Post by marley on Aug 29, 2010 22:11:43 GMT -5
Name: Shruikan
Age: 100+ years
Race: Dragon
Appearance:
Shruikan’s scales are a deep black color, and his eyes match them, making him appear to be something directly out of one of your nightmares. Though there are some varying shades of black all over him, it’s mostly the same color, making him all but disappear when in a dark room or in the middle of the night. Most who have seen him—and not many other than the new younglings see him these days, but there had been a time when Shruikan was seen by many—assume that the dark coloring of his body and eyes mean that he’s practically the devil incarnate. You know, next to go Galbatorix, anyway.
His massive size doesn’t help these speculations. Shruikan, is the second oldest dragon currently in existence, it would make sense that he’d be large enough already; but this dragon goes beyond that. Shruikan is…massive, compared to the information held on other dragons of his age. He’s proud of this, too, exercising vigorously everyday—without Galbatorix—to keep his extraordinary muscles exactly as they are.
Personality:
If there was anyone in the world with an excuse to be pure, twisted evil, it would be Shruikan. However, this dragon made a promise to himself when Galbatorix killed his rider and stole him. In honor of the poor boy who’d died because Shruikan had failed to protect him, he would not bow to the temptation of blissful insanity. He would maintain who he was, who he had been, and perhaps one day he would be able to be himself again.
His personal, mental battle with Galbatorix is more than just that though. As much as he hates Galbatorix for killing his rider, he also hates him to an insane extent for enslaving him. Shruikan is a proud and dangerous dragon, with a dark and brooding base deep inside him. His temper is definitely something to be feared, although perhaps this is an effect of Galbatorix’s constant attack on his mind. Whatever it is, his temper is with him for life, and it’s not something you can just ignore. Little things make him snap, make him want to snatch your head right off your shoulders. It isn’t him wanting to be mean, he’s just like a too tight string that’s about to snap, twenty four seven.
Past that unseemly temper of his, Shruikan has an enormous capacity for wisdom, for thought. He’s certainly lived long enough to have that. He thinks a lot, inside his mind which so often is protected by enormous barriers that sometimes Galbatorix cannot break through; his mind being his only sanctuary where he can think true things, things that he believes in his heart. However, these thoughts are unfortunately rather rare, as Galbatorix keeps a close watch on his mind through his eldunari, and punishes him with incomprehensible pain when he has thoughts that he disapproves of.
History:
It’s hard for Shruikan to remember those far off days in the beginning of his existence. He has a vague recollection of his time in his egg, he knows that he was very picky about the being he’d take as a rider. It had to be an elf, and it had to be a boy, he’d known that, although it’d taken him a while to distinguish between the races. The list of qualifications was much longer than that, though, and it had taken him centuries to find a being who fit them all. But there it was, an arrogant elf boy touched his egg, and everything he felt from him just fit. The boy was headstrong, with a short temper and so much pride that he practically made Shruikan feel humble. Yes, this was the boy for him, he’d known it the second he’d felt him, and he’d done his best to hatch before the boy could even remove his hand. Pain usually stops Shruikan from delving further into his memories, he doesn’t want the heart wrenching pain that makes him want to die when he remembers the time he spent with his rider.
It was precious little time that they had together, no more than a week, though he spent every second with that boy, not letting him out of his sight if he could help it. He was very attached to his rider from the second he left the sanctity of his egg, and still is though the boy no longer lives. He was asleep, curled up beside his boy, when the murderer entered their room. To this day, he blames himself for a multitude of things that happened that night. He should of woken up, he should have alerted the other dragons, he should have stopped the killer, he should have fought harder, he should have…He should have died that night. The complete and total pain he felt when his rider—his boy, his, his to protect—was killed…Shruikan was certain he’d die right then and there. He’d let out a sound of pure anguish, and launched himself at the attacker, but he was still no more than a hatchling. The man caught him, used some spell to paralyze him, and tossed him in a bag.
