Fendwellr » Hibernal Den » Adder

Adder

(#53887780)

the Gentle; the Subtle; the Cure Eternal

Familiar

Carmine Serthis

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

7.58 m

Wingspan

4.04 m

Weight

500.03 kg

Genetics

Beige
Flaunt

Blood
Noxtide

Blood
Thylacine

Hatchday

Jul 25, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Mirror

Eye Type

Plague
Rare

Level 25 Mirror

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

A D D E R
Healer & Poisoner

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PRONOUNS
he/him

ORIENTATION
unknown

OCCUPATION
Conclave Healer, Counselor, & Poisoner

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✤ ✤ ✤

You never saw any reason for arrogance.

Plenty of Necromancers were arrogant, haughty, and confident. Your sister was as well, had been from the moment you tumbled out into the world together, slick with the slime from your shared egg.

But you found quite early on that a quiet, careful Necromancer was taken more seriously than a loud, aggressive one. Or, perhaps, they simply realized early on that your fangs were much more dangerous than your sister's, your methods much more thoughtful.

How lucky they were that you never really desired power, nor did you desire fear, or even control. Hypoxia could brag and disparage you all she wanted - why would Healer be an esteemed Council specialty if it were not accepted?

Nay, embraced?

You had always been her gentle shadow. She could have the spotlight all she wanted; you were content on the sidelines, tending illnesses and lending your aid to others when requested. It was a simple, pleasurable life. You made yourself an enemy of none and as such you had no enemies on the Council. You played neutrality perfectly.

Until the false god was welcomed into your home.

"Hypoxia," you urged, standing opposite her for the first time in your memory. "There is something wrong about him, something cruel. You cannot let them stay here. Send them away. Please. If you listen to me about nothing else in our lives, listen to me now."

But of course, she did not. "I lead the Court Necromancers," she snarled, teeth scarcely an inch from your eyes. "I decide who joins us and who we turn aside, and I sense power in that one. He will make an excellent lackey."

"Or turn you into one," you muttered back, the venom in your voice more potent than that which dripped from your fangs. But her decision was made, and as always she had Wither's support. Serratia's as well, and Urabrask's. You were outnumbered, ignored, and were you a lesser dragon you might have been bitter about how little she cared for your counsel.

When Wither was ambushed and infected, you thought she would finally understand. When he begged her to kill him, to prevent any chance of his surviving to serve Phyrexia, you thought the gravity of what she had done all those months ago would finally sink in.

Instead she clung to insistence that anyone could have been fooled by the coatl's mesmerizing stare and soothing voice. Anyone might have made the same mistake.

When Viper disappeared, when you woke up without her heat in your nest, you slammed your sister against a wall. You were larger than she, and though she was heavier you were faster, more nimble. And she was all too aware of what would happen if your teeth met in her flesh.

"You did this," you hissed, claws digging into her sides. "You did this. It is no one's fault but yours."

Still she tried to deny it, tried to reiterate that Phyrexia's actions were unpredictable, that none could have known what he would do.

Your claws raked across her face.

"I'm going to find her, sister. And if she has been infected, or killed, the mercy for which you so mock me will never again grace you."

✤ INVENTORY
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✤ RELATIONS
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Hypoxia ; Sister

Venin ; Mate

Vindica ; Niece

Reginn > Hackberry > Nimue > Adder

Kishna > Queezle > Amygdala > Adder

Adder is many things. To his relatives he is simply a brother, a twin, a nephew, an uncle. To his mate he is protective, perhaps sometimes overbearing, but always loving, encouraging her to express herself however she best sees fit, however her own parents disapproved of. To their children, both by blood and by choice, he has ever been caring, doting on them as well as their cousins to make up for what his sister lacks.

And to that sister... to Hypoxia he is something to be wary of, ever since her arrogance nearly destroyed the entirety of their clan-- did destroy it, in technicality; though some of their old clanmates yet live, the Court of Rogues is no longer. Bereft of their queen and the vast majority of their former family, the Court has dissolved and reformed as something new, something altogether different despite what similarities and old habits remain. To Hypoxia he is cold, no longer tolerant, no longer forgiving. He will always be loyal to his family, but Hypoxia is family in name alone.

