atlas l. teumessia

AGE

OCCUPATION

GROUP

DRAGON

personality

positive 

adventurous !
generous !
light-hearted !
easy going ! 
forgives easily !
optimistic !

negative

reckless !
stubborn !
arrogant !
thoughtless !
doesn't understand personal space !
slightly paranoid !


habits

likes: adventures, monster hunting, warm campfires, starry nights
dislikes: dragons, dragonriders, rules, dragons

Incredibly kind, Atlas is a rather strong character. In her spare time she carries her fiddle on her back alongside a quiver filled with arrows. She's a strange mix of fun and dangerous - like a snake wearing a cowboy hat. She craves adventure like a kid craves sweets and makes her living hunting wolves the size of horses and snakes with two mouths. 

Despite that, she despises dragons. She hates them with a passion, she hates them to cover up her fear for them, she shakes like maraca. Like the teumessian fox, she runs and evades - like a dog and rabbit, she is slender and swift, her words running off her tongue both in english and her native tongue. Sometimes her jittery actions can lead to her ignoring things like personal space and other things. 

history

Atlas was born across the sea, far from elyrios and farkhan. She was born on a tiny farm with a grandfather and a strange mutant sheep and her grandmother that would play the fiddle on sunday nights. She had an older brother whom she adored, as she tilled the land. The land was ripe with war and tyranny, taxes went up and down and they strived to survive the winters without starvation. When the eighth winter came and went, Atlas found herself carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her grandparents had died from old age leaving her and her brother to take over the farm.

In her spare time, she mastered her grandmother's fiddle and learned to hunt with a quiver on her back and a sharpshooter's eye. But soon, they had to sell their land. The option was to begin life anew so they picked up seats on a boat. It was a bumpy ride with Atlas, she carried her home on her shoulders and her brother carried a pitchfork and some clothes - the very last things they had of a life before. 

It was before they could dock into Farkhan that their ship was attacked by a dragon. It ripped their ship apart and when Atlas awoke, she was on a dock with half of quiver of arrows and a missing brother and the world on her shoulders got that much heavier. She wandered around a bit, before travelling to Elyrios. For a second, in a farming community she almost felt a home. But she would find her calling not in the seeds but the monsters that plagued farms. Wolves with overlapping jaws that would bite into her arms. She would hunt the deer made of burning light that burned their crops. They called her Atlas, monster slayer. Indeed. She lost her leg and they paid her kindly enough to get one of metal and gears from Farkhan. Her aim was stronger, she was quick and sturdy. 

Atlas, unafraid of the dark. 

Ask her to slay a noctem, she would do it. She would chase the taraxippi away, she knew methods to talk to ghosts and spirits and she wears the tusk of a once immortal boar. But dragons, they were different. She hated them and feared them, and learned to fear the fire and acid, the smell of brimstone would make her sick. She has yet to shoot down a dragon from the sky but to be near one is to send her into shivers because she remembers heartless eyes and grabbing teeth. 

She remembers. And waits.

WRITER