scales and feathers

Night had draped its long, slender wing across the skies of Lordran. Those who resided in Anor Londo would hardly be able to glimpse the moon and stars, as the City of the Gods had been blessed to always shine with the sun’s rays even when the sky grew dark. The channelers who resided within the Duke’s Archives, however, were gifted with the sight of a star-speckled sky which cradled the full, white moon as gently as an egg.

It was a wondrous sight, though one that the Duke himself would only ever know of from his channelers' detailed descriptions and the hazy sensations of awe picked up from any direct mind-links to them. Tonight he did not even indulge in the simple pleasure bathing in the moonlight, for he had journeyed far too deep within the recesses of his own personal cave to notice the change in the air outside.

It was a large, dark, empty cavern situated in the very back of his garden. The cave held nothing of value to the Gods, but for the Duke it served as a wonderful place to relieve the stress of each and every day. Its walls and floor were made of smooth stone free of any large stalagmites and stalactites that could scrape against his tender wings and soft flesh, as if nature itself had crafted this den solely for his needs.

The end of the cave, however, held a most sacred treasure that none but its owner knew of: The Primordial Crystal.

Despite being born scaleless, the paledrake’s senses were still as strong as their fallen kin’s. Not long after the end of the war, as the New World had nearly finished its construction atop the ashes of the Old, the faintest scent of a familiar fog had lured him during a lonesome night flight into unfamiliar territory. It led him below the earth and into a small, singular remnant of the Old World; one now wholly devoid of his kind. Within that world he had collected not only the living sources of twinkling titanite as the first specimens for his eventual research, but also pillaged himself a magnificent Crystal.

There were times when his memory would conjure up the faintest sound of an Ancient picked up across the lake, low and lonesome in its bellowing, but that was surely nothing more than his imagination playing tricks on him.

One could only assume that pocket of the Old World was all but gone forever, but even still, 'twas best to keep this treasure tucked away in the safety of this cave for the time being. His channelers were forbidden to intrude, and all obeyed this request with utmost loyalty no matter how curious or rebellious their natures proved to be. Even his specimens, save for the clams and crystal lizards, did not dare wander into its great stone maw. It could be due to natural instinct. No matter how civilized he had become, a dragon holed up in its cave will always inspire a primal fear to those around it.

That very thought broke Seath out of his meditation. A harsh growl escaped through his sharp, clenched jaws, which echoed softly against the wide chambers of the cavern. Such a cruel irony this was. He was born a dragon, will always be seen as a dragon, yet still lacked that singular component that would truly make him whole…

Immortality!

The royal family’s servants allowed him access to all kinds of livestock for his experiments. Gwyn’s knights too would gladly trade any captured drakes too small and unimpressive to be mounted upon the walls of the castle’s trophy room in exchange for some precious twinkling titanite. Still, it wasn’t enough. He defied nature by breeding horses with boars, but the sturdy (and very aggressive) hybrids could not even live as long as their parent species, nor could their bodies handle even the smallest speck of magic injected in them. The lesser drakes resisted any bodily modifications attempted on them nor held any remnants of their progenitor’s stone scales, and all were prone to die when kept in captivity.

A recent discovery within the innards of one of his ashen lake clams revealed that it has formed a dark pearl made from a small, curse-riddled skull. His current theory was that it had eaten a human long ago, yet how the skull ended up in such a state would need to be analyzed at a later date. Of all creatures, the humble crystal lizards held the most potential in their anatomy, but were far too unwieldy to work effectively with. Much like an infant dragon, they too possessed the survival tactic of vanishing completely from both the sight of his channelers and even his own keen sense of smell.

Soon he commanded his channelers to scour all of Lordran and beyond for better specimens to use, some of which held more interesting results. Scorpions and spiders had reacted surprisingly well to being injected with sorceries and held the potential to live longer than their wild counterparts. Just as fascinating, the bodies of serpents proved that they could be rearranged in all sorts of unique ways, opening up the realms of creating all new forms of chimeras!

Such enlightening discoveries… Yet none brought Seath any steps closer to understanding the potential to surpass mortality. On nights like these, when no meaningful progress was made in that eternal quest, it sometimes pondered if all of this was even worth the effort.

