[Huddled in the corner with wings drawn about its massive form is none other than a creature most reviled by the Unseelie—a black-and-white dragon, feasting on a great plate of meat that a group of shuddering imps continuously refills. Though the welcome he's received has proven less than warm, the dragon appears quite content, and on more than one occasion waves his claws at any passerby, no matter what manner of nasty faces they make at him.]
Hi there! You look new! Well, new to me, I mean. I'm pretty new myself. Just got here, and all...
[If you're lucky enough to catch his attention, he'll nudge his half-finished plate at you, grinning with teeth that seem friendly in spite of their sharpness.]
I saved you some, if you want it. It's not bad. And you wouldn't mind a little company, right?
[Translation: he could use the company. Derision's he's dealt with plenty before, but being lonely? He hates it. Almost as much as wyverns, in fact. Almost.]
the ward.
[Eventually Mikhail eats his fill at the feast and wanders to the upper levels of Caer Scima. He stops at a courtyard, where there's plenty of space to stretch out and active duels going on that draw his eye.
And though he doesn't even know who he's cheering for, he cheers anyway, stomping his feet excitedly and bopping his head to music only he can hear.]
Yeah, yeah! Right in the jaw! You've almost got it!
[The calls are spirited rather than bloodthirsty. Mikhail's having a great time just watching, and alternates encouraging one side over the other. Should anyone join him, he'll give them a nudge with the blunt end of a wingtip.]
Great stuff, huh? But I know someone who's better than both of 'em put together! It's the truth!
the world.
[All dragons must roam; all dragons refuse to let themselves be confined to just one space. So after all the revels are said and done, he takes to the sky.
And flies. And flies. And flies. He flies whenever he fancies, as far and as fast as his wings will take him. Around the peaks of Dorchadas, skirting the edges of Glaschu, soaring all along the coast, then looping back around again.
Mikhail flies and flies and flies with no regard for where he's going and why he can't go there. There is no such thing as can or can't for a dragon. He isn't arrogant, he isn't seeking a fight, but isn't seeking to restrain himself, either.
He's simply himself. Simply a dragon. Simply Mikhail, who will befriend anyone and everyone he comes across, silly distinctions aside.]
(( First two prompts are Caer Scima only; the last prompt is open to everyone at pretty much any location on the map except for clearly fortified Seelie-aligned towns, garrisons, and otherwise unfriendly areas. Mikhail is not hostile and will not attack under any circumstances, so feel free to engage him, Seelie folk. ))
mikhail | drakengard 3 | unseelie
[Huddled in the corner with wings drawn about its massive form is none other than a creature most reviled by the Unseelie—a black-and-white dragon, feasting on a great plate of meat that a group of shuddering imps continuously refills. Though the welcome he's received has proven less than warm, the dragon appears quite content, and on more than one occasion waves his claws at any passerby, no matter what manner of nasty faces they make at him.]
Hi there! You look new! Well, new to me, I mean. I'm pretty new myself. Just got here, and all...
[If you're lucky enough to catch his attention, he'll nudge his half-finished plate at you, grinning with teeth that seem friendly in spite of their sharpness.]
I saved you some, if you want it. It's not bad. And you wouldn't mind a little company, right?
[Translation: he could use the company. Derision's he's dealt with plenty before, but being lonely? He hates it. Almost as much as wyverns, in fact. Almost.]
the ward.
[Eventually Mikhail eats his fill at the feast and wanders to the upper levels of Caer Scima. He stops at a courtyard, where there's plenty of space to stretch out and active duels going on that draw his eye.
And though he doesn't even know who he's cheering for, he cheers anyway, stomping his feet excitedly and bopping his head to music only he can hear.]
Yeah, yeah! Right in the jaw! You've almost got it!
[The calls are spirited rather than bloodthirsty. Mikhail's having a great time just watching, and alternates encouraging one side over the other. Should anyone join him, he'll give them a nudge with the blunt end of a wingtip.]
Great stuff, huh? But I know someone who's better than both of 'em put together! It's the truth!
the world.
[All dragons must roam; all dragons refuse to let themselves be confined to just one space. So after all the revels are said and done, he takes to the sky.
And flies. And flies. And flies. He flies whenever he fancies, as far and as fast as his wings will take him. Around the peaks of Dorchadas, skirting the edges of Glaschu, soaring all along the coast, then looping back around again.
Mikhail flies and flies and flies with no regard for where he's going and why he can't go there. There is no such thing as can or can't for a dragon. He isn't arrogant, he isn't seeking a fight, but isn't seeking to restrain himself, either.
He's simply himself. Simply a dragon. Simply Mikhail, who will befriend anyone and everyone he comes across, silly distinctions aside.]
(( First two prompts are Caer Scima only; the last prompt is open to everyone at pretty much any location on the map except for clearly fortified Seelie-aligned towns, garrisons, and otherwise unfriendly areas. Mikhail is not hostile and will not attack under any circumstances, so feel free to engage him, Seelie folk. ))