ViolentViolet77 » Lair » Riot

Riot

(#74864332)

Mother made us strong, and we will do as she commands!

Familiar

Whisper

Energy: 49/50

Personal Style

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.38 m

Wingspan

6.16 m

Weight

351.64 kg

Genetics

Hatchday

Jan 02, 2022
(2 years)

Breed

Adult
Aberration

Eye Type

Shadow
Common

Level 1 Aberration

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

• • •
Riot, Anti-Paladin For All Unholy
• • •
Warrior, Crusader
• • •
character theme
• • •
Powerful • Awe • Fervrent
• • •

Duty

As the only undead not born from the underground's denizens, Riot is far from his natural element. Mother is quiet in the Pitdeep, as she need not repeat herself to her acolytes. He knows his mission, as do his fellow missionaries, and the way to this victory is theirs to decipher. As such, Riot has taken it on himself to train and toughen up the Pitdeep zombies who are willing and able to fight with their claws, teaching them how to hunt the living, all shapes and sizes. Dissident is the leader of the Pitdeep because of her symbolic nature and legacy, but if anyone could be called the "boss"- it would be Riot.

His stoic and accepting nature drives the idea home- he does not long for a world outside of service to Mother, so what complaints would he ever think of? Things are not ideal. That is fine. He is surrounded by more of mother's chosen, and that is well. Mother created one of her favorite children, an aberration, from scrap flesh? Mother is glorious, and this is another sight to behold. All of Mother's creations are miracles. Not cheery by any means, Riot's acceptance and dutiful nature can seem like cold indifference to some. This mattered when he lived on the surface, but with his kin it is nothing more than taking their purpose as seriously as it should be.

His softened voice when speaking to Haunt, though, does not go unnoticed. He is one of them, even as an outsider. He will pay respect as the others do, for the ticking time bomb of Mother's mission and her fragile life. She is a "sister" to them all... whatever that means, for the undead.

Dissident

The concept of a "mate" is far beyond reason when you are dead, dedicated to a goddess, and mutated beyond all rational explanation. Riot has never been one to deny the laws of nature, and so this holds true- Dissident and him are not "mates", but in most ways it is the best label for them. They are the same size and have similar personalities, Dissident's raw brutality honed by Riot's precision and his missing experience in the environment covered by her mastery. Partnering in combat spells the end for anything that opposes them, no matter their strength. But Dissident? Is insane, and really two dragons, and sewn together, and decaying- and Riot is a puppet, a dedicated and sentient puppet to a goddess bent on reaching her boney fingers as far as she can reach.

Partnership is all it will ever be- and Riot would never, never consider that more could be an option. That perhaps, he could be blessed with some feelings again, and enjoy how he finally has an equal who can really match him.

Cannox

The two-headed spiral, the newest and weakest of the Pitdeep- she is an abomination.

The witnesses called them a monster, a bane to life itself. The victims of a paladin's unholy crusade, crying out for a savior or god that couldn't hear them... Those cries, it only made the two heads curl their mouths into smiles.

When Riot rose from the primordial soup that is the Wyrmwound, they were a hatchling. Something must have been their base- their original biomass warped by the ooze to be a young dragon instead. Some aberrations around the pool retained those memories, but Riot burst forth with still-embryotic wings and no memory at all. Nothing tying them down, a new life up ahead and nothing to hold the quickly-adopted child back. The aberrations of the homeland were a pack- and it takes two villages to raise two heads, after all. The baby was perfect, pure gray and red, no health issues, no deformities as were so common for the young poolborns. A blessed child. Their very first night alive, still too uncoordinated to walk or talk, they were already dreaming of the fleshy world they'd seen, already wondering and wandering over the desolate wastes. Where was... everything? Should there be more? More to eat, more to take? These questions rocked the aberration to sleep, where after several hours they heard a whisper through their minds. A soft and loving voice worn down through long years of neglect and disease cooed to the hatchling, who knew instantly- this was the true mother. Not the large dragons they'd met and been held by.