Shruikan had no time for panic, for fear, because he was too obsessed with the desire to kill these men, and then to die. He was too obsessed with the horrendous pain of having lost his rider, his friend, his other half. He couldn’t exist without his poor boy, he had no idea how. But he was forced to live without that boy. He was dumped out of the sack onto the floor in front of a man who was very clearly insane. Shruikan could practically taste the psychotic evil emitting from this man, it was as good as tangible. The spell paralyzing him was released, and he automatically launched himself at the man, though magic bore him back to the ground. It was clear to him that this man was the real power, that he was the one who had ordered his boys death, he was the one responsible for the agony he was in. This man had to die. But he couldn’t even finish getting a good growl out before he felt the horrible taint of black magic taking hold of him—but then he got a really good roar out, a roar of anger and pain and absolute horror as he realized too late what was going on. This man, this horrible, horrible man who had killed his boy, was binding them together in a disgusting mockery of what he’d had with his precious boy.
The years that followed were horrendous for Shruikan. As if he was literally living in a nightmare. Galbatorix made him do horrible, horrible things, used his name to inspire terror, used him to terrify and punish others. These past years, over a hundred of them, have been a mixture of Shruikan fighting against Galbatorix as much as he can, and him being punished for fighting against him. The punishments were never too severe, because the attacks couldn’t be too severe—not if he wanted to live. Not that he really wanted to live, he just wanted to make sure Galbatorix was dead before he died. He couldn’t do that yet, because the horrid excuse for a man had forced him to surrender his eldunari at practically the same time that he’d created the disgusting ‘bond’ between them. Of course, his eldunari was ultimately terribly small because of the young age at which he’d been forced to disgorge it; but of course, Galbatorix had clearly determined that the pros outweighed the cons on that one. This was his ultimate play card on controlling Shruikan, and the real reason why he can’t kill him like he wants to.
Now, he doesn’t do much, as his ‘rider’ doesn’t leave much anymore, and when he does, he rarely takes him with him. This is most likely due to the fact that Shruikan attempts to steal an arm or a leg from him whenever he’s in the same room as him. He trains the new hatchlings, all so young and foolish to him, most the victim of his teeth and claws during multiple lessons, and flies whenever possible. He’s tired, so very tired, and only his desperate need to end Galbatorix’s life before his is ended keeps him going.
Roleplaying example:
Smoke drifted in an intriguingly lazy manner out of the immense black dragon’s nostrils, though no fire followed or preceded it. Shruikan was laying on the ground, taking up far too much space as he made no attempt to curl himself into a smaller form, and watching the younglings mock battle one another in the air. He was a teacher, now, a title that disgusted him to no end. He remembered some of the dragons, teachers who had given up the exciting missions that he’d looked forward to having just so they could sit around and train pathetic younglings. He would never understand the desire to do something like that, it simply made no sense. These little dragons—who really were practically microscopic compared to him—were just insanely pathetic. They annoyed him, failed to do things right when he wanted them to, failed to learn at the pace he wanted them to, just failed him in general. Some were too lazy, and they felt the harshest part of his anger, they were the ones who were caught by his teeth and claws, they were the ones that he inadvertently punished for the pain he had to constantly endure. But then there were the ones who actually loved the Empire, loved where they were and loved working for that hateful disgusting man. Now them…they were the ones he was usually kept on a ‘leash’ of sorts—usually their rider having hold of his eldunari while he trained them—while he was around them, so that he wouldn’t kill them. Because he really did want to kill them. The others, he really didn’t care about. He didn’t want to train them, because of who they were working for, but he didn’t hate them because they didn’t worship the Empire like it was the best thing in the world. There are only a very select few that he does everything he can to train; the ones that hate this place as much as him.
A snort of derision brought another stream of smoke, this time mingled with a bit of fire, from Shruikan. A select few? There had been one dragon who’d felt the same as him. He’d taken pleasure in training in that one, though it had still been a youngling, still been mostly pathetic. Which reminded him, he was supposed to be watching the younglings on the opposite side of the field from him, make sure they didn’t actually kill one another or something stupid. Shruikan turned his attention back to them, letting loose a warning growl when he noted that one had the others neck in a dangerous hold between its teeth. The two automatically jumped away from one another, much to his amusement, shooting frightened looks at the black beast that rested on its belly. They feared him, and with good reason. He was contemplating taking a snap at one of their wings, teach them how to deal with being grounded in the midst of battle, you know. All for the sake of teaching them. A slow smirk took over his lips as he thought about that, that was how he got away with most of the bullshit he pulled during ‘training’.
