I got money on my mind and my mind on the money that's on my mind because I got bills to pay and I can only pay it with the money that's on my mind and of course my mind is on that money.
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Bio
Hi I'm Tuddums, also known as Blue. I've been RPing for quite a few years now and I reckon I'm a half decent writer by now. I like to write about violence and unsettled characters. Uh... Yeah. Bye.
His head arcs to the side to look at her as she speaks. A whole new world indeed. He extends a claw out and observes the light shining off of his scales as he thinks to himself. A city of dragons... Definitely somewhere he should avoid, especially with her mentioning of there being an alliance with Dwarves. Dwarves! A race not worth trusting at all, by Genrit's standards. Let alone worth trusting enough to live alongside. He lowers his claw and his eyes slowly analyze her, taking a better look at the creature who saved him from oblivion. Sgarsiathoryx's daughter, huh? He can see the resemblance. Though for her sake he hopes she's not nearly as unsavory.
There is something he needs to mention now, however.
"When were you planning to ask if I'll allow you to take my gold?" His tone is more stern, challenging. Internally he admits that she deserves it, given her actions. But he needs to get back to how he was, and challenging her on this is a good way to start. He plans on allowing her to keep the gold if she argues in some way, but he will not reward submissiveness in any way. She may only be half dragon, but she must still have some backbone.
He remains silent in thought. Even as her hand rests on his snout, his eyes gaze blankly ahead of him. Three centuries without magic... He himself has been alive for 122 years. But... A sickening feeling hits his stomach as some of his memory returns. He had tried to break free, but something was missing. He could not gather the heat required to melt the ice. Does that mean...? He blinks a few times, only catching the last part of her offer to leave. His talons dig into the floor as he readies himself to stand, his body having eased up considerably.
"If that is true... I must be over four hundred years old now." He's speaking more to himself than her as he lifts himself up. Water drips off of his scales and wings, temporarily filling the cave with what almost sounds like rain. Now that he is finally standing he has regained some of the dignity of his appearance, as opposed to the sad display earlier. He shakes his head quickly, flinging some water off of his horns. "Though excuse my skepticism. I will need to see this all for myself." A long sigh escapes his mouth, coupled with an intense heat. He agrees that it's about time he left this cave.
Genrit'khaath smoothly exits the cave, dragging himself out the same way he has hundreds of times before. The warm air of the night prompts a small relieved sigh as he steps out into the open ground. The area around his home definitely looks the same, but the signs of change are definitely there. It's as though he has stepped into an alternate version of the world he once knew. A much older one. But this is only the immediate area that he can see, there is still so much more to investigate. His wings twitch as he feels compelled to fly, to see if what the half dragon had to say is true. It really can't be true...
But the pain still in his wings makes it clear that doing so will not be possible tonight. His body droops slightly while he looks around, temporarily forgetting about the presence of the small woman. He feels so lost in such a familiar environment. The pain and fear from earlier has clearly shaken him. To the point that he doesn't even stop to admire the ways his wet scales shine in the moonlight. He sits down on his haunches and looks up at the sky. Some white flame smolders out of the corners of his mouth as he contemplates recent events.
Her wondering about how much time has passed gives him pause. His lips twitch into a snarl for a moment as she shortens his name but he lets it slip for now, focusing on the rest of what she has to say. The mention of the name Sgarsiathoryx rouses a short chuckle, but it fades at the mention of it having been two centuries since he died. The death of magic? A dragon city? His head tilts and his eyes look off to the side in contemplation. A large claw taps on the cool stone below him as he struggles to process all of this information.
He's unsure as to the nature of this half dragon's relationship with her father, but regardless he speaks his mind without hesitation. "Sgarsiathoryx was a hideous stain. In his death I sincerely hope he is no more than a footnote on history." His voice grumbles as he reflects on the time he spent alive before he was frozen. The rest of his questions and what he has to say swim around his head and he needs to shut his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath and refocuses on her, piecing his thoughts together before speaking again. "What do you mean when you say Death of Magic?" He feels compelled to also accuse her of taking advantage of his state to lie to him about the passing of time and an organized dragon city, but he settles with this single question for now.
Genrit watches the coins hit the ground, slowly using his tongue to retrieve each of them. It's not until he has already had a few that he realises the nature of the situation. Is he really so desperate as to accept charity? And from a half breed, no less. He's at the lowest point in his life, having only just come back from the dead, and he's already being picky. Although...
