Luck does not come to those who wait around or hide and fret. It comes to those who plan and those who act and those who are willing to make their own luck instead of sitting around and wishing for the universe to send some arbitrary mystical force to come and save them from inanity, obscurity, or peril. Dorna Trapspringer taught Shrayla that a long time ago in a snowy little school in Hilltop. The priestess-thief of the dwarven wealth god Vergedaine insisted luck was earned, not given, and made sure Shrayla learned that lesson deep in the time they studied together.
Incidentally this little black mottle has the same mental presence as Shrayla's old classmate, the same do-or-die sense of earning one's keep even if one's keep is earned sneakily. She isn't so much greedy as she desires to just have a little left for herself at the end of the day -- okay, still greed, but modest greed, Vergedain's eye for profit rather than a wild black dragon's extortions for blood money, and flit-Dorna's stash of stolen sparklies is a fair bit smaller than the average black mottle firelizard's. Apparently the gene for moderation does in fact exist, it's just recessive and therefore rare. This familiarity prompted Shrayla to name the flit after her old classmate, though, so that she'll always have a Dorna Trapspringer by her side, even if this one talks in pictures and lacks the sharp tongue.
Dorna is a stocky little creature, built very much like a dwarf. Short, stout. Her muzzle is blunt, framed by the forward-curling horns of a wild black dragon. Her body is mostly the scaleless velvet skin of a Pernese firelizard, barring some scale "boots" on her hind legs and "gauntlets" on her forelegs. Apart from a few green and brown splotches, her body is all in shades of black, though the specific shades vary from charcoal to shadow to dyed tileblack.
Brains! Brains! Brains and Pain! Fiend Speech Text: Italic #585858 Final Form: Golden Eagle Cruel. Out for no one but himself, he will use you, abuse you, and then toss you aside. Nice isn't in his vocabulary. Kindness? In this place? Don't make him laugh. All the good died out when the first zombie rose and he doesn't miss it at all. In fact, he thinks it was exactly what the world needed. No more weaklings under foot, crying. No more justice except the justice you deal out with your own two hands. Or claws as the case may be. This fiend will gladly lead the zombies to you and watch in fascination and glee as they tear into you, destroying all that you once held dear. Doesn't stop his siblings from dragging his butt to keep it safe, but it does cause them to keep a close eye on him and not give him any sort of noise makers...Or weapons when possible To whoever he bonds...Good luck. He takes great enjoyment in 'eating' memories. By eating, he picks them apart, studies every detail and then...Reenacts them in your head but only with...Bad endings or worse ones depending on the type of memory. Happy fifth birthday party? A giant dinosaur ate your mom (even if you mom appears perfectly fine in a later memory). This has the lovely effect of burying the happy memory and making it disappear. Thankfully, this effect doesn't last too long. Only about a day and he can only really do it once a day. Though he can play a memory on repeat for you. It just may take a little while for him to get the hang of doing it in such a way as to see you curl up into a ball and wish a zombie would eat your brain and end it all Shrayla is the perfect candidate for him. At least in his mind. Not very talkative at all, he loves exploring his bonded's memories and dragging up her past to come back and haunt her. And what a past it was! Blood! The cries of the dying! Organ eating! Oh how marvelous! How wonderful! He made the right pick in his mind. Fully and without a doubt. He will be her conscious now...If your definition of conscious was tempting you to do bad and awful things that is Damianos is a dark brown color for the most part. He is mottled with dark crimson throughout his wings, chest, beak and legs. The areas are small, but are most notable on his shoulders (where the wings connect with his chest), the top of his head and his talons. His eyes are a brighter crimson and if looks could kill...Well, luckily they don't. We will just leave it at that. He has two extra sets of fangs pointing out from the top of his beak. Think alligator teeth, but with out the alternating top bottom combo. His wings are also all razor tipped and can slice though just about anything a razor can (and somethings a razor can't...You can thank the illogical field for that ability). He also has an extra back talon on each foot so he can really grip into you if he so wants too. Which he does. A lot. Maybe Shrayla should invest in shoulder pads.