My child... I grant you a blessing, my child... Discover it, and I will speak to you again. Only you... Are given this boon.

From then on the hatchling had a destiny just waiting to be fulfilled. They grew from baby to child with an eager hunger and cruel streak towards their clanmates, playing pranks too heavy handed for the other hatchlings to call fun. For all observers, Riot (as the two heads decided they would be called one name, quite unified in their decisions) was on a dark path in life, even so young. But the only thing they determined to matter enough to care about was that whisper, that promise of power and mother. They, over the course of years of the aberration's isolation, searched around the Wyrmwound trying everything they could possibly think of. Basic functions didn't seem to do anything, nor hunting, injury, every word they ever learned. The aberrations were confined to the rotting crater as their localized homeland, and Riot wasn't about to break mother's rules and flee to try more, not without that talent first! Still, as options and ideas dwindled, the idea grew ever stronger.

Luckily, they never had to pull the trigger. The aberrations were discovered and freed from their hiding places, Riot taking a couple days to learn what he could from the legend who first faced down the strange outsiders before setting off to see the world for themselves. Along the way came obstacles, of course; staying fed, staying warm through the night, staying out of sight from monsters, but these were all things Riot could handle. What they couldn't handle were the other dragons seeing a two-headed, dark stony figure with red tatters hanging off their wings, and assuming what approached them was a monster. Several times Riot was ambushed by fighters on their own travels, or confronted by suspicious and angry drakes. So many times, he had to snap back that they were just the same as anyone, that they weren't a beast, that their scales and wings meant they shared blood with all the others. Some dragons looked horrified at the last comment. One puked.

Offensive? Yes, it is to be thought of as so ugly and repulsive. But enraging- much, much more so. Why was everyone so hostile before having just cause? Why was everyone so miserable, why did they feel the need to lash out so harshly? Boohoo, the plague lands were oh so difficult to survive in, danger at every turn- they didn't care and never would. This was the first welcome to the outside world he ever got, and what he never stopped getting.

Towns and settlements existed outside the plaguelands, things Riot had never even heard of. Entire collections of dragons in their whole made dens, living in harmony, families and friendships- well, that sounded like home! And maybe such a place could be more accepting, considering how many dragons go through such places... oh, how he wished for a dream unobtainable, looking on his first town in the horizon with smoke curling up from ovens and spit roasts, blending with the setting sun's navy leftovers.

After being questioned and threatened by the town guard for an hour, he actually got to go inside. Not a great start!
...
He discovered his gift that night when he killed someone.
It was a female fae. He found out after the fact. He'd gotten a room in an inn large enough for him, paying what he suspected was an increased price, using bartered goods. His heads had practiced taking turns staying awake and asleep, switching off to keep watch for the body. That's probably what saved his life that night.

A fae- a mother of the town, and a fearful one at that, carried a rapier at her side. Plague eyes without recognition of her homeland's true favorite draconic species, and skill with poisons from her nightlife of assassination. Just this once- Just this once, she'd do a job for herself, because to put it simply this is not a dragon. This is a fiend. And it cannot stay here. She slipped in silently to find watching dark eyes, without recognition of her fear, glinting in the dark. One head sleeps- the other head watches. She struck against hard scale, was caught by swift jaws, and broken with a series of crunches. After a brief rouse and panic, Riot came to the conclusion that this small, broken and punctured body had to be hidden where nobody could look. Thus, it was devoured. The assailant was right about something- he wasn't her version of dragon. She and her fellow modern species weren't dragons to him either, not any more.

Riot disappeared into the night, leaving not even a pin drop of noise behind. Simply missing. The exhaustion was much to deal with though, so as they flew his heada took shifts once again.

Riot dreamed, once he was soaring exhaustedly over the plains, of Mother again. She grinned a set of angler-fish teeth and drove her sweet sickly claws into his shoulders, once again gifting the sound of her wispy, raspy voice to him as she drew blood.

