Hystrix
(#30666666)
The Profane Pantheon | Accursed Reincarnate & Purely Profane
Familiar
Enstatite Burrower
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Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Earth.
Female Tundra
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
2.72 m
Wingspan
3.95 m
Weight
192.07 kg
Genetics
Soil
Jupiter
Jupiter
Tan
Peregrine
Peregrine
Umber
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Tundra
EXP: 693 / 27676
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
7
VIT
7
MND
7
Biography
Hystrix
born Hida
The Merchant
A Tale of Nuisances Sated
I sit at my stand, my wings folded at my sides. I don't mind the simple wraps of a trader, the bandana holding back my mane as I work. I can't let more fluff get into the merchandise than necessary, after all. All my wraps are to hold back my fur, as brown as the dirt beneath me, and I'm positive drakes would notice if some of that brown fluff managed to get caught in a bug bag.
I'm finishing up my inventory check, having just returned from lunch, and I can only sigh when I realize some of my leather straps have gone missing. I recall the Fae child that had been eyeing them up shortly before I'd left, and I just know the little chatterbox has them. I write them off as stolen, another menial slip of paper to hand off to Ionwen, and close my book, flip the sign, and wait.
It isn't long before customers arrive, hawking at my wares. Some, decorated in jewels and finery, ask if there are discounts for the silks Locke had managed to complete this morning. Some simply accept my reply, while others demand a discount anyways. Some even demand I make something that doesn't even exist, right out of thin air. I decline them my business, and turn to other customers.
Others, proudly bearing battle scars beneath their shiny, brand new armor demand to see my finest in weaponry. It's easy for me to tell the actual veterans from the young drakes who likely earned their scars from playing with boisterous hatchlings. Some are outraged by my prices, demanding a senior's discount. On a greatsword? Sir, you must be joking if you think you can still wield that thing. I point to my sign, stating that seniors are drakes with scraggly, silver hairs tinging their muzzles or drakes showing other signs of age, not tiny twigs with hardly any muscle to their names. Others scoff that they've seen better armor made by a Stone Borer, when they clearly have never seen one in their entire lives. When some keep up the jeering, I turn them away from my stand, reminding them that there are other merchants nearby.
Some are nice. They buy trinkets, lockets, bangles, all for those they love. Others buy treat bags for their hatchlings, who have been absolute dears during the whole ordeal. I make sure to add their favorite little snack to top off the bag, and am happy to see them smile. When some are lost, I provide directions. When others are short a few coins, I cover them. It tends to be a decent trade.
Then there are those customers. They aren't rude, and they aren't sweet. They're quiet, collected, and serious. It's almost as if the air freezes around them, and drakes part for them like the red sea. When I have their request, they simply nod and tip me. When I don't...
Today is one of those days. A Mirror, gray-scale and adorned with a shadowy hood, is glaring at me through his four eyes. He had demanded I hand him a parcel with Serthis Venom. I've told him thrice now that my Serthis Venom shipment won't arrive until tomorrow, but he doesn't want to hear it. I keep my smile, but I'm tired. Already, I have turned away snooty nobles, bratty children, and entitled younglings that feel as if they should own my entire stock solely for existing, let alone 'fighting a manticore pride single-clawed' just yesterday. I do not want to deal with more of the like, and yet here this guy is, demanding I produce something out of thin air that I simply do not have.
I pardon myself after repeating my message one last time, turn my sign around, and close the window, cutting off all access to my stock. He will eventually leave in a huff, telling other merchants about my incompetence as they scramble to meet his every whim. I, meanwhile, need to cool off.
I go to my back room. In the dim light outside the door, I catch a glimpse of rusted metal. Then, darkness.
The air around me burns. I do not mind. Sunlight glints off metal, and I smile as I spin around, slicing at another shadow that lunges for my wings. I chuckle around the wrapped hilt clenched between my canines, my eye gleaming in the dying light. The crash of thrown bottles land around me, and I can smell singed fur. I pay it no mind. Instead, I turn to the serpentine figure that had thrown the acid at me. His eyes are wide, and I don't hesitate. I lunge, easily striking him down with my cleaver.