Hold. Shruikan’s mind opened up just enough to release the command, then closed back down to have strict walls guarding it, something he always kept in place unless absolutely necessary. He launched himself into the air, rejoicing at the feeling of air gliding against his wings, of a small taste at the freedom that he was supposed to have, that it was his birthright to have, but he would most likely never know. You’re too sloppy. Your tail’s all over the place, you aren’t turning fast enough, you’re pathetic. You’re the worst excuse for a dragon, now clean up your attack or just go ahead and submit, because if you’re that sloppy on the battlefield, you are dead, you worthless lizard. You might as well go join the Varden, you’ll be a better asset to our side that way. His words were laced with acid, and the sneer was evident in the temporary mind link. It was horrible that he had to call this side his, that he had to train these younglings to fight for them. The only reason he sometimes made an attempt at teaching them how to do something right was because he considered it a slight on his pride to turn out a completely useless dragon, and his pride wouldn’t allow him to fail at anything. He couldn’t fail, he didn’t fail, he was Shruikan. A creature out of nightmares, a name hissed to the squishy little humans in the dead of night when they misbehaved, like the boogey man. “Don’t even think about staying up late, or Shruikan will eat you.” Shruikan was mighty, and he did not fail. Which was why he was growling at the youngling, raking a claw into his side and giving him orders as to how to clean up his attack, before turning and flying back to his spot on the ground. Only this time, he didn’t lay down, but sat straight and tall, alert in case something should happen and he needed to jump into the air again. Oh, he hoped he’d have to jump into the air again. He wanted to fly, it was a bittersweet gift given to him by mother nature, but it was one he so rarely got to use. Thanks to that man that he needed to kill.
How did you find us? Star Wars Universe RP
Age: 100+ years
Race: Dragon
Appearance:
Shruikan’s scales are a deep black color, and his eyes match them, making him appear to be something directly out of one of your nightmares. Though there are some varying shades of black all over him, it’s mostly the same color, making him all but disappear when in a dark room or in the middle of the night. Most who have seen him—and not many other than the new younglings see him these days, but there had been a time when Shruikan was seen by many—assume that the dark coloring of his body and eyes mean that he’s practically the devil incarnate. You know, next to go Galbatorix, anyway.
His massive size doesn’t help these speculations. Shruikan, is the second oldest dragon currently in existence, it would make sense that he’d be large enough already; but this dragon goes beyond that. Shruikan is…massive, compared to the information held on other dragons of his age. He’s proud of this, too, exercising vigorously everyday—without Galbatorix—to keep his extraordinary muscles exactly as they are.
Personality:
If there was anyone in the world with an excuse to be pure, twisted evil, it would be Shruikan. However, this dragon made a promise to himself when Galbatorix killed his rider and stole him. In honor of the poor boy who’d died because Shruikan had failed to protect him, he would not bow to the temptation of blissful insanity. He would maintain who he was, who he had been, and perhaps one day he would be able to be himself again.
His personal, mental battle with Galbatorix is more than just that though. As much as he hates Galbatorix for killing his rider, he also hates him to an insane extent for enslaving him. Shruikan is a proud and dangerous dragon, with a dark and brooding base deep inside him. His temper is definitely something to be feared, although perhaps this is an effect of Galbatorix’s constant attack on his mind. Whatever it is, his temper is with him for life, and it’s not something you can just ignore. Little things make him snap, make him want to snatch your head right off your shoulders. It isn’t him wanting to be mean, he’s just like a too tight string that’s about to snap, twenty four seven.
