A Dragon's

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Your mother lays on the bed before you, silent as usual. Her cheeks are gaunt, her eyes sunken in - every breath comes with a shudder, as though it could very well be her last.

"Don't worry mom," you whisper to her. "I'll figure this out. I promise."

You glanced with disdain at the various candles placed around her. You extinguish them in disgust - of course they didn't work. In a small village like this, you didn't expect the people to have even a basic understanding of medicine, but the degree of their ignorance still continues to astound you.

You take a moment to double check the machinery keeping her alive. You can't say you particularly understand what it is - as usual with Elven technology, it is minimalistic to a fault. While you can't really tell what it's doing, you can tell that it seems to be working - and you sincerely hope it will continue to do so in your absence.

You walk into your bedroom to finish packing. As you do, you notice the full-body mirror on your wall - one of the few bits of furniture you took with you when you left the city. It was mostly out of spite, since you know your mother loved it - but once she couldn't use it anymore, you moved it to your own room.

You take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair short brown hair a bit as you do.

Your name is Peter Resignor. You stand at approximately 5'4". Your height is a roughly average for 25 year old white men in this region, but compared to the Elves and Orcs, you're practically a dwarf. Compared to actual Dwarves, however, you're positively gigantic.

While you may have fair skin, there is a hint of darkness to it, due to your father's naturally black skin. Your skin tone definitely leans more towards your mother's pale complexion, however.

While you don't have the physique of an Adonis, you are quite proud of your body. Despite a primarily sedentary lifestyle in the city, primarily spending your time either in school or in a lab doing research, you've managed to remain in decent shape. You don't have a six-pack or anything, but you're no slouch.

You briefly make eye-contact with yourself in the mirror, your light blue eyes continuing to examine your body and your gear, double-checking that your attire is suitable for the environment you're going to be trekking through. You're wearing a pair of somewhat worn boots, a pair of long pants with pretty sizeable pockets, and a comfortable, long-sleeved shirt. Around your waist is a simple, hide belt.

A knife sits in a leather holster clipped to your belt - an Elven knife you purchased one day in the city. It's more for show than anything, with its ornate handle and intricately detailed sheathe, but the blade itself is more than sharp enough to be used as a weapon.