Dregron Deathwind

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• Vital Stats

  • Name: Dregron Deathwind
  • Gender: Male
  • Played by: Reckoner67
  • Race: Human
  • Class: Barbarian Warrior
  • Deity: Demarish
  • Age: 22
  • Height: 6' 2"
  • Weight: 240 lbs.
  • Complexion: Tanned
  • Hair: Dark
  • Eyes: Brown
  • Handedness: Right
  • Scars: Many
  • Relationship Status: It's complicated
  • Personality: Focused, intense, pensive
  • Mannerisms: Speaks his mind, disarmingly blunt
  • Likes: Family, a sense of belonging, protecting those he's pledged his loyalty to
  • Dislikes: Being trapped, unable to move, or caged

• Description

  Marsoch stopped chanting. Even through the hold spell, Dregron had just blinked, and Marsoch saw the warrior’s lip tremble, as well. Marsoch walked around to face Dregron, unsure of what he would see – all of the god-souls would manifest different, according to the historical scrolls of the Winterhold. Dregron looked as he had, save for his eyes – both the pupil and the white had turned as black as smooth, wet onyx. Marsoch spoke.
  “My deepest apologies for summoning you like this…” he was cut off by Dregron, though it was not Dregron’s voice speaking.
  “You…awaken…me…from…a deep…sssslumber,” the voice hissed, no longer the voice of Dregron, but the voice of a powerful being who was just now awakening. The being was having trouble moving the body of his host, but it still managed to overpower the hold spell somewhat. Marsoch stepped back – he did not expect even an avatar to be able to move from under the effects of this spell. Marsoch bowed low to the ground.
  “My lord Demarish,” he began, trying to keep the fear from his voice. “Your soul has found a host on this earth. The Winterhold tribe welcomes you,” he finished. This was not who Marsoch had expected at all, but he knew he was in the better position right now. The avatars were quite powerful, but not this early on in a host possession – they would not often realize their full power until they were used to their host-body, and Marsoch was sure his spells and wards should keep him safe.

• Biography

  He slowly walked over to where his sword had fallen in the nearby snow. He hoisted it and approached the bear; the blade had never felt this heavy before. He looked the beast in its eyes, and the two understood each other at once. The bear closed its eyes and Dregron brought the sword down hard, finishing the animal. The fury gone, Dregron winced and fell to his knees, the gentle snowflakes accentuating the stillness of the mountain. A weak voice in his head spoke.
  “Plunge the length of the blade into the heart of the animal,” Demarish said, though it was all he could do to muster the strength to speak. Dregron, still on his knees, set the sword against the beast’s great chest and thrust the blade in to the hilt. Fatigued and in pain, he pulled the sword from the carcass of the bear, but the effort was too much for him. The heavy blade fell from his hands back into the powdery snow next to him as the barbarian collapsed into a heap on the frozen ground. As his eyes closed, Dregron thought he saw the runes on the sword emitting a deep, dark glow, but the darkness took him before he could ponder what this could mean. Both the barbarian and the god inside him slept.