I accidentally a novella.
Highlights include a species of hydras so poorly suited for survival they're just about extinct.
Name: Secrahz Markosl Dubarz (Each head also has an individual name, which I'm not going to bother to come up with)
Epithet: Dreameater
Physical Description: A eleven-headed, legless hydra. Rather than scales, his entire body is covered in luxurious feathers, predominantly white, with red, black, purple and blue feathers forming forming intricate patterns across his entire body. People who look at the patterns for too long begin to feel relaxed and sleepy. The effect of the patterns is increased if he is in motion, rare as that is. In total bodymass, he's roughly twice the size of a African Bull Elephant, though this is distributed throughout his long, sinuous body and multiple heads. Each of his heads has several whisker tendrils. His eyes are black inky voids, which are disconcerting to gaze into. He is hornless.
While not capable of breathing fire, he can spit gobs of acid at enemies. Body is well adapted to swimming, and he can breather underwater (can't fly and doesn't have wings). His feathers are water-resistant, preventing them from getting waterlogged when submerged.
Mental Description:Markosl is incredibly slothful, wishing for nothing more than to spend every day in wondrous slumber, dreaming sweet dreams. He values exquisite dreams highly, and will often pay well to acquire them, and has lately also developed something of a taste for consuming particularly high quality souls.
His chief passion besides dreaming is the creation of works of art from dream cloth, whether clothing, or other ornamental works. He is somewhat paranoid of omnipresent "Watchers" who are simply waiting for him to exhibit a moment of weakness and fall completely asleep to attack him.
A unique feature of his variant of hydra, is that when multiple heads sleep, their dreams weave together into a wondrous whole greater than the sum of its parts, like many individual notes forming a exquisite piece of music. As such, all except one of the heads are constantly asleep, immersed in the never-ending communal dream. The single remaining head has the onerous duty of having to deal with the tediously dull affairs of the waking world. To prevent him from just biting off the other heads in their sleep out of anger and envy, the position of awake head is regularly rotated among the communal heads.
The workings of this rotation are in their base form simple. Dreamtime is allocated equally among all the heads. Thereafter it quickly becomes more complex though. An intricate system of favours and debts exists between the heads, with some heads giving up dreamtime in exchange for some other benefit, like being the one to enjoy a particularly delicious food dish or some such. In addition, heads may earn more dreamtime if they add particularly excellent new dream elements, or perform outstandingly at certain missions, goals or duties in the waking world, helping to motivate waking heads to perform to their fullest.
Despite this, waking heads are almost always very obviously irritated with the world in general, and tend to not have a lot of patience. Perhaps ironically, due to the rotation system, Markosl is in fact perpetually awake for certain values of awake, allowing him to squeeze many more hours of work into each day than other, much more hardworking demons might.
Unless eating the very finest of delicacies, Markosl sees the consumption of food to be a tiresome chore that has to be carried out to keep his body running, for how can such plebeian fair compare to the ambrosia available in the dream? This trend continues into other aspects of life, and of all the many so called pleasures available to the enterprising hedonist, anything but the very highest quality simply pales in comparison to what is available in the dream.
The things most likely to wake Markosl up completely, are vital life-or-death situations, a particularly esoteric scholarly topic that manages to fascinate and engross him enough that he leaves the dream to turn his full faculties to attempting to fully comprehend it, fey moods of inspiration in which he will fully devote himself to art, and meetings with supreme beings such as the Lords of Bloom, where the disrespect of sleeping through the conversation would absolutely not be tolerated.
- Shakshal, Demon of Ascension: A great dome-shelled beetle. Specializes in the growth of things from insignificant to glorious.
- Lord Oggletop, Master of Materials: A reddish cockroach, fond of finery and strange legends. Suspicously talented at acquiring exotic materials, and owner of the largest exotic wares emporium in Bloom.
- Titikrik, Master of Synergy: A chitinous plantlike humanoid, fond of symbiosis and magical knowledge. Uniquely skilled at implanting beneficial symbiotes in hosts, and master of the only major symbiosis chamber in Bloom.
