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Biography

Mate:
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"I wish we'd met before they convinced you life is war!"
—Dead Girl Walking (Reprise)


Charge:
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Song: Good in Me
by Jon Bellion

Rotting Plaguebringer Effigy
Black Pawn
Rusted Chain
Bottled Embers
Sharpened Scythe

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Gaston growled at the beast in front of him. He thought it could be a deer or some sort, but he didn't really care either way; it was the enemy, and it would die. Whether it was a deer, or a lizard, or one of those giant weasel creatures, the clan needed the resources it would inevitably provide. Besides, the poor fledglings beside him didn't need to learn technique or finesse​, they just needed the experience. Plaguemother wanted strong, trained dragons; she didn't care if they actually fought or just stood on the sidelines. He gave them a pitying look. The fools were excited, thinking they were being taught to fight to help the clan. Idiots. As soon as they returned to the clan, these young reptiles were being tossed to the Wyrmwound, and to the mercy of the Infestation.

Gaston focused back on the prey. It hadn't attacked, waiting patiently for its turn, following the infallible rules of combat, just like he would when it was their time. He sighed; this endless series of battles wearied him, grating on his already tired soul. With a slash, he finished off his opponent, sustaining no further injuries. The fodders grinned and praised him for his strength. Oh, how little they knew. Gaston looked them over, appraising them. He shrugged. Close enough.

With a short grunt, he flicked his tail in the direction of the clan, and began trudging back. The other two followed him, chattering away like birds, asking him about his technique and strategy. Gaston didn't answer, but retreated further into his musings. He fancied their jabbering snouts morphed into beaks, and their endless questions turned to whistles and chirps. A grin flickered across his lips, and he imagined them taking off, flapping now feather-clad wings toward the sky and freedom. A shadow looked over the pair, and their frivolous chirrups turned to frantic shrieks as a huge dragon dragon came into view, and swallowed them whole. She then turned Her ponderous head to Gaston, condemnation in Her great crimson eyes. He shut his eyes, letting the blackness smooth his troubled thoughts erase the traces of rebellion. Twin red orbs glowed dully against the inside of his eyelids, seeming to be glaring at him, inspecting him, and slowly drawing away. Apparently, what She saw pleased her.

Gaston gritted his fangs and dragged himself back to reality. Even in his fantasies, the Infestation haunted him. She was always in his mind, carving any trace of resistance or dissatisfaction from his mind. But She couldn't see all. Gaston knew this better than any: the gods were not infallible. Over years he had built a resistance. Painstakingly, on the short trips out of Her domain, sometimes even during battles, he developed a shield, a mental barrier to protect a tiny portion of his sovereign thoughts.



Gaston has been chosen. He is one of the few dragons that can honestly claim a god-given purpose. And he would trade anything to be rid of it.

Gaston is part of a unique class of dragons elected by the deities as their sacred protectors. Not to protect the god themselves, of course, but rather their reputation and standing among dragonkind. These dragons are filled with a ravenous need to protect the one that chose them, but they are never able to fulfil it. Their Search never ends. They know exactly what they are looking for, but they are never able to locate it. Many of these dragons are revered for their calling from the gods, their divine position. Gaston, however....he refuses any sort of special treatment.

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Gaston
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This piece of ART by drawingdeamon

Statted and stoned for Mire Flier
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Exalting Gaston to the service of the Plaguebringer will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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