Seokga
(#60386283)
A pretty lie that we all believe... that is reality.
Familiar
Prancing Capricat
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Male Wildclaw
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.39 m
Wingspan
4.94 m
Weight
644.38 kg
Genetics
White
Skink
Skink
Maize
Trail
Trail
Vermilion
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Wildclaw
Max Level
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
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S E O K G A
[석가]; korean trickster god
In a world of storms
Let there be no wavering Of our human hearts; Remain as the pine tree With roots sunken in stone.
inventory
   snacks    flowers
weaponry
  
apparel
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Stare into the blooming flower and drown your troubles.
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Seokga Huin Yeou
해방자 | 정복자 | 악마
liberator | conqueror | demon
"And yet, what is the truth except a lie
Pretty enough to be believed by fools? Desperate, hungry fools like me." The forbidden legacy and herald of sunlight, meant to bring the light of day to the darkened lands of his father's stolen birthright. Somewhere beneath those pretty words lies a brilliant and tormented man, whose wicked penchant for unbridled chaos brings with it untold depths of compassion toward those the world most despises. The crown prince of a glimmering paradise that is nothing more than an elaborate illusion, it is his responsibility to make the cruelty and selfishness of the world of crows into the heavenly realm of dreams that his parents promised.
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"Madness is my birthright, but I will not become a monster... not unless you require it of me."
    
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snapshot ❧ Stay with me, no, you don't need to run. A wicked-tongued prince whose devotion to the voiceless and unseen plagues him with a destiny that threatens to break him in two. The young schemer is at once his village's shining hope for a better future and its primary charlatan, burdened with the knowledge that everything he's ever known is a lie except for the looming death that threatens to imperil everyone he holds dear. identity ❧ I'm addicted to madness, but what can I say? The crown prince of a newly formed nation, Seokga's ambitious mind is always searching for refuge in drink or in breaking the cracks that uphold the delicate balance of the world. As vain-hearted as he is troublesome, his near mythical penchant for chaos is at once heralded as his most exasperating trait and an easily-wielded weapon of mass destruction. Appointed the heir of his father's legacy for the crime of being born as the emblem of everything his extended family hated, Seokga has become the mantle of pretty, bloody lies that pours from the white-winged feathers of his people, determined to use the burden of leadership to destroy the corrupt foundations of the world and shelter what emerges from the ashes beneath his wings. physical ❧ My soul is jealous, it wants love but I reject it. Easily noticed by the tattered edges of her elegant, garnet-hued wingspan, Kayaku is the personification of beauty tumbled with the ruin of a life lived with too soft a heart. She keeps her head raised with a languid arc well-suited to her role as a Akaneiro noblewoman, her crested feathers a gemstone-mimicry of the memories of blood forever cascading unseen down her neck. |
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patron god
mythology
Kumiho
tattoos
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"Kindness, cruelty, love: we all have our vices. xIf you give me time, I will become one of yours."
