Opheliae » Lair » Syamante

Syamante

(#25719410)

Magician | Unpredictable | Regretful

Ikiki

Tatterwing Carcass

Energy: 46/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.19 m

Wingspan

6.03 m

Weight

725.31 kg

Genetics

Peacock
Jupiter

Peacock
Saturn

Raspberry
Stained

Hatchday

Jul 26, 2016
(7 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Fire
Common

Level 1 Skydancer

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

༻ S Y A M A N T E ༺

S T R E N G T H
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I N T E L L I G E N C E
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A G I L I T Y
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C H A R I S M A
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W I L L P O W E R
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M A G I C
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_{A R T

by snowy}
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syamante_by_snowy__tiny__by_blondes_sketchbook-dbfgenx.png

{ click the image to see full size }

_{A R T

by Ythequeris}
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syamante_no_bg_ultra_tiny_by_blondes_sketchbook-dbfgulx.png

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'Courage isn't having the strength to go on - it is
going on when you don't have strength.'

⚔^{- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -}

Syamante spent most of her childhood misunderstood. The other hatchlings found her silent demeanor disconcerting, while she always found them too loud and obnoxious. And after most of her attempts at socializing were dismissed, she stopped trying. There just wasn’t a point putting herself needlessly through the humiliation.

And when she discovered her powers, they liked her even less. Her right eye continued to burn an orange flame, as bright as flickering fire on a starless night, but her left was a gleaming rose quartz, unnatural in every way. The power thrummed through her veins, crackling across her skin. She didn’t know how to control it, leading to watchful eyes and cautious steps, just waiting for the next time her powers ripped from her grasp. The other hatchlings thought she was possessed, and whenever she glanced at them with her dual colored eyes, they became hushed.

She tried to find aid in the adults of the clan, less biased of unusual occurrences and not as judgmental as the children, but even they were at a loss. Her powers were unnaturally strong, unparalleled in anything they had seen before. They suggested books and scrolls that might help, but nothing ever seemed to work for Syamante. As time passed, she grew desperate, terrified that at any moment she’d lose control of her powers and cause unimaginable harm to her clan. For countless hours, she spent searching the clan’s archives, poring over books and scrolls, anything that might help her. But every spell she tried failed; every ritual went astray.

It was hopeless.

She was hopeless. She was doomed to be an outcast and a failure. Too abnormal for anyone to call her a friend, and too dangerous to be around in case her magic flared unexpectedly. It’d be better for her to just leave. To live far away from civilization so she could never hurt anyone again.

But just as she was about to put her plan into action, she came across a peculiar scroll, tucked away and forgotten. The edges were ripped and torn, a strange stain covering half of the parchment. It detailed a spell that, if successful, could help curb her magical outbursts. And her mind racing with implications, Syamante waited until the others were asleep before she slipped from her den, the scroll tucked under her arm.

It could go wrong. Horribly wrong. She’d heard tales of dragons who’d dabbled in magic beyond their comprehension, tales of those who’d been driven mad or even lost their lives.

… But what else was she to do? Was she supposed to sit around, just waiting for the moment when the others wised up to her threat and cast her out?

No. She had to act.

The scroll unfurled in her hands, the soft glow of moonlight illuminating the page. Taking a deep breath, she cast the spell. The words were foreign to her, her voice halting and hesitant. It was quite an odd spell, nothing she’d ever heard of before. And as she felt the magic in the air surge, then settle, she felt a rush of elation.

Did it work? Did it—

Syamante screamed. There was so much pain. White hot, and searing. It felt like a thousand knives were cutting into her skin, ripping through her flesh. Shredding and brutalizing. Her skin was peeling back, her bones shattering. She was burning, burning, burning—

She was going to die.

Such a coherent thought, when her body was otherwise writhing and contorting in the dirt, nails clawing at her chest as if she could rip the curse from her body, that bloodcurdling scream still tearing from her throat.

She was dying.

Dying…

… Dying …

…

…

… She was alive.

With a gasp, she sat bolt upright, her heart beating a rickety rhythm in her chest. Bright, cheery sunlight streamed through the trees, a soft rustle as leaves swayed in the slight breeze. In the distance, she could hear the murmur of voices and the clattering of tools as her clan went through their morning routine.

