Buzzsaw
(#77526958)
[(vaguely unsteady mechanical breathing)]
Familiar
Swamp Wolf
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Nature.
Female Aberration
This dragon is an ancient breed.
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
4.66 m
Wingspan
6.41 m
Weight
675.47 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Bar (Aberration)
Bar (Aberration)
Obsidian
Bee (Aberration)
Bee (Aberration)
Blush
Basic
Basic
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Aberration
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
6
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
5
Biography
| _____________ |
B U Z Z S A W
───────────────────────
dark trooper ∙ dolorous ∙ withdrawn
───────────────────────He would be panting if he still had proper lungs. Instead, he just has a soft, crisp wheezing escaping his black mask. His chest aches, cold and hot and freezing and boiling all at the same time, and his legs are still pulsing and near impossible to walk on due to the latest injection from the Empire. His face-- he doesn't even know if he has one anymore. There are holes in his cheeks that allow oxygen tubes to be shoved through them and down his throat to ensure he doesn't die in the night. Half of his face -- jaw, mainy -- he knows for a fact is cold steel, and at least has a false eye; he wouldn't have his advanced sight and ingrained crosshair otherwise. He is valuable, to the Empire, if they are doing so much upkeep on him. Clones often are, thankfully; there aren't a lot of them left at this point that still function, so he is a valued asset. It must stay that way. He needs- he needs to be useful. It was abysmally humid in the forest he was in, sweat dripping and pooling on what flesh he had left. He had been sent to shut down a rebel insurgence with a pack of other stormtroopers and dark troopers. He'd been isolated from the others, but ran a few Rebels into the forest; one of the benefits of his metal limbs was that he couldn't feel the harsh thorns tearing at him when he brushed through the flora. He spotted a rebel -- a young girl, maybe twenties at the most He had a mission to complete. There was no time to remember the dead. There was only the Empire now. He raised his blaster, the metal-coated bones in his arms and joints painfully catching at muscle underneath his flesh, too deep to massage or remedy the pain of. He ignores the agony; as he always does. Has to. He feels a prickling. He ignores it too, though it felt different then the usual prickling numbness from his body. He aimed, prosthetic eye zeroing in on the girl. His finger rested on the trigger, milliseconds away from firing when-- He falls. He is unsure why, but he falls to his knees. It registers that there is gunfire. They- someone hit something vital in his machinery. They must have, because he can't take in air anymore. The tubes that connect his lungs to his heart have been ruptured. He has no time left. Would Ceasefire be accepting of what he has become? Would Ceasefire forgive him for all that he's done? Would any of his batchmates know, aknowledge, that he never wanted this, when the war ended and the empire-- and he-- Would Ceasefire stand distressed by the violence, as he was in life? Was there even an afterlife for clones, or was that only for Jedi? He does not know a lot of things. He's scared to die without answers. Everything is on fire; his limbs jerk, head wrenching to the side. His prosthetic eye fizzes out to blackness as his mechanics register another few shots to the chest. Something finally snaps in his body, and he stops moving completely, face to the sky. Someone comes into his line of sight; only his natural eye can see through his visor at this point. They point their gun at his head. He opens cracked lips, oil and some blackish green substance escaping them as he speaks from under the mask. "Thank you." he croaks, oil spurting from his internal to his mouth and onto the inside of his mask, sweat dripping from his nose to his mouth. He gives one last look to the clouded, canopy obscured sky. Nothing hurts anymore. Or maybe this is just what it's like to not be in constant agony. They fire. The lights on his armor go dark. ─────────────────────── theyre tearing up holes in the house theyre tearing their claws in the ground theyre staring with blood in their mouths  ─────── 
| ____________________________________ |
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Exalting Buzzsaw 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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