Skrip

Name: Skirp
Age: 27
Race: Reptilian human/humanoid reptilian
Sex: Male
Hair: None
Eyes: Big, bright, light green all over, no pupils.
Weight: 54 lb.
Height: 4 feet

Weapon: He usually uses two short swords, almost daggers. They are slightly curved, and the handles are made from bone. Near the base of the blade, they are notched like sharks teeth. They are a bit magical, and will never become blunt. They can pierce the fabric of reality. Essentially, with great care so he doesn't damage the whole world and dimension, he can safely go to other dimensions. When doing so, he has to stop in the place between dimensions to heal up the hole he has made from the other dimension with his swords. He can also make small jumps from place to place in one reality when running fast. More info on this later(in the bio) He carries some throwing spears on his back, non-magical, and some fishing spears.
Armour: Two small, round shields strapped to his lower arms. Each of them are made from one one-inch-thick branch bent into a circle, and leaves and leather-strips bound between it. He has a helmet special fitted. One piece of metal hammered to fit his head, and some metal-straps welded so that they fit around his eyes.

Strengths: He is very fast, agile and has fast reflexes. He is small, too, which may be an advantage. Not especially smart, but very clever, and he knows how to trust his instincts. Good sense of smell, which operates by his tounge. Good at jumping. Scaly skin is rather hard.
Weakness: Small, so he isn't very strong and can't take as much as bigger creatures. Can be a bit too joking, and can get on peoples nerves. He can also have problems with seeing the seriousness in a situation.
Skills/Magic: Is a very fast runner and can get up to 50 km/h (I think this is about 60-75 mph). At full speed, and by using his hands to run too, he can cross small bodies of water and jump great lengths. He is good at dancing and putting on a show of dancing with his swords or flaming torches, jumping and spinning in the air. Good at cooking from simple substances, preferably fish.

Personality: Almost always happy, likes to laugh at others. He easily becomes cowardly, but tries t appear braver when not having any reason to not to, like getting himself into risks, etc. Also likes to show off and enjoys attention. Can't talk very well, and will often express himself in single words or phrases. Likes good simple food.

Appearance: A small humanoid lizard, or lizardoid human. He is covered in small, greenish, soft scales. His head is a bit big for his body, but not abnormally so. He has mostly lizardlike features in his face and a snout. Has small, but rather sharp teeth and no apperant ears (Small holes on his head). Uses bright blue trousers and a white shirt. Wears a small hat, almost a cap, à la Links, only stiffer, and not as long. Doesn't wear shoes, but a pair of brown leather gloves with the fingers cut out on his hands. Constantly sticks his forked tounge out to smell the air out of racial habit.

History: He was born on Frogul the 36th, in a small hut in his parents village. The village was a very special one. Firstly, it was in the middle of a swamp. A jungle swamp, with pleasant temperatures, but killing humidity. There were only 51 people in it, and they believed no other people existed in this world. They believed in a god, but had no fire or mechanical things. But they had a very definite calendar, working by counting the days from the earliest death in the village. The year would be named after the one who had died, but it could last from almost nothing to many years, depending on how long it took till another died. So little Skirpt had been born 36 days after the village elder Frogul had died. He grew up to 14 by eating raw fish and insects, as they always had. But that day, when he was 14 and gone fishing since it was his turn, something happened. He was blinded by a bright light, then thrown violently to the ground by a huge blast of hot air, then he nearly went deaf from a terrible noise, it was all coming from where his village was.

He got up, turned to his village, and ran all he could. He jumped over, under and to the side of branches, stones and other things. What he returned to was a horrible sight. A great gawping hole, slowly filling with water, ash and burned branches. In the middle of it, thousands and thousands of shreds of stone lay in a small area. Apperantly, a meteor had hit. Skirp knew about meteors. Sometimes, many of them would come at once and hit the swamp, making it boil and become warm. That was a happy occasion, because people would then bath in the hot water near the boiling water, and someone had in the past discovered that if they put their fish in the boiling water, being careful not to burn themselves, the fish would taste oh so much better. But this one had been bigger than the ones before. Much bigger. It looked as if it had been over tree feet across. Saddened beyond thought, Skirp slowly went down to the bottom of the crater, feeling the swamp-water gurgling in. He reached down and picked up two of the longest splinters from the stone, each about two feet long. He didn't know why, but he felt he should have something to keep, as he now was the sole survivor in the world. He also kept his fishing spears, he had to feed on something. He couldn't stand to stay near his until-recent birth-place, so he slowly walked away.

