Psittacidae » Lair » Grimalkin

Grimalkin

(#46903809)

The Wicked Witch

Familiar

Swiftstride Soldier

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.49 m

Wingspan

8.58 m

Weight

625.62 kg

Genetics

Shadow
Iridescent

Shadow
Facet

Obsidian
Crackle

Hatchday

Nov 15, 2018
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Mirror

Eye Type

Arcane
Common

Level 25 Mirror

Max Level

STR

120

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

GRIMALKIN
The Wicked Witch

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair: hover through the fog and filthy air. "

Diablerie says:
"I find that hate can unify people more quickly and more fervently than devotion ever could. That's what drew us to use our pride like a shield against despair, dejection and self-pity, to raise our heads and stare damnation in the eyes. To think, all this might never have happened if she were just competent from the beginning. But now, to the devil a daughter. It seems I have a successor."

Vim says:
"Everything about this terrifies me. How she discarded her old life like it was nothing. What did the Shade do to convince her? What did it have to offer? To live in bliss, rule in wisdom, and be worshipped for eternity? The emptiness in her is much more disturbing than the despair it had replaced. This creature had given up hope long ago; she probably kills out of habit rather than any conscious desire."

None yet!

The Witch

Link to Breeding Project

The Shade is a powerful thing, those of the Arcane flight know that better than most. Almost everyone who encounters the Shade does not survive. Keyword, of course, being almost.

In all my days in the Arcane fields, I could never learn the magic that all my peers wielded so effortlessly. Mana bolt, rune slash, enfeeble, they're cute to think about now, but they were the bane of my youth. My inability to match even the youngest hatchlings filled me with so much resentment I must wonder if that was when my first steps towards the Shade began.

My mother was not only a great fighter but also an extremely well-respected mage. One of the best. Everyone would marvel on and on about how incredible it was to be her daughter, how lucky! Perhaps it was said in jest, or even with genuine sentiment, but all I heard were more reminders of how I had been born a failure.

I'm a mirror, they tell me. Mirrors are not attuned to magic, and just come out this way sometimes. There's nothing I can do and must simply accept it.

Father took it in stride; he was a mirror too and took a come-as-you-will approach to magic. "You have other gifts!" He used to say, trying to console me when once again I fail to conjure even the simplest of spells. Mother never said anything to me, but I always knew she was distressed at my inability to pick up the crafts of my flight.

Oh, how I hated them. I hated the other hatchlings for everything that was denied to me that they were freely given. I hated my parents, for trying to tell me it's okay to be this way -- to be lesser -- for even thinking that I was lesser. I hated the Arcane flight, for putting such expectations upon me; they had no life apart from magic and I was unwillingly pulled into that doctrine.

Perhaps even back then, I knew how wrong they were, how perilous their folly for underestimating me. I was meant for something great, and none of them could see it.

The Shade was a horror story in Arcane, a legend of how the mighty Arcanist himself had wrought destruction upon the world by merely getting close to that devouring blackness. But I was never afraid. I had no magic to lose. I welcomed it, it's power. I often fantasised about bringing it unto the world, sucking every drop of arcane magic away so that everyone would be just like me. I would be their equal.

It didn't quite happen the way I imagined. My worldview was narrow, and it wasn't until the Shade that I finally opened my eyes: No one is my equal.

The forbidden rituals were not easy to find; Mother kept them hidden well so that no one might invoke it. But it's so difficult for her to hide from her own child. No longer would the high mages of Arcane hoard the secrets to power from everyone else! I would convince the Shade to grant me its power. I would do anything for it. Anything.

By candlelight, I completed the seance, muttering the words of the ancient ritual with my heart hammering at my ribcage. I had never wanted anything more than I wanted this. I craved with every fibre of my being. Give me power, now!

I had accepted the Shade into my very soul that night. My pastel scales of arcane descent were transformed into stained shiny shadows, and the black remnants of the Shade clung to me, running thick as oil down my dark, glistening wings. My sheep’s skin cast off to finally reveal my true colours.

