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SporkLord » Lair » DrKrova
Level 20
Wildclaw Male
Feb 13, 2015 (4 years)
Stats Growth
PrimaryBeige Tiger
SecondaryCoral Stripes
TertiaryCrimson Ghost
Eye TypePlague Common
Energy: 39 / 50
Apparel & Skins
Your name is Doctor Krova. You live in a large tent, specially designed to work as miniature hospital. A sign sits near the front:

"Doctor Krova, best surgeon this side of the Wyrmwound"

You are a great surgeon in your own mind and most in the Wasteland would agree. Those in the rest of Sorneith would probably call your practices unsanitary, unethical, and cruel. All the aforementioned criticisms are ones you have faced on your travels across the world with your patients friends and family. You never received any proper training and could be called a "hack". Most don't trust self taught surgeons / primary care physicians.

You've been in the business for years, though it has taken its tole on your own health. You rarely leave the operating room any more because you're constantly working. You eat once a day at the most and have become malnourished. You haven't slept in a while. Everything has a dull, tired ache to it now. Still, at least you haven't turned into a mindless mass murderer, so the medication and conditioning must be working, right? Right?!

You should probably back up, calm down, take your meds. Can't let him get out.

As a hatchling you weren't to be trusted. At the time everyone thought you were just blaming an imaginary friend and trying to disassociate yourself. You were punished for lying more than most your age, though everyone in the group has come to know that you're one of the last dragons who would ever be caught lying. You'd wake up next to crying and bruised hatchings while being loomed over by angry adults. You never had any recollection of hurting them or how you got there, just a black void in your memory.

This continued into young adulthood. Bruises went to cuts went to injuries went to murder. The blackouts were getting longer. Vinten wanted to lock you away, similar to what he had done to Kvatyr. Ragnarok would not stand for this. She would not let her only living son be mistreated like that. After some deliberation, they decided to get you to channel your problems into something positive.

Your new life began on your 15th hatchday when Ragnarok gifted you your cherished plague doctor mask. Over time, you amassed more protective gear. Not only to keep the germs out, but to keep you from hurting those around you. Whether you wanted to or not, Vinten insisted that you wear your equipment constantly and you must only remove your mask to eat, drink, or take your meds.

You're 25 now. You've been bogged down with work. You regret telling Vinten about your sleeping problems. He wants you to sleep at least 8 hours every night and keep a dream journal. But you can't. Sleeping gives him more control over you, which Vinten will notice, and then you'll have to take more meds to quiet him. You doubt it's working. An annoying little voice has started talking to you. It may or may not be him. You're not sure.

You can't tell Vinten. He'll take your blades away. He'll make your nurse the surgeon, and you, the dutiful assistant. You just know it.

You've stopped taking your meds entirely now. You just know they're messing with your head. You've come to like surgery too much. You don't know if that's him talking or not, but you're starting to think it's evolving into an addiction. You're becoming him. You've become a helpless observer to a few operations gone wrong. Luckily, Mortos helped you cover those up. Can't tell Vinten.

Can't tell Vinten.

Vinten must not know.

Throw out all those pill bottles.

Fake another dream for the journal.

Lie for one the few times in your life.

Don't let him get out.

Don't let him get out.


Etadar. The voice's name is Etadar. It told you its name. That used to be your name. Before you got your mask, Etadar was your name.

You did it.

You can't believe it, and yet here you are standing over the body. Your heart and mind are racing. You've just got the biggest grin right now. It's all over now. You ended everyone's suffering. You killed Vinten.

He came in because he got into a disagreement with some Raptorik and was scratched badly. He limped in, just wanting some bandages, but was greeted with you, perching on the operating table without your mask, looking him right in the eye. You remember the encounter perfectly.

The room's a mess now. The glass is broken and there's blood everywhere. Mortos is helping you clean. Vinten will not be buried. He will be given to Kvatyr. You're keeping his head as a trophy.

The inmates are running the asylum now, and you couldn't be happier.

You will not perform lobotomies, at all, for any reason.
You will not listen to the advice of other doctors.
You only take medication that you decide you need.

Things are happening in this picture. Pretty strange things.
Drawn by SatsumaMei, depicting some shenanigans from this roleplay.


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