Bio:It was actually Shakshal himself who discovered Markosl's egg inside the still cooling corpse of his mother. Shakshal had gone on a recreational evening stroll through some demonic wastelands of dried up blood and molten ice, when he happened upon the dead mother of Markosl. Even he was somewhat surprised at what he saw, though he quickly recognized her species from his massive stores of experience and knowledge. One of the very rare, to the point of being nearly extinct, Dream Hydras! Now this was indeed a find for old Shakshal, for a Dream Hydra hadn't been sighted in centuries.
Dream Hydras were very flawed demons, with specimens often falling so deep into a dreamstate that they starved to death, or heads going mad and killing each other off over dream privilege arguments, or just being too apathetic to breed and bring forth the next generation of Dream Hydras. Their parental care was also notoriously famous for how terrible it was. They would often attack their own children if the offspring disturbed them during their dreams, or not even realize the eggs had hatched until after the hatchlings had already left the nest to search for food, and had gotten promptly eaten by some opportunistic predator. With such information, it becomes self-evident why they are so rare.
The always strange Shaksal decided that such a sorry creature was insignificant enough for him to enjoy slowly cultivating it into a glorious apex demon, and quickly cut open the hydra's corpse to retrieve her eggs, having already deduced that she was gravid when she died a slow torturous death after contracting a dream larvae infection.
Sadly, most of the clutch appeared to be stillborn, having fried their fragile baby brains via excessive dreaming, or gotten devoured by spillover from the Dream Larvae infection. However, one single egg still harboured a small spark of life. Pleased with his find, Shaksal took the tiny egg back with him to the city of Bloom. He always enjoyed turning a sow's ear into a silk purse.
It was only thanks to the tender care of the minions of Shaksal that Markosl, whose egg been prematurely removed from his mother's womb, survived the next few months, his life hanging by a thread all the while, until Shaksal finally realized Markosl was too busy sleeping to hatch, and had someone break open the egg. It was only then that Shaksal called in the finest fleshcrafter in Bloom, Miku herself, to fix the many birth defects Markosl had gained from inbreeding, the Dream Hydra gene pool being pitifully small. These defects were only further exacerbated by the many stresses he had undergone up till now. A weak heart, fluttering like a fragile butterfly within his ribcage was bolstered. A malformed tail from staying too long inside the egg was fixed, malnourished bones were strengthened.
During all of this, Markosl, who had only two heads at such a tender age, had yet to wake up even once. Shaksal was not surprised by this, for such was the nature of Dream Hydras. He had already retained the services of several of the finest dreamwalker available for the purposes of the strict training regime he had planned out for the little hatchling.
It was about then that Markosl's life transformed into a living hell.
Again and again he was forced out of his dreams and into the harsh waking world by the Dreamwalkers, until finally they managed to firmly instill in him the need of keeping one of his heads awake at all times, as he suffered harsh beatings whenever he lapsed in his vigilance. In the end it was the burgeoning paranoia about the mysterious assailants who would physically attack him as soon as he fell asleep and vanish once he woke up before he could see them that was the largest contributing factor. The unmistakeable fact someone was always watching him, judging him was branded deeply into his impressionable young mind(s).
With at least one of his heads always awake, Shaksal could now force the hapless Markosl to learn the of the arts, sciences, strategy, haute cuisine and that the most hated lessons in the waking world, combat, that foul thing which required massive amounts of physical exertion. Meanwhile, in his dreams, the Dreamwalkers mercilessly trained him in their profession. While obviously enough he was eager to learn how to defend his dreams against their intrusion, he was initially less eager to enter the dreams of others. This was until he happened to discover a delicate fantasy of a particularly imaginative soul. He found the taste of that dream most fantastic, instincts rusted over from generations of disuse suddenly surging forth, causing him to devour it.
This awakened a new hunger in him, not for food, but for dreams. Delicious, delicious dreams. His dreamwalking tutors were pleasantly surprised when he threw himself into his studies, wishing to learn all he could about their arts so that he could find the tastiest dreams to eat. They taught him to walk among and through the dreams of others, spy on them, change them, and eat them, stealing the power of dream from the victim.
