Yorthziriel
(#189026)
Custom Progenitor
Familiar
Greybeak Reaper
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 45/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Male Wildclaw
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.76 m
Wingspan
5.57 m
Weight
426.3 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Tiger
Tiger
Leaf
Sarcophagus
Sarcophagus
Maize
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Wildclaw
Max Level
STR
123
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
65
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Biography
"Sycamore, ash, moss, and loam,
Wrap your roots all around my bones.
And when they come for me, when they call my name,
Cast my shadow from a bellow's flame."
Wrap your roots all around my bones.
And when they come for me, when they call my name,
Cast my shadow from a bellow's flame."
   
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Although he's technically the founder of the clan, Yorthziriel is not particularly interested in leading it. Rather, he prefers to leave most of it to Jeanne, availing himself of the clan's resources without having to trouble himself with the minutiae of its affairs. He is a necromancer, fascinated with the magic of death and undeath. At times, when he lacked subjects for his experiments in the black art, he turned to himself. He bears the marks of it, ragged wings and bare bone, and perhaps worse under his enveloping cowl. However, he considers it a small price to pay for the advancement in knowledge it brought him, if he ever considers it at all. He is deeply invested in his experiments with necromancy, widening the breadth and depth of his knowledge, until he knows all there is to know, and until he can consider himself the master of death itself. Although he is afforded as much respect as the clan's leader, Jeanne, many of the clan also regard him with a wariness that they don't feel towards their much kinder leader. He's not too picky about the subjects of his experiments, and if he runs out, he'll go looking for one. Everyone has heard some story about someone who used to be part of the clan and crossed Yorthziriel one too many times, to be dragged off to his workroom and become one of his undead servants. (Granted, it's never happened to anyone they knew personally, but a friend swore that the one who told them about it used to know someone who saw it themselves.) It's true that it would be unwise to enter his workroom without permission, because there are things moving within it that are no longer alive. Most of them are not recognizable as having formerly been dragons, but a number of them are not entirely recognizable at all, creatures cobbled from bits and pieces of bone and flesh as he sees fit to do his bidding. He sees himself as making an improvement in death upon what life created, animating the tiny bones of snakes and mice to create scurrying spies, or the lumbering beast with arms like shovels that everyone refers to as the Gravedigger. Yorthziriel is generally cold and disinterested in the living as a whole, but his entire demeanor changes when his pursuit of necromancy comes up. He becomes animated, something inside him lighting on fire as he speaks of his latest experiments. His passion, or perhaps better to say his zeal, burns within him like a flame, lighting his eyes and bringing feverish color to his pale face, intense and almost manic. He is more intimidating caught in the drive of experimentation than he is at any other time, because he gives off the air of someone who is willing to do absolutely anything to see it through. Several clan members have been dragged in to become unwilling experimental subjects or donors (of what, they're not exactly sure, but they wake up back in their room aching and filled with a vague sense of dread, happy to have gotten out alive. Probably alive.) He is sure that he's on the verge of a breakthrough, the creation of something superior to what the mere accident of life has managed so far. Nerween is also a necromancer, and is much more eager to work alongside him than Yorthziriel is. Nerween is almost his polar opposite, bright, cheerful, and downright bubbly, almost always with a lollipop in his mouth or some other sweet about his person. He seems completely unaffected by Yorthziriel's cold attitude towards him, clinging to him unconcernedly and brightly chattering away about how much he wants them to work together. Yorthziriel, who has faced down bloodthirsty shades, avenging revenants, and massive abominations reanimated from a composite of bodies without his calm mask ever cracking, looks decidedly discomfited in the face of such unrelenting cheer. He generally does his best to shake him off, no easy task when Nerween is determined to sway him, and retreat to his workroom as soon as possible. ~by Mirrorstone |
""You can bury my body, but I'll never die.""
Short Story 1
He had to be very, very careful. This was essential. His next project depended on it. As he held the glass jar in his hands, Yorthziriel could feel the pulsing creature inside, the warmth coming from the fluid that contained it. He had to get this back to his workroom right away, it was dreadfully important that nothing distracted him. Each step was careful and well-planned, the fluid inside the jar barely moving, not disrupting the creature inside. Soon, very soon the creature would be released into the host and perhaps Yorthziriel would bring back a perfectly alive human--but with a different mind. Yes, the creature was a rare parasite, carefully cared for by Yorthziriel himself. As soon as it was possible, the body would be under the control of said parasite and there would be a breakthrough in necromancy. Almost there, only a few more feet. Just a little bit more...
