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  • Badari Tiamat









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    Chaotic Good





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  • Scamander




    06-11-1994 (25 years old)


    06-19-2019 at 04:19 PM





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'A true Tiamat cannot be killed by fire. They are fire, they are the choking ash and the burning embers, fanned into greatness by their strides to succeed. By fire and blood, they rose to power, and by their enduring might, kingdoms fell before their feet. My family's name is painted upon the stone walls of centuries, my family's name is whispered across nations who have fallen to the eternal flame. I am their legacy. I would see our name mean something once more. A child of weak flames they call me, drowned by snow and ice. Yet, is it not in the coldest night, that fire burns hottest, and brightest?'

Dressed by celestial tresses, illuminated from within, a chalice of glass to hold the barely controlled tide of elemental prowess. Like her kin, her siblings, her mother, she is not the typical child of their birthright. A collision of snow and fire, of ash smoldering from her combustible entity, she is a force of nature, the living embodiment of what it meant to be a child of the sun. Molten steel, licked by the heat of the forges core, she was made crafted to withstand any pressure. A daughter of disgrace, where some would crumble beneath the rumors, she would endure. It is the flame that burns brightest that would melt the spears lancing upon her gates. A crown of fire, a mantle of snow, epaulettes of smoke. Badari is a mixture of her father's bastard blood, of her mother's royal Eden. What would grow upon these soils nurtured by the giving embrace of desolation, only time would tell. And yet, those are not eyes of a fleeting ember, for within the belly of cracking coal, lies the heart of an inferno.

Born again a Queen returns. Yet but a child, a princess without a crown, Badari bears the spirit of one who shall prosper. This temple that would be her sword, her shield; it is no stranger to her. She lacks the feeble eloquence of youth, a wizened soul, an old soul. Those she would call brother, sister, could not fathom this stranger, this 'old crone Bad,' brooding, solemn, this child of shadow. From the eclipse of the sun she was born, a stunning mind of sharp edges and silver glass. Always thoughtful, tranquil, a contained flame some would be so unfortunate as to call weaker. Silence the warring howl, a contained explosion, held in the might of a body well tuned for the task at hand.


Volatile | Obstinate | Ardent | Constant | Imperious | Callous

'Legends would speak of the hubris of man. They warn us against reaching beyond our station, of Icarus who's wax wings melted when he drew to close to the sun, plunging the heretic into the sea. Of the one thousand warriors of Tidos, claimed by the sands of the edge of the world. Be content with our lot they say, do not wander beyond those borders, for there is no mercy for the children of sand and water. Yet, I am not a child of soil and tall trees. I was born from the forge, a fallen spark to this mortal plane. The sun shall not kill me for I shall consume its rays and burn all who stand before me.'

She is the spirit undying of the past queens. She is reborn anew. Where one would see this bastard daughter of passion and lust, they would see Tiamat. So young, a flame newly sprung from the hearth of fallen ash, her breath falls like sparks, her eyes burn like the torches that light the path into the darkness. She has much to learn, for she is fire, yet, she knows not how to wield its might. Some would say she is too zealous, she is too... volatile, a barely contained force that would erupt at the slightest push. A warrioress, raised upon the honey of fabled spartan shieldmaidens and noble kings. They say, she would be a leader, she would stand upon the Senate, and her word be law. Yet, she cares not for politics. A girl who admires the Warrior Kings who stood beside the Queen, he who ran to battle, who bathed in the blood of their enemies. Agis, Leonidas. Their wives ruled the nation, yet, it was them enemies feared when the drums of war came upon their land.

Let her cousins have their throne. She would guard the path to Sparta herself.

There is little that could contain the fire within. A problem child they would say. A heathen who could not bare to sit through her lessons. Whereas Cairos and Evanora stood the pinnacle of royal treasures, she would flock to the fields, her pelt of Spartan crimson dampened by soot and dirt. Only mother could call her little phoenix to the roost, pluck away the gems and foreign treasures from clasped talons. Only mother, could sooth the raging blaze, contain it beneath arms clad in silks and gentle words. Even the Warrior Kings had a place they felt safest, where they became mortal men once more. Family was everything. It was all they fought to preserve.





BIANDRI. Caeleste - Fantasy Equine RPG