Information

Oceiros the consumed king
Legacy Name: Oceiros the consumed king

The Custom Glacier Dragarth
Owner: Pheon

Age: 7 years, 11 months, 6 days

Born: May 17th, 2016

Adopted: 7 years, 11 months, 6 days ago

Adopted: May 17th, 2016

Statistics

• Level: 86
   
• Strength: 40
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 559
   
• Books Read: 557
• Food Eaten: 19
• Job: Web Developer

"Ahh, you ignorant slaves. Finally taken notice have you?Of the power of my beloved Ocelotte, child of dragons.- - -Well, I will not give him up.For he is all that I have."- - -The halls are long and dark, rattling softly to the hiss of wind and the warning of a dragon awakened. The Consumed King may be scattered to dust and bone but the shades of his past still walk the halls and brood in their final madness. The scholars bunched together like frightened sheep, bleating amongst themselves of “magic, artefact residue, fragments,” The mercenary guards surrounding them whispered uncertainly. The Grey Library’s quest for knowledge has taken them to many places of danger but this place is more ominous than most. There may history to be recorded in these twisted paths but this place unsettles them more than most. For all their grumbling and complaining though, the promised pay has drawn them in numbers. - - - The king embraces his wife at the foot of the stairs, running a finger along the smooth line of her cheek. She smiles beatifically at him and takes his hand in her own, drawing him up the steps, head thrown back in laughter. She is beautiful, suffused with health and happiness, made all the more gloriously radiant by the child she is carrying. Their two princes wait for them at the top, impatient to leave the richly adorned castle for a day in the warm sunlight of summer. They banter with each other and run ahead as their parents follow, sprinting the length of the hall in youthful exuberance, dodging and weaving around the people in their way. They round the corner, one skidding slightly as he turns and are lost from sight. The queen walks at a more sedate pace, arm in arm with her king. As they pass, the servants and the courtiers bow and nod, the shine of admiration and respect in their eyes. At the corner, the queen tilts her head quizzically at something the king says and the pair disappear with a flood of light. - - - Darkness returned with the swiftness of a snuffed candle and the scholars clustered together, feverishly scribbling their records. The artefact that the leader carried is old, even by the Library’s reckoning and its power has faded with time. The quicksilver flashes of memory are drawn from the stone halls around them, time replayed and captured in fleeting sight. There is no colour or sound to accompany the silver-limned ghosts of the past but even their silent actions provide a host of new revelations and reckonings. Around the muttering huddle, the guards exchanged wary glances. The brilliant artefact-light made the gloom of the long halls even darker and their charges did not seem to realise the difficulty of adjusting from light to dim shadow. It makes the guards’ duty just that much harder and they grow more cautious with every passing moment. - - - The doors of the grand library grind shut with a tortuous squeal of neglected hinges. The king cocks his head as if to listen to silent footsteps clattering away from the doors but after a moment, he turns back to his overflowing desk. One more fleeing servant does not make a difference here. Sooner or later, another will come, forced to bring the increasingly rare meals that his seneschal sends down. Regardless of his actions, he is still a king and king must command the loyalty of his citizens, by love or hate or fear. Arcane fire flickers at his fingertips as he bends over the dusty scrolls and his nails begin to blacken under the heat. If there is pain, his lined face shows nothing of it. His fingers blacken and heal, blacken and heal until the skin becomes pale with scar tissue and the nails grow twisted and long. - - - Silver light flickered and faded, throwing the scholars into gloom once again. The heavy darkness weighed down on them and they grew swiftly silent, motioning their escorts onwards with the haste of the frightened. Their artefact is behaving oddly, as if reacting to the strange presence that they can feel around them. The bursts of silver memory grow shorter and more erratic.?- - - The library lies dark and empty, scrolls thrown to the corners, book spines torn from their pages and left to lie on the floor. The man hunched over the table suddenly smashes a fist into the surface, splintering the heavy wood. As he raises his arm again, the jagged splinter that hangs from the meat of his hand shakes loose and he cocks his head to follow its clattering path across the floor. It only by dint of effort that his twisted smile can be recognised as the king’s. The rich robes are tattered and frayed at the edges, his hair is lank and more is missing than there. He turns to kick at the length of wood and underneath the ragged vestments, he is skeletally thin. - - ­- He approaches the banks of candles with a scaled arm pressed over his eyes. When he sweeps the flames out with his other hand, the claws rake through the flames and his flesh bubbles as the fire eats at it. In the silver-lined darkness, the king opens his eyes and looks bares elongated teeth in satisfaction. - - - The room has become a den. He nests in a twisted pile of curtains and tattered pages, swaddled in empty scroll cases, slowly devouring the paper with his hollow eyes. He cradles a bundle of rags in one arm, cooing soundlessly, stroking it with the tendrils that whisker down from his jaw. There is blood daubed across the fabric, teased into spikes and wings and tails. - - - The mercenaries fanned out ahead, weapons readied in tense hands. For the past two hours, the group of scholars had been descending the long halls, walking ever deeper into the catacombs of the old palace. The further their small band travelled away from the entrance to the sunlight outside, the greater the sense of creeping dread grew. Now, nearing the deepest level of the ruins, every single person was on edge. Two flights of stairs past, a gentle soughing had rushed upwards from the depths and prompted a hurried rush to draw steel. The dust the wind carried smelt of putrefaction and decay. Their map and their passage through the ruins has been planned out already, all they need to do it to follow it to its end. - - - He has taken residence below the palace, abandoning the castle of his forefathers for a damp hollow and a broken shrine. A felled tree serves as a staff, his bare arm a cradle. Stunted wings shiver from his back and hollow eyes caress his last child, twisted beyond eyesight or sanity by the blood of dragons.The silver light flickers and the remnants of the king raises his head. - - - Scholars frown and stare. The mercenaries spread out or back away. The artefact hums violently and finally, finally, the Master Scholar realised that something is wrong. - - - Oceiros smiles at them through time and twisted magic. “Ahh, you ignorant slaves …”

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