Her hands were shaking as she slowly got to her feet, legs trembling, wings drooping.

She was… fine.

She half-expected to see her skin burned and blistering, raw and bleeding. But aside from the trembling and feeling as if she’d been sat on by a Snapper, she was perfectly okay. There was nothing to account for the unimaginable pain of the previous night.

It was as if it had never happened.

… Had it happened?

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she scowled. Of course it happened. The memory was too sharp, too distinct, to be considered anything but reality.

But then, what had happened?

She’d done the spell, so did that mean… ?

Disappointment surged through her.

… No. Her powers still writhed beneath her skin, as uncontrollable as ever. Maybe she’d done the spell wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t meant for whatever kind of magic she had. Whatever the case, Syamante was back at the beginning. Lost and confused. Spiteful.

The next few days dragged on. No one had even noticed Syamante’s brief midnight expedition, nor the fact that her hands trembled for the following days. The hatchlings continued to watch her warily, whispering scathing remarks behind her back. And the adults were as unhelpful as ever, offering empty words and useless advice.

But life, as always, went on.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks became months. And Syamante grew older.

The adolescents continued their hostility, but age made them bolder and crueler. They began to throw more than just insults at her, and she’d often return to her room late at night nursing cuts and bruises.

As time passed, she began spending less and less time around her clan mates. She’d take long walks during the day, avoiding the heavily trafficked areas, and she’d return only at night once the others had long gone to bed. It made it easier to avoid the harassment of the adolescents, and easier to hide her occasional magical flares.

_{P A R T N E R}
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_{D A U G H T E R}
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But then, on a day like any other, someone sought her out.

It was an accident, no doubt. Syamante just happened to be in the right place at the right time. And when the dragon, travel worn and weary, regaled her with her tale, Syamante couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

A clan nearby was being decimated by a Shade-touched dragon. Many of the villagers had lost their lives, and even the traveller’s children had been slaughtered mercilessly. They tried everything they could to rid their village of the threat, but nothing worked. And as each attempt to banish him failed, the dragon had grown confident and was now demanding retribution, strutting through the streets and stealing without preamble.

It was… appalling.

But when at last the tale ended, the dragon looked at her, pleading and desperate. “Can you help us?”

There was a time Syamante would’ve agreed instantaneously, a few years earlier and eager at chances to prove herself. But time had passed and Syamante was older now, wary. She knew how uncontrollable her powers were. Unpredictable.

She’d almost killed a child her age in a fit of rage before, the memory still haunting her dreams.

Could she live with blood on her hands? Could she live knowing she’d ended a life?

But as she stood there, deliberating, Syamante felt her conviction wavering, the dragon’s eyes wide and hopeful.

This was different, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t be the death of an innocent. It was… justified. The dragon had already killed dozens and didn’t seem likely to stop any time soon. She’d be saving an innocent village from further horrors, she’d be giving dragons a new chance at life without the oppressive weight of fear.

It’d be worth it, wouldn’t it? To save countless innocents at the cost of one life?

And with a deep breath, Syamante assented.

The town was in her debt, thanking her profusely for her aid. But there were many who argued that the death Syamante gave the murderer was too swift, too clean. He deserved to be maimed and tortured, left to bleed to death in the bowels of a dungeon.

But Syamante was firm in her belief.

Even as word of her prowess spread, when more and more dragons came to her seeking salvation from menaces and tyrants, Syamante refused to waver.

She may deliver death’s kiss to those she deemed beyond redemption, but that did not mean she had to stoop to their level. She made sure their deaths were painless, their hearts stopping while they slept. It was better that way, more humane. And it was the least she could do for ending a life prematurely.

And as her confidence grew, so did her reputation. There were even some who began to call her a demigoddess. They said she could smite a man down with the snap of her fingers. They said she delivered salvation to those in needs, and struck down their foes in one fell swoop. They said she was a storm, lightning and rain to heal and cleanse. Terrifying to foes, yet soothing to those she protected.

It was all exaggeration, of course.

She did nothing more than cast curses for those who came to her seeking assistance, and turned away others who only wanted their enemies dead for material gains.

But even with her growing popularity, Syamante continued much as she always had, avoiding the other adolescents — who now disconcertingly stared at her in awe whenever she passed — and the adults who now clamored for her attention, bragging to travellers that they knew her.