The answer was normally quite simple: Yes, such an act was entirely necessary. The paledrake was born a broken creature when it hatched from its own egg at the Dawn of Disparity. An eyeless skull, torn wings, malformed hind legs more akin to writhing tails, and a soft body entirely devoid of scales. The Everlasting Ones understood nothing of its plight as they left it to face every harsh sensation of the elements all by itself, with its wits and cunning as its only means of survival. If life proved to be a choice of barely keeping up with one’s kin, forever kept from a secret they could never give, or to become the Gods’ loyal beast who sniffed out and lured the remaining Ancients to their doom, then there would always be one correct answer. Being alive was worth every sacrifice.

Still, this honored traitor knew so little of the customs of its new allies. His new title of Duke not only gave him a lair in Lord Gwyn’s royal archives, but also a wife in his Lord’s own daughter!

Some of his earliest research consisted of how a husband was supposed to act towards his wife, methods he adopted and improved upon. Yet despite all the beautiful serpents he gifted her, or the romantic songs he sang in his own tongue, or even granting her permission to ride upon his back so they may take in the most pleasant of nights together, Dear Gwynevere remained distant and uncaring to his affections. Eventually he lost interest in trying to woo her, or even wanting to spend any amount of time with her. Not that she would mind…

The Duke’s Eyes tell him all, including the very things he does not desire to hear. He knew well that his own allies did not see a valiant hero nor even a gentlemanly duke when they gazed upon him, but only a frightening beast. That was why he needed a channeler to act as his presence at every council with the Gods, and even at his own wedding ceremony, along with why he only took flight under the cover of night or within the safety of his cave. If there was one blessing his lack of eyesight afforded him, it was to never know how hideous he truly was.

Seath snorted, then shook his mighty head. Enough of this worthless self-pity! He was a magnificent being, far removed from his own beastly kind, and he will most definitely find a far better use for this wondrous Crystal they had left lying around in their primeval pools! The sorceries themselves were not enough. There was some form of power held within this Crystal that could grant him the answers he so desperately sought, but what? What key component was needed to unlock its potential?

“Ah, here is the paledrake I seek.” 

The unexpected voice slipped into his ear holes like running water, sending a shudder throughout the Duke’s body as he let out a startled shriek and began flapping his wings defensively. The vocals were deep and aged, but held the cadence of a female God. There was no need for any further speculation. He had heard this before, and knew well who it belonged to.

“Now what soul would have possibly surmised to find thee sulking alone in a cave? Blessed be my faith in thine own predictability. Eheheheheh!”

Velka, the Goddess of Sin and second wife of Lord Gwyn, cackled softly at him from wherever she was standing. Seath growled as he shifted his body in what was hopefully her direction, his tentacle-like legs pressing hard against the stone to turn him around and face her. She always seemed to manifest out of thin air with every appearance. That, combined with her silent steps and lack of any strong scents, always made it so needlessly difficult for him to focus on. How did she get in here?!

“What use is that,” Velka asked, her voice as subtle as a sheet of velvet dragged across a polished marble floor, “To bare thy fangs at me? Doth thou truly think I could harm thee, one whom thy Lord hath bequeathed a shard of his very soul to? He would send his armored dogs upon me for all of time eternal if I so much as scratched the flesh of any one of his immortal allies, if he truly does see thee as one.”

The nerve of this Goddess! There were no channelers here to act as his interpreters, so all he could do was bang his large tail against the ground, spread his wings and emit a low bellow at her in a clear display of warning.

“Mayhaps I hath used inappropriate descriptors for time and allies. I do apologize, most sincerely. My mind is still plagued by the great indignities thine Lord hath inflicted upon me, but I seeketh not revenge. In fact, I come to thee for thou art the only creature left in this wretched city that still earns my respect. Prithee, good drake, may thou grant an audience for this old crow?”

Seath’s jaws slowly began to relax. His tail still swished in agitation, but the logic of the situation at last triumphed over his primal anger. Crossing his arms, he nodded in the direction of his uninvited guest. It would be far too rude to dismiss any member of the royal family, no matter what they wanted from him…

“Marvelous! Thou art truly worthy of the gift I wish to bestow upon thee.”

That declaration made Seath’s mood pick up. Not since Gwyn had given him the archives has any God ever offered him a gift! He couldn’t help but chirp in delight at the prospect as he held his claws out to receive whatever it may be!

“But only,” said Velka, “If a simple request is obeyed.”

He shuddered again, both from the disappointment of needing to waste time working for this gift as well as the fact that the direction of her voice shifted once more.

“I admire thee for many things, Seath. Thy desire to learn and grow within such a hostile land is truly remarkable, as is thy wondrous creation of sorcery. Thanks to thee, those born lacking in the eyes of the Gods shalt never be locked away from higher magic. Yet such achievements are meaningless to one such as I. No, the reason I came here is because thou hath done the one thing my worthless husband never could. Thou held faith in the life of my precious child.”

