User:Crisien

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[appearance]

humanoid:
+ age; between 23-25
+ eyes; muddy brown
+ hair; flyaway, brown
+ skin; pale, often dusty
+ height; average, but she slouches
+ build; wiry, lithe
+ distinguishing features; hairline scar, collar-bone to collar-bone
+ quirks; yes

dragon:
+ age; old
+ eyes; muddy brown
+ wingspan; smaller than average
+ scales; black
+ distinguishing features; rough, jagged scar on her neck
+ quirks; unable to breathe acid fire

[the story so far]

[act i]

faces in the fire

The smell. That’s what struck her most. The sickly sweet smell of charred flesh grabbed her throat, beckoning the remnants of her dinner from the pit of her stomach. Quite honestly, the odour of vomit was almost pleasant in comparison. A scaled eye, sealed shut by a sizeable chunk of… something… opened, and Crisien waited impatiently as she adjusted to the ever-changing levels of light. It was dusk, but the flames consuming the settlement were ferocious; with every flicker they spat acidic offshoots that scarred the grassy paths with blemishes that would last a decade or more.

There was little movement. The flames danced and the shadows they created taunted her, creeping across the tiny dragon’s form as she shook the charred remains of her abode from herself. Even then she was small for her age; her relatives had all been large, fearsome beasts. Now they were charred, cracked faces in the fire. Not her, though. Not Crisien. Crisien had always been the runt of the litter. Perhaps that’s why the beast that had decimated her kin had failed to pay enough attention to her; perhaps that’s why she was still alive.

She could see him, still. Circling. Rage bubbled from within her; it stole her so completely that she began to shudder involuntarily. Her movements were jerky, but she managed to haul herself to her feet. A swift snap of her wings and she had shaken off the debris, cold, deadened gaze staring skyward in attempts to locate the giant incarnation of evil. It didn’t take long – he was huge. Beating against the air, tiny wings failed to propel the youngling into the smoke-filled, bloodshot sky as her injuries – which were extensive; more-so than she realised, then - hampered her efforts. Hatred overrode rational thought, but she was unable to take flight. Retribution would have to come later.

In hindsight, that was probably a good thing…

[act ii]

diamonds in the rough

It took years to plan her revenge. Years. Time is a fantastic healer, but deep wounds – especially emotional ones - leave ever-present, lasting scars. Eventually, she had hatched a plan that had half a chance at working. Her aim was to exploit the dealer of death’s weakness. Or, what she perceived to be one. While she’d vehemently deny it, it was one of hers; she had unwittingly identified with him.

Crisien’s parents had hoarded precious gems of all shapes and sizes, and their lair was built atop a sizeable bunker that contained them. Parting with the largest, most brilliantly-cut sapphire was painful. Or, it would be… come judgement day.

Crisien sent word to the dragon, seeking his company, in order to be granted a favour. In exchange for her most prized possession, she requested protection – from all dragon-kind. From him. Unfortunately, for her at least, he was far too busy to attend himself and instead sent a messenger – or, really, an appraiser of sorts – to examine the giant blue stone. Happy enough with its cut and clarity, he returned to his master and Crisien’s request was granted; she was under his protection. From himself. Now, she’s tracked him down; now, she actively seeks an audience with him.

She is not the small, pathetic creature that she was once. Time has passed, and she has grown. Far from formidable, Crisien is sizeable enough to be considered moderately intimidating. While time has stolen the clarity from her memory of the dragon that sought to destroy her, she is under no illusion: if it was down purely to size, he would decimate her. But she has his protection, now…