Dimitri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101 
Age: 32
Physical Description: Human Form
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 246lbs
Hair: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Wolf Form
Height: 4'5"
Weight: 246lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Hybrid
Height: 6'3"
Weight 260lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Clothes and Equipment: Has an assortment of clothes within his packs. Some meant for travel in the freezing arctic of his homelands, while others are far lighter and meant for days spent in tropical climates.
Amor: Unspectacular Full Plate Armor. No Enchantments or special material. Redesigned helmet to look like his wolves head.
Weapon: Adamantine Halberd. Material allows the weapon to ignore physical damage resistances of a target. No Enchantments.
A silver dagger, use unknown.
Accessories: Ring of Four Winds. Allows a fast cast of feather fall upon oneself, 4 times daily.
Bracelet of Enduring Soul. Prevents moderate damage from Ice and Fire based spells and abilities.
Ring of Truesight: Able to see creatures using illusion to hide their real forms as well as invisible creatures.
Registered: Mar 21, 2016 17:32:15 GMT -8
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Post by Dimitri on Apr 21, 2016 10:43:38 GMT -8
Not wanting to keep dodging fire breath and eventually getting turned into Fried Wolfman, Dimitri heeded Attla's instructions. He shifted his halberd into a reverse hold, so the axe of the weapon can act as an additional anchor for the tail. A quick shift to his more strength based original hybrid form, he thrust the halberd with his full arm strength, at the apex of the dragon's tail, right below where it connected to the main body.
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 21, 2016 19:58:41 GMT -8
DRAGON
Pain, searing pain, unimaginable pain riveted through the dragon's body. It was like a shockwave, a chain reaction, causing him to clench all his muscles, his wings locking up. His aerial prescence was immediately abolished, causing his heavy form to accelerate down towards the ground. The confused dragon was an inch away from the ground. A visage of desperation formed in his draconic maw.
He frantically flailed his wings, managing to just gain some altitude again. And then he saw it. it was his tail. His prized tail. On the ground, sliced off without warning.
He was furious. He charged up his fire beam, and let off another volley.
ATTLA
He saw the massive dragon tail crash into the ground, sendings he dragon off-balance, causing it to nearly crash. Perfect. He walked over to the tail and proceeded to begin the ritual. At the stump of the tail, where the blood was seeping out, he pressed his heavy staff upon it. Flames cascaded off of the staff, surrounding Attla causing a cocoon of inferno, rising up amongst the cave, a brilliant beacon of light. And so to began. The flames began to spin, gaining speed and velocity, causing an impenetrable barrier of heat and air, a wonderous and terrifying show. Their speed kept increasing, becoming a blur. Attla was long gone inside the flames.
"Come now, demon, consume this, and join I with your physical form!"
Through the flames, a resonating tap of his staff was able to be heard. They suddenly changed to a green tinge, then the flames dissipated, in a mighty explosion out from the caster.
A demon of massive proportion stood itself up, a creature of magma, of flame, of ash. A horned head, with large, vicious teeth, a muscular body, huge wings sprouted from its otherworldly back. In its left hand, a sword if flame arose from the talon. In its right hand, a long, whip of fire was menacing handled by an appalling claw. Its weight was carried by heavy, densely-muscled legs bent-over, as if he was crouching. A long, hellish tail sprouted from his back. He was encased in an aura of flame, flames moved in out and of every crevice of his body.
It was a balrog.
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Dimitri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101
Age: 32
Physical Description: Human Form
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 246lbs
Hair: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Wolf Form
Height: 4'5"
Weight: 246lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Hybrid
Height: 6'3"
Weight 260lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Clothes and Equipment: Has an assortment of clothes within his packs. Some meant for travel in the freezing arctic of his homelands, while others are far lighter and meant for days spent in tropical climates.
Amor: Unspectacular Full Plate Armor. No Enchantments or special material. Redesigned helmet to look like his wolves head.
Weapon: Adamantine Halberd. Material allows the weapon to ignore physical damage resistances of a target. No Enchantments.
