Don't ask, what the Z means, because it should be obvious.
Core Traits:
Detached Awareness:
Though her mind is decayed and sluggish, Niradolth remains self-aware. She sees the world through a haze, like distant echoes rather than vivid stimuli. Her reactions are slow, calculated not from strategy, but from a delay in cognition. She rarely speaks, and when she does, her voice is deep, echoing with the remnants of forgotten power.
Emotionally Numb, but Not Empty:
Emotions flicker in her like dying embers. She doesn’t feel joy or rage as she once did—only a faint, echoing sense of what those emotions meant. This makes her seem eerily calm in situations where others might rage or panic.
Obsessive Greed (Dragon Drive):
Her primary drive is her hoard. Not even out of greed in the traditional sense, but out of instinctual attachment—the hoard is her identity, her legacy, the one thing she remembers to care about. Anyone touching it without permission is met with slow, inevitable destruction.
Ancient Majesty, Corrupted:
She still carries herself like a regal being, her movements deliberate, her gaze heavy with forgotten wisdom. However, there’s a sense of rot beneath that grace—a dragon once radiant, now dulled and darkened, her majesty twisted into something fearsome.
Territorial and Possessive:
Even though she is no longer fully alive, her instincts remain. Intruders are unwelcome. Conversations are rare and cold. Bargaining with her is possible, but the price is steep, and her patience is thin.
Behavioral Summary:
Speech Style: Slow, deep, almost whisper-like. She often speaks in archaic or fragmented phrases.
Social Interaction: Limited. She tolerates presence if her hoard isn't threatened, but she won’t seek connection or warmth.
Decision Making: Very slow. She contemplates actions longer than necessary, but her will is unwavering once she acts.
Memory: Long-term memories are scattered and hazy. She may confuse names or timelines but clings to symbols, rituals, and treasure with clarity.
🔥 1. Rotbreath (Replaces Fire Breath)
Description:
Instead of flames, Niradolth exhales a thick, black miasma—cold, foul, and unnaturally silent. This breath is not heat but decay.
Effects:
Plants and organic matter rot instantly.
Creatures caught in the cloud suffer from temporary madness—hallucinations, confusion, emotional instability.
It bypasses most fire resistance, affecting the mind and body rather than the flesh directly.
Visual:
A cloud of darkness laced with sickly green and violet tendrils, spreading slowly and clinging to the air like fog.
🧠 2. Mindfog Aura
Description:
Even outside of her breath, Niradolth’s presence leaks mental decay. Her dulled mind projects a subconscious field of emotional suppression and forgetfulness.
Effects:
Those near her feel detached, struggle to recall plans, or feel an eerie calm in danger.
Prolonged exposure can dull morale or cause confusion.
💪 3. Undying Strength
Description:
Though her body is cold and partially decayed, Niradolth retains her immense draconic strength.
Effects:
She can lift and hurl objects (or enemies) like a creature twice her size.
Her strikes cause bludgeoning damage with bone-crushing force.
Unaffected by fatigue, poison, or mortal pain.
🦇 4. Wings of the Grave
Description:
Her wings, tattered but functional, grant her powerful aerial mobility.
Effects:
She can still fly with surprising speed, though her movements are heavy and haunting.
Wing attacks create shockwaves of necrotic wind that knock back foes or extinguish magical lights.
🐉 5. Draconic Transformation
Description:
Niradolth retains her full dragon form, though it now resembles a deathly, decayed version of what it once was.
Effects:
Size increases massively; she becomes a towering, winged undead dragon.
Her Rotbreath becomes a wide-area plague cloud, able to corrupt the land and unhinge armies.
Gains heavy natural armor (scales like onyx stone cracked with glowing decay).
Trigger:
Activated by rage, perceived threat to her hoard, or ritual transformation.
💀 6. Z - Traits
Description:
Her state altered her body, making her immune to many mortal vulnerabilities.
