Rexysaurousrex » Clan | Lair | Nesting Grounds

Rexysaurousrex's Clan

KACHOW

Venerable Lair

carved into the

Rotrock Rim

Clan Info

The Clan Of The Flesh Rippers

Trodding carefully over gnarled roots, you slowly traverse the infamous Rotrock Rim. A melting pot of disease, famine, and death, it’s a world where only the strongest survive...

And you have deemed yourself able to survive it.

But even with your knowledge and skills, even some of the toughest have come back quivering at so much as the thought of it — that is, if they even do make it back.

You shake yourself to clear your mind of such thoughts, when a pain shoots through your foot, and you trip over a cracked rock. You righten yourself quickly, casting the offending object a withering glare, and continue onward.

A fierce snarl interrupts the relative silence and a dark blur comes crashing into you. You both roll until your assailant slams you into the hard ground.
Dazed, you peer up, and are greeted with the blood-red eyes of a tundra.

Outstretched wings are plastered with cobwebs, and it wears an inky wolf cape, huge teeth shimmering as it holds you down with long, jagged claws.
Gulping, you suddenly remember that Plague dragons were known to be ruthless.

Your aggressor jerks back and lets loose a laugh -- such an ugly sound, like metal on metal. They lean uncomfortably close to your face, and you shift anxiously.

“What have we got here?” She cackles, saliva hitting and spattering on you. You flinch away, but she wrenches your head forward.

“I said — what, have we got, here?!” She snaps, baring her large canines threateningly.

“I was looking for a clan in this area...” You start, but the tundra quickly interjects.

“And why is that?” She hisses, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I—well, you see-"

“QUIT YOUR USELESS STUTTERING!” She screeches, rocking you violently.

“Okay, okay!” You shout. She quiets and you start your explanation again.

“I was searching for a clan, they go by the name of Rippers, I think. Do you know any of their whereabouts?” The tundra cackles gleefully, brushing a paw harmlessly against your cheek. You shift instinctively and she grins wickedly.

“Why, in fact I do!” Leaning closer again, she asks, devilish smile fading from her face, “but why do you want to know?”

You can’t help it — you sigh in exasperation. She frowns. “That would leave you with your head cut off,” she growls, her grasp on you tightening.

“Wha-? I just wanted to say that I wanted to join them!”

The words leave your mouth faster than you think to, and you quickly gasp at the realization of what you’ve done. Plague dragons, you remember again, are known for being exceptionally good hunters…

...Especially of other dragons.

The tundra’s eyes narrow into bloodied coals. Then she bursts out laughing. Backing off of you, she grins again.

“Well why didn’t you say so? Come with me, fresh meat!” She is already bounding away by the time you struggle to your feet and scramble after her.
“Hey! Wait for me!” You call, but the mysterious tundra does not slow.

Huffing, you sprint after her. You tear through decayed and rotten 'forestry' for long enough you almost slam right into her as she suddenly appears. She hushes you, tilting her head, listening. Then she gestures for you to follow. Slinking forward, another Tundra appears. Your pervious assailant bows slightly, nodding to the newcomer.

The new tundra is larger, a dark mottled crimson, with dark wings drawn down to it’s sides. From under a mask of browned foliage, blood red eyes stare into you soullessly. It stalks up to you and sniffs you, bringing with it the sharp scent of decay. You force down the urge to gag as it circles around you unhurriedly.

“You were looking to become one of the Flesh Rippers, correct?” It’s voice is masculine, and it seems heavy somehow.

Dragons under the realm of the Plaguebringer prey on fear.

Squaring yourself, you respond confidently, “Yes.” Seeing how the mysterious tundra had reacted to him, you take care in avoiding his piercing gaze, allowing it to roam your every piece of skin.

He rumbles, a surprisingly pleasing sound, and he turns back to the female.
“Arche, you’ve done me good. You may go.” Arche dips her head, brown locks covering her wild eyes, and exits from the small clearing.

Now alone with this stranger, you have no idea what to expect. He is Plague, yet has showed no signs of aggression; he even said that ‘Arche’ has done him good. Will he take you in?

Shifting from one foot to the other, you curiously look into his face, and he stares coldly back into yours.

After a moment, he smiles coldly. It didn't fit on his grave face with that gravely voice.

“Welcome to my clan,” he says, lips curling to expose yellowed teeth. “May you have the best of hunts.”