A silver dagger, use unknown.
Accessories: Ring of Four Winds. Allows a fast cast of feather fall upon oneself, 4 times daily.
Bracelet of Enduring Soul. Prevents moderate damage from Ice and Fire based spells and abilities.
Ring of Truesight: Able to see creatures using illusion to hide their real forms as well as invisible creatures.
Registered: Mar 21, 2016 17:32:15 GMT -8
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Post by Dimitri on Apr 21, 2016 20:20:03 GMT -8
With his normal hybrid form as his current state, Dimitri could not dodge the third beam of fire and had to resort to activating his second of four charges to disperse the dragon breath. Using this as a chance with a new fire display being a distraction, Dimitri ran at a much slower pace than his agility form straight to his halberd. It was his only weapon, so he wasn't going to leave it outside of his hands for long. He just looks at the dragon's face, with a small smirk on his own, switching back to Draconic, "Well, I did at least give you your chance at talking before you shot your nasty breath at me. On which note you should really look into getting some breath sterilizers, cause just some mint leaves wont do. Well, least you should if your only remaining option wasn't to get killed here." His grin grew into a cynical smile.
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 22, 2016 2:38:44 GMT -8
DRAGON
The dragon could see it. It was hopelessly outnumbered, the warriors companion appearing out of nowehere from where had lost him, and summoning the demon. He was no match for a Balrog. He had taken one on before, and the flames had cauterised his wounds, preventing his natural regeneration for a good couple of weeks after it sliced off one of his limbs. He had real fear, a feeling he hadn't experienced ever since he was a young drake. He saw his life flash before his eyes, knowing that he may die at this spot. He hadn't lived a good life as a dragon. It wasn't fair that he was the runt of the litter.
All he needed to do now is escape. His gold he may gather again. His life was precious. Adrenalin fired through his scaled body, as he launched himself out of the cave, as fast as possible; a shuttle of black as he shot through until he was outside. At least he would live another day, he thought to himself.
ATTLA
He saw the dragon fly away, accelerating at a ridiculous velocity. So he had just wasted a perfectly good summon. Bah! Why didn't the damn dragon just die! He could have kept the teeth, or the claws. It would have been perfect summon fodder. But no, the stupid beast decided to fly away. This is why I hate dragons. They don't know when to die.
He walked over to the Balrog, with a visage of anger implanted upon his face. He murmured a spell of banishment and tapped his staff against the ground. The demon dematerialized, outputting a wave of energy, shown by a sudden outburst of light. Attla raised his sleeve to block the light. And so it was done. The gold was his. Or theirs, might he say. He had to share with Dimitri. Otherwise he himself would be at risk, the halberd he possessed certainly appeared menacing.
He hobbled up to Dimitri.
"So, we split it 50/50?"
"On a side note, did you bring the leather sacks from the camp?"
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Dimitri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101
Age: 32
Physical Description: Human Form
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 246lbs
Hair: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Wolf Form
Height: 4'5"
Weight: 246lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Hybrid
Height: 6'3"
Weight 260lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Clothes and Equipment: Has an assortment of clothes within his packs. Some meant for travel in the freezing arctic of his homelands, while others are far lighter and meant for days spent in tropical climates.
Amor: Unspectacular Full Plate Armor. No Enchantments or special material. Redesigned helmet to look like his wolves head.
Weapon: Adamantine Halberd. Material allows the weapon to ignore physical damage resistances of a target. No Enchantments.
A silver dagger, use unknown.
Accessories: Ring of Four Winds. Allows a fast cast of feather fall upon oneself, 4 times daily.
Bracelet of Enduring Soul. Prevents moderate damage from Ice and Fire based spells and abilities.
Ring of Truesight: Able to see creatures using illusion to hide their real forms as well as invisible creatures.
Registered: Mar 21, 2016 17:32:15 GMT -8
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Post by Dimitri on Apr 22, 2016 4:09:14 GMT -8
Dimitri reclaimed his halberd and holstered it upon his back. It was also good that the dragon decided to flee, it showed it wasn't mindless, and that a potential second meeting could occur. Maybe next time the lizard won't be so fast to hostilities. On a side note, he just ousted a dragon from it's home with his only intention as getting the darn wizard out of there. A good day.