He slides his snout across the ground, resting it in front of one of the coins. He breathes in deeply, searching for a scent of any sort. No, it's not his. At least, it's not been his for a while. His eyes flick around the cave a few times. Just how long has it been?
Her voice rouses him from his thoughts and he returns his attention to her. He grumbles in response to her retort and absent mindedly consumes the coin he tried to gather a scent from. He doesn't dignify it with a response, instead just listening to her quietly. Drachiathoryx, huh? He sighs slowly and grinds a claw against an intact chunk of ice, digging into it loudly.
He mulls over her words and watches her. His eyes are harsh and critical, clearly judging her despite her kind actions towards him. After gathering himself he responds, his words slow and methodical. "Genrit'khaath. I will tolerate you for now." He grabs a handful of crushed ice and holds it in front of his face, analysing it. "All I remember is cold. Sudden, bone chilling cold. And then a face. Smug and mocking. Blue scales. Then..."
Genrit crushes the ice further in his claws and wipes it against the stone beneath him. "Then the nothingness of death."
As the coin hits his snout and then falls to the floor, his eyes flutter and look down. Gold. A grumble rises from his throat and he lets out a long, shaky breath. The heat has returned to his body, signaled by the wave that comes from his jaws. Genrit's eyes manage to focus just enough to see the half dragon before him. His mouth cracks open so that his long white tongue can slither out and retrieve the coin, bringing it back into his mouth. He doesn't respond to her just yet, taking some time to continue his pained breathing. Having settled down considerably compared to when he was first freed, he shifts in place, moving onto his stomach again but still too weak to lift himself. Some smoke comes from his nostrils as he replies.
"Do not call me 'whitey', half breed." There's a threatening edge in his tone, but it's overshadowed by how frail and ragged his weakened voice sounds. He even attempts to proudly lift his head off the ground, but it shakes feebly and droops to the ground again with a muffled thud. His eyes at least manage to maintain their gaze on her, attempting to keep at least some shred of dignity in this moment. He grumbles once more before wheezing. He's currently a textbook depiction of a wounded animal and he resents it immensely.
The attack came quickly. A shifting of movement followed by a relentless blast of ice. Genrit'khaath barely woke in time to even react. The power and intensity of the dragon's breath was greater than he had ever experienced, catching him completely off guard as he was engulfed in ice. A seething rage burst from him as he struggled and built up his powerful flame. But something was suddenly... Missing. The flame did not come with its usual strength. He panicked, the chill of the ice sinking deep into him, locking him in place. He could not move, could not speak, and could not breathe.
Within moments, Genrit was completely frozen, locked in time. In only a few minutes, his body completely ceased to function. The last thing he saw was the intruder watching him smugly through the ice, knowing that they had bested him with ease. A rage that he had never felt before was only amplified by the fear of death. But none of that mattered as he slipped away, losing consciousness.
Darkness.
Cold and empty, stretching on for infinity. Every moment devoid of any experience as non existence overtook Genrit.
It's over.
CRACK. BOOM. CRACK.
The ice around Genrit is destroyed in a display of complete destruction, ice and stone alike falling about him and crumbling against the floor. Genrit's body does the same as it slumps to the ground with a deep thud, limp and lifeless. For all intensive purposes, in this moment he is dead. There is a long moment of silence as he lays there motionless. But a spark of warmth comes from inside of him, slowly building up and overcoming the freezing cold. His hind leg twitches, claws creating deep gashes in a nearby chunk of ice.
Life.
A wing shudders and his leg twitches again.
Life.
A pained gasp comes from deep within his throat, the warmth returning.
Life!
Genrit's eyes snap open and his jaws widen. A blood curdling roar erupts from his mouth. It sounds nothing like the deep, proud roar that his race are associated with. Instead, this is raw terror, high pitched shrieks of pain as his body attempts to restore itself. He thrashes in place, his limbs lashing out blindly and digging into anything nearby, his muscles screaming in agony as he moves them for the first time in over 400 years. Even with his eyes open he barely even registers his surroundings as he thrashes, throwing his body against the floor over and over again.
Just as he appears to regain some control and roll over onto his stomach, shakily lifting himself onto his feet and digging his feet into the mixture of ice and rock below him, a heavy retch escapes his throat. Half melted ice spews out from inside of him, making him reel in disgust and fall over once more, screaming in pain again. A massive burst of white flame escapes his mouth, singing the stone that it touches and melting the ice. His entire body is shivering in pain, fear, and rage.
As his flame dies out he finally lays still on the ground, breathing heavily in exhaustion. His body shivers weakly and he lets out small whines every so often. He hasn't even noticed the other presence in his home, let alone the actual state of his home, too shocked by his own condition to see anything else.
