over stock would no longer be fresh for selling but prime for dinner. Likewise, the cats of small clans and villages against the wilderness were excellent hunters. They would stalk their prey and bring it back with every ounce of glory a warrior should have. Samara loved them all, and so she blessed them all with their nine lives and bladed claws.

Samara never thought that one day she would find herself considering one clan her home. She spent very rarely any time there except when passing through and telling stories to the other dragons that congregated. It seemed this clan was known for such types, seemingly drawing in travelers who shared their stories of experiences throughout Sornieth. None stayed for too long, and were always welcome back. Perhaps it was that aspect which Samara found the most appealing, given her long life and desire to never settle in one place indefinitely. She enjoyed her time there, swapping tales and growing bonds with dragons she may not see again or would often on her own journeys.

“Samara,” a dragon hummed in greeting. She’d spotted the familiar face of another traveler, smiling when he joined her side as the two walked further into the clan’s border. “You’ve returned.” She turned her head to him and nodded, her shroud shifting across her face as she did.

“I thought it time to return for a little while.” she answered. The dragons never stayed for too long, only a few remaining to establish the clan’s territory and upkeep it all would ever stick by. They’d cycle out of course, not wanting to hinder any that wished to travel by forcing them into being permanently tied to the clan’s land. Given their impermanence, it worked well. Samara would come back to the clan after months, sometimes longer to rest a while and share her stories. She enjoyed hearing from the others as well, and learning of new dragons that had come to join them or celebrate the final departure of others that planned on leaving for good.

“So, tell us!” dragons had begun to circle where Samara had settled at a bonfire that evening. Roasted meat could be smelled and some had lined up to grab pieces of it before joining the others. It was time to share their travels. The other dragon chuckled.

“Let’s get some food, then we can share our tales?” he spoke to the others. The younger ones sighed but nodded with the rest. Once food had been acquired though they swarmed again. Samara couldn’t help her smile as at last she sat down at a large table. Her beloved catalyst to her life’s calling hopped up and purred, rubbing against the claws held out to pet.

“A story, eh?” she turned her gaze to the other dragons. Eager nods answered her. Samara chuckled. “Well, from our last visit we went south, towards the sea. I’ve only been there once mind you, and it was so long ago I’d forgotten the scent of the ocean’s breeze.” Rapt with awe, they all listened ardently to her story of the calico that could swim, Samara blessing it like all her favorite felines so it could enjoy many more years on the ocean’s waves.
By- Awaas

SilverSilver wrote on 2019-06-15 11:25:32:

@Glacierstar

You chose:

You get: [static][1 of 3 unlocked]

Nine times it is - nine, the number that haunts your dreams; nine, the strikes against your soul; nine, the ways you failed and freed yourself. What was unlucky has now turned hallowed; you find the defenseless and for you, they are bold; you turn the solitary into the fierce. What means a life to one so dyed in death? Everyone has a crack in their facade, and so it was this small creature found you and remade you - o critical creator, o patron, she with no lives to spare but nine lives to live.

By Dreamson

By Bethisadolphin

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