"What's that?"
The voice would have made anyone else jump, but Yorthziriel had gotten used to it. Almost like the owner of the voice was a constant shadow hanging over... wait, that's exactly what Nerween was. With a sigh, the older and more experienced necromancer gave the younger a nasty look, only getting a bright warm smile in return. The youth had a sucker lodged in his cheek, probably with more shoved in his pockets, hidden away for an emergency.
"Its a very rare parasite. Now if you don't mind, I'm busy," Yorthziriel hissed back, carefully taking a few more steps.
"What does it do?"
The next sigh sounded more annoyed and agitated, but Nerween only stared up at the other. That didn't help Yorthziriel's anger. "I don't have time to deal with you. Go away."
"Let me help!"
"No!" this persistent little child was getting in the way already. "Perhaps when I'm done. Wait out here."
Nerween, to Yorthziriel's surprise stayed put and let the workroom door close. Another sigh, this one filled with relief, escaped the necromancer and he got to work. With utmost care, he removed the parasite from the jar and placed it in the host, stitching up the body so there were no openings, besides the normal one. The parasite could be seen moving under the skin, before it seemed to vanish. Now, would it work? Would the weeks spent studying and testing on smaller subjects finally pay off? Would it? Will it? No, not today. After an hour of waiting impatiently, nothing happened. The parasite wasn't ready. Or was it? Did it need more time to grow? Was the body too festered? With an angered growl, Yorthziriel threw some books off of his desk. He had it this time! He was sure! Maybe his calculations were wrong, maybe he needed... no, he didn't need anything.
Nerween smiled when the talented necromancer left his cave of horrors. Finally! Yorthziriel ignored him and walked fast, knowing the younger would follow him. Maybe... maybe Yorthziriel did need help. And there was a more than willing necromancer right beside him. Even though Yorthziriel didn't want to admit it, Nerween wasn't half bad. He focused enough on his work to be good at his job, it was just the attitude. Nerween seemed to want to work with Yorthziriel so badly, always hounding the older man's heels, so should Yorthziriel give in? Allow one job? Who knew, perhaps they would make a good- no, that's silly thinking. He would use the youth for one job, because it had to work. Yorthziriel needed someone to be the spot-man for this job. To make sure everything went smoothly.
"Are you interested in a job?" Yorthziriel asked as they approached the center of the village. Some of those on the streets shut their windows and closed their doors, knowing to avoid two necromancers, especially when one appeared to be fuming.
Nerween's eyes lit up. "Really? With you?"
"One," said Yorthziriel, holding up a finger to get his point across. "One job only. Only one. No more. Understand?"
"Just one?"
"Just one."
Nerween seemed to consider his options before nodding. "One."
They sat at a small local tavern, the owners and regulars having grown used to overhearing the talk of death and decay from necromancers, especially Yorthziriel. When he couldn't think, and needed some time away from his workroom, he fled here, to enjoy a nice drink and some food, for free. Of course. The couple that ran the place owed him for his "kindness". The silent waitress, the owner's daughter, put the drinks down and shuffled off, her eyes dead. Eh, Yorthziriel explained to the parents that necromancy wasn't perfect.
He tapped the journal pages he carried around, placing his finger on a drawing of the parasite.
"This is what was in that jar. They are difficult to find, especially at the size I needed-"
"Needed?"
"Need. Don't interrupt me."
Nerween nodded and went back to nursing his drink, having already devoured more candy than should be possible. Yorthziriel stared at him for a little longer before looking back down at teh book.
"The size is fine. My calculations are correct, but the body-"
"Decayed too fast, right?" Nerween already forgot the 'do not interrupt the angry necromancer' rule. Eh. "Have you tried ice?"
"No, mostly because the parasite needs a warm host."
"Ice the body, then thaw it while you bring the parasite... what does the parasite do anyway?"
Yorthziriel turned the page towards the details. "It will allow the body to come back to life, like it had never passed, but with a new consciousness. One of the parasite. It isn't perfect, but a step towards learning how to properly bring back the dead and not have them... decay." He glanced over at the waitress. "With a perfectly preserved body being repaired, the dead tissue being eaten by the parasite, one could bring the soul back from the beyond and implant it back in the body. Boom. Perfect resurrection."