Years passed. Markosl steadily gaining more heads as he aged. He had slowly become a expert in the advanced technique of dream assassination, a technique where he continuously devoured the dreams of a target over several days, slowly transforming them into listless, pale shadows of their former selves, struggling to even muster up the energy to climb out of their beds each morning.
By now nearly a century old, Markosl had finally become strong enough. One by one, he carried out dream assassinations on every single one of his teachers, so that they couldn't force him to learn anymore. Ironically, it was his desire to neutralize them that had caused him to surpass his Dreamwalker tutors, and if he'd just been a bit more patient they'd probably have been transferred once they realized they had no more to teach him.
Exasperated yet amused by Markosl's absolute refusal to improve himself beyond the bare minimum he was required to, Shaksal "rewarded" him by apprenticing him to Titikrik, foremost Master of Synergy throughout Bloom. Titikrik was old, almost as old as Bloom itself. Titikrik was canny, as canny as demon lord, or so the rumours claimed. Most importantly however, he did not dream. Markosl could do nothing against him.
Titikrik was not too happy with being saddled with such a lacklustre apprentice, but Shaksal was one of the Lords of Bloom, how could Titikrik gainsay him? So he resigned himself to pounding some elementary magic and biology into this youngster's thick skull. It was slow going over the next decade, Markosl learning most of the foundational theory behind magic and the several basic cantrips.
It was pure happenstance that Titikrik once referenced the ability to weave nightmares into cloth during a lecture about manifesting spiritual objects on the physical plane. When the time for their next lesson arrived, Titikrik searched high and low, but could not find Markosl anywhere. He sighed in resignation, this was a disappointingly common occurrence, with Markosl doing his best to hide from him to avoid lessons. This childish game of hide and seek once lasted an entire week, until Markosl seemed to realize he was expending more effort escaping detection from the numerous searchers than he would just attending the lessons and promptly revealed himself.
However, when Titikrik finally found Markosl, Markosl was in the last place he had expected, Titikrik's extensive library! Whats more, all nine of his heads were fully awake, each individual one focused on reading a separate thick tome, turning pages with telekinesis as needed. So unthinkable was the scene before him that Titikrik was shocked into immobility for several minutes. When he came back to himself, he curiously investigated what exactly Markosl was studying.
As it turned out, Markosl had become intrigued by dream fabrics when he had learnt of their existence from Titikrik, immersing himself in whatever books he could find on the subject. Relieved that he had finally found a subject that genuinely interested Markosl, Titikrik wholeheartedly taught him all he knew of dreamweaving, eager to teach Markosl mastery in a skill so he could complete his obligations to Shaksal and get rid of Markosl. Markosl learned, and learned quickly, knowledge of dreamweaving absorbed like water by a parched desert.
But though weaving dreams into cloth was simple enough for Markosl, surprisingly simple even, perhaps due to his skill in dreamwalking, it still required constant effort. Markosl was soon becoming frustrated with the whole thing. Titikrik was frantic, having come so close to finally getting this troublesome apprentice of his off his hands, he wasn't about to give up now. He taught Markosl a little bit of his own specialty, the creation of symbiotes. For although those he made were usually beneficial, it was child's play to produce a parasite that sucked up the dreams of the victim it was attached it, extruding it as fine dreamsilk.
Admittedly he hadn't ever really considered what Markosl actually wanted to do with all that dream fabric, but he decided that he had done all that was expected of him, and once Markosl managed to learn how to form the symbiotes he promptly kicked him out. The fact that Shaksal didn't have him killed was vindication enough.
To better understand the mind of Shaksal, perhaps you would listen to a small tale? It happened one day that Omnulocrini, the Demon of Genesis, conjured forth a small, unassuming seed from nothingness. Perhaps knowing the nature of his peer, he gifted this seed to Shaksal, telling him nothing of its nature. His reasons for doing this are his own.
