Maeva » Lair » Veda

Veda

(#19221866)

there's nothing to fear, I'll keep your path clear

Familiar

Golden Kitsune

Energy: 49/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.21 m

Wingspan

5.04 m

Weight

483.8 kg

Genetics

Ivory
Petals

Maize
Butterfly

Chocolate
Opal

Hatchday

Dec 14, 2015
(8 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Light
Glowing

Level 25 Wildclaw

Max Level

STR

128

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

Biography

»═══════════════«
.
.

»═══════════════«

» ══════════════════════════════════════«

T H E M E
V e d a
is this what you wanted

Born from light, she was shaped and coaxed into existence by the hand of the divine, from stray rays of the sun and the glow of stars, bound by the last hues of dawn. Perfection, the treasured daughter and in Her radiance for a whole minute. And then she was shoved aside, another one, had to make room for the next. She was perfection, yet one of many, divinity’s blessed messenger, created to spread Her word.

From the cracks between clouds and rifts she could see it, the world below, beyond the realm of eternal light and creation and outside the direct reach of Her. It was different, one could see so well where Her influence started, where it ended. Where others tore and dug their claws into the soft flesh of this young world. And then there were the toys. No. Mortals. Watching them became her well guarded little secret.

Who knew a god could become jealous of Her own creation? She certainly didn’t. Weren’t deities supposed to stand above those pesky emotions? Weren’t they supposed to be perfection in its final, supreme form? How ironic, truly. It made her wonder if things were as set in stone as she had been told. It woke her curiosity, helpless, colorful little mortals as they skittered and waddled over this torn earth.

She did nothing wrong, nothing at all and yet she found herself slipping, from grace, out of Her favor, a slippery slope of misfortune that spiraled out of control, downwards on burning wings and ended in the sudden, cold embrace of the earth as she tore a deep scar into it. Her fall stopped as sudden as it started and here she was, among the toys of Her. And among them, she found knowledge.

Her mind was like a book freshly bound, pages still blank and pure as snow, untouched by sin and experience, just waiting to soak up the ink, to form and shape words. Reading, it became her everything as she was uplifted from her dusty crater, hauled to her feet by him. At the point of their first meeting, he was little more than an old soldier, tired of war, tired of the pain, of old wounds keeping him up at night and preventing him from drawing a breath. His lungs were festering by the time she touched his old scar. And through her palm and his skin, she could feel the burn of jagged metal, tearing through flesh and nicking bone, wood splintering under bone crushing force. It hurt, so deeply, she expected her own light to bleed out of her unscarred chest, in a way it did, light poured out of her fingertips, soft and gentle, warmth left her skin and returned with a shaky inhale of air.

As she pulled away her hand, the sensation of burning pain was gone, abandoned and forgotten, little more than an aftertaste, washed down with the next sip of water. It was hard to say who was more surprised between the two of them, in their tiny shack, surrounded by crude, simple furniture and her books, as his old wound closed, as pain left like the last remnants of the night after the sun’s awakening. Word of his wondrous recovers spread, the village was small, little more than a dozen people crowded around gnarled, old apple trees, branches heavy with sinfully red fruits.

They came, at first just a few, the most courageous ones or the most desperate ones. They brought festering wounds let untended for too long, old sores that never went away, fevers no herb could lower anymore, broken bones. Before the moon had spun a full circle on the velvet dark sky, they all came and went, they brought gifts, books, trinkets, apples. Her and Daleth’s small hut started to crack at the rims, overflowing with treasures out of ink and papyrus, pergament and quills. Yet stagnation bred only frustration and she found herself growing restless, each day more until she could no longer remain, she had to leave or she would suffocate amidst apple blossoms and old dust.

As she left, Daleth followed her, her friend, faithful and loyal, her shadow to protect her from the world’s colder, more cruel side. As she slept innocently, he guarded over her dreams and her childlike innocence, as she walked awake, he held her hand to keep her close and away from harm that came in many shapes and sizes. She saw the world in a perspective that varied too much from how she remembered it, it was not how she remembered it, the dissonance was interesting and alluring, she wanted to learn more, it was never enough. As for how they survived, always wandering, never staying, she spread Her word. Words dripped from her lips akin to wild honey and the crowd gathering were the hungry bees and butterflies, lured in by the sweet scent, unable to resist hearing and sharing praise.

