Netjeri
(#13998949)
Oh! Um... hello? C-can I offer you a painless death?
Familiar
Laybrush Larcenist
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 44/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Nocturne
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.32 m
Wingspan
7.49 m
Weight
646.04 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Tiger
Tiger
Shadow
Eye Spots
Eye Spots
Purple
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Nocturne
Max Level
STR
125
AGI
17
DEF
10
QCK
47
INT
9
VIT
28
MND
9
Biography
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Netjeri
Scales Member, Battlestone Warden "Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was always just red." aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaa aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaa |
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The first dragon to go, "Hey, maybe we should learn Eliminate so we can actually kill things," Netjeri is undoubtedly one of the smarter dragons in the clan. With skills as an excellent tactician and fighter, she is Ma’at’s most trusted subordinate as well as her only trusted subordinate. Though the Nocturne doesn’t look all too different from a pampered royal dragon in all her fancy apparel, she’s fully capable of utilizing her apparel as weapons. Being strangled with the finest of scarlet silks is a really unique way to go, if not an interesting story to tell the grandchildren. She has politely refused all offers to get a sword, even though it’d actually be a lot more convenient to fight with a weapon. The side effect of this is that she’s gotten really good at using her silks, and now secretly practices dancing with them when nobody else is watching. Netjeri is responsible for the majority of the clan’s fighting abilities, having taught her clanmates several useful spells and techniques as well as create new ones. She is always happy to instruct another dragon, no matter what level of skill they may be at, though she wishes dragons would stop coming up to her to ask how to kick Isfet’s sorry butt. Or Nephthys’. Or Krajta’s. Those three have enough to deal with without dragons stopping by to pay their respects and vengeance, and while Netjeri has no problems with wanting revenge, she’d rather not enable it. Due to her knowledge of warfare and how to enact it, Netjeri is also in charge of guarding and keeping tabs on the battlestones the clans possess. She has noticed there seems to be an influx of Sap battlestones, and it’s almost as if they multiply by themselves overnight, as no dragon has ever been known to drop off said battlestones at her den. While Netjeri isn’t quite sure how to deal with this, she’s noticed that tossing a Sap stone into the depths of the nearest ventilation shaft will stop its weird melody from echoing for a couple of hours. Throwing any ice-related stone will cool the air, and fire-related stones will heat it. Thus, Netjeri can often be found shoving the respective stones into the ventilation shaft whenever the temperature inside the lair fluctuates. She claims that the shaft will export those stones directly to her hoard, because if some of her clanmates knew the truth, they’d probably try throwing Muffin’s cauldron down the shaft, and there’s no way that will end well. |
     
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Most of the time, though, Netjeri hides away in her den and reads books on warfare. Valenya has attempted to diversify her plattete by sneaking murder mysteries and cookbooks into her stash whenever she stops by the library. This backfired, as Netjeri’s mimicry instincts compelled her to copy exact phrases from those books, so now instead of sounding like a calm, experienced war general, she occasionally adds bits of “elementary, my dear dragon,” and “cook your enemies at 50ºC for twenty minutes with Sear” to conversations. Her reclusive nature means it’s hard to find her when she doesn’t want to be found, and the last time someone went knocking on her den to talk to her, she threw books at them until they fled. The only dragons Netjeri willingly talk to are the members of the Scales, and even then, she does her best to keep conversations short and to the point. This isn’t because Netjeri hates company, though she occasionally can’t stand it. Netjeri’s reason for staying away from other dragons is really quite trivial - her mimicry instincts are powerful to a point where she instinctively wants to copy everything and anything the dragons around her say, and considering some of her clanmates, the last thing she needs to do is pick up their bad speaking habits. Netjeri does get along well with Mythic, however, having trained alongside the enchanter back when he was still a member of the Scales. She still spends a lot of time sparring with him, despite the fact that she feels it’s somewhat unfair to fight a dragon