I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins, the anger I had felt just a short time before leaving me with every swing of my cleaver. The prissy regal demanding I produce a new jeweled necklace out of thin air fades away as a bejeweled shadow falls to my blade. The thief who stole my leather straps is ripped from my mind as easily as the lithe form beside me falls to a blow from my tail. The veterans, all boasting of battles never fought, dissipate as easily as the clan before me, their 'fighters' falling as easily as I know the drakes would've if they actually knew how to fight.
The last one I see is that Mirror. Darkened hood, bright eyes filled with malice. He's practically a replica of the Serthis before me, readying even more potions to throw my way. He's the easiest of them all. I can barely stifle a laugh as this last foe crumples to the dusty floor of the Sandswept Delta with a cry of rage. Whether it is at me for slaying him, or himself for being slain so easily, I'll never know. I finally take the time to stop and listen.
Silence. I raise my head, looking around me. Nor a single form stirs, and I feel my shoulders relax. I sheathe my cleaver, looking over my battlescale armor for damage. I see a few dents I'll have to fix, but other than that, I seem to be good. I see a canteen of water, and I run it over my legs, washing off the acid that still burned my fur.
A glint of green catches my eye. I look over, and I feel my heart soar. There, beside an older Serthis, is a large crate. I walk over, picking off valuable trinkets from the fallen clan as I go. I don't stop when I reach the crate. With powerful claws, I pry open the lid.
I was right. There, cradled in a pile of hay, is an entire shipment of Serthis Venom. I scoop out the vials, easily fitting them in my satchel, before turning back to the desert before me. I look over my fallen foes, scanning for more valuables, but I find nothing.
I start my trek back to my cart, vials in tow.
It seems that Mirror will get his order after all.
Merchant Outfit
Battle Outfit
Future Saint of the Profane (lore WiP mostly stubbornness and self-reliance | Accursed Reincarnate and Purely Profane)
Hystrix The Stubborn Thorn
ID #: 30666666
Hystrix means spiny, bristly, or porcupine-like.
Hystrix. A goddess of the commoners, many would whisper, settled in her stall and selling what goods she can. Showing kindness to the younger drakes swinging little twigs about, chuckling at the ones who try and steal a pan or flowerpot to place atop their heads as a makeshift helmet, only to bristle when silks and finery flash in her face with gems in tow. Despite her fur, it seemed the drake was as sharp as a ridgeback, at least when it came to the drakes who could only scoff at dust and dirt that dared to settle near their precious attire. Soft paws, lush fur, and unmarred scales made her sneer, but a scraped wing or ragged feathers brought an uncharacteristic smile to her face.
It was a shock, in the end, when she didn't pass. When she sat in her stall, watching the hatchlings she'd known grow into elders with creaky joints and greying fur, their eyes gaining that milky haze that only truly ancient drakes wore. She'd figured it was her way of obtaining her own goods, at first. Willing to go into the field, to fight for her place every day, for her materials whenever given the chance. All that work kept her in shape, kept her eyes keen and her mind sharp. Perhaps they hadn't done enough. Perhaps they should've gone into the guard, or perhaps become scavengers. Maybe some time in the venues known to drakes, the coliseum route, would give them the longevity she'd earned for herself.
By the time they'd passed, and their grandchildren had grandchildren of their own, she'd accepted it as a simple fact of life for her. She would not die. Blows that would take the lives of most simply winded her, her body numb to the venom and the gashes so long as she still had something to obtain from her opponent. Sure, it meant she had to rest longer to recover, but it was just a fact of her life that nothing, no matter how hard they tried, could truly break her.
Perhaps she was a goddess of sorts, like the others whispered when they thought she couldn't hear. It mattered little to her, in the end. She'd fought for her wares, for her stall, and for the life she'd come to know. She wasn't about to let it go now, not even to death. Perhaps she could find others like her, others who refused to pass on. Perhaps she'd even find someone stubborn enough to endure eternity by her side. Until then, though, she had her life to live.
She wasn't about to give that up now.
Alignment: Dances the line between True Neutral and Chaotic Neutral
Domains: Will, Determination, Spirit
Favored Class: Warriors and Merchants; Favors all who are willing to fight for their place in the world, no matter the odds. Frowns upon those who throw gold at all their problems, though she may find a soft spot for those who know this and still decide to follow her.
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This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
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Exalting Hystrix to the service of the Arcanist 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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