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Typhon

(#56011552)

Level 1 Imperial

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

23.82 m

Wingspan

15.23 m

Weight

9164.25 kg

Genetics

Stone
Cinder

Blood
Foam

Maroon
Okapi

Hatchday

Oct 14, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Wind
Uncommon

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Dasker
Nyra

Offspring

Biography

Return to LucentMoth #393759

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name
COOL TITLE
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trust the winds to guide you
bring your soul to me.

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fHe's blown there by Wind. He supposes he ought to take it as a sign. He clambers out of the blasted tree he was thrown into by a windgust, checks himself over for any scratches. The air here, for all it's filled with spores and shadows, reeks of plague.

Interesting. Wings exhausted, he starts walking.

"Who are you?"

He does not know what to make of the Imperial facing him now, wings slightly flared, eyes spiralling hypnotically, speckled blood down his back marking him clearly a Carrionix as Typhon is himself.

"You," the Imperial says again. "How did you get here, why are you here and who are you?"

He does not notice the Wildclaw in the Imperial's shadow until a bolt of Plague strikes his side, forcing his own to surge out of him in a gust of wind.

"Ah," the Imperial says. "Well, come along then."

Typhon hardly knows what else to do, Imperial walking away, Wildclaw hovering threateningly nearby, so he follows.

Food is laid out before him. Roughly half of it is rotting, the other half laced with plague and poison. He picks through carefully, eating what he knows he can counter. The Imperial is smiling.

"Clever," he says. "I ask again, stranger. Who are you and why are you here?"

Typhon shrugs. "Wind sent me."

The flaming eyes narrow. "Whom in Wind wishes to scout us?"

Typhon sucks food off a skewer, counters the poison it holds, and wags a claw at him. "You misunderstand me. I am not sent by Wind the flight. I am sent by Wind itself. I flew, and the Winds blew me here." He shrugs. "I am a Carrioinix, as-yet unassigned anyplace. The Wind decided where I ought to go."

The Imperial glances to the Wildclaw, the Wildclaw inclines her head, the glowing brand of plague above her illuminating her scales oddly.

"You wish a task?" the Imperial asks. "Hm."

It's the Wildclaw who speaks, almost silent, half her words conveyed in flicked fins and darting hands, the old sign language of plague, meant for dragons so ill their voices do not obey them. We have one we would see protected, she signs. A Necromancer like you.

Typhon's eyes narrow and he sets his skewer down with careful claws. "Can they not protect themselves?"

It's the imperial who replies. "She can," he says. "She is more than capable of that. But we have lost too many of her siblings to be willing to risk her, even now. Wind blew you here, you say? Perhaps Wind intended you for her."

It's a mad logic, a leap made because it is wished rather than because it makes any kind of sense, but this imperial's eyes spiral with hypnotic madness, this Necroservus has dangerously powerful plague in her veins and the food they have laid out has all been a trap. Typhon is well aware that he may not escape unless they wish it.

"Perhaps," he agrees. "May I meet this Necromancer you would have me treat as a Guardian does their Charge?"

The imperial smiles, something somewhere between fondly understanding and utterly, fiercely intimidating, but Typhon will not bow to this one's odd madness. If this odd mad one wishes him to protect his child, then, perhaps, he can, if Wind willed it, but if that is what this odd mad one wants then he cannot expect him to be cowed easily.

The garden, Typhon realises, is likely where half the poison in his food came from. Azalea, cicuta, oleander, datura. Fungi too, fly agaric and angel's trumpet, deathcap and skullspore. In the midst is an imperial, as grand as her father, slowly working her way over the plants, bottling this, basketing that, carefully picking and pruning as she goes with ready grace.

"Elune!" calls the imperial leading the way. "I have found a protector for you."

She has arcane eyes, he sees, when she turns to look, and a quiet but curious nature, snakes coiling over her skin and bugs crawling over her body. She looks as at home in the garden as any nature dragon might, but for her eyes marking her arcane, her thylacine slashes marking her touched by plague, her father with his fire-mad eyes before them both.

Typhon rather likes her already.

"Typhon," he says, extending a claw. "Of Wind. Wind sent me."

She tilts her head, speaks softly a question he hasn't heard since the Trials, since a grand claw reached out of nothing to pour plague into his body. "Will you serve?" she asks.

He cannot give any answer but what he gave then, the plague in his body guiding him just as much as the Wind that guided him here.

"Gladly," he replies.
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yeah every paragraph is formatted separately
why? why not

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Exalting Typhon to the service of the Lightweaver 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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