who’s lost both his sight and ability to fly. The two can often be found at Ravanai’s chariot races together, with Netjeri describing the scene so Mythic can understand what’s happening. While Netjeri isn’t sure what and how Mythic’s accident happened, she knows, judging by the traces of gunpowder and dust, who is responsible. She’s kept this knowledge to herself, however, either because she’s not one for revenge, or if she’s planning something worse than revenge. She also has a nervous disposition, preferring to fight rather than flee when danger arises. This makes her a good counter-balance to Veles, who will run screaming away at the first sign of danger. What this disposition is not good for, however, is meeting new members of the clan. She almost decapitated Krajta when he first showed up, and Nagara still has scars from the last time she ambushed him in the hallway. Netjeri also has the tendency to quickly and brutally wipe out anything she considers suspicious. Kayania has suffered most from this after attempting to get Netjeri to play a card game, and now she refuses to be in the same room as Netjeri. She will, however, lend a helping claw whenever need be. Thus, she can often be found helping Venti heal the clan’s newest brave foray into the forbidden fields of science and magic. Netjeri has an extremely strong tolerance for blood, and doesn’t mind holding the screaming dragon in question down while Venti patches them up. For some reason, seeing her expressionless face in one’s most painful moments is more terrifying than seeing Nephthys’ patented death glare. A few dragons have quietly asked Venti to stop asking her for help, but when you have a clan full of idiots with the survival instincts of a moth, some things can’t be avoided. There is a dark scar at the base of her neck that she usually keeps covered up with a scarf. Some dragons have suggested that it’s an old battle wound, but Universa took one look at it and determined it’s a curse mark some Flights place on their exalts to make sure they don’t try to escape. Usually, with that curse mark, the exalt can’t run all that far away from the base camp without screaming in pain or falling dead. Why Netjeri would have the mark despite still being alive and clearly not in a base camp is a mystery nobody feels like solving. |
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§ Graphics by LuminousNoble, Icons by Hazeledpoppy
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Once upon a time, a dragon was exalted. Sold by her birth lair as a hatchling, Netjeri grew up in the exalt training camp, where hatchlings such as herself were pushed to become fighters and mages. She knew nothing of her background, knew naught of why she was simply given away. All she knew was the brutality and harshness of the world around her, and she was afraid. After all, she was a Nocturne. What those around her felt, she felt also. There was no warmth in the training camp, which was designed to be both environmentally and physically unfriendly to the exalts, yet by some twist of luck Netjeri was able to find warmth in the form of friends - fellow exalts by the name of Nirav, a Spiral, and Nascent, and Imperial. They were dragons who were able to share her pain, and together, they endured the brutality of the world they knew. But this warmth did not last. In the exalt camps, there are different camps for differently leveled dragons, and in each camp there are different tests that must be passed in order for the exalt to ascend to a higher level. It was during an attempt to level up that Nirav was slain by Familiars before Netjeri's eyes, and even as he died, there was nothing she could do for him. Shocked, horrified beyond her ability to comprehend what had happened, Netjeri made the only choice that she could've in that situation - she ran away. Nascent, still grieving for his friend, went with her, and together they escaped the camps. Though being exalted was the highest honour a dragon could receive, hence the naming, refusing to be an exalt invoked punishments none could imagine. As Netjeri and Nascent fled, the trainers and guards ran to apprehend them with the intent to kill. They were chased to the edge of the landmass, where tall cliffs hung over the sparkling ocean. It was a narrow escape, and before they could make it away, a hex from one of their pursuers zipped through the air and hit Nascent, hard. The curse's effects appeared immediately, and Nascent screamed as he was knocked from the air. Being a Nocturne, there was simply no way Netjeri could save Nascent. At least, it was not a physically feasible feat. But Netjeri had been trained as an exalt, and because of this, she knew magic. Not much, since Nocturnes were not magic-born, but enough to levitate Nascent from his potentially dangerous free-fall. Carrying him and using up a considerable amount of her energy, she