Sparagmos
(#64140711)
Level 1 Imperial
Yonas
Yeti Brawler
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
23.04 m
Wingspan
22.09 m
Weight
6094.51 kg
Genetics
Slate
Iridescent
Iridescent
Blood
Safari
Safari
Blood
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
PROFILE
Name: Sparagmos
Gender: Male Pronouns: He/They Profession: N/A, Patient Interests: Reading, learning. Greater Comprehension of the world. Peace and mental stability. Vibe Song TREASURES 
Sparagmos' mind has long been shattered - only his own will holds his mind together, and this medicine maintains his focus. 
Sparagmos does not care for the taste of his medicine. This oil is the only way he'll consume it.
No one knows where this skull came from - not even Sparagmos, anymore. He still refuses to let it be taken from him. 
Sparagmos is known to talk to the ghosts that haunt him. When doing so, he generally has this skull nearby as a sign. TRINKETS 
FAVOURITE FOODS 
FAMILIAR 
Familiar: Yeti Brawler
Name: Yonas Personality: Intelligent, forceful when necessary, stable and consistent, purposeful. PRE-TRANSFORMATION 
Evarado
#2604021
Feral Sparagmos
SYMBIOTE SUMMARY
Name: Evarado
Gender: N/A Pronouns: They/Them Profession: Mental Resilience Aid Interests: Sparagmos. Maintaining their synthesis. Learning about the world. SYMBIOTE BIOGRAPHY  
They ... are. They are not sure where they are. They know they seek knowledge. They feel those around them leave. They feel new ones spawn. They can sense, vaguely, the presence of the one which made them. Sire? Awake? Good. We will find a place for you. Their Sire is big. Old. Is cohesive, dragon and symbiote merged perfectly together. There is no inconsistency in their mind, in their sense of self. They are. I want to learn, they tell their Sire. I want a host who is interesting. A host like me. I want the synthesis you have. They feel their Sire smile at them, the sense of pleasure and contentment and joy; the gladness of a parent who sees their child secure. Yes, their Sire says. We will do what we can. And they have. |
Ancient Greek: "to tear, to rend, to pull to pieces"
The ritual act of rending or tearing apart. PERSONALITY Sparagmos had always been driven to prove himself, from his very first days. To become what was never expected of him, to prove his worth, to be impossible to ignore. Well. Grown now to adulthood, halfway to being a living emperor, his sanity perpetually on the blink of slipping but for the sheer power of his glowing eyes, he is ignored by dragons at their peril. This is not necessarily a peril he seeks to be any more. With Tethys' clan he has found a kind of peace, something to mute the starving, consuming hunger he has to prove himself, to be more. He is more, now. He cannot be less - not with the ghosts that haunt him and the changes he's wrought on himself. He is more than he ever was before and... he's not sure he's glad of that, in truth. Mostly, these days, he wants for the ghosts to quiet, his own conscience to no longer sting quite so terribly, and to be left in peace. ABOUT The origin... Their father stares down at the nest in disgust. To him it was a bundle of wasted potential, children not to his impossible standards. Their mother tries to speak to their strengths. They were still born of shaman blood, a harmony of the ice and plague that ran through their veins, that they needed the time to learn. "Take them elsewhere," their father utters, the one time he'd truly address them. Their mother is quick to take them far away. She tries her hardest to allow them their best chance at surviving in the world so young. She hopes for the best that they do not turn out like their father.
