ChaosLight
07-28-06, 11:53 PM
Old Character Sheet, Level 0 (http://66.102.7.104/search?q=cache:Y5uUE4lPQ7YJ:www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php%3Fs%3D%26threadid%3D7996+Duomer+Fir eblood,+level+1&hl=en&gl=us&ct=clnk&cd=3)
Old Character Sheet, Level 1 (http://66.102.7.104/search?q=cache:Nub56jcEHnMJ:www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php%3Ft%3D9121+Duomer+Fireblood,+level+ 1&hl=en&gl=us&ct=clnk&cd=4)
Name: Duomer Fireblood
Race: Dragonlord (Extradimensional immigrant)
Age: 24
Apparent age: 36
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Hair: Jet Black
Eyes: Jet Black. It is impossible to tell where the irises end and the pupils begin.
Skin tone: Copperish.
Height: 7' 4"
Weight 374 lbs.
Languages: Common, Draconic
Physical Attributes: (If 10 is average....)
Strength: Super-olympian (20, roughly three times as strong as average)
Dexterity/agility: proto-olympain (17, response time of a black belt martial artist)
Constitution/Stamina: proto-olympian (17, Marv)
Intelligence: slightly above average (12, IQ 115)
Wisdom/Perception: average (11, average memory, perception, and willpower)
Charisma/Force of Personality: average (10 {14}, is capable of making friends, but is more intimidating than alluring)
Racial traits and lore
Dragonlords are bred as war machines, and are very strong, tall, and sturdy. No one one but the Dragonlords know whether they are born or created, but all the peoples of the Protected Lands know they are nothing to be trifled with. Everything in their bodies is built with redundancy in mind, from their large lungs and think bones to their two hearts and exoskeletoned spine.
Strong, Quick, Resistant to Weapons, Two hearts
Weak to Magic and Magical Weapons and clumsy when casting Spells
Large humanoid, Cannibalistic, no incest taboo, Immortality*
*in the sense that they do not age or die of natural causes.
Extra Strength - Gifted with the power of Dragons.
Extra Constitution - They are made for war, resistant to damage.
Lacking Intelligence - A Race bred for war doesn't need to be smart.
Lacking Wisdom - They have a nasty tendancy to eat what ever they run into . . .
Home: A small community of Dragonlords cut off from all worlds. It exists in a pocket dimension, and was torn, so the legend goes, from the flesh of the gryphon Shrosar by Shaltar Herself. One exit from the realm exists, in the center of the flat section of earth, surrounded by the great Temple of Shaltar. The only way to reach the lands is through a mist that diffuses light across the entire land. It must be flown through, and only a dragon could power through the turbulance and make a landing with the rider intact. The Protected Lands themselves are vast, spreading out from the center (occupied by the Devout) to the fringes which, for the most part, try to avoid the Devout. The Devout occupy a central mountain range. The Edge of the world has been documented, and below the rim (which is fringed by a large rocky ledge) is the same inexpressive mist that surrounds the Lands.
Profession: Warrior, Mercenary, Soldier.
Religion: The Devout of Shaltar. Shaltar is the great dragon-god who presides over the Protected Realm of Dragons.
The Temple
The temple, from the outside, is coiled like a serpent's coils, and the great gate rises one hundred feet in the air. The layout of the temple is spiraled, with cross-corridors for practical access to the interior, and is constructed to look organic, with a spine running along the spiral. The largest chamber houses the Gateway, a huge stone portal in the shape of a dragon's mouth, protected by a sheet of flame. This covers the only access to any other world, and only the priests of Shaltar know how to align the portal to land on a world, much less a world with dragons.
The Creation Story
In the beginning, there was fire. An endless fire that burned on nothing and consumed nothing, and yet it burned. For millennia, the fire burned, and as it burned, shapes come from the fire. The first was a mighty gryphon, who took flight and beat at the fire with his wings to form all things from the fire. The fire was blow this way and that, and the flames became worlds which circled the fire, and animals, and the gryphon was the greatest of them all. But yet the gryphon, whose name was Shrosar, was not satisfied, and beat at the fire again and again until it began to die. And the fire began to smoke, and the coil of the smoke became a dragon to defend the eternal fire. And the battle that raged between Shrosar, the Betrayor of the Flame, and Shaltar raged and carved gouts in the earth, and they tore the flesh from each other's bodies. In time, their bodies failed them, and they agreed to heal and fight again under the Eternal Flame. And they gathered their flesh together, but clever Shaltar hid a piece of Shrosar's flesh and gave it unto her followers, and hid them away, that Shrosar might never heal to threaten the flame again.
The Belief
As we can see from the Creation of Shaltar, the Devout are not interested in mercy or fair play. Shaltar teaches that the strong do not keep their strength by allowing concessions to their enemy, but by using whatever means are necessary.
The life of a Dragonlord is centered around power, more physical than mental, and battle. Almost any form of power expression is permitted in Dragonlord society as a whole, though individual Lords or Ladies are permitted (even encouraged) to set their own standards for their wards, provided they can enforce those rules. Typical expressions of power can include, but are not limited to, cannibalism, battles to the death, contests of strength and dexterity, border raids on the outlying lands, rape, et cetera.
