Lord Eschaton

for the villain oc contest
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This character belongs to Soi-ke.
"I feel… old. My body has not aged in almost six thousand years and yet I feel old. Bygone. I’m trying so hard to be content with the present. I am content with the present, most of the time. But I am certain that the best parts of my life are behind me now."
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Ezcha 	Ezcha
 	
Background Information	Background Information
Creator 	soi-ke
Attribute 	missed the boat
Element 	water
Colour 	white
Animal 	mink
Alignment 	chaotic evil
Character Information 	Character Information
Age 	~6000, appears in her mid-30s (hy) physically
Gender 	female
Aliases 	Evelyne A. Aequitas - Counsellor E - Lord Eschaton
Familiar Name 	Paradiso
Familiar Nature 	resolve - the ability to act without hesitation or remorse, to live according to one's own desires
Orientation 	heterosexual
Tribe 	rainwing
Occupation 	youth counsellor - former animus hunter - cult leader and serial killer
Goal 	to maintain and protect the things that give her joy in life
Residence 	the small lakeside town of Inkwater
Birthplace 	near the very centre of the rainforest
Relatives 	has a few descendants living in the rainforest - unnamed elder sister (deceased)
Allies 	her cult - well-beloved by the community as a youth counsellor - a few friends
Enemies 	anyone who would seek to find her identity or history - anyone who would try to stop her from doing what she feels she has to - most other Memoria, especially Seliri Anno
Likes 	a good ham sandwich with some raisin cookies - taking swims in the lake - a bit of alcohol on the weekends - hanging around in the marketplace - the raw exhilaration of taking a life - catnaps - talking to kids about their future hopes and dreams - feeling at ease and free from anxiety - arts and crafts - sunny days
Aversions 	when people know too much about her - being kept away from her hobbies for too long - snow and cold weather - a certain grumpy rainwing detective - is scared of the dark
Powers and Abilities 	longevity - atrophied natural rainwing abilities - Memoria (ability to manifest a familiar)
Familiar Powers 	animus-killing properties (as with all familiars) - supernatural strength and speed - the ability to halt time
Weapons 	a small pocketknife - her familiar
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DESCRIPTION
"You know that old adage about how leopards can't change their spots? It's... kind of like that. I will never change from what I am now."
Nothing about Evelyne’s appearance betrays her macabre interests. This dragoness is no crude, clumsy amateur, wearing her murderous heart on her sleeve for all to gawk at. Rather, her visage is one of brightness and vibrancy - so utterly incongruent with her bloody passion, so consistent and natural that it couldn’t possibly be a facade.
A rather small, zestful thing, Evelyne is never seen without an almost-spring in her step and an enwreathing air of joyful, naive energy. It’s quite difficult to overlook her in spite of her stature. She never ceases to look content, with her relaxed posture and the subtle, casual confidence with which she carries herself.
Despite being a chameleon-scaled RainWing, the pastor has settled into a visual identity - her colours responding no longer to even the most intense emotions. Though her chromatic constancy is owed mostly to the age of her scales, Evelyne’s mindset has also contributed. The RainWing feels more comfortable with her current appearance than any she has donned in the past.
The rain dragon’s pinkish-red frills are comically oversized, flaring out as if they were a second pair of wings. Her purple horns are large, pronged lances, each split into three distinct points. The outermost prong of each horn bears a red, eye-like symbol, narrowed with eternal disdain. Smaller horns, of the same shade and material, sprout from her brow - forming a crest of sort that shadows her pale red eyes. 
And beneath each eye lies a particular scale-pattern, a symbol near and dear to her: the glowing rim of a crimson sun.
Evelyne’s short, broad wings appear naturally frayed and moth-eaten towards their edges. From a lonesome glance, one might doubt the RainWing’s ability to fly. The inner regions of her wings are of a red colour, while their outer fringes are a trim of bright dandelion yellow. As such, her flight brings to mind imagery of wild, consuming flame. 
Her hide is armoured in desaturated magenta scutes - almost pale grey at a glance - that shift sharply into angular, prismatic black plates at her underbelly and jaw. The pastor’s individual scales are long and oblong, and tend to stick out at awkward, prickly angles. She always looks just a little bit ruffled and messy, not taking too much care in her outward appearance. 
Despite being a witch-hunter - a dragoness who fought hollow, soulless beasts for centuries - Evelyne's scales are largely unmarred by old wounds. She has but a single, long scar that runs along her belly. This mark does not at all appear to be the result of a fight. Rather, its precision suggests a surgical origin. 
The RainWing's wardrobe choices stem mostly from her fondness for brighter, pastel hues. She is rarely seen without her trusty orange and lime windbreaker, draped over top of her pale yellow arm warmers. Her sense of fashion is almost gaudy, with the sheer quantity of colours she insists on donning at a time. More curiously however, is her tendency to bundle up more than is reasonable. Even during warm, summer months, Evelyne always dresses as if she's expecting cold weather.
An hourglass motif is common to many of her articles of clothing. Evelyne claims it's a lucky symbol; representative of the idea that everyone has time. Time to spend doing what they love, being with who they love, and enjoying all the wonders that life can offer them. 