Age: 422, but is only physically the age of 122 (Will explain)
Birthday: 37th day of Saffra 122ML
Birthplace: Pyresia.
Resides in: A cave somewhere between the Valley of Screamers and Pyresia
Occupation: Dragon
Appearance: Genrit’khaath is nothing short of magnificent to look at. His smooth white scales coupled with angled spines make him look more like a god than your common dragon (that's what he thinks anyway). His own narcissism aside, Genrit is a prime example of the size and majesty of his species. He is 128’ long and has four wings with a span of 105’. He wears no trinkets or amulets of any sort, lest they get in the way of his natural brilliance. Every inch of his body is pale white, even his eyes, tongue, and the inside of his mouth are a solid white.
Personality: Disapproves greatly of the existence of sub species of dragons and half dragons. He also disapproves of dragons that willingly change into humanoid forms. Is incredibly proud to be a dragon, holds his race highly above others. He views himself as a perfect specimen and speaks highly of himself. Susceptible to challenges of his abilities.
History: Born on the 37th day of Saffra 122ML to two dragon parents, Genrit’khaath was raised for 16 years before his parents both deemed him old enough to survive on his own, parting ways. The older Genrit’khaath became, his appearance became more regal and brilliant, his hubris growing at an equal rate. He has had minimal interaction with races other than dragons outside of observing them from afar while hunting or raiding certain locations for precious metals. He has spent most of his life keeping to himself, grooming his own ego as the years went by.
However, nearing the death of magic Genrit began having to be more territorial of his patch of wilderness. Not only were more dragons passing by, but some were starting to settle into nearby areas. Genrit spent the next few years defending his territory, chasing off or killing any trespassers. He lost a lot of his composure during this time, becoming more feral as opposed to his usual pompous state.
In the time that all of magic drained from the world, Genrit was attacked inside his home by a frost dragon. It caught him off guard and froze him in a huge block of magic ice. He would have been able to melt himself free, but he lacked the capability to summon enough magical flame. By the time the magic left the ice surrounding him it was too late, he was already frozen solid, preserved and trapped in that moment in time. Even after hundreds of years, Genrit remained trapped in ice, his possessions long since looted, waiting to be set free.
As magic finally starts to return to the world, Genrit'khaath's home was finally happened upon by another being. A half dragon by the name of Drachiathoryx. In her exploration she stumbled across his magnificence, trapped in a wall of ice. She opted to free him, using her fire magic to bring rocks down from the cieling and shatter the ice. Finally free, he has been faced with a world that has progressed from how he remembers it. In his own prejudice and fear of the situation, he harshly sent Drachiathoryx away, though acknowledges that he owes her a favor further down the line for saving his life.
Alone and with no direction, Genrit must now figure out just what he's going to do with his freedom.
Special Abilities: Breath Weapon: Fire Immunity to Breath Weapon element type Darkvision Declined shape-shifting ability, +20 skill points in a magic type of their choice. Flight
Knowledge:
Drachiathoryx: Half-Breed Drachiathoryx: Sired by Sgarsiathoryx the Red Favor Owed: Drachiathoryx The Death of Magic: Three Centuries Ago Pyresia: A City of Dragons and Dwarves Magic has recently returned Thought: I was frozen for over 300 years Pyresia: Northwest of my Cave Knowledge: Other dragons have claimed my territory Knowledge: Using breath weapon indirectly to cause forest fire Knowledge: The breath weapon of acid dragons smells sickly-sweet Knowledge: The green female has a hoard somewhere in my territory
Other: Injury: Fractured right tibia/fibia due to fall. Will heal with no permanent damage if treated by a Journeyman+ healer in seven days. Will heal with permanent limp if treated by self within 7 days. Will become unusable if left untreated OR if Genrit fights or hunts anything larger than a normal deer in the next 7 days.
Injury: Large acid burn to right face and neck. Will heal with no permanent damage if treate by Journeyman+ healer in the next 7 days. Will heal with permanent skin scarring and visual (bot not functional) deformity to scales if treated by self in the next 7 days. Will heal with permanent scarring to skin, muscle, and scale growth if not treated.
Possessions: Quantity | Item | Acquired | Value 1 | Severed Head of a Green Female Dragon | 22nd day of Vermillio, 300 DM | Sentimental
Ledger: Cost | Item | Subtotal Nothing
Story List: Date | URL | Characters involved Vermillion 21, 300DM - Dragon, On the Rocks - Genrit’khaath and Drache
Hey guys, here's my character sheet for a wonderful dragon fella. Let me know if anything needs changing and stuff, I'll most likely be fleshing it out over the next few days but I'd just like to submit what I have so far anyway.