Ah, of course. Sweet Gwyndolin, the one he alone had saved!

It was the most complicated surgery Seath had ever done. The unfortunate child had been pulled from the womb with twisted legs and a severely misaligned pelvis. Still alive, but fated to die in short time. Gwynevere was the one who came running to him for help, the only time in their marriage she had ever asked anything of him, and without hesitation he got to work. His quick thinking allowed him to come up with the solution of removing the damaged limbs and carefully replacing them with biological substitutes; serpents whose blood flowed with a magical life force strong enough to be accepted by the infant’s body once connected.

The procedure was agonizingly long and emotionally brutal, both for him and his mind-linked channelers. Through their hands he commanded them to sever the tails of the serpents alongside the infant’s legs so gently as not to kill them. He then carefully directed them to stitch the ends of the snakes to the body using only the power of sorceries, connecting the life forces between each creature so that all would flow together as one singular being. If even one of the serpents were to die when attached, the bond would prove too weak and the effort would have all been for naught. Little Gwyndolin had not utter a single cry during the entire ordeal.

Despite every law of nature working against him, he had done it! His brilliant work had altered another being’s body to such a state that the power of sorceries flowed through its veins! The relief he felt was only matched by his beaming pride, and he made certain to be present alongside his channelers when they presented the cured child to the royal family.

The sight of Gwyndolin elicited horrified gasps in Gwyn’s children. Gwynsen had to excuse himself from the room to quell his sickness before eventually returning, while Gwynevere, as his Eyes had told him later that night, trembled in fear and fought back an acute sense of disgust as she dutifully stayed by the infant’s side. Velka remained entirely unaffected by the sight, grabbing her little one from his channeler's grasp to cradle and soothe as if she were holding a perfectly ordinary babe. So strong was this mother’s love that it even began to quell the malaise in Gwyn’s children, who soon moved in closer to their new sibling and gave their thanks to their loyal Duke.

Gwyn himself had not been present at all, and only thanked him for his service several days after.

“Listen well.” 

Velka’s words flowed into his ears again, snapping Seath out of the recent memory. Now she had suddenly moved behind him, and by the distance of her voice it was clear that she was standing far too close to his Crystal. Even still, he decided to trust her for the time being, turning his heavy body around to face her once more while eagerly awaiting what she would say next.

“By tomorrow morning, I shall be gone. My crows will continue their duties of punishing the guilty with or without my former spouse’s permission, and I shalt journey far and wide to wherever the depths of sin run deepest. Thy Lord hath made certain that I shan't be able to steal my little one away with me, so I most humbly request that thee, Seath, be the one to raise Gwyndolin in my stead.”

Seath opened his jaws and emitted a confused bellow. Raise Gwyndolin? The child already had a father! Seath grasped at his boney chest as he entertained the thought. Such an act could be a betrayal to Lord Gwyn, so much that it may cost him more than just his archives…

“How shalt thee commit to such a controversial act?” she asked, seemingly having read his mind, “Why, it is simple. Thou will become my child’s mentor. Gwyndolin’s frail body will not be able to handle the harsh power of miracles, but I knoweth well that the gentle elegance of sorceries will be a most excellent substitute.”

Seath quietly hissed in agreement.

“Some saith that my eyes gaze into the future. I consider it more a keen intuition, but many of the predictions I maketh do hold a certain degree of truth. It is clear to me that Fina’s children will never achieve the discipline and kindness to become worthy rulers. With such power and kindness provided by thee, Gwyndolin will be the one destined to rule Anor Londo, and thou shalt remain protected, and enlightened, in return.”

Although he nodded at such a tantalizing future, the sacrilege this brazen Goddess spoke of was not lost on Seath’s clever mind. To even suggest that Gwyn’s firstborn was not destined to rule in his glorious Father’s stead was a level of blasphemy at the very least equal to that Golden Goddess’s crime of disobedience, if not worse. Was this truly a fair deal she was making, or does she wish to use him as a diversion to save herself should any of this plan of hers go wrong? He knew that Gwyn kept Gwyndolin alive solely because the child held his sacred blood, even despite being as pale and broken and grotesquely hideous as… as the paledrake himself.

“Thy mind flutters with hesitancy,” Velka spoke as softly as a midnight breeze, her voice moving even closer, “Worry not, good drake. The instinct to raise a young one will come most naturally after thou hath at last created life in thine own desired image. Hold out thine claws, and do not recoil from the touch of this most precious gift.”