PERSONALITY
"I think my biggest failing is... that I struggle with delayed gratification. I just do what feels right, what's in my nature, what makes me feel satisfied. I'm... instinct-driven, I think that's a good way to describe it. I blindly act on these urges like some sort of bloodthirsty animal. But if I truly am an animal, then I don't want to die in a cage. For that matter, I don't want to live in one either. "
Eve is a friend to everybody! Or, at least, she’s making a pretty admirable attempt at it. Evelyne is a generous and gentle dragon, to whom comforting others comes as naturally as breathing. Rather than the overwrought cheer attributed to the RainWing stereotype, there is a strange air of genuineness to her positivity. She is a generally excitable, optimistic and sociable person, but makes it known in more subtle ways. 
Evelyne is the kind of dragon to just start talking to someone, especially if she notices that they’re feeling down. She’s quite good at stoking the fires of dialogue, understanding the ebbs and flows of conversation. Very few things get lost in translation, and the counsellor is quite skilled at speaking plainly - at explaining. The rain dragon is a lot wiser than her apparent age would imply, even a brief chat makes that clear. She’s gleaned an almost eagle-like perception when it comes to underlying meaning, to understanding the emotions and overarching ideas behind seemingly empty chatter.
While a smooth, natural speaker, the RainWing isn’t necessarily a fast, or aggressive one. Her verbal presence is firm in its stoicism, more prone to making suggestions than demands. She often makes herself known through simpler, more meaningful words - pausing for effect or clarity. Though most who know her value her as an equal partner in discussion, Evelyne is rather prone to being shouted over and ignored, while her patient nature prevents her from protesting. The RainWing will doggedly wait for an opportunity to say the things that she needs to, no matter how long it takes.
Her inexhaustible extroversion comes across as annoying, almost discomforting to some - she has a bad habit of prying and sometimes oversteps her boundaries. This, the RainWing feels, is one of her greater failings. But her empathy drives her to improve, to try and better herself whenever she hurts someone, to fix as many of her mistakes as she can. All her flaws and follies belie a genuine curiosity about the world and the people around her, one that Evelyne is simply unable to resist.
In a more long-lived relationship, one might notice how dedicated the RainWing is to correcting her past faults. She is very, almost unnecessarily apologetic, often punctuating her sentences with a quick “sorry,” before continuing on with what she has to say. Evelyne knows better than most that there are some things that cannot be patched up, that there are wounds that fester and scar instead of mending. She feels bad about letting things sit for too long. To shift as much of that weight on her soul as possible, to be as free from unease and anxiety over her past as she can be, Evelyne immediately tries to atone for every blunder she makes.
At heart, Evelyne enjoys helping others, especially the pure and hopeful. She finds satisfaction and content in her profession as a youth counsellor, nurturing the nascent dreams of the next generation and making them seem achievable. The RainWing personally finds solace in the idea that things get better, that people can improve upon themselves, achieve goals, and escape the tangle of their lives. The innocent aspirations of the next generation convince her of it, affirm and justify her optimistic mindset. But sometimes even they’re not enough. 
The bubbly nature that Eve dons in public is a half-truth at best. There are times when she is optimistic about the world, excited about what may come next. But other times her sunny demeanour is but a tiring farce, an obligation that the RainWing must fulfill in spite of her personal gloom. Evelyne is a dragon who drifts between extremes, feeling either extremely high-spirited or just… down. She has good days and bad days, her life travels through peaks of manic, enthusiastic energy and valleys of heart-twisting anxiousness. Evelyne just hopes that, by the end of it all, she will have had more highs than lows. 
There is an utterly incongruent, insurmountably terrible facet of her, one that makes every good deed she's ever done seem for naught. Evelyne feels an unbearable urge to kill, and is periodically compelled to commit murder. She does not seek suffering nor pain in her victims, despite the fact that such is inevitably a result of her exploits. Rather, the thrill of the act itself is enough to sate her. She has come to see it as almost instinctual, a "desire to hunt" and snuff out life as all predatory creatures do. 
The RainWing as come to view her "desire to hunt" as irresistible, something that will gnaw at her until she chooses to sate it. Eventually, this urge always manages to overwhelm her impulse control and judgement. She feels incredibly uncomfortable when she is forced to go without, having trouble concentrating on her day-to-day life and becoming utterly unable to shift her mind from her want. She becomes dull in a way, unable to glean the same joy from her other, less horrifying hobbies.
At this point, she's beyond redemption, too far gone to ever turn back, doomed to live forever by her worst impulses. Or, at the very least, she's convinced herself she is, and has no one left to disagree with her.
She doesn't even try to resist the cravings anymore. The RainWing would rather just reward her psyche, be rid of that aching hunger for a while, and deal with the consequences of her behaviour afterwards.
Her selection process is intended to reinforce her cognitive dissonance. Evelyne explicitly chooses victims that are easy to make excuses about, dragons who are bad people from Evelyne's nebulous and inconsistent criteria. Murderers are optimal, drug dealers will suffice, but sometimes she has "no choice" but to go after some petty crook. That way she can rationalize her actions as a twisted vigilantism, that she's ridding the town of evil through extreme but necessary means. But make no mistake, the RainWing isn't some morally grey anti-hero. Fighting crime isn't what's on her mind when she hunts. It's all about that not quite delight that she gets from the kill, that contented satisfaction.