Cheers.
Name: Genrit’khaath (Genrit)
Race: Dragon
Gender: Male
Age: 422, but is only physically the age of 122 (Will explain)
Birthday: 37th day of Saffra 122ML
Birthplace: Pyresia.
Resides in: A cave somewhere between the Valley of Screamers and Pyresia
Occupation: Dragon
Appearance: Genrit’khaath is nothing short of magnificent to look at. His smooth white scales coupled with angled spines make him look more like a god than your common dragon (that's what he thinks anyway). His own narcissism aside, Genrit is a prime example of the size and majesty of his species. He is 128’ long and has four wings with a span of 105’. He wears no trinkets or amulets of any sort, lest they get in the way of his natural brilliance. Every inch of his body is pale white, even his eyes, tongue, and the inside of his mouth are a solid white.
Personality: Disapproves greatly of the existence of sub species of dragons and half dragons. He also disapproves of dragons that willingly change into humanoid forms. Is incredibly proud to be a dragon, holds his race highly above others. He views himself as a perfect specimen and speaks highly of himself. Susceptible to challenges of his abilities.
History: Born on the 37th day of Saffra 122ML to two dragon parents, Genrit’khaath was raised for 16 years before his parents both deemed him old enough to survive on his own, parting ways. The older Genrit’khaath became, his appearance became more regal and brilliant, his hubris growing at an equal rate. He has had minimal interaction with races other than dragons outside of observing them from afar while hunting or raiding certain locations for precious metals. He has spent most of his life keeping to himself, grooming his own ego as the years went by.
However, nearing the death of magic Genrit began having to be more territorial of his patch of wilderness. Not only were more dragons passing by, but some were starting to settle into nearby areas. Genrit spent the next few years defending his territory, chasing off or killing any trespassers. He lost a lot of his composure during this time, becoming more feral as opposed to his usual pompous state.
In the time that all of magic drained from the world, Genrit was attacked inside his home by a frost dragon. It caught him off guard and froze him in a huge block of magic ice. He would have been able to melt himself free, but he lacked the capability to summon enough magical flame. By the time the magic left the ice surrounding him it was too late, he was already frozen solid, preserved and trapped in that moment in time. Even now after hundreds of years, Genrit is still trapped in ice, all of his possessions long since looted, waiting to be set free.
Special Abilities: Breath Weapon: Fire Immunity to Breath Weapon element type Darkvision Declined shape-shifting ability, +20 skill points in a magic type of their choice.
Knowledge:
Other:
Possessions: Quantity | Item | Acquired | Value Nothing
Within an instant, RedDoc accepts the invite and gets to work. It's time to kick some scaly ass. He activates his aura to give himself a boosted attack speed and charges forwards. So far his methods of beating the beginner creatures has been to just pummel them into submission before they get a chance to properly fight back. But this thing will take something special. Approaching it from the side he launches himself into the air, sailing clean towards the snake's head. Here we go.
He latches onto the beast's head from the top, gripping it tightly with one hand as the other lifts back. And then, he begins beating the shit out of it's head. At first it flinches in confusion, but soon hisses loudly and starts flailing it's head around. RedDoc barely manages to stay on, keeping up his assault as he does so. He can only imagine how badass he must look right now. This is such a good idea. He attempts to keep it distracted so everyone else can get a chance to attack, but the snake does something he failed to take into account.
He cries out in surprise as the snake suddenly rams the top of it's head against a nearby tree. Okay this isn't such a good idea. Shit shit shit. RedDoc stops punching it in order to keep his grip. If he can't hit it he can at least keep it distracted. So long as it doesn't crush him before everyone else finishes it o- oh ow ow ow oh god damnit. The snake flattens it's head on the ground, crushing him again. At this point it starts to go crazy.
If it doesn't die in the next few seconds he's gonna have to let go. Well, if it doesn't die in the next few seconds he's gonna probably die, which will definitely make him let go.
Hi I'm Tuddums, also known as Blue. I've been RPing for quite a few years now and I reckon I'm a half decent writer by now. I like to write about violence and unsettled characters. Uh... Yeah. Bye.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hi I'm Tuddums, also known as Blue. I've been RPing for quite a few years now and I reckon I'm a half decent writer by now. I like to write about violence and unsettled characters. Uh... Yeah. Bye.</div>