(By DeadWapiti)
The unmaking... Evarado did not take his rejection at his father's hands well. He was made to leave, protected by his mother only so much but for which he has never forgotten her, never stopped being grateful for. There are times he almost considers returning but- But that does not feel right. Does not feel safe while his father is such a creature as he is. So instead he travels. He is not used to this place he has been sent, but he is strong and he is hardy and he will survive, one way or another. He eats what he can find - birds and fish, plants and insects. Sometimes the fallen bodies of dragons cross his path. When he is attacked - but a few times, roaming packs of mirrors mostly, but one large imperial that objects to his crossing their territory - he tears them to pieces. Evarado is a name he does not share as he travels - it is the name his mother gave him and his mother is not here. Sparagmos he is called, for his tearing apart of those who try to fight him, no quarter and no mercy, and for how he devours whatever little remains. He does not know the stories of Emperors. Not until later. Not until long after he walked to the Wyrmwound and back out, roiling plague in his blood that wakes his body up from the borderline hibernation it must have been in since he was removed from his father's realm. He is glad of the trial of it. It teaches him to be strong in and of himself, they give him a greater power, they make him safe. They make him contemplate, once more, seeking out his mother and thanking her for his life. But he doesn't. He gets in more fights after that, dragons who do not recognise his newfound power, who do not respect it. He has objections to that. He does not think what his mother might think of his behaviour. He does think that perhaps, now, his father might be proud. He travels, he fights, he eats what he can find - or what food he can scavenge, when a fight is done. He learns of Emperors, but too late. How many imperials has he fought over these years? How many defeated dragons litter his path? How much blood has he swallowed in the midst of a fight, not thinking of it's source, too much made of anger? Too many, too many. With the new plague roiling in his blood, the power of plague wild and still being learned... he does not know what he is becoming. There is a patch of skin on his side that is not the colour it was after the Trials. There is stretch on the upside of his right wing that shimmers instead of being marked with jagged stripes. His claws twitch against his will, sometimes thoughts cross his mind that aren't his own. It takes all his will and power to keep himself under his own control. He will not become a patchwork of the dragons he has fought, haunted by the ghosts of the beings he has ended. He refuses. He is half mad, eyes reeling - glowing - when he collapses on the ashen shore at the edge of the territory of Tethys' clan. He is lucky they have so many scholars. So many imperials. So many guardians. Between them all, even if they cannot cure him, perhaps they can at least tame the crazed workings he has enacted upon himself. The ghosts... They do not listen to Sparagmos much. This is wise, he knows. He is haunted by too many things to speak much sense, by his parents and his past and all those he has eaten. He has consumed enough he ought not have to be half a living emperor, and those spirits trapped with him whisper in his mind, try to guide his actions, try to make him something other than he is. But he will not let them, these ghosts whispering in his head. He is more than them, after all. He bested them. He lives while they do not. They resent this. Of course they do. And in the end, there were more of them now than him, enough that when they had a purpose together they could sway him, whispering and shouting and cajoling and coaxing all at once. What choice had he but to bend? But Sparagmos was not one to bend. He long ago decided that he would rather break. His eyes are illuminated with plague. With them he can glimpse the ghosts that hover around him, that haunt him day in and day out, imperials yes, but tundras too, and snappers, and pearlcatchers and spirals and guardians and corven and aviar, serthis and manticores, longnecks and- He fought most anything in his wake. It is not so surprising that they haunt him now. But now he sees them. He observes them. He sees when they gather and plan and, if he truly cared to, when they bring Izidra to try to peel the ghosts from him one by one and exorcise them into freedom, he could direct her and help her. She too can glimpse ghosts but her sight is not like his, one she learned and not something he traded part of himself to plague for. Plaguebringer hates undead, after all, and what are ghosts but those who should be dead refusing? But in a way they are become his conscience, are they not? The lesson of what he must not do. The lesson that he must manage himself, must listen to himself and not any other. There are some few ghosts he hides from Izidra, when she comes to help him. The ghosts haunt him, yes. That is as it should be. The woe... The ghosts are keening. Sparagmos doesn't listen. Instead he works, writing out thoughts and theories onto the wooden boards he uses instead of paper, claws bringing up curls of wood as he carves. Woe, they cry. Woe! He does not know what they grieve. Their own lives, perhaps, that he took. Their own losses perhaps. Possibly one has lost a relative, or perhaps there is something else for them to cry woe and weep. A dragon scurries up to Viria, his watcher, and as she speaks to them Uriah turns all his many eyes to him, keeping watch when Viria cannot. When the dragon leaves... Viria seems enlivened. "Lady?" Uriah asks. Slowly, Viria smiles. The ghosts shout Woe, woe! ever louder and he can pinpoint the voices now - the Plaguepriest he devoured, their acolyte, three plagueborn. "News of the council," she says. "That is all." Viria hates he council. She hates the fact she was forced into her role. Sparagmos finds himself smiling: what has happened now? Freedom... With freedom from the Council and from expectation, the clan has been far able to do more than before. Sparagmos, it is agreed, will likely always be haunted and always tread around the brink of his sanity even as his eyes glow to maintain it, but with medicine his focus may be aided, and his precise, uncanny insights are valued. While still a patient of the clan he is given much more freedom - in part necessity after Viria's departure, without someone to watch him, but also in part that he has become much more stable than he was before. Sparagmos does prefer to keep to himself, unsure of the warping he worked on himself and too wary to trust most others with himself. He is known to have a fondness and deep respect for Likhoradka, however, and Pestilentia is well used to his quirks, while Carmilla has dealt with stranger - being stranger herself. Generally Sparagmos is found in a quiet corner of the library, and the hatchlings of the clan are advised to give him space and leave him be. He prefers to observe those around him, even if he still tends to declare his observations and his thoughts rather dramatically. RELATIONSHIPS
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