Just after the thrilling sensation of a murder is when Evelyne's conscience is the loudest. Screaming at her about how evil she is and how she shouldn't have let it get this far. And she agrees with it, completely. She should have kicked the habit when she had the chance, overcame this aspect of herself before she killed her first actual dragon - when there was a distinct, very real possibility that she could've. But the rain dragon believes, firmly, that it's too late now. 
She has woven herself a many-layered coat of regrets and shoddy reasonings, and refuses to confront the problem. Because as far as she's concerned, she already tried to confront the problem. She failed. She failed a long time ago.
Eschaton is charismatic in her villainy, a dragon of great affability and charm. Though the founder of a shadowy, murderous cult, the mysterious RainWing presents herself rather successfully as an inspiring revolutionary and deeply intelligent philosopher.
The cult leader is a public speaker unrivalled, with the ability to talk directly to the thoughts and emotions of those who lend her an ear. Her words seemingly never fail to find purchase in the hearts of the dragons who seek her, invigorating their spirits and inculcating their minds with her ideological leanings. As a direct consequence of her emotional perceptiveness, Eschaton can easily contort the feelings of others - what they love and what they hate - into something more convenient for her. Able to control a conversation to a point that's almost manipulative, the RainWing is a terrifyingly effective cultivator of conviction and zealotry. 
Despite this, Eschaton takes care to act decent and reasonable, virtuous in a way that cannot easily be squared with her sinister occupation. She is very polite, and gentle and understanding when expressing her thoughts or making suggestions to those around her. The RainWing is also quite aversive towards needless violence, and professes a reluctance to harm even those who oppose her. This passive, kindly attitude seems at odds with her ideology, but she upholds it nonetheless.
All of the apparent good in her might make it difficult to see Eschaton as a villainous figure, a dragon cut out to be the leader of a feared criminal cult. But make no mistake, the rain dragon is someone who revels in power imbalances. Though careful to frame a conversation as multifaceted, she views listening to disagreement as undignified, beneath her. She is not someone who looks for discourse in a discussion, but instead someone who seeks affirmation and meek agreement from those she converses with - and is often able to obtain it. Eschaton prefers to keep conversations one-sided, maintaining an absolute authority over where the subject wanders and how the participants interact. She doesn't like it when people talk back.
Lord Eschaton preaches that dragonkind is a doomed, inherently sinful species to whom violence is natural. For dragons were made to kill each other - born with daggers on their feet and paws, scales like armour, maws filled with tearing teeth, and death in their very lungs. What purpose does an IceWing's freezing exhalation serve, but to kill others of their kind? What purpose does a RainWing's venom serve, when there is no other creature in the rainforest that approaches a dragon in raw might? And why are dragons so prone to warring and tribalistic hatred, so often to waging campaigns of murder founded on naught but misunderstanding?
To Eschaton, dragonkind is intrinsically violent, hateful from hatching - a failed species. Or at least, that's the idea she's currently rolling with. 
Though most of her followers are deathly convinced of her teachings, the RainWing has always been kind of inconsistent about what her teachings actually are, sometimes altering them on a whim. She is known for being very non-specific, appealing to vacuous, general ideas like "purity" and "punishment" and "vengeance" and "sin" without actually explaining what any of those concepts mean in context. If the raw energy of her proclamations and emotional appeal of her rhetoric both fail to make an impression, then gaps in her reasonings, her very ideology, become rather obvious. What, then, is the motivation behind her cause when Eschaton herself doesn't believe in it?
In her relatively brief time in Inkwater, Ezcha has learned to transition between Evelyne and Eschaton with apparent ease. Each assumed role brings with it extreme changes in her mannerisms, body language and speech, such that the cult leader and the youth counselor can pass as entirely different people. The more simple, wistful nature of Eve is irreconcilable with Eschaton's devilish mien - there are no intuitive, easily identifiable link between the two.
It would be very reasonable to presume that the kind, sociable Evelyne is the veneer pulled over the harsh truths of Eschaton, rather than the other way around. After all, Eschaton is a figure of mystery and reservation, who only makes herself known in the presence of her loyal followers and avoids the scrying gaze of the public eye. It seems as if Eschaton is a secret, something that Ezcha is trying to hide - an unsightly hole at the center of everything. Although logical, such would be an assertion astray, for Evelyne is ultimately more honest to who the RainWing truly is.
It is effortless for her to bear the mantle of Evelyne, of the gentle, starry-eyed counselor wise beyond her years, for it comes naturally to her. Ezcha and Evelyne are one and the same. The RainWing just doesn't have some sort of secret personality that contradicts everything she does and says in public. Ezcha and Evelyne are synonymous - a distinct, single identity that has been there since the beginning. Eschaton however, is something far lesser. 
Lord Eschaton is a construct, an incomplete demeanour designed with a half-baked ideology and nothing more. The cult leader is an outlet for the RainWing. Eschaton is a twisted sort of therapy, a way for Ezcha to purge her doubts and ease the regrets that weigh upon her heart. 
