Roleplay

[center][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/552132/55213121p.png[/img] [size=5][size=5][size=5][i]Tyrus[/i][/size][/size][/size] [b]Location:[/b] Healer's tent [b]Role:[/b] Rescue [b]Open to RP[/b] [b][/center] He approached the tent, it looked rather weathered, small holes riddled the sides of the green tarp used to cover the inside. The painted red crosses on the side made the tent look rather uninviting, being a blood red, but he moved forward anyways. The loud shuffling coming from the inside deterred him a bit, he wouldn't want to interrupt anyone working there, but it would look a bit odd to be this close to the tent only to turn around, he would probably draw less attention to himself. He went to peek inside when a dragon, he assumed was a nurse, rushed out, almost knocking into him. He flared out his wings, almost loosing balance to keep away from her. His tail swung to keep him balanced as well, the feathers fanning out. His crest flared as well in surprise, and he let out a shocked shout, which was muffled through his mask, before the dragon quickly apologized. He regained balance, pressing his curved claws into the soil, a bit frustrated with his response. downy feathers glided away in the wind, making him realize he hadn't pruned himself in a while. He shook himself out, bowing apologetically to the dragon, watching them leave before standing there a bit longer. He waited in case anyone else came out before finally peeking his head in. He glanced around at the dragons inside. The tent looked a bit bigger on the inside rather than outside and he noticed another dragon heading for the opening he stood in so he moved to the side, standing by the entrance of the tent. He took note of the dragons in there, most of the dragon occupying the space were working healers, but there were some other dragons who seemed to be visiting. A pair he took note of was a rather mysterious looking guardian with a bubbly young banescale. The dragon seemed to keep a close eye on the dragonet, making him assume that they were attached in some way. He didn't want to stare so he turned his gaze away from them and sat rather calmly in a further corner that was rather empty, waiting for anyone to call him over. He hadn't met the lead healer, so he didn't have any idea what they looked like, so he couldn't engage them. His inky black feathers fluffed up a bit once more as he lowered his head and listened to the dragons around him, closing his eyes.

[quote=Brambles][center] Location: medical tent Role: Doctor, Potion Brewery ~~~ There was a bogsneak talking with the pair Tyrus had spotted. He was in a lab coat with gloves, making it clear he worked in this tent. He was the only worker here with goggles that he could see. It could mean he was indeed the head honcho at the medical tent. He looked like it for sure. Maybe him? [img]https://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/scry?sdid=968202&skin=0&apparel=10963,16236,1547,12190,21854&xt=dressing.png[/img][/center][/quote] [quote=Acacia][center] Location: Role: Leader, Hunter ~~~ The female ridgeback landed on the border wall and looked out across the plateau's borders, looking for any danger or any dragons running towards them for help or supplies. She didn't spot any, although she kept hoping. She needed more dragons here to defend the place for when there was another attack. Maybe some people who knew their way around farming. Maybe scouting from the air, or more rescue searchers, maybe a blacksmith who could craft them some armor at least... Those would all be handy right now, but they were all wishful thinking at this point... Maybe she could get some of those.. She flew back over the camp to her tent. [img]https://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/scry?sdid=968199&skin=0&apparel=23288,690,12268,33816,1704,1553,452,951,949,18800,319,21849,21848&xt=dressing.png[/img][/center][/quote]

[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2907004/12#post_44671088][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/200914/6dcdf2dc4c61bd2ea65b868a17b76fdc.png[/img][/url] [b]Location:[/b] Border between Ashfall Wastes & Sea of a Thousand currents [emoji=bare tree size=1] [emoji=left wing size=1] [b]Current Role:[/b] Loner [emoji=right wing size=1] [b]Interactions:[/b] Open [rule] Should a dragon be flying above the cliffs of the Ashfall Wastes that meet with the Sea of a Thousand currents, one might find a peculiar sight. Code Red kept as close to the cliff as he could despite what little path there was. The mechanical mirror was hobbling along with his right wing and front limb dragging along the rocky path, uselessly. The friction between metal and rock made quite the racket, and yet he seemed almost used to the sound by now. Red found his condition rather embarrassing, honestly. Alone and damaged, all because he took a team to take a look at the Carrion Canyons. His arm had been damaged thanks to those mindless-walking-rotting-dragons, and his wing... Well, karma saw it fit that he'd fallen on top of it with the weight of another dragon (zombie) crushing down on him. Although things could have been worse. Since the incident, the automaton saw it fit to travel away from the guild, just in case any zombies had decided to follow. Now, he wasn't so sure if that was a great idea. Alone, damaged, unable to fly, heading farther and farther away from the guild... Yep, that sounded like a plan worthy of Ambrosia's disapproval. "I thought Daedalus said being a part of the Vanguard was supposed to get easier," Code Red huffed in amusement to himself. "Not harder." Speaking of which, Red wasn't particularly enjoying traveling alone.. by himself.. The more thought about the more he realized. [i]This is probably the reason why the others don't like me leaving the tower so often... Huh.[/i] [rule]