There were several parts of necromancy. Bringing back dead bodies for whatever reason, summoning departed souls to answer questions, a mixture of the two... it wouldn't be too far off to say that necromancy was, in itself, an art form. Yorthziriel saw it as the ultimate art, to take something natural and changing it into something that not only defied Mother Nature, but Death himself. Nerween seemed to share the same thoughts, although with a few other nicks here and there. For one, the constant crunch of sweets was beginning to make Yorthziriel's skin crawl. The man looked up, glaring at the youth from under the brim of his hood, trying to find the perfect parasite in this old bog. Nerween didn't seem to notice the hate in the gaze and smiled.
"Aren't you supposed to be looking for a new host?" Yorthziriel asked.
"I already did. No one is interested in giving up a loved one for, and I quote, your crazy experiments."
"Go find a host and put it on ice."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
"In your workroom?"
"Touch that door handle and your search will be over before you know it." Yorthziriel looked back down at his work. He grabbed one of the parasites, measuring it before letting it slip back into the bog. At least it was breeding season for them, and most of them have decided some fish would be their current host. Nerween looked at his work before rocking back on his heels.
"Do you want to take a break and get some lunch?" Nerween asked. "We can talk about future jobs together!"
"This is the only job I'm working with you."
"Aw, come on, don't be like that! We would make a great team! Think about all the money we would bring in!"
That same banter was something Yorthziriel should have grown used to, but every time the kid started, he couldn't help but feel a little... happy? The kid tried so hard all the time to start a partnership. It was almost endearing in some sort of way, the fact that this child--who had a lot of talent for a necromancer--wanted to work with Yorthziriel. Most people would avoid him at all cost, but not this little punk. What was Yorthziriel thinking? He would never give into this child. It just so happened to be that he needed some help for this job. That's all. Nothing else. The sudden realization that he wouldn't be able to find what he needed that day finally hit him. Ugh, turns out this 'partnership' would last a bit longer than expected. But that was... alright. As long as he had some help. Nerween seemed intelligent enough to handle a few simple jobs, right? Right.
"Fine," Yorthziriel sighed. "We'll get some lunch."
~by Dew
Short Story 2
Yorthziriel’s tongue found the protrusions of his teeth, swiping them with spit. His gaze drawn down, the contents of the basin clutched in careful palms. He analysed, even the mere thought of contamination through his soft breathing concerned him, plucking from the nearby desk a cluster of excrescence petals, crumbling them into the basin. Its contents began to emit a foul odour, permeating his nostrils and lingering in the pit of his throat.
His eyes widened. His great success, the enigmatic persistence of his studies and their subsequent pursuits seemed to squirm and writhe with vigor before him, the basin’s sides hot with strange power, his palms felt scolded and yet he could not bring himself to move lest his excitement brought forth disaster. But the basin settled, the contents simmering from their illustrious gleam to a mere vile murk, Yorthziriel found his eyes stuck wide no longer in reverence but in dismay, and then narrowing with firm repulsion, with an unrelenting frustration that saw him slam the bowl down upon the desk and utter a snarl of mounting agitation.
Yorthziriel devoted all aspects of his life to an ironic understanding of death. He toiled, sleepless nights spend scouring archives for their hidden tomes, whispers of rumour of magic and danger that many others dared not touch. Some were repulsed by Yorthziriel, some were curious, but none drew near to him, and he would not let them, could not. He refused to jeopardize so much over the company of a mere creature, not when no time could be spared.
He centred his focus elsewhere, determined instead to repurpose his frustration into further study. The smell from the basin now afflicted all aspects of his workroom, seeping underneath the door and scattering those dwelling nearby, but Yorthziriel offered no resistance to the pungent reek. He took to the supply of animal bones, wanting instead to craft a bird, to bind its small body to do his bidding. Yorthziriel knew he was capable of such, his pride felt the need to be soothed, and thus he constructed in the privacy of his workroom.
His fascination brought forth his eager mood. Once again his brooding, sullen scowl ebbed into one of fascination, of discovery. He joined sinews and tissue, connected bone and filled the birdskull with a parasite necromancy that saw its skeletal wings flap and clink like fingers drumming atop the desk. Its bone-beak clicked and opened to squawk, stumbling over itself. Yorthziriel grinned, then. Not a grin of malice, nor sadism, but pride, as if he bore his gaze down at a lost friend, the very tip of his claw found the bird’s round skull, offering it a gentle scratch.
“You are beautiful,” He snarled with great joy. In the privacy of his workroom, he was allowed to express his jubilation. The living world bored him, his passive coldness did well to ward off needless conversation, needless interaction, he despised distraction, and so among the twittering of a bird brought from the jaws of death, Yorthziriel proved himself worthy of mastering the rare art of rebirth, and necromancy.
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