This ethos continues into private life. Often, a Dragonlord is unable to have children naturally, and he creates a child by laying a skeleton of some material onto a slab and using his own blood to 'grow' a child. The skeleton can be made of anything, and which will form an elemental connection. Ice bones will form a water connection, bones of burnt coal or similar will form a connection with fire, bones of iron or gold forge a link with lightning, bones of other types of metal forge a connection with the earth itself, et c entera.
Other: Conversational in Draconic; bones are solid steel. As a result, Duomer can't jump as high as someone of his stature ought, and can't swim at all, but his bones do not break.
Armor
Light Dragonplate
A light breastplate, armguards, leg-guards, and helmet styled after a dragon's armor. Not very strong, but it looks intimidating. The plate is of a material that draws it's strength from that of it's wearer. The stronger the wearer, the stronger the armor.
Protection rating: 2, equivalent to steel.
Weaponry
Spear (http://larrygotkin.com/foknives/spear-2piece.jpg)
A long staff of a semiflexible wood with a drop-forged steel tip. The staff is notched and he has three replacement heads.
Damage: 2 Will cut right through, or puncture, armors of rating 2 or less without special effort, and can penetrate more if enough strength is applied. Will not stand up to twice it's rating.
Steel Sword (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v91/ChaosLight/Weapons/fantasy3.jpg) obtained in prior board.
Looted from an aristocrat who thought he was a fighter, the blade is fine steel and razor sharp. With scabbard.
Damage: 3Will cut right through, or puncture, armors of rating 3 or less without special effort, and can penetrate more if enough strength is applied. Will not stand up to twice it's rating.
Glancor's Plynt Dagger (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v91/ChaosLight/Weapons/fantasy52.jpg) obtained in prior board.
Looted from William Glancor, a scheming aristocrat, this dagger is brutal and vicious, intended for show but devastating in combat and wide and jagged enough to cause major injury if inserted and twisted. With scabbard.
Damage: 3 Will cut right through, or puncture, armors of rating 3 or less without special effort, and can penetrate more if enough strength is applied. Will not stand up to twice it's rating.
Skills
Tremor: Bending an area of earth to his will, he can shift the ground under a wide area (about [25'X25' but varies with concentration) causing people standing on top of the ground there to lose their balance. Due to the shaking earth, if someone lands wrong while the ground is shaking, their injuries can be significantly higher than if they had fallen on solid ground. Practice makes better, after all, and what with having practiced under rather extreme conditions, it's now a bit stronger.
Damage: 2, causes moderate to severe pain, permanent injury is unlikely.
Sonic Tremble: Much similar to Tremor, but extended in one direction rather than omnidirectional. It shakes the earth in a line outward to a point, where the vibrations of earth create a shock-wave that shoots off straight up, capable of shaking up airborne things.
Damage: 2, plus any damage from things falling from the air.
Moderate proficiency in common bladed weapons.
Items
Items: Three human bones: Two Tibias and a Femur.
Twenty-four years ago:
The cavern is dimly lit by a few braziers placed strategically about. Between them, on a stone slab worn in with the shape of a humanoid form, a bright white light shines down on a man who looks to be in his mid- to late- twenties. Around his chiseled and handsome, if not actually stunning features radiates a halo of dark brown hair. The light is so bright that it washes out most of his features, but the two figures hovering over his body can make out a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. he is shirtless, and his abdomen and pectorals look rock-hard and cut from alabaster. The only clothing he wears is a pair of cloth slacks that terminate mid-thigh. And the leather restraints that keep his hands and feet firmly strapped to the slab.
"Has he finished?" The smaller of the two figures steps closer to the circle of light that shines down from points unseen in the gloom. The voice is husky, yet feminine. Sibilant and raw with sexuality and hope.
"We shall see, Trelestra. We shall see." This voice is deep, menacing in nature, yet at this moment kindly and paternal.
"He's gorgeous, Lord. Such power! Such physique." Trelestra leans down over his form. Her face is still in shadow but the light illuminates a mane of platinum-blonde hair that tumbles down to the middle of her back. She runs her hands over his well-muscled torso, finding no lack of the firm physique promised by sight.
"And if he dies? If he fails even to stand?"
The female voice grows harsh. "Then I will kill him myself and eat his heart. If he cannot even get up, how could I recognize him as m-"
***
Slowly, consciousness comes to me, and with it, knowledge.
I am Duomer Fireblood, Dragonlord. The blood of dragons flows through my veins, all of dragonkind is my ally. I am a living god among mortals. I... Am... Powerful.
The voices pound into my head. Why are they so familiar? I know them, yet I do not know them. I try to push myself up only to discover that my arms are bound to the cold slab beneath me. They are enemy, then. They have bound me and captured me, to what end I do not know. A hand touches my torso, gentle and sensual. The woman compliments me. Why? Who is she to me? The man suggest I may be weak. He will be punished, when I gain my feet. I tense the muscles in my arm, feeling the tautness of the tendon against the strap that binds me. My elbow digs into the slab.