Shaksal, not knowing what this seed would grow into, nevertheless planted it in fertile soil, and nurtured it day by day, cultivating it from a tiny seedling into the mightiest of plants. Then on and on, improving it, building upon previous progress. He continues to do so to this very day, and Bloom is, as always, flourishing.
From this we learn that Shaksal enjoys being surprised by what the potential of the seeds he so carefully planted might grow into. This is his passion. He cares not what the potentials he developed become, only that they do become.
Become better, become greater, become filled with glory.
Armed with bolts of dreamsilk, Markosl was still restless. He burned with a strange inner dynamism he had never experienced before. There was something he wanted to do. Something for which he required all of this precious dreamsilk, but he just didn't know what.
He wandered through Bloom, looking for that flash of inspiration, that would clear up the path ahead. He wandered through the fleshworks, but found them dull. Soul forges were quite lacking. Food stalls and high class restaurants alike stank with scents that nauseated his refined palate. Until finally the pushing and shoving of a street-crowd engaged in a massive free for all brawl forced him into a dimly lit tailor's shop.
Although the examples of the tailors craft on display were nothing special, jejune, it was the final piece of the puzzle that Markosl needed. Several heads looked at the bolts of dreamcloth, and knew, that with this he could make things. Wonderful wonderful things. There was great potential in the seemingly innocuous material before him if he could just figure out how...
Immediately he disdained conventional tools and methods of the cloth, he knew they would just be a flagrant waste of what was available, unable to bring out the possibilities present to their fullest extent.
There was something, tickling at the back of his mind. If he could just work it out...
Of course! The cloth, it was made from dreams. Had he not spent long and arduous years learning the secrets of modifying and controlling dreams, that obscure art of dreamwalking? If he could apply what he had learned to the dream textiles he had created he could... recreate the wonders of the dream in the waking world?
Ignoring the owner of the workshop who had timidly asked him if he was here to order some clothes, he settled down on the floor, all his heads focused on a single piece of dreamcloth. The tailor was hesitant, but he was a low-class commoner demon, and after staring too long at Markosl trying to decide how to deal with him, the hypnotic patterns of Markosl's feathers drew him in and lulled him into a deep sleep.
Markosl struggled in vain for hours to somehow apply the principles of Dreamwalking to physical cloth. It was so close he could taste it, and indeed the cloth often shifted and shuddered beneath his attention, if he could just bridge the final gap in understanding...
It has been over fourty years since Markosl successfully formed cloth products with dream manipulation, revolutionizing the world of fashion with his otherworldly creations. Once he had finished his first great piece, it was as if some itch inside him had finally been scratched and his ardour for dream fashion dimmed considerably, though it still remained his one true passion beyond dreams.
He is now wealthy, and famous, the rich and powerful of the lower upper class clamouring for clothing produced by him, having to deal with a years long waiting list. His greatest dresses can make elder demons weep by merely looking at them.
Many are those who desire to emulate his success, but few of them have any measure of success. Dreamwalking is simply too rare a skill, those who can teach it reclusive and few in number. Especially after Markosl ate up the dreams of a couple dozen of the best available teachers leaving them apathetic husks of their former selves. A heavy blow which the numbers of the Dreamwalker community has yet to quite recover from.
In addition, races with a innate ability in dreamcraft were just too rare. For some reason the majority of them were extinct, or very close to it...
He had grown even more indolent and hedonistic than he had been before upon the wave of his success. Making perhaps one article of clothing per week, sleeping away the days as the awake head devoured exquisite dreams and souls procured from Lord Oggletop.
He was thus rather frustrated when a emissary from Shaksal appeared before him and informed him that "in recognition of your peerless accomplishments in the field of fashion, you have been granted a seat as one of the six demon kings of Miraga, the Ebon City".
There was of course no way he could refuse this "honour", coming as it did directly from Shaksal, the Beetle-lord himself. And thus his frustration grew. He had no real ambition for further worldly power, and had been largely content with his lot so far. Worse, he had horrible suspicion that large amounts of work would be involved in his assumption of one of the thrones of Miraga, if only to keep himself alive among the scheming of his fellow kings.
Ugh.