After two days of walking in one direction, he started to wonder about his until-recent home village had got it somewhat wrong about the swamp being the only thing in the world, as it now seemed to give way to woodlands. For Skrip, it was weird. The threes seemed wrong, and it was way too dry. He was tired, and confused, and sad, and so he lay down on the dry ground to sleep, at least the ground was warm here, was his last thought before he fell asleep. He awoke from the ground beneath him shaking violently, Oh, drat, they ground isn't even safe outside the swamp. It's trying to shake itself free from the world. Drat! He opened his eye to see, not a gawping hell or anything like that, but some sort of cloth-roof. Hmm.. Not exactly the fiery bowels of hell, so to speak, and I appear to be lying on wood. He gingerly stood up, and fell again as the ground below jumped big. He gingerly stood up again, but stayed bent, ready to catch himself with his arms if he fell. He finally got some time to look around. Hey.. Where am I? It was certainly not where he had gone to sleep. It was some sort of cave, wood underneath, and cloth on the sides and roof.

"Hey, what's going on here?" A loud, deep voice inquired. Skrip quickly turned and looked up into the eyes of a huge man, or at least huge in Skrips eyes.
"Ah, the Mojok." Until now, Skrip hadn't understood a word the man had said, but he now changed into passable voice, as was the only name his tribe had had for their language, as they didn't know of any others.
"I am Karl, are you ok?" Then man spoke slowly, not exactly fluent in voise.
"I Skrip. All ok."
"What are you doing so far from your village, little Mojok?"
"The world, destroyed, me survive."
"The world?! Ah, oh, phew, your tribe."
After much time, and much describing, Skrip started understanding about the world being bigger than the swamp, and that more people existed, and that there were other races. He was baffled, but, since he had nothing else to do, went along with the man who had found him, and taken him away from the wolves that surely would have found him at night. The man was a big, strong, and fat. He had a monthly wagon-trip from two cities lying on different sides of the swamp, and got good pay from it. The man traded anything, and brought what he could before ravelling to the other city, and when Skrip announced he wouldn't want to go all the way to the city, he offered to give him some of what he was supposed to bring from a store to the other city.
"Aye, the rich bugger that's paid for it would've only hung it on 'is wall, but I say those things needs to be used, and you need them for their use. And I won't get any problems for it, I'll say I lost them in a wolf-attack. And the best part is he won't question me, 'cause 'e knows if he did, I wouldn't bring another ounce of his goods, and no one dare cross these swamps except me, 'o course." The man laughed loud and heartedly, almost shaking the trees and disturbing all life in a miles width.
"What is it?" Skrip asked. The man, who had now given his name to be Goneg, talked much, but didn't tell much, he mostly talked blanks.
"I didn't say? Spears. Verre posh, o'course. Markings and whatnot. But I've seen at 'em, they're good spears, made by a good smiths, and the handle's a good one too. Maybe a bit big for you, but good none the less. They'll last you a life time, provided you don't stick them so long into the poor bugger you can't find 'em, I'm sure! Hah!"
Skrip sat in silence, staring into the swamp-fog. Was it something there, a small blink. His curiosity itched.
"If you n't mind, I think I'll off here."
"Well, I guess so...Here's the spears, but there's only swamp onwa-"
"Offski!" Skrip jumped off the carriage and sped away. Yes! There is was, a light in the swamp, hid behind some threes. Skrip ran, and found a small door, good for his size. He knocked, not knowing what else to do, and waited. After some time, a small and wide human-like man opened it a fraction, the man was about Skrips height..
"Yes." The man said it as he was doing Skrip a favour by acknowledging his existence.
"I'm Skrip," Skrip said.
"And I'm Hera, what about it?"
"I saw light" Skrip said, wondering if he had any reason to go to this man.
"Umm.. I guess you should come in then." Skrip went into a low, woodlined cave with beautiful polished wooden floor. Oil lamps hung here and there, giving of a pleasant light. But it felt rathe unnatural to Skrip, who was used to nothing more than the swamp could offer.
"Food?" He said, it had been a long time since he last had eaten.
"If so, you have to work for it, I don't give for free." Skrip understood about work, in his village, everyone had had to help for them to survive.
"Ok." And that was that, for the next 6 year, Skrip stayed and worked, he had no conception of working once, for one meal. He got to know Hera quite well, who explained after some confusion that he was a dwarf, and not a human or Mojok. Skrip worked in Heras underground mine, digging tunnels which led almost everywhere. Most linked to other tunnels going to dwarf cities, but some had just followed a promising ore, and now was a dead end. Skrip had spent his days digging for more ore, or transporting things to and fro the dwarf cities. He had tried to keep the calender of his tribe, but since he had had to name the year after all the fifty people who had died, the year had a name with about 200 characters, and he understood that it was just going to go upwards till he died, so he had gently prayed to the god that he would be allowed to give it a miss.