"You have... Found it, my child. My child, you have found the gift... That is to take. I give... To you who follows my law. Use, This, Well."

He woke up on the ground- both heads put to sleep by the lullaby of her voice and presense. He had crash landed, but without a scratch..? He was several inches taller, and his body felt lighter on their legs. He had been made stronger by death- by consuming. What else was there to do but celebrate? To tell his kin of this glorious purpose, go straight home-

Wait. His kin... He had been hardened by the world, yes, but many of his kin were softer than him. If assassins saw fit to kill him in the night, how did his fellow aberrations fare? Were they killed- were they suffering? And, as he looked at his claws and their unnatural new sharpness in the moonlight, the meaning of it all came to him.

The law Mother spoke of- it was for the fittest to survive. But not merely one creature, no, mothers are not selfish and do not hold one favorite child. All the aberrations were her favorites, her firstborn child of a species, and they must be strong for her. They must survive for her. And now, Riot could defend his fellows, for the will of Mother.

Towns and cities had mixed reactions to the new, ancient creatures. Some were welcoming- Riot found these places and stared them down with dark, cold eyes, grinning with dagger fangs and moving on his way in the night. But many places in the world feared the encroaching power of the contagion, and rejected their newest draconic kin.

Many individual opposers- the naysayers, the hunters, the powerful who wished to keep their places- Riot learned of them through other aberrations with wounds and scars on their bodies. And he devoured them, one by one.

Every time he bested a foe and ate them, he grew. Decades later and after hundreds of meals, Riot's physical characteristics and design had truly morphed from a dragon to the monster he'd first been made out to be. Hooked and barbed talons, tattered and impossibly durable wings, double flexible joints, and indomidable strength. 80 feet long and ever growing, inch by painful inch. His bones took on new length from the bones he chewed. His blood was donated from every different walk of life, beast and draconic. The materials from his consumption were used by Mother to construct a terrible, great and honorable, monster.

At some point along the uncountable years, he slept through one night with a beating heart and woke to find it was no longer needed. His lungs gave out and were replaced by muscle, armor where the organs no longer served. Food became a waste. Water became nothing but an obstacle.

To many, Riot is dead. A zombie.

But to him, this is what it truly means to live.

Mother knows best. Through sweet dreams, she whispers the missions her glorious little one must take on in her name. Riot, of course, would never fail her- these tasks have been done, time and time again. Targets to hunt. Her children to liberate. Dragons to draw closer to her religion, and her heart. Friends to take to their destinstions- he'd done it all. To very few, he was a literal godsend of a bodyguard, even a hero. But to most? A monster. At some point along the years, of which he never tracked, the gaolers began to hunt him down. Massive brutes sent by the most controlled of the gods...

Their large forms took so long to eat, he would often only take the head.

As such, he held a distain for the ice and snow. The closer he drew to the frozen south, the more he would have to deal with these furred ancients and their surprising strength. When Mother called on him to journey through ice's domain, across forests and mountains to the most dead land in all of Sornierth, he merely bowed and complied. Mother needed him- so he went. No fuss, no agitation.

The perfect champion.

Creating one of many snowdrifts, with the flakes falling around him, a sudden flash in his brain told him to stop his travels. In the distance, concealed by the haze of snowfall, stood proud and out of place fir trees, and the smell of dragons reached him- even here. A feeling of magic in the air around him, stronger than most places. This was certainly the realm Mother had willed him to enter...

She whispered, then, that her plans were deep below the earth. She showed him where to go.

He would merely need to fight his way under.

Cowardly Chosen, Potential Successor

Mother's Walking Will

Overambitious

Fellow Dead

Tricky Little One

Highest Form of Flattery

bio code: cerno • bio assets: serpenta, myndris, poisonedpaper

Notation

Gened this guy entirely by myself, when abers came out!

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0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Riot 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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