"...kill him myself and eat his heart. If he cannot even get up, how could I recognize him as m-" My hand breaks free, and in an instant it is around her throat, choking off the rest of whatever it was she was going to say. Slowly, I pull her face down close to mine, blocking out the blinding light with her head for a moment before pulling her lips to mine in a savage kiss. "For the compliment." I tell her. When I am finished, I adjust my grip and throw her backwards as hard as I can manage, then twist and rip my other arm free of the restraints. "For the threat. I do not like threats."
With both my hands free, it's easy to free my ankles, and at last I stand. From waking to standing has taken less than a minute. I blink hard, trying to remove the green afterimage of the light from my eyes.
"He is perfect, Lord." The woman's voice, from off to my left.
"I'm beginning to believe that myself." I whirl towards the male voice.
"You doubted me. You challenged my worth. Explain yourself or you will perish." It's not a question. Not a threat. Not even a warning. Just a statement of fact.
"Of course I did, Duomer. I could hardly accept anyone less than perfect as my son."
My indignation melts away. "...Son?"
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lyleral Fireblood. This is your sister, Trelestra." Finally, my eyes adjust to the darkness. Something in the man's eyes and face seem eerily familiar, and I realize that, without ever having seen my own face, I am seeing the resemblance between him and myself. I look to my left and see Trelestra. Gloriously beautiful. I will talk, and more, with her later, and I smile in anticipation. But some things come first. I turn to my father.
"I want to drink. I want to eat. And I want to fight." I know there is one more challenge standing between myself and nourishment, between myself and Trelestra. "What else must I do to prove myself... lord." The last word comes instinctively to my lips.
"Attack m-" Before he can finish even that command, I launch at him, subjecting him to a flurry of blows to the torso, all of which he blocks effortlessly, until I duck low and spin. My shins catch him just behind the knees, and he falls to the ground with a thud. In an instant, I am on my feet and standing over him, my fingers pressed under his throat, ready to apply the quick pressure necessary to kill him. To my surprise he laughs, a hearty, fulsome sound that fills me with pride and confusion. Confusion, until in an instant our positions are reversed, and it is I who stare into the eyes of death, and I realize what it is he found so funny.
I am simply a boy. Young. Strong, but inexperienced. I hesitated to kill, as he knew I must. As I never will again against a superior foe. But I have established my place as Duomer Fireblood, just as he established his as Lyleral Fireblood, my Lord and father. In another moment, he is off of my chest and hauling me to my feet. "My son."
***
The years passed. Duomer made many friends, most of whom perished in the tournaments they held among themselves. But as his friendships grew fewer, so did they grow stronger. Perhaps once a month he would enter one of the tournaments against the other young Dragonriders. Half the time he would emerge unscathed against some young Dragonlord-to-be anxious to prove himself against a more experienced foe. With what he learned from the youngest challengers, he put together a combination of punches and dodges that served him well against the next tier of fighters, and continued on his way upwards. At each new tier he returned home bloodied and bruised, with cracked ribs and long bloody gashes across his body, and each time Trelestra, who had long ago completed her own challenges and was usually studying Draconic or magic, would tend his wounds. When he had bested an opponent without too much trouble and only flesh wounds, Trelestra or his woman of the moment would reward him handsomely. He learned how to hold any straight weapon without harming himself, but more and more found himself attracted to polearms and greatswords. With his great strength, he found he could wield a heavy weapon with nearly as much dexterity as lesser men handled rapiers and sabers.
***
"Lord, what am I?" I ask my father one day. It's the day after a tournament, and my left arm is in a sling with healing herbs wrapped around it.
He is in the midst of demonstrating to Trelestra a move with her war fork that could pierce both a man's hearts at once before he even noticed, and only grunts in acknowledgment. A statement that he has heard me, and will respond when he is finished. With a flick of his powerful wrists, he sweeps the swept-forward tines of the fork under her feet, then hammers down fiercely on her prone body, stopping mere inches above her heaving chest, then grabs her by the shoulder and helps her up. "I'll be right back," he tells her. "What is it, Duomer?"
"What am I?"
"You'll have to be a little more specific if I'm going to answer you. You are a man. A Dragonlord. A fearsome warrior. A-"
"You know full well what I mean. You come to the tournaments, you must have seen. I have cut through limbs with my blade. I have swung the greatsword and cleaved through flesh, sinew, and bone. Have I lost a finger? A hand? An arm? A leg? Yesterday I felt that blade hit my bones and simply stop. So now tell me. What. Am. I?"
My father sighs. "Trelestra was my first child. She began destroying her way through the tournaments just as you are. Soon after, I decided to have a son, but none of them could even pass my first test.
"Attacking you."
"You had a different experience, but yes. None of them."
"So why am I different? What makes me strong and all the others so useless?"
"Because you were created, not born." I look at him, incredulous. "It happens all the time, apparently. Not around here, until recently, but you're not the only one." He moves closer to me, so that I can smell his sweat and the residual scent of Trelestra about him. "You're still blood of our blood, Duomer. Your bones are steel, the magic that brought you to life is of the earth, but your flesh is ours. That which keeps you alive is not magic, but the same thing that keeps anyone else going. My blood runs in your veins, just as it does in Trelestra's. You are strong. There is no shame. Only strength."
