Description
Standing at about 6'1" and athletically built; Malcolm is garbed in a undercoat of chainmail, upon which his gleaming, well oiled and cleaned platemail sits, a prismatic blue to white colour scheme which mirrors the scales of his dragon. His plated spaulders which rest upon his powerful shoulders, bearing marks and notches of battle, and marks and stripes recognizing the fact he lived through those battles. Covering his legs and feet, are plate boots and leg-guards. His sword, which sits within his right hand as if it were a extension of himself, which could also, fit his left hand as he has learned to be ambidextrous, as a broken arm should not inhibit your ability to fight. This sword is of shining silvered steel, kept in excellent condition for use, its hilt is ornate of silver, its grip is wrapped with a black leather and its pomel is embedded with a piece of translucent crystal of undiscerning origin which on touch seems to feel as if it were staticly charged.
History
Born within a small village amongst Elves upon the Silveer Plains and close to the Chasm, Malcolm knew much of strife. The sound of clashing swords, the thrum of bow strings and the rending and tearing of Dragons overhead. He knew much of the struggle for the seemingly important gap, the Chasm so it was called. He knew of the constant forays into the Chasm to capture the every important Magma Dragons, he knew of the pastures in which the great Plains Dragons would roam and soar over during mating season and he knew quite well of fair few things between.
Now, considering his knowledge, it did Malcolm little good. That which did was the use of sword and bow, of survival and more importantly, how to run. Running was a staple part of his young life as bread would a staple of ones diet. The constant forays by the Onyx Dragons and their riders would consistently strike terror and madness into those below, prominently the village as it played home to many of the Dragon Tamers, the forward scouts and observers who would relay information. Simply by existing, this village was a 'threat' to their so called conquest.
That didn't sit very well with Malcolm, or any of the villagers, guerilla warfare was prominent along the eastern side of the chasm on the intruding forces. Years passed until these events and Malcolm had matured as a man, not necessarily to the elves that dominated the village, the same elves whom had raised him after the apparent disappearance of a father figure whom had left him in Village care.
With such reverie out of the way, we continue on with the tale of guerilla warfare and how exactly it got Malcolm to the position he was in at current times. The eastern lands prided themselves on defending their own, but sometimes with the large border they had to cover, from the northern islands to the southern seas and all in between, a small village and its pastures might be missed. It was up to the villagers and those whom had the grace to choose to stay and assist when they appeared that it was not left a smouldering wreck by the raiders.
Malcolm, now a man as mentioned was one to head these attacks, many of the elves had a very laissez faire attitude to the events, pining on thoughts of the military coming to their aid, with longer lives to live they little cared at times for those of others, such as his own. Raising his banner, Malcolm rallied those whom might be willing to throw down their own lives for the good of many, one could say his motivational speeches, or acts of courage and valour attracted this following, perhaps an innate ability to lead inherited from whomever he shared his blood with. Many things could cause such things, but one thing was certain, if Malcolm wanted to lead, people would follow.
Now it was this charisma about him, his attraction of people to follow him that caught the notice of the military who eventually turned up to take over where the willing villagers left off, the Commander in station of the regiments who offered him a position as a soldier, not to lead but follow for once. This opened the flood gates for Malcolm, an undefinable young man taken into service, rising rapidly in the ranks as more than once the lieutenant, or sergeant or whatever ranks they had bestowed failed in his duties, only for Malcolm to grab them readily and claw back ever numbering battles along the rim of the chasm.
This ever present battling of Malcolm's for the next few years shaped him readily, as if he were clay in the hand's of a master, a unknown soldier come military leader, a novice of the blade yet soon master of the sword and any other instrument of battle from bow to cannon, a time with the caster's upon the fields gave him valuable insight and knowledge of the workings of basic magic, as limited as it was, it was put to good use and readily at that.
