Rot

Lore about him and Katoptris:
-Perhaps knew each other before coming to this lair
-both warriors/ assassins
-she shows him the gentler side of life in this clan
-loves his 3 hatchligs with all his heart <3
Change name? make part of lore. Katoptris changes his name?
Get rose, daisy or marigold flower things

(WIP i think) :P Ok this lore is running away with me 'xD And maybe I should add a pg for little kids?.. A little bit descriptive and bloody but should be fine. Went a bit dark at a point...oops. But yeah I really love this dragon even after putting him through his story.

Back story ~ Ridiam :P
Rot. That was the name they gave him. Well, it was what got barked at him or whispered behind his back, as he wasn't deigned worthy of an actual name. Monsters like him were not permitted such normal pleasantries.
Since his first memories as a hatchling, Rot was prepared to be a cold killing machine - to the point where he would no longer flinch at the blood splattering from his victim's bodies. He was charged with finding and torturing "enemies" until they begged for mercy, and then until they begged for death. At least he could grant them that at the end.
Often those he had to persecute were not allowed to die too fast or too easily. And the rotting stench of their wounds would cling to his scales as an ominous warning to anyone downwind from him. Neither the smell nor the stains would ever wash away completely. And they would always be imprinted in his mind and his nose anyway. He would not be able to escape what he had done over and over and over again. And at some point he stopped caring at all. It was better to be numb when he had to look into their eyes as their life drained away - and look he would. It was the last bit of respect he could give a victim, except putting them out of their miseries. He would let them know they were seen in their last moments even if he could feel none of it anymore.
He would tell himself this way was better. It would wall of his mind from it all, but not his body or his soul. Did he even have one anymore? A soul? It would be better if he didn't otherwise it would look worse than his body. Sometimes he felt like he really was rotting away, whether it was inside or outside what did it even matter.

Everything changed when he was sent on his last mission. He had thought that he had no more qualms about killing anything at this point, but he found some. He was sent for some poor dragon's family. Did they never learn what would happen if they defied their orders? Their stupidity aggravated Rot to no end. They had so much more than him yet they chose to just throw it all away - usually in some stupid, meaningless resistance. He used that anger to try and fuel what he had to do to "teach his compatriots a lesson". He remembered the beginning when these excursions would make him sick and disgusted with himself. He had had to kill parents and mates, even some younger dragons... He did not dwell on those memories lest their emotions accompanied them.

He went to the traitor's den ready to leave it empty. The mate came out and turned pale as usual - they knew what it meant when he arrived. Either they ran or they fought. Well, this female nearly bit his face off. She was spitting mad but that didn't stop him. She ended up on the floor as all the others. He already had his killing claw over her throat while she fought weakly to scratch at his legs, when he felt a sharp nip at the tip of his tail. He reacted instinctively and slashed around to confront this new victim.
He came face to face with the big green eyes of a baby coatl. It spat and hissed at him, not yet being able to talk but fully capable of expressing its anger. This was wrong. The babies and eggs were always gone before he came. Whether it was by chance or because they prepared for him, he had never much cared - less work for him.
This will be so easy he thought. He could just swipe this thing into oblivion, then go find any others before ending the female. He looked at her then, with his intent clearly written on his face as he lifted his claw to end her baby. She did not look away or blink; she did not beg or whimper. She looked him in the eye and was not shocked at all. He was a monster to her, doing what monsters do. A mad thought bubbled to the surface: Did she expect him to devour her child in front of her as well?

Something in him screamed. He was not a cannibal or a monster! Or was he? What would't he do? Was there any line left to cross? He looked back at the hatchling - yes the hatchling, not the thing or his objective. Perhaps his victim? No! The thing in him screamed again.

The hatchling jumped up to gnaw at his elbow and he slapped it away before thinking. It hit the floor with a crunch and a whimper. The female did howl then. He had proved her right. He was a monster who could fling little hatchlings like so much fodder. He edged closer to the small fallen form and nudged it gently. The female was cursing his rotten name and not seeming to care as her blood flowed out around her. The hatchling whimpered again softly - it was stil alive! But its wing was bent awkwardly.
Rot suddenly thought that he wanted to help. Help? How was he supposed to do that? He had heard the word cried out from his victims before. But nobody had ever appeared to help them. This was madness! He didn't know how to be of use other than to kill and maim. there was no point; he had already broken them. He should be merciful and just end it for them. The female was already breathing hard through her tears.
He sat down next to her, "I'm sorry" was all he could manage.
She cought his claw before he could end her and looked him steadily in the eyes again. She stared for a while and then nodded. "Just don't do this again. Okay?" She smiled at him weakly and turned her head to her child. Her eyes glazed over as he just sat there.

She had smiled at him - the Monster. The rotten creature. He hadn't even answered her or helped at all. His face was wet, but he didn't remember any blood splattering. He found he was crying silently. Hadn't he forgotten how to? Hadn't he killed that part of himself? Murdered it until there was nothing.
The hatchling's soft mewling brought him back from his confusion. His first instinct was still to help it by ending it. But, no. The female had asked him not to. Had she seen something in him? Beneath all this Rot.
"Mama!" It started to wail in earnest.
The sound cut him cold. How could he have done all this? How could he have felt nothing as he slaughtered? He couldn't even be sick anymore. The baby's wails seemed to demand what was wrong with him! Everything was wrong with everything, but he was going to change it. He picked up the little one as carefully as he could and started walking. Anywhere would be better than here. Eventually the hatchling got tired of crying and nuzzled into him to fall asleep. He was bewildered by this apparent trust it had for him. It would hate him when it was full grown but he would live with that. They would both live.

At long last he found a clan of nature dragons. He was weary at first but they had all manner of dragons and didn't seem hostile. His plan was to leave the baby in a capable dragon's hands. Someone who could fix that wing and give it a good life. But he found he couldn't leave. He couldn't leave it. By the gods, he didn't even know its name and neither would it.
He felt so lost and tired. He wanted it all to just end. His memories and feelings were starting to return and he was drowning in them. There was just so much blood. All these dragons would be endangered by him! He should leave.
Then Katoptris noticed his turmoil. She was like him and understood even if she didn't have details. "We understand and we accept," was all she said and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Well I do not. I am a monster," he whispered.
"Maybe on the outside, but looks can be deceiving," she smiled.