As Attla dismissed the Balrog, Dimitri breathed a sigh of relief. He thought for a moment there that Attla would turn it against him. As for splitting the dragon horde, He was not here for money, there are only specific items he seeks. "No worries, I did bring the empty bags. As for the horde, it is mostly yours. There are a few items i seek that only might be present. Other than those items, I may only take a few hundred gold, the rest is yours." Dimitri took out the empty sacks from his backpack, thankfully also protected from the shield.
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 22, 2016 5:47:43 GMT -8
The gold! There was so much of it, it was wondrous! He dreamt of finding a gold pile like this. And here it was, right before his eyes! He proceeded to fill all of his sacks full with it. His face had a excited grin, much like a child in a candy shop. He had already prepared how he was to transport the gold. Demon labour. He can force the lesser ones to do his bidding with little-to-no sacrifice.
He watched as the demonic peons, strong for their little size haul the gold, settling down the sacks next to the campsite he had before. As he had nothing to do, he walked over to Dimitri, still harbouring his questions from earlier. He did not despise this knight so much as before, as he had saved him. Still, he couldn't bring himself to truly like the man. Just a mutual dislike, he agreed. He decided to not ask the questions, it's not like he would get answers, it seemed more as if it were something you would not openly share. So he instead outstretched a frail hand to Dimitri, and asked a question.
"Where are you to go after this?"
He asked it, for he knew if he could get on Dimitri's side, he would be a powerful ally. If he knew where he was going, he could perhaps accompany him on the road. It is always good to have a meat-shield, or a protector. He would have an easier time on the road with company.
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Dimitri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101
Age: 32
Physical Description: Human Form
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 246lbs
Hair: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Wolf Form
Height: 4'5"
Weight: 246lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Hybrid
Height: 6'3"
Weight 260lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Clothes and Equipment: Has an assortment of clothes within his packs. Some meant for travel in the freezing arctic of his homelands, while others are far lighter and meant for days spent in tropical climates.
Amor: Unspectacular Full Plate Armor. No Enchantments or special material. Redesigned helmet to look like his wolves head.
Weapon: Adamantine Halberd. Material allows the weapon to ignore physical damage resistances of a target. No Enchantments.
A silver dagger, use unknown.
Accessories: Ring of Four Winds. Allows a fast cast of feather fall upon oneself, 4 times daily.
Bracelet of Enduring Soul. Prevents moderate damage from Ice and Fire based spells and abilities.
Ring of Truesight: Able to see creatures using illusion to hide their real forms as well as invisible creatures.
Registered: Mar 21, 2016 17:32:15 GMT -8
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Post by Dimitri on Apr 22, 2016 6:08:32 GMT -8
Dimitri was looking through the pile of gold himself, occasionally picking up a gem or two before placing them back into the unclaimed mountain of riches. He had filled an average sized sack with about 300 gold pieces and two sapphires, placing it aside as his claim. Very little compared to all that was here. Shifting through a few more piles of treasure, he could hear Attla approaching. "Where am I heading? Hmm, that is a good question. I never really think too hard on that, mainly cause as of this time, there is no place for me to return to." A quick shake of his head cleared his thoughts of their direction. "So, I am sure you have a few other questions for me, so go ahead and ask them. A question left voiceless can wear on teh thinkers mind for days to come before it is forgotten."
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 22, 2016 12:09:28 GMT -8
"Ah yes, questions" he proceeded,
"I only ask of you two things, one, what was the tongue you spoke back there? Are you from some foreign land? And two, how did you block the flames?"
Attla was very much interested in these two topics. He was sure that it would be near-impossible to block a fiery beam, that the dragon produced. But Dimitri had blocked it, and he had done it effortlessly. This was peculiar, most certainly. He was not some 'normal' knight, but an a tiredly different being all-together.
