Exile chuckled darkly under his breath, his horrid blood-colored eyes scanning the forest scenery. For four days he had been wandering through the dense undergrowth of the Great Forest... a place he had despised since his 'creation'. Usually the place was full of life: vibrantly-singing birds, green foliage, the works... everything that Exile had been taught to hate. However, this trip had proven most interesting: the brids were silent and the trees where withered, their leaves brown as the dirt below his large claws. This change, while utterly disasterous in the minds of others, was a pleasent surprise to him. While lumbering along, he had spotted a deceased Parathon to his right, it's brown body decaying in the sun. He had laughed at the carcass and enjoyed taking in its scent before slowly moving on again.
Exile was as monsterous in appearance as he was in personality. Standing at a full 20 feet when rearing up on his hind legs, his skin was a violent purple bearing darker triangular stripes down his back. His eyes were the color of freshly-spilled blood, his fangs and five facial tentacles stained a dull red with it. A row of long, razor-like violet spines ran from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail, the largest of them resting between his shoulders were also stained a dull crimson. Four deadly tail spikes, each one measuring a foot and a half in length, protruded from his long, whip-like tail. His forelimbs which also functioned as arms were slightly longer than his powerful hidlegs, giving his four-legged gait a lumbering, hunched-over appearance. His hind paws were large and birdlike-built for running and defense, while the foreclaws bore only three-fingers and thick square-nails, giving them a Mudokon-like look. The only part of him that seemed to resemble the Slig he once was had to be his skull... the rest of him was severely altered. Yes, his master had built him well for his purpose: to kill. And kill he had: for every two kills he cut himself slightly on the inside of his hindlegs... he now had 400 scars. Exile's favorite pastime was roaming from village to village, watching it's inhabitants scream with pain, go insane from his venomous bite, or be at the mercy of his crushing punches. It was the only pleasure he knew, and as it was an instinct, he thrived on it. The newfound scent of dying and distraught souls attracted him like a starving dog smelling a succulent steak cooking.
But wait... he had just picked up two other scents. One he recognized as a Tuezo: he hadn't seen one in years. The other one seemed to be a Mud... and a right living one at that. Curious, Exile used the shadows of the dying forest to his advantage, and sure enough his sharp oculars picked up the images of a rather interesting Mud and a Tuezo. But why wasn't the Tue draining the Mud? Must've just fed... oh well, more for my hunger. he thought wickedly. He began to listen to their conversation and fought to maintain his serious composure: So, whole towns were ill and dying? Wonderful!
It was then that he decided to have some fun. He would wait until he was discovered, and if so, he would hide his instincts... for now.
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-Black Dragon
http://dragonaura.deviantart.com
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