I place my hand on his shoulder, smile, push myself to me feet. "What shame? The only shame is in failure to live up to potential. Now I know I am not immortal. I know what it is that keeps me strong. I know what I am. I am Duomer Fireblood! How I became so is irrelevant."
***
After a few years of fighting every month, Duomer had bested every tier of fighters, killed over sixty men and women in single combat, and decided to spend some time in study. Instead of training every day, going over techniques, building strength, he dedicated himself, as his sister had, to study of dragons. Their species, varieties, language, and habits. Most of it went over his head, but he did manage to learn Draconic with only a slight accent. Most of the more complex lore went over his head, but he paid special attention to ways not to irritate a dragon. Despite his troubles learning the other lore, he managed this fairly well.
But what really caught his attention, what truly captured his interest was earth magicks. When his father left their home to go out once again with the dragon Tyranth, to make war and destroy what he would until the compulsion to settle down again came upon him, Duomer barely noticed. He still trained to keep his strength up, and participated in the tournaments, once every so often, but the vast majority of his time was dedicated to studying the applications of earth magicks, the magicks that brought him into the world. As he began to delve into magical theory, Trelestra left on a search to find and ally herself with a dragon. With no one but the occasional town wench to separate his day from his night, these final years passed quickly for Duomer. When the urge came over him to couple, he would journey to the nearest settlement, find a woman who struck his eye, and take her back to his lonely cavern. Whether she protested or not was no matter to him. He would keep her until she escaped or he was satisfied, at which point he would delve once again into the study of the earth.
Until finally, he became restless, packed away his spear and a few spare points, some food, and set out to challenge the world and tame a dragon.
***
The smell of incense, taken in exchange for the life of a village, is strong and sweet in my nose, and all the sweeter for the knowledge that it was I who held the spear to the chieftain's throat Sweeter for the fact that I demanded this incense to prevent myself and three other Dragonlords, who will go with me, from killing them all, one by one, while their children watched. And sweeter for the knowledge that three of us were enough to make them tremble. I know that this incense would hardly have been worth fighting for, but it is nevertheless a point of pride. I and my brothers-in-arms proceed down the long hallway of the Temple of Shaltar. We use no shortcuts, but somberly proceed down more than a mile of winding hallway. The trail of incense trails out behind us, a living Shaltar inside the massive stone replica. It hangs in the air as far back as we can see, the air is so still. It rises slightly behind us, the three streams of smoke intertwining, towards the spinal vaulting of the temple halls.
Most of our spiral is inward, though sometimes the curves of Shaltar take us up and over coils, or outside. We know this rationally, but all we feel is the floor slanting up or down, curving left or right. All we can see are three points of glowing incense and their glow cast along the wall. In darkness we walk through the belly of the god, until at last the walls glow red with reflected light. Ahead of us, around no more than a few more curves, our destinations await us. I begin to chant.
"In darkness we walk, and Shaltar is our beacon."
My brothers-in-arms join me. "And Her light shall guide us to the purifying fire. In darkness we fight, and Shaltar is our hero, and Her fire shall burn within us. In darkness we live, and Shaltar is our goal, and Her flame shall consume our flesh."
As the corridor opens out into the grand hall, I raise my voice so that I will be heard over the cheering of the other Dragonlords gathered below the great bridge. "And in defeat, it is our life that we lose, and in victory, it is our lives we regain." My turn. We shout our lines in turn. "I am Duomer Fireblood, and from this moment on, I am dead."
"I am Jakobar Drakewing, and from this moment on, I am dead."
"I am Torellin Stoneburner, and from this moment on, I am dead."
Together now. "We dead go now to conquer, to grow, to find our dragons as they wait for us. And when we return, we will live once again as leaders. We die as the champions of youth, and we shall return only as DRAGONLORDS!"
Oblivious to the cheering crowd, we walk forward towards the immense maw, the source of light for this vast chamber. Streaming from the bottom of the dragon's mouth to its giant fangs is a wall of fire. Had I not seen other Dragonlords return who had first passed through the fire, I might hesitate. But this is the fire of Shaltar, and it will not harm the Devout. I stand forward, toward the high priest in draconic armor. "I am prepared."
His tone is sonorous and severe. "You have passed through the darkness into Shaltar's belly and have not turned back. Do you, Duomer Fireblood, now dare to face the Fire of Shaltar, which consumes all but the Devout?"
"I do so dare."
"You are prepared to pass through the fire, knowing if your faith falters, you will be consumed?"
"The question is meaningless to me. I am Devout!"
Under the dragon's snout, the priest smiles. He mouths words at me. [your spear is behind the fire your spear is devout are you]
[I am do not mock me I or when I return I will kill you]
He stares into my eyes for a time. He looks no older than I, but his power has been proven time and time again. His eyes bore into me. It is only now I realize that it this must be part of the ritual, for I have seen priest and Dragonlord stare at each other for minutes on end. Finally, he waves a hand to the side, and an image appears before the fire.
"Here, there be dragons."
As I walk forward, I reply, ending my ritual. "Now, let there be a Dragonlord." The fire is all around me, and I allow it to pass through me, to purify me, to make me, inside and out. Behind the fire, I pick up my spear and look ahead. Ahead is a thin lip of stone, which I stand on, and below it, a stone tunnel that drops away into a slide. But I have passed through the fire, and no little drop will deter me. I walk forward and allow myself to fall away into the unknown.