Attla didn't have much else to do, so he retired to a sitting position, drained of the energies of fighting, planting himself upon the earth of the campsite. He stared down at his feet, before looking up. It was night. Why had time passed so quickly? It was unheard of for Attla to be surprised in such a manner, he usually knew full well what time the day is, even in secluded sheltered areas, where you would least expect it.
He decided to walk over to the centre of the campsite, put his hand into his satchel and pull out a piece of Flint. He kept it there, for lighting a fire. He decided to light a fire, grabbing a few branches and the odds to begin it. He will leave by the morning, most likely.
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Dimitri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101
Age: 32
Physical Description: Human Form
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 246lbs
Hair: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Wolf Form
Height: 4'5"
Weight: 246lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Hybrid
Height: 6'3"
Weight 260lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Clothes and Equipment: Has an assortment of clothes within his packs. Some meant for travel in the freezing arctic of his homelands, while others are far lighter and meant for days spent in tropical climates.
Amor: Unspectacular Full Plate Armor. No Enchantments or special material. Redesigned helmet to look like his wolves head.
Weapon: Adamantine Halberd. Material allows the weapon to ignore physical damage resistances of a target. No Enchantments.
A silver dagger, use unknown.
Accessories: Ring of Four Winds. Allows a fast cast of feather fall upon oneself, 4 times daily.
Bracelet of Enduring Soul. Prevents moderate damage from Ice and Fire based spells and abilities.
Ring of Truesight: Able to see creatures using illusion to hide their real forms as well as invisible creatures.
Registered: Mar 21, 2016 17:32:15 GMT -8
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Post by Dimitri on Apr 22, 2016 13:02:26 GMT -8
"Heheheh. Of all that you could ask, you only have two questions? Well, that is your prerogative. So to answer your first question, that language I spoke was known as Draconic. It is the language of the dragons themselves. Though I suppose it could easily be heard as a foreign language. And no, I am born of this continent, we are just a long way from my birth land." As Dimitri continues looking through he picks out two items of seemingly no worth; a mirror with a Dire Wolf design upon its back, and an iron ring with a similar design. He took both items as part of his claim. "As for the second question, that was all the work of the amulet around my neck. It has a number of charges each day that allows it to divert any spell based of fire or ice of the Destruction magic school." Dimitri returns to his claimed sack of gold and straps it into the main part of his backpack before relaxing on the other side of the fire from Atttla. "Though I do have a question for you. What do you think of me, as an individual?"
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 24, 2016 1:18:14 GMT -8
Draconic? Why would he, of all people know draconian? It was strange to Attla, to see such languages used by people. He had no experience with the language, only knowing of it's devilish difficulty and next-to-know use or application. He thought of it as more of a language fit for a hedonistic lifestyle. Attla had never learned to speak dragon. He had merely learnt about them via word of mouth. He learned a surprising lot from word of mouth - and not all of it is true.
The amulet was intriguing. Attla wanted it. Such a powerful device would be in much better hands - if it were in his grasp. He needed it more, besides, the knight could defend himself without it. It's design was beautiful. He very much was a fan of jewellery; he had several jewellery stashes dotted across a couple of locations. This would be the jewel of his collection. He made sure to not to deliberately eye the object, so his stealing plot may not be easily discovered. He would get the amulet eventually, maybe not today, but eventually.
"Well, I must say, I dislike you, still. But still, I do give you credit for what you did, when we fought the dragon. I have to say that I do respect you."
Attla despised giving compliments. He felt that it were necessary to do this, at least. He stayed silent for a while, staring into the fire, as it slowly whittled down on it's fuel. His weariness overcame him, his eyelids falling gradually, slowly allowing slumber to overcome his body.
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Dimitri
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101
Age: 32
Physical Description: Human Form
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 246lbs
Hair: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Wolf Form
Height: 4'5"
Weight: 246lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Hybrid
Height: 6'3"
Weight 260lbs
Fur: Azure Black
Eyes: Bright Red
Clothes and Equipment: Has an assortment of clothes within his packs. Some meant for travel in the freezing arctic of his homelands, while others are far lighter and meant for days spent in tropical climates.
