Randress came out of the shell a little weaker than her siblings. She was forced to subsist on cave insects while her brothers and sisters could fight for the meat brought back by their father. She was in danger of being eaten outright by her father save for the fact that she wandered deeper into their cave lair than she should have. A sibling followed her in, but never quite followed her trail correctly. Where she had gone into a mushroom room, he went into a big spider's den. A bit of a difference there. It wasn't very healthy for him, I guess. Anyway, subsistence on mushrooms and insects sustained her until she realised that she probably should be outside growing!
Mild cave adaption gave her a little trouble on her start out. Her father had already driven the rest of her brood from the lair, and he was foraging when she emerged. She knew from instinct that it wouldn't be good to be home when he got back. She fled out into the bigger world. The world was pretty big for a young wyvern. Day to day she had many adventures in the search to fill her stomach. Most of her own kind that she met were very dumb in her opinion.
Insects! Do they not have brains in their skulls! Clever ambushes kept her alive where her siblings could survive on brute force.
Her adolescent years were filled with the natural lust for what wyverns crave most: Shiny things. She knew she was small. When other creatures that liked shiny things came to her horde, she was often forced to abandon it rather than fight. Crows were a constant nuisance.
Flying rats! Get out of my horde! She was often without the precious.
Her slow migration westward was marked by many larger creatures forcing her out of territory she claimed. It seemed like she couldn't find a place to roost until she finally found a large insect hive: Rivershire. The bugs there didn't
like being called bugs, and they made her haul carts if she wanted to eat. Their language was all bluhs and strange hisses, but she eventually learned enough of it to get by in conversations. Weird creatures that liked to put their words down on things that looked better without the giant mess. The joke was on them, she learned to read their strange symbols! She couldn't write it, of course, unless there was a big piece of mud she could drag her head across. But then they would just laugh at her, those bastards! Bugs, bugs, bugs, always pestering her and never giving her enough food or shiny things. She was going to show them!
She learned that some of them would brave the wilds of the open country for more shiny things. Well, she was from the open country. She would be better at it than they would be! All she had to do was hunt with them like a pack and not break their weird social customs. How hard could that be?
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Topic: D&D 3.5- Western Marches: dead and gone (RIP) (Read 305577 times)