Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Thrax]

---

The cloak was a poor substitute for a sail but being jury-rigged only halfway up what was left of the mainmast didn't help things either. The boat barely moved. Days at sea and the last of the fresh water gone, Lord Thrax shielded his eyes and searched in vain for a sign of land. He reflected on what he had come to know; how he had wound up in this predicament.

It began when Lady Angelique gave him a sample of what she called "the tenderizer." She said it had other, more useful, helpful, properties when digested. He had thanked her but put it away, saving it for a rainy day and then forgot about it... until he decided to give it to Durthagg, his servant, to use on a slab of steak he was preparing for supper one evening. The half-orc apparently used the whole thing on the meat, even sprinkling a generous amount on top of the cooked steak for asthetic value or else just for good measure. His first indication that something was wrong was a sudden warm flush followed by a powerful rush of energy that made him lose his senses. He faintly remembered jumping up from the table and charging out of the Citadel with the conviction that Thraxstadt was under siege from vengeful sea serpents that were looking for all the scales he had collected in the past from their kin. They had to be destroyed and he, alone, could do it. He felt supercharged by a berserker fury that consumed him and gave vent to a murderous rampage that he had only recently awoke from.

He knew he must report this ill effect to the Lady... but how to get off this ship?

There was one other way of escape, a last resort. He had to use it last year to eradicate the effects of the deadly toxin when the drow Dharzhal had poisoned him. It would mean he would risk revealing his true nature to his enemies. But worst of all it was painful... excruciatingly so... and would make him unable to resume human form for a considerable period of time. And there was so much that needed doing right now: he meant to see the drow banished from the realm, into the arms of Oggaroth, given over to eternal torment; he wanted to cement new friendships and alliances; he wanted to meet again with Ceinwyn whose presence and company he found refreshing and quite pleasant. So much to do... and now this.

Surrendering to the inevitable, he removed his armor, weapons and clothing and placed them into several packs, setting them down at his feet. Standing naked with arms extended at his sides and his fingers making secret signs necessary for the transformation, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. The words that screamed a warning of pain to come fell from his lips, slowly, one at a time.

The sound of an unearthly, primal, roar reverberated across the water...

Packs in hand, Thrax, the demon-lord, spread his barbed leathery wings and lifted off from the derelict ship toward home, leaving its deck littered with shredded, bloody, bits of flesh that had once been his body, vestiges of the humanity that he so greatly cherished.