Amor: Unspectacular Full Plate Armor. No Enchantments or special material. Redesigned helmet to look like his wolves head.
Weapon: Adamantine Halberd. Material allows the weapon to ignore physical damage resistances of a target. No Enchantments.
A silver dagger, use unknown.
Accessories: Ring of Four Winds. Allows a fast cast of feather fall upon oneself, 4 times daily.
Bracelet of Enduring Soul. Prevents moderate damage from Ice and Fire based spells and abilities.
Ring of Truesight: Able to see creatures using illusion to hide their real forms as well as invisible creatures.
Registered: Mar 21, 2016 17:32:15 GMT -8
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Post by Dimitri on Apr 24, 2016 6:40:17 GMT -8
/me chuckled a bit. "Yeah, that sounds much like what most people first think of me. Respecting my abilities while disliking my personality. I just hope that doesn't turn to disdain like so many of the rest." That smell, it was a smell Dimitri was all too familiar with. A man thinking and plotting, slight hitches in breath and darting their eyes away from what they seek. He would allow Attla to sleep, as such, Dimitri would take watch for the rest of the night and move out at dawn. He may move around Goraia for a bit, mainly cause he has some new artifacts to place inside his vault. Then it was just a matter of finding his next job and using what he has to ensure he got what he wanted.
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Attla, the Conniving
Committed
life
Roleplay posts: 84
Age: 27
Physical Description: A shrewd and bent over nomad, deprived of food at a young age, giving him malnutrition. His thin bones and muscle weaken him physically. He is just 5 foot 5 inches and has a weak and flimsy gait.
He is usually wearing a form of battered cloak, over black robes that hang loosely across his protruding figure.
His weakness extends to his legs, where he cannot run effectively. Instead, he must hobble at a slow pace, making him simple to outrun.
To most people he would be considered an outcast, a useless fruit of society, living off the work of others in a parasitical one-sided form of symbiosis.
His face is droopy, his eyelids purple, a permenant state caused by his lack of sleep. He is an insomniac and thusly has use magical means to get himself to sleep.
He has beard, congealed with silver and brown hairs, which is spewed haphazardly across his chin, in an ugly show of his unclealiness.
His hair is a mess of dirt and grime. It is hard to gauge of his hair is brown, or it is merely the mud that lumps together inside of it.
His eyes, a brilliant green iris, contrasted by the vicious red tendrils in his eyes, a sign of bleariness and tiredness.
His nose is long and angular, ending at the near hidden, slim mouth stuck in a grimace of pain and anguish.
He near always has a thin cover of sweat across his body, with little pieces of grit mixed in, like a foul soup.
Clothes and Equipment: As mentioned, he has a black, torn and weak robe, covering a small fleece of sheep's wool. Over this robe, a battered and torn black cloak covers him fully. His is connected to his robe by a simple headwrap, creating a black hood to shield himself from the sun with.
He wears large leather boots, worn and old, with obvious mistreatment. No attempt to clean his boots has been made.
He carries a twisted and gnarled ironwood root, as a walking stick and makeshift weapon. He uses it as a way of casting magic, using it to gather energy in the same way a lightning rod would conduct lightning.
Underneath his robe he carries a satchel. In the satchel he keeps a small coin purse, and a small box where he keeps various nefarious equipment, such as lock-picks, needles, small daggers and some throwing darts, all of these stolen or created by him.
Registered: Mar 18, 2016 23:24:09 GMT -8
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Post by Attla, the Conniving on Apr 24, 2016 7:41:43 GMT -8
Attla woke up early, moving through his bleariness of his eyes. Even if Dimitri was awake, he would of slipped into passwall immediately, allowing for him to rapidly move away from the camp. He was aching and hungry - but he must press on, fortune favours the one's who act. Lollygagging will do nothing to improve his predicament. He focused on the spell, accelerating him a slight bit faster. He had a goal, and he was to do it.
/end thread
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