With a deliberate effort of will his suppressed his irritation and tried to consider the benefits he could reap from this situation. Well for one thing, raw material for his work in cloth was hard to come by. A large portion of the inhabitants of the city of Bloom did not dream at all, unfortunately this included the majority of the underclass, consisting as they did of common undead. And few of the remainder were willing to sell their dreams. If he disregarded what law there was in Bloom and went wild harvesting the dreams of hundreds, even Shaksal would not be able to turn a blind eye to his activities, and he would face the severe punishment the demonic justice system was so notorious for.
Additionally slaves that produced dreams of satisfactory quality were rarer than hens teeth, most of the stuff available on the slave markets were dross as far as dreams were concerned. Lately he had bought most of the dreams he used in crafting from Oggletop, but that swindler had him pay through the nose for anything of real quality.
He had been consistently frustrated in pursuing some of his grander visions by a lack of both quality and quantity. Idly musing, he began to wonder if this might actually be a true opportunity, disguised as increased workload. If he refined Miraga into a true orchard of dreams, he would no longer be frustrated in his artistic ambitions, but finally be able produce true masterworks? His passion for working with dreamcloth started flaring again slightly, embers being reignited by the possibilities that could be...
Then again, that sounded like a awfully lot of work...
Brief Overview of Dream Hydras:
- While their regenerative ability is nowhere near that of the apex of the hydra race, the mighty Lernaean Hydras, who are said to be able to grow two new heads in seconds for every head that has been cut off, Dream Hydras are still hydras. Grievous wounds can be healed within a day, and if chopped off heads will regenerate within a few days. Unless killed outright, very few wounds are ever truly permanent to a hydra.
- Dream Hydras, like other lesser hydras, will steadily gain more heads as they age, with no maximum number known, though with each additional head it takes longer before a new head sprouts up. A good way to judge the strength of lesser hydras is to count the number of heads they have, as each new head also marks a increase in the strength and power of the hydra. Different from many other hydra species, Dream Hydras eagerly anticipate the addition of another head for it promises ever deeper complexities and increasing wonder to the communal dream.
- Hydras never quite stop growing, though the rate does slow down to crawl past adolescence.
- Become powerful enough that Shaksal can't bother him anymore (recent addition (Shaksal would be proud!
)) - Create masterwork dreamcloth products
- Sleep
- He is a connoisseur of dreams and souls, and wishes to experience the highest heights of taste and sensation that they can provide.
- Survive
- The highly competent Ethekath is Markosl's personal secretary demon, managing large parts of his life so that Markosl doesn't have to, in exchange for a quite generous salary. It is Ethekath who handles clients who order new clothes from Markosl, ensures Markosl remembers to eat, filters out people attempting to make appointments for face to face meetings with Markosl so that only those that really have to can get through, etc. His aid will no doubt be invaluable in the coming days, the help he can provide managing and organizing the running of a city will probably be of crucial importance to Markosl.
Ethekath's most striking facial feature is the thick slug-like tongue which writhes and coils within his huge gaping maw. His bulging compound eyes and the tarnished brass antlers which jut out from his forehead seeming mundane by comparison. What can be seen of the rest of his face looks largely human, like the rest of his upper body, though his skin is coal-black. Below his waist his lower body is that of a gigantic, coal-black, swollen maggot, tapering off to a blade of serrated bone
- Glash is that rarest of creatures, a chef of such outstanding skill that Markosl, pickiest of picky eaters actually find the food he makes palatable, or even enjoyable! Markosl is a semi-regular patron at Adrirede's elite, and also extremely expensive, restaurant, when he can no longer stomach eating the common fare. Many other members of the elite gather there, and it is not uncommon to learn fascinating tidbits of information when conversing with them over a glass of bloodwine or rage-ale at the predinner and afterdinner parties.
- Afeam is a minor shadow imp, who enjoys dancing through the minds of mortals, leaving behind the odd malicious thought or mental boobytrap. Markosl has hired him numerous time to locate mortals with either souls or dreams of interest.
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Topic: The Ebon Pact [Intro: Entrenched] (Read 17902 times)