NightmareJudge's dragon Rickets

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.45 m

Wingspan

4.81 m

Weight

376.23 kg

Genetics

Hickory
Tapir

Olive
Freckle

Auburn
Koi

Hatchday

May 15, 2021
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Arcane
Unusual

Level 25 Skydancer

Max Level

STR

120

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

I am a warrior. I come from the land of the Arcanist, from a clan of warriors, mages, and knowledge-seekers. This I know to be true.

We came to this mire, armed to the teeth with claw and spell. Some, for study - but the rest of us, for the battle. We had heard this land was a peerless training ground, teeming with challenging beasts that would threaten those who came to examine its magical properties. It was our duty to protect them.

It comes as no surprise, all of us failed.

At first, the land itself claimed the weakest among us. I remember Lucille, a proud little Fae who was woefully unprepared for a journey such as ours. I recall offering to carry her heavy equipment that day, mere hours before her wings refused to bear that weight and sank her into the marsh with a shriek.

We tried to help, but she was too weak - her burden was too heavy, and her grip failed, as did ours. Horrible shame wracked my body, buzzing with arcane energy that threatened to burst out of my chest. We were far more careful afterwards, and other dragons took the offers to be carried with much more grace.

A few of us seemed to disappear overnight, with little in the way of explanation. Some left footprints leading away from camp and into the brush, while others left dragging claw marks that felt an ill omen. Some simply appeared to fly away in a very rational fear...or perhaps, were carried away when no one was looking.

I remember when Orthrus, the quiet Aberration, was last heard screaming in terror, his other head in an apparent daze as it forced them forward, until he was silenced by the sound of splashing water. We never found their body.

Perhaps it was then that the beasts knew it was time to strike. Our spirits were broken, our minds beyond reason. We put up our fight, but as we delved deeper into the mireland, the constant onslaught proved too terrible for many.

I remember Jermaine, a brilliant teacher who stood atop a stone and rallied us with a battle cry - only to be interrupted by the sting of a Toridae. He fell to the ground, and his pearl cracked in half on the makeshift pedestal.

I remember Rudy, Lanke, Carmelita, Erebos, Ivette...from the corner of my eye, I saw them all slain one way or another. I curse my ignorance of the bestiary that told us all we knew about these creatures before; I did not believe that those giant insects could melt scales until I heard their screams with my own ears.

Magic-spewing beasts assaulted us from every direction, reducing our strength until some could not move. They made easy pickings for the beasts with claws and teeth, hungry and vicious.

Most of all, I remember Taika, a Guardian of great honor and brutish strength - slaughtered in seconds, a gruesome scene of gashes left by snickering spirits that fled on the wind. I felt my rage surging, and I was filled with mindless power - surging, screaming, begging to be unleashed.

I wanted vengeance now more than ever, and I chased that wind in blind fury - leaving my few remaining companions behind, alone. This was my final failure, and the worst one of all.

Now, I am certain that they are all dead. Perhaps, if I had stayed, we could have survived, regrouped, returned home to report our findings and not let those deaths be in vain. But instead, I ran, and I slayed Taika's killers a full day later.

I was too ashamed - afraid, even - to return to that bloodied battleground, and face the results of my selfish anger. Still, my rage did not subside, and so I continued onward. There was nowhere else to go. My exile was my own, and my punishment was my freedom.

To this day, I remember their names. I have faint memories of times before, studying in the Tourmaline Archives, learning new ways to use our powers - how the true power of the Arcane is not yet understood, how our powers can act on their own if our will and emotion is strong enough.

I remember listening intently to Jermaine's lectures on the subject...but I cannot recall his words. Only the curiosity I felt, the excitement in preparation for our journey, the certainty that my strength would be enough to protect us. We all felt it.

Even if my memory fades, I will always remember them.

...

And yet? I cannot rightfully remember what did me in. Only its bellowing roar, a smell of burning sulfur, and the oppressive, crushing force from which I could not escape, forcing my last breath into a vile curse among the putrid air as the world turned dark...

...and hours later, alone, I awakened. Heart stopped, yet still standing.

My flesh has long since abandoned me, sloughing off in patches and leaving my skeleton exposed to the elements. My bones have broken and healed in a thousand ways, snapped and held together by the plant life that claimed me as its home. My crumbling skin is now the texture of bark, my wings as frail as autumn leaves.

My mind grows hazy as I try to collect my thoughts; I suspect part of it has rotted away, replaced with flowering fruit and lichens. I feel nothing, nothing but phantom pains of rage surging through my decaying veins. As long as my powers withstand, I will battle on. For them. For myself.

I am a warrior, after all.

In the time since, I have watched others come and go. Some, lost travelers, helpless to the land and its creatures, fearing myself as much as the monsters. Others are stronger, if perhaps unprepared, and rarely appreciate my aid. Plenty of them, to my relief, are strong enough to hold their own, but still I observe. I watch. We held our own, too.

Sometimes, I find traveling groups of merchants or families who know their routes well; I would follow them in hiding, cautious to not be seen by too many. Drawing investigation to this accursed place is the last thing I want, but to abandon them for my own fears would be repeating my old mistakes. Never again.

I watch them all. I shoo them away, I rescue them from monsters, and I have become a ghost in the mire. I feel no pain, I require no rest. It is only my rage for the fallen that keeps me standing - I fear if I lost that spark, I would collapse and be truly claimed by the mire.

And so, in their honor, I will fight. I will keep fighting til the day my bones break for the final time, when my mind rots completely, and I join my fallen friends.

Until then, I will protect them. I will defend all who brave this horrible place. Warriors, mages, knowledge-seekers - no one deserves to be forgotten here, their lives cut short by the cruelty of nature.

This is my punishment. This is my freedom.

Man of the Marsh

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Exalting Rickets to the service of the Plaguebringer 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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