managed to teleport them somewhere - anywhere. And she passed out. When Netjeri came to, she was in a dark lair. She could sense Nascent nearby. Though the hex from earlier had faded away, Nascent was still in pain - and, with slow growing realisation, so was Netjeri. They did not know that the trainers of the exalt camps tattooed a curse mark on each and every exalt, so they would suffer forever if they ever dared leave camp. Curse marks were nothing easy to get rid of, and without the expertise more experienced dragons, there was nothing either of them could do. All Netjeri knew was that it was a burning curse, not meant to kill, but casted to deliver excruciating pain upon the victim forever. It was almost enough to break her, to force her to return back to camp - but she fought against it, remembering Nirav's face. No, she would not go back to that nightmare. Never again. Nascent remained good-natured despite the stinging pain he was forced to suffer. With his help, Netjeri got back on her feet, and together they sought to live a normal life. There were many things to discover, from marketplaces to trading posts, and slowly, their dark lair grew into something more like a home. Netjeri was happy, because Nascent was happy. After all, she was a Nocturne. What others felt, she felt also. Years passed. By this time, Netjeri had developed a spell to reduce the effects of the curse mark. This magic she saved solely for Nascent, for his pain was greater than hers, having been reinforced by the hex he was previously afflicted with. Though her own curse burned and screamed at her, she did not mind this price for freedom. Their lair had not gained any new members, for Netjeri remained fearful of other dragons, and worn down by her curse. Nascent, painless thanks to her magic, urged her again and again to accept new members, yet she refused again and again. They were runaways, she reminded him. They were the unwanted. And should her curse mark - as she'd used magic to somewhat erase his - be shown to others, she was sure to be deported back to the training camps for punishment. The haunting memory of the training camp was a shadow that not even Nascent's happiness could erase. She refused to think of it, and she refused anything that could possibly lead to them going back to it. Nascent stopped bringing it up. Netjeri thought that meant he'd stopped thinking about it. Of the two of them, Nascent was the only one who was free to walk around without needing an apparel to cover up the curse mark. He would go out to the market and trading post, while Netjeri stayed home and hunted. In the morning was when Nascent would leave, and night was when he would returned. Netjeri looked forward to his return and their dinner together, then sleep afterwards. It was a simple life, and she enjoyed it. Then one day, Nascent did not return. Nascent by this time had long forgotten about the pain of his curse mark, thanks to Netjeri's magic. Because of this, he grew friendly with other dragons, and soon made many friends - though he never told Netjeri. It was first out of friendship, then out of fear. He was afraid of losing her trust now that he had made friends. But there is a limit to the fear of keeping things secret, and it was only a matter of time before Nascent overcame this fear and instead became irritated by Netjeri's fear. He grew to despise her shyness, her reluctance, and yearned to be with his other friends. Finally, tired of having to stay by Netjeri's side, he left her for another clan. Netjeri found out, as it was inevitable she would, and the shock was like frost, creeping up her scales and seeping into her core, freezing her slowly, until even her heart turned cold. It happened on a search for Nascent - she'd been looking for him for the past three weeks - when she found a clan by the sea. She planned to ask the guards there if they'd seen her Imperial friend - no, Nascent was more than a friend. He was a part of her - and that was she saw it. Saw him. Walking along the beach, singing and laughing with a multitude of dragons around him. Netjeri had grown up in an exalt camp, tortured, unwanted, unneeded, and she was not naïve. It took very little brains for one to realise that their best and only friend had abandoned them, despite everything she'd given for him. Her magic, to suppress his curse. Her time. Her feelings. This warmth they shared - was it nothing to him? He'd simply thrown it away. Yet somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Because Nascent had done so much for her. He’d defended her, supported her, and been there for her when she needed him most. He deserved to be in a clan where others could show him the care he’d given to Netjeri. He deserved to be part of a clan like he’d always to be. How could Netjeri deny him of his dream? Letting him go -- that was the last thing, the only thing she could give