Old Character Sheet, Level 1 (http://66.102.7.104/search?q=cache:Nub56jcEHnMJ:www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php%3Ft%3D9121+Duomer+Fireblood,+level+ 1&hl=en&gl=us&ct=clnk&cd=4)
Name: Duomer Fireblood
Race: Dragonlord (Extradimensional immigrant)
Age: 24
Apparent age: 36
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Hair: Jet Black
Eyes: Jet Black. It is impossible to tell where the irises end and the pupils begin.
Skin tone: Copperish.
Height: 7' 4"
Weight 374 lbs.
Languages: Common, Draconic
Physical Attributes: (If 10 is average....)
Strength: Super-olympian (20, roughly three times as strong as average)
Dexterity/agility: proto-olympain (17, response time of a black belt martial artist)
Constitution/Stamina: proto-olympian (17, Marv)
Intelligence: slightly above average (12, IQ 115)
Wisdom/Perception: average (11, average memory, perception, and willpower)
Charisma/Force of Personality: average (10 {14}, is capable of making friends, but is more intimidating than alluring)
Racial traits and lore
Dragonlords are bred as war machines, and are very strong, tall, and sturdy. No one one but the Dragonlords know whether they are born or created, but all the peoples of the Protected Lands know they are nothing to be trifled with. Everything in their bodies is built with redundancy in mind, from their large lungs and think bones to their two hearts and exoskeletoned spine.
Strong, Quick, Resistant to Weapons, Two hearts
Weak to Magic and Magical Weapons and clumsy when casting Spells
Large humanoid, Cannibalistic, no incest taboo, Immortality*
*in the sense that they do not age or die of natural causes.
Extra Strength - Gifted with the power of Dragons.
Extra Constitution - They are made for war, resistant to damage.
Lacking Intelligence - A Race bred for war doesn't need to be smart.
Lacking Wisdom - They have a nasty tendancy to eat what ever they run into . . .
Home: A small community of Dragonlords cut off from all worlds. It exists in a pocket dimension, and was torn, so the legend goes, from the flesh of the gryphon Shrosar by Shaltar Herself. One exit from the realm exists, in the center of the flat section of earth, surrounded by the great Temple of Shaltar. The only way to reach the lands is through a mist that diffuses light across the entire land. It must be flown through, and only a dragon could power through the turbulance and make a landing with the rider intact. The Protected Lands themselves are vast, spreading out from the center (occupied by the Devout) to the fringes which, for the most part, try to avoid the Devout. The Devout occupy a central mountain range. The Edge of the world has been documented, and below the rim (which is fringed by a large rocky ledge) is the same inexpressive mist that surrounds the Lands.
Profession: Warrior, Mercenary, Soldier.
Religion: The Devout of Shaltar. Shaltar is the great dragon-god who presides over the Protected Realm of Dragons.
The Temple
The temple, from the outside, is coiled like a serpent's coils, and the great gate rises one hundred feet in the air. The layout of the temple is spiraled, with cross-corridors for practical access to the interior, and is constructed to look organic, with a spine running along the spiral. The largest chamber houses the Gateway, a huge stone portal in the shape of a dragon's mouth, protected by a sheet of flame. This covers the only access to any other world, and only the priests of Shaltar know how to align the portal to land on a world, much less a world with dragons.
The Creation Story
In the beginning, there was fire. An endless fire that burned on nothing and consumed nothing, and yet it burned. For millennia, the fire burned, and as it burned, shapes come from the fire. The first was a mighty gryphon, who took flight and beat at the fire with his wings to form all things from the fire. The fire was blow this way and that, and the flames became worlds which circled the fire, and animals, and the gryphon was the greatest of them all. But yet the gryphon, whose name was Shrosar, was not satisfied, and beat at the fire again and again until it began to die. And the fire began to smoke, and the coil of the smoke became a dragon to defend the eternal fire. And the battle that raged between Shrosar, the Betrayor of the Flame, and Shaltar raged and carved gouts in the earth, and they tore the flesh from each other's bodies. In time, their bodies failed them, and they agreed to heal and fight again under the Eternal Flame. And they gathered their flesh together, but clever Shaltar hid a piece of Shrosar's flesh and gave it unto her followers, and hid them away, that Shrosar might never heal to threaten the flame again.
The Belief
As we can see from the Creation of Shaltar, the Devout are not interested in mercy or fair play. Shaltar teaches that the strong do not keep their strength by allowing concessions to their enemy, but by using whatever means are necessary.
The life of a Dragonlord is centered around power, more physical than mental, and battle. Almost any form of power expression is permitted in Dragonlord society as a whole, though individual Lords or Ladies are permitted (even encouraged) to set their own standards for their wards, provided they can enforce those rules. Typical expressions of power can include, but are not limited to, cannibalism, battles to the death, contests of strength and dexterity, border raids on the outlying lands, rape, et cetera.