modern theme
traditional theme
Setsubun
capricorn / goat
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history ❧ I'm not the one, it's just a lie, you fell for a bad impression. The legacy of his father's birthright has tormented him from the moment he was brought into this world, hearing the whispered concerns that more assassins would be breaking into the palace to slaughter the remnants of his family line. The first son of the promised ruler of the clans of Eodum, the desaturation of his father's wings has made their existence Eodum's dirtiest secret, living in constant fear of death and peril. Even as a small child, Seokga was a bright and vibrant soul with eyes that saw too much, witnessing the quiet moments of panic and fear hiding behind the ever-present smiles around him. The strength of his parents' albino mutation left him fragile and devoid of any color upon birth, the sunlight color of his wings and bloody hues of his talons not emerging until he was well on his way to adulthood. It marked him the chosen heir of his village, to undergo the training necessary to lead the Sanzuwu and exact the vengeance of his family's stolen peace. A bright and studious mind lent him toward small and subtle rebellions against his legacy and the weight of a cruel world, marking him as troubled and mischievous even as he amassed the loyalty and affection of his village. The young prince studied in the art of warfare and diplomacy while escaping into the village to learn the art of making himself the most troublesome person in the village. The contradictory identities of a devilish trickster and a serene prince are worn as separate faces, the duality of his nature erected like a shield to keep anyone from seeing who he is beneath. warfare ❧ My silver tongue drives you into delirium. As a hatchling, Kayaku's garnet feathers were always found at the claws of the royal guards to study the art of warfare, both aerial and naval. That strategic mind is her greatest strength, followed only by her cunning in mimicking the explosive diversion of the enji. Now she specializes in controlling encounters, using her agile speed and throwing chakrams to navigate surrounding terrain to discreetly seed the powdered fuel across the battlefield. This flammable powder is laced with her venom can be lit all at once, to trap an opponent and reduce visibility, or in stages to herd and limit their mobility. Through this method, she can also utilize hidden explosives as well, which she harries her opponents onto. The secret weapon of making her venom flammable is what allows her to utilize what is known to her enemies as her demon's breath. The trademarked technique is performed by mixing chemicals along the edge her armored wrist and igniting it, the exhaling of toxic chemicals that she places in her cheek propelling the ensuing flames in a sharp cone that sears across her enemies and ignites traps and explosives across the battlefield. |
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The Stories of the Blood Sun
Stare into the Blooming Flower And Drown Your Troubles |
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Quote:
the early terrors of a family hunted
"If you care for anything, my dearest one," his mother whispers, lightly arranging the pressed collar of his hanbok to hide the bloody droplets that haven't yet dried. "- whatever has captured your heart will become a weakness to be exploited against you."
A sharp glance of wide, colorless eyes hook toward the fallen heap mere feet away from his shivering wings. The elegant, poison-barbed hair ornaments wedged through the assassin's throat have left the unkempt feathers of his mother's mane unhindered around her shoulders. "... like how you love me?"
The words bring a heartbroken sigh from her. He won't understand why until several more years have passed and the deaths piling at the edges of his sheltered existence forces him to accept the pain of choosing someone's life over their innocence.
"Yes, my dearest." The delicate sweep of his mother's hand brushes across his face, the golden curve of her wedding ring catching unspoiled tears that never mar the hatchling's snow-white feathers. "Just like me."
A protest starts to bubble in his chest and fear snares at his tongue as his eyes try to flicker away. Back toward that corpse, laying bleeding onto the white marbled floors. The gentlest tremble of his mother's fingers eases his attention back toward her. Away from the blood spilling down from the throat pried ajar half-hidden behind her kneeling form.
"If you are to become a good ruler," she insists past her own tears, her voice kind as she cups the side of his face to keep the frightened hatchling's focus on her. "Then you must care for your people above everything else. Nothing can stand before them, my lovely little one."
The sounds of guards rattle in the distance, far too late. The protection of anyone but himself would always be too late. It wasn't the lesson she'd meant to teach him, but it was what his young mind understood, watching a kohl-streaked fall tear into her pitiful half-smile.
The next attempt to speak chokes in her chest and she descends to press a gentle kiss to his forehead to buy herself time before the guards could arrive. The light flicking of her fingers curl too tightly in his robes as she tries to straighten them. Eventually, she manages to whisper, "Nothing else can matter. All of us, we must be as disposable as the wind."
"... but." The words stick wetly in his throat as he attempts to speak. The doors fling open, and the hatchling can hear his father screaming for someone to check on his other siblings in the distance. "I love you, mother. Is... is that bad?"
The words seem to pain her somehow, as though that was the greatest sign of her failure. Even worse than letting an assassin get so close to her son.
".... as with all things to do with love, my dearest one," his mother promises. The next words stick with him for a lifetime, might carry heavy in his chest into the next. "That will bring you as much pain as joy."
Quote:
the brutal training of the sanzuwu heir
Sharpen your teeth, Seokga.
If you are to survive in the world of effluvials, then your wings must be drenched with enough blood to appear as their own.
“What are you willing to give?”
The gold-tipped claws of his father clipped across the marbled floors of the observatory, the swirling wire-framed devices above painting his steps in the empty expanse of the heavens he claimed to walk. The flickering light from the astralarium seemed a sea of stars beneath him, the machine’s metal struts spinning in slow, ever-changing revolutions that mirror a transference from spring to summer as an imaginary Sornieth relentlessly pursued the other side of the sun. The dark shadow cast in his father’s wake disrupted the murky reflections as the heights of summer were trampled by the unrelenting claws that stalked after the prince’s crumpled, shaking form.
