Aesgil Brilliance-of-Dawn

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Male Asgardian Halfwyrm
Player: Percy
General Information
Full Name: Aesgellionidyr Basdhel, the Brilliance-of-Dawn
Nicknames: Wyrmblood, Aes, Moneydragon
Age: 24
Deity: Sif, Lady of Golden Excellence
Occupation: Golden Lord of Sigil, Jarl of Asgard, Planewalker
Faction/Rank: Society of Sensation
Place of Birth: Thrudheim, Asgard, Ysgard
Physical Attributes
Height: 6'11"
Weight: 246 lb
Eyes: Serpentine & Gold
Hair: Honeyed Blonde
Complexion: Typically shimmering gold, with fair bronzed skin
Physical Build: Powerful, lean, predatory
Physical Features: A large tail that drags behind him, scales that shift color with motion
Combat, Romance, Skalding, Esoteric Lore
Equipment and Items
His trusty shield, and his House-insignia

(( Work in Progress ))

Laying eyes on him,

There's little which could ever hide this one's frame; billowing, leathery wings sprout from between his shoulders.

Scales traverse his body, hugging tight to steel-cord muscle that speaks of an unmistakably epic strength.

They bind his body like chain and plate, gnarled scale and scutes forming talon'd gauntlets.

A tail drags a gouge in the ground behind him, near equal to his own imperious height.

All the while, a gaze like that of a feral predator rakes your form with a hunger.

What is known

Aesgellionidyr, the Brilliance of Dawn. Unmistakable is the sheer presence of will that steeps from his very body. It resonates- physically- with the air, a permeating buzz that sings off his scales. His feats and exploits are no hidden thing, with skalds throughout the eons singing of his house and clan; Brilliance-of-Dawn. Bloodsworn devotees to the Golden Goddess of Excellence, a Great Wyrm long ago made a bargain with the Lady Sif to be granted swaths of land within the divine realm of Thrudheim. In exchange for cultivating, protecting, and holding this land, the Wyrm and its decedents would be graced with physical beauty, excellence, and a superiority which melded might and skill. The pact was sealed with the exchange of a lock of godly hair, for a golden scale.

However, one cycle nine turns ago saw the sweeping fortress of dragons, half-breeds, and other heralds of the Golden Lady destroyed. Nobody knows what happened, only that when the light rose, it rose not on white marble and a bustling keep, but on a smote ruin loitered with corpses desecrated beyond recognition, beyond recovery. Even as the cycle reached midday, not a single one of the dead rose. Of just over three-hundred, barely ten survived. Only one of them housed the original blood of the pact. Aesgellionidyr Basdhel, fifth of his line. For many winters he went missing, before any canny blood might have picked up rumors of a battle-wyrm blooded cutter in Sigil. Not many of those around, eh...?