This ethos continues into private life. Often, a Dragonlord is unable to have children naturally, and he creates a child by laying a skeleton of some material onto a slab and using his own blood to 'grow' a child. The skeleton can be made of anything, and which will form an elemental connection. Ice bones will form a water connection, bones of burnt coal or similar will form a connection with fire, bones of iron or gold forge a link with lightning, bones of other types of metal forge a connection with the earth itself, et c entera.
Other: Conversational in Draconic; bones are solid steel. As a result, Duomer can't jump as high as someone of his stature ought, and can't swim at all, but his bones do not break.
Armor
Light Dragonplate
A light breastplate, armguards, leg-guards, and helmet styled after a dragon's armor. Not very strong, but it looks intimidating. The plate is of a material that draws it's strength from that of it's wearer. The stronger the wearer, the stronger the armor.
Protection rating: 2, equivalent to steel.
Weaponry
Spear (http://larrygotkin.com/foknives/spear-2piece.jpg)
A long staff of a semiflexible wood with a drop-forged steel tip. The staff is notched and he has three replacement heads.
Damage: 2 Will cut right through, or puncture, armors of rating 2 or less without special effort, and can penetrate more if enough strength is applied. Will not stand up to twice it's rating.
Steel Sword (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v91/ChaosLight/Weapons/fantasy3.jpg) obtained in prior board.
Looted from an aristocrat who thought he was a fighter, the blade is fine steel and razor sharp. With scabbard.
Damage: 3Will cut right through, or puncture, armors of rating 3 or less without special effort, and can penetrate more if enough strength is applied. Will not stand up to twice it's rating.
Glancor's Plynt Dagger (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v91/ChaosLight/Weapons/fantasy52.jpg) obtained in prior board.
Looted from William Glancor, a scheming aristocrat, this dagger is brutal and vicious, intended for show but devastating in combat and wide and jagged enough to cause major injury if inserted and twisted. With scabbard.
Damage: 3 Will cut right through, or puncture, armors of rating 3 or less without special effort, and can penetrate more if enough strength is applied. Will not stand up to twice it's rating.
Skills
Tremor: Bending an area of earth to his will, he can shift the ground under a wide area (about [25'X25' but varies with concentration) causing people standing on top of the ground there to lose their balance. Due to the shaking earth, if someone lands wrong while the ground is shaking, their injuries can be significantly higher than if they had fallen on solid ground. Practice makes better, after all, and what with having practiced under rather extreme conditions, it's now a bit stronger.
Damage: 2, causes moderate to severe pain, permanent injury is unlikely.
Sonic Tremble: Much similar to Tremor, but extended in one direction rather than omnidirectional. It shakes the earth in a line outward to a point, where the vibrations of earth create a shock-wave that shoots off straight up, capable of shaking up airborne things.
Damage: 2, plus any damage from things falling from the air.
Moderate proficiency in common bladed weapons.
Items
Items: Three human bones: Two Tibias and a Femur.
Twenty-four years ago:
The cavern is dimly lit by a few braziers placed strategically about. Between them, on a stone slab worn in with the shape of a humanoid form, a bright white light shines down on a man who looks to be in his mid- to late- twenties. Around his chiseled and handsome, if not actually stunning features radiates a halo of dark brown hair. The light is so bright that it washes out most of his features, but the two figures hovering over his body can make out a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. he is shirtless, and his abdomen and pectorals look rock-hard and cut from alabaster. The only clothing he wears is a pair of cloth slacks that terminate mid-thigh. And the leather restraints that keep his hands and feet firmly strapped to the slab.
"Has he finished?" The smaller of the two figures steps closer to the circle of light that shines down from points unseen in the gloom. The voice is husky, yet feminine. Sibilant and raw with sexuality and hope.
"We shall see, Trelestra. We shall see." This voice is deep, menacing in nature, yet at this moment kindly and paternal.
"He's gorgeous, Lord. Such power! Such physique." Trelestra leans down over his form. Her face is still in shadow but the light illuminates a mane of platinum-blonde hair that tumbles down to the middle of her back. She runs her hands over his well-muscled torso, finding no lack of the firm physique promised by sight.
"And if he dies? If he fails even to stand?"
The female voice grows harsh. "Then I will kill him myself and eat his heart. If he cannot even get up, how could I recognize him as m-"
***
Slowly, consciousness comes to me, and with it, knowledge.
I am Duomer Fireblood, Dragonlord. The blood of dragons flows through my veins, all of dragonkind is my ally. I am a living god among mortals. I... Am... Powerful.
The voices pound into my head. Why are they so familiar? I know them, yet I do not know them. I try to push myself up only to discover that my arms are bound to the cold slab beneath me. They are enemy, then. They have bound me and captured me, to what end I do not know. A hand touches my torso, gentle and sensual. The woman compliments me. Why? Who is she to me? The man suggest I may be weak. He will be punished, when I gain my feet. I tense the muscles in my arm, feeling the tautness of the tendon against the strap that binds me. My elbow digs into the slab.
"...kill him myself and eat his heart. If he cannot even get up, how could I recognize him as m-" My hand breaks free, and in an instant it is around her throat, choking off the rest of whatever it was she was going to say. Slowly, I pull her face down close to mine, blocking out the blinding light with her head for a moment before pulling her lips to mine in a savage kiss. "For the compliment." I tell her. When I am finished, I adjust my grip and throw her backwards as hard as I can manage, then twist and rip my other arm free of the restraints. "For the threat. I do not like threats."
