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Dioryn : male : ex-rider; The Pained Veteran
Topic Started: Mar 12 2014, 07:16 AM (253 Views)
Kialish
Unregistered

Character Number- 10th

Name- Dioryn Forswin (die-or-in force-win)

Age- 75

Gender- Male

Sexuality- Heterosexual

Appearance-

Dioryn is, easily put, an old man. At 73, he doesn't really appear his age, having been a dragonrider once upon a time, and having been influenced by the slowed aging effects. Only recently, after 20 years of his dragons passing, did the aging begin to show up. Currently, he appears in his early 50's, still fairly handsome with a strong jaw and toned physique, but his silver hair and eyes betray the youth his body portrays. Once green eyes filled with the joys of youth and battle, the now appear as dulled, almost gray husks of the man he once was. Looking into his eyes, one can see the age and wisdom, see the travesties that he has seen. His eyes are framed by heavy brows, giving him a bit more of a fierce appearance and demeanor, and his squared jaw is covered by a short, unkempt beard. His nose is crooked, having been broken ages ago and not being set properly before healing, and his right ear is torn. Across his face are ancient scars, gleaming whitish pink. Down his neck flows salt and peppered hair, more silver than black, in a messy style as unkempt as his beard. He sheers it on occasion when it simply gets too long, but normally it stands as it is.

His body still maintains the rough physique of a trained soldier, muscles toned and defined beneath an array of battle scars. Dio insists on keeping in shape, in the event of anything happening, training with sword and shield mostly on his own. His left hand has a missing ring finger, severed neatly however not holding him back from functioning. Nails are tinged yellow from use of tobacco and hardly kept well, appearing chipped or damaged and rarely cleaned.

Dio walks with a faint limp, having strained his leg ages past when his dragon suffered her downfall, but he refuses to use a cane and is adamant on training despite the pain that bothers him. In terms of clothing, he cares little about fancy wear. Simple dust brown slacks and long shirts are all he cares to wear, covering his toned and scarred body the best he can. More often than not, he walks around with light leather armor, paranoid still that someone may attack. He has a longsword strapped to his hip at all times, and poison coated daggers in the heel of his boot, still hardwired a paranoid warrior.

Personality-

Dioryn is far from the overconfident and zealous dragon rider he once was, suffering from 20 years of depression and post traumatic stress disorder. Nowadays he's hardly seen as more than a grump to the people around him, offering few words or an expressive grunt rather than speech. He keeps to himself, muttering to no one around him as he stalks the halls of the Academy, and grouching at those who pester him. Younger candidates seem to see him as a joke to pick fun at, and his attitude as adjusted accordingly. He is an old man, and acts as one, if only to deter attention from himself.

Dio despises being in the spotlight. Unlike other veterans – who most likely still have their dragons – he does not revel in his past successes or tantalize the minds of young riders with glorious stories of old. If anyone approaches him and manages to truly interest him to the point of talking, he wheezes out warnings and speaks of his battles in a depressive and terrifying tone. He knows the truth of war and is tired of it, especially exhausted from zealots charging in with dreams of riding a dragon and being victors in war. Dio understands that war has no victors, only survivors, and he knows he is one who survived at an ugly price.

However, despite this, to his core, Dioryn is a gentle soul. He hides behind his tough exterior like a shell, holding his true self only for him and to the ghost of his dragon with whom he speaks as though she was still at his side. He fancies plants and herbology, sometimes creeping out to the Academy greenhouse to tend to the plans when no one is looking and conversing with the rosemary and forest dragons who take care of them. He seems to hold more trust for the dragons than the humans they ride with, clamming up at human contact.

Lastly, Dioryn suffers from PTSD and depression. Nightmares plague him and send him into attacks when he wakes in cold sweats. Sometimes things set him off, hair triggers that come entirely unexpected. A roar of a dragon could send him back to the battle field, whipping out his sword and threatening anyone who approaches him to slice them open. Because of this, he cannot survive in the city on his own, too many noises and people making him at unease and feeling distressed. Instead he resides in the Academy, close to the infirmary and with a shared space with a rosemary and healer who help him live life the best he can.

