vinheim » Lair » Bellatrix

Bellatrix

(#32360155)

Level 1 Ridgeback

Familiar

Searing Jackalope

Energy: 0/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

24.35 m

Wingspan

19.8 m

Weight

6069.05 kg

Genetics

Eggplant
Poison

Rose
Toxin

Banana
Gembond

Hatchday

Apr 17, 2017
(7 years)

Breed

Adult
Ridgeback

Eye Type

Light
Common

Level 1 Ridgeback

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

_____________
.
BELLATRIX
tough • accepting • self-critical

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Bellatrix's life began in the pit of the Wyrmwound.

Was she an egg that had been dropped? Did she take a spill into the wound? No one is sure, not even her, not even Amdusias who frowns thinking about it and frowns harder when asked, but Bellatrix remembers when she woke up at least.

The first thing she registered was that feeling of hotness. Something had clouded her, her senses, and her body, and it was the heat. But it was otherworldly heat; hotness in its natural state, the type of burn that brought forth the universe, it was- untempered, exhaustive and wild heat.

Crazy temperature, to be blunt.

There was nothing she could have done. The heat tore her down to her limbs and then it broke them in order to continue to fry strained muscle and boil her blood. The flames traveled down and throughout her, right down 'til they came down to her roots, and she felt like nothing but a meaningless cluster of atoms once the heat ripped her apart from her core. It wasn't a clean cut either, the split of her was awkward and shaky, but open. The atoms that were her existence poured out of her, leaving her, like dirt from the grass from a violent wind.

It didn’t last forever, as soon she felt her body having collided with solid ground. Cheek-first, if she had a face. She blinked in pain, and in confusion, but did she have eyes to blink? If she had eyes, they blinked, and if she had teeth they ached from becoming and the impact. Everything hurt, everything burnt, but at least now she was only smoldering. Not to mention, now she was away from the inside of the Wyrmwound.

It felt like days for consciousness to arrive. It felt like months, actually. An eternity passed over her, and then the force of her own brain slammed into her body. She was away from the heat. Where exactly she was didn’t come to her, she didn’t think about anything besides the sensation of gross wetness. It didn't drip, it just became a part of her now.

Well, that makes no sense, she realized. If her eyes were real, they looked down to see what scales she had left were slimy from both the heat’s slick and the exposed parts of her. Not exposed as in indecency, but whatever it was below marrow was poking out of her skin, and it didn’t move when she moved. The stuff inside of her was going to slide out of whatever body she had left, and then she would die.

Oh. Okay then. She fell asleep with nothing else to do. Her dreams came after she was soothed by the gentle drum of her heart and the comfortable swelling from her blood pulsing in and out of her.

Surprisingly, she woke up to see that: she was not actually dead, and morning was a thing that existed. Morning was very, very bright, Bellatrix thought. The heat from the Wyrmwound had left vast but weak strain on her body, and the things that were sticking out of her narrow frame were glossed over by new tough skin. It felt like bumps at first, and much to her chagrin they could not be picked and she would have to live the rest of her life with them. Living didn’t seem that great to her at the time, what with the rude awakening and the heat and the thought of almost dying and then having to deal with sores forever.

Everything was strange. She had no memory, she felt new to the world, but the surroundings had a feeling to them too. The environment was deathly unfamiliar, even to someone with no familiarity of anything, and that probably meant it was dangerous. The world was interesting like that. But she got herself up, and found that no, the heat had hurt her body, what with the not-so-mild complaining of her legs.

She was gross in a way that clung to her bones. She was old, and moldy, and disgusting. Instant disgust hit her the moment she looked at her reflections in the puddles nearby. Her body had been changed from her fall, and the heat was just a part of gruesome saliva that warped her. Later she found out the pit that she had fallen into, and then been spit out of, was called the Wyrmwound, and that this strange new world that surrounded her would be her home.

Though her muscles continued to ache and moan, they felt better day by day, as if they were becoming stronger. The mornings were spent traveling, and the nights were spent hunting. For her, hunting was not exactly an issue. Where her hunger was supposed to be, she felt only a deep emptiness, asides from the bumps that lined the inside of her. The… scabs, maybe that’s what they were called, were like shards, but on the surface they were a nice color yellow so she dealt with it as best she could.

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biography coding by saturne #101073

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