Fustian
(#47801173)
The Crimson Bride
Familiar
Blue Vein Pansy
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.87 m
Wingspan
6.99 m
Weight
666.2 kg
Genetics
Crimson
Skink
Skink
Crimson
Spinner
Spinner
Ivory
Filigree
Filigree
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Wildclaw
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
FUSTIAN
The Crimson Courtier
"Maybe this is all a dream and I'll wake up in my own bed. Maybe father would give up his career and be a nice, supportive dad. Maybe all the flights would unite the world and there would be peace. Right. Maybe I'd better hope for something attainable. Now is no time to think of what I cannot have."
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 Coronach says: “The frail and cowardly who spend their time reading instead of hunting make for easy prey. We do them favours, play the mercenary for as long as convenient for us, and they pay for it in the same way those bumptious fools pay for anything; with a daughter. Covin, she doesn't have to like the girl, she just has to marry her. Whatever else she is, she's plagueborn. She knows her duty, and she'll do it well.”  Covin says: “No one gets as strong as our clan did without taking advantage of somebody. It's much easier to gain influence if you don't care who you hurt. If you have scruples, it's much harder to become powerful. My dear, don’t think about what you've lost, think of how much you have to gain. We can't have a lot of things, but we could have this. It'll all be over before we know it.” |
    
    
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Fustian watched the world pass by outside the litter she was travelling in, hoisted and guarded by a dozen bannerets. The well kept streets of the Sunbeam Ruins had given way to pine forest over an hour ago. Now the pine trees were thinning out as well. Soon they would pass into marshlands that surrounded all but a few approaches to the Scarred Wasteland. This morning, she had headed to school like it was just any other day. She hadn't even thought about the constant alliances the Court liked to make with their young, eligible ladies. Unlike the many fawning girls who would like nothing more than to swoon over a handsome mate, she wasn't excited about it. And she never expected to be matched. Fustian wasn't even sure who had been more surprised, her or the servant who had seemed rather bored until she said her name. The poor fae had been so flustered it had taken him a full two minutes of apologies and stuttering until he remembered protocol and called his superiors. By then Fustian was thoroughly confused, annoyed and just a little scared. She already had her tutors constantly pushing her into a career she didn't want. She really didn't need the inescapable fate of being betrothed on top of that. She hadn't even planned on marriage. She wanted to become a bailiff. Of course no one had bothered to ask her opinion. Being married to advance the position of the Crimson Court was the highest honour imaginable. The servants called in to tend to her had been accompanied by a whole pack of knights who's sole purpose it was to keep Fustian safe until she's delivered to her new mate. The same knights who were still with her now. Marching beside the litter, in front and behind. They knew exactly what they were doing, drilled to perfection. Nothing was more important than keeping the few living blood descendents for the Court. Supposedly the Crimson Court encompassed almost all of the Eastern fields in their prime, and were the ancient civilisation that erected the mighty Sunbeam Ruins where the Light Flight now dwell. Fustian had her doubts, since no intact records of any such thing remained. It was all hearsay. Fustian had seen plenty of the glorious Crimson Nobles of old posing for paintings. They looked elegant, powerful. Which was the point of such paintings, obviously. Why else would they paint them with pompous clothing and always against a striking sunset. Fustian's rather cynical and realistic view of these matters wouldn't have been very popular if she ever voiced it. Growing up with a father who was a high advisor of the remaining splintered sects of the Courts, and elbow deep in every intrigue of nobility had taught her that most of the official propaganda was - well - propaganda. Luckily being around her father had also taught her to keep her mouth shut. After all the Right Honourable Shukraan expected his firstborn child to follow in his footsteps. Her father had been ecstatic at the news of her match. Obviously, the fact that he could now market his daughter as a proper wedded lady outweighed everything else. Once more whatever Fustian might want for herself was thrown under the bus of her father's career. He'd come personally to congratulate her, followed by a gushing crowd who would love nothing more than to spread the latest gossip. He always had a penchant for dramatic speeches. The knights had come in handy at that point, letting no one near her - much to her father's disappointment. And now they