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So... I'm a writer... A gamer and an anime nerd... Uh... I love fantasy ans Sci-fi. And I have a weakness for romance. I'm also gay.... My best friend and I joke around and say that I caught the ghey. My best friend is also a trash talking dwarf. No lie. He's 4'9 has longer hair than most women and a beard. Anyways.... I ramble about stuff often... I'm pretty socially awkward but get me on a topic I like and I'll talk for days....

Peace,

Grizz the Mauler

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Grizz enters the tavern.




Vilkas listened intently as Ao'ra talked about enchantments. It sparked his own curiosity in his own form of magic. He knew he was never going to be a true Dragon Warrior. He didn't like the fighting and teeth and such. He was interested in Magic in it's purest forms. Dromon had added a great fuel to the fire of his quest when he trained the young dragon. Living enchantments... He had heard Vescartes talk about such things but never really understood it. He ate, his plate rather filled with meats.

"My grandfather, Vescartes oft talked about that... To the Dragons there are three types of known Enchantment categories. Activated, Living and Eternal. Activated enchantments are things like weapon enchantments which you can put a bit of power in and it activated. Living are generally armor and accessory enchantments. They draw on the users or stored mana continuously and work until the mana runs out. Third is Eternal. Artifacts generally use this. They draw on the natural power generated around them. They rarely cease to function. They generally require an anomalous font of mana. We have... quite a few since our magics tend to leak when we get older. Dromon caused a few that have been around for as long as any of us can remember. The main enchantment around our home is fueled by several of them. I never got to look at them, I'm still too young to have developed the draconic arcane sight. I can still sense magic in other beings, however." He keeps eating. Up close his eyes seem to flicker like firelight in a hearth, warm and conforting. The iris swirls with gold hues and a spark of fiery red.
Vilkas followed the group along the tour, noting places of interest and things he wanted to see. It reminded him of Dromon's cave, with the subtle traces of residual magic. Even though he couldn't see the magic without arcane vision, he'd always been attuned to it. From in had said this was the first sign that the Old Way had chosen him. Walking the halls he placed a hand along the walls, feeling, the subtle nearly undetectable hum of ancient magic. It felt almost as old as the Cave he spent a decade in. The Castle couldn't compare to this and Descartes kept the entire thing afloat with his magic and the anomaly, which he had come to realize was Dromon's first attempt at Runeword magic.

If the rooms, he noticed there was no smithy, he was a bit saddened but figured not a lot of people would be interested in the same things as him. He had come to enjoy the harsh blaze of the gorge and creating unique enchantments. He made a mental note to ask R later. When they came to their rooms he placed his hand on the door with his name.



Pushing open the door he stopped and stared. A massive landscape, covered in clouds and the moon overhead. The place appeared to be weathered by time yet on the main platform a solid bed, dresser, wardrobe and mirror stood. A small bathing pool stood in the back, leading to a falls that seemed to have no end. When the sun would rise in this place, there was a large area for running himself with a nice perch got for a dragon. The area seemed surreal to Vilkas. He dropped his pack next to the bed and put a foot in the water. It was nice and hot, the stone around it brimming with warmth. He found a pair of boots sitting in the wardrobe and he took them along with a tunic, putting them on. "Much better...

Leaving the room he heads to the mess hall. He hadn't eaten in quite a while and so was pretty famished. He arrived just as the anubis mentioned the small human girl's neclace. Ar´oa and Stephanie he recalled. He got food and walked over. "Would it be alright if I sat with you?"




Vilkas watched the Bosnian with a bemused expression. He knew the race was a bit strange, having seen the one Brand found nearly half dead. The apples it shed smelled rather pleasant to him and he waited for it to finish. "Well hello to you too. I see that you're happy to see me." Looking to Suriel he nodded. " that would b be appreciated." He took in the opportunity to take in his surroundings. It was a beautiful bastion. The architecture reminded him of a fortress Matriarch Jera created back home. Though hers was more metal and less stone since she created it with her magic. He noted that the others are moving so he follows.

Entering just before Suriel he feels the change from outside stone work to interior flooring with his bare feet. With a bit of mental effort his shifted his feet to reflect his scaly hide and boost his resistance to cold stone floors. He looked at the others, seeing a very strange group indeed. He'd oft heard From in talking about how the world was undergoing a shift. Something he mentioned that led to him to tell Vilkas he was a Harbinger of Change. Seeing this group he knew Fate was pushing him along. While usually subtle, Fate will sometimes push those it deems necessary.