All at once, Seath’s nostrils picked up a new scent; one that was overwhelming and largely unfamiliar to him, but with the faintest hint of an odor he had not smelled since standing over the carcasses of the Ancients upon their defeat. His wings flapped and his tail swished back and forth, but the Duke resisted the urge to defend himself as he bent his upper body down toward his guest and readied his claws to receive this secret “gift.”

It did not feel like any object had been placed into his grasp, yet suddenly his hands felt entirely consumed by an immense cold as a thick fog churned against his palms. It was not impossible for one to physically manifest an orb of magic, but what he was holding was neither sorcery nor even the light of miracles. Despite the torment of the biting chill, Seath continued to fight back every tempting thought of dropping the gift and retreating out of the cave. To show his determination in this moment would soon yield him great rewards if this prophesying Goddess’s words proved true.

“Life is a precious gift,” she finally responded, “No matter the form it takes. Keep my promise, and never speak of our meeting. True enlightening will come to thee soon enough, if thy heart is willing to find it. Yet always remember, Seath, that none are immune to sin, and I maketh no exceptions when it comes to retribution. Do not ever think thou art above such justice. Our meeting is concluded, and I must depart at once. Farewell… and thank thee kindly.”

The sound of flapping wings echoed throughout the cavernous walls, and with that the Goddess of Sin was gone, never to return.

Seath kept his head pointed down at the weightless, strange-scented gift he had been given, and emitted a curious hiss as he pondered what to do next. Velka was a tricky creature. Unlike the other Gods and their Godlings she always preferred to blanket her answers in mystery and intrigue, with this plea for help being no exception. Why would she fail to give a clear explanation to what precisely this churning mass of magic was, or why it held a hint of danger? What he was even supposed to do with such a thing?

Soon he began to think closely on the smaller details of their conversation. She had chosen to stand far too close to his Primordial Crystal when she finally gave him the gift. More curiously, he recalled how she implied he will create a form of life in, as she put it, his “own desired image.” This was a hint she had given him! A hint to utilize this new magic to create life! But... how?

He had certainly made impressive strides in breeding hybrids and reconstituting the bodies of pre-existing creatures, but to create life from scratch was a far more… complicated affair. There were no more dragons of his ilk to breed with, and even if it wasn’t entirely impossible to breed with Gods he certainly did not feel the natural urge to attempt such an act. No, he was thinking too literally about this conundrum. This gift was the key to creating new life, and the Crystal held a special power locked within its glassy exterior. Maybe… Just Maybe…

Seath lifted his cupped claws up to its base, and at once he felt the mass of cold magic seep into the innards of the Crystal. For a moment, nothing happened. Every curious, the paledrake moved his head closer to the sacred object until his snout touched its surface, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Without warning, the Crystal changed! The cave’s tranquil silence was instantly filled with the ear-piercing sounds of an ethereal wail mixed with howling winds, causing Seath to reel his neck back in terror as his roars and thunderous tail thumps were drowned out by the terrible noise.

While he did not have eyes to detect the now-blinding light it emitted, his soft flesh could feel the invisible waves of immense energy that flowed throughout the enclosed space. Merely standing in its presence was agonizing, and soon his survival instincts at last took control. His writhing legs dragged him backwards, where he then turned and lowered his upper half to the ground as he began crawling away like a trapped animal to quicken his escape from that horrible Crystal!

Once he had crawled a short distance away, however, both the noises and the waves of evil ceased just as suddenly as they had begun. He paused to catch his breath, claws still digging into the hard stone floor. At first all he could hear were the unharmonized clacking of clam shells some distance in front of him, all clustered together in a defensive grouping. For a moment he worried that the waves may have damaged his specimens, but the thought swiftly exited his mind the moment his ears picked up a different, gentler sound.

It came from behind. Slowly Seath lifted his upper body upright as he gradually turned himself around. It sounded very much like the light, high-pitched moans that had come from Gwyndolin’s mouth post-surgery. The sounds of an infant God.

Logic dictated that he was not hallucinating these sounds. Thus, he crept back into the space, ears and nostrils keenly focused on detecting where this little one now stood. A faint scent wafted from the direction of where the Crystal stood. One that smelled quite pleasant too, far more so than the unusual odors of every other God and Godling he had ever come in contact with. As Seath dragged his massive body up to the base of the Crystal, however, he felt something small brush against the tip of his front-facing leg and stopped dead in his tracks.