Now gone the chains of youth so to speak, years on from the infighting of the village and its expansive surroundings to a military general, the only part of the story left to tell of Malcolm is just why he might sit upon the back of his great Dragon Kronor, why he would lead such similar ones to he into battle. Malcolm would not be called a war hero just yet, he had not saved countless lives with his own hands or slain entire battalions... yet, many great feats evaded his vision but his simple and thorough goal, to protect and lead those whom would share such goals. His opinions on such matters garnered respect from those whom were above him, the lords and anything else, the Dragons, more specifically, the Crystal Dragons.
He was approached, as were many of his battalion he lead, overnight they were changed from ground fodder, as much of a general he was to one whom would soar the skies and make the fight that bit more interesting.
So begins...
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((Lori: URLs in character synopsis' are removed.))
”
Alighieri cackled with the roar of a thousand dying races, a terrifying scream which echoed into the depths of the void.
The expanse of the void was endless, and he just wanted a beer, anything good and strong, and it didnt just matrialise out of nothing. So how to get out of the endless expanse of a rather beautiful endless flower meadow was actually rather nice. It was not often he got to really just wander a flower meadow, and as beautiful as it was, there had to be a door or a window or something.
Finally finding what looked like a door frame, with no visible door per sei, he tried going through it, like it was a opening in a fence, and promptly smacked into a door panel with a hard thud. The dragon saw he couldnt fit through the door but it was infact a door. Dust was on the ground among the beautiful flowers but he felt he should not disturb the dust, it was after all possible that someone had distributed family ashes there. And just being there made the dragon shift form to his human asize and get to his knees, bowing three times towards a nearby small pile of void dust before getting to his feet.
Turning back to the door frame he found the4 handle. But something made him halt. Where there others looking for the door that he had just found ?
“
Kragum!? I ahear you, n'where you in this... darkness?
”
Kragum followed the sound of Fesna's voice through the Infinate Void. Finally her figure faded from the darkness.
Fesna's heart fluttered as Kragum faded through the black. A tear came to her eye as she rushed him, leaping forward for an embrace. She was confused - just moments ago they had been enjoying a flagon. Or was it moments ago?
Kragum caught Fesna and squeezed her tight. His heart warmed to know that it was he she sought out in this strange place - though, honestly, they were just together at the bar. After a few long moments Kragum pulled away from Fesna to look her in the face the best he could in this strange lighting.
“
...It me, Kragum. Y'know another smellin' fine as I?
”
Kragum shook his head and tried to smile. She caught on to his suspicions. With everything that had happened back at Wanderer's Camp, could you blame him? The supernatural bit at the edges of their sanctuary and pushed the folk further into Wing City. Now...where were they?
smack!
"What was that?!" Fesna clung to Kragum and aimed doe eyes at the noise. It sounded almost as if...someone had...hit their head?
Fesna looked at Kragum as thescent of flowers drifted from the source of the sound. She broke away from Kragum and not one step later was suddenly surrounded in an endless meadow of flowers. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the beauty of the place, but also the infinity of it. Then, it hit her.
Kragum must have blinked wrong. Suddenly he was in an endless flower meadow-and how did Fesna get so far away?! He would have enjoyed the scenery, if he wasn't so suspicious, and if he hand't just been drinking rum at a bar!
He waved his arms over his head to get her attention and started off towards her through the flowers.
"Fesna! Do not move!" Kragum had no idea how things worked in this strange place. He didn't like it, and he didn't want to lose her again. He charged forth and left a path of disgruntled vegetation behind him.
Kragum stopped in his tracks as Fesna's wail reached him, a chill brushing over his skin. He picked up the pace, and this time it was Kragum's turn to go in for a hug.
Fesna embraced him back and began to weep. She wasn't ready to die! She had things to do, places to see! Remorse for wasted time hit Fesna like a ton of bricks.
“
Fesna.....hey, Fesna? Fesna!
....look over there?
”
Fesna gave a final pitiful sob, wiped her nose on Kragum's shoulder, and looked to where he was pointing.
There was a door, and it was closing.
She didn't even think twice grabbing Kragum's hand and barreling for the door.
Kragum let himself be dragged through the flowers, matching her speed and excitement. When they reached the door it had just clicked shut. Breathing hard, he bent over to catch up on air, and noticed a bunch of strange dust on the ground. That, too, unsettled him.