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Report Archive: The Pravodov Family Doll
Report No. 371
Subject: The Pravodov Family Doll
Acquisition Date: [REDACTED]
Handling Organization: Iron Pact, Artefacts Division
Status: Active, sealed within Sublevel 3 Secure Seal, Cryo Seal. Room 42-B.
Attribution: Recovered from the Pravodov Estate, Sea Fang Sect, following the destruction of the estate during Incident [Scroll #47-AE].
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“Huh,” Sergiy mused, squinting at the faded ink. “Wasn’t the Sea Fang Sect one of the old ruling families in Varkaigrad? Real blue-bloods, right, Old Man—uh, I an, Warden?” He raised his voice to carry over the howl of wind, cheeks prickling from the chill.
Beneath them, the city sprawled in soft gray and white, dusted with last night’s snow. His scales, still small but spreading over his arms and neck, glinted faintly in the early morning light. Good, he thought. Resilient scales were the hallmark of a drakkri worthy of their lineage, though the real prize was getting under Vorak’s skin.
Old Vorak twisted on his perch at the head of the carpet, silver beard bristling like an angry frostbeast. His thick fingers clenched the reigns, knuckles pale against the woven leather. “Boy, what in the frozen hell are you flapping on about now?” His gaze locked onto the fluttering pages in Sergiy’s hand.
“What are you doing with those?” he growled.
Sergiy blinked innocently, though little tail flicked behind him like a mischievous cat’s. “What, this? Relax, Old Man. It’s just so dusty reports. Nothing dangerous. Definitely nothing cursed—well, probably.”
“Probably?” Vorak’s bark could’ve scared a lesser beast. “Didn’t I explicitly tell you not to touch anything in that box?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But?” The carpet wobbled under the weight of his outrage as Vorak twisted further, veins bulging under his scaled temple.
“Okay, okay!” Sergiy raised his hands in mock surrender, though one paper conveniently folded itself against his wrist. “I’m putting them back.” He shuffled towards the wooden crate wedged at the carpet’s edge, its iron-reinforced lid yawning open just enough to reveal a chaotic pile of scrolls. He knew the box wasn’t dangerous. If old man Vorak really wanted soone like Sergiy to keep his claws off it, the thing would’ve been sealed tighter with spells Sergiy couldn’t undo in his wildest dreams. The fact it opened so easily? Oh, Vorak was definitely pissed, but harmlessly so. Probably.
“See?” Sergiy chirped as he slid the papers back into the crate with all the exaggerated care of soone handling priceless heirlooms. “Safe and sound. No harm done.”
Vorak’s eyes narrowed, his suspicious gaze sweeping over Sergiy’s hands like a hawk sizing up a particularly clever rodent.
Sergiy responded with a wide, toothy grin, wiggling his fingers in an exaggerated flourish. “All clear. Happy now?”
“Don’t get cute with , pup,” Vorak muttered, grumbling as he turned back to his reins of carpet. The old man’s shoulders were as tense as the reins he yanked, but his attention was elsewhere now.
The instant Vorak’s back turned, Sergiy slipped a few folded sheets from his wrist and tucked them behind his belt with practiced ease. As the carpet leveled out mid-flight, he plopped down cross-legged, casually easing the stolen papers into his lap. His slitted eyes flitted over the text, lips quirking with a barely contained grin as the words ca into focus.
Sothing had escaped that glorified underground basent, and Sergiy wanted to know exactly what. Sure, he’d been down there a few tis—not because he was supposed to, but because the idea of sealed cursed artifacts intrigued him. Everyone else found the place unbearable, not because it was dangerous, but because it was skull-crushingly boring. Who’d volunteer for extra classes about seals on artifacts supposedly dormant for decades? Apparently, Sergiy would.
Now, if one of those bad babies was actually awake and making a run for it? Oh, hell yes, he needed details. Vorak wasn’t exactly generous with his knowledge, and opportunities like this didn’t co knocking often. Once they hit Iron Pact’s main headquarters in the middle district, he could kiss this chance goodbye.
His grin widened as his eyes scanned the scrawled notes.
“Recovered from Sea Fang,” he murmured, his voice nearly lost to the wind whipping around them. “Sublevel 3… Cryo Seal… What’s so special about this doll?”
“Boy, if I catch you—”
Sergiy shot upright like a startled cat, the papers vanishing behind his back faster than smoke in a gale. “Not a thing, Old Man!” he called out, face painted with an innocent smile that wouldn’t fool a blind mole.
Vorak’s glare burned hot enough to singe hair, lingering just long enough to make Sergiy squirm. Finally, the old man turned away, muttering darkly about disobedient youngsters and stress-induced baldness.
Biting his lip to hold back laughter, Sergiy wasted no ti flipping to the next page.
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Appearance: A porcelain doll approximately 18 inches tall, dressed in a delicate blue gown embroidered with water lily motifs. The doll’s glass eyes appear to shift in hue between pale green and pitch black under varying light conditions. Notable signs of wear include hairline cracks across its face and subtle discoloration of the gown. Despite cryo-sealed containnt, residual moisture inexplicably accumulates on the fabric when the artifact is left undisturbed.
Known Properties: Semi-conscious and demonstrably hostile. The artifact displays water mana-aligned properties, including the ability to slightly manipulate ambient moisture within a localized radius. The primary anomalous effect is its ability to "mark" a target (designation: "Host Candidate") through physical contact or prolonged proximity (≥3 minutes at
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