It was lying on the floor, whatever it was. Seath backed away from the moaning thing, then bent down and carefully touched his claws against it to better determine what kind of creature this magic had created.

The little one was hardly any bigger than his hand, and it squirmed and kicked its feet as he traced over its body. Its shape and sounds certainly matched the form of a young God, but with nearly every part of it coated in a thick fur save for the face, hands and feet. The forehead had a drake-like ridge going down to its nose, while the neck held a texture of… scales? It was so difficult to tell with just how tiny it was.

To confirm his suspicions, he traced his fingers down to the very end of it and between its legs, where his claws did indeed brush against the fuzzy presence of a small tail. Seath could not help but give a light chirp in curiosity at this soft, nice-smelling thing before him, only for the creature to give its own infant chirp in response!

Seath drew his hand away, then brought his nostrils down very close to it. He felt the creature’s hands and feet touch the sides of his muzzle as he gently touched its neck with the tip of his pointed tongue, trying to better determine if those truly were infant scales growing there, only to shriek as it grabbed onto his snout! His head and neck shot up in fright while the creature kept on clinging to him, cooing all the while. That lying crow, he should have known her’s was a baleful power! Only minutes after birth and its hunting instincts have already kicked in!

More barking shrieks came from his jaws as he tried to shake the bundle of terror off his vulnerable face. Only when its grip began to slip did he finally realize that it wasn’t actually trying to hurt him, and with pure luck he was able to catch the infant in his hand before it could fall and break its tiny bones upon the hard stone. Carefully he placed it down on its belly before cautiously backing away from it. 

Then, without warning, a new sound began to echo against the walls of the cave as the infant began emitting a high-pitched cry. Long and wailing, it quickly became apparent that it would not cease this noise no matter how much farther he distanced himself from it. Yet such a sound soon elicited an unexpected reaction from the paledrake. While he would typically close his ear holes toward any irksome noises made by his specimens, the little one’s cries instead drew him back to it, his mind now wholly consumed by a sense of worry. He may not know why, but he had to quell its sorrow.

Approaching the crying infant, he bent down and scooped its soft body into his palms before raising it up closer to his face. First he tried to calm it with his chirping, which it had responded so eagerly to before, but still it remained in its sorrow. Then a sudden thought came to Seath. He recalled various descriptions from his channelers pertaining to the nature of “tears,” and how they flowed from the eyes of the Gods and their Godlings.

Could these be the same as the tears Gwynevere had shed during their wedding ceremony in the grand cathedral, or even the ones that had apparently fallen from Velka’s dark eyes before Gwyndolin’s surgery was complete? He had been far too distant from either of them to do anything about their sadness, but now was a different story.

With his tongue, Seath gently licked the tears off his little one’s face. How strange these tears were, the way they seemed to stick under its eyes and to its cheeks like tiny icicles. His tongue did just as much to thaw them out before cleaning them, and soon his bundle of fur’s high-pitched bawling lessened and lessened until it ceased completely. For a moment he remained motionless as he let its hands grasp and grab at his snout and chin, only for the sound of its cooing to grace his ears once more. This newborn was staring straight into the face of a deformed dragon, yet showed not even a speck of fear.

Once its grasp loosened he decided to place it back down to the floor, only this time he too laid right beside it. Curling his massive body around his infant creation, he nestled it against his side as the two basked in the faint light of the Primordial Crystal. Seath chirped at it again, to which it responded in its own delightful mimicry of his vocals before being cut off by its own yawning. He still was not certain what sex it was, though as of now that was the least of his concerns.

The being that lay before him was not born from a womb nor egg, yet was just as organic as any living creature. How could that be? Even the most highly-altered animals are still bound by the laws of nature. For a being to emerge from non-living substances alone, would it still be considered living? Or would it be an antithesis of life itself? Whatever it may be, Seath was now fully certain that the power within this Crystal could unlock the boundaries of life and death, if only it could be harnessed!

But the sound of his creation’s tail thumping against the stone floor distracted him from such a lofty idea. All he could focus on now was the light weight of its body pressing against his flesh as another yawn escaped its mouth. The paledrake shifted his neck, folding his wing over the both of them as he brought his head closer to his creation. His child.

All turned quiet in the deepest cavern, though no longer did it feel so lonesome. It must be sleeping now. Seath too could feel the immense weight of exhaustion slowly eclipse his mind even as his thoughts kept moving to and fro. If this was a boy, he could name him… Name him… He could not think of a fitting name right now.

If she was a girl, however, then she shall be given the most beautiful name. Freja would work nicely.

Or better yet…