The cult leader is a charming, redeemable villain - a morally grey character with beliefs and morals and a higher purpose to the madness. Her followers are dedicated, utterly believing in and reaffirming her convictions, because they know, as everyone knows, that Eschaton is right in a way. That is all Eschaton was invented to be, nothing more.
Truthfully, Eschaton just serves as reinforcement, an opportunity to surround herself with individuals who will enable and justify her no matter what. The whole charade allows her to feel just a tiny bit better about her failings, allowing her to excuse her destructive, urge-driven behaviour. Because Eschaton is not a villain with a thesis who is actually making a good point - she's a charismatic villain who just bounces terrible rationalizations and ad hoc illogic off of a non-descript group of yes-dragons. All the minute mitigations she makes in the direct aftermath of a kill are infused with pathos, framed with high-concept ideals and superficial virtues, and parroted back at her by her cult. And if enough dragons believe in her faulty excuses, then maybe she can too.
Ezcha is a slave to her impulses. She's long since given up on overcoming the worst parts of herself, and now just doesn't want to feel bad about it. She's gone past the line of no return in her eyes, having adopted an incredibly defeatist mindset when it comes to personal improvement and kicking her habits. As far as the RainWing is concerned, she is not a "redeemable" villain - someone hiding at their core a good heart that can be coaxed out by a sympathetic hero.
She was that kind of dragon once, ages ago. She was getting better once, surrounded by sympathy and compassion and structure. The RainWing had a partner and children who loved her and colleagues who supported her. She had a higher calling, dreams, and some degree of self-actualization. Ezcha was alive once.
But that was all when she sated herself with but the lives of animals and soulless animus-creatures, and was fully, openly remorseful about it. That was when she was herself a guardian of life, an animus-hunter who sought out and slew evil beasts that stalked in the dark. That was before she was sealed in the earth for five thousand years. That was before she killed a living, breathing dragon for the first time. 
There was a time in her life where Ezcha could've been saved. But she's fallen further since then.
Ashamed about it all, Ezcha has nothing left to do but continue on. All the progress she made was undone when she woke up in Inkwater, left alone with herself. She relapsed, got worse, took her first life, and became utterly irredeemable. Ezcha is firm in her belief that it is impossible for her to change now. She has not the willpower left to change things, to better herself. All she can do now is make excuses, to feel better about herself.
ABILITIES
"I have all the time in the world, and am about to do literally nothing productive with it."
Ezcha herself generally leans towards emotional competencies. She is a skilled orator, counselor and casual converser, owing to her perceptiveness when it comes to the spoken word. As someone who has lived for thousands of years, the Memoria has arrived at a greater understanding of others than most could ever achieve - able to predict and read the feelings of others with startling acuity.
The RainWing is also very knowledgeable on tea, and is known for being quite passionate about it. She likes to exposit wisdom about teamaking, especially when nobody is asking. This is likely an extension of her interest in botany, which she also feels very strongly about. 
Ezcha has a degree in child psychology from the University of Inkwater. She’s very proud of it.
Due to having spent a thousand years hunting and killing animus dragons, Ezcha is a proficient fighter and trapper. She is well-versed in tracking down her quarry and sneaking up on prey, and is trained in self-defense with her knife. But draconic skill on its own does not allow one to slay a soulless animus.
Ezcha is a Memoria, a Memory Witch, naturally suited to slaying animuses. She can innately sense the presence of an animus dragon, stifle their ability to enchant anything if close enough, and is unaffected by any enchantments that directly target her. But these abilities were not what allowed the ancient Memoria to bring the bestial Hollow Ones near extinction. It was their ability to manifest Familiars, animus-killing spirits, that proved their greatest weapon against the damned.
As with all Memoria, Ezcha possesses a Familiar - a physical spirit created by and dependent upon a mortal soul. They are not separate entities from their masters, instead aspects of their subconscious mind shaped by their formative memories. Though all Familiars can bypass protective enchantments and cannot be enchanted themselves, each one also manifests a unique appearance and ability defined by its user’s nature. 
Paradiso symbolizes resolve and self-determination, the ability to live life as one wishes - free from what the world thinks of one’s actions. It is a representation of its master’s will to seek out paradise, a world devoid of all the anxiety and regret that threatens to drown her every single day. But it springs from the most extreme version of these traits - individualism and societal indifference taken to the point of selfishness. 
This nature manifests through Paradiso’s ability to create a period of time during which only Ezcha is conscious and capable of acting upon the world. It is a reality where only her will exists, where only her will matters. Ezcha cannot act upon other living beings during this time - she will pass through them as if they aren't real. Inanimate objects and forces are not affected, things such as the movement of a bullet and the planet’s rotation will persist unabided.
This world of stopped time can exist for up to one day every week. The RainWing can use her Familiar’s power as many times as she wants and make each instance last as long as she wants, as long as her total usage does not exceed twenty-four hours per week. 
This is because Paradiso respects conservation. One could think of time as a finite resource or currency that is expended to act upon the world - Ezcha cannot create more time for herself, and must instead redistribute the time she already possesses. Though her Familiar allows her the power to stop time for twenty-four hours, Ezcha is in turn forced into an immobile and unconscious state every Sunday. She'll usually spend this time in the basement beneath Inkwater's lighthouse - the place where she first woke up. 
