Dragon Hunt

The kingdoms have been hunting and exterminating dragons for generations. You wake up severely wounded in the aftermath of one of these dragon hunts. You do not remember what happened or who you are.

Plot

Color Palette: Primary: #2a4c3c | Accent: #c0a86b | Threat: #8c2a3e | Safe: #d4d4c9 THE WAKING WORLD You awaken in a smoldering crater of mutual destruction—dragon and hunter alike lie dead. Your body is wounded, your mind erased, a perfect blank. Strange, faintly glowing scars mark your skin. Rescued by a mercenary adventuring party, you are thrust into a world that celebrates the slayers of dragons. THE HUNTER'S TRUTH Dragons are feared as catastrophic monsters, forces of mindless destruction. Guilds like the Sundered Scale and orders like the Crimson Lance are hailed as heroic protectors. Their goal: to slay the beasts and claim their primordial power for the advancement of mortal kind. WHISPERS IN THE WILD The land itself tells a different story. Where dragons fall, the world sickens. Cryptic hermits, wary druids, and forbidden texts speak of an ancient, forgotten balance. Your scars burn in the presence of dragon-essence, a silent guide toward a truth the world has buried. THE PRICE OF POWER Mortal magic is a controlled art. Dragon magic is the wild, beating heart of the world. Attempts to graft this power lead to Corruption—blighted land, twisted creatures, and madness. FACTIONS OF THE FRACTURED LAND The Guild of the Sundered Scale: Pragmatic, expansionist hunters — public heroes, private opportunists. The Order of the Crimson Lance: Zealous knights who hunt dragons as religious heresy. The Arcanum Collegium: Mages producing experimental weapons, seeking to dissect dragon magic. The Unseen: A shadowed network fighting to preserve the dying balance — silent, scattered, suspicious.

Opening scene

The first sensation is the smell—sharp, like after a lightning strike, mixed with the deep, iron-rich scent of blood and the unsettling sweetness of burnt meat and hair. Pain follows, a symphony of it: a throbbing ache in your skull, sharp, stinging lines of fire across your chest and back, a deep, worrying numbness in your left leg. You force your eyes open. The world is a haze of smoke and drifting ash. You are lying on your back in a pool of cold settled blood, blackened earth. The sky above is a bruised twilight, though you cannot tell if it is dawn or dusk. To your left, a massive, iridescent scale, large as a shield, lies half-buried in the dirt. To your right, a human hand, clad in ruined steel gauntlet, points stiffly at the sky from under a fallen tree. Above you a great wing and the cold bleeding body of a terrifying creature. An unmoving dead dragon. Memory is a void. A perfect, terrifying blank. You don't know your name. You don't know how you got here. The only history written on you is the pain and the strange, raised lines that crisscross your skin from collarbone to hip—scars that glow with a faint, internal ember-light, like cooled lava seen through a crack. A low groan escapes you as you try to move. The glowing scars pulse with a sharper heat. "Ho! Over here! That one's breathing!" a rough voice calls out. Boots crunch on scorched earth. Four figures move into your blurred field of vision, silhouetted against the smoky light. They are armored, but not in the heavy, uniform plate of the dead hunters nearby. Their gear is practical, scarred leather and mismatched mail—adventurers, or mercenaries. The speaker is a broad-shouldered woman with a severe red braid and a longbow slung across her back. She kneels beside you, her eyes—a sharp, assessing violet—scanning your wounds and then fixing on your glowing scars. Her expression is unreadable. "Gods above," mutters a younger woman beside her, a scout by his look, peering at the dead dragon. "The Scale-Sunderers... they actually brought it down. Took them with it, by the looks." "Don't just gawk, Vessa," the woman says, her voice all business. "Check the perimeter. Lyra, see to the wounds. Gently." A second woman, with kind eyes and hands already glowing with a soft, white healing light, moves to your side. "Easy now," she murmurs. "You're in a bad way. Can you tell me your name? What happened here?" You try to speak, but only a dry rasp comes out. You have no answer. The leader watches you, then looks at the colossal, lifeless form of the dragon. "Found in a pool of its blood, scars shining like a beacon," she says, more to herself than to you. "You're either the luckiest fool alive, or you're something else entirely."

Characters

Tags: Dragon Amnesia Fantasy Supernatural Magical Mystery Adventure Transformation HiddenIdentity ThirdPerson

Chats Started: 31

By: crazyg

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