I had flinched back at the first fluorescent light I saw, a beam parting the veil of blessed darkness, particles of dust dancing gold within it. The sun seared impossibly painful, and I felt as though it would burn the flesh off my hide. As I tried to flee, I found that I could no longer fly. The thick, clinging fingers of the Shade were heavy and refused to take to the air, forcing me into the ground.

I quickly dashed back under shelter, panting, weak and dizzy, head swimming with confusion and pain. I am made of darkness now, light is an anathema to my very being. The bitter taste of failure was just starting to rise like bile in my throat when the scrolls around me flew upwards and levitated, hanging still in the air as if held taut by an invisible thread. I gaped in shock, I had never been able to move anything like this before. I willed a goblet, left forgotten by some late-night scholar, to come towards me. It flew forwards and hovered, waiting, not spilling a single drop of its contents.

I was ecstatic. I had done it! Magical power at my fingertips, ready to be used at my whim.

You would think that my parents would be proud of how proactive I was. Who else can claim their child had such drive, such ambition, such determination to succeed, no matter what it took? But they recoiled in horror as if my final mastery of magic was abhorrent to them.

Mother reprimanded me with a tremor in her voice, and when I snapped back in protest, she had summoned her magic against me. But a mere mage is no match for the might of the Shade. I am reborn in darkness, and she has clung to her Light.

Her powers soon failed her, and so did her mind. She crumbled onto the floor, gazing up at me with no recognition. I hissed in an old forgotten tongue, and she nodded with a smile. Hypnotised and trapped in my spell, she turned around and lashed out at my father. He called out in shock and tried to flee, and all the onlookers drawn to the spectacle scattered like birds from a falling tree.

With a thought, I suspended my father in the air, right in the path of a vicious bolt of magic. There was a scream and then silence. Blood pooled at my feet, and I felt nothing save a mild curiosity.

I had a taste for it now, and I wanted more. After all, true mastery needed practice, as they had so kindly drilled into me for all those years.

I swept through the nearby clans like a raging tempest, trying out new ways to utilise my telekinesis, and forcing their feeble minds into submission as I enslaved entire lairs.

I tried to justify it to myself then, that they deserved it, for thinking me weak all these years. That I was owed revenge for how they had failed me. But soon I had a revelation. I needed no justification. Power is my prerogative. I can do as I like. The strong do not bow to the demands of the weak.

I was wrong all those years ago when I thought I could drain away the magic of the world with the Shade. There is magic in all things. Power can be collected, if you know where to look. The meal a young couple shared on the first night in their new lair, the lucky rabbits foot belonging to dragons in three separate fatal accidents, the prized possession of a young hatching... add the Shade's gift of black oozing oil and you've got yourself a fine witches brew.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

progeny?age=0&body=85&bodygene=18&breed=3&element=9&eyetype=0&gender=1&tert=4&tertgene=12&winggene=22&wings=85&auth=6fddaeafb4e6299b3cbbd47335d4fb609227ec38&dummyext=prev.png

Grimalkin as a hatchling

Silverishness wrote:

This lady though.

Woe betide the fool that underestimate a mirror like I did. I didn't expect all that much when I clicked on her, as I'm not that big a fan of mirrors. The ones I do have are planned to be changed to another breed. Still, something about her drew me in and immediately I was sucked into her world.

Her lore is fascinating to read. When I come across another lore dragon, I do tend to skim and then move on, but as I did, I found myself going back and taking my time. Not only her personal story in general, but specifically your writing, brought her to life. And as I looked at her, at her avatar and the vista it was paired with, I could only appreciate the thought put into her even more.

10/10 would absolutely recommend.

NightmareJudge wrote:

Man, there are only so many ways I can gush about lore before I start feeling redundant. More excellent first-person horror, I love the bit with her hatchling-self!

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0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Grimalkin to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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