“... everything.”
The hacked response splattered blood across the emptiness of space. Every breath quaked in the battered cage of his chest, wary eyes scanning the reflections for signs of movement as soiled fingers tightened around his blade. The edges of his vision kept melting away, blurring into a haze of reflected starlight, but effluvial warriors didn’t need vision. The rumors from the Blacksands said that the sharpened senses of his uncle could detect the dripping of a wound at a hundred paces. And if they didn’t need it, then he could be strong enough without it.
Listening. Never breathing, holding perfectly still. Even as a crumpled heap on the floor, his muscles tensed like a coiled serpent, watching the flickering patterns spinning across the reflective marble.
The silence shattered with the deft swing of a sword. Seokga’s claws shoved against blood-slicked floors to unleash the remnants of his strength in a powerful upward stroke to intercept. The heavy, brutal weight of his father’s sword slammed through his muscles, powerful enough to catch sparks along the edge of their blades. But the momentum of the retaliatory strike drove Seokga through the swing, knocking aside their interlocked blades to sear the deadly poison of his vicious talons beneath his father’s guard like a striking viper.
A streak of crimson splattered beneath swirling constellations.
The violence of his father’s feathers slammed him into the floor, massive claws spreading thick across the blood-marred expanse of his vulnerable throat. The spectral, gold-tipped mane sparkled with a viscous layer of blood beneath the firelight, mirroring the broken and bloodied form beneath him. It was enough to make his chest heave with pride at such a small, helpless little victory. It didn’t go unnoticed, the pressure across his neck intensifying as the dangerous edge of his father’s sword balanced across marble beside him.
“Will you give up your pride?” The accusation slid sibilant from a forked tongue that sought not to instruct but to break and shatter until every weakness was too scarred to ever break again. The harsh edge to his father’s voice was as good as praise, knowing that he thought he was worthy of more than reassuring platitudes. "There is no room for pride in strength, Seokga. Just as there is no room for weakness. Would you have struck if my talons had been around your mother's neck? Would you watch her die, if that was what it took to spill my blood?”
“My little one is too weak.” The vaulted chamber rang with the music of his mother’s voice from where her demure figure settled across the decadence spread of the nearby pillows. It was only the mention of her sacrifice that brought her attention away from the needlework gently splayed across her legs, her dispassionate gaze lingering on the bloody trail Seokga’s injuries had painted across the observatory. “Might as well begin with the next, my beloved. He won’t survive the scourging of the blooded moons.”
Even feigned. Even knowing it was a test. The words strung more than a blade.
“This little one will watch his mother die,” Seokga seethed. The fragmented tatters of his wing scrabble against the marbled floors as his fingers pry at the weight of his father’s ankle. Something built up, dark and heady within him, near-blossoming in the back of his mind. “This little one will watch you die, father, if that is what it takes to reclaim what’s ours -”
“This little one will bathe this world in crimson.”
The harsh clatter of his father’s sword signaled the end of the bout. And the blossoming of pride within that voice made it all worth it, even as his gaze soaked with the pounding of bloodied flowers. A sturdy hand caught his own, hauling the wearied, broken prince away from the impending darkness. “Until there’s enough room in the sunlight for all of us.”
Quote:
the recruitment of the hellsguard (gangnim)
The peaceful do not survive unless sheltered beneath the wings of another.
If you are not those wings, then you are useless to them.
“What are you willing to give?”
Seokga’s knife overturns, pressing tight to the jackdaw’s trembling throat. The prince’s dark, draping hanbok trails abyssal constellations across the marbled floors, as though whispering secrets with each step taken around the jackdaw, the knife never wavering from the heaving of his pulse.
“If they die scarlet beneath my wings, what does that give me, Jeoseung Saja?”
The jackdaw’s murky gaze swivels to track the dangerous pacing that presses the question close to his ear. A rough swallow nicks blood from the jackdaw’s throat, fingers clenched beneath the hazy reflections of the celestial machines, yet-whirling so many years later.