Past that unseemly temper of his, Shruikan has an enormous capacity for wisdom, for thought. He’s certainly lived long enough to have that. He thinks a lot, inside his mind which so often is protected by enormous barriers that sometimes Galbatorix cannot break through; his mind being his only sanctuary where he can think true things, things that he believes in his heart. However, these thoughts are unfortunately rather rare, as Galbatorix keeps a close watch on his mind through his eldunari, and punishes him with incomprehensible pain when he has thoughts that he disapproves of.
History:
It’s hard for Shruikan to remember those far off days in the beginning of his existence. He has a vague recollection of his time in his egg, he knows that he was very picky about the being he’d take as a rider. It had to be an elf, and it had to be a boy, he’d known that, although it’d taken him a while to distinguish between the races. The list of qualifications was much longer than that, though, and it had taken him centuries to find a being who fit them all. But there it was, an arrogant elf boy touched his egg, and everything he felt from him just fit. The boy was headstrong, with a short temper and so much pride that he practically made Shruikan feel humble. Yes, this was the boy for him, he’d known it the second he’d felt him, and he’d done his best to hatch before the boy could even remove his hand. Pain usually stops Shruikan from delving further into his memories, he doesn’t want the heart wrenching pain that makes him want to die when he remembers the time he spent with his rider.
It was precious little time that they had together, no more than a week, though he spent every second with that boy, not letting him out of his sight if he could help it. He was very attached to his rider from the second he left the sanctity of his egg, and still is though the boy no longer lives. He was asleep, curled up beside his boy, when the murderer entered their room. To this day, he blames himself for a multitude of things that happened that night. He should of woken up, he should have alerted the other dragons, he should have stopped the killer, he should have fought harder, he should have…He should have died that night. The complete and total pain he felt when his rider—his boy, his, his to protect—was killed…Shruikan was certain he’d die right then and there. He’d let out a sound of pure anguish, and launched himself at the attacker, but he was still no more than a hatchling. The man caught him, used some spell to paralyze him, and tossed him in a bag.
Shruikan had no time for panic, for fear, because he was too obsessed with the desire to kill these men, and then to die. He was too obsessed with the horrendous pain of having lost his rider, his friend, his other half. He couldn’t exist without his poor boy, he had no idea how. But he was forced to live without that boy. He was dumped out of the sack onto the floor in front of a man who was very clearly insane. Shruikan could practically taste the psychotic evil emitting from this man, it was as good as tangible. The spell paralyzing him was released, and he automatically launched himself at the man, though magic bore him back to the ground. It was clear to him that this man was the real power, that he was the one who had ordered his boys death, he was the one responsible for the agony he was in. This man had to die. But he couldn’t even finish getting a good growl out before he felt the horrible taint of black magic taking hold of him—but then he got a really good roar out, a roar of anger and pain and absolute horror as he realized too late what was going on. This man, this horrible, horrible man who had killed his boy, was binding them together in a disgusting mockery of what he’d had with his precious boy.
The years that followed were horrendous for Shruikan. As if he was literally living in a nightmare. Galbatorix made him do horrible, horrible things, used his name to inspire terror, used him to terrify and punish others. These past years, over a hundred of them, have been a mixture of Shruikan fighting against Galbatorix as much as he can, and him being punished for fighting against him. The punishments were never too severe, because the attacks couldn’t be too severe—not if he wanted to live. Not that he really wanted to live, he just wanted to make sure Galbatorix was dead before he died. He couldn’t do that yet, because the horrid excuse for a man had forced him to surrender his eldunari at practically the same time that he’d created the disgusting ‘bond’ between them. Of course, his eldunari was ultimately terribly small because of the young age at which he’d been forced to disgorge it; but of course, Galbatorix had clearly determined that the pros outweighed the cons on that one. This was his ultimate play card on controlling Shruikan, and the real reason why he can’t kill him like he wants to.
Now, he doesn’t do much, as his ‘rider’ doesn’t leave much anymore, and when he does, he rarely takes him with him. This is most likely due to the fact that Shruikan attempts to steal an arm or a leg from him whenever he’s in the same room as him. He trains the new hatchlings, all so young and foolish to him, most the victim of his teeth and claws during multiple lessons, and flies whenever possible. He’s tired, so very tired, and only his desperate need to end Galbatorix’s life before his is ended keeps him going.