Despite being created by Her and kept innocent, pure for the most of her existence, she found a liking to the more whimsical things mortals had crafted and created. Just as her fall, it started simple, spices in her tea that were making her tongue tingle and caused a new kind of warmth within her body, the lingering sensation of finely weaved silk underneath her fingertips, how it had felt floating, hovering over the round of her shoulder and against the back of her neck. Luxury was new to her and she liked it, too much maybe, as every new thing it became addicting, she could not go on without them, now that she had a taste of them. The crowded space of a shed was replaced with tavern rooms wide and with actual beds, water and simple meals made room for wine and pastries. Crusty, flakey, golden brown and filled decadently with ingredients too expensive for a simple healer from a village so backwater, it didn’t even had a name.

And as she kept travelling, Daleth could no longer hide from her the darker side of life. Smiles made room for sneers, greed and poverty. For despair to take over and it was nothing like those people first coming to her in the village. The first time they were attacked, jumped on a side road, she hid behind Daleth, scared and defenseless, not knowing what to do, how to stop the madness unfolding. When it happened again, the dusky hours between night and morning were suddenly bright as day, a flash of power and then it was all over again, would-be robbers no more. She cried for far too long after killing in self defense, the burden of lives taken weighing hard enough on her mind, it threatened to break like the sheen of too thin ice on a freshly frozen lake.

The horror of a taken life should have paralyzed her golden tongue. Instead the crowd gathering to hear her preach seemed to grow, more and more until she was drowning in a sea of faceless bodies, swallowed up whole by the tide of their enthusiasm. She rode on their cheer and praise and as she reached a height she never saw before, carried by the wings of the crowd’s uproar, she found a wisdom that would shake her world, shake and shatter it, that would become the molten gold to repair it and make it better than ever before.

For what was a god but a person with power?

Was it not the amount of praise, the worship that made a god? It could uplift and it could break, made and fell icons of divinity. A god was made by others, not born out of its own volitation. It was knowledge and it was power that made and broke the deal. And those false deities knew, she was hungering for their halos, she wanted what was theirs, wanted it for herself. Who cared that she had to steal it, that she had to kill if it was not given willingly? At day she was the image of modesty, of simply beauty and the very preacher of Her will, but as soon as night fell, she climbed out of her hiding spot, shed the disguise of naivete and just as easily as she fell into Daleth’s arms, as she kissed him breathless, just as easily could she fell a dozen opposing her, Daleth always at her side.

Politics were just another logical step for her to take, to play this game with the pale faced, soft palmed lordlings that felt threatened by the new preacher, by her influence and by her glow. Placing the right word in the right ear at the correct time became her new favorite thrill, seeing how her partner’s eyes lit up in greed, pleasure or enjoyment, woken, tickled awake by the power of her voice alone, never grew old. Who cared that a few dull minded opposers had to bite the dust in return? Placing evidence and spreading rumors as she worked herself up, higher and higher, pulling Daleth along like her shadow given flesh and blood, became almost too easy for her. When her words failed, his quiet, oppressive intimidation did the trick.

Nothing ever was without consequences, positive or negative, each one could threaten to break her neck as her followers started to grow into the hundreths. They became a force to be reckoned with, unstoppable, fueled by their burning belief alone and far too big for any existing city to house them. And wherever she went, they followed behind, ducklings trailing after the golden mother goose, blindly, faithfully. Across the lands, past golden steppes she found a place for her liking, where she wanted to place her mark and her city, a clan of her own. Long gone was the shy, naive little healer that lived in a tiny, book filled shack between apple trees, replaced by a leader ordering her followers to kill without batting an eyelash. She watched from a hill not too far away, how wave after wave of her faithfull overrolled the clan daring to occupy her lands, tidal waves bringing forth only destruction and death and for her, victory.