“My life is worth the price.”
The flat of the blade tips up beneath the jackdaw’s chin to lift his features to Seokga’s scrutiny. Dark and sanguine wings drape in supplication even as the jackdaw watches him, waiting for judgment with a greedy stare.
A lazy, crooked smile slashes across Seokga’s features as the blade flicks back. A snowy finger slips through the freshly drawn blood.
“Let’s start that war, then.”
Quote:
the greatest lie is that we cannot be free
The blossoming petals of Haesbich Sal-in’s rosy orchards stir with the catch of an ashen-warmed wind, the towering branches painted in streaks of crimson and gold beneath the setting of the sun. Seokga lazily steps forward across the precarious stretch of rosewood fencing erected along the steep cliff at the edge of the orchard, sunlit wings spread wide to balance his steps. The short length of a knife twirls between three fingers to keep his physical form caught in lazy, kinetic activity as his mind races on.
“I’m just saying, Yingde.” The words drag out from his throat with a heavy, theatrical sigh, intent on capturing the Akaneiro warrior’s attention. As though expecting that it’s wandered at some point and needed to be seized between his fingers and dragged back in.
Like how the flashing edge of the blade whistling through his fingers is dragged suddenly back against his palm, not the hilt but the whirling blade. The resulting soft, reddish droplets leak slowly from the edge of his palm with pain radiating through his fingers to scream a dull warning across his arm. It brings a wicked, mirthless laugh to his tongue as a messy tangle of loose hair catches in the wind, the slant of his gaze crinkling at the dark shadow lurking against the shrine behind him.
“The world tells us we have to accept it, that we can’t change what already is, what’s bigger than ourselves. It says the foundations of society are flooded thick with blood and we must add to it, lest the delicate social order we depend on fall apart.”
The dying of sunlight splashes the clouds above them with pink-strewn golden streaks as his boot slaps heavily against the street beneath him. A slow, confident sway brings him down to the cobblestones, each step placed as though without care or purpose. The slow, meandering footfalls just slips of sediment lazily pulled down an unseen stream toward some singular destination that Seokga had marked out long ago.
“Every lesser crow strung up and beaten by those who think themselves better for having less markings on their wings. Every master who forces shackles on their servants to feel better about the boot on their own backs. It’s all the price we pay, for having a sliver of peace in this ruthless, f--ked up world of ours.“
Seokga’s intended destination, for the moment, seems precariously near to his guard, who lazily reclines against the shrine bestowing blessings on the orchard. But the passionate words that flow across his tongue resonate too deeply within the soul like an outstretched invitation to delve into the dangerous hope from which they sprang.
It was a strange phenomena the village merrily whispered about whenever given an opportunity to praise or criticize him. Just how everything in their lives seemed to spin and swirl around him like the foundations of the world was changing course toward something prophesized and inevitable. That they themselves were caught in that celestial current with only his steps seeming to know the course.
Seokga had heard those whispers, passed along by well-intentioned gossips to make him smile. It had, until he’d gotten out of sight and asked what afterlife the kouhaku believed awaited someone who dragged the innocent down to hell.
“That’s the lesson everyone’s been teaching us,” drawls the quiet venom of his words, his steps winding to find a natural stop near the lazy stacking of the effluvial’s boots. “Since the day we were born, me, yourself, the bloody prince of Zhengyu, it’s whispered in our ear that there’s this thing called inevitability. And that the weight of ‘effluvial tradition’ or the expectations of the esteemed corpses that call themselves our ancestors hang like shackles directing our every course of action.”
The blade in his hand lofts toward Yingde to extend a pretty, engraved hilt toward the former Akaneiro warrior. Seokga’s next words remain unspoken as the strong clench of Yingde’s fingers engulf the leather binding about blade, a keen, predatory weight in the prince’s amber eyes. It’s a test, it always is, and when at last the knife drags free of his grasp and leaves shallow ribbons of ruined flesh across his palm, a crooked twitch of his mouth signals his approval.
