”Is it really important?"
-Nickname Conquest, or War (rough mistranslation of his name)
-Age 27
-Gender Male
”Scales, Fangs, Claws, Sword- did I miss anything?"
-Eye Color Amber
-Hair Color none
-Height 10'3
-Weight 845 lbs
-Skin Tone Granite
-Build Large and muscular
-Body Markings Body covered in scales, spines down the back
”I'd rather not speak of myself."
-Fears Claustrophobic, his own weakness, deep water, being unable to protect something in front of him.
-Likes Wide open spaces, calm, quiet, sound of running water, blacksmithing
-Dislikescold weather, excessive chatter, politics
-Quirks wears armor and carries a shield despite having iron-hard scales, freakishly strong, uncomfortable around thorny plants
-Personality At first glance he's rough, tough and brutally straight forward. He's rather aloof as a whole and and times down right ruthless. But when one really gets to know him, deep down he's a softie and an extremely loyal friend. He's peaceful and very hardworking, it's just that at the moment the desire for revenge is slowly eating him away on the inside. What's left of him besides that, even he doesn't know- though he's introspective enough to try to find out.
”Fate follows its own design"
-Relationships
-History Dar'Athrax was born into a small Carion tribe to the far north of civilization. Life was far from easy but it was still within the realm of normal...at least for his kind. This was brought crashing down during his tenth winter, his tribe was wiped out by a warlord in the savage lands. He'd been lucky, he'd managed to survive by hiding in the depths of a briar bush. As a youngling, his scales were still soft and thorns were able to dig into his flesh. He could only listen to the screams and sound of blade piercing flesh as he himself was torn by the bush- fear keeping him silent. Were it not for a troupe of soldiers from a nearby keep that arrived two days later, he would have died. Instead, he was found- covered in the blood of his kin, and his own. At that point, the light and joy the should belong in a child's eyes had long left his own.
The soldiers took him in, and treated his wounds. It was in a keep designed to protect civilization from the wild that Dar'Athrax grew up. His primary craft was that of a blacksmith, and his body grew large- even by his own kinds standards from the work. He eventually managed to convince the men to teach him to fight- to kill and even learned the name of the warband that killed his tribe. It wasn't until his eighteenth year that his was able to finally strike against the swelled warband of murderers. At this point, the warlord at its head held enough power to begin attacking the keeps of the north. In fact, the army in question was thinking of taking a secondary keep against the one he grew up. While the higher ups ordered a retreat, he road out himself... both for vengeance and to buy his new family some time. The belief was if he was lucky, they'd think him bait and follow him. But fate had its own plans, the secondary keep was only being attacked by an advanced force, and he had only managed to convince nearly a dozen of his fellow soldiers to buy time in the narrow pass leading to the keep. It was here that Dar'Athrax finally became famous for his strength at arms- for five days he and his fellows fought, holding the line. This occurred without break or rest, in a canyon where only twenty-five men could stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
Dar'Athrax himself had been the center line, his fury compelling him to levels of power beyond everyone's wildest dreams. His strength grew as the fight wore on, fire spewed from his maw and coated his scales. He stood as a giant, flaming bringer of death against the monsters- even when some of his fellows broke, he fought on. When his reinforcements, more of a body pick up, arrived the day after combat, they found him and what was left of his men. Those that remained, were nearly dead on his feet, Dar'Athrax himself still stood guard...holding the line against an enemy long gone. He even managed to bring himself back to base before collapsing, his allies getting their laurels and word of his fighting prowess began to spread. In the years since, he's been hired many times and fought many battles- and has yet to lose. But he's yet to get the one kill he truly wants and crush the one army he truly hates. However, since that fight that brought him fame, he's not once burst into flames as before, or ever had such a wild glint in his eye. Time and experience have made up for ferocity, and his raw power is more than enough to overwhelm most foes.