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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.86 m
Wingspan
4.5 m
Weight
339.92 kg
Genetics
Thicket
Pharaoh
Pharaoh
Pear
Foam
Foam
Cerulean
Capsule
Capsule
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
6
MND
7
Biography
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xx TRIST CHRONICALLY ILL • LIBRARIAN SICK | CLEVER | TIRED |
It started with a fever. A simple illness at the time, hot flashes that sent him spiraling, dizzy and confused. When he passed out, unconscious in the center of his den, it was well past time to call a healer.
She arrived, seafoam green and full of cheer, and prescribed him with an illness of the heart, some medicine, and instructions to go see the nearest doctor in the city as soon as possible. But the medicine made him feel better and the fever began to dim, so he never went.
The next thing he noticed was his fur falling out. It was slow at first, teal strands shedding on the crystal floors of his den, only a little more than usual. He blamed stress. He tried to get more sleep at night. Then chunks began to fall out, several at a time from his arms, tail, and most of all his beautiful teal mane.
It had been weeks since the fainting incident and well past time to see a doctor but a wise man once told him "Better late than never", so off he went.
This wasn't heart problems, they told him, quill scribbling on parchment behind them as they wrung white coated hands together. But we have absolutely no idea what it actually is. They wanted to run tests. Lots of tests. His blood pressure was through the roof, his internal body temperature flipped and flopped by the tens depending on where you took it and when. His fur was falling out and his scales were starting to crack and come off.
He agreed to the tests, weak heart beating faster as they poked and prodded, terrified both of them and what they might say. We'll have the results in a week, they said, come back then.
He made it three days.
The same green wildclaw came again. This time her jovial attitude was serious and solemn as they loaded him onto a flighted stretcher. He's not well, a nervous clan member told her as she asked if anyone saw what happened, he was waiting on results of his exams. They told him a week. He only needed a week.
They flew him to the nearest hospital and he was rushed into surgery. He woke a day later. No one was at his bed side.
An infection, she told him. This doctor was rough around the edges with none of the nervous energy of the first one. She spoke to him a no-nonsense sort of tone that at once set him at ease and made him want to throw up. There was some sort of obstruction around his heart and the infection was spreading throughout his blood. They wanted to try some kind of medicine to kill it off, but in the meantime he would need constant monitoring. His temperature was far too high and his fur was all but gone. They couldn't risk letting him go home and having another episode. The next one might kill him.
He agreed. What choice did he have?
He spent another six months in the hospital, spoon-fed medicine after medicine. They fed him solids and syrups, injections and ingestions. They gave him surgery twice to try and remove the obstruction. Both times complications arose. He was resuscitated twice.
It was some kind of fungus, they said. Like a mushroom, he asked, confused. They looked at each other, a little unsure. Uh, yea, sort of? But also no. They explained it to him in more words than he knew. He liked to think he had a mushroom growing on his heart. It made it seem less scary. Less like it was slowly killing him.
Finally they found something that would work. Less of a medicine and more of a remedy. They couldn't remove it, only stop it's effects for a time. A mixture of cold water and chemicals, injected directly into his blood to curb its acidic nature.
How long? he asked
Forever, they told him.
If I must, he said.
They commissioned an engineer to make him augments. More like a suit of armor. It could inject the mixture at regular intervals so long as he kept the levels full. It also had a full-body circulation system to keep his external temperature down and heat valves to release the steam and warmth that was made as a byproduct of all the process going on inside his veins.
His scales turned from their pretty aqua to a sickly green. His long, luscious mane was replaced with tubes of coiled copper, wrapped in black fiber to protect them as a poor substitute.
He would survive. Changed and weak and tired and warm. But alive. His heart still beat, his blood still ran, his brain still sent impulses to restless fingers. He would survive. He would make it through this.
RELATIONSHIPS
| Physician The first time he passed out thanks to his newly acquired illness, Holly was the first on scene. She was the first on scene the second time too. When he was finally released from hospital, he need some place to stay, some place safe where he could be cared for and nursed. Holly knew a clan in the Strand who would be willing take him in, a place she visited frequently to keep a close eye on him. They've since become decent friends, though Trist does tire of her exhaustively upbeat attitude. |
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Crush Trist's suit is a mechanical marvel. As such it needs constant maintenance, only some of which has even been developed. Thankfully, a friend of Holly's is an expert in mechanical marvels and offered his services. Mabuz and Trist see each other often for study and upkeep, and luckily have found each other fast friends. They share a love for new sciences and research. Perhaps even something more is brewing in their electrically-lit lairs.
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DESCRIPTION
He was a librarian before all this. It wasn't a large space, just a little building off the coast, where the Driftwood Drag bled into the sea. It had a few hundred books and mostly kept alive but a rotating cast or regular customers. He misses that little library across the sea sometimes. Most of Trist's body is covered in a black suit of mechanics and electronics. Vents along the side and back constantly puff out steam and heat. Although a technological wonder, it's not particularly comfortable. Still, it keeps him alive. Even his eyes, always a rich purple, shine in darkness with a light that glows deep from within. Trist suffers from a mysterious fungal infection that turns his blood into acid. It glows green from the inside and is slowly burning him from the inside out. His fur has completely fallen out and his scales are cracked and torn. Although once lovely and teal, his scales are now sickly green. The suit around his body pumps a mixture of water and cooling chemicals directly into his blood. It also features tightly coiled copper tubes that carry the same mix around his external body to bring the temperature down. His once beautiful mane has been replaced with a mixture of vents and coiled copper. It's a poor substitute but he supposes it's better than nothing. His lair is humid, the air thick and several degrees cooler than the surrounding area. He rarely leaves it, except to see medics or his dear friend Mabuz for maintenance and repairs. He does his best to keep it clean and lively, filled with little trinkets to keep him happy despite his exhaustion and weariness.. Since moving in to the Acacia Clan, he's gotten lots of gifts to fill it with, all of which he treasures dearly. |
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Trist was a librarian who got a mysterious fungal infection that baffled even Sornieth's best doctors. He got hundreds of different treatments tested on him but none of them worked except for a fullbody suit of valves and vents and needles that keeps him cool and injects him with a life-saving medicine at regular intervals. |
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