Aeizith yelped as he unwittingly walked right into a trunk of a tree, slamming his forehead against it's trunk before falling over on his butt before rubbing the sore spot on his face. He cringed softly, not expecting a full-speed impact with something so solid, but as he raised his gaze, the little icy vampire saw off in the distance, a wall, seemingly built from logs. Each log was placed meticulously in it's own little hole, standing it upright one after another, their upward ends carved so that sharp points touched the air. The wall stood at least 20 feet high, perhaps more with a nearly-as-big symbol painted on the front near the gate in the center, a gate that was always locked: a circle with three lines that crossed at their bottom ends... The sign of the third hand. Somehow, Aeizith had managed to stumble upon the bandit base as he lost his way, both relieved and dejected at the same time. Aeizith never enjoyed taking a life, let alone a whole towns-worth... It usually never mattered their morality, from good or bad, murderer or pacifist. Bandits...? Despite what people would like to believe, they were still living, breathing creatures, half of them probably having families elsewhere with children and such... And he was about to take it all away from them...
Aeizith's body contorted and grew, wings sprouting from his back above his shoulders, his neck stretching and widening into that of a serpent's, his skin being replaced by a thick coat of scales. In a matter of seconds, the little boy was gone and in his place as a small, but fearsome 18 foot black dragon, the spreading of it's wings and the roar blasting from it's throat leveling threes for yards around. It was always easier to bump off people in this form... things were always so much simpler... His emotions? ........More numb it sickened him to say, but that's what he needed right now... something that would give him the edge he needed to save face while doing what he despised most. With a flap of his mighty wings, Aeizith rocketed into the sky, a loud, screeching wail erupting from his maw as he glided across the land and painful speeds, flying straight into the wall the bandits had set up. The measly wood stood no chance against such a massive beast, the dragon's body crashing through the wall as if it were nothing but an obstacle, smashing some of the logs in half, others simply being blown aside on impact. Of course, Aeizith too had felt the impact of the blow, hissing as with a frosty steam as he side-over-side before eventually flipping on his feet, glaring at the swarming bandits, those that coagulated like ants with their hive under attack. When one thinks of bandits, one imagines men with daggers, perhaps a sword or axe, brutal and savage wearing nothing but the leather they make themselves. These bandits were not those bandits. These bandits had balistas, horses, plate and chain... These so-called bandits seemed more like a battalion of rogue knights than they did outlaws... cross-bows, long bows... Aeizith even saw a sling or two.... All of those were locked onto his black scaly hide...It might have been his dragonic pride, but he wasn't intimidated in the least. It was much like staring down a collection of insects that had mobilized their attack force while you mobilized yours: Your foot.
With a mighty swing of his tail, Aeizith sent a great number of men behind him sailing into the sky, their fellow man, and some of the shelters they had set up. With a sweep of his head, Aeizith smashed the side of a local guard tower, the majority of which was stone and mortar. The tower crumbled, falling atop many of the men, most of which only stared dumbly at their imminent demise. His scales took the majority of the impact but still... Aeizith felt pain and.... wetness...? Little did the dragon know or care at this point, several of his black scales had been torn from his flesh in that display of brute force, remaining lodged in the pile of stone and bodies. Of course, the bandits fought back their metal weapons slamming against his body in some futile attempt to penetrate his armor. The black dragon folded his wings in front of his face, before unfurlling them rapidly, shoving all in front of him aside in a massive cone, the clanking and crumbling of metal, a sheer cacophony. Seeing they're initial assault was a complete faliure, the remaining bandits retreated to their last remaining stronghold on the hill behind all, a MASSIVE stone fortress like a small castle and Aeizith simply let them go...He didn't pursue or even wipe them out... Sometimes, he was frustrated with his own inhabitions... If he could be more like his sisters, things would be so much EASIER.... But he wasn't.... and that was sad... Slowly, the black dragon's body shifted and shrunk back to the little form of the boy known as Aeizith sitting curled up against the ruins of the guard tower as he hugged his knees to his chest, just looking at the devastation he had caused. There were dead and dying all around him, pleads for death, others to be helped and some just pleading. Many were trapped and even impaled by the shattered remains of their plate, blood gushing out from the inside as if it were a punctured metal flask. He was sure someone else would come across this scene and paint something of it and that painting would be praised into something like a pinnacle of art potential. People would love it, study it, recreate it, but they would never live it... Not like Aeizith had. And if he caught sight of such a painting that immortalized what he'd done here today the little dragon would burn it to cinders. Unfortunately, the painting was all around him now... and it came with haunting, paralyzing sounds...
Aeizith attention came back as he felt a small tug on his jacket, a tug coming from one of the crushed men. Half of his body was crushed beneath the stone from the mid-torso down, the other half brutally twisted and broken... He wore not a helmet nor a chest-plate, just a leather cuirass and gloves and a look that begged to die. Aeizith couldn't imagine the pain he was in, the absolute agony of having one's body decimated but having the unfortunance of being alive afterwords.
"..........please........" He rasped out. He was asking to die... He was asking for the pain to end, the suffering to end, the emotional trauma of all his friends murdered by this kid to end... and the little ice dragon did nothing. He shook his head, giving the man an apologetic look as if that would make up for..... this...
"p.....leeeeeee.....ase....." The man groaned again, more forcefully this time. Aeizith said nothing, and only stared ahead, only sitting among the corpses as he processed what he was capable of. As he surveyed a mere fraction of his power, hatred and anger of his own abilities bubbled up within him. He hated how he was able to do something like this. He hated that he had the strength, the ability, the claws and teeth to rip men apart. He hated that he NEEDED to do this to live, that wanton destruction and murder was all he was good for. But perhaps most of all, Aeizith hated how he had the integrity to feel about it at all... It hurt so bad every time he was forced to do something like this.... Sometimes, when he stared at the peaceful towns, he wondered if he could have something like that... where he just be and work... enjoy the moon-shine quietly... But other times, he knew that he wouldn't be given the opportunity... What god would bless him with such a gift after what he did? Ice creeped up around the stone and ground as Aeizith hid his face in his arms, unable to look at the carnage anymore.
