Phyrexia
(#58835381)
THE FATHER; THE USURPER; THE MACHINIST
Familiar
Lightning Sprite
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Energy: 43/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Coatl
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.43 m
Wingspan
7.28 m
Weight
1043.8 kg
Genetics
Beige
Fern
Fern
Blood
Noxtide
Noxtide
Blood
Points
Points
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Coatl
Max Level
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Biography
| ... |
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PHYREXIA { fy-REX-ia } The Machinist |
Nicknames: The Twelfth >name origin< Born to fanatic devouts |
► STORIES
» LORE: See in: Maple's lore
» OTHER APPEARANCES: Charitas' lore, Wither's lore
» CAMEOS: (mentioned, but not directly seen) Mucormycosis's lore, Adder's lore
► ... NOW ...
Muzzled. Chained. Restrained with reinforced and magicked rubber, of all things.
Something he cannot infect. And thanks to the spells woven within the material, something he cannot break.
Phyrexia chafes against his shackles, but even more so does he chafe against the indignity. He is a god, the Twelfth, the Machinist, and these wretched dragons have the audacity to speak against him, to shackle him, to declare his mastery to be mutiny, to be a betrayal of the gods they "serve".
The Eleven did nothing to stop him. Nothing to save them. His path is right, is how it must be, is the way forward for these shortsighted dragons. Their world is cursed, is infected, and the only way to survive is to evolve. To accept phyresis.
He glowers behind the muzzle as Maple gives her speech, as his rank on the Council is stripped away, as the ignorant pawn he used shrieks her indignation to uncaring ears. They only stall what is inevitable. There are many on the Council already under his sway, and hundreds more outside of it, spreading his ichor, expanding his army, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
This will only be temporary, he vows. His eyes meet those of his heir, Decia, and she nods in understanding. Until he is free, she shall lead in his place. Her more subtle variant of their shared infection shall be the key. Those she converts will be impossible to tell from the uninitiated, and when he is ready to break free, his army will have expanded twelvefold.
This is not the end of the Twelfth, Maple.
Only the beginning.
|
► ... BEFORE ... Another dead. They have their orders, they think as they stare at the lifeless body of the most recent "patient". Weak. Discard it with the rest - that is their order, and they do so diligently. The way they all move feels almost as automated as their bodies have become; a hive mind that runs as singular pieces of a machine. They keep their thoughts, though they are just as mottled as the blood that courses through their hydraulics. There are no longer veins here. All hail the Machinist, they cry, with every dragon added to their ranks. All hail the Machinist, they cry, with every weak failure whose corpse they leave behind. And so he hails, exalted by his followers. Another clan has been reaped, their harbinger taking those strong enough to embrace the next step of evolution while the rest are left at the wayside to rot. Their bodies still clung to the obsolete organics they were made of, while the rest of them embraced the mechanization of their limbs. The virus that he carries with him does not infect, at least not in his mind. No, it elevates; it triggers the necessary spark that is necessary for all dragonkind to evolve or be left. The world of Sornieth has always been filled with disease. It has always existed there, growing strong as it overcame settlements and then weak when those affected by it found ways to adapt. Adaptation is always key, and if the history of their world was any indicator of just how true that was, the Shade was the biggest point. So it was only natural that diseases could also be impacted by the Shade’s influences, as many beastfolk and even dragons were a testament to the markings of being Shade-touched. Phyrexia’s specialty as a necromancer had been in diseases, particularly the rarer and extinct ones. He studied the rise and fall of civilizations that were seemingly wiped out in a matter of months, pinpointed what he considered the "outbreak" stage, and began his digging. Perhaps it was always a matter of time for him to stumble upon a disease that had been shade-touched, but what would happen next was up to chance. It infected the blood, as he learned from his tests and experiments. He watched his test subjects slowly grow more and more septic the longer the disease went unchecked after initial infection. He studied the symptoms, the decline in health, even attempts to heal all be for nought. Not that he was particularly bothered by any death that came - which there were many, in those early days - but it did provide him with insight on what this disease could do. It was of course an accident that he infected himself, and while he waited for the agonizing death he had studied, something else happened. Phyrexia’s body began to undertake the same breakdown of his flesh and blood that his test subjects had experienced, but it was not the end for him. No, it seemed the disease had latched on to his mechanical limbs and sought to replicate the machinery throughout his body. Phyrexia’s skin turned to galvanized metal, his muscle into a webbed fiber. The ordeal