basic information.

• Nickname(s): Oregano, Lizard.
• Age: Approx. 14,000
• Zodiac Sign: Aries.
• Place of Birth: Scottish Highlands.
• Current Residence: Vos beach house.
• Occupation: Hitman/Interrogator.
• Spoken Languages: SSL, BSL, English, Spanish, Scottish Gaelic.
• ual Orientation: Demiual.
• Romantic Orientation: Panromantic.
• Relationship Status: Single.

appearance notes.

• Height: 6'1''.
• Pronouns: He/it.
• Eye Color: Amber.
• Piercings: Ears and septum.
• Scars: Centre of his torso.
• Tattoos: Vos trident on right arm.
• Clothing Style: Casual.
• Additional: Selectively mute.

crackle like smashing glass. A flourish of soft snowflakes as a scaly head emerged from the safety of the sheltered cavern. He was a dramatic block of violet against an icy background, the melting ice's first sign of life for quite some time. The clueless young creature looked around. Ice. Ice. Ice. More ice. He sniffed indignantly, searching for some colour, anything. Nothing but a fresh dampness. A fat drop of water landed upon the rounded tip of his snout, startling the poor hatchling. In yet another clumsy tumble of skin and bones, thin, fragile membranes of wings strained as he recovered from the brutal attack. A stirring inside him. An angry rumble, deep in the pit of his belly. He crooned out a pitiful whine, like a baby bird crying out for its mother to feed it. No response came. It has never, though the instinct to cry for help still lingered in the mind of a hatchling. He shuddered, sending fresh snow off the ridges of his spine. The proud little thing puffed his chest out, stepping forward through the chill with new purpose.

Food. Food. Food. He needed food. A soul so young trotting alone through the snow would undoubtedly be quite the sight. Yet, he moved with the confidence of royalty, the white snow a crown atop his narrow head, the jewels lining the dips and crooks in his scales. In nature, the strongest would survive, and no disadvantaged start would hold the little thing back. Parents? Just means of additional help. He didn't need them. A puff of dusty smoke left his snout as he stumbled across exactly what he needed. Parents to feed children were always good - but why did he need them, when he could steal what was left behind by other creatures? It wasn't stealing if they were done with it. Smugly, the gangly creature crouched beside a fallen deer, barely touched by the wolves or whatever had taken its life. Nothing went to waste, everything needed to help nurture the growing mind, the adventurous spirit of the hatchling. Not an hour later, with a second unbringing of snow from a clumsily flicking tail, the beast disappeared back into the cosy den, curling up in his world of darkness, away from the blinding white of the outside world. Belly full, warm and safe, he settled down, ready to grow and learn more of the world in his dreams of catching meals of his own, of conquering the world he knew of, of being the little Prince in the changing world of melting ice.

Scavenging. Friendship. Every day the little prince's knowledge grew. As his wings got bigger and he grew into his great scaly paws, so too did he grow into his ability to learn. He could question. He could watch. He could act. He didn't need a mother to keep him safe from the wolves and lynxes. The strange little thing was doing just fine alone. Natural selection would eliminate the weak; and so, in a vastly changing world, he was becoming the strongest. Vast icy plains gave way to forests teaming with life in his first hundred years. It took a thousand, maybe two, until he was big enough to dwarf even the tallest deer. By now, a strange blue friend who looked just like him had grown up plenty too. By now, a shallow pond couldn't home him anymore, so it was on a sandy beach that they found each other. The salt confused the young creature, sent him reeling back when he tried to drink from it. What was wrong with it? Had something died in there? His foolishness was laughable, and his watching friend took great pleasure in showing off how he thrived in the bitter water. But surely, the violet creature could be forgiven some; he'd never found the end of the land before, the coast, seen the shapes of a land on the horizon, hundreds of miles out of reach. It took some time, some coaxing from his friend to trust the water enough to swim in it. It didn't pull him to the depths to consume him like he feared, it didn't fight back against him. So long as he kept his head above the water, he would be just fine.

"You're changing."

He blinked. Slowly. Once, twice, like a feline showing a deep running affection. Changing? Of course he was. They always were, weren't they? Once, there had been ice, great sheets of it which covered the land, icy cliffs, icy caves, his sweet little hatchling burrow that he could no longer squeeze into and had long since left behind.

The world was changing.

The cold was gone, the water had come, great floods that took the caves, brought fresh green life flowing into the roots of the world itself. New creatures had taken hold of the land, and the creature was trying to adapt along with them. Strange little things, that stole the sheep, put them in little plots of grass surrounded by a few rocks. What were the rocks meant for? He puzzled. Birds would swoop down and steal the lamb's eyes still, and it didn't make it any more difficult to steal a few of his own to eat for dinner, to feed himself and his good friend from the water.

Two friends law atop the hill. Little lion men, waiting for a chance to pounce, to run their prey into the ground. The fires were slowly, one by one extinguished. They could leave no scar upon the skin of the dragons, but for his friend from the water they could be lethal weapons. Nonetheless, the sharp sticks and metal rectangles the little creatures in their stone boxes carried would leave nicks nad wounds in any foolish young lizard's scales. Basil leaned over the edge of their perch, his eyes wide. A cat, waiting to leap on the unsuspecting mouse. Jagged claws trembled and rapped against white-scratched stone. His body thrummed with pulses of energy through his body, a hunter's instinct in full swing, a sweet adrenaline that left him trembling. Gone was the weak, lonely creature who relied on the leftover meals of much bigger, stronger animals. Now he was the hunter. He would hunt until he was full, no longer nursing a starving stomach. The violet tail swishes in feline fashion, stirring the cerulean creature by his side. They were two different souls. One, calm and collected, a sweet spirit grown by the care of mother nature's waters. The other, a raging firestorm, owned by his primal desires, his naive mindset. Yet together, they completed a cycle of balance. A balance that would never come undone. Never. Never. Basil looked to him. Full of impulse, of impatience. He was ready. Ready to thrive in his world. 