True form: He is Shraylas dark side. Her need to tear. To rend. To kill. To cause pain. He was drawn to her deserve to eat the heart out of the cause of the zombie uprising. He was drawn to her ruthlessness. The aspect of the soul that he has is her inner demon. A part of her that maybe the werewolf didnt want in living breathing form, but that is the part she got. Good thing she is used to keeping her dark side in check most of the time It might just come in handy here.
Not all magical weapons are created equal. Some are only lightly enchanted, and some are weapons worthy of challenging gods. Some are just well-crafted tools, beautiful and bespelled, but tools nonetheless, while others can go so far as sapience.
Not all sapient magical weapons are created equal either, though, that should also be said. Some are brilliant, some are diabolical, and some... some...
Some mean well but just aren't all that bright underneath the shine of weapon polish, jeweled pommel, and magical enhancement.
The first clue that this blade probably falls into that last category is the name spelled in runes down the blade. From hilt toward the point the letters E-V-E-R-G-L-E-E-M march along, proudly displaying an egregious misspelling in heartfelt but slightly crooked calligraphy, the most complex forging of a journeyman blacksmith, perhaps. The craftsmanship is beautiful, in its way, but also humble, the transitory steps of the novice learning to become a master of the craft. The inlay of the letters is a more coppery alloy that stands out brightly against the more silvery tones of steel or whatever similarly-weighted metal the blacksmith actually used to forge the sword's blade. Silver comprises the hilt and crossguard as well, though the grip is a subtle black leather wrap. Instead of sparkling precious gemstones, the stones set in the hilt and pommel are turquoise, understated and almost meek. The turquoise set at the base of the hilt is ringed by two static ravens poised beak-to-tail around it, while larger ravens' heads comprise the crossguard. The blade of the sword itself seems to occupy some nebulous length between a shortsword and a longsword, too long for one but too short for the other. It holds a true edge, however, keen and honed, straight, uniform in width until the edges shear off into the point at the tip. The letters that spell out the blade's name stand out copper against the silver-appearing blade, some metal unknown to the metallurgists of Earth or Faerun.
Appearance aside, however, Evergleem is warm to the touch, a living thing to hold. And also chatty, sometimes, often startling to people who aren't expecting a talking sword. Perhaps more startling to people who are more accustomed to talking swords being things of great intelligence. In bright, clarion tones that are undeniably female, Evergleem is a force of good cheer, good will, good intentions, and...theoretically she should also be capable of good cognitive capacity, but that is where she falls short. She encapsulates the essence of one of those people who is technically unimpaired by any developmental disability or cerebral malformation but is nonetheless intellectually challenged in the areas of logic and the relation of cause to effect, to name a few subjects of note. She breezes through conversations unaware of the extent to which her assertions are sometimes absurd or simply inaccurate, misses the obvious, fails to make logical connections, skims over the surfaces of things instead of thinking about them more deeply, and is, all told, very satisfied with her life.
Ignorance is, in its way, bliss. Evergleem, being fairly obtuse, often misses the point in any given situation. Given that she is a sword and often involved in terribly unpleasant situations, her inability to grasp certain things protects her sanity and fundamental sweetness in a little bubble. And sweet she is indeed. Perhaps forged to be a weapon of war, Evergleem is nonetheless a peaceful sort who would rather problems be sorted without violence. Just because she doesn't know HOW to solve a problem doesn't mean she doesn't want to TRY. She has no need for material things like fortune or transitory things like fame, but she does need to help. Help everyone. Unfortunately, Evergleem is a bit too trusting and prone to believing any sob story that comes her way, but most cautious wielders know when to distract her with another charity case in need; she can't really be argued with, as she's as stubborn as she is dim when she thinks she's in the right.