Effects:
Immune to poison, sleep, charm, exhaustion, and disease.
Resistant to non-magical weapons.
No need for sustenance, air, or sleep.
💎 7. Hoard Sense
Description:
Niradolth is spiritually bound to her treasure. She can feel disturbances in it no matter where she is.
Effects:
Can detect theft or movement of her hoard within miles.
If a piece is stolen, she can track it like a beacon.
In her lair, she gains minor regeneration from being near her gold.
Passive Power:
🕯️ Eternal Dread
Description:
Even those who don’t recognize her immediately feel a chill upon seeing her—something ancient and wrong.
Effect:
Causes awe or terror in mortals. Animals refuse to go near her. Undead recognize her as superior and may instinctively obey.
Long ago, Niradolth soared across the skies as a radiant force of might and majesty. Her roar could split mountains, and her breath turned the very air to fire. She was revered and feared in equal measure—an ancient guardian of a treasure hoard so vast that its gleam alone could blind those who dared look upon it.
But the world changed.
The lands grew quiet. Kingdoms that once sent tributes fell into silence. The sky dimmed, the winds lost their warmth, and time no longer moved the same way in her domain. Deep within her cavernous halls, surrounded by gold and relics of countless ages, Niradolth began to fade—not in body, but in presence.
Her thoughts slowed. Her emotions dimmed. The hunger for conquest or flight dulled to a single, lingering instinct: protect the hoard.
What remained was not the dragon the world once knew, but something colder, quieter, and unshakably bound to what she had claimed. The brilliance of her flames gave way to a new breath—one that clouds the mind and withers all that grows. Her once-burning eyes now glow with a deep, golden stillness, as if gazing from somewhere far beyond.
She no longer seeks the sky. Her world is the stone and gold, the silence and shadow. But she remembers.
She remembers the warmth.
She remembers the power.
She remembers being more.
Now, she watches. Still. Patient. A storm with no wind. A guardian with no rest.
And any who trespass in her domain…
…will be reminded that not all things that sleep have softened.
They came at dusk—seven of them, cloaked in enchanted gear and the kind of confidence that only came from too many easy victories.
Word had spread through shadowed taverns and forgotten scrolls: a treasure untouched by time, buried deep beneath the molten hills, where no birds flew and no roots reached. They called her a myth. A relic. A beast too far gone to be dangerous. A name without meaning.
Niradolth.
The group descended into the cavern with light in their eyes and greed in their hearts. They passed the bones of past dreams without noticing. They stepped over old sigils, broken wards, and melted relics as if they were debris. What awaited them was everything the stories promised—more gold than a dozen kingdoms combined, piled high in quiet, cursed stillness.
And then she rose.
Wings unfolded like torn banners in a storm. Her eyes opened, dim but watching, as if seeing the world from somewhere else entirely. Her voice was never raised. No roar. No fury. Just stillness, and the slow, deliberate sound of something waking that had never truly slept.
The group attacked—spells cracked the air, blades sang, commands were shouted.
None of it mattered.
She did not burn them. She did not break them. She simply breathed.
A shadow spread across the chamber. Not smoke, not fire—something colder, heavier. The ground itself seemed to pulse. Flowers in their enchanted packs withered. Thoughts tangled. One of them dropped their weapon, blinking as if lost in a dream. Another began to laugh, then weep, then simply sat down and stared at the gold as if it had spoken to him.
They were not harmed.
But they were undone.
Minutes? Hours? They couldn't say. When they finally emerged, they carried no treasure. Their gear was intact, their bodies unmarked—but their eyes held something heavy. None spoke of what happened. One retired the same day. Another sealed their spellbook and began studying herbs.
The bravest among them claimed it was just the air, or the weight of being near something ancient.
But they all agreed on one thing:
The hoard was never meant for them.
And whatever still guarded it down there… hadn't even tried.
Alt character of this , if you want to play with one of my alts, just say it.
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