Roleplaying example:
Smoke drifted in an intriguingly lazy manner out of the immense black dragon’s nostrils, though no fire followed or preceded it. Shruikan was laying on the ground, taking up far too much space as he made no attempt to curl himself into a smaller form, and watching the younglings mock battle one another in the air. He was a teacher, now, a title that disgusted him to no end. He remembered some of the dragons, teachers who had given up the exciting missions that he’d looked forward to having just so they could sit around and train pathetic younglings. He would never understand the desire to do something like that, it simply made no sense. These little dragons—who really were practically microscopic compared to him—were just insanely pathetic. They annoyed him, failed to do things right when he wanted them to, failed to learn at the pace he wanted them to, just failed him in general. Some were too lazy, and they felt the harshest part of his anger, they were the ones who were caught by his teeth and claws, they were the ones that he inadvertently punished for the pain he had to constantly endure. But then there were the ones who actually loved the Empire, loved where they were and loved working for that hateful disgusting man. Now them…they were the ones he was usually kept on a ‘leash’ of sorts—usually their rider having hold of his eldunari while he trained them—while he was around them, so that he wouldn’t kill them. Because he really did want to kill them. The others, he really didn’t care about. He didn’t want to train them, because of who they were working for, but he didn’t hate them because they didn’t worship the Empire like it was the best thing in the world. There are only a very select few that he does everything he can to train; the ones that hate this place as much as him.
A snort of derision brought another stream of smoke, this time mingled with a bit of fire, from Shruikan. A select few? There had been one dragon who’d felt the same as him. He’d taken pleasure in training in that one, though it had still been a youngling, still been mostly pathetic. Which reminded him, he was supposed to be watching the younglings on the opposite side of the field from him, make sure they didn’t actually kill one another or something stupid. Shruikan turned his attention back to them, letting loose a warning growl when he noted that one had the others neck in a dangerous hold between its teeth. The two automatically jumped away from one another, much to his amusement, shooting frightened looks at the black beast that rested on its belly. They feared him, and with good reason. He was contemplating taking a snap at one of their wings, teach them how to deal with being grounded in the midst of battle, you know. All for the sake of teaching them. A slow smirk took over his lips as he thought about that, that was how he got away with most of the bullshit he pulled during ‘training’.
Hold. Shruikan’s mind opened up just enough to release the command, then closed back down to have strict walls guarding it, something he always kept in place unless absolutely necessary. He launched himself into the air, rejoicing at the feeling of air gliding against his wings, of a small taste at the freedom that he was supposed to have, that it was his birthright to have, but he would most likely never know. You’re too sloppy. Your tail’s all over the place, you aren’t turning fast enough, you’re pathetic. You’re the worst excuse for a dragon, now clean up your attack or just go ahead and submit, because if you’re that sloppy on the battlefield, you are dead, you worthless lizard. You might as well go join the Varden, you’ll be a better asset to our side that way. His words were laced with acid, and the sneer was evident in the temporary mind link. It was horrible that he had to call this side his, that he had to train these younglings to fight for them. The only reason he sometimes made an attempt at teaching them how to do something right was because he considered it a slight on his pride to turn out a completely useless dragon, and his pride wouldn’t allow him to fail at anything. He couldn’t fail, he didn’t fail, he was Shruikan. A creature out of nightmares, a name hissed to the squishy little humans in the dead of night when they misbehaved, like the boogey man. “Don’t even think about staying up late, or Shruikan will eat you.” Shruikan was mighty, and he did not fail. Which was why he was growling at the youngling, raking a claw into his side and giving him orders as to how to clean up his attack, before turning and flying back to his spot on the ground. Only this time, he didn’t lay down, but sat straight and tall, alert in case something should happen and he needed to jump into the air again. Oh, he hoped he’d have to jump into the air again. He wanted to fly, it was a bittersweet gift given to him by mother nature, but it was one he so rarely got to use. Thanks to that man that he needed to kill.
How did you find us? Star Wars Universe RP