As the Master entered, he could feel it. It was a similar feeling to how Dromon took up space, only softer. Even without being able to see magic, as he was still developing that, he could tell he was just as powerful as his teacher. He instantly wondered who was the older of the two, for the Master was definitely not Human if head be at one point. The mask to him, looked both very interesting and made him wonder what he looked like underneath.

"I am Vilkas, Uh." He looks around. " Dromon sends his regards and wishes the Sanctuary well."




As her wings covered his body, Vilkas shifted into his human form, unfortunately he was very undressed and as he opened his eyes he looked up into Suriel's face. "Uh... Are you an Angel... Did I die... Oh gods... Dromon's gonna resurrect me just to kill me again..." He scowls. "Gramps would probably tell me 'I told you so'..." He looked around. "Wat... I'm in a pool of... That's a lot of blood..." Looking around for his pack he sees it over by the back entrance. Pushim himself yp, not really caring for the nudity since he destroyed his last pair shifting for the fight with the flying dremorians. He searched the large canvas bag and pulled out a pair of pants he kept just for this event. "I'll have to get boots later... And new clothes. Had to leave my clothes bag back in the village..." He grumbled to himself.

With his back to the others, they can see that a lattice of scars and tattoos line his body, even going up to his front, done in a swirly entrancing way, leading over to his shoulder with the rune for strength Uru in gold. When he turns there are even more scars on his front, remnants of his decade of training under the rather militant gaze of his teacher.

Turning around he looked at the scene before him. "Sorry for the whole bleeding on your floor. I'm Vilkas Excellion, the student of Divine Dragon Dromon and scion of Vescartes, Patriarch of Tempest Peak Borealis clan. I uh.. Was told I could get training here. In the Old Way." He shoulders his bag. Looking over he sees the Veldish. "Oh wow... I've seen one of you before but it was young, a few decades old. Brend was studying it to learn more about Green Magic. It's an honor to meet you." Looking at Suriel. "Thank you for healing me. I know it probably drained a bit out of you..."






Packing was a difficult endeavor for him. His mother was worried, his father, non too happy and Vescartes had yet to speak to him. One would think he'd see him off but he had left early in the morning. Vilkas took it all in stride, bidding his family goodbye. Dromon had come by the day before for a bit of instruction and he felt confident enough that he would do well. Shifting and strapping the bag to his leg he set off eastward to the mainland, hsis father with his armor in another bag besid him. It wasn't too long of a journey for the dragon. His wingbeats were strong and steady. When he was hungry he dove down beneath the waves to hunt his bag protected by his mother's powerful enchantments. It would not burn, get wet and she had added an enchantment for keeping food fresh for a longer time. It took half a day, crossing over the Border Island before he reached the shore. He shifted and pulled on his clothes, his father watching him as he set off.

He wandered, meeting people and helping them. He rarely used his dragon form but they knew they existed and he kept just out of reach from any who would cause him trouble as they knew Dragons were rather strong. Vilkas helped quite a few people over the year and a half he was wandering. He made a few enemies, particularly a merc compy from the Dremorian Empire and several of the new super soldiers he defeated protecting a small village from being raided. He almost lost that but with his shifting and the blood rune version of Hagala, he whipped up such a storm they had to retreat or die. The downside was that he was severely weakened from the encounter, having only bought enough time for the villagers to escape. He limped weakly into the forest, hoping to lose them. He had broken a wing and was in too much pain to shift out of it, making his progress slow. After an hour he found a river in a gorge. With the Dremorians hot on his tail he threw himself in, clutching his bag to his chest. "I need to get to the Sanctuary... But how in the hells am I to find it..."

When he came to he found himself lying on a rocky beach, blackness encroaching his vision. He groaned as he pushed himself up, noting his wings were torn in several places. High up on the cliff he could see a large structure, almost like a castle. He picked up his things in his maw and carried them as he made his way around to get up the cliff. Thankfully a path had been carved out and well maintained. A soft rain had started and mixed with the dragon's blood. He made it about halfway up the path before he slipped, claws scrambling for purchase on the rock. Flaring his unbroken wing for support he caught himself. "That would have been a long tumble I can't take right now..." He kept climbing, reaching the top of the cliff where he could see the structure for what it was. A large bastion, positively radiating magic to his draconic eyes. He kept moving forward, reaching the back entrance. It was there he finally collapsed, body unwilling to move another foot forward. Dropping his bag he succumbed to the black, his wounds and blood rune use too much for him.




have a draggo
The tavern redecorates for the winter festival
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