Rank- Ex-rider, Veteran, Old Man

History-

Dioryns history begins in the far Western mountains in a small village nestled among the crags of stone. Life was hard there, sometimes completely brutal, but it was a land where people reaped what they sowed. The small village was maybe five hundred strong, a tight knit community dependent on one another, yet not harsh on outsiders. They traded for goods with distant towns and peoples, receiving the occasional Sekkaian scouts with open arms and warm hearth.

They were happy, and they were kind, as was Dio and his family. His father was a farmer who worked on bountiful crops that went out to the entire village, miles of corn, potatoes and whatever vegetables were privy to the season sat on their fertile land. Dioryns original plan and dream was to become a farmer with his father, and to marry a fine lady to take care of the household and to have many bumbling children, as was the common dream of the peoples.

However when he was 12, disaster struck the normally save peoples, as a bulkhead leading a small squadron of fire and lava tainted dragons found their home. The group had been seeking sekkaian scouts, wary of their closeness to the Desolation, but upon finding the village they took it upon themselves to ruin them. All Dio could remember was fire, fire and ash filling his lungs. The people were lucky, a Sekkaian wing having been near enough to see the flames and banish the tainted creatures back to their isle.

But the village did not survive the attack as well as its citizens. Buildings were destroyed and burning, once fertile land burned to a crisp with blackened soil strangling what hid beneath its surface. The leader of the dragon wing, a man and his mighty water dragon by the name of Oceanus, told the villagers they must leave here, find a new village else risk the tainted coming back. Devastated, the villagers took their time in grieving and pondering his words.

Dioryn had a fire within him from that day, furious at the defenselessness town being burned to the ground. His parents were safe, but many died and many more had lost a home and a way of living. It was simply not fair! He told his mother and father that he would leave, join the academy ranks and stand for a dragon when he was of age. Then he promised to return, to protect his family and whatever village they resided. With their blessing, he left.

At the Academy, he made friends and for several years did his duty as candidate. The dragons rose when he was 14, and a few months later he was standing before Kazuko on the sands, heart thrumming in his chest and feeling anxiety claw its way up his throat. He was presented with a crystal, bright purple and shining with a reflective green shade in the shape of a curved arrow. He watched with fervor as dragons spilled from their eggs, waiting as patiently as he could as babe after babe joined their bonded human. And then it was his turn.

A glass egg, small, nondescript and pink, began to quiver, softly at first, then faster, the sounds of claws scraping the calcified prison become apparent. But claws enough would not help her, as suddenly a hole burst open, revealing a small face guilded with elegant horns. She took her first breath, then stretched, pulling the egg apart and falling onto the sand. Bright blue eyes that lacked pupils started out, her hide glimmering like a blackened opal. She stood, colors shifting along her glossy, still moist hide, and she took a few dainty steps forward. Wings spread to show a leathery yet feathered nature to them, before the snapped back and her eyes fell on Dioryn.

Trotting over, she hummed eagerly, tilting her head at him.

"Dioryn, I have heard your plea, your desire to help," She crooned, bending a knee and bowing to him. "And I, your Artema."

Dio was stunned to say the least, that such a rare and peculiar dragon such as a glass would choose him. But he was excited none the less. They started their lessons, finding they bonded easily and worked well together. Dioryn found himself drawn to the art of sword wielding as well as archery, aiming to be a prime fighter, and small Artema, who grew to the size of a forest, cheered him on valiantly. Once they graduated, they refused to join a wing, the still young pair bent on Dioryns dream of protecting his family.

They flew back to the mountains and were welcomed with cheers and open arms, the fervor of the people at a fever pitch. Here he would stay and protect them!

Or at least, that was the plan. And that plan did not fall into place. No matter where one lives in the Mountains, they are still the closest peoples to the tainted legion, and the dragons of evil knew this. They knew that they could pick off village after village with ease, hardly being noticed by the Sekkaians, who were often placed farther in land. And that was what they did, picking off the people for food, dominating towns and demanding sacrifice for their protection, and it came to pass that an earthen mycotic came to town with that very intention in mind. He demanded food and to be worshiped, thick hide covered in colorful spores.

