[b]Starting Date and Time:[/b] 22nd day of Vermillio, 300 DM

[b]Starting Location:[/b] Cave to the south of Pyresia.

[b]CS URL:[/b] [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/83037-ebonfort/char?page=2#post-3190947]Genrit’khaath[/url]

Genrit'khaath is awake to see the sunrise. Even in his exhaustion from the day prior he was unable to get any more than a few hours sleep. Being freed from ice after so long is not without its drawbacks. The soreness in his muscles and a growing headache prevent him from doing much more than watch the sun peak over the horizon. His breathing is slow, trying not to strain himself any more than he needs to right now. His morning will need to be calm, for he knows that when the day has fully begun he has plenty of work to do. The territory he owns is ambiguous at best after all this time, so it's important that he reestablishes his borders. This will require him to search through the area, drive away any potential competition which he assumes there is now plenty of, and become reacquainted with the area.

That and he's hungry. Really hungry. For both flesh and metal.

After spending a few hours relaxing and absorbing the warmth of the sun, it's time to get started. A shudder goes through his body as he pulls himself onto his feet. He's still sore, but at least the headache is starting to die down. Genrit'khaath stretches his wings out, flexing them a few times in preparation for flight. They feel stronger than they did yesterday so he should be able to at least move from place to place with breaks in between. After taking a moment to swivel his head to establish where he is going, his wings beat powerfully, propelling him off of the ground. The force of the wind pushes and shakes the nearby rocks while he gains altitude.

Rising above, he can recognize some of the immediate landmarks: large hills and structures of rock that have withstood the test of time. The actual terrain, however... Genrit huffs quietly for a few moments, gathering himself after the effort. Once he has gained enough height he eases up the strain on his sore body by gliding, relying on the warm air to guide him. The feeling of flight is incredible. His large body relaxes as he swiftly explores, his wings flapping every so often. He sees the forest to the South, but a feeling of unease passes through his body. He does not remember the area being quite so large. He should expect this though. On the bright side, the creatures in the forest always did taste better and had much more meat, and a lot of dragons wouldn't bother competing over such territory on account of the difficulty to navigate such packed areas on the ground. But every now and then a persistent dragon could catch something out in a field.

Genrit doesn't even notice some of the drool coming from his maw as he changes direction, going to investigate the forest. He lands just on the outskirts to give himself a break, laying down and breathing slowly the way he did in the morning. The last thing he wants it to exhaust himself in mid air and come crashing down into the trees. Especially not with his scales being so weak, even after digging through his cave and scavenging what little metal was left.

Gathering himself, he launches again. His shadow coats the trees beneath him as he flies over, his white eyes surveying the land below him. He spends a little over an hour searching, looking out for any rivers, lakes, or other places where he may be able to consistently find food. He manages to locate such a lake and turns his body to smoothly approach it. Just in time too, he's overdue for another landing. When he's close enough to see it properly he comes to a stop, flapping his wings to hold him in place. He watches it intently, searching for any movement. Eventually he spots something.

Bears. Both food and competition in this case. They leave the treeline as a group, all walking to drink from the lake. A whole family by the looks of it. His lips curl upwards, revealing his rows of sharp teeth as he waits for them to all reach the water. The pain in his body goes to the back of his mind as he becomes focused on the task at hand. When it's time he surges upwards once with his wings and then tilts his body down, going into a dive towards the group, claws extended. They don't see or hear him coming before it's too late. The impact of his claws slicing through two of the adults causes their bodies to be torn in two as he swoops. His wings then flap once more, allowing him to twist his body and do another, closer swoop. This time when he approaches the now panicking wild animals he lets out a powerful roar before clamping his mouth down on the furthest fleeing one. He tosses it at a nearby tree, killing it. The remaining two don't get much further, with Genrit simply extending his huge arms and grinding them both into the ground with his claws.

His head lifts up to the sky and he lets out a triumphant roar. Even though the bears were nothing more than harmless animals to a dragon his size, the rush of violence is welcome granted how weak he has felt since his freedom. He wastes no time bringing their mutilated bodies together and beginning to feast, his huge maw widening and crunching down on the pile of flesh and bone. The heat coming from the inside of his mouth alone is enough to begin burning away at their fur and innards. His actions are savage, razor sharp claws gripping the bears as he tears off chucks of their bodies, hungrily swallowing them down his gullet. The nearby water becomes dirtied with red as the creatures are drained and torn apart. By the time he's done, nothing remains of the bears apart from a few shreds of fur and a huge patch of crimson sinking into the earth. Genrit's face is covered and dripping with blood, as are his front claws. He breathes heavily through his nose, the satisfaction of having eaten sinking through his body. His head tilts and he shifts to the side, looking down into a clearer part of the lake. He sees his bloodied face staring back at him, soon also being obscured by the blood dripping down from his snout and into the water.

How familiar this is.

Genrit settles down next to the patch of gore. He admires his work and relaxes, letting the warm sun work its magic against his pure white scales. He doesn't bother washing the blood off, knowing that it's best to leave it on for now. The stark contrast between it and his scales makes him look considerably more intimidating. An organic war paint, if you will.

Plenty of time passes but he doesn't mind, resting is just what he needs now. He'll probably just return to his cave soon and try to melt what remains of the ice. On the bright side, he's able to drink it. It's completely pure, too. Once he's done that he'll try and get some proper sleep and rest now that he has some food in his stomach. His eyes shut and he stretches his claws out, digging them into the earth as he tends to his sore muscles.

This moment reminds him of his time spent owning this territory. At least, the more peaceful time when he first established it. Lazy days of flying in the heat, hunting, practicing his illusions, admiring the shine of his scales, and sleeping while surrounded by his hoard. A gentle sigh passes through his bloodied lips and he shuts his eyes, settling down.