It was nice, humbling even, to have so many people indebted to her. Their thanks and gratitude made her day, and it made her happy to know she made a difference in someone’s life.

… Until the day a hatchling showed up at her door.

The tale the hatchling told her was worrying. Her father had been deeply in debt, and though he was slowly paying it off, the debt collector was impatient. In a fit of rage, the dragon threatened to kill her mother if her father didn’t increase payments. And though her father worked hard and did, finally, increase the payments, her mother died, quite suddenly. She simply went to sleep one night, and didn’t wake up.

Almost as if she’d been cursed.

And Syamante… remembered someone asking her for aid with a Ridgeback. A female Ridgeback who had been terrorizing a Mirror’s family, demanding financial retribution and even going as far as to threatening to harm his children. She’d granted his request, and the Mirror went away, his steps lighter than before…

Her mind ground to a shuddering stop.

Had she… had she made a mistake? Had she really killed an innocent?

She couldn’t think, her mind reeling, thoughts and doubts colliding. And through it all, the hatchling was screaming at her, accusing.

“Murderer!”

But she wasn’t. Murderers were like the monsters she hunted. Cold, ruthless, and evil. They didn’t know the difference between friend and foe, they didn’t know when to stop. They kept taking and taking, without a care who they hurt.

And Syamante… was different. She wasn’t like that.

_{GRAND GRAND

D A U G H T E R

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_{G R A N D - S O N}
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She helped people. She saved them.

She wasn’t a killer. She was just a—

(“Murderer! You killed my mom!”)

—a savior. That’s what everyone said. They said she helped them, that she was a— (“Monster!” Children’s laughter and stinging rocks, bruised flesh and scraped hands. “Freak! Get out of here!”) —a hero. She was good, and kind, and—

And—

How many innocents had she killed?

There was blood on her hands, so much blood. It dripped and dripped and dripped. It trickled down her fingers, seeping beneath her nails. Dripping dripping dripping…

The ground was stained crimson.

Syamante stared. And saw nothing.

Someone was screaming. Or was it her?

She didn’t know. She didn’t know.

There was so much guilt. So much shame and doubt and blame. She could barely move without it pressing down on her, suffocating, telling her to give in give in give in.

And as the days passed, as weeks passed, her head weighed down by the bone mask, sometimes she remembered it. Vague snatches of… of chaos.

—screaming crowds. Tendrils of darkness lashing everywhere, striking them down as they ran ran ran… from her.

I didn’t mean to! Please, I’m not a—

She felt like she was being ripped in two. Her mind tearing, her heart fracturing in a million tiny pieces. A wave of black emotions broiling inside her, consuming her.

It wasn’t her. This darkness that clung to her, tainting her. It wasn’t.

… Sometime, in her darkest hours, she crafted fairies. When the guilt threatened to drown her, when the loneliness yawned in front of her as a giant chasm, she enchanted small ragdolls and brought them to life. Shimmering, glimmering fairies that flittered around her head, lighting up in cheery synchronized patterns.

They brought a semblance of peace to her shattered world. A semblance of calm and serenity in the face of chaos.

But the guilt and shame continued to suffocate her. Threatened to engulf her until she was nothing but a broken, battered corpse.

She needed to appease it. She needed it gone gone gone.

She was a monster.

But she wouldn’t be anymore.

She cocooned herself in chains, glinting, and silver. It burned her skin. It seared her feathers. Each movement brought a fresh wave of pain and the sweet scent of flowers. Armeria for compassion, entwined in every shimmering link.

It was a reminder.

To not lose control, to not lose herself. To keep everyone around her safe.

Her powers were dampened, her every step heavy and laden, but her heart was lighter.

Remember.

Repent.

Days became months, months became years.

… And then, one day, someone found her. He tugged her from her dark abyss, he brushed away the cobwebs from her heart and eased away her pain.

He smiled and laughed and brought a joy and brilliance she thought was gone forever from her broken, shattered world.

And she let herself hope.

Maybe…

… Maybe she wasn’t a monster after all.

_{A R T

by MermaidLagoon}
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{ click the image to see full size }

B I O: Rosoidela

_{Breathtaking fullbody

by SkullKaizer}

4'000 gems

13'500 gems

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Exalting Syamante to the service of the Windsinger 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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