With both my hands free, it's easy to free my ankles, and at last I stand. From waking to standing has taken less than a minute. I blink hard, trying to remove the green afterimage of the light from my eyes.
"He is perfect, Lord." The woman's voice, from off to my left.
"I'm beginning to believe that myself." I whirl towards the male voice.
"You doubted me. You challenged my worth. Explain yourself or you will perish." It's not a question. Not a threat. Not even a warning. Just a statement of fact.
"Of course I did, Duomer. I could hardly accept anyone less than perfect as my son."
My indignation melts away. "...Son?"
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lyleral Fireblood. This is your sister, Trelestra." Finally, my eyes adjust to the darkness. Something in the man's eyes and face seem eerily familiar, and I realize that, without ever having seen my own face, I am seeing the resemblance between him and myself. I look to my left and see Trelestra. Gloriously beautiful. I will talk, and more, with her later, and I smile in anticipation. But some things come first. I turn to my father.
"I want to drink. I want to eat. And I want to fight." I know there is one more challenge standing between myself and nourishment, between myself and Trelestra. "What else must I do to prove myself... lord." The last word comes instinctively to my lips.
"Attack m-" Before he can finish even that command, I launch at him, subjecting him to a flurry of blows to the torso, all of which he blocks effortlessly, until I duck low and spin. My shins catch him just behind the knees, and he falls to the ground with a thud. In an instant, I am on my feet and standing over him, my fingers pressed under his throat, ready to apply the quick pressure necessary to kill him. To my surprise he laughs, a hearty, fulsome sound that fills me with pride and confusion. Confusion, until in an instant our positions are reversed, and it is I who stare into the eyes of death, and I realize what it is he found so funny.
I am simply a boy. Young. Strong, but inexperienced. I hesitated to kill, as he knew I must. As I never will again against a superior foe. But I have established my place as Duomer Fireblood, just as he established his as Lyleral Fireblood, my Lord and father. In another moment, he is off of my chest and hauling me to my feet. "My son."
***
The years passed. Duomer made many friends, most of whom perished in the tournaments they held among themselves. But as his friendships grew fewer, so did they grow stronger. Perhaps once a month he would enter one of the tournaments against the other young Dragonriders. Half the time he would emerge unscathed against some young Dragonlord-to-be anxious to prove himself against a more experienced foe. With what he learned from the youngest challengers, he put together a combination of punches and dodges that served him well against the next tier of fighters, and continued on his way upwards. At each new tier he returned home bloodied and bruised, with cracked ribs and long bloody gashes across his body, and each time Trelestra, who had long ago completed her own challenges and was usually studying Draconic or magic, would tend his wounds. When he had bested an opponent without too much trouble and only flesh wounds, Trelestra or his woman of the moment would reward him handsomely. He learned how to hold any straight weapon without harming himself, but more and more found himself attracted to polearms and greatswords. With his great strength, he found he could wield a heavy weapon with nearly as much dexterity as lesser men handled rapiers and sabers.
***
"Lord, what am I?" I ask my father one day. It's the day after a tournament, and my left arm is in a sling with healing herbs wrapped around it.
He is in the midst of demonstrating to Trelestra a move with her war fork that could pierce both a man's hearts at once before he even noticed, and only grunts in acknowledgment. A statement that he has heard me, and will respond when he is finished. With a flick of his powerful wrists, he sweeps the swept-forward tines of the fork under her feet, then hammers down fiercely on her prone body, stopping mere inches above her heaving chest, then grabs her by the shoulder and helps her up. "I'll be right back," he tells her. "What is it, Duomer?"
"What am I?"
"You'll have to be a little more specific if I'm going to answer you. You are a man. A Dragonlord. A fearsome warrior. A-"
"You know full well what I mean. You come to the tournaments, you must have seen. I have cut through limbs with my blade. I have swung the greatsword and cleaved through flesh, sinew, and bone. Have I lost a finger? A hand? An arm? A leg? Yesterday I felt that blade hit my bones and simply stop. So now tell me. What. Am. I?"
My father sighs. "Trelestra was my first child. She began destroying her way through the tournaments just as you are. Soon after, I decided to have a son, but none of them could even pass my first test.
"Attacking you."
"You had a different experience, but yes. None of them."
"So why am I different? What makes me strong and all the others so useless?"
"Because you were created, not born." I look at him, incredulous. "It happens all the time, apparently. Not around here, until recently, but you're not the only one." He moves closer to me, so that I can smell his sweat and the residual scent of Trelestra about him. "You're still blood of our blood, Duomer. Your bones are steel, the magic that brought you to life is of the earth, but your flesh is ours. That which keeps you alive is not magic, but the same thing that keeps anyone else going. My blood runs in your veins, just as it does in Trelestra's. You are strong. There is no shame. Only strength."
I place my hand on his shoulder, smile, push myself to me feet. "What shame? The only shame is in failure to live up to potential. Now I know I am not immortal. I know what it is that keeps me strong. I know what I am. I am Duomer Fireblood! How I became so is irrelevant."