This wasn’t even her fault, she washed her hands in innocence as Daleth lead the charge, over and over and over again, until walls crumbled and fanatics fell over philosophers and bookworms like a living plague. She had offered the king an offer too good to refuse, marry her, morph their forces, her fanatics, his knowledge seekers and they could have lived prosperous, she was the light’s chosen one after all. But he refused, refused until Daleth brought her a shivering, green eyed little thing. The poor, poor dragon, green eyed beauty, so scared and so fragile, a messenger of little power but a key element in her success. Not too long, the king bowed his head, bent his knee in front of her to accept. Anything, he said between gritted teeth, just don’t kill them.

Green eyed beauty, sweet little messenger. Key to it all. What a shame that those green eyes dulled not too long after the king had been bound by the power little golden ring carried. Heavily did it gleam on his finger and hers. He searched the crowd during her crowning, she knew who he was searching for and no matter how long he dragged it out, in the end the crown rested on her brow. In the aftermath of her war, the echo of the wedding bells still ringing after, all that remained was a clan of her own, all that needed to be done was repair the wounds she had carved there herself.

» ════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════«

Over the span of a mere decade, she tasted everything life had to offer, the sweet, the bitter, the sour and the decadent, lovers came and went, her bed was the softest in the whole kingdom, silk clinging to her skin just as the last, cracking facade of something akin to holiness. A two faced thing, truly, as underneath the golden luster, decay started to settle over alabaster white bones. Between knowledge of olden days and the languages of dead tongues, spires of gold reaching for the skies, corruption found its home in the fresh carcass of what would soon be known as White City. Black markets bloomed akin to mold and with it came poverty and the possibility to own one another. When free will was discarded and people of flesh and blood turned into breathing dolls. Yet, the radiance cast by her holiness burnt away even the most stubborn doubts.

The only thing that now connected her to the simple girl that had fallen from the skies akin to a shooting star, was her never ending thirst for knowledge, she hungered for it, needed it like the air within her lungs. And it was only a matter of time before she would hit upon metaphorical gold, in her hands fell scrolls of long dead cultures and rituals of unknown origin. With a temptation this large, this irresistible, it was only a matter of when and not if, before she knew it, her mouth had already formed words and her voice given it all power. And with this came the pain. She screamed as her skin started to boil and throw blisters, blood running, from her eyes, her nose, her cracking skin and rotting flesh.

Pain. So much pain, it burnt cold, patches of her skin encased in colorful ice, showing the steady rot of her flesh underneath, Daleth had to take out all the mirrors of her quarters because she could not bare the look of her own reflection, red rimmed gold, dulled by pain and framed by rot that finally showed her true colors. And as she suffered, as she coughed up blood and shards of gemstones, the last remnants of holiness within her died, snuffed out and corrupted to the core. Maybe it was that which saved her, even though it barred her from ever returning to Her side, the disease stopped. She stopped the decay yet could not reverse what had been done to her, stuck with an appearance that now matched her very being, she could not bare it any longer, hid behind illusion and trickery.

And once again, her actions and their consequences threatened to break her neck, her disease damaging her holiness, her reputation the only thing keeping White City from tearing itself apart. In her need, she became creative, adopted a child no one would miss and disguised it as the prophet sent by Her. As much as she despised the goddess in her ivory tower of supremacy, Her name was still useful to her. Afflicting the disease to a helpless child was not the cruelest thing she had ever done, but it was the hardest. In the tiredness that followed after the infliction, she only narrowly avoided turning all of her fanatics against her as the child threatened to open his shadowy eyes.

A blessing, she lies through her teeth and with a honeyed voice, the disease is a blessing as she takes out amethyst colored eyes. Better no eyes than the wrong ones, she thinks before once again presenting the boy as the prophet, the light’s chosen one. How much she hated this, she gnashed her teeth while praying with the now blinded boy and her followers. And she was so sure the sudden surge in power that she felt within the air came from simply her wrath. How wrong she was, delightfully wrong indeed, for the moment the cathedral’s door closes behind the last of her followers, the blinded boy starts to cackle, his voice echoing from raw power, too old for the youthful frame.