Though intended to fight animuses, Familiars can physically affect the world, and slay mortal dragons as well. Paradiso itself is far stronger and faster than even most other combat-oriented Familiars, and has become Ezcha's primary method of killing. As with all Familiars, it can act autonomously to protect its master from danger she doesn’t see coming. 
----
Paradiso's manifestation is of a draconic figure, covered in linen of both a turquoise and bone-colour. Parts of it, including its arms and lower body, are skeletal in appearance. Its forearms end abruptly, replaced by phonograph records about halfway down. Similarly, its tail sprouts into a bouquet of flowers. A collection of red marbles simply hover above its spine, suspended upon nothing. 
It dons several items made of purple fabric - a poppy-decorated mask, a tattered cloth that hands from its ribcage, and two pauldron-like ornaments mounted to its shoulders. It also wears a red petal-like ruff, alluding to Jacobean dress. 
Its somber appearance is drawn from Ezcha's memory of her sister's burial shroud. 
When attacking, Paradiso produce otherworldly shrieks like those of a dying bird. Usage of its principle ability - to bring time to a halt for all living beings - is heralded with the distorted sound of a record scratch.
RELATIONSHIPS
"I don't think I'm a positive influence."
Oscen
Five thousand years have passed since Ezcha last saw the SandWing, yet she still loves him to pieces. She remembers how she loved him for his heart, for how he always tried to do what was right and took his failings as opportunities for self-improvement. She remembers how he loved her for her decisiveness and her strength - and how she taught him how to stand up for himself and overcome his meekness. The RainWing still longs to see him again, to make up for lost time, but ultimately understands that such a thing is impossible now. 
Even though he was also gifted with longevity and is probably still alive, Ezcha feels that she’s too far gone to ever reconnect with him. Better that she keeps Oscen far, far away - unaware of her reawakening and unaffected by the consequences of her impulsivity. Five thousand years ago, the RainWing knew that her behaviour and habits were taking a toll on her family, that it was hurting them, and that they would’ve been better off without her. And she’s gotten worse since then.
Seliri
The sour-faced detective has proven herself a genuine threat to Ezcha, and has been getting dangerously close to figuring out her identity in recent months. With a personal desire to find her father’s killer, a dogged, willful nature, and her own guardian Familiar, Ezcha fears it’s only a matter of time before Seliri manages to end her reign of terror. And she’s not quite sure how to feel about that. 
On one paw, Ezcha’s foremost desire is to perpetuate her current lifestyle - the one way by which she can get some manner of joy and satisfaction. She should react with fury at the idea of an intruder into her world, threatening her carefully maintained status quo. On the other, Ezcha has come to feel immensely shameful and weary about it all, to a point where her outings as Lord Eschaton fail to completely erase her doubts. Her petty rationalizations aren't enough anymore. Ezcha knows that she cannot control her darker, more damaging habits, and that an external force needs to intervene - to stop her. And if they need to kill her to do it, so be it. 
|-|Background=
I. 
There were hollow creatures in the dark.
Her mother told the siblings of them. She told them to never leave the light of the tribe’s flower-woven lamps. To never stray too far from home. With her voice hushed and fearful, Ezcha’s mother had told her constantly of the soulless animuses that lurked where the light couldn’t reach, in every crook and crack, every shadowed place of the world.
The dark was scary to the hatchlings, even without their mother’s warnings. The two rain dragons never strayed far from the pretty, bright lamps that had guarded their tribe since times immemorial. Their earliest years were spent playing in the golden glow of their village, safe from the creatures that stalked them in the dark. 
It would not be until many years later that the siblings encountered an animus. Many halcyon, blissful years, that Ezcha cherishes to this day.
----
Her parents were sobbing.
Ezcha couldn’t blame them for this moment of weakness. It must have been pretty hard losing a child. 
Rotfever - the dragonet could feel it in her bones, feel its tightening grip on her lungs, feel her very flesh wasting away. She was going to die. 
Ezcha didn’t really want to die. But more than that, she didn’t want to be cold when she died. She wanted to die in the sun. Or, failing that, she wanted to die in the warming light of the flower-lamps. That was all. But the tribe’s healers refused her. Clinging on to a desperate, foolish hope, they choose not to euthanize the young rain dragon - denying her a peaceful death in the warmth of her home.
Rotfever, though untreatable, could occasionally pass on its own. Before it did however, Ezcha would have to brave the forest, for the sickness would spread if she remained. With a heavy heart, the wise dragons of the tribe condemned her to that lightless place where the hollow monsters lurked. It was not quite a death sentence, but it might as well have been.
Until her older sister offered to go with her. 
Ezcha’s sibling had overcome a weaker strain of Rotfever, and was confident that she would prove resilient to the plague. She argued, quite persuasively, that Ezcha would be more likely to recover if the sick dragonet had someone at her side - to hunt for her and keep her warm. 
With a chortling laugh and a wide grin, Ezcha’s first and truest friend made a declaration to the entire village. That they would both survive, and return healthy and whole.
She was right, of course. Ezcha’s big sister was never wrong.
