Sothimus

Personality

Sothimus is a very unpredictable, almost insane dragon. He is prone to sudden changes in personality and attitude in minutes, going from happy and completely content to furious and aggressive all in the space of five minutes. These random spells of personality change have been with the Imperial since hatching and have led to many dragons staying well clear of him. This solicitude is greatly enjoyed by Sothimus as it leaves him alone to brood over the many samples he has collected in his life. Soth had always possessed an intense thirst for knowledge. He preferred to be by himself, learning from the environment around him for as long as he can remember. In his opinion, the world is his only friend, the only one he can understand and that understands and accepts him. He is not sneering towards dragons for not understanding if wanting to be near him, he likes having time to himself a lot more than participating in conversations. Sothimus is often described as mad by his clanmates, which usually ends up with the dragon that spoke the words gaining a nasty disease, inflicted by the dark Imperial. The other dragons in his clan don't really talk to him, but rather leave him to his own devices; suiting its him and them. Due to this, they know next to nothing about him or where he came from, only the fact that he is there is known. The Plaguelands are a great place for Sothimus, a place where he slots in perfectly. He rarely stays in his cave with his samples and experiments, his tools and secretive past times, and instead travels to the Wyrmwound. Soth's unpredictability also makes his clanmates edgy when they are passing by him or attempting to have a conversation because they never know how he will react to what they are saying, never know if he will suddenly strike out without warning. Unfortunately this means that Soth's ability to speak is small and untrained. He lives similar to the BeastClan creatures, scavenging what he can find, staying out of the way of other dragons and living by the laws of the wild. Soth has become cautious around Dragons because he lives so apart from them and is known to snarl if members of his clan startle him by creeping up behind him. This has become a sort of game with hatchlings in the clan, to see who can scare Soth and get away to tell the tale. Soth has mixed feelings towards this game and has gone over the top during one of his bad spells. Once, a hatchling leapt out infront of him, making the Imperial jump inti action as he grabbed the hatchling tightly with his claws, breaking the skin. Luckily, the young dragon broke away before Soth could properly crush it between his claws.

Backstory

Almost from the moment he was born, Soth was marked out as different due to his abnormal behaviour. It wasn't really his fault, it's just how he was. His egg had been a funny colour before he hatched, and when the dragon inside came into the world, he was immediately labelled peculiar. His odd, constant fascination with bugs and disease led to him being distanced from the rest. His own parents never treated him like the others. He grew living off of the environment, the Lightning terrain. He knew that he didn't belong there, the Lightning Plains were far to clean and sanitary for his tastes. He spent his time sampling plants and creating vile mixtures, away from his clanmates. The one thing he never thought about; the toxins his mixtures were giving off. He moved away, step by step, day by day from the clan after he was old enough to survive alone, all the while growing weaker from the toxins he had inhaled. His addiction to the mixtures, the sampling, the discovering overtook him, he was unable to stop. It wasn't until he came across an abandoned lair, broken and all but dead, that he found his Mask. It was beautiful in its simplicity, a perfect fit. In it's sharp, hooked nose there lay a collection of herbs that calmed and soothed him. At first, he only wore it, smelled the comforting aroma, when he felt particularly drained, bit over time he began to keep on constantly. The mask had its effect on him, an effect that he didn't realise. It warped his brain, scrambled his personality into a random mush. Of course, he was unaware of this, oblivious to the effect it was having on him. He stayed in the lair for a while, content to be left alone with the silence of his own thoughts. The mask was not the only thing he had found in that cave, he had uncovered an old chest, brimming with dark apparel that smelled amazingly of decay and sickness; perfect. The lair was scattered with notes and formulas that often trailed off into scribbles and illegible gibberish. The notes confused the Imperial as each seemed unrelated and completely random. He placed his samples around the cave, slotting them neatly in the gaps between the old, greying disease particles left behind by the lairs previous habitants. Over the months spent within the dark place, Soth grew frustrated. The herbs within his mask made him prone to constant attitude changes, herbs that he had to constantly replace to prevent a harmful disease from entering his body. In one particularly fierce blip of rage, he threw his glass bottled samples to the ground, stamping down again and again on the glass despite the ****** of pain skittering through his talons. When he eventually stepped back, glaring down at the bloody, fragmented mess, he saw his own terrifying reflection in the shards. Soth left right then, his remaining samples tucked into a hastily packed bag at his side. His footsteps were irregular, scooping clumps of dirt into the air. His emotions were warped, jumbled, unfathomable by any, least of all himself. He left the Lightning territory that day, never to return.

Many days later, the Plague Doctor Imperial landed at the edges of the Plague Territory. Anyone who had known him before would recognise the change in him, how his eyes were sharp and alert, his scales unkempt and scuffed, his talons constantly moving as if expecting an attack at any moment. It wasn't a surprise to Soth when his first clan wary of his presence. It didn't bother him; he hadn't wanted to be the centre of attention. He did admit to himself that it felt better to be around others, but he just wanted to be left alone. Diseases were a lot easier to understand than dragons, much more desirable to be around too. He found an older, derelict cave near the edges of the clans territory and took up refuge there. It was easy enough for him to spread his samples around him and became all the better when he found the unused cellar beneath it. In this cellar, Soth did most of his experimentation. He found that it was, damp, dark and cool, the perfect place to grow the harmful diseases he was after. He relished the rich, sour smell that surrounded him whenever he concocted his beautiful mixtures, twisting pathogens together. For the first few months, his clanmates were skeptical of him, wary of his odd tendencies and the horrendous disease smells that pooled around his cave. On the rare occasions that they saw Soth, he looked normal, which scared them. Soth didn't care in the least what they thought about him, or what he did. In a way, he liked their fear, their uncertainty, if made them keep their distance and prevented any dragons from coming to his basement, or even near his cave. Although he mixed diseases, Soth created new, effective medicines. He didn't have any use for them, and they were killing off his diseases. This made the Imperial take trips into his clan, and interact with some of the members. In conversation, he was never sure what to say, how to act, what to do with his talons. He passed the medicines over to the dragon he recognised as the Medic as quickly as he could and with as little interaction as possible. He began to learn. All of his time spent in solicitude meant that his conversational skills were severely lacking. He was prone to more animalistic reaction that his clanmates would expect. His speech was at first mostly growls and snarling, both of which set any dragons around him on edge, looking for a threat of some sort. Over time, he began to use some words in short, abrupt speech that grew and became more complex with time. After a long time, Soth became content with his clan. His experiments continued undisturbed and only rumoured with many of them resulting in fatal and long lasting effects. The herbs in Soths mask captured all harmful toxins he created, even though they continued warping and dissolving his sanity, eating up the few particles of sense left in his mind.


Fun Facts

Sothimus speaks both German and English, the first being his native language.