“It’s how they keep us in line, never wanting us to know -“
The theatrics seem pointless until the hilt settles proper within his grasp, a slow, crimson light slicking up the engraved edge as it tilts against the dying of the sun. The effluvial signature thrumming within the warrior’s blood whispers to the blade, remaking the bright metal into dark, volcanic steel as the dripping blood reverses to sink into the tempered hamon like the gaping maw of a starving beast.
“... all it takes the right spark to reduce their pretty lies to ashes. Isn’t there anything you would change, if you could make this world a better place?”
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The AUs of the Blood Sun
Stare into the Blooming Flower And Drown Your Troubles |
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I am vicious, I am cruel
The cruel tides of fate have left Seokga without the support that he'd always imagined himself having when at last, the dreams of his youth came to realization. The prince's deceased father had not stood beside him when he was crowned the new khagan of Eodum. The prince's madness-stricken mother had been held tightly by her guards to keep her screeching wails from virally commanding those attending the ceremony to tear each other apart.but please, leave me not alone Although the great crow kingdoms of Sornieth had expressed their greatest wishes to aid him in the future, eventually his allies had all been forced to return to their homelands. The expectation that the triumphant prince would be up for the indomitable task of reforging a corrupt world into a bright and shimmering paradise was unspoken. And so, Seokga strained to make those who had passed away and those who yet remained proud of him. The archaic, oppressive policies of the conquered kingdom were torn out by the tangled roots, replaced with the vaulted dreams of equality that had always haunted his most hopeful dreams. The Sanzuwu became a beacon of the new spirit of hopefulness and unification beneath the sweet, albeit sometimes ruthless, leadership of his little sister Haru. The regimented caste system of Eodum was declared unlawful though it remained festering in the furthest corners of the kingdom. The new khagan's best efforts were never quite enough. For every injustice that he righted, for every conflict that he resolved, there were always several more waiting behind it. It was a daunting task for someone forced to stand as alone as he, and even the support of fiercest advocates and the remnants of his family could not keep away the cold, hard reality that the peace and prosperity of Eodum had only ever been enforced by khagans cruel enough to subjugate any who would oppose their order. Every uprising stayed quiet for a precious few more months when the perpetrators were executed and his intelligence always came faster when his forces utilized sleeper spies with flower marks imprinted into them. Although Khagan Seokga has attempted to keep his clawtips from straying into the darkness, there seems to be little light left ahead of him. Leave him not alone, lest he become the thing of nightmares to preserve that solitary, flickering light.
seven steps from darkness
The news that has come from the far-flung Golal clan has at last confirmed what the Eodum clans have hoped for since the Era of Eradication. There appears to be fresh, untapped veins of blacksteel uncovered beneath the deepest lava-riddled mires of the Blacksands. The khaganate has taken steps to secure this precious resource, but the leadership of the Golal clan have proven resistant to giving up command of their mines.The prevalent thought within the clan seems to be that the veins are a sign that the Plaguemother has bestowed the slumbering birthright of her children on their clan for a reason, and negotiations have come to a standstill over what percentage of the blacksteel will remain within the clan instead of being shared with the rest of Eodum. There are fears that if the clan's demands are not met, that they will turn their hopeful gaze toward the rebellious forces within the kingdom to secure a better deal. The dissenting voices within the clan have made the demands disproportionate what the khaganate considers fair, and agreeing to them might cause strained tensions or even rebellions among the other clans. The perception of being denied blacksteel in favor of Clan Golal could be enough to make even the most trusted clans falter in their loyalty to the new khagan.
the current situation
The star-prophets of Aeswi have warned that the reemergence of such unusual quantities of blacksteel could destabilize not only Eodum's political stability but its security in the larger battlefield of an ever-warring Sornieth.Many kingdoms that Khagan Seokga once considered allies might seek to take advantage of Eodum's weakness during this time of reforging. It has left the new khagan paranoid and unable to reach out to his old allies, for fear of even the most trusted of correspondences being leaked to the rest of crow - and even the wider draconic - society, bringing more danger than the possible aid he could receive. The word blacksteel can evoke avarice and treachery in even the most stalwart of hearts. The star-prophets have warned that if the khagan treads once more upon the bones of his ancestors, the greatest threat to Eodum will not be civil war against itself, but the hungry eyes of the vultures just beyond their gates. And that this era of Eradication might not end with an Eodum existing beyond what is written of them in the history scrolls of other kingdoms. The star-prophets recommend avoiding contact with all other kingdoms. And yet, Baekya, the khagan's second in command, has pulled another Albino trick without his liege's consent by contacting Seokga's oldest allies in the hope that they can rescue the kingdom from what darkness threatens to overtake it. |
R A V A G E R
[파괴자]; a nation fallen to war
In a world of storms
Let there be no wavering Of our human hearts; Remain as the pine tree With roots sunken in stone.