Form: Faerunian Dire Wolf, Cursed Idol (Steel Ring)
Every soul has its perfect mate. For rangers and druids in worlds like Faerun, this perfect mate is usually manifested in the animal companion. A wolf, a bear, an eagle, some druids or rangers even choose a rat or a spider or something as unique or magical as a winter wolf. Shrayla, when she was first accepted by her goddess Selune as a ranger and protector of the wilds, was gifted with her own soul in the form of a dire wolf named Kytos. Loyal, faithful, stalwart Kytos, fearless in the face of danger, always by her side. Kytos who judged her for nothing and who accepted her unconditionally, loved her for everything she was and ever would be in the future, and kept company every step of her harrowing journeys between a small school in a backwater town to storming the very Underdark.
Unfortunately it was Kytos' very valor and tenacious loyalty that got him killed, originally. He took on an archdevil for Shrayla, and Mephistopheles tore him limb from limb in a very literal sense.
Shrayla has been living her life as brokenly as one of the dragonless, one who has lost her soul and can't find it to live again, not really. Kytos was everything inside of her, and he was ripped apart and ripped away in that one violent instant. However, the Illogical Field says hello.
Kytos is back from the dead! And so is a the Ring of the Wolf, a trinket from Hilltop that Shrayla had thought long lost to careless misplacement. Except instead of summoning a random dire wolf and only five times before all charges in the item are exhausted, the ring now summons Kytos! And indefinitely, within the limitations of any other summon figurine. Twelve hours of free existence at a time per day when the steel ring is turned on Shrayla's finger and the running wolf depiction peels off to become a life-sized Guardian Familiar.
Although one might not know him for a Guardian Familiar if not for the baleful fire-orange eyes that trademark his rank of his species. The Cursed Idol imparts just enough traits of the Sumine that Kytos could, from a very far distance, look like a natural dire wolf...to the legally blind. His thick, shaggy topcoat is the same charcoal grey it was in his first life, and indeed, an exact match for Shrayla's hair. It's his undercoat that bears the volcanic orange-red of the Guardian rank, rippling under the charcoal with every movement. Dire wolves of Faerun typically grow armored plates and spikes of bone on their shoulders, necks, and backs, but Kytos' armored bits are, in homage to his Cursed Idol, apparently made of steel. The massive hound is nearly ten feet at the shoulder and broad, muscles bristling beneath his thick fur and armored hide fit to put the hurt on things even larger than he.
Everyone probably knows someone who can do no wrong. Everything that person does is effortless, easy, breezy, perfect. Everything they craft turns out correctly, every enterprise they begin sails smoothly, their friendships are always pleasant and fun, their careers are successful. There is always someone like that in any given group.
Chances are there is also, nearby, someone like Soot, who can do no NOT wrong. Someone for whom nothing is effortless, everything is a challenge, the winds are becalmed, the lines are snarled. Everything they craft turns out shoddy (though not for lack of trying to do it right, simply lack of ability to get it right), every enterprise they begin is doomed, their friendships are a maze of complicated brambles, and their careers...well, who with this kind of luck even has a career?
Soot is not a lazy creature. Xe has never cut corners or taken a nap on the job in xir existence, has in fact always put in long hours of overtime on everything, trying to do something worth being proud of somewhere along the line. Xe is not a lucky athid, however. Bad luck, flawed materials, unfortunate coincidences, things have always plagued Soot's efforts. On the rare occasion something manages to go not disastrously wrong, however, it still doesn't go right. Soot's best tries always come in off the mark somehow.
Xe has caught the theme but missed the point, or caught the point and missed the theme, or something to that general effect. Murphy's Law hasn't taken a sick day in all of Soot's entire life, and that's part of what makes xir so charming to Shrayla, who has found in Soot something of a kindred spirit.
Part of the other problem Soot has socializing with people outside of xir species of clockwork crawlies is that Soot is a very realistic replica of a tarantula in the parts that are not bared machinery. Soot's main body has naked gears and ticking mechanical pieces, but xir legs and "fangs" are styled to look like hairy, scary genuine tarantula parts. That plus a Petroleum's constant reek of exhaust has not made Soot much of a popular creature, but xe is a fair bit stronger and sturdier than most of xir kind, as a perk of xir build type.
