elysifish » Lair » Duzarca

Duzarca

(#63734664)

Level 1 Skydancer

Critter

Ashspine Widow

Energy: 47/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.68 m

Wingspan

7.14 m

Weight

975.1 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Metallic

Crimson
Bee

Garnet
Capsule

Hatchday

Sep 07, 2020
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Plague
Unusual

Level 1 Skydancer

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

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྿

྿

he / him

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D U Z A R C A

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______Sometimes, he still felt the cold.

______Years had passed since his brush with death, but the memory still stuck in his mind. He could feel the harsh twisting of his lungs as he tried to breath, the tremors that shot through his limbs and tore cries of pain from his throat.

______His life ended the moment he was infected. A crow stood over him, watching him writhe in pain and sickness. Enjoying it. Why it never finished him off, he didn't know. It was both a blessing and a curse. The fever had burned through him so hot that it felt like ice. Everything was bleary, his mind unable to comprehend the world around him beyond fleeting images. His clanmate. A cage. A bone. Rocky peaks. Vultures.

______Truth be told, he had never been able to parse the story of his near death, not to its full extent. He knew the attack had happened during a scavenging trip, that his clanmate found him and brought him back.

______The following months had always been blurry, spent in quarantine as he fought to get better. His clan didn't have a cure, not even a treatment.

______Crow strains were tricky like that.

______Gentle behavior turned to disgust and disdain as his chances of recovering lessened and lessened. Eventually, they did what they had to do. His presence, quarantined or not, threatened to infect the whole clan. So they threw him out, left him for the vultures to finish off. Duzarca's strength was gone, he accepted his fate and closed his eyes.

______He never expected to wake up. A new strength filled his body, scarred and broken. The heat burned his skin yet something else was beginning to burn within him. The sickness was gone, he had fought through it. For the first time in a while, he wanted to live. There was no clan to call his home, not anymore, but that didn't matter. He could learn to live by the land. He might never have a clan again, he resigned to this fact. All that mattered was that he lived another day, and that's just what he intended to do.

______Now, years later, he was alive. Thriving even. He had long abandoned the harsh landscape of the Scarred Wasteland, trying to ignore the sting of being left for dead. Survival of the fittest was a phrase he had grown up believing, but now? Now it was only a bitter phrase used to justify uncaring actions. Now he loathed it as it was known.

______Somehow, he had ended up in the snowy fields of Icewarden's territory, which was not precisely the ideal place for a warrior and scavenger, but it was away from his former clan. During the days he would greet various travellers and merchants--the latter was particularly common here--before he retired to the edges of civilization for the night. Night, of course, was when he felt the cold the most, when the shivers and tremors snuck back into his limbs despite his illness being long cured. Sometimes he feared it had returned, that Death was not quite done stalking him. He still had no answers as to its origin, much less its cure. If it were to return, he would be done.

______On the worst nights, he would start a fire, carefully burned in a large fire pit sheltered from the wind. He would watch the flames as they burned the kindling quickly, dying down to coals almost as fast. He would settle in the center of the pit then, feeling the warmth on his scales that singed his feathers but did not burn his skin. It was a strange comfort, but it kept the worst of his fears at bay.

______That being said, he had not expected another dragon to discover him in such an odd position.

______"Is there a reason yer uh… sleepin' in a fire?” The stranger Imperial was large and rather imposing with unusual metal contraptions on his wings. He thought he might've spotted a blade somewhere on him, too. Strange wear for such a cold region.

______"It is warm,” He replied to the stranger, curling further into the coals like a possessive child.

______"There are other ways to get warm.”

______"Not for the homeless.”

______"Fair 'nough.” The stranger sighed. “I’m Hank, you?”

______Ah, introductions. He had plenty of practice with these.

______"Duzarca.” Short, simple, the truth.

______"Duzarca,” Hank said with a smile, leaning heavily on the second syllable, “It’s a pleasure t' meet ya. Say, would you mind if I stayed the night here? I have to make my way to my clan in the mornin', but I much rather enjoy company.”

______The Plague still instilled in his habits screamed at him that this was a trap, that Hank would sooner betray than ‘enjoy company’. That same part of him still festered with a hatred for support and a bitterness for his own failure to heal. He forced himself to ignore it.

______"I’m not lighting another fire,” Duzarca responded at last, which was not exactly what he meant to say but was still the truth. Hank seemed to take it as he meant it--permission--and moved to set up his bedroll.

______Duzarca felt a strange sense of safety as he watched Hank settle down for the night. Hank could easily be a threat, armed with a dagger and thrice his size, but for some reason he felt nothing. There was no fear. At least, not of Hank. Not of his clan.

______Sometimes, Duzarca still felt the cold.

______The shivers would take over his body and the tremors his limbs. His lungs would constrict on unreal illness and his mind would fall into a blank panic. The scent of death would wash over him despite being in the freshest of air. Years ago he had danced with Death and left with his life. Now he feared to dance again.

______Tomorrow? Tomorrow he would fly. Not alone as he had, but beside Hank. To a clan, a home.

______He did not know that yet, but tomorrow, Duzarca would survive.

Original lore by Redtiger7736

______He stared up at the imperial in front of him. Hank held out his paw for the other, a kind smile on his face that melted Duzarca's heart. But his offer required a bit of thought first. To leave his current life and settle down, to belong to a group once again. It seemed like a simple decision, a very easy decision yes, but still Duzarca haltered. Would he fit in? Would they accept him, saying of his past? Maybe he was still contagious, he couldn't ever know for sure. Was this clan willing to risk it all for him? Someone they didn't even know?

______Voicing his concerns out loud, Hank smiled and shook his head. "Nah, c'mon. Lookit you, you're dyin' out here. Can't stand to see it and I know the others won't be able to either. 'Sides, we got talented doctors back home. You'll be fine."

______Duzarca weighed the options. He had a point, sure, but he wasn't sure still. Yet with a glance up at the other, a look into his eyes, the feeling in his chest finally won him over. He let himself smile, getting up and grabbing onto the other's outstretched hand. "Yeah, okay. Lead me to your clan, Hank."

______In this new clan, Duzarca had found his place working within the Inn, being so familiar with dragons coming and going around him. He works alongside Hank to maintain the Inn.

______He does not trust Aurus.

______He always hated them about himself, the scars that littered his body. He always tried to cover them up, hide them from sight. Even the thought of them gave him painful flashbacks, back when he was alone in the wastelands, pecked on by vultures and burnt up in the sun. He had barely made it through that time, and the events left their mark. Yet the gentle touches of his lover tended to help. His soft, crooning voice as he traced each and every scar, telling him how beautiful he was. It almost made him want to stop covering them up. Almost.

__________

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