Hrough - Mini RP Backstory
Notes: First off, I don't claim to be a writer at all. So don't expect any fancy prose, or even a story that is fun to read. I am just an artist, and an addict to roleplaying. This post serves more or less as just some simple backstory to explain why Hrough seems bitter and hostile towards family units and others, but at other times won't stop with his questions and curiousity.
As a side note, none of his family members are known to have died during the incidents. I didn't go into detail about them because I don't think it would be of any considerable use to his character right now. (and I'm excessively lazy.) I'm more likely to draw it out than to write it, and this only exists because it is the easiest way for people to get to know Hrough's character a little better in idea. Again, I apologize for my lousy writing.
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And in the end, Bathulumiiat rested upon the nestshelf, wings folded across her dying body. The eggs in the back of her nest were starting to crack, and once again she raised her voice to sing to them, her voice carrying over the cool night air and into the cave, warmi-
"Junk!" A young male voice hissed, tossing the book into a small, makeshift fire pit nearby. The voice belonged to a tiny dragon, no more than a couple of seasons out of his shell. Pink stripes and swirls marked his blue scales, ear-like fins and tiny white horns adorning his head. He grabbed for the next book on the pile, setting it on the floor before him and starting to flip through it with his talons, gently, so as to not tear the pages.
It had been a few seasons since he had come to this place, barely alive out of a harsh storm that had separated him from his nestmates. He had curled up amongst the books, eating bugs for sustenance as he taught himself to read, using some of the simpler books and a few mind-pictures and thoughts he had gotten from his mother at a young age. Reflecting on it, he considered that to be the one useful thing she had done for him.
Sure, she had sung to him, spoken to him as most mothers do when their hatchlings were in egg. She had given him his name, Hrough, and had crooned at her clutch, how proud she was to have them all gifted. But, despite this pride and warm love, when danger was lurking near the mouth of the cave she had flown off, abandoning her small clutch of three and leaving them to the strange hunters that stood before them.
Naturally, the three had fled. The strange two-legs followed them through the rain, and were lost when the storm kicked up. Hrough had kept against the other two, whose names he couldn't remember now amongst all those in the books. The three walked like this until one had reared up in surprise when a branch hit its snout and stretched its wings – the winds carried it off, and the other two quickly learned just how vulnerable they were.
The darker-scaled sibling of his had kept to his side as they looked for shelter when they had mistakenly drawn too close to a cliff edge as hatchlings sometimes do, and the other had fallen. He recalled his own panicked screeching, and the final hours he spent crawling until he found an abandoned lair, able to curl up in it and wait out the storm.
He didn't go to the books immediately. He stepped outside every so often, to take a look for his siblings, crying out for his mother. With no luck whatsoever – and finding himself chased by weird, furry, four-legs after a while, he finally settled into the library, where he discovered the books and his ability to live off of just the bugs, and the trickling water structures in the cave.
The books, he decided, were the one thing he would be able to keep with him. He would memorize them all and keep them in his head, find ways to use them against the two-legs – naka-duskael, according to the books – and against cowardly dragons such as his own mother. Every book he read seemed to speak of the ferocity and dedication of a mother dragon to her clutch, and it made him burn inside. Could he find just one that were wronged such as him within these pages, he might have felt better, or at least not become so bitter.
But as it stood, envy and bitterness settled in his heart as part of his earliest nature, overstretched only by his curiosity and thirst for knowledge and accompanied by a tinge of loneliness that lurked in the back. Again, he grew disgusted with the book before him and tossed it into the flames. The books seemed to only know so much, and as he rose to his feet this time and packed his favourite books into his tiny scale-pack, he decided he would go out into the world and find other dragons to test if they were as true as his books, or as unreliable as he imagined in his own head.
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So as you see, wittle Hrough just needs a hug.No wonder why he's so socially akward, though. XD