were nearly there. The path went into a wide arc and on the left, Fustian could see the huge, circular rim that surrounded the Wyrmwound. "We will arrive shortly, my lady." The knight errand who was riding in the litter with her informed her ridiculously politely. He sounded relieved. For him and his mates this had to be an incredible tense mission. To lose their precious cargo in the journey would have cost all of them their heads. Literally. The Crimson Court was many things, but forgiving wasn't one of them. Fustian closed her eyes with a soundless sigh. People expected her to be giddy with excitement, humbled, fierce and proud of the chance to serve the Court. All she felt was annoyed that her life was stolen from her, and vaguely guilty for being annoyed. Maybe it wouldn't be all bad. Maybe the Plague flight would be cool. Brotherhood of warriors and all that crap. The litter came to a stop. A whole gaggle of dragons were waiting for them already. Two of them stalked forward when the litter stopped like they were predators scenting bloodied prey. They were both young coatls. One was slender, the other tall and muscular. Neither of them looked particularly likeable. The muscular one reached the litter first and nimbly took up a position which allowed him to open Fustian's door and at the same time block the access of his clanmate. What a charming dragon, Fustian thought sarcastically. She still managed to cement a neutral expression onto her face. Years of training at dinners with her father came in handy now. "Lady Fustian, I'm Coronach." The helpful door opener immediately introduced himself. "Please let me be the first to welcome you to the Wyrmwound." Fustian had met enough sycophants of her father to recognise one. Once more she was a ticket to the top it seemed. Not something she really liked but she'd be damned if she didn't use it here. At least until she got her bearings. The other coatl hovered nearby, obviously expecting her counterpart to introduce her as well, which Coronach studiously ignored. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Fustian greeted Coronach. Then she turned to the other coatl. She knew how to play the favour game. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…?" "Dulcet, at your service, my lady." The coatl jumped at the opportunity and granted her clanmate an amazingly threatening smile. Playing these two against each other would be easy and dangerous at once. They reminded Fustian of two hungry predators tearing on opposing ends of a carcass. And, well, Fustian never wants to be in the role of carcass. "Shall we go in then?" she suggested. "I'm dying to see my new home." If Fustian had been asked what she found the most impressive about the Scarred Wasteland, it wouldn't have been the place itself, or the dragons, who worked together with the precision of a well oiled machine. It was the accommodation she had been ushered into by Coronach and Dulcet, who continued to fight over her attention like two dogs worrying the same bone. She stood at the huge panorama window in the spacious living quarters - tinted glass, only one way, Coronach had reassured her, so she could look out but no one could look in - and watched the shift from night to day over the Wyrmwound and outlying mountains of the Scarred Wasteland. The thought that this view was what she would see every day for the rest of her life was chilling, but didn't make it any less spectacular. For Lightweaver's sake, she had a pool right here in her very own room. She also had a private study with an extensive library as well as state of the art caligraphy equipment, even a freaking dining room! Fustian was no stranger to luxury, having grown up in the large villa of her father, but all of this for a single dragon when the Plague Flight prided themselves on being frugal with their soldiers - it boggled her mind. It did not escape her attention that neither Coronach nor Dulcet made any mention of the man she'd been married off to, and her gently prodding questions were firmly rebuffed. "Where is my betrothed? I would like to meet them." she finally said, abandoning all pretence at subtlety. Dulcet looked pained. "I'm afraid that's not possible. She is currently in solitary confinement until Derelict decides that she is not a security risk to this clan." She answered through gritted teeth. Fustian blinked at her, trying to comprehend what she was hearing. "Uh… what…?" she asked not very intelligently. "What did she do to get locked up?" Dulcet looked grim. "She had objections to the way Derelict handled the deaths of two clan-mates last month. I suggest you ask her about it. I'm sure it will teach you some valuable lessons." Apparently things were not all shiny and happy at the Scarred Wasteland despite what her surrounding would make one believe. What an incredible surprise, Fustian thought cynically. |
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Exalting Fustian to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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