Silver blinked, looking over to the stone wall. A lump grew in his throat as he saw a few that staggered around in the distance He shoves his wings down and slowly made his way over to the entrance of the camp. He felt as if he needed to hush his footsteps as he moved closer and closer. “Uh- hello?” The Imperial said with a light smile toward the guards of the camp. “I come from the plaguelands down below. Can you tell me what this place is?” He asked gently, mainly scared because he felt like they might search him extensively because of where he came from.

Location: In front of the Curala Wall
@/Silver

The guard looked down at the dragon below. The wildclaw cocked his head, scanning him for anything that suggested he was infected or carrying anything suspicious before answering. It was made very clear that he was suspicious about his origins, but seeing as there was no weaponry that he could see he relaxed a bit, but not too much. He forced a neutrall demeanor into place despite the hostility towards the plague flight. His head twitched back into place like a bird's as he answered.
"This is a survivors' camp. We take in rescues and other victims of the apocalypse. Are you in need of assistance?" he replied. He kept glancing around with his eyes, looking for any zombies that may have followed this giant, silver dragon, his eyes always returning to Silver.

Silver gave a curt nod, trying to be more confident now that he knew the Wildclaw was semi-friendly with him. He still felt that nervousness lurking around in his chest because of the way that the dragon looked at him when he said “plaguelands”.

“Indeed I am sir. You see, I had to leave my home down below because of the hoards surrounding it getting bigger. I would usually take up the chance to study on them, but flying for an hour or more can do a number on your wings.” He said with a friendly gaze, his shimmering wings twitched lightly as he spoke. “I’m not going to be here long though. I’m going back to the Tidal Keep to see if my family remains.” He out in quickly.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fwbzQcq.png[/img] [i][b]Malsain - a few miles off Curala Camp [/i][/b]. [u]_______[/u] .[/center] A long, slinking figure shambles among a small group of zombies. They all seemed to be recent infected, perhaps a camp's hunting or scout group gone wrong? It seemed to be mostly made up of mirrors, though the scales are too faded and patchy to really know their live colors. This wouldn't matter though, as Malsain planned to part with them the moment he was sure he wouldn't be followed. The two of them that still had some semblance of self left took it upon themselves to follow after him, for some reason or another. Perhaps the virus inside of them reacted strangely to how he wasn't affected... well, that would be a problem for when he'd be attacked. For now, he followed after their leader, a mountainous ridgeback that seemed too far gone to be alive, much less sentient. It shambles northward, twitching and dragging its lame wings and oddly cricked neck. This was the leader of the troupe, he would suppose, but right now, no matter its previous job, it's a hunter... Despite being relatively uninjured, the small imperial let his wings and tail drag limply on the ground, the white and purple-stained scales collecting dirt and mud teeming with sick. He feels bad about staining his lace, but any sort of self care would draw attention. The habits of the living are not undertaken by the dead, after all. Malsain's breaths are heavy, the thick perfume of earth and herbs making his mouth and eyes sting. But he couldn't take it off. Everything is in the eyes. How they cloud and become unresponsive, how the cheeks sink in. His face still shows health, and to take that mask off is to become a meal. North onward.

Location: The Curala Wall
@/Silver

The wild claw tapped his claws along the wall, then nodded.
“Alright... fly over,” he said to Silver, motioning with his head to fly over the wall. He got up and flew up, ready to escort him in.

Other guards were keeping an eye on the perimeter. Those with greater eyesight were keeping eyes on any bigger zombies lumbering about.