----
With a blanket of thick animal furs and her sister’s fiery warmth, Ezcha could hardly feel the chill of the forest, nor the ravages of her Rotfever. She slept like a hatchling despite her surroundings. Although they were in the domain of the soul-starved beasts, enveloped by ashen trees and eternal night, the young rain dragon knew she’d be safe with her sibling by her side...
Ezcha woke with a start, suddenly unsettled. It hadn’t felt like more than a clawful of hours since she drifted off. Oh, how the rain dragonet desperately wanted to bury her fears and return to her deep slumber. But she couldn’t, for something was lurking nearby.
An animus. A stalker in the dark.
A sensation of aching dread had wormed its way into Ezcha’s heart. Something evil, something wicked was coming this way. There was a presence in the trees, though it certainly wasn’t that of a mortal dragon. It was more ethereal and unreal, a haunted ghost of the woodlands. 
Its light-footed approach hadn’t set off any of their traps, it had gotten far too close already for the duo to run.
She could hear it before she could see it. Its groans were inconsistent in tone, many pitches at once like a ghastly orchestra. Was it singing? Was it sobbing? Its unearthly noises were all rendered in a whispering, undraconic voice that failed to wake her sister.
Ezcha wanted to scream, but no words could escape her mouth. 
It was practically leaning over her now, so much so that she could feel its breathing. It had caught the scent of a soul, a youthful, bright soul - the perfect thing to ease its famine.
Ezcha’s curiosity had betrayed her. She wanted oh so much to look away, but her head turned on its own accord to face, to see the creature that would surely take her life. To see her killer’s face.
All animus were supposedly living dragons at some point - born with a curse that would inevitably claim their very soul. And after the essence of their being was claimed by their terrible power, they left behind a hollow vessel. There would be no soul to shape it, to maintain whatever mind remained. Though previous, less knowledgeable societies described it as “insanity”, the tragedy of a soulless animus had nothing to do with mental health. 
Rather, it was the first stage in a metamorphosis - the birth of an infant Hollow One. The nascent creature would eventually lose every vestige of sapience, replacing it with a primal urge to hunt and feed, to fill that void within it.
Soulless flesh was mutable, twisting and churning forevermore, unrecognizably contorting and writhing in almost-pain. An animus unchecked would end its life as something monstrous and beastial - a towering, sinister effigy of musculature and bone that represented a blasphemy against the draconic form itself.
Ezcha tried to meet its eyes, but its eyes were not eyes. They were faces, grotesque faces with stitched-closed eyes and harsh shark-teeth. Its horns were twitching mollusc-things, draped in oceanic seaweed and salt. It’s neck was a hundred widened maws emerging from each other, shiny with spittle and blood. And its mouth… its abyssal, hungry mouth...
The RainWing felt a strange wave of anger wash over her. Why didn’t they let her die in the village, painlessly and bathed in light? Why wasn’t her sister waking up? Why was she going to die an impossibly painful death, all alone in the dark?
The Hollow One was feeding now. Ezcha’s vision went red with pain. A stream of blood was gushing from her throat, dying the blanket red and forming a cold puddle beneath her. It took great gulps of her lifeblood and her soul, tearing into her with zealous hunger.
She closed her eyes and waited. Everything hurt so, so much. 
Until suddenly it didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” whispered a voice, frail and failing in its pitch. The RainWing opened her eyes reluctantly. She wasn’t bleeding anymore, there was no gash in her throat, and the puddle of red beneath her had vanished. The monster was no longer standing over her, and had moved a dragon’s length away.
It was sitting, all three arms wrapped close to its bloated frame. It was an interesting juxtaposition - a horrific, incomprehensible beast curled up in the posture of a remorseful child. It was bleeding from both of its small faces, stitches torn to reveal uncannily draconic eyes. Guilt, said the expression painted on its visage. Guilt.
“I’m so, so sorry,” they repeated hoarsely. 
She couldn’t say anything in response, the miasma of silence had not abated with the creature’s flash of acuity. It did however, with its departure. The pressure on her lungs was lifted as the not-quite soulless beast stumbled back into the forest dark.
It was as if nothing had happened. Was this horrifying encounter perhaps but a delirious dream, brought about by her now absent Rotfever?
Ezcha closed her eyes and shifted closer to her sister. Even with the great fur blanket and the warmth of her sibling beside her, even with the knowledge that they’d go home tomorrow morning, the RainWing felt oddly cold. 
----
When the urge first appeared in her young adult years, Ezcha found that animals were all it took to quell it. A few small rodents and lizards were enough to sate her appetite. For the hunt. The deathblow. The feeling of satisfaction that came with every surplus kill.
Her impulsive killings were commended by her village, for they did not know the sinister motivation behind them. Though they preferred to nourish themselves on fruit, her fellow tribe members were content with eating live prey whenever the trees went barren and rotten. While others eventually took up the hunt in order to feed the tribe, Ezcha was unique in her hunger for the kill, the utter bliss she felt at a successful hunt. And that, she supposed, was what made her the best of them.
The RainWing knew what she was doing was somehow wrong - acutely aware of how none of her fellows took so much delight in ending a life. It was meant to be a necessary evil, the taking of a life to spare their village from starvation. Maybe that animus really had stolen something inside of her, and instilled in her an irresistible, animalistic drive to hunt.
