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Champinjon
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He's the sophisticated doctor, plaguemaster and necromancer. Champinjon has faced his inner demons and convinced them to join his side.
He uses darkness to fight darkness, illness to quench illness and curses to break curses. You will be cured, but indebted.
It's worth it if you really need it, and for most dragons, a kiss is all it takes to get even.
But who would kiss a creature whose mere touch is said to drain life?
Champinjon is a cold, calculating dragon. His silence often says more than his words and has driven off some of the more faint-hearted of those seeking out his help. He shows no pity for them, only malice and contempt, as that was what the world gave him when he was weak.
He uses the dark to defeat the dark, and it never comes free. He has to be paid by all of his clients, and that's not the end of it. By curing their deadly dragonpox, he poisons them with gembond. While raising their father from the dead, their soul is slowly being drained away. When he is breaking the curse of bad luck on their daughter, it is passed onto the father. Of course, all of these wouldn't need to happen if a dragon simply kissed him.
He is a loner, keeping to himself. It's not as if he minds it anymore. Quite on the contrary. He prefers to be alone so he can dabble in his plagues, darkness, and demons. He will spend hours away from dragons, and no one is brave enough to go searching for him when he disappears. Most likely, he is preforming a ritual to "help" another dragon.
Though he treats the world with cold indifference, he actually does care. He sees a young dragon and feels pity, but shows disgust. He would rather they have one bad day than for him to break down his reputation. At most older dragons, however, his sneer isn't forced.
His tongue, as smooth as a snake's scales, can convince even the most wary dragon to agree in his rituals. It is whispered that he could convince a devoted Light dragon to serve the Shadowbinder. Though he has never done this, he doesn't quiet these rumors, instead, lets them grow and boil over.
He is a fan of shortcuts and will take them whenever. He doesn't care much for his clients, so generally the sacrifice needed in a ritual comes from the dragons seeking help. He dislikes putting curses and plagues on young dragons, so if that is the cost of the ritual, he'll put them on their parents instead.
He is more magically adept than most dragons, but his own power has become corrupt. Despite him being an Ice dragon, all of his spells come out mostly colorless with bursts of black eddying in the center.
His gift in necromancy is seen as a curse and a blessing. He himself has suffered numerous injuries from backfires of spells, and been the subject of curses and hexes. If the soul of the dragon coming to him is pure, then he will then inflict the sacrifice on himself. This has only happened once.
He is not an optimist, quite the opposite, actually. His faith in most things dwindle as time goes on, and he only ever sees the darker sides of life. The light in his eyes was lost when he was driven out of his first clan. His hope in dragonkind is narrowing as days are forming into years.
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When a large appeared in the Ice nest that would birth a monster, everyone rejoiced. This meant twins! They had not been blessed with twins for many years, and it was considered good luck to get them, as most twin dragons went off to do great things.
So, everyone was there as the egg began to crack. No one continued working as they raced to see the new additions to the clan. But what they would see came as a shock to everyone.
Two Faes stumbled out of the egg. One began moving immediately, as a hatchling should, but the other just lay there. Everyone suspected the worst, and their fears were confirmed as someone gained the courage to flip the body over. As they saw the face of the dead Fae, dragons gasped, and hatchlings were hurried away from the scene. The Fae's face was covered in long, thin claw marks, and its tiny face was screwed up in pain. Now, as they looked at it closer, it wasn't even fully developed. Its wings were stubs, and its front legs weren't even there. And sitting right in front of them, a hatchling that seemed to not notice his dead sibling, and continued playing in the dust. A dragon wailed out in the silence, and then chaos ensued.
His mother picked up the body, cradling it close to her chest, whispering. Her voice, though silent, reached the newly born Fae easily. He trotted up to her, squeaking, expecting to be cuddled like the other dragon, but she screeched, and stumbled backwards in fear. "You did this!" She screamed over and over again. Confused, the Fae backed away, eventually hiding in the low, icy brush.
He watched as someone helped bury his sibling, while who his instincts said to be his mother sobbed on the shoulder of a male dragon that appeared to be his father. Why did everyone hate him? He had done nothing wrong, right?
Eventually, hunger drove him back into camp. No one yelled at him again, but kept their distance. They were afraid of the dragon that had killed what would've been his kin, and what he could do to their family. He named himself Champinjon, after a character in a book of fables he had found.