backstory: the prince triumphant
The war campaign against Eodum had been successful. And yet, the slaughter of the Sanzuwu's leadership had left the bloodied sun without consul with the shattered remains of a fallen kingdom caught beneath the triumphant leaning of his clawtips.The friendship of the Akaneiro and Zhengu effluvial kingdoms had kept him from becoming the despotic ruler that the conquered clans of Eodum had feared. The khaganate was not shattered beneath him, but instead shattered apart with the status of naebu and oebu stripped from each of clans of the Eodum. Those who agreed to work into the future in tandem with the new Albino khagan became naebu, awarded political power and a place in the new upper tier of the khaganate. Those who yet resisted his rule were not subjugated, but instead declared oebu, those who needed to be watched closely until they flourished enough to accept the new rulership. These were allowed places in the lower tier of the khaganate, so that at last all of the clans of Eodum would be represented with their khans having some degree of power over their own fates.
backstory: the Sanzuwu reborn
The Celestial Societies consolidated into a single united entity beneath his leadership, as their leadership was mostly deceased in the war. The new entity became the Sanzuwu clan, the first multi-crow-variant clan of Eodum. Although technically the head of the Sanzuwu Clan, the new khagan appointed his younger sister Haru as the defacto leader of the clan as he worked to reform the clans to something that his parents could be proud of.Neither of the bloodied sun's parents could be relied upon in this new era of attempted reformation. The slaughter of the Celestial Societies' leadership had left Jinwu strewn bloody across the floor and although she had survived, the effluvial venom of the assassins had driven Bari Deji into an unending madness. She remains in the palace while the new khaganate searches for a cure that does not exist. The only other survivor of the massacre has at once become the bloodied sun's greatest aid and constant rival. The demands of reforging such a sprawling and often isolated civilization has left the bloodied sun unable to handle much of the minutia of running the khaganate, leaving his appointed second to help the shattered kingdom begin to once more prosper. The ever efficient and calculating Baekya has proven himself a menace and a blessing of the gods, being only too pleased to handle what the khagan cannot.
backstory: beware a civil war
Although the peace accords were signed in endless wastes of blood, several of the oebu clans of Eodum have yet to submit to the new khagan's rulership. The ancient, isolated powerhouses of the Bajwi and Dulumi have managed to overthrow what rule had been enforced on them, regaining full autonomy and declaring themselves the true remnants of the old khaganate. Countless other smaller clans have followed suit, with the only peace between the bastion city-states of the disparate unified clans being enforced by the traveling judicators of the now-loyal Haetae.The rumors have begun stirring through the land that the eldest Bulsajo children survived the war and subsequent pacification of the rebels yet in their clan. The names Singijeon and Jedokgeom have become rallying cries throughout the territory as those disquieted with the new regime demand the rise of a true khagan. The tumultuous state of the world outside of Eodum's borders has left the new khaganate and the bloodied sun bereft of the allies that they had once called upon. As the eyes that once fell on Eodum have turned elsewhere, the shadowlands left in their wake struggle for the peace that the conquering armies had promised. And so does the kingdom's second send out letters to their once-allies asking for the assistance that the bloodied sun's arrogance keeps him from requesting. The vaulted war against the forces of Eodum was triumphant. But now the shattered kingdom wars against itself. And as the bloodied sun has been forced to take actions that he had once thought beyond him, the new khagan strays ever closer to becoming the ravager that his opponents claim him to be. |
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The Art of the Blood Sun
Stare into the Blooming Flower And Drown Your Troubles |
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