But after the sixth year, he announced to Hera he was going to leave, in the dwarven tounge he had adopted as his own.
"Yea, I can't blame you, lad. But you've worked hard, and it gives you credit. And, well, there's one thing more, oh, I was never good with such sentimental stuff and whatnot. Well, you remember I asked to see those shrads from that metorite? Well, you seemed to have forgotten about them, and so I got curious, and, so, well, I made these." He went and got a plain wooden box from one of the many shelves that was everywhere, filled up with notebooks, boxes and ore-samples. He opened it up before Skrip. He, after discarding some protective wool, revealed two slim and short swords.
"They're very good, made by dwarfs, off course, and not the worst of us too, I pulled in some favours and got them made the est I could and fitted to you, see?" He held one up and Skrip could easily see how well they fitted with his clawed, scaled hands.
"They are magical, there's no hiding that. And good magical, as magic go, they'll never get blunt, which is a real treat, as everyone who's been in a war knows. You will have to sharpen them though, but they will never become actual blunt. Aye, and one more then, supposedly, they can pierce the fabric of reality. I didn't really pay attention when the magician told about that, as I have often wanted a sharp weapon, but never wanted to pierce the reality."

It was agreed that Skrip should see the magicians before doing more with the swords since one shouldn't tamper with things you knew nothing about. Hera also more than little advised him to get some sword-training, preferably at the big military camp in the dwarves main city, where Hera could pull in some more favours and fix him up with a discount in the training fee. Skrip followed his advise, and spent another year in the main dwarf city in the area, training the use of swords, and the use of ripping holes in reality. Swordplay was, of course, not a common dwarf-activity, but these being more like daggers, he got a good training, and learned how to use holes in reality to his advantage.

After that year, he was deemed good enough to go over to what the teachers called "practical teaching", meaning he would go and put the swords to their use. But the problem was, he didn't know where to go. He thought of many places he had heard about, but none seemed to awaken his curiosity enough. For tree days, he lived with Hera, trying to find some place he could go. Then, one day when he was dozing, a thought hit him. He opened one eye, and a glint of mad glee was apparent. He stood up, went to find Hera in one of the tunnels, said his goodbyes, told him to say bye from him to the other dwarfs, and went to a quiet tunnel, empty now, but for some loose dirt. It had once held a promising ore of copper, but it had been found faulty. He took place in the opening of the tunnel and squinted through it, towards the distant stop. He pulled out his swords and donned the two small shields he had bought at the camp, and started to run. He started nice, almost jogging, but soon accelerated to break-neck speeds. He ran, bent over to keep the wind-resistance down, he screamed, howling his mad glee to the world. Then, he pulled up his swords, and started slashing at the air. They started making sparks in the air, bigger and bigger as he accelerated faster and fast. Soon, the form of him was almost gone in a trail of sparks and lights. He ran faster, and faster, and faster, the end getting closer and closer and closer. When he was one foot away from the end, he drew both his swords up and cut hard and fast at the air. A loud sound, like the sound of silk being cut in two magnified a thousand times, ripped through the air. Skrip ran through a hole which appeared to be just too small for him, and ran into treacle.

It was air, of sorts, but he could hardly move in it. All his moves took endless time, and though he could breathe, it was weird, breathing at one tenth of normal pace, it felt like he was slowly being suffocated. He saw a shimmering, rippling hole just behind him. He remembered his training from the magicals, the name the dwarfs had for those of them who studied magic. He had to close the gap before opening a new into another world, to prevent ... thingummy, erm, aye, the reality from collapsing, which was a good thing. Now, yes, just glide the swords over the sides of the rip, get the sides to stick, and, and g.e.n.t.l.y... press them together. As such. Now to get out. He remembered what he had learned, it was the same wherever he cut a new opening, the place he was now changed so often it seemed to be all still, and he could get out everywhere from that place.

He cut a hole, slashing at the air with snail-speed, and opened a new hole. This would heal up by itself, the reality of the new world would heal itself, and only a world with very weak reality would need him to close the hole properly. He saw the shimmering, rippling hole, like a cut in skin in a world, and stepped through.

Hmm, we don't get a lot of lizard warriors, this is good

Nice character, very original once more from you

*puts a lil approved sticker on Skrip* Heh, I like the name