***
After a few years of fighting every month, Duomer had bested every tier of fighters, killed over sixty men and women in single combat, and decided to spend some time in study. Instead of training every day, going over techniques, building strength, he dedicated himself, as his sister had, to study of dragons. Their species, varieties, language, and habits. Most of it went over his head, but he did manage to learn Draconic with only a slight accent. Most of the more complex lore went over his head, but he paid special attention to ways not to irritate a dragon. Despite his troubles learning the other lore, he managed this fairly well.
But what really caught his attention, what truly captured his interest was earth magicks. When his father left their home to go out once again with the dragon Tyranth, to make war and destroy what he would until the compulsion to settle down again came upon him, Duomer barely noticed. He still trained to keep his strength up, and participated in the tournaments, once every so often, but the vast majority of his time was dedicated to studying the applications of earth magicks, the magicks that brought him into the world. As he began to delve into magical theory, Trelestra left on a search to find and ally herself with a dragon. With no one but the occasional town wench to separate his day from his night, these final years passed quickly for Duomer. When the urge came over him to couple, he would journey to the nearest settlement, find a woman who struck his eye, and take her back to his lonely cavern. Whether she protested or not was no matter to him. He would keep her until she escaped or he was satisfied, at which point he would delve once again into the study of the earth.
Until finally, he became restless, packed away his spear and a few spare points, some food, and set out to challenge the world and tame a dragon.
***
The smell of incense, taken in exchange for the life of a village, is strong and sweet in my nose, and all the sweeter for the knowledge that it was I who held the spear to the chieftain's throat Sweeter for the fact that I demanded this incense to prevent myself and three other Dragonlords, who will go with me, from killing them all, one by one, while their children watched. And sweeter for the knowledge that three of us were enough to make them tremble. I know that this incense would hardly have been worth fighting for, but it is nevertheless a point of pride. I and my brothers-in-arms proceed down the long hallway of the Temple of Shaltar. We use no shortcuts, but somberly proceed down more than a mile of winding hallway. The trail of incense trails out behind us, a living Shaltar inside the massive stone replica. It hangs in the air as far back as we can see, the air is so still. It rises slightly behind us, the three streams of smoke intertwining, towards the spinal vaulting of the temple halls.
Most of our spiral is inward, though sometimes the curves of Shaltar take us up and over coils, or outside. We know this rationally, but all we feel is the floor slanting up or down, curving left or right. All we can see are three points of glowing incense and their glow cast along the wall. In darkness we walk through the belly of the god, until at last the walls glow red with reflected light. Ahead of us, around no more than a few more curves, our destinations await us. I begin to chant.
"In darkness we walk, and Shaltar is our beacon."
My brothers-in-arms join me. "And Her light shall guide us to the purifying fire. In darkness we fight, and Shaltar is our hero, and Her fire shall burn within us. In darkness we live, and Shaltar is our goal, and Her flame shall consume our flesh."
As the corridor opens out into the grand hall, I raise my voice so that I will be heard over the cheering of the other Dragonlords gathered below the great bridge. "And in defeat, it is our life that we lose, and in victory, it is our lives we regain." My turn. We shout our lines in turn. "I am Duomer Fireblood, and from this moment on, I am dead."
"I am Jakobar Drakewing, and from this moment on, I am dead."
"I am Torellin Stoneburner, and from this moment on, I am dead."
Together now. "We dead go now to conquer, to grow, to find our dragons as they wait for us. And when we return, we will live once again as leaders. We die as the champions of youth, and we shall return only as DRAGONLORDS!"
Oblivious to the cheering crowd, we walk forward towards the immense maw, the source of light for this vast chamber. Streaming from the bottom of the dragon's mouth to its giant fangs is a wall of fire. Had I not seen other Dragonlords return who had first passed through the fire, I might hesitate. But this is the fire of Shaltar, and it will not harm the Devout. I stand forward, toward the high priest in draconic armor. "I am prepared."
His tone is sonorous and severe. "You have passed through the darkness into Shaltar's belly and have not turned back. Do you, Duomer Fireblood, now dare to face the Fire of Shaltar, which consumes all but the Devout?"
"I do so dare."
"You are prepared to pass through the fire, knowing if your faith falters, you will be consumed?"
"The question is meaningless to me. I am Devout!"
Under the dragon's snout, the priest smiles. He mouths words at me. [your spear is behind the fire your spear is devout are you]
[I am do not mock me I or when I return I will kill you]
He stares into my eyes for a time. He looks no older than I, but his power has been proven time and time again. His eyes bore into me. It is only now I realize that it this must be part of the ritual, for I have seen priest and Dragonlord stare at each other for minutes on end. Finally, he waves a hand to the side, and an image appears before the fire.
"Here, there be dragons."
As I walk forward, I reply, ending my ritual. "Now, let there be a Dragonlord." The fire is all around me, and I allow it to pass through me, to purify me, to make me, inside and out. Behind the fire, I pick up my spear and look ahead. Ahead is a thin lip of stone, which I stand on, and below it, a stone tunnel that drops away into a slide. But I have passed through the fire, and no little drop will deter me. I walk forward and allow myself to fall away into the unknown.