[center][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/552132/55213121p.png[/img] [size=5][size=5][size=5][i]Tyrus[/i][/size][/size][/size] [b]Location:[/b] Healer's tent [b]Role:[/b] Rescue [b]Open to RP[/b] [b][/center] Tyrus glanced around at the dragons he could see, most were obviously busy, working with herbs, dragon-made medicine, or even little tubes of liquids he assumed weren't dangerous due to the fact that they were out in the public area. He was curious on how far they've gotten on a cure for the virus. Have they even found a place to start to try and look for the virus? Out of habit, he began to pray to the gods that used to watch over them, but caught himself mid thought, they no longer existed, all but the plaguebringer was left. She was the one that destroyed the world, and she was the one to perish because of it. She took away his clan, his friends, his leader, his family. He loved them all, and she took them away with one swipe of her tainted claws. Every one of her creations will die. They all with be viciously torn to shreds. He had to stop himself, the dragons who were tainted by the plaguebringer had it done unwillingly, just like most of his clan. They were no good as his clan, they were dragons underneath it all, they just had to find a cure. The idea calmed him to the point where he could focus on the dragons in the tent, looking toward a bogsneak speaking to the guardian he noticed earlier. He looked as if he were confident in his words, being the only dragon with googles as well as an assortment of vials and bottles in bags around his waist. Surely he was the head of the tent? He assumed, so he decided to wait for them to finish speaking with the guardian before coming to ask, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. He instead took to preening his feathers, some of the downy falling freely and gliding away from him in the breeze that made it into the tent. His feathers seemed to expand as he fluffed them up, making him look fluffy and soft, rather than sleek and predatory. He curled his head under his feathered wings to reach his feathers, cleaning them and picking overdue feathers from his pelt. Preening seemed to calm him, the feeling of the itchy feathers being removed felt relaxing as he sat, causing him to fluff up a bit more. ----- [center][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/635388/63538767p.png[/img] [font=papyrus][size=5][size=5][size=5]SALEM[/size][/size][/size][/font] [b]Location:[/b]Windswept plateau [i][b]Infected[/b][/i] [b]@BONUSDUCKS/Open to RP[/b][/center] He marched forward, his body seemed to be growing cold and tired, only pushing him further even more. He hated this feeling. Weakness. Tired. Hunger. Pain. It was all so horrible. Why was he even marching again? He had forgotten. The hunger scraping at his insides made him forget. Whatever was inside him eating him from the inside out was making him forgot. He didn't even realize where he was. He could hardly see through his hazy eyes. Somewhere green, green with hardly any trees. Nothing to see. Nothing he wanted to see. The ground was sticky, the area here was soon going to look as if it were the scarred wasteland. It wouldn't affect him soon, he was apart of the land at this point. Then, a smell. Meat? It didn't seem like appealing meat, but not repulsive meat. It was different. Would it cure his hunger? Would he be able to take down anything healthy at this point? But he was heading toward the smell already, his body no longer his. He accepted it, too weak to fight back. His bones were showing through his skin at this point, his ribs apparent and his fur growing duller. His eyes still hazy, his mouth oozing with a substance of infection. He was a monster, just like he was before, but much worse. He was no longer dragon. He was walking pain. The smell of the odd meat grew closer and he found himself in a small group of dragons. there were a few mirrors and ridgeback that smelled utterly repulsive, and an imperial who walked with them who smelled of odd meat. He was not like the repulsives it seemed, but still didn't seem appealing to eat. He instead, continued to follow them, desperate for food. It acted like a repulsive anyways, so it must be infected, it didn't matter. His head was held low and he continued, seeming to drag himself forward, begging silently for help. He wanted food, any food. Maybe they would find food, a lot of food. Maybe they would find a dragon. That would be nice, especially an imperial. He would enjoy eating a dragon as big as an imperial, it might fill his void stomach. So he continued, curious of the imperial still, watching them closely, as they continued with the group. It was uncommon to find him in a group, but now he was too weak to fight himself, so he went with the current, and follow the dragons in silence. His kept his ears open and was constantly alert of any scents of meat he could pick up.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fwbzQcq.png[/img] [i][b]Malsain - a few miles off Curala Camp interacting with ChickenDinner [/i][/b]. [u]_______[/u] .[/center] A sense of anxiety spiked as a new, metallic dragon lumbered towards the group. It seems smaller than himself, but the patchy fur of the thing made it look bigger and stronger than it really is. Malsain felt his wings twitch defensively, but succeeded in forcing them to stay limp. He could tell that this dragon... creature... smelled something here. The scent of zombies is usual here, so it had to be Malsain himself... it seems he hasn't masked his scent entirety. He hated making himself dirty, but it seems that the caked on disease that stiffened his mane and brittled his scales made him smell less like food... which is good enough. For now. His eyes narrow behind the mask, hoping that his seconds-delayed reactions to stimuli would be good enough to fool this strange fluffy zombie. It would be a few days walk to get to where the leader was going. His stomach growls sharply, demanding any kind of sustenance. Repulsed by flesh, but craving meat. Not dragon meat, never dragon meat. This is the thing he clings to despite traveling so close to these monsters... the fact that no matter how hungry and sick he is, he never craves dragons the way [b]They[/b] do. Wind territory is frightening. He cannot fly, else he will become a target to monster and dragon. He cannot run, 'less he be chased. He cannot eat here, the pathogens here dangerous to what is left of his immune system. The leader is covered in plague plants that it tore through in its last hunt for meat. Perhaps it would appreciate being freed of the tangles and vines? He could eat those, despite being so low in nutrient. Plague foods are his only safe form of food...