Dio and Artema would not allow this, flying in valiantly to try and get him away. But the mycotic was massive and old, not to be outsmarted by a child and his miniscule dragon. They had their first near death experience taking him on, trying to keep him distracted and biting at his heals. Artema dropped globs of hot glass, but his hide was tough, the dragon swiping mighty claws at the zippy glass. One hit landed, and it was enough to send Armeta flying and crashing into the mountain side. The pair slide down, unconscious and dangerously open, but the mycotic was lazy, releasing deadly spores across the town and leaving with plans to return later.

Artema awoke before Dio, managing to dragon off the human as she began to feel spores settling into her lungs and inhibiting her breathing. She thought only for her rider, desperate to keep him safe of all the people. It took her almost an entire day, but she flew back to the Academy, collapsing into the infirmary and wheezing what had happened. They were cared for, and were able to bounce back with the resilience that only the young could possess. But the village was not so lucky. Every person in there had died, the spores infecting and strangling them from within, leaving the town ghastly and deadly to anyone who entered. A small sweep of Sekkaians entered only to find the village covered in what seemed to be white dust. It was, in fact, mold spores, waiting to be inhaled by the living. The Mycotic, too, returned, to feast on the fallen corpses.

After this, Dio went into a deep state of depression, given leave from duty. Artema tried to keep his spirits high, but even she couldn't repair the damage the loss had taken. The years after this incident seemed to almost blur together. The pair joined a wing, part of the speedier strike unit, where they went into battle time and time again. Dio seemed blind in his fighting and often ended up wounded, but Artema too suffered her wounds. Together they fought, the only cause in their mind for the destruction of the tainted. Perhaps then Dio could rest easy once more...

For decades this was their life, spending almost all their time with their wing, be it training or on days off, or riding into battle together. The pair suffered the pain of lost friends, and the beauty of new life from the loins of Artema herself! She clutched at least a dozen nests in her life time.... Until the day fate turned sour and cruel once more, as though mocking the semblance of happiness they had tried to rebuild.

It was a battle on the Zavan plains, two sides meeting in a bloody brawl. The leader of the wing was maimed and had to fall back, and the wing fell into chaos. Every where small tainted airs, ruins, myoctics and others found purchase in the scattered ranks, disposing of riders and reveling in the screams of the newly tainted. Artma helped to rally the group of survivors before all was lost, launching a well planned attack to scatter the tainteds and pick them off, using their own strategy against them.

But victory came at a bitter price. Artema was locked in combat with a tainted air dragoness, literally. Their claws were tangled together, fighting with fang and Artema with hot glass. Dioryn shot arrows into the eyes of the air, but not before a fire dragon dropped form above, slamming into Artema and forcing them to the ground. The glass dragon had only time to let out a final breath, a scream before the fire dragon ripped her neck open.

Dioryn cried out in pain, the bond shattering and reverberating in his chest like the pain of a thousand drums. The fire flew off, leaving him to wallow as the rest of the wing rallied to drive off the tainted. Dioryns leg had been crushed on impact, healing but imperfectly.

The others found him weeping and screaming, refusing to leave his dragons corpse but prying him off her. He fought them tooth and nail, dragged back to the Academy where what had transpired was explained. He was left to the caretakers in the infirmary, where he clammed up and refused to speak for months. When he did speak, it was in short bursts and very rare, a trait that he carried with him for years. They told him they would compensate him and his retirement, offering him a grand villa in Lihn, but he couldn't live there.

After his first year, he had threatened to kill dozens of civilians and had been proclaimed a lunatic and disturber of the peace. He was then relocated to the Academy where he still lives, unable to handle daily life anywhere else. He still is found talking to Artma as though she is there, and occasionally is pushed into a flashback, but with the help of a young pair of healers - Jayor and her vibrantly colored rosemary, Florette - he has begun to live more normally and more at peace.


Pet(s)- N/A (but he needs one old grump)

The Dragon - Glass Artema; DECEASED 20 years


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