A Hellhound wWho Cant do This Much isnt Worth his Salt Male Hellhound Beta Speech: Italics #c51a1a
Is there nothing he cant do? This canine is everything one needs him to be: master of many, many skills so that at any need he is proven to be capable no matter how impossible it may seem; able to cook like a 3-star Michelin chef (and could likely earn a 4th star, even though those dont exist); a warrior whom has rarely been matched, let alone beaten; and able to manage a thousand tasks seemingly at once flawlessly. Perfectly punctual and with impeccable manners, he is incredibly cunning and deft at reading others, which can enable him to be both manipulative and even sadistic against his foes. He is a loyal creature and follows orders with expedience, but often has his own goals in mind as well. At times he will challenge his bonded to see what their reactions are, just as he did TGD, but at times he can seem to genuinely care about their well-being. The behaviors of others also provide him interest, especially their greed and what lengths they will go to for acquisition of their desires.
He has been serving TGD for some time now, after having rescued him from a terrible situation. In that time he has been utterly steadfast in his behavior, always ready at TGDs call and going with him into some very dangerous situations. Why did he do all this? Well, because TGD made a deal with him, and he always upholds his bargains. But sadly of late this agreement has no longer held purpose for either of them and thus they are now parting ways, with new Bondeds.
Rather amazingly, he holds a sincere respect for TBTD, calling him the one being I consider a friend. He is aware that RWR is attracted to him, but doesnt return the interest and is in fact often frustrated or annoyed by this, though hes not afraid to manipulate this interest for his own purposes by agreeing to a dinner, striking impressive poses, etc. As for YYH, he despises him as much as he is despised, and they will never see eye to eye on anything other than their agreement that they will continually seek to defy one another and distrust one another. (once they did manage to work together, only to betray each other almost in perfect unison) His one weakness? An insatiable fondness for all things feline, and at the sight of any creature of the cat family he will have to stop and admire it, fawning over it and overcome by awe and emotion for several minutes.
Whomever bonds to him had better be ready, for they will have both the most willing and able servant they ever could desire or their greatest nightmare come true.
Purely black all over, as is his kind, he is of slightly taller build than the average and a bit on the lean end, though his lithe build is deceptively strong. The first claw on each forepaw is silver rather than black like all his other claws, and his eyes are a tawny red-gold that always seem to have a smug glimmer in them, as if he knows some incredible, or terrible, secret that you dont. All in all, hes a rather handsome beast truth be told. Physically, he is almost YYHs twin, though they try to ignore this fact. On his left paw he has a red rune mark, though its often hidden by white wraps that he wears, as red as the three marks on his right shoulder that identify his rank.
MUTATION (Cosmetic): Red rune on bottom of left paw. MUTATION: (Physical, Ability) Minor Hellish powers such as having whatever mundane items he needs for a task simply be on hand.
Fear the Darkness as was Done of Old Female Solar Eclipse Breeder Hellhound
Speech:Italics #748890
[I][color=#748890]Italics #748890[/color][/i]
In ancient times eclipses were events of ill omen. That the life-giving sun's light should go out caused terror and extreme action to restore it. It was the Unknown, and there was great fear of the Unknown.
It is that fear this Hellhound whispers to her pups. Enemies lurk in shadows. Natural disasters can strike at any moment. Even the air you breathe, the water you drink, and the land beneath your paws can suddenly betray you. Some might call her over cautious, even paranoid, and not be far off the mark. But what makes her behavior noteworthy is how she handles this mindset: not with shrinking fear, but with prepared aggression. She is a planner. At the drop of a pin she has a strategy ready for the scenario at paw... and a backup plan for that one should it fail... and two contingency backup plans should that one fail as well! And as a last resort, though Breeders aren't known for their combat abilities, she will defend her pups (and Shrayla, and maybe Shrayla's other Bondeds if she particularly likes them) with all the fury a mother can muster!
Standing on par with other Hellhounds at around three feet at the shoulder and six long, her Solar Eclipse Mutation obscures her ebony pelt and the red spattering on her flanks much of the time in a blue-white-yellow haze, making it only just barely visible. During that brief hour or so when it is dim, however, her darker-than-usual fur is illuminated by the bright flare that remains on her chest.