was the most painful experience that the dragon had ever gone through, but when it was done he was reborn anew. He was no longer of flesh and blood, instead, he thought, he had evolved. Flexing his mechanical wings, feeling his body move like fluid metal was his first realization that he was no longer merely mortal. The feeling excited and thrilled him. He had watched this disease ravage all it came into contact with, except for him. He had been touched by something, been allowed to become something more; something higher than his organic counterparts. He was not appalled at all by this revelation; if anything Phyrexia was jubilated by his discovery. His focus as a necromancer shifted into what would become his life’s work, as he took this disease to others. He predominantly went for other necromancers, knowing their abilities to heal and inflict disease would come in handy with their own evolution. They seemed to be the stronger of those that became infected as well, as they were able to withstand the toil the body went through during its metamorphosis much better better than a common dragon. He became their pope; their god. With his work he baptized them in the disease, and they took it to the masses. Many died under their claws, their bodies too weak for the evolution that they should’ve experienced. Those that failed to transition into machines were not considered failures of Phyrexia’s necromancers, but failures of their own. The disease was unmerciful, and those that suffered only to crumble away were cast out and forgotten, only brought up to prove that failure amongst those being converted would end in their demise at their own hands. Despite the death toll his disease had caused, Phyrexia did not slow. His eyes set themselves upon a clan within the plague lands. A fitting place, he had mused once, he infiltrated their ranks with ease as his necromancer skills were seen for their value. It might have been destiny that he had come across this clan, turning necromancer after necromancer among them and setting those faithful members to gather others for the same task. His blood had been mottled with the virus, mutating him and itself in a symbiotic anomaly. It was Phyrexia that had been chosen by the virus to show its abilities upon, and so he spread this vicious enlightenment to others. Nadalia may have sat at the head of the clan, their leader before Phyrexia arrived, but it was now he and his virus that was in charge. Members of the clan became loyal to the coatl, his virus their elixir of life rather than the gruesome shade-touched monstrosity that showed its true colors to those who could not withstand the change it also promised to bring. Under him they spread through the clan, friends losing lives only to be remembered in death as nothing but weak for not being able to accept the gifts their deity had given them. The world of Sornieth had been shaped and influenced by the 11 deities that each flight called theirs, so it was only fitting that his followers looked to him as their own. The twelfth deity, the one that had brought them a gift that made them the advanced species of their world. All hail The Machinist.  Minor edits by @Fendwellr |
INVENTORY
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► RELATIONSHIPS
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Decia | Daughter & Heir Decia was among his first born, and the first to seek him out as an adult, wishing to share in his phyresis. In her, it mutated once more, leaving skin, scale, and feather intact, though her muscles, bones, and organs were still converted to glorious artifice. For this reason she became his heir, as her much subtler variant could be put to excellent use in the creation of stealth Phyrexians. Unfortunately for her, she was cornered and forced to convert Norn... and did not survive the encounter. |
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Norn | Rival / Hatred / Usurper Phyrexia despises Norn, and she sees him as a fool who never should have played at godhood. Under her leadership, the new phyrexians have expanded far beyond Phyrexia's wildest dreams, and their loyalty to her is even more fanatic than it was for him. When he eventually breaks free, Phyrexia plans to destroy her in front of all of them to make his point very, very clear... |
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Maple | The source of his defeat Phyrexia believed Maple when she left the Court and found her way to him, professing to be enamoured by his infection. His failure to recognize that her meek demeanor was only farcical was the source of his undoing; once infected, Maple poured her energy into learning how to stave off and control the infection, while gathering notes on him, his army, and any dragon working with them. All of this evidence she brought before the Council, and in her Ruling rank she was well within her power to strip him of his rank, bind his powers, and place him under lock and key. |
| ... Most of his kids don't like him. Listing all the descendants who don't like or trust him would take far too long. He was not abusive or neglectful, but he did not foster emotional connections with any of his children except Decia. |
Coding and stat bars made by Disillusionist. Vista BGs are from Hazeledpoppy's FR blog.
"Theme" music graphics made by Diamondsuits.
"Theme" music graphics made by Diamondsuits.
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