I'm sorry if I've taken any liberties when constructing this character! I just noticed that there seems to be a bit of an imbalance between the Cursed and the Blessed at the moment, so I thought the bad guys could use a bit of a power hitter on their team!Character's Full Name: Ancalrung the EndlessAge:
Old enough to regard measurements like days and years in the same way a human regards seconds and minutes.Species:
Dragon of AurelisAffiliation:
Also known as the Wyrm of a Million Breaths, Ancalrung specializes in many potent magical attacks focused from his massive, bone-crushing jaws. Below are listed the ones he seems to favour the most.Withering Torrent:
Like all dragons, Ancalrung is naturally able to produce jets of fires from his mouth that melt through flesh, bone, stone, and steel with relative ease. But no two dragons are quite the same, and each is altered both in form and ability by the wickedness or purity of their innermost souls. The malice festering within this wyrm's black heart has warped his power into something altogether putrid; in addition to blackened flames he is able to expel floods of noxious, corrosive ichor from his gullet capable of digesting most enemies in seconds.Cold Snap:
Just as his hatred fuels both his flames and his poisons, Ancalrung's disdain and arrogance allows him to perform a far more unusual attack for a dragon. Though he is bound--like all dragons--to a Child of Aurelias, he observes everything with a cold malice and considers all to be beneath his attention. Though his heart is molten with inner rage, it is encased in a shield of unforgiving ice. Ancalrung is able to call forth freezing winds and icy shards from his gaping maw, freezing all in its place so that he might smash the unworthy to pieces beneath his claws.Judgment:
Those who Ancalrung most wishes to see wiped from the face of existence will suffer the full force of his power. Though Judgment appears as a bolt of lightning, it is in fact a beam of pure magical energy, undiluted and unrestrained. He claims that it is a "Cleansing Flame", meant to erase the weak and the impotent from his sight. The true strength of this ability comes from its unmatched speed and ability to arc between targets once it has made a direct hit.Transformation:
Another racial ability. Ancalrung is able to switch between four distinct forms on a whim, unless magic is used to restrain him in a particular body. Though each form offers different advantages based on its structure, none of them are necessarily weaker or stronger than the others.
The traditional dragon body, possessing four sturdy legs. Despite having a set of wings in this form, the distribution of mass is such that flight is nearly impossible to achieve by ordinary means. Instead the wings are used to shield incoming attacks or generate gusts of wind to knock over smaller opponents.
Somewhat similar to the first form, but the wings have replaced the foremost set of limbs. Ancalrung is capable of flying incredibly fast for his size while in this state, though his physical attacks become restrained to biting or swooping with outstretched talons.
Completely different from the previous two forms, Ancalrung's body loses both its limbs and its wings while increasing proportionally in overall length and girth. Though he can no longer fly, he is able to slither with surprising swiftness over the ground or burrow beneath the earth to mount surprise attacks.
Ancalrung's final form is that of a human, albeit with hints of scales fringing his neck and limbs and distinctly draconic eyes. He seems to find this body particularly disgusting, though he admits that it makes walking inside buildings a great deal easier. His physical speed and strength seem far more potent due to his mass being compressed into such a small body, though he is rather unskilled when fighting with fists and swords instead of tooth and nail.Character Description:
Ancalrung's Great Dragon form is pictured above, and his other dragonoid forms do not deviate much from it besides the alteration or loss of limbs. The most notable changes include a larger mouth when in his Wyrm state and gargantuan wings while in his Wyvern state. He measures 60 feet from tip of his snout to the edge of his barbed tail, and easily breaks 90 feet when transmogrified into a Wyrm.
His humanoid form is rather idealized due to his own vanity, and is decidedly androgynous. From the slender bridge of his carefully sculpted nose to the delicate curve of his purple lips, Ancalrung could easily be taken for a woman or an elf at a glance. His eyes are piercing tawny globes that lack any sort of pupil or iris, and it is difficult to tell exactly where he is looking at any given moment. Straight golden hair flows down the front of his chest like spun silk, and when the light catches it just right it glimmers like a layer of reptilian scales.
He stands at a staggering eight feet tall (mostly due to his refusal to ever have to look up
at his so-called masters), but is deceptively slight of build for his height. He most commonly wears heavy purple robes covered in golden runes, including a hooded crown in the shape of his natural horns. Character History:
Among the greatest and oldest monstrosities spawned from the ashen wastelands of the Underworld, dragons have always been a terrifying threat on any battlefield during the long centuries of war between the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness. In ancient times they were numerous and devastating, swarming over enemy battalions in droves or swooping down from above to scour the earth with all-consuming flames. But though they wielded tremendous power and fearsome magic, it was precisely this strength that would bring them to the verge of extinction. So great was the threat that they posed that the Blessed sought them out where ever they could be found, targeting them immediately when they reared their ugly heads during the many wars of the past. They did not die easily, but each death was a decisive blow against their steadily dwindling population. Dragons matured and reproduced far too slowly to be used so carelessly as shock troops, but in these days the Darkness preferred overwhelming force to foresight and strategy.
Ancalrung was alive even in these ancient times, and through sheer cleverness and ingenuity managed to survive with a select few of his brethren in the face of the Blessed's formidable retaliation. He was the first to learn that careful manipulation of his own emotions could stimulate physical change and growth, and used it to his advantage to bolster a wide array of magical talents to catch his enemies off guard. But though he had been created solely for the purpose of fighting, Ancalrung was often wracked with doubt.
He and his kin had never been told why they were fighting this war. It was merely enough that they were on one side and the Blessed on the other. There was a clear line separating the Good from the Evil, and he was expected to adhere to it without question. But with each passing battle it became more and more difficult to ponder such things. It seemed wrong somehow to consider his own existence to be an evil
thing, when so many of the people he fought against seemed every bit as bloodthirsty and cruel. They simply had the advantage of looking beautiful and serene. Both sides fought for survival, because neither could stand the other's existence. Both sides were equally capable of heinous acts; one side denied them or hid them away, while the other reveled openly in the slaughter. It seemed pointless. Such a war would truly last for an eternity.
As could be expected in such a conflict, tragedy touched the lives of all involved. It was not uncommon even in those savage days for dragons to take mates, with the strongest of the males being granted access to the rare females in order to pass their strength onto the next generation. But this was war, and not even the cycle of life could be held sacred. Not when it meant another wave of young dragons devouring their way across the battlefield. The Blessed discovered the nests of the Dragons after much searching and dying, and laid siege to it in an attempt to permanently cripple the Cursed.
By the time Ancalrung arrived with reinforcements, the damage had been done. His mate was slain, the eggs were blasted into piles of dust, and the future of the species was no longer assured. Though doubts had wracked his mind, the grief welling up in him swiftly turned to a black, malignant hatred. He cursed the Blessed for this atrocity, but most of all he cursed whatever being who had given birth to his race for granting them the intelligence to feel such pain.
But his fate was chained to the Cursed, and he could not retreat from the life that he had been granted. There was nothing left but to continue to fight against the forces of Light until the day that he too joined his fallen brethren in death. Ancalrung now lives a hollow and bitter existence, emotionally deadened but infinitely more arrogant for all the power accrued over his long years of life.