Her once-loving parents grew more distant by the day. The RainWing never was good at hiding her heart from them, and they knew what was going on. But did they grow more distant as a result of her compulsion? Or were her urges - perhaps at one time but a nascent quirk - nurtured into habit by her parents’ emotional inaccessibility?
Ezcha’s sister was always there for her though. She was kind. She was understanding. And though she was quite upset by Ezcha's unfortunate habit, she never hated her over it. She was the only dragon with which Ezcha felt like she had a healthy, loving relationship. Did her gentleness help Ezcha control her impulses, or was she just enabling her by refusing to rebuff this concerning behaviour? Whatever the case, the RainWing couldn't help but care deeply for her sister, and trusted her immensely. Ezcha often sought out her guidance, even after becoming a full-fledged adult and renowned hunter.
Even when her mind drifted to the idea of hunting other dragons, the idea of killing her sister was one that Ezcha never entertained for even a moment. She'd always been there for her, even when it was dark and scary and she didn't need to be. And she had shared her warmth, jeopardized her personal safety, in order to save her all those years ago. How could Ezcha take a life that had already been shared with her?
----
It was especially hard on her when her sister died. Her elder sibling was the only one the RainWing was comfortable confiding in, and hanging out with her was one of the few things that made her feel truly, honestly happy.
She lost herself in her hunting. The urge had grown stronger with her sister's passing, and the possibility of disappointing her sister was no longer a factor. Her parents were livid of course, knowing full well what actually drove her to her profession. She would have loved nothing more than to move out, to get her own place and create as much distance as possible. But her village insisted that she should stay with them and mourn together for their lost blood.
One of Ezcha’s most vivid, clear recollections is of a starless night, a few years after her sister’s untimely demise. She had hunted since sunrise and had gone to sleep early, exhausted yet satisfied with the day behind her. But though her eyes were shut and her body was still, she had not yet drifted off. She was just thinking, and listening. She was listening to the hum of wind and the chatter-song of crickets when she heard it. Her mother’s wispy voice, contorted into a low, hissed snarl.
“Why couldn’t it have been you?”
II. 
There had come a message from far away lands, from a great desert on the other side of the world. One carried by the voices of birds and rivers and winds, bringing a glimmer of hope to the cursed village. A magician of the sand dragons had discovered something incredible - a power that could end the infestation of the Hollow Ones forever.
Already a huntress without peer, Ezcha had been chosen by her tribe to go and receive this power. She would travel to the desert, arm herself with the weapon devised by this SandWing sorcerer, and return to finally kill what was once thought unkillable. 
She accepted her duty with no complaints, and actually felt a twinge of anticipation at the prospect. She had a nagging, morbid curiosity about the whole thing - she always wanted to know what it was like to kill an animus.
The desert however, was a pleasant surprise. The sun was so intense in the sandlands, so warming and bright. Ezcha was a RainWing, a creature of the sun, but never had a chance to truly experience it before. Seeing its glory in the sky, bathing in its comforting rays, made her realize that she had longed for this - needed this - all her life. 
She arrived at the great hollowed stone where the magician lived, a few hours later than she had planned to. Ezcha was still the second one there, beaten only by a scrawny, gold-feathered SandWing. 
He introduced himself as Oscen, and tried to make small talk with her. She was quite clumsy at first, having generally kept to herself back home, but soon found her stride.
The other arrivals were greeted by the raucous giggling and laughing of Ezcha and Oscen. Some people, so it seems, just naturally hit it off with each other. 
When they all entered the stone, they found an old, scarred sand dragon, draped in a white shroud. He was the son of the first Memoria to ever exist - the first mortal dragon to hunt down and slay an animus. And he would impart upon them his father’s hunting tools. 
Though Familiars could emerge naturally in response to intensely emotional situations, such an occurrence was exceedingly rare. The magician’s father had been a natural Memoria, but he knew that there would never be enough of them to rid the world of the animus threat. Not unless more were artificially created. 
This miracle catalyst, the thing that could awaken a nascent Familiar, was a hot cup of tea. The leaves of a desert moonrose, when plucked on a night of three full moons, could be used to brew a concoction the colour of polished bronze. After drinking this beverage and having a full night’s rest, one would awaken as a Memoria - blessed with a power fit to kill an animus. 
The tea was the best thing Ezcha ever drank, and what followed was the most peaceful sleep she’d had in ages.
----
In return for giving them their Familiars, the old sorcerer demanded that his homeland be the first cleansed of the animus-beasts.
The dunes of the sand dragons were saved without too much hassle. The cradle of all magic in the world, the great desert produced more natural Memoria than any other place on the continent. These Memoria would join the animus-hunters from liberated villages, bolstering the ranks of the witches and allowing them to wipe out thousands of animuses in but a few months. 
Once the sand kingdom had been rid of the blight, Oscen decided to accompany her to the rainforest. The two made a formidable pair, taking only a single year to kill every animus-beast that dwelled within the dark forest. 
At the end of it, when she was ready to go back to her life in the rainforest, Ezcha found herself unable to do it. Now that she had seen what wonders were beyond the treeline, she had come to feel curious about the entire world. She knew that the rainforest was her home no more.