him. It was something she wished that she could've given to Nirav. Nirav, who would never be a part of a clan; who would never see the sun and sit under it, or feel the warmth of a family. For Nirav, and for Nascent himself, she let him go. Nascent was happy. Netjeri should have been, too. After all, she was a Nocturne. What others felt, she felt also. But this time, she did not feel happy. She packed up her meager belongings. She tidied up the lair that she had grown accustomed to. She should've torn it down, this lair that dared to stand despite being devoid of inhabitants. But Netjeri had never been one for revenge. Even when Nirav had died, even when Nascent left her, she could grieve, but she could never strike back at them. “You have been my home,” she told the lair. “But now I must go.” Spreading her wings, she caught a gentle breeze and drifted off the cliff which hid the old lair. Like a bolt of black lightning she plummeted down, pulling up at the last second and whisking up a refreshing sea spray. Her wings took her around a rocky bend and sent her soaring over the sea. As she circled a rocky bit of coral, she heard a laugh and from the shadows of the cliff, she saw them. The members of Nascent's new clan. They sat around a fire on the beach, piles of oysters and fish at their feet. Nascent was with them, smiling. Netjeri felt no hatred, only the sorrow that came with knowing that she was not good enough to be another’s other half. Never will she be good enough to be something for anyone. Not as a clan member. Not as an exalt. Not as a mate. Not even as a friend. She said nothing, showed nothing, as she took off. She did not look back. Nascent did not see her go. The distance between them deepened and widened, until their paths were so far apart, they could not see one another if they looked back, even if they wanted to. And she did not want to. She was a Nocturne. What others felt, she felt also. But now, she could feel nothing at all.
一片癡心付出，卻終至挫骨揚灰
那多可悲啊 | ~~ |
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 § Art by Drytil | ~~~~~ |
Go, and call me a monster
Call me the fiend that does not feel Make me the demon of your tragedies The ghoul who only kills But even ghosts were once among the living Even a demon once had a heart If you wish to call me a monster First ask those who tore me apart.
Poem by MythicalViper
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Is it a crime to fall in love?
Is it a crime-to give your heart to someone with the expectation that they will return it, knowing, trusting like you’ve never done in all the years of your life (because he wouldn’t hurt you for the world)-is it a crime?
Netjeri does not–cannot–hate him. Not now.
Not ever.
Somehow that hurts more than the betrayal itself.
Her life with Nascent was like a daydream in a pretend world where they could have been lovers. A pretend world where she could have been happy, maybe.
At least for a moment, Netjeri got to know what it might be like to love, and be loved in return.
It was a beautiful dream.
But here is her ugly, bleak, mirror-smashing reality: there is nobody or nothing who might love her, and nobody or nothing who might love her in return.
And it burns through her eyes, her skin, her heart, a fiery star set ablaze by the last light of its doomed and futile existence.
Her claws tremble like the ground before an avalanche, and she is sure she will be buried six feet deep should the avalanche occur the way it feels like it’s going to.
A thousand sunken ships christened with the promises of what-might-have-been weigh her down, pull her deeper, deeper, and Netjeri drowns in the vast ocean of her sorrow (there is no point in drawing breath, not anymore).
On the bleakest days she contemplates going to the furthest reaches of Sornieth, no supplies and no money, waiting, waiting, waiting for the inevitable.
I’m still in love with him, she admits to no one, and closes her eyes but there is no rest anymore, not for the wicked.
Is it a crime to fall in love?
It certainly feels like it.
Narrative by LadyLilitu
 § Art by Drytil | xxx |
What beast is she Hidden away by the Tendril-touch of wounds Refused to heal and pulled with Every last painful pulsation of A broken, unmended heart. Toiling among the darkness Rabid in the vacancy of her Mourning cries. Cries that do not echo Nor fall upon the nearby ears of others Voice diminished into nothing. She Holds the silks in hooked talons And dances Dances on Where the moon provides her audience And no one else. | xxx |
And yet, There is a creature there. Warfare maiden with her morbid touch And her scales marred. A creature That rests. That weeps. Swallowing the nothing in her Feasting on its hollow offerings. What beast is she, Coiled up in crimson. Hidden, By the tendril-touch Of miserable wounds. Poem by PunchingSolas |
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