Champinjon, being the smart young dragon he was, realized that the reason everyone hated him was because his sibling was dead. So, he would bring the dragon back to life. It couldn't be that hard, could it?
Soon enough, he had dug up the body and hidden his tracks well. He stowed away into the forest with sixteen candles. His conscious mind remembered that he didn't know how to do this, but his instincts said otherwise. With a light feeling in his heart, he began the ritual.
As the moon struck its zenith, the body twitched. Before his eyes, the two-limbed infant grew its front legs, and the scars healed along its face. The malformed wings grew into ones appropriate for a hatchling. Its eyes opened.
Champinjon tackled his sibling in glee, and the other dragon tussled back, cooing happily. The two play-fought in the forest for awhile, before sitting down to talk to each other. Champinjon saw what a fine job he had done catching his brother up on everything he needed to know about being alive.
With his head held high, and a spring in his step, Champinjon walked into the camp, where daylight now shone through the trees. He called for dragons to stop, and once he had a sizable crowd, he presented his brother. Dragons, whether they were part of the circle surrounding him, heard the collective gasp from them. Everyone recognized the icy-blue crystal scales of the dead dragon. Someone shoved through the crowd. His father.
The dragon looked down at Champinjon's sibling, and then at Champinjon himself. "Thank you." His voice came out in a hush as he looked at his other child, alive and well, gazing at a hardy dandelion poking its head up through the snow.
The words were barely out of his mouth as another dragon screamed, "Blasphemy, blasphemy! You have robbed the Shadowbinder of a soul!" An old dragon pushed through the crowd, screeching words that others began gradually agreeing with. Champinjon, confused and hurt, ran away from the gathering mob of dragons, never looking back.
He ran through the forest, not aware of the tears slipping down his cheeks. But he had done everything right. He brought his brother back, and he was met with anger and rejection. His heart hurt as branches lashed his wings and pricked his still soft skin.
As soon as he hit open air, he flew straight up. Flying was tough in the gusty wind, and he cried out as snow mercilessly attacked his body.
Soon, he grew exhausted from the flight, and landed. The snow was cold underneath the pads of his feet as he searched for refuge. Luckily for him, a cave, barely visible in the ever angrier storm, was just in the distance. He hurried towards in, settling in to wait out the storm. Before he knew it, light was forcing his eyes open and silence greeted his ears.
He cautiously poked his head out, unsurprised that the land was covered in glistening white snow. Warily, he padded out of his hidey-hole, and snapped his wings open to fly again.
As he was soaring through the sky, he once again felt the pain of hunger in his stomach, and had to search for food. He found a pitiful amount of insects, and devoured them hungrily. His life was looking down.
Eventually, he reached the border of the Southern Icefield. He could just barely make out the Arcane territories from across the floes. He made a decision that would forever change his life. He was going to go there.
So, gradually, he made his way along the expanse of floating ice. He would fly as far as he could, then rest on one. In just a week, he made it to the land of the Arcanist. He passed out on the shore of the warm Starfall Isles.
He made his life there. He built a reputation as the witch-doctor, the necromancer. Dragons would come to him with hope that he could raise a loved one from death's claws. He did, but with a price sometimes as simple as a kiss. But with the rumor that he could drain life with a brush of his claws, who would ever kiss a monster such as he?
Eventually, he was accepted in a community of dragons of all sorts. No one paid him any heed as he preformed his rituals to earn his keep. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was enjoying his stay.
The gray Skydancer stood before him, her head held downwards, begging. "Please, Champinjon, please. I need your help. My eggs are all stillborns, they aren't cracking at all. I need you to give them a little bit of life, please."
Champinjon set down the book he was reading, eyebrow raised in appraisal. The Skydancer had tears running down her cheeks, and her wings curved inwards. He stepped down from where he was sitting, coming to stand in front of the Skydancer. Much like how the Skydancer could grasp his emotions, he could read hers. And he could tell, this one was sincerely a good dragon.
She looked up, fear in her eyes, but this did not bother him. He was used to such a reaction, and wouldn't expect any different from even the most pure-hearted of dragons. He nodded, his expression not showing the turmoil inside. "Show the way."
by AwkwardAngel
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Role
Nickname
Gender
MBTI
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Necromancer
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Male
INFP
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Likes
Dislikes
Moral Alignment
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True Neutral
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