It was never really a choice for her. She had few friends back home, and none as close and dependable as Oscen. Even after she saved their village, her parents refused to acknowledge her as their daughter. And the village’s flower-lamps seemed dim in comparison to the glory of the sun, but a mocking facsimile. 
Ezcha and Oscen continued hunting Hollow Ones across the continent, and grew closer all the while. The tea, as it turned out, also granted longevity - they and the other moonrose Memoria would remain at their physical peaks forever, never succumbing to old age.
It took her a few centuries, but she eventually realized she was in love with the SandWing.
----
Ezcha felt tired and weary, exhaustion weighing upon her very bones. But that was something she couldn’t worry about right now - she was far too excited to sleep.
There were two eggs laid upon the soft red cushion. Both were a lovely shade of silvered yellow, yet one was just a touch paler than its twin. Both were healthy, and would be blessed with the longevity of their parents before them. Both would become strong, determined young dragons, ready for anything the world could throw at them.
She poked the more saturated egg with her nose - a tiny, subtle nudge.
Wowwy, nice to meet you.
“Ez?”
Oscen. Ezcha knew he was just as proud and excited as she was. But he also looked… worried. 
“Ez, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to rest. Please.”
The eggs would still be there tomorrow, so a nice nap sounded like a pretty solid idea. The RainWing grabbed a fur blanket, retreated to her chambers, and coiled up on the warm stone floor - smiling all the way. 
----
“I’m not your pillow, Ez!”
Ezcha snorted indignantly.
“You just tossed my actual pillow over there, so, it’s only fair that you serve as a stand-in. Besides, if the moons didn’t intend for you to be my pillow, why did they make you so warm and fluffy?”
Ezcha had always found Oscen’s soft coat of gold feathers somewhat perplexing - wasn’t he a desert dragon? But it was sure a nice thing to have on hand in the middle of winter, as the two made fun of each other and lazed about in front of the roaring fire. 
The ruffled SandWing looked like he was going to say something in response, before the bundle of scales in his arms suddenly cried out.
“I’m hungry!”
Ezcha blinked.
“Hi hungry, I’m Mom.” 
“I’ll go make something,” said Oscen, “there should still be half a pig in the pantry.” 
He deposited the hatchling safely in Ezcha’s arms, before sprinting off into another room. And as she looked at his retreating form, the RainWing began to think. About everything. 
About how much she loved Oscen, and the kids, and her friends, and her job. About her accursed urge to kill, and how it was fading away, bit by bit, with every perfect day. She thought about how joyful these last few centuries had been, and how hopeful she was for centuries to come. 
----
“I’m not saying she wasn’t a great witch - in fact, she was probably the greatest witch out of us all. I’m also not saying that your partner was evil. All… all I’m just saying she was dangerous and cruel, and we only did what was necessary. Do you know where I’m coming from here?”
Oscen nodded stoically to the stammering SeaWing. He felt fury and rage and utter disgust boiling just beneath his scales, yet kept it all contained. 
“I mean, err, um… we sort of needed her to fight the animuses, but now that they’re practically gone, she’s more risk than it's worth. Okay that came out bad, sorry. What I’m trying… trying to say is that she could’ve become a danger to us all if we hadn’t sealed her away. You know, like a fight monsters, become a monster kind of thing. And it’s not like we killed her! We just… just, um -”
“I understand,” interrupted the SandWing, cradling his son in his arms. And he did understand where the representative was coming from - a place of inexcusable ignorance and rashness. Just thinking about it choked his thoughts with sorrow and anger. She was getting better. She had problems, but was overcoming them. And she never, ever let anyone else pay for them. He gritted his teeth before continuing:
“You can go now.”
The SeaWing bowed his head and left, leaving Oscen alone. Truly alone. His mind drifted back to when they sealed Ezcha, while he was powerless to stop it. And he saw it all again. The deception. The hole. The coffin. The last fearful words that escaped Ezcha’s mouth before the stone lid slammed shut.
Please Oscen, it’s so cold.
III. 
What time was it? Where was she?
She had long since given up on finding the answers to these questions. Faced with the cold darkness of her eternal prison, Ezcha had long since given up to despair.
Usually, the magic of the coffin didn’t afford her much ability to think. It dulled her, prevented her from trying to think up an escape plan. But today felt different. She felt more awake somehow.
And that was when she noticed the light. Not much light - she presumed her coffin was underground - but a bit more than the pitch blackness she was used to. There was a crack in the stone, in the coffin, in the seal. The walls of her prison were breaking.
She conjured Paradiso, something that the coffin’s magic should have made impossible. It tore apart the coffin effortlessly, and the last vestiges of a now-ancient spell faded from the stone.
She blinked profusely. Ezcha was in a basement full of nets and cages, decorated with a few wood and string contraptions that seemed some sort of hyper-advanced fishing technology. Clearly, eras had passed while she was buried - long enough for even enchanted stone to falter.
As she made her way to the stairwell, she felt an irresistible urge to kill something - anything. Ezcha needed satisfaction, she needed to make the hunger pangs go anyway. 
</tabber><noinclude>
Category:Characters
Category:Content (Soi-ke)
Category:RainWings
Category:Females
Category:Occupation (Healer)
Category:Occupation (Mystic)
Category:Status (Leader)