He played along, entertained her, amused by her unknowingness. Wasn’t she shaped by the goddess of light Herself? Why was she so shocked to learn that there are, infact, creatures of more infernal origins? She wants to know it all, knowledge forever being her achilles heel, the thing that would eventually bring her down for good. A contract made, power exchanged, a new her leaves the cathedral, six armed, golden glowing eyed, the queen is more powerful than ever before and her voice carries a new confidence within her as she builds a gate of ivory and one of bone, speaks of holiness and good things that would come to all her followers while unleashing packs upon packs of hungry, dark beasts upon her home.

Her husband, the king who still mourned after his green eyed lover, started to wear out his usage, even more so when a new, more fitting match made itself known, he crashed into her life as little more of an aftershock after the theft of one of her many sons, the guiding hand behind the six winged menace of lightning and corrupted light far too familiar to ignore. Among a field of roses and night at his beck and call, the Undying one stood, waited for her to appear, drawn in by the dark velvet of his voice, by her own curiosity. They were similar in the best way, knew what the other did not say out loud, from nothing he came, everything he became and with him, he brought an Empire of his own.

They would be a match made in heaven, hell and the void beyond, only a fool would turn his offer for peace away, especially since his kind of diplomacy matched so well with hers, the best kind of alliances were the ones forged between crumpled bed sheets. And it seemed the thief of children agreed, he jealously watched over the one that had torn him down from heaven’s blessed realms, fed corruption to him until it leaked out of his eyes like dark tears, just as she had a first in Daleth, so had her new husband in Azazael.

Time blurred between her and Azazael scheming, if Titaneaus knew of her poisous thoughts and her ideas of betrayal to her husband, he never showed a sign, instead he let her roam free, explore the width of his creation, the Undying Empire a black skinned twin to her own, the contrast stark and soothing. At the cost of one life, her husband’s, his blood vibrant red against the blue of Azazael’s hands, a new Empire was forged, black and white, night and day, an Emperor with an Empress. The Undying One and the Red Queen fit together like pieces of a puzzle, their union celebrated heavily as it gave birth to a behemoth, an Empire stronger than any before it. She didn’t have to do a single thing as the pilgrims started to wag their tongues, her city of white and holiness earning the name of Undying City, capital of their new, shared legacy.

One would never expect her to be a faithful one, not now, not after she had become the embodiment of hedonism and sin itself, not even her new husband thought of this, why hold her to a standard he had no interest in keeping himself? Their marriage holy and unholy, the very thing that kept them coming back together, dragging down others with them, sometimes they shared, sometimes they didn’t. the plains of their heart wide open for anything and everything and not even Azazael’s zealous overprotection could fill all of it, she wanted what she wanted, who was Titaneaus to judge?

She watched with great delight both the swell of her stomach and the sudden appearance of roses everywhere, they grew in their Empire, purple blooming, black thorned things with a heavy, alluring scent and the uncanny sway of their petal crowned head, always trailing after whoever dared to step to close. Eyes of the Emperor indeed, only rivaled at a later state by the crows. Lest she forgot, now that she had cold hard proof in her bed that divinity was within reach, nothing could truly make her backdown from her goal.

Maybe, just maybe, she had always been destined for this, either way, she hungered for the divinity and all be damned, she would get to her goals.
~by Schattenfeuer

xx

»═══════════════«

» ═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════«
There’s nothing to fear
I’ll keep your path clear
As long as we walk
We’ll find what is real
And I will become
Your shield and your wall
Unbreakable stone
Just keep yourself near

her canonical look

https://sta.sh/09xqiv8edb9

Nirwana aaaaa you're so amazing

emblem by Tuath, go buy their art or i'll bite ya

literally theme for of all her relationships okay ♥

If you feel that this content violates our Rules & Policies, or Terms of Use, you can send a report to our Flight Rising support team using this window.

Please keep in mind that for player privacy reasons, we will not personally respond to you for this report, but it will be sent to us for review.

0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Veda to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

Do you wish to continue?

Name

Names must be longer than 2 characters.
Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.

Name

Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
Names can only contain letters.