Laboured breaths brought him to his senses. Where? Where did they come from? Who did they belong to? A desperate hand clung to his chest, feeling the gush of air from a body which did not quite belong to him. Trembling. Trembling from head to toe. He opened his eyes, not a trace of the bleariness that came with sleep. He had not slept. He would not sleep. Could he ever again? Two faces were burned into his memory, two stolen souls that lay just out of reach.

He screamed. For all the breath in those trembling lungs. The sound was ragged, broken, the infinite grief of a broken man behind a shrill rush of air. Hard earth greeted the torn skin on his knuckles as he drove his fist into the ground, sweet pain a relief from the numbness suffocating him, up through his stomach, his chest.

Basil law back, a dark sky greeting the pained eyes. He lay in the ashes of his rage. Once a proud village, one he had visited since those strange little creatures had last settled. Darkness. He opened his eyes again. Darkness. He opened them again a third time. Why was this becoming so difficult? A despair set in. Stolen. Innocent lives. It was only the same as what he'd done, wasn't it, by burning the place to the ground? It was revenge. They were innocent. They had stolen nothing, they had caused no harm, posed no threat. Trophies. That was all they were, to the little creatures who wanted the world in their hands. He rested his hands on his chest, clenching them, unable even then to control the shaking. Darkness, once again. Basil sighed, a dusty rattle like the last breath of a pack mule carrying ten tonnes of stones. What was the point? Why should he continue, when all that he'd wanted had been stolen? He was a fearsome creature, a creature of the wild, of the laws of nature. But these strange creatures knew no laws, no boundaries or paid heed to the words from Mother Nature. They did not play fair.

With a last sluggish push, he curled onto his side, into himself, into the human body he could not claim to be his own. His prayers fell to deaf ears, abandoned by all he could call his mother. At some point, all thought slipped away, and the dragon lay broken in the dying embers that he'd created, to be found the only survivor of a brutal and malicious dragon attack. Such a beast could be slain along with the others later, but for now, it was time to pretend to aid the broken man and bring him to  yet another human settlement to rest and heal.

Basil awoke taken in by a kindly man, the town's blacksmith, who let him keep his name and promised him a life of putting his uncanny survival in the face of fire to good use. 

basic summary.

Overprotective with his friends and allies, and yet fiercely secretive about his own origins and history. He is nosy, but won't take it both ways. He is lazy, spending up to days at a time curled away in his room in a slumber。

their strengths.

Naturally loyal to the creatures which have taken him in, he has experience of the world。

their weaknesses.

The challenges of having varying means of communicating, stingy with his privacy, bad with ranged weapons and has a bad aim, due to being older can be rude and backhanded without realising it。

their trivia.

Very low tobacco tolerance - hates it when people smoke in the house, uses two curved knives as weapons that he keeps on him at all times possible, and will avoid using guns wherever he can。

their secrets.

While Basil pretends to have a very innocent hoard of crystals, and shiny rocks, he actually hoards taxidermy and preserved body parts, namely of human and creature limbs from his enemies, with a few other pretty specimens that he's found through time. Of course he is anxious about the consequences of it becoming common knowledge, and so owns a lockup in a quiet area of the city where he can slip away to to check on his precious possessions。

their fears.

He is afraid of cats, clowns and the nature of his hoard getting out. 。

their bad habits.

Pretending not to be able to hear people when he doesn't want to listen。

Before You Approach Me

•.*★ important。 I'm happy for you to call on me with no idea what you'd like to write, so long as you're willing to put the effort in to help us figure something out together!

Writing & Plotting Style

•.*★ writing style。 I do para to novella. I write detailed threads in 3rd pov, ic room interactions and such 1st pov. Lengthwise, I try to mirror, but I can get carried away fairly easy, so it's not guaranteed.

•.*★ plotting style。 I prefer winging over plotting most times, but I can plot. Because of this, I'll often do vague-ish plots that provide enough detail for you, but also give me enough room to play with our ideas.

I am always happy to write the starter for us, as I know it can be difficult to figure out what to put down at first. However, I'm a big believer of whoever it makes sense to start, to start. 

•.*★ overall。 I'm very flexible about how we actually rp and will work at your pace if possible. Like, I can do one lining script all the way to novella, in both 1st and 3rd pov. I'm really chill with whatever you wanna do!

Activity & Reply Speed

•.*★ important。 I will never poke you. I feel guilty. However, I am always happy to be poked because I often forget about threads if I don't get to replies as soon as I receive them, so please just poke me and I'll hop right to it

I'm usually very fast with my replies because I like to have them out as quickly as possible when they excite me. I will never expect the same from my partners however, we are both able to work at the paces which fit us best without putting pressure on the other.

Location Preferences

Honestly, I'll roleplay anywhere I can. I like rooms, walls when I'm busy, and I'm okay with PMs. Most plots I do are public friendly too, and when they aren't, I take them to PMs.