No longer will he ever gaze upon his sister with warmth. Not when she alone is responsible for the loss of so many lives, and certainly not when those who survive will forever bear the scars resultant of her actions.

Adder is many things to many people.

To the Maimed Conclave he is a dutiful healer, knowledgeable and as gentle as he can be even during the most agonizing of procedures. To Maple, he is as much mentor as confidant, a trusted friend with whom she discusses her struggles or worries as often as she does Mustard. She is, in fact, the reason for his own relationship with the former Lich, having put aside his biases and been rewarded with a fantastic partner in debate for his efforts. Mustard, he suspects, feels much the same about him. Maple is no fool and certainly not lacking in intelligence, but her focuses and interests are far removed from the Gardener's poisonous preferences. In contrast, Adder too has intimate knowledge in poisons, though his leans more toward that which is used as venom.

To the Plaguebringer, he is lost. He used to hear Her voice so clearly in his head.

In truth, he still does.

He just ignores it.

Her worshipers are often such petty creatures, a fact he knows more intimately than most. His bloodline is prestigious on all fronts, descendant of some of the most powerful and influential Necromancers ever to walk Sornieth. As his aunt, Maple shares that bloodline, and her bitterness runs deeper than his. She was a Ruling Necromancer, one of the highest members of the Council that directed the entirety of that vast faction.

And from the moment she gained that rank, she was frustrated by their resistance to any of her suggestions, anything that might help to better that damnable, squabbling community. When she received so much pushback on her proposal to deal with the Phyrexians, he was surprised she didn't quit right then and there. She has steel in her spine-- literally now, as well as metaphorically-- and will not bend for those who place their own power above the wellbeing of others.

But she stayed, coaxing and convincing until enough of the Council supported her. And only after her duty was done did she allow herself to walk away from their constant arguing. Only after their safety had been assured did she allow herself some distance from the community that had berated and belittled her so much. Her father always absent, her mother always fussing, so many of her siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles too busy scrabbling amongst the others for power or for freedom from the expectations of everyone else.

She is so, so tired.

When she comes to him, he says nothing of the dark circles under her eyes. Mustard's gaze flicks from her to him, a silent nod confirming that Maple has not been sleeping well-- if at all. In her metal claws are ashes and scraps of burnt red cloth, and he can just barely make out the darker curve of a line here and there. He knows that cloth well; his sister covets a banner more than anything.

She doesn't have to, but Maple still speaks-- speaks, with the words she never uses, with the words she has been so uncomfortable with ever since she was hatched, and the emptiness in her voice tears at him in a way that is all too familiar now.

"I resigned from the Council," she rasps before spreading her fingers, letting the ash blow away on the faint breeze. After a moment, her fingers move again, this time forming familiar shapes as she signs. I do not want to stay here. There are others who feel the same.

He dips his head in a nod, glancing again at Mustard before returning his attention to his aunt. "Are you asking if I wish to stay?"

I will not force anyone to come who does not wish to. Plague has been our home for generations. The Necromancers were our family for generations. I cannot--

He places a paw over hers, interrupting the increasingly frantic movements. "Family," he murmurs, gently releasing her hands, "is what we make of it. The Council were not our family. The Court was, and those of us that remain can still be." His breath is shaky, and it surprises him to realize how unsteady he is. Too many emotions have been coiled too tightly for too long, and it doesn't take a counselor to realize the survivors of their clan are all ready to burst.

"Viper cannot stay here," he finally continues. "This land, and those dragons, are too painful a reminder of what has happened to her. To all of us. When you leave, we will follow."

Maple tilts her head, intense orange eyes gleaming as they search his red and green ones. After a long silence, she slowly signs, And your sister?

Swallowing a hiss, he lets out a sigh. "If she follows it is her choice. I will not stop her, nor will I invite her. Our paths are no longer intertwined."

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Exalting Adder to the service of the Tidelord 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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